(When discussing the current nationwide upsurge in studying Chairman Mao’s works,)
“The Selected Works of Mao Zedong”—what are they? They are books written in blood. The struggle in the Soviet areas was extremely fierce.
Due to the errors of Wang Ming’s line, we were forced to undertake the Long March of twenty-five thousand li. All these writings in “The Selected Works of Mao Zedong” were taught to us by the masses; they were won at the price of bloodshed and sacrifice.
Some articles should be rewritten to incorporate new insights. “On Practice” and “On Contradiction” were penned decades ago. Now everything has developed further, and the content has become much richer, so they ought to be reworked.
(When discussing the lessons learned during the Three-Year Great Leap Forward from 1958 to 1960,)
It was immensely beneficial. Without going through such an experience, one simply cannot learn how to build. We had no prior experience in undertaking construction on a national scale. During the revolutionary period, we did accumulate some experience in economic development within certain base areas. At that time, the three most pressing problems to be solved were: first, food; second, clothing; third, salt. Therefore, it was imperative to develop production. This was precisely the origin of our economic work back then.
The Land Reform Program (a document from 1933) consumed ten years of my efforts before and after its formulation. It could not have been achieved without that decade-long dedication. During the Great Revolution, I organized two training schools for the peasant movement—one in Guangzhou and one in Wuhan—and conducted several surveys, yet the issue remained unresolved. It was only later, through eight investigations carried out in Xingguo and other localities—the Changgang Township Survey and the Caixi Township Survey—that we finally found a solution. These insights came directly from the masses, who advised us on the proper course of action.
We began learning revolution in 1921 and continued until the Seventh National Congress in 1945, a process that took twenty-five years. During the Yan’an Rectification Movement, we came to understand Chen Duxiu’s right-leaning opportunism as well as the three “left” deviations, particularly Wang Ming’s line, and we thoroughly summarized those experiences. Consequently, by the end of the War of Resistance Against Japan, we had grown to field a force of 1.2 million troops,
not including the militia. The Seventh Congress was very successful, unifying thought and consolidating the entire Party.
Of course, there were still certain issues, such as Gao Gang and Peng Dehuai, but we still placed our trust in them. Peng Dehuai later served as commander of the Northwest Field Army. In 1946, our engagements with the Kuomintang were relatively minor; however, beginning in July 1947, we launched a full-scale counteroffensive, annihilating roughly eight enemy brigades each month—quite remarkable! By 1948,
we gradually captured Shijiazhuang and Jinan, followed by the three major campaigns.
Learning how to wage war took fifteen years. Initially, I knew nothing about warfare and had never even contemplated it. After the failure of the Great Revolution, we had around fifty thousand party members, but many were either killed, surrendered, or fled out of fear, leaving only a few dozen thousand remaining. By the time of the Seventh Congress, only eight hundred comrades were still counted among our ranks. Over those years, aside from those who died of old age, only six hundred remained; and of those who had been at Jinggangshan, only thirty were left. Under such circumstances, we were compelled to take up arms and learn to fight. Very few of us had ever attended military academies. Ultimately, it was Chiang Kai-shek who served as our “teacher,” teaching us through his relentless attacks on the Soviet areas, forcing us into the Long March of twenty-five thousand li. When we reached Northern Shaanxi, fewer than twenty thousand of us survived. Moreover, this contingent was not solely composed of veterans of the Long March; rather, it had been augmented by forces from Qingyang along the Shaanxi-Gansu border, Yunyang in Guanzhong, and additional units recruited during the Eastern Expedition. At that time, I remarked that this group of twenty thousand was far stronger than the original thirty thousand—we had emerged refined through hardship. Having traversed twenty-five thousand li, our legs seemed to speak for themselves, prompting reflection. It was under these conditions that the Zunyi Conference was convened, leading to a critical shift in strategy. In short, our ability to wage war was forged under duress.
