Confucius, the Analects and Western Education 9781472541079, 9780826499301, 9781441131102

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Confucius, the Analects and Western Education

Also available from Continuum The Greatest Educators Ever, Frank M. Flanagan Paulo Freire’s Philosophy of Education, Jones Irwin Philosophy of Education: An Introduction, Richard Bailey

Confucius, the Analects and Western Education

Frank M. Flanagan

Continuum International Publishing Group The Tower Building 80 Maiden Lane 11 York Road Suite 704 London SE1 7NX New York NY 10038 www.continuumbooks.com © Frank M. Flanagan 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Frank M. Flanagan has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN:  978-0-8264-9930-1 (hardcover) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Flanagan, Frank M. Confucius, the Analects, and Western Education / Frank M. Flanagan. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8264-9930-1 -- ISBN 978-1-4411-3110-2 1.  Confucius. 2.  Education–China. 3.  Philosophy, Chinese–Quotations, maxims, etc. 4.  Education–Philosophy–History. 5.  Educators–Biography. 6.  Education–History. I. Title. LA1133.F53 2011 370.1--dc22 2011002472

Typeset by Amnet International, Dublin, Ireland Printed and bound in Great Britain

For Áine, Caitlìn, Eoghan and Eamonn who have taught me so much.

Contents

Introduction: Confucius and the Analects

1

Chapter 1:  Confucius: The Historical Context

9

Chapter 2:  Who was Confucius?

25

Chapter 3: The Primacy of the Family: Familial Duty as the Basis of Social Order

49

Chapter 4:  Government and the Power and Example of Rulers

67

Chapter 5: Confucian Thought and Language: The Rectification of Names

91

Chapter 6:  The Form and Substance of Ritual (Li)

115

Chapter 7:  Pedagogy and Learning

135

Chapter 8:  The Confucian Gentleman

159

Chapter 9:  Confucianism and the Modern Age

175

Conclusion

185

Bibliography

199

Subject Index

203

Introduction: Confucius and the Analects

‘ The asking of questions is in itself the correct rite.’ (The Analects, 3, 15)

The Analects This book is not a scholarly study of Confucius, the Analects, or Confucian philosophy. The author has neither the expertise, the skills nor the experience for such an undertaking. The aim is much more modest: to bring the reader to an initial appreciation of one of the seminal teachers in human history, one whose influence in Asia (particularly China, Japan, the Koreas, Taiwan, Vietnam, as well as in Asian communities elsewhere in the world) continues to be wide-spread and profound. While modest, such an aim is, I hope, important. As the influence of a newly dynamic China affects all aspects of our lives it behoves us to know something of the origins of Asian thought and attitudes, especially in relation to politics, ethics and the conduct of communal life. So this book should be seen as no more than a general introduction to Confucius and his thought written by one whose background is in education and teaching but who has no claims to a specialist expertise in Confucian studies. It is the result of a personal interest and enthusiasm which I hope will be shared by others who wish to familiarize themselves with the life and work of this significant thinker. Confucius’ thought is primarily to be found in the Analects (selected sayings). The Analects was compiled over three centuries following Confucius’ death and there is much scholarly debate on the reliability, dating and provenance of the various ‘books’ in the Analects and the extent to which they record what was actually said by, or to, Confucius and his immediate disciples. When I first read the Analects I found myself at a loss to fully understand its significance. It is not a book in the conventional sense consisting of a linear text setting out a sequential argument or doctrine. At first reading it is difficult to discern any coherent sense, even consecutive meaning; there is no

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perceptible arc of development. The so-called ‘books’ (20 in all) are simply what appear to be random collections of sayings attributed to Confucius and some of his disciples. Some of the ‘books’ have fewer than 1,000 words in the English translation and individual ‘chapters’ into which they are divided can be extremely brief.1 Thus the first chapter of the sixth book reads in full: ‘The Master said, “Yung could be given the seat facing south.”’2 The sequence of the books and the selection of the constituent chapters lack any logical pattern of selection or presentation perceptible to the nonspecialist reader at least. (I am not sure that it is any different for the specialist scholar: all of the commentaries that I have consulted appear to make their own individual selections of chapters from various books to illustrate specific interpretations.) Whatever criteria the ancient editors used to assemble the individual ‘books’ and their sequence are far from evident to the modern reader. The Classics There is no evidence of any system of primary (elementary) education in China during the Spring and Autumn period or for many centuries thereafter. What education was available would have been the privilege of an elite who could afford the luxury of providing tutors for their children. What is certain is that the disciples who studied with Confucius (and his own son) were presumed by him to have sufficient literacy to study the classics, in particular The Book of Poetry (also referred to as The Odes, or The Book of Songs) and The Book of Rites. The first of these was a collection of 305 poems comprising folk songs, ceremonial songs, and hymns. Over half of the poems were originally popular songs which, like all popular songs, celebrated basic human experiences such as love, marriage, work and war. Some were court poems and poems praising the founders of the Zhou Dynasty. Others were hymns used in ceremonial and sacrificial rituals. ‘Collectively,’ Ames and Rosemont write, ‘the poems of the Songs paint what must be the most accurate picture we have of the everyday life of the Chinese – aristocrats and commoners alike – living in approximately the ninth century bc.’3 The Book of Rites describes the rituals required in a wide array of social and ceremonial occasions. The other classics included The Book of History, which is a compilation of documents and speeches dating from the early Zhou period; The Book of Changes (The I Ching), which comprises a system of divination (and is still widely used for that purpose today); and The Spring and Autumn Annals, which comprises the official historical record of the state of Lu, Confucius’s



