1

I came across Ip Hon Leung’s books about Chinese Astrology quite by chance.

I had just started moving from Hong Kong to the UK, but still had a lot of chances to return from time to time.

One thing I will miss about Hong Kong is the easy availability of the public libraries, with their collection of Chinese books.

So I lent towards reading more Chinese books while I was here in Hong Kong.

A film had come out about people whose dream it was to write lyrics for Cantonese pop songs. This is also a long-standing interest of mine, and I am pleased to discover (via a news story from Ming Pao) two local authors, Mr Wong and Prof Chu, who have written some excellent analyses of lyrics in the “golden era” of Cantopop in the 1980s-90s.

Through this, I discovered that one of the authors of many of my favourite lyrics, Ip Hon Leung, is also someone deeply interested (and who wrote a lot about) Chinese Astrology. I read about his extraordinary career a few clicks later (through 3 biographical essays); and also that Ip has written not 1, but 5 (of an intended 9 books) on the subject.

Ip also has a website with a sample of essays that are witty and engaging. It was a work of a moment for me to use all my library quota to order all his published works from around the public libraries in Hong Kong.

2

I used to regard Astrology (and the like) as nonsense, but changed my mind after reading a dialogue (【對談】佛學、哲學、命理學）) between Prof W Wong 王偉雄 (analytic philosophy) and Prof Shiu 邵頌雄 (Buddhist studies) on the subject.

Prof Shiu is a very learned gentleman who writes excellent Chinese and who has written very well-received books about Classical music (Bach and Horowitz). Unlike many Chinese language commentators, he is himself musical, and writes with references to an impressive range of sources and materials.

The authors Prof Shiu recommends in his essays (e.g. 黃牧) are consistently high quality. So I was intrigued by his persuasive (but somewhat high level) arguments about how Chinese Astrology is not necessarily an irrational practice.

In gist, Prof Shiu’s points are mostly negative. It is incorrect to regard Astrology as being able to help people predict any particular outcomes. The benefit of practising Astrology is not unlike the benefit of wide reading: it takes you out of your narrow circumstances and mental models of the world, and encourages you to think out of the box. As to why this way of thinking out of the box or others, he did not expressly elaborate.

Soon, other interests took over and I thought no more about it. By that point I had been a fully-signed up Christian for almost a decade. In my case, this means fundamental matters of religion/atheism/occult had not occupied me for a while.

My interest in Chinese Astrology was more from a perspective of understanding Chinese culture in all its multifaceted glories. So, bearing in mind Ip is such an excellent author, discovering his series of books was a god-send in terms of my interests and persuasions.

3

Ip’s personal background (as described by himself and by Fung) also immediately endeared him to me as a reader.

Ip is a Hong Kong University graduate in the 1970s. University entrance was very selective then, and the lucky few who ended up in HKU usually ended up with extremely successful professional lives. They occupy large chunks of the professional elites of Law, Medicine, Accountancy, and much besides: some of whom I had come across myself. It was something of a fabled generation, a projection of the possibilities and failures of a local Hong Kong elite, the subject of many Hong Kongers’ love and hate.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the HKU graduates I meet are usually professional at the peak of their careers, often with quite conventional views of success and failures (as reflected by the fact that their children are usually encouraged to follow similar or even identical career paths as themselves).

In comparison, Ip’s life story came as a breath of fresh air. He graduated in an easy job market but still couldn’t find a role for months: because he refused to change his Afro hair. He got a gig as a teacher, but somehow or other, winded up working in the entertainment industry.

From there, because Ip’s employer at the time needed someone to write lyrics, and he had studied literature at university, Ip ended up penning some of the most unforgettable lines in Canto pop.

Further career opportunities followed, ranging from cameo roles in (again now classic) Hong Kong films, as well as Chief Executive of one of Hong Kong’s longest standing radio stations.

Ip’s clear passion for reading is also a clear plus for me. In Volume 0 of his book on Chinese Astrology, he keeps emphasising that Astrology is just a pastime for the ancient Chinese literati: it should be accorded no more, perhaps much less, importance than other interests and hobbies, such as music, sports or Mahjong.

Furthermore, the path of getting good with Astrology is through an understanding of the historical context it was written, i.e. the pre-Modern Chinese Empire. As someone who has spent much of his teens with his nose in Chinese classics, this was music to my ears.

4

It is almost certainly an over-simplified misrpresentation, but what I take away from Ip’s 5 books on first reading are as follows:

  • Astrology was originally invented by bored Chinese literati as a role-playing game (not unlike dungeon-and-dragons) based on their reflections on the politics of the imperial Chinese Court.

