Gu Zhun, the Illuminator
燃灯者顾准
By Li Shihua (李世华)
【 Editor’s Note: Today marks the 50th anniversary of the passing of Gu Zhun, a remarkable thinker and economist. This piece is dedicated to honoring his legacy.Gu Zhun (1915–1974), a pioneering Chinese thinker, economist, and historian, endured decades of political persecution, including being twice labeled a Rightist and subjected to harsh labor reforms. Despite physical suffering and personal tragedies—including his wife's suicide and estrangement from his children—Gu Zhun maintained an unwavering commitment to intellectual exploration. He wrote seminal works, such as The Greek City-State System and From Idealism to Empiricism, and boldly critiqued the flaws of the planned economy, predicting its eventual collapse. His life reflected the tension between idealism and realism, and his resilience embodied the power of independent thought amid oppression. Posthumously rehabilitated in 1980, Gu's legacy continues to inspire China's intellectual awakening. His writings, published in the 1990s, sparked a "Gu Zhun whirlwind," with scholars like Li Shenzhi praising him as a torchbearer who illuminated an era of darkness with courage, intellect, and profound human dignity.】
Shortly after midnight on December 3, 1974, Gu Zhun (顾准) passed away alone amidst swirling wind and snow.
Regarding Gu Zhun, Baidu Baike introduces him as follows:
"Gu Zhun (1915–1974), courtesy name Zheyun, male, Han ethnicity, born in Suzhou, Jiangsu Province. Born on July 1, 1915, in Shanghai, he joined the Chinese Communist Party in 1935 and died of illness in Beijing on December 3, 1974. A contemporary Chinese scholar, thinker, economist, accountant, and historian, he was the first to propose the theory of China's socialist market economy.
"He served as a professor at universities such as Hujiang University, St. John's University, and Zhijiang University; chairman of the Shanghai branch of the Chinese National Armed Self-Defense Committee and deputy director of propaganda at the general committee; deputy secretary of the Jiangsu Provincial Committee of the Chinese Communist Party; director of the Shandong Provincial Department of Finance; director of the Shanghai Municipal Bureau of Finance and concurrently director of the Tax Bureau; deputy director of the Shanghai Municipal Financial and Economic Committee; deputy minister of finance of the East China Military and Political Committee; and deputy director of the Comprehensive Survey Committee of Resources of the Chinese Academy of Sciences.
"His works include Accounting System of the Bank of China (《中华银行会计制度》), The Greek City-State System (《希腊城邦制度》), From Idealism to Empiricism (《从理想主义到经验主义》), and translations such as Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (《资本主义、社会主义和民主主义》) and Essays in Economics (《经济论文集》)."
01
Gu Zhun was born on July 1, 1915, into a small merchant family in Shanghai. His father, Chen Wenwei, dealt in cotton but later went bankrupt, leading to the family's decline. As the eldest son of the second wife, Gu Zhun took his mother's surname. After barely completing two years of junior high at the Chinese Vocational School (中华职业学校), founded by Huang Yanpei (黄炎培), he had to abandon his studies due to poverty. Fortunately, at the age of twelve, he was recommended by the talent-loving principal Huang Yanpei to become an apprentice at the renowned Pan Xulun's (潘序伦) Lixin Accounting Firm (上海立信会计事务所). By fifteen, he had written one of China's earliest accounting textbooks, becoming recognized as "a talent unmatched in the entire Greater East China region."
Over the next seven or eight years, Gu Zhun rose rapidly in the field of finance and economics. After the liberation of Shanghai in 1949, he reached the pinnacle of his political career, becoming the first director of the Shanghai Municipal Bureau of Finance and Taxation, a member of the Party Leadership Group of the Shanghai People's Government, and deputy minister of finance of the East China Military and Political Committee.
That year, he was 34.
02
Geniuses often have significant flaws. Gu Zhun was insubordinate and frequently contradicted his superiors—a habit that began in his teens and never ceased. His refusal to ingratiate himself caused him many setbacks.
In 1951, when the Ministry of Finance wanted to transfer him to Beijing to serve as director of the Budget Department, Chen Yi consulted him, and he expressed his willingness to stay in Shanghai. He even told others, "Entering the cabinet would make me a bonsai; I wouldn't grow into a towering tree."
