Welcome back. Today, we are diving into a phrase
that you have almost certainly used yourself.
Or, you know, at least you've heard it dropped
by a politician, an author, or maybe just a colleague
who's trying to sound profound in a meeting.
Yeah, it's one of those phrases that just kind
of floats around everywhere. Right. And the phrase
is, may you live in interesting times. It is
universally known in the English -speaking world
as a traditional Chinese curse. But our mission
today for this deep dive is to look at the source
material. We've got this deeply researched Wikipedia
article that documents the entire history of
the phrase. And we're going to use that to track
the actual... Philological paper trail. It is
a really perfect case study in how information
mutates over time. It really is. We're essentially
trying to figure out how a Victorian politician's
diary -esque observation became one of the most
stubborn pieces of fake lore in modern history.
Fake lore being the operative word there. Yeah.
Because we're tracing a lineage that supposedly
bridges ancient Eastern philosophy in 20th century
Western geopolitics. As the sources reveal, the
reality of how this embedded itself into our
collective consciousness is, well... It's far
more convoluted than just a simple translation
error. Okay, let's unpack this. Starting with
the phrase itself and the inherent irony that
makes it so sticky in our culture. Because on
the surface, it doesn't sound like a curse at
all. Exactly. On the surface, may you live in
interesting times, sounds like a really pleasant
wish. Like you're wishing someone a life full
of adventure and excitement. But the irony, and
the whole reason it's deployed as a curse, is
that Interesting here does not mean fun. No,
not at all. It implies times of trouble, anxiety,
instability, you know, chaos. It's used as this
passive -aggressive hex. You are essentially
wishing perpetual unrest upon your enemy. Which
brings us to the central revelation of the source
text and really the crux of this whole myth.
The phrase is entirely apocryphal. Completely
made up. Yes. It simply does not exist in the
Chinese language. And this isn't for lack of
trying. Researchers, historians, language experts,
they have all scoured classical texts, digitized
databases, historical archives. And they aren't
just looking for a literal word -for -word translation,
right? Right. They've looked for approximations,
idioms, colloquialisms that might mirror this
neat, ironic curse, and they have found absolutely
nothing. It's just a fascinating void to have
an entire culture in the West confidently attributing
this highly specific linguistic corp to another
culture, only for it to be a total fantasy. Yeah,
it's wild. But the sources do point out that
there is a genuine documented Chinese proverb
that touches on a very similar theme. Right.
This idea of chaos versus peace. What is that
actual proverb? The authentic expression is actually
far more visceral than the polite irony of the
English version. It translates roughly to. Better
to be a dog in times of tranquility than a human
in times of chaos. Better to be a dog in times
of tranquility than a human in times of chaos.
Wow, that is a really stark contrast. And it
strips away all that clever wordplay. Yeah, because
the fabricated English curse sounds like something
muttered over tea at a diplomatic summit. But
the actual Chinese proverb is gritty. It's raw.
It reflects a brutal assessment of survival.
And unlike our apocryphal quote, We can firmly
ground this authentic phrase in the historical
record. It dates back to the year 1627. Okay,
so a very specific time frame. Exactly. It appears
in Volume 3 of a short story collection by the
Ming Dynasty writer Feng Menglong. The collection
is titled Stories to Awaken the World. And 1627
is a highly specific, very volatile moment in
Chinese history. Which really gives that proverb
its teeth. Precisely. The Ming Dynasty was approaching
its collapse, which would eventually happen just
a few decades later in 1644. So they were living
in very literally chaotic times. Yes. This was
a period marked by famine, massive economic crisis,
and looming rebellions. So when Feng Menglong
writes about the horrors of human existence during
times of chaos, he is not being metaphorical.
Right. He is reflecting the very real, terrifying
social decay of his era. It's a grounded historical
reality. So we have this stark, documented 17th
century Chinese proverb that is born out of actual
societal collabs. And then on the completely
opposite end of the spectrum, we have this polite,
ironic Western invention parading around as an
ancient curse. Which naturally raises the question
of where the Western invention actually came
from. Exactly. If the Chinese didn't invent May
You Live in Interesting Times, who did? And how
did we all start repeating it? What's fascinating
here is how we can trace this paper trail backwards.
We can actually watch the myth solidify in the
West. Let's follow that trail. Where do we start
seeing it widely accepted? If we look at the
mid -century, specifically 1943, we see a huge
leap. The phrase appears in a publication called
Child Study. Which was a journal of parent education.
Yes, and it's presented there. without any question,
is a Chinese curse. A journal for parenting and
child rearing, that just shows you how completely
embedded it had become in everyday domestic life
by the 1940s. Right, but the sources highlight
a slightly earlier year as the major flashpoint
for the phrase's popularity. The year 1936. 1936.
