Understanding Archaeology

Abstract

The study of archaeology invites a moment of introspection. Situating within a cultural context usually deprives us of our ability to remain objective. To understand archaeology, one should widen the lens and explore its greater connections, delving beneath the superficial to uncover the skeletal structure. The structure can be the zeitgeist or the spirit of the times, or it can be other conceptual frameworks that describe the cognitive patterns of an era. In contemplating archaeology, we may gain not only an understanding but also a serene appreciation with millions of years of history in mind. When we contemplate archaeology, we appreciate its beauty.

The study of archaeology invites a moment of introspection. Situating within a cultural context usually deprives us of our ability to remain objective. In this sense, to understand archaeology, one should widen the lens and explore its greater connections, delving beneath the superficial to uncover the skeletal structure. The structure can be the zeitgeist or the spirit of the times, or it can be other conceptual frameworks that describe the cognitive patterns of an era. Even though I am a professional archaeologist, I have always been undetermined about what archaeology is and what it can be. I want to examine the nature of archaeology to grasp the various entangled factors that have shaped the discipline. There is so much I wish to explore but so little I can grasp. In contemplating archaeology, we may gain not only an understanding but also a serene appreciation with millions of years of history in mind. When we contemplate archaeology, we appreciate its beauty.

1.1 Humanity and Social Science, What to Research?

The term “Doctor of Arts” within Chinese cyberspace has curiously earned itself a derogatory undertone. Why is that, one might ask? Well, a closer examination of the conceptual context reveals an underlying implication that the humanities and social sciences, more affectionately known as the “liberal arts”, are somewhat lacking in utility. Furthermore, critics suggest a dearth of objectivity in research within these disciplines, which apparently renders them untestable. Some critics go as far as to cast doubt upon the logic underpinning liberal arts research and question the scientific literacy of the researchers. Hence, while the humanities and social sciences bear the moniker of “science”, critics contend they are, in essence, unscientific. In other words, they are neither useful nor scientific and, by default, unworthy. It should be noted that these criticisms are often made by people who are not ignorant but rather by those who are “scientifically literate”. After all, in our modern era so saturated with science, one would think twice before daring to present an argument against it. Confronted with such scepticism, many scholars within the humanities and social sciences adopt a somewhat submissive stance: “Indeed, indeed! The subjects we explore in our disciplines are inherently complex and perhaps less “scientific”, and we are, of course, striving to enhance our methodologies”. As if to say, “Yes, we understand. We’ll keep quiet and stay in our lane”. And yet, one can’t help but question: is such submissiveness necessary, or is there more to this tale than meets the eye?

Yet, we might ask, what indeed is science? As the renowned philosopher of science, Karl Popper, astutely observed, science does not equate to verification. A hypothesis can only be falsified, not proven. At times, we may even question whether falsification is within our grasp. In recent years, a team of European scientists boldly claimed to have discovered an entity that outpaced light, effectively debunking Einstein’s theory of relativity. Yet, other scientists cast doubt upon the reliability of this experiment, eventually unearthing a defective chip in the observation instrument. So, how do we falsify a hypothesis? With facts, you might suggest. Yet, are facts not the results of human observation and perception and, thus, susceptible to fallibility?

Shen Kuo,¹ the most scientifically minded man of the Song dynasty, observed that a lightning strike had knocked down an ancient tree and found a “thunder axe” (in fact, a Neolithic stone axe) in the pit of the tree, proving that there was a link between the stone axe and the lightning strike. As often said, seeing is believing, but what we see here is not true. The historical research we are doing is far from verifying the truth. If we cannot go back in time, what then is historical “truth”? If we can never achieve truth, then what exactly are we seeking? In this collection of essays, like the child in The Emperor’s New Clothes, I wish to expose the fundamentals of humanities and social science research and explore what it is about. This will influence the methods we should use in our research.

Before answering the question of what social science research is about, I shall first address the question of what social science research is for. Over the past hundred years, China has undergone radical changes. Some people describe it in terms of a thirty-year cycle, which I think is quite appropriate. From 1919 to 1949, China deftly rescued itself from colonisation, forging a new nation from the fires of tumult. Chinese historian Huang Renyu² offers us a keen observation, arguing that during this period, China effectively erected a modern state superstructure. The subsequent thirty years, spanning from 1949 to 1979, marked China’s assertion of independence and the creation of a comprehensive industrial system. According to Huang Renyu, these decades saw the completion of the construction of the modern state’s substructure. The land reform³ from 1950, followed by a series of social movements, fundamentally reshaped China’s basic social organisation. From 1979 to 2009, China embarked on a journey of self-reinvention. While Huang Renyu may not discuss the extent of this change, it’s fair to say that during these years, China managed to foster the growth of a modern state’s middle class, thereby giving rise to the largest middle class in the world. For the sake of clarity, I’d define the middle class as those individuals possessing a good education or trained skills, earning a stable professional income within the societal division of labour, and who can comfortably shoulder the costs of housing and travel. This burgeoning middle class forms the bedrock of China’s future stability and development. As we stride into the forthcoming thirty-year cycle, perhaps we might name it the era of self-strengthening. Looking ahead to 2039, we have every reason to believe that China, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, will emerge as a major global force.

This example is one that we Chinese audience are all familiar with. The sweeping changes we’ve witnessed haven’t come about by happenstance but have been the byproducts of intellectual movements. These movements have been championed by the likes of Sun Yat-sen, Mao Zedong, Deng Xiaoping, and a succession of political leaders. These ideological shifts, aligning with the zeitgeist, are true accomplishments within the realm of the humanities and social sciences. Without this intellectual advancement, we wouldn’t have seen the transformative societal changes that have taken place, nor would we find ourselves where we stand today. Are the humanities and social sciences of any use? They influence the life and death of a community, the rise and fall of a country, the stability and turmoil of society, and the very ebb and flow of human joy and sorrow. It is indeed regrettable that those who despise the humanities and social sciences turn a blind eye to their significance and simply evaluate all with a purportedly “scientific” scale, thereby restricting their understanding of the world to a rather narrow spectrum.

In light of this, let’s return to our original enquiry: what is the subject of study in humanities and social sciences? As the names imply, these disciplines are concerned with human beings and the societies they cultivate. Researchers are, in themselves, part of the very society they study, rendering complete detachment impossible. Despite fervent calls for objectivity, value-free, and absence of personal biases, it’s crucial to remember that this so-called “objectivity” is a value in and of itself. This feigned impartiality often cloaks insensitivity to injustice, oozing an air of superiority. The confluence of value judgements and humanities and social sciences is inevitable. A veneer of objectivity that refuses to distinguish between right and wrong is simply a form of self-delusion. Research in the humanities and social sciences demands a breadth of perspectives and in-depth reflection. The values of each society are the fruits of their historical and current developments, intimately connected with cultural traditions and current contexts. Can we find universal values across human societies? Perhaps, but they are likely to be few. The heterogeneity across societies should be acknowledged and respected. Therefore, for a scholar in the humanities and social sciences, upholding certain values is of paramount importance. As the old Chinese proverb reminds us, “Commanders can be captured in battle, but a person’s will cannot be seized”, meaning individuals should not lose their willpower and their unique standpoint. Historically, the academic achievements of those studying natural sciences can be separated from their individuality. Once a scholar in the humanities loses their ethics, the value of their work diminishes significantly.

Indeed, humans are enigmatic, and the societies they form are even more complex. Modern science still struggles to fully grasp concepts such as consciousness, will, and emotions. Social issues further compound this complexity, and to date, no universally applicable social law has been identified. Even if such a law were to exist, its testing within the society of the tester would be impossible. The market economy, for instance, is a social construct, but its application yields varied results across different societies—some thrive, others falter. Its effective implementation requires a unique blend of human wisdom. Due to the vast complexity of human societies, the variables for a researcher to comprehend are overwhelming. In such a labyrinthine system, precise calculation is unattainable. We can perhaps only resort to holistic, fuzzy judgement. Often, leading figures in the humanities and social sciences are those endowed with the foresight and vision to make long-term predictions. These individuals don’t pluck ideas from thin air, but rather they have a deep understanding of social development rules, and current social trends and conduct extensive research and fieldwork. But we must also remember that despite the wealth of information at our disposal, it’s never enough to capture the full complexity of people and society. Paradoxically, an overabundance of information can sometimes breed confusion. Their inferences aren’t solely rooted in logical deduction but also necessitate intuitive, holistic judgement. Take, for instance, Mao Zedong’s pamphlet, On Protracted War,⁴ during the Chinese People’s War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression. Mao accurately grasped the wartime situation, whereas some esteemed historians proposed that China would crumble under the strain of the war with Japan, suggesting surrender as the more prudent option. Mao, however, argued that resistance, even to the point of death, should be our response when we are faced with an enemy who ruthlessly massacred our compatriots. This, he believed, should be the spirit of the Chinese people. Those with a deep appreciation of history should understand the ebb and flow of historical trends and recognise that Japanese imperialism was never meant to last.

The pedagogical tradition of ancient China has always held a reverence for expansive knowledge and profound comprehension. In fact, certain scholars were able to recite by heart the annotations in Thirteen Classics,⁵ which is truly remarkable. Yet, the very cornerstone of humanistic thought needed to catalyse modern social change and scientific revolution did not originate on Chinese soil. Reading Rousseau’s Confessions, we find that this Enlightenment philosopher had received scant formal education. Similarly, Spinoza’s educational background was unremarkable. One might wonder why there is such a divergence between Chinese and Western education. The answer might lie in the humanities and social sciences’ significant emphasis on verstehen, the German concept of understanding. To acquire this understanding, experience and practice are paramount. Without being in touch with social realities and having a keen eye for observing nature, how can one ever hope to gain genuine insight? This is particularly pertinent given the Qing government’s isolationist policy.⁶

In many respects, the humanities and social sciences seem more akin to a set of practices or abilities rather than concrete knowledge. That’s why some believe that all one needs to study humanities and social sciences is a well-stocked library. This notion resonates with me. A former Harvard president once claimed that given sufficient funding to establish a university, he would initially build a grand library and only hire professors with the remaining funds. Having been a student myself for two or three decades, I wholeheartedly echo this sentiment. I have often pondered upon what I truly learned within the confines of a classroom. Teachers often appear more like guides, with the imparted knowledge quickly evaporating from memory. It is the palpable yet unrecordable classroom atmosphere that seems to exert a more profound influence. The education within humanities and social sciences appears to work subliminally, with the teachers’ temperament, style, and wisdom subtly influencing the students and leaving a more lasting imprint than the taught knowledge. In this sense, humanities and social sciences offer a form of spiritual training, fostering a person’s values and nurturing sound judgement. Prolific reading is undeniably an effective pedagogical approach, offering a breadth of perspectives and insights across various disciplines. Therefore, students in the humanities never seem to have enough books. Despite being unable to read all of them, they continue to amass more. In contrast, natural science students’ bookshelves are often adorned with professional textbooks. For them, mastering the underlying principles is vital, reflecting the divergent aims of the two fields. Of course, students of natural sciences would also argue that science itself is a form of cultivation, a notion that harks back to ancient Greek science, which was a form of cultivation grounded in the humanities, albeit having since diverged.