Even his attire was unconventional. In an era when everyone wore khaki military uniforms, he sported suspenders and tortoiseshell glasses!
Character determines destiny. "When the wall collapses, everyone pushes"; "The tree that stands out in the forest is destroyed by the wind"—these ancient sayings all applied to Gu Zhun.
Now, Gu Zhun was attracting too much attention and was uncooperative. As a result, after only a few years of prominence, his life began to spiral downward.
On the evening of February 29, 1952, the Shanghai Municipal Committee announced that Gu Zhun and seven other senior cadres were "big tigers" in the "Three-Anti Campaign" and would be subjected to criticism. "It was decided to remove them from their positions and order them to conduct deep reflections."
On the day of his dismissal, he sat silently in his office all night. His secretary stayed with him throughout the entire night. After dawn, he forcefully pushed open the door and walked out. What was this hot-blooded young man "reflecting" on in his mind?
In his diary, Gu Zhun wrote that during that time, "I had nothing else... Unable to sleep at night, I listened to the chaotic sounds of cars on the road gradually quiet down. When I heard the sounds of a few vehicles starting up again, it was almost dawn."
Gu Zhun became a "current counterrevolutionary." That year, he was 37.
Gu Zhun remained unconvinced and repeatedly requested a re-examination from the organization, but all were rejected. Later, he didn't even have the opportunity to make such requests.
In 1957, during the Anti-Rightist Movement, Gu Zhun was labeled a "Rightist." In April 1958, he was expelled from the Party, and in May, he was sent down to the countryside for labor.
He had back problems and used a short hoe. Sometimes, he could only kneel in the mud, supporting himself with his arms to crawl forward. His knees were wounded, his arms entirely swollen, and his palms were bloody and raw, making it difficult to hold a pen. But he wrote: "Only in such an environment can I have the opportunity to study China's rural economy."
In the autumn and winter of 1959, the labor team ate only sweet potato leaves for three meals a day, but in his eyes, it "was already paradise." Much of his diary recorded the food he could find or even steal each day. He could hardly conceal his sense of insignificance: "People have become despicable."
In a situation where he couldn't get enough to eat, Gu Zhun no longer had the heart to feel indignant about his fate as he did in 1956. In his diary, he recorded only the actual situation in the countryside at that time.
As he wrote these words, "his heart ached in spasms." Of course, he was angry, but he did not avoid it, nor did he pretend to be an indifferent bystander. He merely set out from his anger and walked toward the distance.
He felt ashamed of striving for adequate food when famine was widespread. However, he said he wanted to preserve himself, "at least to record the history of an era and give future generations a lesson."
03
Having been demoted several times, Gu Zhun had long been abandoned by the times, but it was from this point that his spiritual world declared independence.
After four years of labor reform in the countryside, in 1961, Gu Zhun temporarily had his Rightist label removed and returned to work at the Economic Research Institute of the Chinese Academy of Sciences. At this time, he spent more than ten hours a day at his desk. In addition to completing accounting research tasks assigned by the institute, he voraciously read various journals and materials on philosophy, history, and international economics, as well as cutting-edge Western academic works, laying the groundwork for his future brilliant thoughts. "Setting out from anger and walking toward the distance" became his motto.
A month later, he began studying mathematics. Trained in Western economics, he easily grasped the essentials. He was ecstatic about the logic in mathematical reasoning, to the point of immersing himself and catching cold late at night. Soon, he began researching Western and Chinese history. It happened to coincide with a golden period of academic activity at the Central Party School. Although books were limited, he could directly read the original works of Keynes and Smith and retranslate Das Kapital himself.
When a person knows that he can't do anything else and has no utilitarian thoughts of applying his knowledge to practical affairs, ambition naturally disappears. He merely read books, took notes, and used brute force and clumsy efforts to solve his intellectual puzzles in a "desperate" manner.
He could not logically agree with the planned economic system: "The current set of rules is dogmatic, lacks continuity, and is not logically rigorous." He concluded that this theoretical system was "destined to collapse."
He had already seen that conspicuous red line. In his diary, he admonished himself, "But I can't continue; if I go on, something will go wrong." But he couldn't help himself and happily walked toward the direction of "something going wrong." He forcefully pushed open what Marx called "the door shared by hell and science"—once this door is opened, there can be no more cowardice or hesitation.