So right as the shadow of the Second World War
is starting to loom over Europe. Exactly. And
the sources give us two very specific historical
accounts from 1936 that show how this phrase
was moving through the elite circles. Let's talk
about the first account. This involves Hugh Natchbull
Hughes. Yes. Who was appointed as the British
ambassador to China from 1936 to 1937. He later
wrote a memoir in 1949 titled Diplomat in Peace
and War. And what does he say in the memoir?
He recounts that right before he departed England
for his post in China in 1936, a friend warned
him with this exact phrase. And the friend explicitly
called it A Chinese curse. That detail is just
staggering to me. You have the incoming British
ambassador being warned about the country he
is about to travel to using a fabricated piece
of folklore invented by his own peers back in
London. It really shows how insulated that diplomatic
echo chamber was. Absolutely. They were passing
their own projected anxieties back and forth
and accepting them as absolute geopolitical fact.
What was the second account from 1936? The second
involves a man named Frederick Rene Cooter Jr.,
who was a prominent legal and political figure.
He recounted a letter exchange he had that year
with Sir Austin Chamberlain. And Sir Austin Chamberlain
was a massive figure. He was a prominent statesman,
former foreign secretary, and the brother of
Neville Chamberlain, who would soon become prime
minister. A very heavy hitter. So Cooter writes
a letter to Austin Chamberlain, and he ends it
by noting... somewhat casually, that they were
living in an interesting age. And Chamberlain's
reply is incredible. It is the smoking gun of
this entire myth. Austin Chamberlain writes back
by return mail. He says, many years ago, I learned
from one of our diplomats in China that one of
the principal Chinese curses heaped upon an enemy
is, may you live in an interesting age. He just
states it as absolute fact. Yes. And he goes
on to agree with Couture, adding, surely no age
has been more fraught with insecurity than our
own present time. There it is in black and white.
You have a highly powerful statesman explicitly
validating this misremembered quote, giving it
a false origin story and tying it directly to
the insecurity of the 1930s. Right. Austin Chamberlain
genuinely believed he heard it from a diplomat,
but he didn't. Here's where it gets really interesting,
because if Austin Chamberlain didn't learn it
from a diplomat in Beijing, where did he hear
it? To answer that, we have to look at the work
of a, quote, investigator and philologist named
Garson O'Toole. And for anyone unfamiliar, a
philologist essentially studies the historical
development of languages and texts. They track
how words and idioms evolve over centuries. Exactly.
O'Toole dug deep into the archives. He bypassed
all the mythology to find the earliest recorded
use of this exact sentiment. And his search did
not lead to an ancient scroll. No, it led straight
to late Victorian England. Specifically to a
speech delivered by Joseph Chamberlain in the
year 1898. Joseph Chamberlain, as in Sir Austin
Chamberlain's own father. Yes, it is a brilliant
historical twist. Austin Chamberlain didn't learn
the quote from a mysterious diplomat in China.
He likely misremembered a phrase coined by his
own dad. Let's look at the exact text of Joseph
Chamberlain's 1898 speech, because the context
shifts the meaning entirely. He was addressing
a domestic audience, right? He was. He was reflecting
on the state of the world at the end of the 19th
century. And here is what he told his audience.
I think that you will all agree that we are living
in most interesting times. I never remember myself.
a time in which our history was so full. In which
day by day brought us new objects of interest
and, let me say also, new objects for anxiety.
Notice the complete absence of any Eastern mythology
there. There is zero mention of China. It's not
framed as a curse. It's not ancient wisdom. No,
it is a strictly contemporary observation by
a Victorian statesman who is just trying to articulate
the overwhelming nature of modernity. The phrase
new objects for anxiety really anchors it for
me, because if you look at what was happening
in 1898, Joseph Chamberlain's unease makes perfect
sense. Oh, absolutely. The world was changing
rapidly. Right. The second industrial revolution
was in full swing. Global empires were clashing.
You had technological leaps like the telegraph
literally shrinking the world. News of a crisis
from across the globe could arrive in hours instead
of months. It was the birth of the modern information
cycle. That is a crucial piece of the context.
Chamberlain was reacting to the acceleration
of history. The world had suddenly become highly
interconnected, and that interconnectedness brought
a profound sense of instability. He was expressing
a distinctly modern Western geopolitical fatigue.
Exactly. But then we have to ask, how does a
Victorian politician's accurate diagnosis of
modern anxiety turn into a fake Chinese curse?
Right. How do we get from Joseph in 1898 to Austin
in 1936? It's essentially a multigenerational
game of telephone. driven by cognitive bias.
