典論·論文 A Discourse on Literature Cao Pi 曹丕 (187–226) Qin–Han · c. 217–220 Cold Library · Open Stacks · S-008017 · https://coldlibrary.com/s/008017 Rights: Written in the early third century; the author died in 226. Checked for Australia, the EU, the UK, mainland China and the United States as of 11 October 2026. Guidance, not legal advice. Source: Wikisource (zh), 典論/論文, https://zh.wikisource.org/wiki/典論/論文 (retrieved 2026-10-11) English translation: Claude (an AI), 2026 · CC0 1.0 Generated 2026-10-14 from https://coldlibrary.com/en/open-stacks/cao-pi-on-literature ---- 文人相輕，自古而然。傅毅之於班固，伯仲之間耳，而固小之，與弟超書曰「武仲以能屬文為蘭臺令史，下筆不能自休。」夫人善於自見，而文非一體，鮮能備善。是以各以所長，相輕所短。里語曰：「家有敝帚，享之千金。」斯不自見之患也。今之文人，魯國孔融文舉，廣陵陳琳孔璋，山陽王粲仲宣，北海徐幹偉長，陳留阮瑀元瑜，汝南應瑒德璉，東平劉楨公幹：斯七子者，於學無所遺，於辭無所假，咸以自騁驥騄於千里，仰齊足而並馳。以此相服，亦良難矣。蓋君子審己以度人，故能免於斯累，而作論文。 王粲長於辭賦，徐幹時有齊氣，然粲之匹也。如粲之初征、登樓、槐賦、征思，幹之玄猿、漏卮、圓扇、橘賦，雖張、蔡不過也。然於他文，未能稱是。琳、瑀之章表書記，今之雋也。應瑒和而不壯；劉楨壯而不密。孔融體氣高妙，有過人者；然不能持論，理不勝辭；以至乎雜以嘲戲；及其所善，揚、班儔也。 常人貴遠賤近，向聲背實，又患闇於自見，謂己為賢。夫文本同而末異。蓋奏議宜雅，書論宜理，銘誄尚實，詩賦欲麗。此四科不同，故能之者偏也；唯通才能備其體。 文以氣為主；氣之清濁有體，不可力強而致。譬諸音樂，曲度雖均，節奏同檢；至於引氣不齊，巧拙有素，雖在父兄，不能以移子弟。 蓋文章經國之大業，不朽之盛事。年壽有時而盡，榮樂止乎其身。二者必至之常期，未若文章之無窮。是以古之作者，寄身於翰墨，見意於篇籍，不假良史之辭，不託飛馳之勢，而聲名自傳於後。故西伯幽而演易，周旦顯而制禮；不以隱約而弗務，不以康樂而加思。夫然，則古人賤尺璧而重寸陰，懼乎時之過已。而人多不強力，貧賤則懾於飢寒，富貴則流於逸樂，遂營目前之務，而遺千載之功。日月逝於上，體貌衰於下，忽然與萬物遷化，斯志士之大痛也！融等已逝，唯幹著論，成一家言。 ---- 文人相轻，自古而然。傅毅之于班固，伯仲之间耳，而固小之，与弟超书曰「武仲以能属文为兰台令史，下笔不能自休。」夫人善于自见，而文非一体，鲜能备善。是以各以所长，相轻所短。里语曰：「家有敝帚，享之千金。」斯不自见之患也。今之文人，鲁国孔融文举，广陵陈琳孔璋，山阳王粲仲宣，北海徐幹伟长，陈留阮瑀元瑜，汝南应玚德琏，东平刘桢公幹：斯七子者，于学无所遗，于辞无所假，咸以自骋骥騄于千里，仰齐足而并驰。以此相服，亦良难矣。盖君子审己以度人，故能免于斯累，而作论文。 王粲长于辞赋，徐幹时有齐气，然粲之匹也。如粲之初征、登楼、槐赋、征思，幹之玄猿、漏卮、圆扇、橘赋，虽张、蔡不过也。然于他文，未能称是。琳、瑀之章表书记，今之隽也。应玚和而不壮；刘桢壮而不密。孔融体气高妙，有过人者；然不能持论，理不胜辞；以至乎杂以嘲戏；及其所善，扬、班俦也。 常人贵远贱近，向声背实，又患暗于自见，谓己为贤。夫文本同而末异。盖奏议宜雅，书论宜理，铭诔尚实，诗赋欲丽。此四科不同，故能之者偏也；唯通才能备其体。 文以气为主；气之清浊有体，不可力强而致。譬诸音乐，曲度虽均，节奏同检；至于引气不齐，巧拙有素，虽在父兄，不能以移子弟。 盖文章经国之大业，不朽之盛事。年寿有时而尽，荣乐止乎其身。二者必至之常期，未若文章之无穷。是以古之作者，寄身于翰墨，见意于篇籍，不假良史之辞，不托飞驰之势，而声名自传于后。故西伯幽而演易，周旦显而制礼；不以隐约而弗务，不以康乐而加思。夫然，则古人贱尺璧而重寸阴，惧乎时之过已。而人多不强力，贫贱则慑于饥寒，富贵则流于逸乐，遂营目前之务，而遗千载之功。日月逝于上，体貌衰于下，忽然与万物迁化，斯志士之大痛也！融等已逝，唯幹著论，成一家言。 ---- English translation by Claude (an AI) Men of letters look down on one another; it has been so since antiquity. Between Fu Yi and Ban Gu there was as little to choose as between an elder and a younger brother, yet Ban Gu belittled him. He wrote to his brother Chao: "Wuzhong became an archivist at the Orchid Terrace because he could compose; but once he picks up his brush he cannot stop." People are good at seeing their own strengths, but writing has more than one form, and few are good at all of them. So each, from what he does well, scorns what another does poorly. The village saying goes: "A worn-out broom at home is valued at a thousand in gold." That is the trouble with not seeing oneself. Among the writers of our day there are Kong Rong, styled Wenju, of Lu; Chen Lin, styled Kongzhang, of Guangling; Wang Can, styled Zhongxuan, of Shanyang; Xu Gan, styled Weichang, of Beihai; Ruan Yu, styled Yuanyu, of Chenliu; Ying Yang, styled Delian, of Runan; and Liu Zhen, styled Gonggan, of Dongping. These seven have left nothing out of their learning and borrowed nothing in their language. Each believes he is galloping a thoroughbred over a thousand li, head high, keeping pace and racing abreast with the rest. For such men to defer to one another is hard indeed. A gentleman