Contemporary humanities and social sciences are beginning to resemble natural sciences. When publishing an article, the absence of at least a few statistical charts or models is often viewed as a shortcoming, undermining its scientific credibility. If no graphical representation is provided, it should at least show that the conclusion has been derived through logical reasoning. These mathematical and logical transformations are leading to the convergence of humanities and social sciences with the natural sciences. But pondering over it, do we understand life any better than our predecessors? Do we have a better grasp of human nature? Is our society superior to ancient ones? Are there fewer tragedies in modern human societies? Confronted with these questions, we waver in confidence. Is scientific progress always steadfast and continuous? If humanities and social sciences cannot advance in the same vein as natural sciences, are we on the wrong path? I can’t profess to have the answers. Like the innocent child in “The Emperor’s New Clothes”, I’m merely asking: is there really truth beneath that shiny veneer? If there is no truth, why pretend to seek it? If the goal is not truth, then what are we truly studying?

When we look back at human society’s historical trajectory, the significant contributions of humanities and social sciences become evident. The philosopher Zhang Zai⁷ aptly encapsulates the objectives of intellectuals: “to ordain conscience for Heaven and Earth, to secure life and fortune for the people, to continue lost teachings for past sages, to establish peace for all future generations”.

1.2 Humanities, Social Sciences, and Sciences

The term “science” often conjures a sense of awe, representing an impartial and supreme standard. We’re instilled, from a young age, with a love and respect for science, urged to further its progress. When I embarked on a university degree in archaeology, I too aspired to these scientific ideals, and I noticed the same in my cohort. Many of them, however, chose to depart from archaeology, partly because it lacked the semblance of “science”. The nature of archaeology, even amidst the concrete remains of an excavation, seemed incredibly subjective. Determining whether a pit was round or square, big or small, or even the naming of artefacts, all hinged on the excavator’s understanding. Even if these understandings were flawed, once they were inscribed in the report, they became “objective material”. This is, of course, merely a matter of perception, and it is correctable. But perhaps the deeper disappointment lies in the aims of archaeology. What tangible outcomes can archaeology yield? Despite identifying with science, at least broadly, we’ve not produced the hard-hitting results of pure sciences. Nor is archaeology as practical as economics or law, with their real-world problem-solving capabilities or their potential to create more prosperous lives for us and our loved ones. Thus, giving up archaeology seems a more sensible choice.

Despite these odds, I didn’t give up and instead opted for a seemingly more “scientific” branch of archaeology—Palaeolithic archaeology, which delves into the origins and evolution of human culture. In China, Palaeolithic archaeology usually nestles under the umbrella of natural sciences. Later, as my fascination for archaeological theory blossomed, my research sphere gradually widened to encompass Chinese prehistory in general. However, the more I researched, the more doubts surfaced. Are the goals of archaeology genuinely scientific? Is archaeology a science, per se? These queries led me to reflect on the fields of humanities and social science research in general. I’ve come to acknowledge that the humanities and social sciences do not fit the mould of “sciences” in the narrow or strict sense. We needn’t, nor should we, impose such a label on them. We should be like the child in “The Emperor’s New Clothes”, courageously voicing our thoughts. In an era brimming with scientific development, this could be seen as foolish, anti-scientific, or even heretical. I harbour no grudge against science, and I don’t oppose the use of scientific methods in humanities and social research. What I take issue with is labelling humanities and social research, including archaeology, as “science”.

Why do I assert that the humanities and social sciences aren’t “sciences”? To address this, we first need to pin down a definition for “science”. “science” has been the subject of endless debates, and probing this topic plunges us into the realm of philosophy. Here, I employ “science” in its colloquial sense, rooted in the general impression that science evokes. It’s a nebulous yet specific term that significantly influences our judgement and actions. Our impressions of “science” at least comprise the following: science is objective, rational, and logical; its goal is to unearth truth, and hence, it holds universal significance, unfettered by time, place, or person. A case in point is a recent interview with the historian He Zhaowu (1921–2021), conducted when he was 99. The article was titled “If truth contradicts national conditions, it’s not the truth that needs to change, but the national conditions”. Truth is paramount. As ancient Western philosophers would argue: the pursuit of truth is a human duty. The title of this article is provocative, but its validity hinges on the premise that such truths genuinely exist in social and cultural development.

Regrettably, we are yet to unearth such truths. Market economies might dominate today’s world, and the belief that the invisible hand of the market can distribute resources most effectively is deeply ingrained. But the reality is that a market economy is simply one type of economic development, relatively efficient but not uniquely so, and it doesn’t universally succeed at all times and places—failures are far from rare. The market economy assumes that people are rational and their goal is to amass wealth. However, this assumption isn’t universally valid. People aren’t always rational, and their goals don’t necessarily align with market principles. Even when a market economy is highly successful, it’s a product of modernisation, merely a fleeting moment in the grand scale of human history. For 99% of human history, markets didn’t exist. There is neither consistency between the past and the present, nor is there a one-size-fits-all approach. Even the most widely accepted and popular social science theories struggle to achieve objectivity, rationality, and universality. This issue is even more pronounced in other theories in the humanities and social sciences.

In the humanities and social sciences, rules applicable to one society may not necessarily work for another. Each society has its unique historical and cultural backdrops, as evidenced by countless social practices. Of course, we can’t deny that different societies can learn from each other’s rules, as exemplified by the adaption of Marxism to the Chinese context. Humanities and social research focus on humans themselves, who exist within certain social, historical, and cultural contexts. Our understanding of ourselves cannot exist independently of or beyond these contexts. No one has a bird’s-eye view of all beings, and all research originates from these contexts and is bounded by them. In contrast, in scientific research, the researcher can maintain a relatively objective stance, separate from the object of study.

Perhaps what’s even more crucial is that humans have agency. They can comprehend and exploit rules, and they can also defy rules, upsetting the existing order. Therefore, humanities and social research need to consider human agency and, relatedly, human dignity. A society shouldn’t forcefully impose what it deems to be the right rules on another society. This disregards the agency of the people in the other society and infringes upon their dignity. Society, history, culture, and agency—these four elements constitute the uniqueness of humanities and social research.

Unfortunately, over the past century or so, since humanities and social sciences took shape in the West, scholars have been promulgating their values worldwide under the guise of science, invoking truth, rationality, objectivity, and reality. Social Darwinism and racism have run amok. In capital markets, the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest, reigns. In the political arena, it is claimed that human history is nearing its end and that democracy will be the ultimate destination for all human societies. All of these are the “achievements” of humanities and social scientific research. But where is the truth in all this? As Foucault pointed out, knowledge is power. What we see more often is that might make right. From this perspective, humanities and social research that seek to discover “laws and truth” are, in fact, aiding and abetting tyranny. They have become tools for one society or group to invade, exploit, and rule another. All of this transpires in the name of science.

At first glance, it may seem that I am painting humanities and social research with an overly critical brush. Admittedly, there are general patterns in such research, but their application and relevance are bounded by the social, historical, and cultural landscape. The primary goal of social research is not the establishment of patterns but rather the pursuit of social relevance. This could easily be misconstrued as pandering to power, but by “social relevance”, I refer to a kind that withstands historical scrutiny. Humanities and social research that fail this historical test can scarcely be considered successful. Scientific research is tested against the objective world, while the humanities and social research don’t have such an objective world for validation. People exist in their unique worlds, worlds that are inevitably subjective. Thus, humanities and social research can only be tested through social practice, which may not be convincing in a single period of time and needs to be examined in the context of a long-durée history. As the traditional Chinese saying advocates, “One should take a broad view of things over time”.

This is not to discount the scientific aspects of humanities and social research. Studying the mechanisms of human behaviour and society undeniably enhances our understanding of ourselves. Humanities and social research have incorporated scientific methodologies and yielded numerous insightful results. However, we must recognise that these fields are not “science” in the strict sense. There are fundamental differences among these research areas, and treating humanities and social research as science is either misguided or intentionally deceptive. If humanities and social research aren’t science, what are they then? Will their value diminish? They may not be science, but they are scholarship—profound and meaningful scholarship closely connected to people and society. The rise and fall of nations, the survival of ethnic groups, the essence of life, these questions are the dominion of humanities and social sciences, attesting to their intrinsic value.

If humanities and social research don’t yield laws and truths, what do they provide? In my opinion, they offer wisdom. Consider life itself, it’s hard to pinpoint any universal truths or laws. If such existed, life would be simplistic. This explains why we have debated life and death, happiness, for thousands of years, without arriving at a consensus. However, wisdom for life is undeniably real. The wisdom yielded by humanities and social research is universal, yet it must be understood and experienced. Knowing life’s wisdom isn’t difficult, but truly understanding and experiencing it often demands personal engagement with the world. From this perspective, humanities and social research cannot be divorced from practice or context. A critical issue with contemporary Chinese humanities and social research, I fear, is that it has become disjointed from China itself.

While science knows no borders and scientists worldwide collaborate to tackle shared challenges such as COVID-19, humanities and social research don’t operate on the same principle. Many scholars are studying the impact of the coronavirus on economy, politics, culture, and so forth. Although these studies seem to share a common theme, their objectives differ. Some research aims to minimise a nation’s economic losses and mitigate the crisis. Chinese researchers, for instance, must consider how to guard against this crisis offloading, and how to stimulate domestic economic growth against the backdrop of a global recession. Of course, some research considers cooperative and “win–win” scenarios among different countries, but this is not the sole approach. The priority of most research is solving domestic problems, with secondary consideration given to win–win cooperation and how much each party gains. The value of humanities and social research in this context is plain to see. While noble motives of cooperation exist, so too do considerations of conflict, as the dichotomy of “us” versus “them” always lurks in the background. Moreover, they consider universal issues, such as the need for increased investment, market expansion, and economic development. Humanities and social sciences are complex, which precludes their reduction to mere scientific laws.

Treating humanities and social research as science seems like an attempt to elevate its status, but the actual outcome tends to be the opposite. Because humanities and social research can’t match the universal applicability or objectivity of science, they appear to rely on the mantle of “science” for legitimacy. When it falls short of providing laws or truths, trust in it is significantly undermined. Though we don’t hear much opposition to humanities and social research in formal media, in private conversations, and on social media, many express views that such research is unreliable and meaningless, admitting at best that it sounds interesting. The occasional defences for the humanities often stem from a scientific perspective, arguing that the development of humanities and social research is still in its infancy and that, given time, it can indeed “become scientific” given the complexity of human social phenomena. In other words, the ultimate goal of humanities and social research is still perceived as science, an aspiration that is largely impossible to fulfil. Treating humanities and social research as science ultimately diminishes its value.

Treating humanities and social research as science also has a significant implication: it lends legitimacy to the uniqueness of Western values. The humanities and social sciences that we study today are fundamentally products of Western modernisation, with different research areas delineated into disciplines. As Western imperialism and colonialism spread, the rest of the world, under the weight of power, found itself learning from the West—from science and technology to political systems and from thought and culture to even basic living habits. As historian Jiang Tingfu⁸ argued in Modern Chinese History, it is impossible to be half-Chinese and half-Western. The implication was that China couldn’t progress unless it was fully Westernised.

History, however, has shown that this isn’t necessarily the case. China has developed without becoming entirely Westernised, as Jiang suggested. Japan, which developed much earlier than China, has managed to preserve its cultural traditions even more intact than China and has not become fully Westernised either. In other words, mastering Western science and technology does not necessitate the wholesale acceptance of Western cultural values. However, these obvious facts have been overlooked, and people still enjoy discussing the scientific nature of humanities and social sciences. As He Zhaowu noted in his interview, “If truth contradicts national conditions, it’s not the truth that needs to change, but the national conditions”. Most of these so-called truths are derived from Western societies, based on Western cultural values, and they do not hold universal applicability. Branding these findings as “truth” amounts to promoting one’s claims under the banner of science. As a result, science has become a tool for cultural invasion, and anyone who opposes these humanities and social “scientific truths” is seen as opposing science, which is considered irrational, ignorant, and conservative, and hence should be ostracised from academia.

