Editor’s Note

This essay is published by kind permission of Xian Ji, a Chinese architect, independent essayist, and critic of contemporary art and cultural life.

Formally trained in architectural design yet deeply anchored in Chinese intellectual history, Xian’s scholarship operates at the intersection of aesthetics, philosophy, and cultural critique. His oeuvre systematically interrogates the structural tensions between artistic integrity, collective psychology, moral frameworks, and the existential repercussions of modern cultural production. Synthesizing Confucian, Daoist, and Buddhist intellectual currents with a rigorous engagement with contemporary artistic practices, his essays occupy a critical space between speculative philosophical reflection and cultural diagnosis.

Owing to its conceptual density and scope, On Artists, Suffering, and Fame will be serialized in three installments. Conceived as a continuous meditation, each part unpacks a distinct thematic dimension: the metaphysical origins of desire, the degradation of artistic culture within systems of celebrity and utility, and the enduring problem of reconciling material existence with interior freedom.

— Concinnitas Journal

On Artists, Suffering, and Fame

I have lived in seclusion in Chongqing for many years. Cold and heatreturn in endless succession; the cycles of time repeat themselves. If one wereto take falling leaves as a measure, then the rustling gains and losses beneathheaven amount to nothing more than an indescribable vastness of feeling. Thetraces of human existence are, in truth, inconsequential: birth, aging,sickness, death; suffering, accumulation, cessation, and the Way. When, in thepresent moment, you imagine the edge of time and space, and allow thatsensation to diffuse back into immediate experience, a single fallen leaf isenough to clarify the peace and completeness of life. To contemplate sentientbeings is inevitably to drift, in a single thought, between what is real andwhat is illusory; perhaps it is best to speak in provisional terms.

Part Ⅰ : The Naturally Fissioning Relationship of Supply and Demand

To live in this world, one must rely upon resources for survival; in thisregard, humans are no different from beasts. Animals mostly seek food whenhungry and water when thirsty, though there are also beasts that, oncesatiated, toy with their prey for amusement. In this, they resemble humanentertainment, and perhaps within it lies the budding of desire itself.

In the process of pursuing resources, human beings expand the quantity ofresources through instinct, reason, and desire. Yet humans are also capable,through reason, of consciously limiting resources to the level necessary fornatural needs. Naturally, individuals differ greatly in what they require.

Let us provisionally grasp this through the sayings of ancient Chinesesages. The Analects contains many discussions concerning human desire.For example:

“Wealth and rank are what men desire; yet if they cannot be obtained inaccordance with the Way, one should not dwell in them. Poverty and lowlinessare what men detest; yet if they cannot be avoided in accordance with the Way,one should not flee them.”

And again:

“Wealth and honor acquired unrighteously are to me like floating clouds.”

From this it is clear that Confucius himself did long for wealth andhonor, but sought to pursue them through what he believed to be a righteouspath. He endeavored to infer others from himself and himself from others. Underthe illumination of “righteous principle,” he discoursed endlessly uponself-restraint and moral values.

Thus he praised Yan Hui:

“With a single basket of rice and a single gourd of water, living in amean alley — others could not endure such hardship, yet Hui never lost his joy.Worthy indeed was Hui!”

All of these passages, from different angles, express the core ofConfucian thought: the value and practical extension of ren —benevolence.

Confucius may truly be said never to have crossed the prescribedboundary, practicing constant self-examination until, as he himself claimed, heattained the state of “following the desires of the heart without transgressingthe bounds.” Of course, this was his own account; we cannot verify it.

By the time of Mencius and his theory of the “Four Beginnings,” theConfucian system was expanded and elaborated to its fullest richness. Yet theConfucian ideal of “inner sagehood and outer kingship,” grounded in benevolentgovernance, ultimately failed to find a stable realization. Within thewhirlpool of history, its most conspicuous failing was its inability toconsciously resist collusion with Legalist power-seekers, and thus it becamemanipulated by those with sinister intentions.

In other words, Confucianism won little more than the reputation ofsaintly chastity. In substance, it became merely a lasso and honeyed bait usedby schemers to control the mediocre masses.