  • That is why all the “stars” are (or should be) understood as various roles in pre-Modern Chinese society, e.g. Zi Wei (The Emperor), the Chief Commander, the Minister, the Attorney.

  • Your “Fate”, to the extent it is determined by your time of birth, is not susceptible to any change (the relevant discusssion was in Volume 0). That is the intellectual and logical basis of Astrology. It is illogical to think one can “gain” any secret knowledge/advantage from knowing your fate. The lesson of Astrology is just to understand and accept things that you cannot change, and feel better about yourself.

  • The common sayings about different stars/different fates are heavily influenced by conventional prejudices in ancient Chinese society. One must understand them imaginatively to apply them to contemporary circumstnacs.

For example, the idea that one should avoid the difficult and the risky, in favour of the easy and the certain. These are just idealised ways for the ancient Chinese to think about their lives: a narrow ideal where one studies hard, passes imperial exams with high grades, and enjoy a luxurious, state-sponsored life-style (which in modern terms invovlve a degree of corruption).

These values are no longer necessarily applicable today in a competitive society: in fact, it probably didn’t fully apply in the past either, when dark office politics revolve around someone who has never held a title except son of heaven and emperor of earth.

In any case, the very idea of divining our own fate to gain advantage for ourselves is in many ways primitive and should not be encouraged.

In Volume 0, Ip observed that in Greek culture, the tragedies often involve heroes (like Oedipus) who tries to fight but ultimately succumb to their fate. They are not treated (as some superstitious Chinese might) as losers in a prediction game: someone who could have avoided their fate but failed to.

Instead, they are correctly put forward as heroes, who stuck to their values and did the best they could despite the ultimate failure of their efforts. Humanity as a whole often advances because idealists put the ideals before themselves: something almost entirely wholly brushed aside by a certain kind of Chinese Astrology.

5

Even though I enormously enjoyed Ip’s books, I am myself not tempted to find out or divine my own “fate”. In fact, according to Ip, he wasn’t interested either. He claims only to have had his “fate” read three times. The first time he did so of his own accord (and received no substantial answer): the second and third times he was chatting on-air with various Astrologists/Fung Shui masters as a TV host, and the guests offered a few words of wisdom in passing.

But one enduring thought I took away from Ip was a fundamentally difference in perspective that marked much of traditional written Chinese culture: whether the writer is speaking as someone in Court (在朝) or someone in the wild (在野).

At its core (and as per the common understanding of 在朝), being in Court meant holding a position at the imperial Court: by extension this meant occupying some outward position of success, e.g. holding a high title in Government, being a successful businessman, or more broadly being placed in a position of responsibility.

Being in the wild is the opposite of that. Literati who failed his exams; who left imperial service to return home to his local farm; or more broadly people who haven’t found/feel they haven’t found their place in their career/their life.

Ip, I think, makes a good point that responds well to this distinction: wherever you are, don’t take yourself too seriously. To get your foot “in court” in the first place, one needs not only talent and hard work, but also a bit of luck. Staying in court requires some times adriot handlign of various kinds of inter-personal conflicts and relationships, which not everybody enjoys.

Similiarly, if one ends up in the wild, it is not necessarily a reflection of one’s talents. There is also freedom from responsibility and the time and leisure to invent that comes with being int the wild too. One can truly think out of the box, which is not easy when one is bound up with activities and responsibilities.

6

To me, that distinction (and refelction) applies particularly well to the place of Chinese culture in my own life, as one of the last children of colonial Hong Kong.

Traditional Chinese, as I was growing up in the 2000s, was very much a culture “in the wild”. Commerce and Governance (and for that matter pop culture too) was dominated by British and American influences. Chinese was either uncool (the pre-modern Imperial kind) or vaguely meancing (the cultural revolution Mainland kind).

In fact, when my parents grew up in the 70s, there had to be a protest movement for the British Government to recognise Chinese as a official language in Hong Kong. This Chinese-language Movement 中文運動 was happening at around the same time of other, rather more violent, movements were happening across the Shenzhen river.

But Chinese (of all kinds) in the 2020s is now firmly “in court”. China is now an important economic and political power. And a generation of people who grew up in an ever-more prosperous Mainland China (sprinkled with liberal political censorship) are madly in love with an idealised imperial past, complete with glitzy historical TV and well-choreographed Tang poetry game shows.

Yet this is the (Cantonese) Chinese I grew up with and loved as a child. It is I Ching being taught to my parents by a brilliant but sad Professor at a small college for A-level students. It is classical poetry being taught to them as they were composed anew by the Professor and his coterie of friends, often from families that were wealthy from back when Qing was still an empire. It was their circles of friends who fell in love with Chinese and its culture, while they were being decimated by the horrors of the Cultural Revolution. It is something that never has had any serious political/academic support, whether from Beijing, Taipei, or Cambridge (in the UK or America). Something that was destined to fade out in colonial Hong Kong.