Now, we need to dismantle the notion that humanities and social research equate to science. This belief is neither true, nor reasonable, nor just. During the era of Jiang Tingfu, on the eve of the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression, such an idea might have been passable. At that time, the primary focus was the nation’s survival against Japan and the advancement of technological developments in China. Preserving cultural values was not yet a priority. However, today is different. China has fully risen, yet it appears culturally weak. This is an era of cultural construction, an era that demands the robust development of Chinese culture. To achieve this goal, we should dispel the longstanding belief that restricts our thinking: that Western cultural values are the only rational and scientific ones. It’s time to step into a new world. That time has already arrived.

1.3 Etic and Emic Perspectives of Archaeology

Chinese archaeology—a concept that might throw a few, me included, into a momentary quandary. The vagueness of the query beckons a multitude of answers, all dependent on perspective. When I ponder over this, my thoughts invariably gravitate towards the difference between the emic and etic viewpoints. From these perspectives, what constitutes Chinese archaeology? What is the right way to go about studying it?

As a graduate of Southern Methodist University, I first arrived brimming with curiosity about the American perception of China. A trip to the university library led me to works by American scholars on China. The meticulousness of their data collection and the rigour of their methods, replete with captivating statistics and tables, left me awestruck. However, their conclusions struck me as somewhat askew. Being Chinese, I can say with some conviction that we do not view things in that way. This discrepancy struck me as odd at first, but it started making sense as I ruminated over it years later. Why did richly detailed data and scientific methods fail to produce a compelling conclusion? The answer, I believe, lies in their lack of a thorough understanding of Chinese history. It’s akin to reading the classic Chinese novel Dream of the Red Chamber without having a firm grasp of Chinese poetry, painting, customs, rites, and religion. Just like when I first read Pride and Prejudice, I was baffled as to how a book about eating and dancing could qualify as a novel!

So, while I admire the diligence, methodical approach, and excellent writing in English publications on Chinese archaeology by foreign scholars, I harbour some doubts. These papers could be viewed as scientific studies of a certain creature, but they seem to lose touch with humanity—specifically Chinese humanity. This creature, influenced by and impacting its environment, exhibiting behavioural traits and organisational structures, leaves behind physical traces that reveal its behavioural characteristics. Yet, how does this creature, or any creature, relate to us? Why should we study them? Is it because we are also a form of life? How do we differentiate ourselves from other forms of life?

Studying human biological behaviour is a scientific paradigm. Science prides itself on its objectivity, the antidote to subjectivity. This detachment from the subject of study allows science to steer clear of anthropocentric bias and exclude subjective interference. Whether you like it or not, facts are facts, and laws are feeling less. The success of science since the seventeenth-century scientific revolution is unarguable. Yet, there’s a need to acknowledge that the scientific perspective, an etic one that observes from the outside, has its limitations when we study human society. This is also why disciplines such as literature, art, history, and philosophy still stand their ground, despite intermittent attempts to supplant them with science. Some even try to establish statistical philosophy. The human world is historical, meaningful, and humans are active and sentient. When the five-star red flag is raised at the Olympics, and the national anthem is played, Chinese people feel excitement and pride. We know that this feeling contributes to social unity, that it bears historical significance, and that these Olympic rituals help to deepen and express such significance. These are not scientific in nature because they are highly subjective.

The humanities approach human society from an emic perspective. If we were to use scientific standards to evaluate the humanities, they would appear entirely without merit. For instance, if the goal of archaeology is to discover past, objective historical facts, then the contribution from a humanistic perspective is very limited. However, if we argue that such a goal is utopian, just as we can never fully know the original thoughts of Confucius, and we don’t need to know them. Instead, we need to interpret the thoughts of Confucius in relation to reality, allowing his thoughts to become part of contemporary Chinese culture. Of course, we cannot interpret his thoughts arbitrarily and faithfulness of interpretation does exist in a certain sense. The world of the humanities resides in relative truth, a truth that exists within the interconnections of history, society, culture, and human agency, rather than categorical truth. The world of the humanities is concerned with the spiritual realm of the human being, an aspect that is difficult to grasp but reflective of the nature of the human being, a realm that needs to be understood from within.

When we broach the topic of the etic and emic perspectives, we also need to consider the associated nuances within anthropology and history. Anthropology, for example, often plays the role of an outsider looking in. It studies “the other”, with researchers keeping a judicious distance, allowing them to conduct experiments that, to us, might sometimes seem mischievous. Imagine an anthropologist studying indigenous tribes in the Amazon rainforest. They might introduce a metal axe into society, stand back, and observe the potential strife over the new artefact, even documenting the process. The necessity for this scientific detachment, however, evaporates in the context of their personal lives. Anthropology, a discipline born alongside colonialism, has significantly contributed to archaeology. Its methods of detailed observation, its recognition of cultural diversity and evolution (the latter not frequently discussed due to its somewhat racist implications), and especially its focus on the vibrancy of human life are all worthy of note. Anthropology provides an etic perspective, particularly apt for studying different ethnic groups. If we consider prehistoric humans as “the other”, then this approach becomes relevant.

On the other hand, history examines our own past. Chinese scholars, for instance, explore history to glean human experiences, propagate culture and values, and bolster social identity. Studying history necessitates establishing value stances. The idea of value neutrality, I daresay, is a fallacy. A historian who fails to distinguish right from wrong, good from evil, is often a mere gatherer of facts. It may appear that prehistoric archaeology is free of values, but I believe this is impossible. We cannot help but associate cultural relics such as the jade cong of Liangzhu with traditional Chinese rituals. Nor can we separate ancient semi-subterranean dwellings from traditional Chinese architecture. Even grains of millet from the distant past continue to underscore the continuity of Chinese life. We study our own history with love, reverence, and nostalgia.

Post-processual archaeology promotes a historical perspective. Its pioneer, Ian Hodder, conducted his research at the Çatalhöyük site in Turkey. This was no easy feat, given that this Neolithic site appears disconnected from its historical context. Landscape archaeology studies conducted by British archaeologists have made significant contributions to post-processual archaeology. These studies were possible because Britain has a rich tradition of landscape studies, enriched by literature, painting, gardening, and philosophy. However, if one were to conduct such research in China without an understanding of its history and culture, one might inadvertently lean towards an anthropological approach. China has a longstanding civilisation and culture, currently traceable at least back to the origin of agriculture in the Neolithic period. In my view, it should be traced back even further to the late Palaeolithic period, which is the aim of my book Prehistoric Modernisation.

The etic–emic divide also manifests in the dichotomy between the West and the East. Modern academic discourse has largely been governed by the West. We often find ourselves either learning from them or imitating them, frequently facing criticism in the process. A pervasive modesty has led to a situation where Western standards have become our standards, with everything evaluated according to Western norms. There’s a joke online that any viewpoint becomes valid once you add “according to the latest American research”. While this sense of inferiority might be justifiable in scientific research, it most certainly does not extend to other spheres of life. It’s illogical to feel inadequate due to one’s physical features, yet the areas where we genuinely should learn from the West, like public health, are often neglected. This peculiar phenomenon of “cultural self-colonisation”, an active acceptance of cultural colonialism, is, unfortunately, a common occurrence due to the relative lack of cultural development in China over recent decades. Despite being an economic and technological powerhouse, China still has much ground to cover to match the West in the development of social sciences and humanities. Furthermore, cultural upheavals from the past century, including the Cultural Revolution, have left a considerable impact. To put it bluntly, it often feels as though we’re living in a cultural desert.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not advocating nationalism. Instead, I am highlighting the need for us to establish our own value systems and our own perspectives on the world. The past, however compelling, is behind us and can’t be revisited. As we continue to learn extensively from the West, showing an openness to their lifestyle rarely matched elsewhere, we should also embrace our own history with the same vigour. Take architecture, for instance. I have great respect for the approach of Wang Shu.⁹ His work skillfully melds Western influences while preserving a deep respect for local history, culture, and ecology. We have shown remarkable innovation in the realms of economics and technology, and we hold steadfast political beliefs. However, culturally, we seem to be treading water.

Etic and emic offer different lenses through which we view the world, each with its distinct strengths and limitations. They are complementary, not meant to replace one another. I once wrote a brief piece titled The Crisis of Chinese Archaeologists, which provoked a bit of a stir. My argument was that we have become overly focused on the etic perspective, often neglecting the emic perspective and overlooking the viewpoints of the archaeologists themselves, particularly those of Chinese origin. I’m not suggesting that the etic perspective is erroneous—it’s not about right or wrong. Instead, it’s a matter of balance—we need to respect and incorporate the emic perspective as well. Polarising the etic and emic views would be a step in the wrong direction.

1.4 Modernity and Chinese Archaeology

Modernity is a philosophical construct that’s often debated and may appear abstract and even arcane to many. I’d like to start the discussion with architecture. Unlike philosophical theories, buildings are tangible and readily experienced by everyone, irrespective of one’s philosophical leanings. Modernist architecture boasts a clear characteristic: function over form. It posits that architecture is fundamentally a scientific endeavour devoid of any consideration for historical context or geographical location. Steel, concrete, and glass are combined to meet functional needs, with varied structures constituting the city skylines. At first glance, this approach seems to champion functionality. In reality, however, it serves capital. Money is the linchpin that realises architectural dreams. Examples of such buildings are found in abundance. The wealthier live in modernistic homes, while the less affluent inhabit cramped, tube-like apartments, much like the one I currently reside in—structures hastily erected to meet the housing demands of a burgeoning population and now woefully inadequate in catering to modern needs.

Architectural modernism is one facet of modernity, although interpretations may vary among individuals. Modernity champions absolute uniformity, discounting history, location, and human subjectivity. Under its auspices, diversity holds value only in extracting elements of uniformity. The uniqueness is rendered meaningless, and uniformity becomes the yardstick for measuring diversity. Nowhere is this concept more evident than in architecture—it’s an observable phenomenon. Consequently, few traditional buildings have been preserved in China. Our homes have been reduced to mere living spaces, and our cities are indistinguishable from one another. It’s high time we reassessed modernity. Few acknowledge that modernity is a byproduct of Western societal and cultural evolution, and we are merely its followers. Modernity originated in the West, rooted in the Renaissance, shaped during the nineteenth century, and began to wane towards the end of the twentieth century. The progress of modernity varied across disciplines. Art was possibly the first field to engage with modernity, followed by philosophy, with a shift observed towards the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Nietzsche heralded the end of certainty by declaring “God is dead”. Wittgenstein introduced the linguistic turn in philosophy, and existentialism began to focus on history and meaning. Meanwhile, modernist architecture was gaining traction, spearheaded by the architect Le Corbusier. Modern scientific archaeology didn’t truly take form until the 1960s, several decades after architecture.