When he pushed the door open and entered, he already saw what would happen in the future. In 1964, he accurately predicted: "A major change in China's political atmosphere will begin a year later." "You must survive by staying under the eaves during the storm," he warned himself.
That was an era that could sweep people away. How could he, in the storm, crouch down and tightly hold onto these two stones without being blown away or even stained by its breath? Gu Zhun later said that his life that year made him develop the habit of "reading history." The advantage of this habit is that "you have to learn to judge everything yourself."
However, fate deliberately went against Gu Zhun. He ultimately did not avoid the storm and did not wait for that day.
Just when he was wholeheartedly advancing alone in the tunnel of thought, due to his personal friendships and work relationships with Zhang Wentian and Sun Yefang—both of whom had political problems—Gu Zhun was once again labeled a Rightist, becoming the only person in the country to be labeled a Rightist twice.
Thus, in the spring of 1965, Gu Zhun was taken from his home and sent down for reform through labor once again.
After 1960, he was labeled a Rightist for the second time, and nearly ten years passed with no diary entries left by Gu Zhun. Only fragmentary records can be found. Therefore, when the Red Guards asked him to write a confession during the Cultural Revolution, he wrote only two words on his big-character poster: "Reading history," and pasted it on the wall.
At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, in Mingcheng, Henan Province, investigators asked him to write materials explaining that someone had past ties with the Kuomintang. Gu Zhun said he had never heard of this matter. The other party immediately slapped him. He simply offered his face. After more than a dozen slaps, the person finally couldn't continue.
Wu Jinglian (吴敬琏), who was sent down with him, said: "I also clearly remember that during a groundless criticism meeting accusing him of 'laziness and cunning,' he raised his head high amidst the rain of fists, shouting 'I am not convinced'—I can still see his expression."
He could accept being labeled a "monster and demon" and a counterrevolutionary, but he did not accept moral defamation.
04
His wife, Wang Bi (汪璧), originally named Fang Caixiu (方采秀). When they married, they were both engaged in underground revolutionary work. Gu was nineteen; she was twenty. They fled together. At that time, he often published articles under the pen name "Huai Bi" (怀璧), full of affection. Gu Zhun once said that she was the only person to whom he could confide everything.
After he was dismissed, "I told her I felt somewhat lonely; she said that reading would make me not feel lonely—that was correct."
Every Saturday, she prepared a novel to read to him; he loved Andersen's Fairy Tales. When she went on a business trip, he wrote in his diary, "Melancholy and joyless." After he was labeled a Rightist and sent to Shangcheng, life became unbearable. "Received a letter from Xiu (秀); her words were formulaic. For the first time since coming to Shangcheng, I wept silently in the middle of the night."
These words break one's heart. She allowed Gu Zhun to use his forty yuan living allowance to buy books while her own salary was used to support five children and an elderly parent. He recorded that his only moments of forgetting sorrow were at 4:30 in the rainy and snowy early mornings, helping to light the fire in the outdoor kitchen. "The fire was strong, and I felt happy. For a moment, all the things I wanted to write about vanished from my mind—I was simply intoxicated."
Gu Zhun's mother was over eighty at this time. In the house, she muttered incoherently, repeating only one sentence: "Why am I not dead yet? Why am I not dead yet?" After returning from detention, he sent his mother to his sister's home in Shanxi. When leaving, his mother "stared fixedly at him for a long time."
That was their final farewell.
On the snowy night of the Little New Year, his wife proposed divorce, and he readily agreed. Fang Caixiu told family members that once his Rightist label was removed, they could remarry immediately. Gu Zhun held onto this hope with a kind of superstitious belief. They had discussed that, to protect the children, it was better to let them believe that their father was wrong.
They only met once after that. Seeing that she had lost all her teeth, her mouth sunken, her face sickly and extremely haggard.
Winter was cold. Gu Zhun wrote a letter saying he would come back to get some clothes. When he arrived at the door, he found all his belongings placed outside; the door was closed, and he knocked for a long time but couldn't open it. As he left, he slipped a savings passbook and grain coupons under the door. Back at his unit, he received a paper signed by his four children, severing the father-child relationship and transferring his household registration and grain ration. He wrote in his diary: "From now on, I won't even see their handwriting when they send grain coupons each month. I miss them."
In 1969, he sensed that something had happened to his wife.
