A Vision of Harmony: Fei Xiaotong’s Dream
In 1990, at the gathering for his 80th birthday, Dr. Fei Xiaotong (费孝通), one of the founding fathers of Chinese sociology and anthropology, delivered a 16-word Chinese motto: “各美其美，美人之美，美美与共，天下大同.”1 This can be translated to mean “Appreciate the beauty of each culture, recognize the beauty in others, share the beauty together, and achieve harmony in the world.”2
This motto reflects a respect for cultural diversity—each person, country, and ethnic group has its own unique value. By appreciating the beauty of others, we foster harmony, and through sharing in this beauty, we aim for global unity.
However, this vision, while admirable, is ultimately the wishful thinking of Chinese scholars in their pursuit of unity between heaven and humanity. Without a true “heavenly perspective” (天上观), the “worldly perspective” (天下观) lacks an eternal foundation.
A worldly perspective without a heavenly foundation cannot truly foster the common good or basic goodness. In my opinion, Fei Xiaotong’s saying, though inspiring, lacks practical grounding and remains an ideal cherished by Chinese intellectuals for millennia. The vision of “universal harmony” (天下大同) has been a cherished ideal of peaceful coexistence, but history shows that those in power have often imposed a vision of “I am the state,” using both cultural and military means to unify the world under a single authority.
If not for the king of the heavenly kingdom who became flesh and dwelt among us, we would not know the true heavenly kingdom, nor the foundation for basic goodness and the common good of humanity.
Without this heavenly perspective, we are like wild grass, unaware of the source of our vitality, enduring the cycle of “wildfire cannot consume it, for the spring wind brings it back to life” (野火烧不尽、春风吹又生).3
A Wild Grass in the Central Plains
I am that wild grass, born in the Central Plains (Zhongyuan 中原) of China during the early years of the Cultural Revolution.
My parents came from relatively affluent families, and were therefore educated, allowing them to become teachers at a county middle school in a time when most of the Chinese population was illiterate in the 1950s. However, after the Great Leap Forward in 1958 and the subsequent period of exaggerated achievements, the Great Famine of at least three years came. My mother was sent to the countryside twice in 1961 and 1962, while my father, having attended university, was forced to stay in the county town to continue teaching.
The ever-changing political landscape brought them an uncertain future and many hardships. In late 1968, during the Cultural Revolution, schools were closed, and teachers were purged as “stinking intellectuals” (臭老九). My father was sent down to the countryside, but heavy snowfall blocked the roads, preventing his return. The policy of sending teachers to the countryside quickly reversed within a month or two because the children in the cities needed to return to school, but there was no one to teach them. Thus, my father remained in the city, and my mother in the countryside, resulting in a politically enforced separation for 27 years. Despite the separation, and the scarcity of food and clothing, they still raised six children—four brothers, one elder sister (who died at the age of 5), one younger sister, and myself—who became early “left-behind” children (留守兒童).
Survival Amidst Hardship
My father stayed in the city, surviving on a meager monthly salary of 38 yuan. Since 1952, he had been labeled a rightist, a counter-revolutionary, and even a counter-revolutionary-in-action five times. His own students paraded him through the streets, forcing him to wear a “counter-revolutionary” hat, which sometimes had sharp iron wires that pricked at the head, causing him to bleed. He was stoned with tiles and pebbles and branded a “local traitor.”
In the Central Plains, there is a saying, “better a living dog than a dead lion.”4 Fortunately, there was still food in the city, and with the 38-yuan salary, life was surprisingly bearable. City dwellers were hungry but not starving, having access to rationed supplies from the countryside, where food was produced. However, even in the countryside, many suffered from both hunger and famine as the majority of the food was forcibly requisitioned by the People’s Commune system.
While I was born after the Great Famine, the shadow of hunger lingered like a ghost over China until the early 1980s, when it reluctantly faded with the advent of reform and opening-up policies. Thus, we children, with no food or care, wandered the countryside like unsupervised goats, scavenging for food and mimicking the adults of the Cultural Revolution by forming factions and engaging in fights.