The nineteenth century witnessed modernity in its most potent form. Scholars of the era confidently segmented human society into distinct evolutionary stages. We are likely most familiar with Lewis Henry Morgan’s evolutionary theory, which divides human societal development into three stages: savagery, barbarism, and civilisation. Other researchers put forth their own models, which, although unique, echoed a similar theme: human society is perpetually progressing, dichotomised into the advanced and backwards, the civilised, and the barbaric, based on the degree of progress. The concept of “civilisation”, as we currently understand it, was redefined during this period (it has roots in ancient Greece). We must remember that “civilisation”, much like “nation” and “ethnicity”, is a product of modernity and a manifestation of Western societal development and cultural traditions. According to the trajectory of societal development mapped out by modernity, the West always occupies the most advanced and progressive end, with the future of other societies expected to mirror that of Western societies. This notion of social evolution is closely tied to the West’s absolute dominance during the colonial waves of the nineteenth century. Not only did Westerners think this way, but even today, many Chinese indoctrinated by modernity firmly subscribe to this belief.

Modernity isn’t simply a philosophical concept or a school of thought—it represents an era, a zeitgeist, or, in Foucault’s words, an “episteme”. It lays its foundations on science, intertwined with Enlightenment thought and the Industrial Revolution. Rationality and progress form recurring themes, complemented by traditions of monotheism, binary thinking, and Eurocentrism. Today, perhaps the United States is the best embodiment of modernity. If you were to view the US landscape on Google Earth, you’d notice that all their farmland is partitioned into geometric blocks along a north–south axis, regardless of the presence of rivers, ponds, or hills. The Americans, it seems, are rather enamoured with geometrically shaped fields. Of course, this facilitates mechanised farming, but it also underscores a disregard for nature and historical features. The United States places considerable emphasis on research in natural science and technology. In the realm of humanities and social sciences, cross-cultural comparative research is preferred. In societal practices, they measure different countries and cultures based on American values, persisting despite challenges. In many ways, the issues currently faced by the United States can be traced back to modernity.

Modernity doesn’t merely shape the landscape of fields. It also profoundly influences academic development. Seen through the lens of modernity, academic research adheres to universal standards, overlooking the diverse nature of its subject matter. Our existing academic management provides a fitting illustration of modernity in practice. Journals can be ranked into different tiers. We can outline the parameters for a top-tier journal and even quantify impact factors numerically. Take, for example, archaeology, a relatively niche field. Still, even here, a hierarchy of journals exists. Chinese papers on Palaeolithic archaeology are often published in Acta AnthropologicaSinica. Though it’s a significant journal in the field of Palaeolithic archaeology, its rank might not be high enough for a paper published there to be considered a significant research achievement.

Another hallmark of modernity impacting academia is the belief that social development follows specific, determined, and universal laws. All societies should conform to these rules. Any exceptions are dismissed as anomalies, not worthy of being recognised as laws. Modernity doesn’t tolerate uncertainty or ambiguity (probability). This aspect of modernity shapes our epistemology: there is one singular, “correct” way to comprehend humans and society—through science. While there’s an ongoing debate about what exactly constitutes science, there’s a consensus that research should be logical, objective, and rational. Anything deemed unscientific or irrational is often dismissed as incorrect or even malevolent. These three aspects epitomise modernity’s influence on academia: (1) prioritising unity over diversity, (2) the existence of categorical laws, and (3) science as the sole valid epistemology. Each of these is upheld as an inviolable truth.

Modernity impacts various disciplines differently. Its influence is somewhat muted in the natural sciences but significantly more pronounced in the humanities and social sciences, including archaeology. Specifically, how does modernity leave its imprint on Chinese archaeology? The first impact is that modernity implicitly carries a Western bias, viewing Western values as the standard. For instance, when evaluating contemporary world cultural heritage, despite China’s five-thousand-year history and the size equivalent to the entire continent of Europe, it has fewer world cultural heritage sites than Italy. Some might argue that these criteria are objective, that Italian sites are better preserved, that Western culture has had a greater impact on the contemporary world, and so forth. But is this the case? The preservation of sites isn’t the sole standard for evaluating world cultural heritage. The crux lies in their significance. But what does “significance” mean? The term “important impact” is relative to the timeframe considered. If viewed over an extended timeline, our direct human ancestors spent almost 99% of their time living in Africa, which should, by rights, possess the majority of human cultural heritage sites of significance. Europe’s dominance in human history spans a few hundred years—a mere blink of an eye when set against the lifespan of our species. When judged by Western standards, non-Western sites, and artefacts risk being significantly undervalued. Architecture might be deemed insufficiently sturdy, paintings not realistic enough, food lacking in nutrition (or simply not good enough), and so on.

Modernity also profoundly impacts Chinese archaeology by disregarding history and regionality. Archaeology’s purpose, at its core, is to study history and preserve cultural heritage. It safeguards a place’s memory. Through the modernity lens, ancient relics are perceived as carriers of outdated cultures—entities to be cast aside and destroyed. We’re spurred to raze ancient buildings and discard age-old documents. Indeed, there have been periods when we’ve done exactly that. In the eyes of modernity, culture is bifurcated into the advanced and the outdated. Modernity urges us to look to the future, to learn from advanced cultures, and to jettison the outdated. The primary value of artefacts lies in their role as scientific materials, utilised to underscore humanity’s relentless progress. Preserving cultural heritage aims to safeguard these pieces of evidence so future generations might understand the past’s backwardness and barbarism when visiting these sites. Of course, the process might yield significant economic benefits in the form of tourism. Sometimes there are political implications, such as using cultural heritage as proof of territorial claims. Modernity imparts a functional hue to archaeology, pushing the discipline to become somehow “useful” to a significant degree.

Chinese archaeology, under the sway of modernity, has developed several foundational beliefs or assumptions. First and foremost, there’s the belief in an absolute, true past waiting patiently for our discovery. Although we may not unearth this true past in its entirety, we can inch ever closer to it. This is our archaeologist’s Holy Grail, a lofty ideal that, while we may never actually reach, forever guides our explorations. But even if we were to stumble upon this true past, time travel remains a fantasy, rendering verification an impossibility. Now, compare this with contemporary social research. We can observe all phenomena in the present, yet can we truly grasp the nature of contemporary social reality? While it seems overzealous to claim we can’t comprehend it at all, declaring we fully understand it feels overly ambitious. We can fathom social reality from a certain perspective within a particular context, as can the observer. Consequently, our understanding of society equates to a contextual truth, not an absolute one. There is no single, standard “true” past. The goal archaeology pursues might seem utopian, but like a religious belief, it inspires, even if it remains elusive.

The second assumption is a belief in universal evolutionary laws governing past human societies. These laws are perceived to possess a worldwide universality that supersedes cultural differences. We place our faith in the existence of such unerring uniformity, confident that if we haven’t yet seen it, it’s merely due to our research shortcomings and a goal that will inevitably be realised. Over the past centuries, countless researchers have put forward general schemas for human evolution, such as the transition from matriarchal to patriarchal societies or the evolutionary progression from tribes to states. However, none of these evolutionary models can claim universal applicability. The so-called transition from matriarchy to patriarchy lacks ethnographic evidence support, given that 90% of hunter-gatherer groups are patriarchal. It’s also challenging to rationalise from a biological perspective. Human infants require at least 18 months of close motherly care, a time when the mother is most vulnerable. Natural selection wouldn’t favour a social organisation strategy that excludes paternal support. The concept of chiefdom originates from ethnography, with island societies serving as the archetype. The true significance of the evolutionary stage proposed by American anthropologist Elman R. Service lies not in affirming the concept of the chiefdom but in emphasising the importance of resource redistribution in the process of social complexity. Does every society become complex through such a process? Resource redistribution is merely one form of social operation, and Service didn’t clarify why resource redistribution would be unequal. Consider contemporary society: can we pinpoint universal social laws? People, unlike machines, have agency. If people become aware of the laws, they’ll manipulate them and possibly even breach them. They’re not marionettes under the control of laws. Thus, our search for absolute laws is, without a doubt, a fruitless endeavour.

The third assumption is the belief in an utterly unified archaeological or scientific system designed to aid us in achieving the above objectives. All research should meet scientific standards. As to what constitutes these standards, there’s much debate. For the philosopher of science Thomas Kuhn, it’s a shared toolkit and set of beliefs. For Karl Popper, it’s falsifiability, but even pseudoscience can be falsified. What makes that scientific? Even though we’re unsure where science resides, it doesn’t deter us from believing in its existence. Consequently, we believe in a global archaeological system, with different regions of the world all striving to resolve issues of global archaeology. As these are beliefs, who holds the final say? The unpleasant truth might be power, as we witness in contemporary society. In the so-called world archaeology, Western discourse continues to reign supreme.

Research dictated by modernity invariably bears a particular hallmark: an obsession with swift results, grand ambitions, a dismissal of the past, and a fascination with the future. This isn’t the fault of individual researchers but rather a reflection of an era’s mindset. A direct outcome of this trend is the neglect of the cultural significance of material remains. We study the temporal and spatial characteristics and functional uses of material remains but seem to forget that materials also carry cultural significance. Human actions are influenced not only by the practical function of materials but also significantly by their cultural meanings. Giving roses on Valentine’s Day is deemed appropriate while offering chrysanthemums is considered inappropriate. Both are flowers, yet their cultural meanings differ. Arranging seating for guests, the position holds paramount importance. Mishandling could result in conflict. Space also has cultural significance. These meanings are historical products, and individuals in the past not only inherited meanings but might also have created new ones. This is a fundamental feature of human practice. Regrettably, the past few decades have witnessed a continuous loss of the cultural significance of China’s ancient remains. As our lives become increasingly modernised, the cultural meanings moulded by history appear to have become burdensome and superfluous. We’ve forgotten that they are the vessels of our own cultural traditions. Losing cultural traditions essentially means losing our bearings. Embracing modernity is, in effect, a capitulation to Western culture. In this regard, modernity is a cultural war, and the loser stands to lose their culture. If contemporary Chinese archaeological research seeks to make a significant contribution to the world, re-establishing cultural significance is the only path to tread.

Modernity ravages not only cultural significance but also cultural diversity. From research to representation, modernity insists on presenting unvarying historical or natural laws, an incessant technological advancement, a progressively complex society, and human physiology and culture all conforming to the basic principles of evolution. Cultural diversity is not a cherished research objective but merely an occasional feature of some studies. For many scholars, the aim of historical research is to discern patterns in the past, not simply to revel in the rich and vibrant hues of history. This is not to say we strike a fair balance between the two. The result? History becomes progressively impoverished and mechanical, and the scope of historical research diminishes. While contemporary historiography seems to be gradually extricating itself from the grasp of modernity, archaeological research is still firmly held. The archaeological preoccupation with grand narratives is a clear testament. Almost all research strives to tackle big questions or at least align itself with them. Topics that could enhance research diversity are seldom entertained. Archaeological research is uniquely suited to detailed micro studies—for instance, researching a site of a feast. Through meticulous analysis, we can discern the season of the feast, the composition of the food, and any prevailing taboos. We needn’t incessantly pursue grand narratives. Diverse research can yield rich details, which can be tremendously beneficial for the growth of archaeology.

Modernity also has the drawback of stifling academic creativity. Those grand themes often hark back to the nineteenth century and essentially pose insurmountable challenges. To dedicate one’s entire life to an elusive goal shows a lack of regard for the researcher’s life. Every new era can and should breed new thoughts and spirits. The great thinkers of the nineteenth century belong to their time. They shouldn’t be allowed to overshadow ours. We can draw from some exceptional ideas without being shackled by them.