In my teenage mind, I used to quietly rage that my brand of learning (which now I see is just some distorted fragments influenced by my parents) was never recognised in any school or by anyone anywhere in the world.

But now I see it as the inevitable. What little learning I had was not supported by any academic environment I had access to. It was never going to flourish in any ordinary way.

And there are upsides to being in the wild too. If I had excelled in academic Chinese, I would probably have studied it at university and joined the Chinese cultural water-wheel. Not an easy career in the current environment.

And, taking a further step back, Chinese culture, whether classical or contemporary, no matter whether it is defined by Beijing, Taipiei, or either Cambridges, is in the wild on a global scale.

Greco-Roman-Judeo-Christian, or colloquially “Western”, culture is in Court, and will stay there for a considerable time.

Contrary to what some of my friends on the left will say, this is not just because of colonialism or American hegemony. Like it or not, the key political and scientific ideas originated in Europe, and even contemporary criticisms and responses to it are from within that cultural tradition.

Until the Chinese speaking (or other) cultural spheres come up with better ideas, “Western” culture is going to stay in court, and others can only edge there way in on the margins.

So in some ways, reading Ip (and all the books that led me to him) taught me something that I would not have learnt even if I won the most prized scholarships to (say) Peking University: the truism that we need to enjoy the Wild as well as being in Court.

7

Shortly after/parallel to Ip, I came across and consumed a series of comics by the author 周春才 about various topics in traditional culture, chiefly surrounding Chinese medicine and the I Ching.

I applaud Zhou for his unwavering belief in the uniqueness of Chinese culture and the possibility for it to stand as a meaningful contender for the position in Court with eastern (read Chinese) culture (For this point see 漫畫陰陽學之天圓地方).

I disagree, but find Zhou’s comics an excellent read: all the difficult original texts are summarised so accurately, (to my eyes) warts and all, in his simple illustrations.

It occured to me that perhaps the correct thing to say about Chinese medicine or the I Ching is not that they are repositories of great and unique wisdom. But rather they are fascinating dungeon-and-dragon like stories to think about.

For example, it seems to be a core belief in Chinese medicine that the body is a mirror of nature. And that one can reason about the body as one could (for example) reason about the seasons.

To my mind, as a serious factual claim, this is impossible to swallow.

But, compared with our limited understanding about the body, isn’t it nice to imagine (say) different parts of my face corresponding to different seasons?

Similiarly, I do not accept that the Bagua of I Ching somehow holds some secret scientific key to all universe. But isn’t reading about all the stories of each of the 64 guas an interesting free-association exercise about what imageries one can conjure up with the sky, the earth, the thunder, the mountain, the wind, the sun, the tree, and the river (common associations of the 8 key guas)?

Of course, as regards free association, Chinese culture is not so unique: Greek and medieval Europe have similiar systems of beliefs, as do (I am sure) many cultures around the world.

As part of our identity and heritage, we should love and cherish our culture. But this should not lead to any ill informed and jingoistic claims against other cultures. We can only be happy if we accept our place(s) in the wild along with other cultures.

8

This is however not to say we should not cherish our own culture or not give it a special place in our own lives.

As Mary Rose Cook wrote in “Is this a good book for me, now?”, the context under which we meet books is probably more important than the content of the book itself. The content may be excellent but we are just not in the time and place to appreciate it; a bad book for us now may have been a good book for someone at another level.

Ditto culture. Unless we invest the time (and sometimes learn the language), we probably can’t go very deep into any culture other than our own. So (provided it has a large user base and is well supported by, e.g. a strong written culture) we may as well use what is at hand.

For all its faults, Chinese does have one of the world’s longest written cultures, and is still being spoken and written by a lot of speakers.

In fact, I disagree with a common saying amongst popular texts that the essence of Chinese culture comes from its Yin/Yang, five-elements or bagua (different signs from I Ching) quasi-mathematical ways of thinking.

Yin/Ynang, five-elements or bagua, on their own, are just empty logical systems; placeholders for substantive thought. Given their broadness and flexibility, one can probably reason to any conclusion they like with these symbolic systems. They are just the surface layer of Chinese culture.

The true value, or (if you like) wisdom, of the culture comes from how people across the ages have recorded their thoughts and responses in the language of these systems.

Apart from helping understanding what was being said by previous authors, the mode of expression is unimportant: the substantial domain knowledge is.