(When discussing learning from the People’s Liberation Army and the Ministry of Petroleum—specifically their revolutionary spirit and the art of annihilation warfare,)
We must proceed cautiously. The Socialist Education Campaign in the countryside aims to deliver decisive blows; achieving this requires a considerable amount of time—no less than four years, spread over last year, this year, next year, and the following year. Likewise, emulating the PLA and the Ministry of Petroleum will likely necessitate several more years before we can fully assimilate their principles. Haste is unwarranted. Some provinces plan to conclude the socialist education campaign within a single year, which is far too rapid. We simply do not possess enough capable cadres. The same applies to large-scale industrial construction: rushing ahead—such as aiming to complete coal mines with annual capacities exceeding a certain number of millions of tons within just a couple of years—is undesirable. Even this timeline would already be excessively hasty; excessive speed only encourages falsification and subterfuge.
(When discussing what it means to uphold the General Line, the Great Leap Forward, and the people’s communes,)
An interjection made while listening to a report:
Class struggle, productive struggle, and scientific experimentation must be integrated. If we focus solely on productive struggle and scientific experimentation while neglecting class struggle, the people’s morale will remain low, and we will fail to effectively advance either endeavor. Is it sufficient to engage only in productive struggle without scientific experimentation? And what of engaging exclusively in class struggle while ignoring both productive struggle and scientific experimentation under the guise of “upholding the General Line”? Such claims would be hollow. I would argue that the Ministry of Petroleum has achieved remarkable results: it has not only invigorated the revolutionary spirit of the masses but also produced a substantial volume of oil—indeed, far more than merely a few million tons. Furthermore, it has constructed refineries capable of processing similar quantities, with quality reaching international standards. Only by demonstrating tangible achievements like these can we truly persuade others.
(When addressing the decline of a comrade’s revolutionary zeal and the need to promote young cadres,)
Are some individuals genuinely ill, or has their revolutionary spirit simply waned? Or perhaps they dance six times a week?! Do they love beauty more than they love the country?! How can someone claim to be gravely ill and unable to work when their condition seems so severe?!
… …Take certain comrades, for example: do they truly love beauty, or do they love the nation? I believe assigning them a specific task may not yield satisfactory results; they would benefit from being paired with a capable “prime minister.”
For many years, I have consistently urged conducting investigations and research, yet these efforts have repeatedly fallen short. Despite spending countless years working in industry, some still fail to grasp what industry actually entails. How can one possibly understand machinery and equipment without such knowledge?!
Now is the time to promote young cadres. Consider the Battle of Red Cliffs and the Gathering of Heroes: Zhuge Liang was twenty-seven years old at the time, as was Sun Quan. Sun Ce was merely seventeen or eighteen when he began assuming responsibilities, while Zhou Yu passed away at the young age of thirty-six, having spent most of his life in his thirties. Cao Cao, meanwhile, was fifty-three. In fact, it was the younger generation that ultimately triumphed over the older. As the saying goes, “The waves behind drive on those before; new men succeed old.”
(When speaking about Chen Yonggui of the Dazhai Production Team,)
Let us not look down upon those who lack formal education. During a session of the National People’s Congress, a former classmate of mine—who currently holds the post of Vice Governor of Hunan Province—approached me for a conversation. He pointed out that, in reality, intellectuals often possess the least genuine knowledge. Throughout history, many emperors hailed from intellectual backgrounds yet proved to be inept rulers: Emperor Yang of Sui, for instance, was renowned for his literary talent; Emperors Houzhu of Chen and Houzhu of Tang were celebrated poets; and Emperor Huizong of Song excelled both in poetry and painting. Conversely, many great leaders emerged from humble origins: Genghis Khan was illiterate, Liu Bang knew only a handful of characters, and Zhu Yuanzhang, a former cowherd, was also unable to read. Within our own army, too, non-literate soldiers constituted the majority, while educated personnel were few. Xu Shiyou had received only a brief formal education! My colleague had never attended school, as did Han Xianchu and Chen Xilian, whereas others like Liu Yalou had completed only elementary schooling. Of course, a certain proportion of educated cadres remains indispensable. Lin Biao, Xu Xiangqian, and several other comrades fall into this category; we might consider ourselves moderately educated. The conclusion is clear: the unlettered prevailed over the graduates of Whampoa Military Academy.