The intention of reflecting on modernity here is not to reject it wholesale but to recognise its flaws, its elements that are out of step with our time and in need of modification. Chinese archaeology’s defining trait is its patchwork development, with archaeological research from different stages and paradigms coexisting. Some might question: if we haven’t fully embraced modernity yet, isn’t it premature to reflect on it? However, based on our practices, I believe such reflection is not too early but rather too late. Much of the damage has already been inflicted and is beyond repair.

1.5 Way of Thinking and Chinese-Style Archaeology

There’s a popular saying that science knows no borders. Archaeology, indeed, is global and ought not to be subdivided by nationality. Yet, in truth, we observe national disparities, not only in Chinese archaeology but in other parts of the world as well—each showcasing its unique characteristics. So, what does “Chinese-style archaeology” mean? This phrase certainly does not refer to variations in the subject of study but rather to differences in research thinking—a trait particularly prominent in Chinese archaeology. My reason for penning these thoughts is not to rebuke anyone. After all, I grapple with these same issues, their severity fluctuating with time. Rather, I write this in the hope that students—the future Chinese archaeologists—can sidestep these pitfalls as much as they can. After all, it’s simpler to correct bad habits when young. If we don’t take time for introspection and merely tread the path of our predecessors, we risk not just the loss of creativity in academic research but also the dull monotony that accompanies repetition—a monotony that’s potent enough to rob life of its joy and meaning.

“Chinese-style archaeology” partially stems from Chinese-style thinking. China has a profound cultural tradition, and although it has weathered a series of near self-damaging cultural critiques, its influence has not entirely waned. It is ingrained deeply within our language and behavioural norms.

A characteristic example of Chinese-style thinking is traditional Chinese medicine—a quintessence of Chinese culture whose merits cannot be contested. Chinese medicine perceives the human body as a holistic system, emphasising personalised diagnoses and treatments—specific analysis for specific situations. This holistic approach is something Western medicine often lacks. Chinese medicine is also heavily experiential and intuitive, requiring the long-term accumulation of knowledge. Its foundational theory hinges on the dialectics of yin and yang and the interplay of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, which correspond to the human body’s five viscera (in an abstract sense). In essence, Chinese-style thinking does not sharply differentiate between subject and object. The unity of the cosmos and humans is viewed as the apex of existence. Contemporary postmodern philosophy also underscores the interpenetration of subject and object, opposing a binary opposition between them—a stance that seems to align with Chinese-style thinking. Their approach, however, has evolved over centuries of discourse and adjustments. We only share a superficial similarity.

So, how does Chinese-style thinking influence Chinese archaeology? Chinese archaeologists, adhering to this mode of thought, exhibit a pronounced inclination for the macroscopic. However, the flip side is glaringly apparent: we tend to indulge in generalities. We have many remarkable insights, but they are frequently bereft of rigorous reasoning. Objective, dispassionate writing has never traditionally been advocated, and our linguistic usage carries a distinct literary charm. This mode of thought is intrinsic to Chinese scholars and predates the formation of modern science. It has not experienced the scientific revolution of modern times, which is why we particularly need to learn from the Western scientific tradition.

When contrasted with China, the Western scientific tradition stands out for two distinct merits. Firstly, it values logic. While the logical study found its place in some traditional Chinese schools of thought, it never truly matured. Embracing logic involves a focus on concepts, reasoning, and careful deductions. To illustrate, let’s consider an archaeological example. Cultural connections often form the basis of our discussions—how one region influences another, how certain aspects of a culture are traceable to another culture, and so on. This is true even for studies of the Palaeolithic era. Some research even suggests cultural exchanges that span continents. This isn’t to say we shouldn’t discuss transmission, but we must think critically about how to validate it. Is an early cultural feature in a certain location evidence enough to deem it a hub of transmission? Does similarity invariably imply transmission? Lewis Binford portrays this as the “ripple theory”, where casting a stone into water creates ripples, mirroring the pattern of cultural transmission. As we engage in discussions about cultural connections, it is imperative to reflect on the assumptions our arguments are built upon. All reasoning rests on certain premises, and if these premises don’t hold up, then the argument may well be flawed.

Pursuing the example of cultural transmission, it implicitly contains several other assumptions, like the idea that a culture can be segmented into different features. But how reasonable is it to carve up culture in this way? If we dissect any two cultures, similarities are inevitable! Moreover, when we distinguish between cultures, presuming they represent human groups in a certain sense, there are more implied premises: that culture is a type of yardstick which can be used to differentiate between various groups of people. Going a step further, it also implies that this yardstick signifies identity, fostering a kind of psychological sense of belonging, and so on. If we don’t critically analyse these concepts or question our reasoning, then many of our conclusions end up taking many things for granted, and we could overlook some intriguing research questions. Challenging and overturning assumptions often herald revolutionary progress within a discipline. For instance, post-processual archaeology advanced by questioning the foundational assumption of processual archaeology: the objectivity of archaeological materials.

Placing emphasis on logic inevitably leads to questioning premises, necessitating clear concepts, and highlighting the importance of the reasoning process. It naturally pushes us to probe into what something truly is and how it could possibly exist. Thus, when we look at Western archaeological studies, we are often astounded by how narrow and specific the research questions can be, yet supported by extensive argumentation. We are also surprised at how they can generate a host of questions in areas that, at first glance, seem devoid of issues. Consider the objectivity of archaeological materials, for instance. These materials are physical realities that exist independently of human subjective will—a fact that is taken as given by Chinese archaeologists educated in materialism. But even this premise can be questioned. What exactly is the material under archaeological investigation? It is the product of human action and is already imbued with human history. Humans do not exist in isolation, nor are they machines. Humans not only gather resources and information from the physical environment but also develop an understanding of this environment. Importantly, humans create environments, physical materials, and social relations. Given all this, can we still affirm that archaeological materials are objective?

A second notable strength of Western science lies in its hands-on analysis of materials. Francis Bacon claimed that the “new tool” of modern science was experiment. This is more than just collecting materials. It implies gathering vast amounts of data and analysing it. The power of this approach has stood the test of time. For example, during a cholera outbreak in London, a multitude of theories emerged, some even involving religious interpretation. The scientific approach, however, involved direct field investigation, scrutinising the distribution of the disease and discovering a particular well as the epicentre. An elderly woman, living outside the affected area but still contracting cholera, was found to be drinking water from this well. On examination, the well’s water was found contaminated due to a faulty local sewage system. By rigorous investigation and progressive elimination, science pinpointed the cause and suggested solutions. The effectiveness of this scientific approach is beyond dispute, and the technological leaps in our modern society stand as a testament to this.

Before modern archaeology, antiquarians collected artefacts but often disregarded stratigraphy and sometimes didn’t even know the origin of the artefacts, hampering proper analysis. Modern archaeology is grounded in field surveys and excavations, continually developing methods to control the relationship between archaeological materials in profile and plan. Like detectives, archaeologists let the facts speak for themselves. This drive to gather and analyse materials is a vital part of the Western scientific tradition that we would do well to learn from. This is how we truly understand archaeological materials. At present, our material analysis could be improved. We’ve made many interpretations, some quite insightful, but they often lack adequate material support and resemble assumptions more than conclusions. Chinese archaeologists claim to value archaeological materials, but in reality, a discipline so dependent on materials should pay far greater attention to systematic collections. However, our collection is incomplete, our organisation of materials often delayed, and the quality of our research leaves much room for improvement. Prioritising the collection and analysis of physical evidence is a scientific method we need to embrace.

Science has been introduced to China for over a century. Few countries value science as much as China does, treating it as a national strategy. Deng Xiaoping said that “science and technology constitute a primary productive force”, and Hu Jintao proposed “the Scientific Outlook on Development”. However, in our rush to achieve practical results, we often prioritise technology over science. Having been considered a developing country for over a century, often reacting to external pressures, China understandably wants to change this status through technology. The downside is clear: we’ve prioritised application over understanding principles, ending up knowing “what is” without grasping “why it is”. This holds true even in archaeology. While we’re not behind the West in applying scientific methods, we lag when it comes to exploring principles, mechanisms, and theories. Now that China is catching up, perhaps we can take time to delve deeper. Of course, there are aspects of the academic environment we need to address. We need to slow down and stop rushing research and publication. After all, impatience is not an inherent Chinese trait. It’s like queuing. If a few people jump the queue, even those who were initially content to wait their turn become unsettled.

Perhaps the most damaging issue for Chinese science at present is not an over-emphasis on technology but the “Great Leap Forward”¹⁰ in scientific research. The formality of science has significantly hindered its growth. We continue analysing materials: taking measurements, calculating statistics, and creating charts. However, it seems we’ve forgotten why we’re doing this. Nearly all disciplines originated from philosophy and have a theoretical foundation. This is the cornerstone of academic research. If we lose sight of why we’re doing what we’re doing, then much of our material analysis becomes empty formality. This problem isn’t unique to China, with an increase in fraudulent papers noted worldwide. These papers present a very scientific form but lack substance. However, this issue is especially severe in China and, worryingly, seems to be encouraged. Under these circumstances, how can our researchers not feel restless?

Why is it that theoretical discussions are generally not favoured among Chinese archaeologists? The pursuit of truth shouldn’t be controversial. But in China, theoretical discussions often carry a stigma of being lofty and lacking substance. Why is this the case? It can be traced back to certain dogmas ingrained during our education. Though we believe ourselves to be critical thinkers, these dogmas act like a source code, shaping our language and thought patterns. For instance, we universally accept that time is divisible. We value persistence, aspiring to be as precise as machines. We believe human society is perpetually advancing technologically and gauge the progression of an era by its level of technological development, especially in Palaeolithic archaeology. We are all mechanical materialists, believing in a predetermined trajectory of human societal evolution. When we find this trajectory not to be accurate, we swing to the other extreme, completely disregarding theoretical discussion. Yet our thinking habits remain unchanged, leading to writings that are often hollow, ambiguous, and filled with redundancies.

Of course, it’s not only us who have all this gibberish. In fact, there’s a good deal of it in Western academia and Western archaeology too. Formalist science is a classic example. However, one major issue in Western academia, and a broad challenge for science, is the neglect of holistic perspectives, much like Western medicine, which constantly dissects the human body, reducing everything to DNA. This reductionist thinking is also applied in matters like counter-terrorism, viewing terrorists as bacteria that need to be eradicated. The issues with this approach are evident. In conclusion, we must leverage strengths to offset weaknesses, neither overestimating nor underestimating ourselves. It’s true. Chinese-style archaeology has its problems, and my criticism above highlights some extreme instances. Our aim should be to maximise our strengths and minimise our weaknesses, merging the holistic and systemic advantages of Chinese thought with Western science’s focus on logical reasoning and material analysis. In doing this, we can liberate ourselves from rigid thinking and genuinely analyse and understand material. This is, I believe, what we mean by integrating Eastern and Western approaches.

1.6 Reflecting on Cultural Studies

While browsing through Culture Matters: How Values Shape Human Progress, an interesting assertion caught my eye. It suggested that after the Asian financial crisis, some analysts blamed the catastrophe on the Asian cultural belief in enduring hardship for long-term success, regardless of short-term profitability. This notion was quite surprising to me, as it was the first time I encountered the idea that prioritising long-term gains could be seen as a drawback. Now, looking back, this concept feels somewhat odd, spurring me to reflect more on the discipline of cultural studies.