The Resilience of Wild Grass
Living at the bottom of Chinese society, we were like wild grass, swaying in the wind. Wild grass faces the constant threat of being burned, its life precarious and immanent. Several of my playmates died from epidemics, floods, starvation, and snake bites, and I myself had at least ten close encounters with death (experiences, which, if written down, would make for a solid tale of suffering and redemption). Over the years, I met a local master of paper-cutting, known as “wild reed” (Péngcǎo 蓬草), referring to the grass on a thatched roof. Inspired by this, I realized that I was like wild grass—uncared for yet full of vitality. It is no wonder that the common people of China often refer to themselves as “grass people.”
Wild grass is not just a metaphor for an individual but for the entire lower class of China. In 1984, a song called “Little Grass” was released, expressing the sentiments of most Chinese people:
No fragrance, no towering tree,
I am a little grass, unknown to all.
Never lonely, never troubled,
Look at my companions, scattered all over the world.
Spring breeze, you make me green,
Sunshine, you warm me.
Rivers and mountains, you nourish me,
Mother Earth, you embrace me tightly.5
Wild grass also has its spring, a time of flourishing growth.
Encouraged by my parents, we pursued education despite our circumstances. At thirty, I earned a PhD in economics in Shanghai, followed by postdoctoral studies in management in Beijing. It was during this time that I was influenced by campus gospel work, truly encountered the church, and began reading the Bible. I documented this journey in my testimony, “The End of Man, The Beginning of God” (published in the 2007 edition of Overseas Campus in California) and “Surviving in Hunger.” I also learned that the flowers of the field, which are not as splendid as King Solomon, are more glorious and honorable in their attire.
A Spiritual Awakening
The once uneducated, ignorant commoner, the fisherman Peter, quoted Isaiah’s poetry two thousand years ago:
All flesh is like grass,
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers, and the flower falls,
but the word of the Lord remains forever.
(1 Peter 1:24)
And these “words of the Lord” are the gospel preached to us.
My wife and I started attending the church and decided to follow the Lord. I no longer wallowed in self-pity as a piece of wild grass because such grass is also created by God and loved by God. If it weren’t for his preservation during my life-threatening experiences, I wouldn’t be standing here to testify for his glory.
A Journey of Faith
It has been twenty-four years since I was blessed at the age of thirty. Though I have become a respected professor at a renowned Chinese university, with a decent job and God-given gifts and talents sufficient to meet the university’s various assessment requirements, my journey of faith has been one of stumbling towards God as it is he who never abandons me. I fall, get up, and fall again. But after such fiery trials, I find myself reborn like wild grass. I won’t elaborate on the various trials and stumblings within the church,6 but I will focus on how, as a university teacher, I have been repeatedly burned by the ease and difficulties of the environment, and now find myself on the brink of exhaustion.
Since 2005, panoramic cameras have been installed in Beijing university classrooms, monitoring every word spoken. At first, this was just a formality, but students were soon encouraged to report teachers for religious conduct, which was far more damaging. I was reported twice by students for mentioning biblical references in the context of professional terminology during class. After some explanation, the issue was resolved.
In the past five years, every classroom has been equipped with three panoramic cameras, making every lecturer tremble in fear. The living water of truth can no longer flow in the classroom, and so I found it must be applied in daily life instead. My wife and I started to care for students, inviting them to our home for meals and Sunday worship gatherings. Over a hundred students came to hear the gospel from our home, and at least thirty pledged their faith. But the good times did not last long.
Trials and Tribulations
The situation grew more difficult after 2012. Home gatherings faced significant risk, so we shifted to a more discreet approach, secretly instructing only a few dedicated students, unable to hold public meetings. But despite these precautions, we were still found. On the eve of Christmas in 2021, the National Security Department accused me, placing me in the spotlight. I was charged with three crimes: “Elder of an illegal church,” “Leader of an illegal organization,” and “Illegal preaching on university campuses”—charges reminiscent of the ones my father faced fifty years ago.
The Pressure of Political Scrutiny
Initially, I faced these challenges with confidence, explaining and testifying to my faith during conversations with the Party Secretary. However, as the scrutiny continued, I began to realize the severity of the situation. My father’s experience reminded me that this was not just a minor misunderstanding but a serious charge in the eyes of the authorities. The ongoing investigations and the possibility of losing my job or being imprisoned weighed heavily on me, leading to moments of doubt and fear.