As the decades passed, Austin retained the core
sentiment of his father's observation that modern
times are overwhelmingly interesting and therefore
anxiety -inducing. But human memory is notoriously
fallible. Over the course of almost 40 years,
Austin detached the quote from his father. He
didn't just detach it. He actively, though unconscious
as it may have been, reattributed it. And this
reveals a deeply ingrained psychological crutch
that we all have. Oh, definitely. When we face
modern unprecedented dread, we seek out ancient
wisdom to reassure ourselves. Yes. We want the
comfort of knowing that past generations understood
and survived this exact type of chaos. So instead
of simply remembering that his Victorian dad
had geopolitical anxiety, Austin's brain categorized
the thought as an ancient, exotic curse that
he assumed he must have heard from a worldly
diplomat. It is a textbook example of Orientalism,
projecting an aura of mystical, timeless wisdom
onto Eastern cultures to validate our own Western
narratives. Austin Chamberlain took a domestic
familial observation and he literally dressed
it up in the costume of another culture to give
it more gravitas. And because he was so highly
connected when he started repeating this flawed
memory, it carried immense authority. If we connect
this to the bigger picture, we see that once
it had the stamp of approval from the highest
levels of British diplomacy, the phrase didn't
stay confined to elite circles for long. No.
As we discussed, it trickled down into parenting
magazines by 1943. And from there, it just achieved
the highest levels of cultural permanence. It
really did. Fake lore is incredibly enduring.
It didn't fade away after the Second World War.
If you look at the modern legacy of this phrase,
it is literally everywhere. It completely transcends
politics now. It bleeds into mainstream pop culture.
Oh, definitely. The legendary fantasy author
Terry Pratchett. titled one of his beloved Discworld
novels, Interesting Times. Right, relying on
the audience's immediate recognition of the underlying
curse. And its reach extends well beyond pop
culture into the realm of high art and intellectualism.
Consider the Venice Biennale. Which is arguably
the most prestigious contemporary art exhibition
globally. It's an event that prides itself on
deep, rigorous cultural commentary. And what
was the official title chosen for the 2019 edition
of the Biennale? May You Live in Interesting
Times. Exactly. A premier global art event intending
to reflect deeply on the fractured state of modern
human existence anchored its entire thematic
identity on a misremembered diary entry from
a Victorian politician. And they were still operating
under the illusion that they were invoking profound
ancient cultural wisdom. It is a testament to
how comfortably we settle into established narratives.
We really do. Once a concept is widely accepted,
the burden of proof just vanishes. No one stops
to check the receipts on a phrase that feels
that universally true. Which brings us to why
this matters for you, the listener. Right, because
this is not an isolated linguistic quirk. This
habit of Western cultures projecting convenient
frameworks onto Easter languages happens repeatedly.
The sources explicitly link the Interesting Times
phenomenon to another pervasive piece of modern
fake lore. Yes, the myth surrounding the Chinese
word for crisis oh this is the classic motivational
speaker trope you hear this in corporate boardrooms
constantly the claim is that the chinese word
for crisis is composed of two characters one
representing danger and the other representing
opportunity it is the exact same mechanism at
play it is a fundamental linguistic misunderstanding
philologists and translators have debunked this
repeatedly haven't they countless times they've
explained that the characters do not translate
to a neat philosophical duality of danger plus
opportunity. But the myth survives because it
serves a Western modern self -help narrative.
Just as Austin Chamberlain needed a mystical
curse to validate his 1930s geopolitical dread,
modern corporate culture needs a mystical linguistic
silver lining to validate the stress of a crisis.
We curate these myths because they are useful
to us. We bend the reality of other cultures
to fit the shape of our own specific anxieties
and ambitions. So what does this all mean? Tracking
the full life cycle of this quote gives us an
incredible masterclass in how human memory and
cultural consensus actually work. We start in
1898 with Joseph Chamberlain, a Victorian politician
articulating the very real stress of a rapidly
industrializing, hyper -connected world bringing
new objects for anxiety. And then we fast forward
to the 1930s. Right. His own son, Sir Austin
Chamberlain, inadvertently strips away the original
context. In an attempt to make sense of the looming
threat of global war, his memory repackages his
father's observation as an ancient Chinese curse.
That misattributed quote bounces around an echo
chamber of anxious British diplomats, validates
their geopolitical dread, and then escapes into
the wild. It trickles down into 1940s parenting
journals, inspires fantasy novels, and ultimately
headlines the 2019 Venice Biennale. It is a brilliant,
slightly unsettling reminder that sometimes the
most profound ancient wisdom we cling to is just
a reflection of our own modern panic bouncing
back at us from a mirror we built ourselves.
We're living in an age of total information overload,
and this story is the ultimate reminder to always
check your receipts. It really is a striking
timeline. And tracing that lineage from 1898
to today, well, this raises an important question,
one worth dwelling on after we wrap up here.
What's that? If a casual domestic observation
by a British politician can... successfully masquerade
as ancient Eastern philosophy for over a century.
To the point where it shapes international art
exhibitions and everyday conversation, what other
foundational pieces of ancient wisdom that currently
shape your worldview are actually just historical
misquotations? Just quietly waiting for a philologist
to dig up the original entirely mundane source.
That is a slightly unsettling thought to end
on, but a highly necessary one. Thank you for
joining us for this deep dive. Keep questioning
the origins of the narratives around you, and
we will see you on the next deep dive.