I must admit, I’m less interested in whether the book’s claim holds water. What I find truly intriguing is the researchers’ approach—their capacity to investigate societal development through the prism of cultural studies. Like them, archaeologists also heavily emphasise culture, be it in cultural-historical, processual, or post-processual approaches. The notion of culture is fundamentally woven into their research. Although archaeologists are deeply invested in exploring ancient societal development, rarely does archaeology focus on the impact of contemporary culture. The “culture” we refer to seems to differ from what scholars in other fields mean. In works like Culture Matters, culture corresponds to societal values that inform what is deemed worthwhile. In archaeology, however, culture is tied more closely to physical artefacts. Different research paradigms imply different interpretations of “culture”.

For cultural-historical archaeologists, “culture” represents a collection of materials sharing similar traits. In processual archaeology, culture is seen as an external adaptation to environmental conditions unrelated to values or societal progression. Post-processual archaeology, on the other hand, views physical artefacts as expressions of human agency—we use objects to shape and understand our world. Here, artefacts start to connect with values. For instance, Chinese people’s esteem for jade, which embodies the qualities of stability and serenity, mirrors the virtues of a gentleman in Chinese culture. Chinese culture values peace, flexibility, and inclusiveness, qualities embodied by jade. By using jade to demonstrate these values, material artefacts are integrated with cultural values. However, it’s still a stretch to say that jade culture directly influenced the evolution of ancient Chinese society.

When we break down “culture”, we can delve into its economic, political, and ecological aspects. In terms of Chinese economic development, economist Lin Yifu’s¹¹ emphasis on endowment accumulation and leveraging comparative advantages rings true to me. Recently, scholars from China and abroad have highlighted the unique political aspects of China, notably its strong executive power that can mobilise national resources for development, from infrastructure to specific industries. Cultural researchers have also attributed China’s economic boom to ingrained traditions, such as the hard-working, disciplined, and community-oriented nature of the Chinese people. From this standpoint, “culture” seems to be a deeply rooted social behavioural structure or habit shaped by historical precedence or favourable environmental conditions. The once-popular saying, “One Chinese person is like a dragon, three Chinese people are like a worm”, which mocked the supposed lack of team cooperation among Chinese people, contrasts starkly with our current understanding.

I often wonder what sets cultural studies apart from fields such as economics or politics. If these disciplines can address the same questions, isn’t cultural study just an unnecessary embellishment? One might liken cultural studies to traditional Chinese medicine, a holistic approach, in contrast to the focused analyses of other fields, similar to Western medicine. However, both synthesis and analysis hold value, reinforcing the importance of cultural studies. Still, it’s worth noting that books like Culture Matters originate from Western academia, which itself tends to be analytical. Another perspective might be to view cultural studies as a mental or spiritual investigation, distinct from material research. Yet this doesn’t entirely hold up, as subjects like economics and politics also delve into the spiritual realm. Could we then consider cultural studies as a branch of philosophical research? While this proposition aligns with Western academic categorisation and appreciates the holistic approach, philosophical research often concerns itself with more abstract issues, while cultural studies typically examine contemporary societal development, suggesting a more pragmatic methodology. It’s quite a puzzle.

Meanwhile, I’ve observed sociologists and cultural anthropologists engaging in cultural research. Consider Ruth Benedict’s renowned work, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, which influenced US policy towards Japan post-World War II through its cultural examination of Japanese society. It appears that content that doesn’t quite fit the mould of mainstream social science disciplines such as politics or economics often gets labelled as cultural studies—a somewhat vague classification. When conventional disciplines fall short of providing explanations, cultural studies step in. And when economics and politics do provide explanations, cultural studies can offer an alternative narrative. In this way, they serve as a sort of universal remedy.

So, my confusion persists. As I observe contemporary society, I strive to unravel the unfamiliar through the familiar. What exactly does “contemporary Chinese culture” refer to? It seems to denote the arts or everything associated with distinctive forms—Chinese food, calligraphy, painting, music, and so on. Can I detect the impact of culture on societal development? From what I see, it appears that recent rapid societal changes have led to a cultural renaissance rather than the reverse. Could it be that the societal development I’m witnessing is a result of “deep” culture, such as values? The inception of reform and opening up marked a shift in political ideology. A group of well-educated political elites recognised the impracticability of political dominance and the necessity for economic development, which along with other factors, contributed to subsequent economic growth and societal prosperity. Can I link this ideological transition with values? A detailed look at contemporary society seems too narrow, focusing heavily on the primary architect of reform and opening up, Deng Xiaoping, while overlooking broader societal issues like values. On a micro scale, we stand in awe of the caprices of history. Without Deng Xiaoping, would China be where it is today?

I should admit that my attempt to understand cultural studies through the examination of contemporary society has been met with failure. Or rather, the reform and opening up of China has no inherent connection with such aspects of culture as values. Taking this further, perhaps cultural studies, given their extremely macroscopic perspective, are unsuited to examining such microscopic events as reform and opening up. Alternatively, perhaps cultural studies can only be pursued in a comparative context. Regardless, cultural studies represent an incredibly challenging domain—one that’s difficult to validate or even bereft of substantial theoretical backing.

A more profound issue lurks within if culture truly relates to values, systems, and religions, as the book implies, employing it to explain social development inevitably veers towards a “cultural superiority theory”. This is exemplified by Max Weber’s religious superiority in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Moreover, culture is a human creation. In recent times, it has often been defined by ethnicity, thus giving rise to theories of “ethnic superiority’ or “racial superiority”—or in other words, racism. Hence, one might find oneself on a slippery slope, with using culture to explain social development becoming a minefield.

It might appear as if I’m dismissing cultural studies. However, if we sidestep the mention of culture and speak of ideas instead, is there any problem in suggesting that ideas shape social development? Historical practice would indicate not. So why do I reject certain components of ideas, such as values and religions as explanations? Is it due to their ethnic or racial implications? To some extent, yes. When ethnicity or race is introduced into contemporary cultural studies, it can fundamentally skew the nature of these studies. They become too entangled with real-world issues, serving as weapons in social conflicts.

Introducing ethnicity and race into cultural studies is like imbibing a harmful, addictive drug. However, a conundrum re-emerges: in our archaeological research, the bedrock of culture often tends to be ethnicity or race. For instance, a particular culture might become dominant, influencing surrounding cultures. Eventually, a more formidable group could emerge and supplant the existing culture.

As China marches on the path of rapid industrialisation, we must conclude that previous theories of cultural inferiority hold little water—such cultural interpretations are purely artificial constructs. Yet, cultural explanations always seem to find adherents. A writer of popular history, Bo Yang, writes a book called The Ugly Chinaman, in which he critiques certain Chinese characteristics. The book had its moment in the spotlight. Today, we understand that the traits he criticised are merely byproducts of a specific developmental stage. For instance, rural inhabitants with limited education who migrate to cities naturally retain habits incongruous with urban life. Branding these traits as culture, especially ethnic or racial culture, is clearly an overstatement. Bo Yang’s popularity derived not from the accuracy of his research but from its resonance with the aspirations for reform within Chinese society at that time.

Archaeological research focuses on material culture, the culture represented by physical entities, demonstrated through material manifestations and actions. In contrast, the “culture” in contemporary cultural studies refers to intangible concepts like values, customs, systems, religions, and so forth. Candidly, I harbour reservations about contemporary cultural studies, and this scepticism extends to archaeological cultural studies. This provokes questions which I’ve yet to answer. Though cultural studies might not be entirely reliable, they don’t lag significantly behind disciplines like philosophy, politics, economics, or sociology. These fields also encompass theories that fail under scrutiny, some even catastrophically. Through this process of contemplation, we may gain insight into the serious issues underlying the ethnic, racial, and regional aspects of cultural studies. These can all too easily be exploited for real-world conflicts. Perhaps this is the wisdom we can glean from musing about culture!

1.7 Tradition and Chinese Archaeology

To understand tradition in Chinese archaeology, we perhaps need to first address what tradition signifies. Is it a burden or a wealth? What relevance does it hold? We then need to inquire whether there exists a tradition in Chinese archaeology and how such a tradition can be established.

In the narrative of the cultural revolution, tradition often carries negative connotations, usually associated with conservatism. However, when speaking of an “academic tradition”, the sentiment turns decidedly positive. This could be because academia builds upon prior knowledge, and many accomplishments are the result of the intellectual efforts of numerous generations. Only through the continuous work of successive generations, each nudging the boundary of human knowledge in their chosen direction, can an academic tradition take root. I think it is fair to argue that without an academic tradition, there are unlikely to be significant academic achievements.

One shining example of an academic tradition is the distinguished lineage of social anthropology in France—a beacon of intellectual brilliance and significance in modern academic history, from Montesquieu, through eighteenth-century philosophers such as Condorcet and Saint-Simon, to nineteenth-century sociologists like Comte and Durkheim, and on to twentieth-century figures such as Marcel Mauss, Claude Lévi-Strauss, and Leroi-Gourhan. The latter scholars might be more familiar to archaeologists, given their profound influence on the discipline. These eminent minds share certain commonalities that have shaped a distinct French academic tradition, lending it a unique character in the global academic landscape.

Within this tradition, each generation makes its unique contribution. French sociology started as a deeply philosophical pursuit, with conclusions primarily drawn from conceptual analysis rather than empirical study. Marcel Mauss, Durkheim’s nephew, took a divergent path. He learned from Durkheim, consciously avoided overt criticism of his predecessor, and dived deeper into thorough empirical research. This approach raised the fragmented scientific analyses to a comprehensive understanding of the humanities. Claude Lévi-Strauss, in turn, extracted the concept of structuralism from his ethnographic studies, propelling the discipline to a new level.

The evolution of French social anthropology is deeply ingrained in the philosophical traditions of France and, delving further, is anchored within the intellectual tradition of the West. Mauss lived through two World Wars. Most of his peers and students tragically perished in these conflicts. This was an almost apocalyptic blow for French social anthropology. Yet, the discipline did not perish. Instead, it bloomed anew, sprouting new growth and scholars, its academic tradition intact. This resilience and continuity truly deserve our admiration and respect.

Reflecting on the evolution of Chinese archaeology, we realise that while its modern incarnation draws from Western ideas, it is deeply rooted in a rich academic tradition. The study of “jinshixue” ¹² initiated in the Northern Song Dynasty (960–1127), with even earlier origins, has already developed a mature theory and methods. In a seminal work, scholar Lu Dalin (1044–1091) encapsulated the goal of jinshixue: “By examining their materials, speaking their language, and emulating their appearance, we chase the remnants of the past Three Dynasties, as if seeing the people themselves”. By the Qing Dynasty (1636–1911), jinshixue had reached an unprecedented zenith. Granted, jinshixue isn’t archaeology in the scientific sense and is lacking in many respects. However, we, as successors, often harbour misconceptions when interpreting jinshixue. We tend to dismiss anything that isn’t “scientific” enough, or is wrong, is dross, and should be expunged.

China is a nation that once became obsessed with modernity—a kind of modernity that regards history as a burden, insists on a fresh start, denies the past, and idolises the future. America, embodying the most successful version of modernity due to its relatively brief history, rarely talks of tradition. China views tradition as a stumbling block, consequently rejecting it time and time again. However, tradition and modernity are not necessarily at odds. Japan has navigated this far better than we have, preserving its traditions. We once thought that “imitating the gait of Handan”¹³ was merely a jest, but we now recognise that sometimes reality can be even more absurd than this metaphor.

How can we carry forward and develop the tradition of Chinese archaeology? A mere adherence to tradition does not constitute true inheritance. As we stand on the shoulders of our forebears, our ambition should be to climb higher, to chart untravelled paths, guided by the creativity of our era. We must inevitably learn from and borrow all elements beneficial to our development. Naturally, to carry forward academic traditions, we need to acknowledge and affirm the accomplishments of those who walked this path before us rather than disowning our past. There are aspects of tradition that withstand the test of time.