Indeed, she was gone. Wang Bi had committed suicide because she was exposed for having "helped a counterrevolutionary destroy materials" five years earlier. She soaked all his manuscripts in water, kneaded them into pulp, and flushed them down the toilet. There were so many materials that the entire building's sewage pipes became clogged.
Her suicide note had only one sentence: "Helping a counterrevolutionary destroy materials is a crime deserving death." She did not leave any words to her children. Her son said that her divorce was for us children; she was extremely distressed and had suicidal thoughts before proposing divorce. Only Gu Zhun understood that "she could no longer hold on..."
He wrote that after hearing the news of her death, "I went to get food and eat. After a few bites, grief welled up, and I buried my face in the bowl, crying uncontrollably... But I still restrained myself and tried hard to finish the meal. I want to live on..."
In his diaries after that, he no longer had the previous unrestrained style, and almost no personal comments or descriptions can be seen. Only three times did he record "waking up from a dream, crying bitterly," all memories about his wife: "All the joyful moments in this life were given by her."
According to Luo Gengmo's (骆耕漠) recollection: "At that time, Gu Zhun was financially strapped, but he bought a double-headed desk lamp with two green glass shades. When asked why he bought a lamp with two heads, he was just silent and did not answer. Later we learned that he was commemorating his wife Wang Bi, who had passed away many years as if she were still sitting opposite him."
Wu Jinglian said: "Even on his last day of life, he said to me, 'In my whole life, I have only loved one person.'"
Before his death, Gu Zhun signed a confession. He cried and said it was a great humiliation to him, but perhaps it could improve his children's situation.
Gu Zhun once worked in the Chinese Academy of Sciences building at Sanlihe. Half of his ashes were scattered in the nearby river because, in his later years, he often strolled along this river. At that time, he still wore suspenders and always wore a white cloth lining taken from an old hat. No one knew why, and no one asked. Perhaps he was mourning his wife. We don't know, by this river, when his mind temporarily rested, and as dusk fell, when he walked back alone, how hopeless and tragic he felt.
But that was still 1974, and his children did not come to see him before he died.
On December 3, in a heavy wind and snow, he passed away. "I have forgiven you; I hope you will forgive me too." This was his last message to his children.
05
In the summer of 1972, Gu Zhun returned to Beijing. His wife, Wang Bi, had committed suicide four years earlier, and his children had severed relations with him. Like a stray dog, he had no choice but to live in a small room at the Chinese Academy of Sciences. In the last two years of his life, he went to the Beijing Library every day, reading extensively and taking notes.
Darkness was pervasive; a solitary lamp flickered. Gu Zhun advanced alone in the tunnel of thought.
In his correspondence with his younger brother, he wrote thick notes with "passionate enthusiasm," using what he called "the clumsy persistence of getting to the bottom of things," he wrote The Greek City-State System (《希腊城邦制度》) and From Idealism to Empiricism (《从理想主义到经验主义》). Wu Jinglian said that all his research actually pointed to "What should Nora do after leaving home?"—where should politics and the economy go after the proletarian revolution?
Gu Zhun himself wrote: Even if on this deep night, I am the only one still reading and writing, humanity still has hope.
Since the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, Gu Zhun and his colleagues at the Economic Institute of the Chinese Academy of Sciences were collectively sent down for labor reform at the cadre school. During those days, whether in summer or autumn, he wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and old green army shoes, busily working all day in the barren and hard fields, doing farm work that was utterly inefficient. His thin figure appeared so small and ridiculous on the vast North China Plain. No one knew that within this already abandoned body flowed a stubborn and clear-headed blood.
By this time, Gu Zhun was no longer the Gu Zhun of the past. Suffering had purified his soul, and the depth of his thinking had made him surpass all his contemporaries. This former accounting professor began to trace back. He studied pre-Qin philosophers like Han Feizi and Xunzi, studied the history of the French Revolution since the Middle Ages, and further traced back to the Greek city-state system. He wanted to understand the various choices and ways of thinking that humanity faced in the pursuit of democratic systems.