(When commenting on the current positive atmosphere—where everyone is willing to engage in criticism and self-criticism and to learn from one another,)
Everything contains two opposing aspects. I myself am no exception. I once worked as an elementary school teacher and, as a child, even believed in deities, making pilgrimages with my mother to sacred mountains. Before the October Revolution, I had no knowledge of Marx; it was only afterward that I came to understand his ideas.
Where, then, can one find someone entirely free of flaws? Some of our comrades seem overly fond of metaphysics. What exactly constitutes metaphysics? It is a tendency toward one-sidedness—allowing only praise while forbidding any criticism, cherishing only the good and shunning the bad. Two years ago, in 1961, a certain department refused to accept any form of critique. Take Comrade XXX as an example: though a commendable individual, he steadfastly guards against exposing his shortcomings, preferring to showcase only his strengths, lest he touch upon sensitive issues.
Marx himself embodies duality. His philosophical thought drew from Hegel and Feuerbach, while his economic theories were influenced by British economists such as Ricardo, alongside French utopian socialism—all of which originated in the bourgeois sphere. From this duality arose Marxism. One might ask: did Marx himself ever read Marxist literature during his youth?
Our Party, too, is characterized by such duality.
Prior to one of the encirclement campaigns, someone suggested that military discipline required physical punishment—if soldiers were not beaten, how could they be motivated?! At that time, warlordism was rampant. A common saying went, “Love your soldiers, but the company commander rides a horse.” This notion was incorrect; the commander ought to walk alongside his troops.
Peng Dehuai has long been prone to factionalism. During the Central Soviet Area period, the Li Lisan line gained traction, advocating
In a remark made during a briefing:
“Leftist!” They wanted to capture major cities—Jiujiang, Wuhan, and Changsha. I opposed this, but they insisted it was necessary. At the time, Li Wenlin, Secretary of the Ji’an Regional Committee, even wrote a letter to the central leadership, arguing that land distribution should proceed concurrently with the consolidation of the land revolution, as this aligned with the peasants’ mindset. He warned that attacking Jiujiang before Changsha would jeopardize the revolution. Their insistence on capturing Jiujiang was purely “leftist.” Throughout the ten-year civil war, intra-party struggles were exceptionally intense.
At the Fifth Plenary Session, Zhang Kuo-tien was elected to the Politburo, despite not being a member of the Central Committee at the time. Today, when we attempt to verify whether Zhang was indeed a Party member, when he joined, and who recommended him, we find no record. Nevertheless, he was chosen as a Politburo member, while I, a sitting Politburo member, was excluded from the meeting.
During the Long March, the situation underwent significant changes leading up to the Zunyi Conference. Wang Ming’s line needed to be clearly distinguished from the path forward established at Zunyi.
Upon joining forces with the Fourth Front Army, we spoke frankly with Zhang Guotao, informing him that we had begun the march with eighty thousand personnel but now numbered only thirty thousand. Honesty was essential! Meanwhile, the Fourth Front Army still boasted eighty thousand soldiers, and Zhang sought to assume command, a request we firmly rejected. Zhang Guotao’s mistake lay in his erroneous political line.
Subsequently, we arrived in Northern Shaanxi. Even during the War of Resistance, challenges persisted. There was Wang Ming’s line, as well as Peng Dehuai’s Hundred Regiments Offensive and related initiatives. Prior to the Seventh National Congress, a special meeting was held to address Peng Dehuai’s actions. At the Lushan Conference, Peng argued that since he had endured forty days of criticism, he deserved twenty days of retaliation. However, the Yan’an conference attendees countered that dispersing forces into small units could easily expand into regiments or divisions, rather than concentrating them as Peng proposed. In reality, a single platoon dispersed in this manner could grow into a regiment or even a division.
