Writing history, in the humblest sense of the word, is above all a process of dating events, inscribing them in a chronology. Yet this framework, empty and elementary though it may appear, possesses nonetheless properties of its own, somewhat as real extension, the domain of orientation and weight, differs from pure geometrical space. Concrete time, too, has certain qualities, qualities which are not necessarily everywhere the same, and which take their configuration from the conception of the world particular to each civilization. These local cosmologies remain implicit for the most part, even though they frequently give rise to doctrines which can be highly complex. Philosophers and theologians have framed such constructions, basing them to a certain extent on the body of astronomical knowledge which they found at their disposal. But these scholarly interpretations do not limit themselves to a mere translation of the factual data that an observation of the stars could provide. The astronomical data serve as simple points of orientation for the elaboration of vast graphs, on whose empty expanses the vicissitudes of history would trace their paths. These constructions are like niches erected in advance, awaiting the events to come, an immutable order of vintages to which the individual is so thoroughly accustomed that he finds it impossible even to conceive of a different disposition.

Of all the nations in the East, the Chinese have had and still have the keenest awareness of the function of history, influencing, to a lesser extent, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, etc.

The best evidence of this is the fact that events which occurred in China have been continuously recorded by the Chinese, chronologically and with accuracy as to dates, with greater and greater precision as time went on, up to today. We know that the First Emperor of the Ch'in Empire, the founder of United China, died on the 7th day of the 7th month of the 37th year of his reign, i.e., 210 B.C., just as we know that Sun Yat-sen died on March 12, 1925. We also know that the date of the T'ang Emperor Hsüantsung's retreat from his capital to avoid rebellious troops was the 13th day of the 6th month of the 15th year of T'ien-pao (if transferred to the Julian Calendar, July 14, 756 A.D.), just as we know that the date of the Empress Dowager's retreat from Peking to avoid the Boxers was August 15, 1900. Furthermore, we know that on that unfortunate morning in 756 it was raining.

My study cannot give more than some comments on a very extensive theme that requires a number of studies which have not even been precisely formulated, as yet. I should like to show that the specific thought pattern, the specific perception of reality, intrinsic to a specific cultural category—that which is the predominant one in the given cultural complex—influences all other categories and determines their nature. I want to illustrate my thesis on the relationship between literature and history. With some exaggeration I would formulate my thesis as follows : as literature is, so is history; the same perception of reality is in the background of both and determines their form. I will limit myself to this theme and I will not deal with the causes determining the differences of pattern in various fields of a certain culture; I will not attempt to solve the philosophical and sociological problems, neither will I seek for further connections in the total cultural complex, with which I illustrate my thesis, that is the Chinese cultural complex, although it would not be too difficult.

The East has not been a cultural unit as a whole. In the East there have been several cultural areas, the most important of which must have been those centering in India and in China. Japan has a peculiar and unique significance of her own in comparison with these two.

The notion of history differs greatly according to these cultural areas. We shall discuss them one by one.

Among the many problems suggested by the theme of the symposium, there is one in particular which seems capable of shedding light on the fundamental attitude of Chinese historians to their documents : On what foundations does the notion of the Middle Empire—the counterpart of the Greek ombilikon—rest?

This notion is certainly familiar to anyone who examines the documents and who knows that a historian always attributes peculiar features to his own country. Basing himself on a long tradition, he sometimes contrasts the civilized with the barbarians, and sometimes he distinguishes the strong from the weak, arguing from ephemeral junctures of circumstances.

The problem of leaders and followers is a famous one in intellectual history. Marx once remarked wryly that he was not a Marxist. Dostoevski and Kierkegaard, in mordant moments, saw Christians severed from Jesus. What was the relation between Confucius (551-479 B.C.), an ineffective political adviser in a disintegrating feudal society, and the enormously influential Confucianists in the later highly organized bureaucratic imperial regimes?

The most ancient Turkish texts known to us at the present day consist of inscriptions carved onto tombstones, which are to be found in Central Asia, in territories, where, from the fifth century of the Christian era, vast confederations of Turkish tribes, comprising nomad shepherds and soldiers, had formed powerful States, which, strongly national in character, promoted the development of a truly original culture.

Fiction and myth have been used for centuries in writing history as well as in making it. And this is not surprising; for Clio was not only the muse of history but also that of epic poetry. This personal union of the two functions shows that the Greeks may have felt what we know today, thanks to the additional experience of twenty-five hundred years: that in historiography as well as in its subject matter, history as reality, it is not always possible to draw a neat line of demarcation between historical truth and poetical fiction. History as res scriptae is, and has to be, a product of documentation and imagination. If this imagination is subjected to logical methodology, it will result in “scientific” history, in which the word “science” has to be interpreted in that liberal sense proposed by Collingwood, as “any organized body of knowledge.” If, on the contrary, the imaginative component of historiography is abandoned to poetical fancy, it will result in mythological history. Finally, if the imagination of the historian is guided by the conscious, half-conscious or sub-conscious wish to influence and manipulate the readers’ minds, the result will be ideological history.

The epistemological situation of the human sciences today is characterized by a state of dismemberment corresponding very closely to the very dislocation of the present world. For all science of man is a knowledge of man.

The need for unification of this knowledge is, therefore, also an aspect of the urgent demand for world unification, and for a reconciliation of man with his fellows and with himself. Having predetermined this need, the importance of the task to be undertaken comes to the forefront; at the same time, its limitations are marked. Carrying such a reflection to its conclusion implies a gathering together of the human community: a state of affairs certainly very far from the present political and social universe.