In my last post, I mentioned in passing some Japanese aphorisms which are worthy of more than a moment’s reflection. Closer to home ground, for people who speak Chinese, we take for granted the abundant formulaic expressions used in the Chinese language. The ancient Chinese are of course masters in pithy sayings which are pregnant with meaning and wisdom. In particular, the four-character idioms, chenyu (成语) are compact embodiments of centuries of human experience available to every Chinese speaker at the tip of their tongue every time they utter a sentence. In fact, it is rare to have a substantial conversation in Chinese without one or more idioms being sneaked in.

The thing about Chinese idioms is that they are used in daily life by all and sundry, from common folks to the learned literati. Though we were taught idioms during Chinese lessons in school, we also picked up a lot from our parents, that is if we speak Chinese or dialects at home. However, with decreasing use of Chinese in daily conversations here in Singapore, we have become less conversant with using Chinese idioms, therefore losing our connection to a wisdom that stood the test of time for more than 2,000 years.

Endure the bitterness first, taste sweetness last

Recently, while making a determined effort to brush up my Chinese, I became reacquainted with some old familiar idioms. Most of the Chinese idioms I know in childhood I learned from my mother, who had never attended schools of any sort. I remember the first use of an idiom with unintended consequences for my best friend in primary school. I was probably ten at that time.

His mother cooked wonton noodles for us when I was at his home during one of those carefree days in our Chinatown neighbourhood. It was a plate of saucy noodles with a couple of wantons and sprigs of vegetables. As was my habit then, I finished up all the noodles and vegetables first and left the wantons last to be savoured slowly. His mother was curious and asked why I left the wantons last. In my smart-alecky way, I uttered the Chinese idiom, “先苦后甜” (xian ku hou tian), meaning “endure the bitterness first and enjoy the sweetness last”. In the next few minutes, my friend endured a dressing-down by his mother on how he should learn from me about working hard first before indulging in fun and games. I must have looked very sheepish for letting my friend down all because of a four-character idiom!

Nonetheless, the idiom “bitterness first before sweetness” is a common admonishment for children of my generation. It is passed down from elders almost like a kind of cultural DNA— save first, spend later; suffer now, enjoy later; work hard now, live a prosperous life later; etc. It is similar to the idea of delayed gratification, which recent studies have shown the many positive effects of this type of outlook. Whether we are able to follow this precept or not, we accept it as sound and beneficial. It is common for Asian parents to scrimp and sacrifice their material well-being to save enough for their children’s education in the hope of a better future.

But one must be sensible in following ancient wisdom. Today, the way I eat my plate of wonton noodles is to alternate between mouthfuls of noodles and wanton. I have grown older and endured my share of hardship. If I continue with my 10-year-old-child habit, I may not enjoy my wanton if I drop dead from a heart attack after finishing the last scoop of noodles before tackling the wantons! 

Hide from the light, nurture in the dark

Another idiom in a similar mould, 韬光养晦 (tao guang yang hui) suddenly came to worldwide attention recently. The direct translation of this is “hide from the light and nurture in the dark”. It was one of 5 phrases used by Deng Xiaoping in 1990, prescribing the foreign policy direction for China when it was relatively weak internationally, having reeled from the Tiananmen incident in 1989.

Deng’s advice then was for China to keep a low profile. Today, a stronger and more assertive China has led many commentators to point to this particular idiom, which they translate as “hide your strength, bide your time” to suggest a deceitful strategy. Thus, after building up its strength in the last 3 decades, she now emerges from the dark to flex her muscles and claim her rightful place in the world.

It seems to me that by itself, 韬光养晦 (tao guang yang hui) has a more modest meaning. It merely advises that when you are weak, you should not attract attention but focus on recovering and developing your strength. It is a sensible strategy to adopt when you are in a disadvantaged position without any prospects of climbing out of a dire situation in the short term. It is also consistent with the folksy wisdom of keeping a low profile and maintaining a humble disposition, whether you are strong or weak.

There are many Chinese stories that illustrate the use of “tao guang yang hui”. I am sure ordinary people have occasions to adopt it at some point in time in their personal and work life, though we may not have ascribed it to this particular Chinese idiom. I have certainly used it myself.

I used to manage a sizable department in my previous job in a large academic organization. Unfortunately, in my last few years there, it was not favourably treated by the new top management despite being rated highly by users annually, well regarded by the external professional community and has put in place many innovative programmes. In particular, the staff training fund was cut, and reorganization was made to diminish the status of the department in the organization. Naturally, it was not a good position to be in, and staff members were worried about job and career prospects though they liked the working environment and the satisfying innovative work they were involved in.