In November 1974, Gu Zhun knew that his end was near. At that time, the "catastrophe" seemed to show no signs of ending. In the bleak autumn wind, Gu Zhun called his 44-year-old "cadre school bunkmate" Wu Jinglian to his hospital bed. He calmly said, "I will not live much longer, so I want to have a long talk with you while I can still speak. After that, you don't need to come again." In this long conversation, Gu Zhun believed that China's "miracle of divine might" would definitely come, but he didn't know when it would arrive. Therefore, he gave Wu Jinglian four words: "Wait for the opportunity."
More than ten days later, Gu Zhun passed away. Wu Jinglian personally pushed him into the cold mortuary. This man, who would later become one of China's most influential economists, recalled: "This was the first time in my life that I witnessed a living life quietly disappearing. And the one who disappeared was such a person full of hatred for evil yet filled with love, overflowing with talent, and radiant—a life that couldn't help but make people feel sad... On my way home, I just felt that Gu Zhun was like a little bit of warm light, but he was gone. However, I think he still left us with light."
Through his own suffering, Gu Zhun told of the hardness and tenacity of life, and of the nonexistence of despair. After 1952, he was abandoned by that era. In the following 22 years, his life was messy and bleak; his status was lowly and despicable; his voice was faint and timid; he was disliked by his former comrades and appeared superfluous. But in the end, his existence became the last shred of dignity of that era.
We cannot know: if he had had an era that was relatively peaceful, with a desk, what could he have created?
Almost at the same time, as he was working diligently, the British economist Friedrich Hayek, who wrote The Road to Serfdom, was becoming the most renowned economist in the West for his advocacy of a free market economy. He would win the Nobel Prize in Economics in 1974. In the global intellectual community, a thorough reckoning with the rigid planned economic system had already entered the countdown.
After the Reform and Opening Up, when Wu Jinglian became a pioneer of China's market economic reform, he said: "Gu Zhun changed my entire life."
On February 9, 1980, Gu Zhun was "restored to reputation and completely rehabilitated." On that day, the Chinese Academy of Sciences held a memorial service for him and his wife, Wang Bi. Gu Zhun ultimately became the person who did not reach the destination.
06
Reflecting on Gu Zhun's persecutions, although each time there were specific reasons, they were all unreasonable and absurd. However, at the time, they were inevitable, or one might say, logical. Gu Zhun was naturally out of step with the times, outstanding and unordinary, exceptionally talented yet studious and deep-thinking. Thought leads to suffering, and suffering, in turn, leads to further thought. The repeated persecutions pushed Gu Zhun to reflect more deeply on the revolution to which he had once devoted himself. Moreover, his reflections were not just discussing matters superficially or skimming the surface; he delved further into the philosophical foundations and historical roots that caused his suffering.
In the 1980s, China began a social and political transformation, returning to the mainstream of human civilization. To promote this process, a group of intellectuals became the torchbearers at the forefront of national awakening. With their wisdom and courage, they raised torches that broke through the darkness and led the future. However, Gu Zhun bid farewell to this world before the dawn appeared. Even so, his thoughts participated in the process of national awakening, and his posthumous works, like sparks, were used by later generations to ignite torches. In the future progress of Chinese civilization, Gu Zhun's thoughts will continue to shine.
At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, before Sun Yefang (孙冶方) was imprisoned, he and Gu Zhun lived in the cowshed together and labored together. Gu Zhun said to Sun Yefang: "Anyway, I've suffered so much; I don't want to implicate you anymore. I have no blood on my hands." The latter sentence can probably only be understood by those who have lived through extraordinary times. In successive political movements, many trend-chasers became tainted with filth and could no longer remain pure. Few people truly lived out their own selves. But Gu Zhun, who could reflect on revolution and idealism in the darkest times, was a saint. Li Shenzhi (李慎之) said that Gu Zhun was the only decent intellectual in China during the 1960s and 1970s.
In September 1994, The Collected Works of Gu Zhun (《顾准文集》) was published. In September 1997, The Diary of Gu Zhun (《顾准日记》) was published. After Gu Zhun's books were published, a "Gu Zhun whirlwind" swept through China's intellectual and ideological circles. Mr. Li Shenzhi said that Gu Zhun actually dismantled his own ribs to use as torches to illuminate the darkness.
Are past events like smoke?
Revised on December 5, 2020
This translation is an independent yet well-intentioned effort by the China Thought Express editorial team to bridge ideas between the Chinese and English-speaking worlds. The original text is available on wechat “往事如烟乎” Kindly attribute the translation if referenced
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