Looking back at the century-long development of modern Chinese archaeology, we have undoubtedly brought to fruition the field of archaeology that we imported from the West. We have developed a unique practice of Chinese archaeology. As the saying goes, “knowledge comes from practice”. Rooting ourselves in the practice of Chinese archaeology is a cornerstone for promoting the tradition of Chinese archaeology. Being faithful to the practice of Chinese archaeology is akin to fashion design being faithful to our bodies. The reality is far from our expectations.

When we speak of the practice of Chinese archaeology, we shouldn’t limit it solely to archaeological excavations. It also incorporates the development of archaeological theory and methodology, as well as research, preservation, and utilisation of cultural heritage. Moreover, it is intrinsically entwined with the spirit of age, societal development, and advancements in related academic fields. Thus, when we speak of rooting ourselves in the practice of Chinese archaeology, we’re referring to the whole disciplinary system, not merely the facets most readily recognised by the general public. China once had a highly evolved field of artefact studies rooted in traditional Chinese academia. Unfortunately, it did not subsequently thrive as one might have hoped, and even today, it lacks a definitive place within the higher education system. Paradoxically, a thriving black market trade in relics, often muddling genuine items with fakes, has indirectly fuelled rampant looting. In recent years, we have constructed a series of national archaeological parks of considerable size, combining cultural heritage preservation, ecological restoration, cultural product development, and even real estate development. These parks, often located near cities, attract visitors and enjoy enthusiastic local participation. They have significantly improved the local cultural and ecological environments. Having visited several of these parks, I can attest to their relative success. These two contrasting examples show that merely possessing wealth does not inevitably lead to development. Beginning from our actual circumstances, we can indeed forge a path bearing our unique imprints.

What precisely do we mean by “tradition”? When discussing Chinese gardens, we use terms like “literary mind in a painted landscape” (huajingwenxin). This encapsulates the essence of the tradition of Chinese gardening. It is this “literary mind”¹⁴ that sets Chinese gardens apart, giving them their unique character. While modern Japanese gardening may technically surpass Chinese gardening, it still falls short in terms of cultural depth and richness. If Chinese technology could keep pace, our gardens could undoubtedly be further enhanced. When it comes to Chinese archaeology, we need to discover this “literary mind”. Our inheritance of Chinese culture cannot rely solely on a handful of canonical texts. Material artefacts reflecting various aspects of ancient life (canonical texts being one aspect) can reveal Chinese culture more comprehensively and profoundly. We can trace the origins of Chinese culture back to prehistoric times, an endeavour beyond the reach of historical texts. Regrettably, our archaeological research still falls significantly short in carrying forward and expanding this “literary mind”. American universities have specific departments for Classical Archaeology, separate from Anthropology, dedicated to the study of canonical Western civilisation. And us? We exclude our own civilisation under the guise of scientific study. Of course, we cannot lay the blame solely at the feet of science, as its very nature is to objectively study phenomena from an external perspective. Beyond the realm of science, we should also adopt a humanistic (or artistic) viewpoint. The “literary mind” of Chinese archaeology should reside here. Without this “literary mind”, Chinese archaeology can never truly possess tradition, for it has already forsaken the Chinese cultural tradition accumulated over thousands of years.

The concept of the “literary mind” remains somewhat nebulous, serving as a signpost to the spiritual existence of Chinese culture. In terms of theory and method, Chinese archaeology undoubtedly has a significant role to play. For a long time, Chinese intellectual traditions have faced myriad criticisms—accused of being overly vague and grandiose, overly obsessed with lofty discourses and neglecting pragmatism, and eventually becoming tainted with pretentious emptiness.

It’s undeniable that such issues exist within Chinese thought, some areas even profoundly so. However, to argue that Chinese thought is entirely devoid of merit and that we should discard all and start afresh is also problematic. My grandfather and father were both practitioners of traditional Chinese medicine, an area I’ve gained some familiarity with. Although Chinese medicine has struggled under the onslaught of modern medicine (or Western medicine), it has not disappeared. The reason is straightforward: firstly, it works; and secondly, it’s significantly cheaper than Western medicine. While the scientific analysis upheld by Western medicine has considerable strengths, it is not without flaws. On the other hand, Chinese medicine embraces the holistic thinking of Chinese philosophy, which aligns remarkably well with the emerging scientific paradigm of the twenty-first century. The esteemed philosopher Feng Youlan¹⁵ spoke of the differences between Eastern and Western thought, saying that the West sees contradictions as irreconcilable, only disappearing when one side annihilates the other. Meanwhile, the East believes that contradictions should be resolved harmoniously—not that they don’t exist, but they should ultimately be reconciled and vanish. This perspective is apparent in the treatment methods of Western medicine and the West’s approach to counter-terrorism. Historically, various ethnic groups in China have repeatedly integrated, leading to the remarkable achievement that today, over a billion people identify as part of the Chinese nation. This is even more remarkable when we witness the flames of conflict sweeping across other parts of the contemporary world.

The resilience and continuity of Chinese culture are derived from its capacity for integration and harmony, a process that also entails mutual learning. The establishment of a tradition in Chinese archaeology should undoubtedly remain grounded in science. China is no stranger to ungrounded thoughts, a fact underscored by the current flourishing of “pseudosciences” among the populace. Persuasion cannot be achieved merely through personal feelings or assumptions. A pragmatic and truth-seeking attitude is essential. Science, upholding strict logic, objectivity, and respect for facts, serves as our most effective intellectual tool in understanding the external world. Archaeology is part and parcel of the broader sense of science. As the Chinese saying goes, “the sea is vast because it rejects no rivers”. Embracing various streams of knowledge is what makes us greater. Learning from science and inheriting tradition are not contradictory. Rather, we hope to delve deeper, to assimilate scientific knowledge into the recreation of our tradition. This might well be the mission of our era. Without tradition, greatness cannot be achieved, as any grand achievement demands long-term accumulation. Here, my emphasis is placed on tradition, as well as learning and creativity. Since the modern era, we have repeatedly underscored the importance of reflection and criticism. In all honesty, compared with inheritance, learning, and creation, criticism is the simplest course of action. Anyone can be a proficient critic, but how many can put their hands on the plough and accomplish the actual task at hand?

Archaeology, as a cultural endeavour, holds paramount significance for the inheritance and reconstruction of Chinese culture. The formation of academic tradition requires generations of individuals committed to scholarship. For a long time, China has been an academic powerhouse, as the sages of yore urged us “to ordain conscience for Heaven and Earth, to secure life and fortune for the people, to continue lost teachings for past sages, to establish peace for all future generations”. In the West, modern scholarship inherits the truth-seeking spirit of ancient Greece and the devout quest for knowledge from Christianity. Indeed, in the current surge of academic commercialisation, the tranquillity of scholars’ desks is often disturbed. The hype of advertising-like tactics, the production-line creation of publications, and GDP-like academic assessments seem to have made us forget the exhortations of our predecessors. As the saying goes, “every generation produces its own talents”. The formation of new academic traditions calls for a cadre of spirited individuals. We should recognise the challenges of reality without fear. This era still offers many unprecedented opportunities, and I firmly believe that the academic tradition of Chinese archaeology will eventually come to fruition!

1.8 A Reconsideration of the Modernity of Chinese Archaeology

The awarding of the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine to Ms. Tu Youyou¹⁶ marked a milestone in the annals of Chinese scientific accomplishment. Many have questioned why she isn’t a member of the Chinese Academy of Sciences or Engineering. My interest, however, lies in an intriguing aspect: she hails from the China Academy of Chinese Medical Sciences rather than the Chinese Academy of Sciences, and her research was indeed inspired by traditional Chinese medicine. This circumstance is somewhat disconcerting to those who idealise science, leading to narratives regarding success being a product of huge manpower devotion or sheer luck. To such sentiments, I exhibit no surprise. The soil, after all, dictates the flowers or weeds that grow upon it. In terms of venerating science, few nations can match the intensity of China. The Chinese Academy of Sciences is somewhat pure in its approach, leaving out social sciences, let alone humanities. However, to call it “somewhat pure” is to imply it could be purer. Pure natural sciences, it seems, only comprise physics and chemistry. Mathematics, a play of symbols and logic, barely qualifies as a science; geology faces scrutiny, as evidenced by Sheldon Cooper’s exclamation in The Big Bang Theory: “Geology is not a real science!”. Life sciences, including genetics, have finally been accorded the dignity of being deemed scientific. Why do the Chinese adhere to such a pristine view of science? I attribute this to a mutation of modernity.

What, precisely, is modernity? And how can it impact Chinese archaeology? Modernity, in one sense, serves as the cultural meme of contemporary society. It is the product of Enlightenment thinking and the Industrial Revolution, endorsing faith in science and rationality and professing human progression. This is its radiant side. Nevertheless, it also possesses a shadowy facet, for the soil in which modernity sprang to life was concurrently a thriving ground for colonialism, racism, and imperialism. In its essence, modernity embraces a form of mechanical materialism, perceiving humans as akin to machines, subject to rigid laws. In societal thought, it manifests as a kind of utopia wherein the human future is envisioned to be unimaginably splendid. We are urged to strive towards this direction, with our present hardships serving as the foundation for our future redemption (part of modernity’s root can indeed be traced back to Christian notions of heaven). Modernity is an illusion, making people believe in absolute truth, order, laws, and the future. The West began to reflect upon modernity as early as the end of the nineteenth century, although colonial expansion, underpinned by robust ships and potent artillery, significantly bolstered people’s confidence in their lives. Reflections of modernity were largely theoretical. In short, implicit within modernity are aspects of colonialism, scientism, unilineal evolution, and Christian notions of ultimate societal utopia (heaven).

As victims of colonialism, the Chinese people have etched indelibly into their collective memory the dire maxim that “falling behind leads to humiliation”. Chinese people at the turn of the twentieth century were stripped of confidence, not only in their military prowess but, for the first time, also in their own cultural heritage. From the aftermath of the Opium Wars, for nearly a century, defeat in battle was our perennial fate. In the course of these ordeals, the Chinese populace inadvertently embraced modernity. The law of the jungle, the survival of the fittest, testified to the effectiveness of modern principles. Although China did not directly experience the Industrial Revolution, everything associated with Industrial Revolution was tacitly granted absolute legitimacy. We understood that only by shattering the old world could we be reborn. Every vestige of the past was a hindrance, an original sin obstructing our path forward, demanding deep and thorough critique.

With such ideological underpinnings, the edifice of modern Chinese academia began to form. Natural sciences are, of course, universal, adhering to the axiom that science knows no borders. However, science also requires a linguistic vessel, and language is both historical and cultural. It carries the imprint of the nation and even that of social class. Modern Chinese science has thus undergone a transformation from the lexicon of the West to that of the Chinese. Intriguingly, after a span of more than a century, there seems to be a reversion towards the languages of the West. Presently, if academic work is not scribed in English, it hardly seems to qualify as a scholarly achievement in China. While science is universal, it is not absolute. Its foundation is profoundly intertwined with societal and humanistic contexts. Thus, as we elevate science to the pedestal of universal value, we concurrently globalise the societal and humanistic notions behind it—a striking feature of modernity. Philosopher Hu Shi¹⁷ proposed a complete Westernisation of China, a proposition founded on the not-entirely flawed premise that science could not flourish in feudal societies. His misstep lay in failing to recognise the constraints of reality. Wang Guowei¹⁸ chose to end his life as a martyr to what he perceived as an irredeemable culture. Chen Yinque¹⁹ voiced his scepticism towards the reconstruction of Chinese culture. Wu Zhihui²⁰ advocated for the burning of ancient books. Even the great Lu Xun²¹ was laden with disdain towards traditional Chinese medicine and what he deemed the intrinsic inferiority of the Chinese character. The intellectual elite of the time sought to supplant their mother tongue with a global language. It was in this atmosphere, where the Chinese nearly lost all cultural self-confidence, that modern Chinese archaeology was born.