Without going into specifics, I concluded that there was not much I can do to change the situation; we had to adapt a strategy to wait out until positive change at the top. I suppose that was where “tao guang yang hui” came in. We kept a low profile to minimize further provocation from the top. At the same time, I allocated more time and opportunities for staff members to acquire new expertise, upgrade their skills and get more exposure to best practice worldwide to keep our edge. If at any point in time when staff finds the situation unbearable, at least they would have better skills and expertise to find work opportunities elsewhere.

The old man lost his horse

China has been an uninterrupted civilization for more than 4,000 years. The Chinese have gone through incessant wars, invasions, social upheavals, droughts, famines and still remain intact, continuing to bequeath succeeding generations with high levels of achievements in the arts, philosophy, culture and material well-being. Perhaps the idiom 塞翁失马 (sai weng shi ma) gives some clues to the secret of this indomitable survival spirit.

“Sai weng shi ma” translates as “old man lost his horse”. The well-known story behind this idiom is about an old man who woke up one day to discover his only horse missing. His neighbours came and console him on his misfortune and were surprised when the old man shrugged it off and said it may not be a bad thing. True enough, the next day, his horse returned, accompanied by another wild horse as well. The neighbours came and congratulated him on his good fortune of acquiring another horse, but the old man was not particularly joyful. Soon the old man’s son took the new horse for a ride, fell down and broke his leg. The neighbours again came to console the old man on his bad luck. While nursing his broken leg, war broke up, and the King ordered all able-bodied young man to be conscripted. Naturally, the son was spared due to his physical condition and averted a possible battlefield death.

The unwavering belief in the natural interweaving of good and bad fortune in life gives hope in times of hardship and caution in success. If you are raised on a diet of stories on the rise and fall of dynasties, noble families, heroes and villains, the story of “sai weng shi ma” is an archetypal plot embedded in your mind to serve as a protective talisman in times good and bad.

When you are at rock-bottom despair, you keep going, knowing that inevitably, the light will shine again. When you are triumphant, and in good fortune, you don’t get overexuberant but continue to be on guard for adverse change in circumstances. Taking the stance of “sai weng shi ma” is not only about surviving to live another day. More importantly, it confers upon us a sense of equanimity and even joy-in-misery state of being in times of darkness.

When drinking water, remember the source

Some year ago, I visited Xiamen University in China with two colleagues to conclude an MOU with my counterpart there. The campus must be one of the most attractive in China, complete with sea view, a Tang-era temple on a hill covering its back and an idyllic expansive lake in front. I am no feng shui expert, but this is clearly a fortuitous site. However, what struck me most on being shown around was a pervading sense of history and gratitude to the founder, Tan Kah Kee, who made his home and fortune in Singapore.

There were many marks of honour inside and outside the University; a prominent statue in front of its signature building, tower blocks named after him, a grand memorial museum, and a well-regarded park. The lake was also named after the home town of his son-in-law, Lee Kong Chian, who was also a key benefactor to the University. I had a feeling that since we came from Singapore, the home of their founder Tan Kah Kee, there was a thicker layer of goodwill and affection in their hospitality during our successful visit!

On the day of arrival, one of our hosts took us on a casual walk to a hilly park. Amidst the streams, ponds and lush vegetation, I noticed a carving of the Chinese idiom, 饮水思源 (yin shui si yuan), meaning “when you drink water, remember the source it came from”. This saying perfectly epitomized the sense of gratitude that impressed me during my stay in Xiamen.

The idiom was derived from a line in a poem by Yu Xin (513-581) during the Southern Dynasty. Originally from Liang state, Yu Xin was sent to Western Wei to negotiate an alliance but was detained there for the rest of his life. Liang state was destroyed by Western Wei and the children he left behind killed. As Yu Xin was a famous scholar and poet, the ruler of Western Wei treated him with respect and honour. However, despite being well treated, he continued to grieve and yearn for his home state.  

In lamenting his devastated homeland, Yu Xin wrote, “when one picks a fruit, one thinks of the tree it grew from, when one drinks water, one remembers the source where it flowed from” (落其实者思其树，饮其流者怀其源). It must have been written with a sense of helplessness and despondency since there was nothing he could do for his homeland.

One can also read the idiom, “yin shui si yuan” (饮水思源) as an exhortation to always ponder over the consequences of our actions. There will be no water if its sources dry up, no fresh air when forests are decimated, no peace when the fabric of society disintegrates and so on. It reminds us to take care of the source of our current success, contentment, and well-being. When we are enjoying our success, we tend to take for granted where it came from and neglect its continued upkeep.

The wisdom of Chinese idioms

There are between 5,000 to 20,000 Chinese idioms according to some estimates. It is unlikely that a regular Chinese reader would come across all that is known during their lifetime. Even if we apply the 20-80 rule (i.e. 20 per cent account for 80 per cent of usage) to the lower end of the estimate, it is still quite an effort to be acquainted with the top list of idioms. But I suspect that knowing even a fraction of this will yield a disproportionate understanding of not just the language, but also valuable insight and wisdom of the human condition.