Drawing Strength from Elijah’s Story
The Party Secretary eventually downgraded the charges against me from an “enemy of the state” to an “internal contradiction among the people,” which provided some relief. Yet, seeing many Christian university teachers in Beijing leave the church or abandon their faith after similar investigations filled me with both fear and pride. I began to think like Peter: “Even if all fall away, I will not.”
But the Bible warns, “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” Soon after, worldly anxieties began to flood my mind. My colleagues began to avoid me like the plague, distancing themselves from me. The strange looks they gave made me feel as if I had fallen into a dry well, with no one looking down to check on me. The fact that they didn’t kick me when I was down was a great mercy.
Thus, I, similar to wild grass, after leaving behind years of self-pity, began to feel weak and powerless once again. I remember that after being continuously concerned, I attempted to drive home but didn’t even have the strength to press the gas pedal. The glory that had once resembled flowers of a great field, returned to its original state of wild grass. Over the past three years, I have constantly felt the weariness of being despised and powerless, like wild grass repeatedly blown dry by the hot winds of worldly concerns and accusations, nearly withering away. Physically and mentally, I have lost all vitality. The impact of the political review has been far greater than the control and release of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Persevering in Faith
The continuous political scrutiny over the past three years has stripped me of all opportunities with political requirements. Every teaching and research activity in universities now has political requirements. My expulsion from the Communist Party and the death of my political life are not merely minor issues, as I can no longer apply for funding, independently engage in teaching and research activities, or satisfy the ever-growing needs of my research team students, who, like giant infants, constantly demand milk (funds, fieldwork, publications). I am now on the brink of exhaustion, unable to provide.
I recall Elijah, who, after single-handedly battling 450 prophets of Baal during a three-year famine, fled from the threats of the king and queen, and asked to die under a broom tree: “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors” (1 Kings 19:4).
Today, I am no better than the prophets in the Bible, nor my predecessors in spirituality. For three years, I have been praying for retirement and revival. Looking back at my father and the cloud of witnesses surrounding us, especially Abel, Noah, Abraham, Peter, Paul, and other testimonies throughout thousands of years past, I am reminded of the teachings in Hebrews 12:1-9. I have rewritten the Contemporary Chinese Bible’s content as my prayer, to fix my eyes on God, and give glory to him:
Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, I must throw off everything that hinders my faith, the sin that so easily entangles us, and run with perseverance the race marked out for me, fixing my eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of all faith. For the joy set before him, he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. I will think of him, who endured so much opposition from the sinners, so that I will not grow weary and lose heart.
In my struggle against sin, I have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood. Have I forgotten the word of encouragement that addresses me as a son? “My child, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son.”
I must endure discipline, as God is treating me as his child. For what child is not disciplined by their father? If I am not disciplined—and everyone undergoes discipline—then I am not a legitimate child but an illegitimate one. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who have disciplined us, and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live?
Editor’s note: This article was originally written in Chinese and was translated and edited by the ChinaSource team with permission.
Endnotes
- See https://news.pku.edu.cn/bdrw/3df270c03c6240e882fa5b2aa6ce5840.htm.
- See http://keywords.china.org.cn/2022-10/13/content_78464111.html.
- Quoted from a poem “Farewell on the Ancient Grassland” by Bai Juyi (“白居易”) (772 – 846), one of the most loved poets from the Tang dynasty.
- 中文：好死不如赖活.
- 没有花香 没有树高
我是一棵无人知道的小草
从不寂寞 从不烦恼
你看我的伙伴遍及天涯海角 - These stories are documented in other testimonies: “Exodus from America” and “God’s Good Intentions in Serving the Weeping Students.”
Image credit: Unjay Markiewicz via UnSplash.
Brother Bartimaeus
Born in 1970 in the Central Plains of China, Brother Bartimaeus (pseudonym) came to faith in 2000. He serves as a professor of agricultural economics at a university in Beijing and is a retired elder of a Beijing house church. He has also organized Christian activities related to ecological agriculture.View Full Bio
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