Modern Chinese archaeology arrived in China on the back of Western scholars who, borne aloft on the winds of colonial frenzy, were the harbingers of this imported discipline. Its genesis was rooted in the so-called “adventures” of these Western explorers in China, discovering the “unknown” world. Aurel Stein, who “uncovered” the Mogao Caves, absconded with numerous invaluable documents, leading to a stampede of Western scholars and explorers eager to partake in the spoils. Prior to the official commencement of archaeological excavation in Xiyin Village in 1926, most of the archaeological work in China was conducted by foreigners. In this context, theories such as the “Westward Origin of Chinese Culture” flourished, almost inevitably. Other theories proliferated, too, arguing for the Egyptian, Babylonian, Indian, and Central Asian origins of Chinese culture. This is not to say these theories were inherently invalid. After all, current research suggests that modern humans originated in Africa. The key point is not what these theories posited but why such notions were proposed at that particular time. Why did so many people believe them, especially in the absence of substantial evidence? This widespread acceptance even included support from such venerable scholars as Zhang Taiyan²² and Liu Shipei.²³ Chen Xingcan provides a detailed summary of these theories in his work History of Prehistoric Archaeology in China (1895–1949). As we now look back on the history of Chinese archaeology, this period seems somewhat unconnected with contemporary Chinese archaeology. However, we should confront the fact that the nascent Chinese archaeology, formed under such influences, had the seeds of modernity ingrained in its very essence. I avoid using the term “colonialism” here, as it alone may not precisely encapsulate the reality of the situation. For instance, the approaches that came along with this shift, such as scientific attitudes and methodologies, in-depth field studies, meticulous record-keeping, and precise measurement, were quickly admired and adopted by China’s intellectual elite. The logical thinking and analytical habits of the West, encompassed within these methods, were seen as the correct approach and were therefore accepted. In contrast, traditional Chinese methods were critiqued as outdated and thus seen as something to be abandoned.

In the 1920s, the paradigm of scientific archaeology began to be established in China. It is important to mention here Johan Gunnar Andersson, the Swede who, in a sense, pioneered prehistoric archaeology in China, even though the Japanese had earlier conducted some archaeological work in Northeast China and Inner Mongolia. Andersson initiated the work at Longgushan in Zhoukoudian, which marked the inception of Palaeolithic archaeology in China. He also began excavations at Yangshao Village (although there was prior work at Shaguotun in Jinxi, it was far less renowned), heralding the beginning of Neolithic archaeology in China. The Zhoukoudian project was largely overseen by Western archaeologists, as they provided the primary sources of funding, and they also conducted research on the most significant human fossil materials. Among these archaeologists were Davidson Black and later Franz Weidenreich. These materials were stored in Peking Union Medical College Hospital, established by Americans, and were eventually lost during the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression. The archaeological work in the Neolithic era was different. Li Ji,²⁴ having completed his studies in America, began excavation in Xiyin Village, Xi County, Shanxi, in 1926, pioneering fieldwork conducted by Chinese individuals. I’ve always had a query: Li Ji studied physical anthropology at Harvard University, which implies that he could study human fossils from Zhoukoudian. However, he never undertook work in his area of speciality but rather devoted to the archaeology of later periods—the excavation of Yinxu. Nowadays, it is generally acknowledged that he applied the scientific methods he had learned to the study of material artefacts. From this, we can see that the field of Palaeolithic archaeology was a highly “internationalised” area from the outset, belonging to relatively “pure scientific research”. Chinese scholars did not genuinely participate until after 1949.

Reflecting on it now, it appears that Li Ji’s scientific method was rather general in scope, as he hadn’t received systematic archaeological training in the West. The first to genuinely receive professional training was Liang Siyong,²⁵ followed by others such as Wu Jinding²⁶ and Xia Nai.²⁷ The establishment of scientific archaeology in China was an extraordinarily arduous process, encompassing periods of warlord conflicts, Japanese invasion, and subsequent civil war, resulting in very fleeting periods of stable development. I have no intention of obscuring the contributions of our forebears, yet upon reviewing the history of archaeology, it becomes clear that the establishment of scientific archaeology in China came with a considerable price. Before the introduction of modern Western archaeology to China, the country already had a fully fledged field of jinshixue. The Qing Dynasty witnessed unparalleled achievements in this area. The late nineteenth century saw the unearthing of oracle bones and the discovery of Dunhuang manuscripts. With the elevation by masters like Wang Guowei, jinshixue was seemingly the precursor to classical archaeology in China. Regrettably, classical Chinese archaeology has been on the decline, with jinshixue labelled as unscientific. Bereft of such research on material culture, the process of cultural transmission in China has become increasingly ephemeral. What makes us Chinese? We have lost our own clothing, architecture, furniture, and materials of cultural significance. Cultural heritage cannot be adequately maintained through text alone, as textual accounts are, after all, symbolic and far less tangible than physical artefacts. We might have established scientific archaeology, but we’ve lost the humanistic essence within it. It’s important to note that Western archaeology has its inherent humanistic content, tracing a lineage from ancient Greece to Rome and even further back to ancient Egypt and prehistoric times.

Post-1949, the modernity of Chinese archaeology did not diminish. Towards the late 1950s, there was a debate at Peking University about replacing historical narratives with theoretical ones, indicative of China’s aspirations to establish Marxist archaeology. Judging by the political atmosphere at the time, this could be understood. The establishment of Marxist archaeology was a choice that resonated with both domestic and international conditions. The task of Chinese archaeology was to create an evolutionary history under the guidance of Marxism, tracing from primitive societies to communist societies. Marx was a brilliant thinker, and his critique of capitalism was profoundly incisive. However, he was a philosopher of the nineteenth century, thus bound by the limitations of his era. His theories of social evolution were based primarily on ethnographic materials gathered from the West. If even the natural sciences cannot escape their humanistic foundations, how could the social sciences possibly do so?

Many fail to understand why Su Bingqi²⁸ is of paramount importance, privately rebelling against his typological theory and even accusing it of hindering the development of contemporary Chinese archaeology. I was one of those doubters once. However, reflecting on the history of archaeology, I now realise that I may have misunderstood the venerable master. Why is Su Bingqi a monumental figure in Chinese archaeology? It’s because he discerned the vacuity of “theory replacing history” and perceived the zeitgeist of a new era. As Sino-American relations began to normalise in 1972, around the same time, Su’s regional typology started to take shape. What was the objective behind this theory? Su sought to utilise it to establish ancient Chinese history—that is, to explore the origins of Chinese civilisation and to establish a cultural identity for the Chinese nation. Chinese people at home and abroad all consider themselves descendants of Emperor Yan and Huang (yan huangzisun), but what’s the basis for such identity? What evidence substantiates it? Following the reform and opening up after the third plenary session of the 11th Central Committee in 1978, China started to integrate fully into the international community, thus necessitating the establishment of its own national and cultural identity. As the saying in Zuozhuan²⁹ goes: “The great affairs of a State are rite and war”. Cultivating a national cultural identity is one such rite, a great affair of the state. The prerequisite for interactions across the Taiwan Strait is based on the shared cultural identity. Without it, military confrontations may not be far off. In the past two decades, major research projects exploring the origins of Chinese civilisation have been guided by the purpose of seeking cultural identity. It was the same when Western nations were first establishing their national identities in the nineteenth century. Now, having moved past that historical stage, they are once again critical of what Chinese archaeology is seeking.

Su’s groundbreaking work can be viewed, in a sense, as a counter-narrative to modernity, but we should also acknowledge that such a “paradigm” is not without serious issues. According to his typology, we can construct a cultural and historical framework for the origins of Chinese civilisation. But why did Chinese civilisation originate in the first place? Why is China a cradle of agriculture? How did people live in the Neolithic era? Why did they choose to live that way rather than another? When faced with such inquiries, Su’s theoretical approach appears wanting. Consequently, we are compelled to learn from Western archaeology, to seek universal theories, and to “align with international norms”. And so, we are drawn back to the issue of modernity. Contemporary Chinese archaeologists find themselves grappling with the tension between modernity and anti-modernity. We should extract the essence while discarding the dross. While this axiom sounds straightforward, in practice, it can easily result in overcorrection. Within the three major domains of archaeology, historical archaeology faces relatively minor issues, Neolithic-prehistoric archaeology somewhat more, and Palaeolithic archaeology the most serious. Chinese Palaeolithic archaeology falls under the category of natural sciences and adheres to the norms of scientific research. If humans were merely akin to primates, then this research method would be unimpeachable. However, if we truly wish to study humans as humans, then we encounter a problem. Natural sciences are unable to accommodate the ill-defined concept of “spirit”. Yet, without “spirit”, how can we truly understand what makes us human? But under the banner of science, all of this becomes rationalised. How can we extricate ourselves from the postcolonial influence lurking behind this? We sometimes even question our appearances based on the Western standard. Even our most natural and innate traits are scrutinised, let alone those developed over historical periods.

Why do we critique modernity when we are inextricably entwined with it? Doesn’t modernity’s belief in science, truth, rationality, and the perpetual progress of mankind seem entirely reasonable? However, when examining an individual, we shouldn’t solely consider what they say but also what they do—not only their overt actions but also their inner motives and, critically, the end results. Modernity disregards history, perceiving its sole value as a lesson we can learn from without recognising that our current choices are, in fact, the results of cumulative historical development. Modernity is simplistic and crude—sometimes naive and idealistic, inspiring people to strive for utopia, yet at other times it manifests as obstinacy, narrow-mindedness, and sometimes trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. We have already seen the societal consequences of modernity: the surge of colonialism, the two World Wars, the threat of nuclear conflict, ecological disasters, and so on. In China, we see a nullification of history, the self-colonisation of thought, and the naturalisation of social sciences.

How can we go beyond modernity? For many years, I have contemplated this question and realised the answer has remained unchanged: it is diversity. If we acknowledged the value of each culture, would we have witnessed the frenzy of colonialism and racial extermination? If we recognised other cultures and species as the sources of our happiness, could endless wars and ecological disasters have been avoided? If we trusted in the spiritual value of Chinese culture, would we now have a stronger sense of identity? If we understood that the path to science is also diverse, why would Chinese archaeology be bound to pay homage to the West alone? The recognition of Tu Youyou may provide a hint of inspiration: what is indigenous is also global. What we genuinely need to do is to ground ourselves in the progress of Chinese society rather than adhering to a single standard. An outcry by Gong Zizhen³⁰ from over a hundred years ago still echoes, “I urge Heaven to give us another chance and not to stick to one pattern in conferring talents on men”. To emerge from modernity does not mean we ought to completely abandon it, but rather to establish a diverse dialogue.

Bertrand Russell argues that variety is the spice of happiness. Perhaps, in terms of the development of contemporary Chinese archaeology, this also rings true.