Certainly, the positive moral effects of Confucianism upon certainindividuals throughout history cannot be denied. Yet the ethical structure ofruler-subject, father-son, and hierarchical obligation ultimately rendered itsideals barren. The moral integrity and self-restraint of a very small number ofindividuals never truly disturbed the rigid decay at the heart of thoseinstitutions, much less brought forth any harmonious order.

Historians are perhaps somewhat more objective, though they too cannotescape the limitations of individual judgment. Sima Qian’s famous line —

“All under heaven bustle for profit; all under heaven scramble for gain.”

— was it a broad literary summary of human nature, or a sigh of disdaintoward the greed of the masses? It is difficult to judge precisely. Yet onething is certain: those who truly believed in the Confucian spirit all tookutility and pragmatism as standards of conduct.

The authentic transmission of Confucianism may perhaps be found only inConfucius, Mencius, Zengzi, and Wang Yangming — individuals whose theory andpractice, inner and outer selves, remained consistent. The rest are scarcelyworth mentioning, hybrids of appearances and hypocrisy. A very small number ofindividuals, though untouched by the core of Confucian thought, neverthelessmaintained decent personal conduct.

Without a conscious recognition of inner moral value, it is difficult topossess genuine strength of will. This is why Confucianism advocates the“gentleman,” yet everywhere produces pretenders.

I believe the chief problem lies in Confucianism’s promotion of practicalstriving. In the course of its active and utilitarian pursuits, the interactionbetween flesh and spirit keeps human desire perpetually alive. A single lapseis enough to sink one beyond recovery.

Confucianism speaks solemnly of the “Way”:

“To hear the Way in the morning and die in the evening would suffice.”

But if one does not die by evening, perhaps by the next day, one nolonger wishes to die at all — instead continuing to study diligently and striveupward.

Immersed in the ferment of human desire, how fragile benevolence andrighteousness become!

We cannot entirely deny the existence of martyrs possessing genuineindependence of spirit. Yet Confucian sacrifice for righteousness — “giving uplife to preserve virtue” — is almost always a decision made under ethicalpressure, or for the sake of winning a reputation before and after death.

Thus, after long observation of Confucianism, I often experience a bodilyand spiritual reaction that might be called: “partial admiration, universalnausea.”

Why did Confucianism arrive at such an outcome? In my humble view, oncepeople consciously and actively pursue fame and profit, they easily losecontrol within the inertia of human nature. It becomes a form of self-awarenesssaturated with danger.

The ethical doctrines Confucianism advocates often entangle individualswithin the tedious utilitarian web of the masses, where they become endlesslyenmeshed with one another, eroding both personality and aspiration.

Daoism, by contrast, is far freer in its appreciation of life through theidea of the “equalization of things.” Daoism regards the self and all beings asfundamentally undifferentiated; everywhere is the Dao. The meaning of life liesin a mode of existence transcending bodily life and death.

(Here one must distinguish Daoism from organized Daoist religion. Daoismas religion is a syncretic institution seeking physical immortality.)

Within this metaphysical insight, Zhuangzi’s “dream of the butterfly”becomes a silent poetry of wandering freely within the transformations ofexistence. One dwells within the great transformation itself, facing all thingswith a serenity that transcends time and space.

Zhuangzi was not only the butterfly in the dream, but also the fish inthe Hao River. Mountains and rivers, grasses and trees, flowers, birds, fish,and insects — all become temporary vessels of being.

From the standpoint of constructing cultural order, Daoism may seempassive. Yet its way of appreciating life played an indispensable moderatingrole against Confucian utilitarianism during the formation of Chinese culture,and indeed became something close to the spiritual genetic code of Chineseliterati art.

Buddhism’s renunciation of worldly existence is even more thorough thaneither Confucianism or Daoism. Fundamentally speaking, every Buddhist schoolregards life as illusory and without inherent meaning. Since Buddhism enteredChina from India, it has been continuously absorbed, transformed, andlocalized. Chan Buddhism, perhaps more than any other school, carried thisprocess to its extreme: casting aside all scriptural explanations and pointingdirectly to the human mind, transforming meditative concentration into suddenenlightenment.

As I presently understand it, Buddhism is the teaching most capable ofallowing one to live at peace within reality.

I am not advising people not to marry, not to eat meat, not to makemoney, or not to live and die. Only corpses abstain entirely from such things.

Desire has no universal standard. Let each follow his own path and bearhis own consequences. We all exist within causality and retribution.

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