After liberation, wasn’t there again a division? The Gao-Rao anti-Party clique incident in 1953 exposed deep-seated fissures. During the Financial Conference, they openly declared that certain factions represented a particular sect. I contended that the Chinese Revolution had evolved through numerous regional power centers; without such bases, there could be no revolution. Moreover, at that time, we lacked a unified program.
Peng and Gao Gang merged in Northern Shaanxi. Unexpectedly, Deng Hua also aligned himself with them. Deng had previously expressed to me his dissatisfaction with Jinggangshan, finding it lacking in distinctiveness, and subsequently gravitated toward Peng. Even Chen Guang, who later perished, felt similarly unfulfilled due to the absence of clear regional identities.
In 1962, calls to abandon class distinctions and cease class struggle grew louder, causing instability across various departments. Deng Zihui advocated for the household responsibility system. Wang Jiaxiang, who had long suffered from illness, suddenly appeared healthy during that half-year, embracing the “three harmonies and one reduction” policy. This proactive stance contrasted sharply with our current emphasis on “three struggles and one increase.” The United Front Work Department aimed to transform bourgeois parties into socialist ones, adopting a five-year plan characterized by softening rhetoric and concessions—a clear capitulation to the bourgeoisie. Internationally, they pursued “three harmonies and one reduction,” while domestically they implemented “three selves and one package.” Peng Dehuai’s counteroffensive manifesto also emerged during this period, as did Xi Zhongxun’s biography of Liu Zhidan.
(When talking about reading,)
The story of the Foolish Old Man Removing the Mountains makes perfect sense: given enough time—perhaps a million or several million years—the mountain could indeed be leveled. The Foolish Old Man was correct: even after his death, his son would carry on, and that son’s descendants would continue the work indefinitely. As generations succeeded one another, the mountain would gradually diminish until it was eventually eradicated.
A philosophical discussion need only last half an hour; prolonging it risks muddling the message. Similarly, one should not read too many books—dozens suffice. Reading excessively can lead to confusion rather than clarity.
(When discussing grain procurement and exchange in rural areas,)
I disapprove of regions that do not implement a basic ration system. A basic ration system should be established.
To
[Commentary [2] on the article “Critique of the Central Line during the Period from September 1931 to January 1935” [I]
(March 1964 to May 1965)
To Comrades Liu, Zhou, Deng, Peng, Kang, Chen, and Leng Xi Pl: Please review and offer suggestions for revision.
Mao Zedong
March 25, 1964
Reviewed and returned to Mao.
Sent to Comrade Chen Yi 141 for review, then returned to Mao.
This document is hereby forwarded to Comrades Xie Fuzhi, Li Jingquan, and Tao Zhu bl for their review. Your opinions are requested to facilitate revisions. Regarding the issue of the illegality of the Provisional Central Committee, this matter was already addressed in “Several Historical Questions” 161, adopted at a Central Committee meeting prior to the Seventh National Congress in 1945, where the Provisional Central Committee was formally recognized as legitimate—an outcome beneficial to the entire Party. Additionally, the mention of the Premier [71] should also be removed, as the Premier’s lifetime record of correctness far outweighs any errors. This text has never been published and remains unsuitable for publication at present. Whether it will be released in the future—decades hence—shall be decided by subsequent generations. I personally drafted 1s1 in the year of the Prisoner (likely in the spring, as the text makes no reference to the European War),
which was shown only to “Zhou Enlai and Liu Shaoqi,” after which I myself forgot about it.
In 1964, someone unexpectedly presented me with photographs of the original manuscript—discovered at the Museum of Revolutionary History of—prompting me to recall that I had indeed authored this piece.
Mao Zedong
January 2, 1965
Four
This article was written in Yan’an and once shared with Comrades Liu Shaoqi and Ren Zhou Enlai; however, it was never published. After being circulated, it was soon forgotten. It was only in 1964, when an archivist unearthed the original draft and brought it to my attention, that I remembered its existence. The reason it was never published—or even circulated internally among Central Committee members—despite being briefly reviewed by two Politburo members before being set aside—was likely because its sharp tone might have undermined unity among comrades who had previously erred. Now, after so many years, this potential divisive factor…