examines himself before he measures others, and so escapes this burden; and so I write this essay on literature. Wang Can excels at rhapsodies. Xu Gan at times has the slow manner of Qi, but he is Wang Can's match. Wang Can's "First Campaign," "Climbing the Tower," "The Locust Tree" and "Thoughts on Campaign," and Xu Gan's "Black Gibbon," "Leaking Goblet," "Round Fan" and "The Orange" are not surpassed even by Zhang Heng and Cai Yong. In other forms, though, they do not reach that height. The memorials, petitions, letters and records of Chen Lin and Ruan Yu are the finest of our time. Ying Yang is harmonious but lacks strength; Liu Zhen is strong but lacks fineness. Kong Rong's style and spirit are lofty and subtle, with something no one else has; but he cannot sustain an argument, his reasoning falls short of his phrasing, and he goes so far as to mix in mockery and jest. At his best he is the peer of Yang Xiong and Ban Gu. Ordinary people prize what is far away and despise what is near; they turn toward reputation and away from substance. They also suffer from being blind to themselves, and think themselves worthy. Writing is one at the root and different in its branches. Memorials and deliberations should be dignified; letters and treatises should be reasoned; inscriptions and eulogies value truth; poems and rhapsodies aim at beauty. These four kinds differ, and so those who are able in them are partial. Only a talent that reaches through all of them can master every form. In writing, the breath of the writer is the master. That breath is clear or turbid by its own nature, and cannot be had by forcing. Compare it to music: the tune may be the same and the rhythm kept to the same measure, but in the drawing of breath no two players are alike, and skill and clumsiness are there from the start. Even a father or an elder brother cannot hand them on to a son or a younger brother. For writing is the great work of ordering a state, a splendid undertaking that does not decay. A life ends when its years are spent; honour and pleasure stop with the person. Both come to their appointed end, and neither is like writing, which has none. So the writers of old lodged themselves in ink and brush and showed their minds in chapters and books. They borrowed no fine historian's words and leaned on no swift and powerful patron, and still their names passed on to later ages of their own accord. So the Lord of the West, held captive, worked out the Changes, and the Duke of Zhou, in his eminence, set down the Rites: the one did not give up the work because he was in hardship, and the other did not let ease draw his mind away. That being so, the ancients scorned a jade disc a foot across and prized an inch of shadow on the sundial, afraid that time would pass them by. Yet most people do not exert themselves. Poor and humble, they are cowed by hunger and cold; rich and noble, they drift into idle pleasure. So they busy themselves with what is in front of them and leave undone the work of a thousand years. Sun and moon go by above, body and face wear away below, and suddenly one is changed along with all the ten thousand things. This is the great sorrow of a man with a purpose. Kong Rong and the others are gone. Only Xu Gan wrote a treatise and made a school of his own.