Introduction: Confucius and the Analects

3

native state, from 722 to 481 BC. The Spring and Autumn Annals was allegedly written by Confucius himself though this has been disputed. The kind of literacy which would have been required to engage with the Classical Chinese of the Odes or the History was not the kind required to write bills of lading, inventories, orders or receipts. In the first place, Classical Chinese was not a spoken language: it was specifically and exclusively used for literary purposes only. There was what one might call a ‘vernacular’ literacy which was sufficient for everyday communications and transactions but this was not relevant to the language of the classical works. The formal written language of the Analects would have required specialist instruction. How or when this was provided or by whom it was taught is not known. Nor is it clear how widespread a knowledge of the Classical Chinese might have been. Confucius the Philosopher Confucius was not a speculative philosopher; he had no evident interest in the abstractions which are at the centre of European philosophy (truth, reason, nature). He has nothing to tell us about the origin of the world, about the origin of humanity, about any other world or celestial being, about salvation. He does not, as European philosophers have always done, engage in scientific or metaphysical rumination. He ‘confined himself to teaching ethics, devotion of soul, truthfulness, history, poetry, etc.’.4 The twin objectives of Confucius’ approach to education were self-realisation and social harmony. His interest was focused entirely on human relationships and how human existence could be improved by bringing people (especially rulers and political functionaries) to a realization of their best selves. Rather than an objective truth, which would provide a foundation for social and political stability, Confucius and those who followed him searched for the ‘Way’, the Dao (Tao). His was a philosophy of behaviour and interpersonal conduct rather than a reflective or introspective philosophy, a method of living rather than a set of doctrines or theories about the world. So the Confucian system presents ‘an important and different system of categorization of moral philosophy from that of contemporary Western moral philosophy’.5 Following his understanding of the Zhou feudal system and the reign of the great Sage Kings, Confucius created a model for an idealized society. This was a hierarchical society in which the ruler ‘is almost solely responsible for the social, material, and moral conditions of the country … his good rule ensures well-ordered hierarchies not only in the political arena but also in the moral, social, and familial settings’.6 The ruler is not just the model; he is, in some sense, the source.

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The Dangers of Parochialism There is a temptation to approach Confucius carrying a headful of possible analogues and comparisons. This is understandable and ultimately unavoidable. Chinese culture and philosophy are alien to those who have been formed by the European tradition: it is not European, yet all that we know is. We have no other conceptual scheme with which to approach something novel. We are like a medieval traveller attempting to describe an elephant, a giraffe or a hippopotamus to his stay-at-home peers who know only goats, pigs and sheep: our only resource is to explain and describe the unfamiliar in terms of what we know, that is metaphorically. The danger with such an approach is that we might end up considering Confucius and his culture as no more than a failed or distorted attempt at ‘true’ culture. We end up with a melange of bits and pieces which are more or less comprehensible but we fail to achieve a holistic understanding of the unique voice and vision of the other tradition and culture. As Hall and Ames warn, one cannot ‘simply make the quantum leap into another culture and deal with that culture on its own terms’. There is no neutral position from which all other philosophical positions can be assessed. ‘One always begins to think where one is.’7 To begin with, his name was not Confucius. ‘Confucius’ is the Latinization of Koˇng Fu¯zıˇ (Master Kong), the name by which the Sage was known to his followers. His personal name was Qiu¯ (Ch’iu), and he was given the name Zhongni when he reached adulthood. ‘Confucius’, the Latinization of Koˇng Fu¯zıˇ, originates with the Jesuit missionaries, like Matteo Ricci (1552–1610), who first introduced Europeans to the reality of Chinese life and culture as well as bringing a glimpse of the wider world to the Chinese. Similarly the title of the most famous work associated with Confucius, the Analects, is a European creation. The original name is Lun Yü.

The Chapters Chapter 1, ‘Confucius: The Historical Context’, sets out a short account of the history of ancient China as it would have been of significance to, and understood by, Confucius and his contemporaries. In this sense of course it is not history at all as ‘history’ is currently defined: a systematic forensic examination of artifacts, documents and other materials intended to build up a realistic, reliable and truthful interpretation of the past. ‘History’ in this sense did not exist for Confucius and his contemporaries. For them, history was an idealized tale of the Ancestors, in particular of the great Sage



Introduction: Confucius and the Analects

5

Kings Yao, Shun and Yu who were reputed to have ruled with perfect wisdom and virtue. Their rule was thought to have been the most virtuous in Chinese history. Certainly Confucius thought so. He was also in awe of the Duke of Zhou, Zhou Gong Dan, whose role in the establishment and justification of the Zhou Dynasty was legendary. Between them these paragons embodied all that was admirable in the ancient world which Confucius took as the template for his own efforts to reform the fragmented and fraught society in which he lived. In Chapter 2, ‘Who was Confucius?’, I attempt to sketch a biography of the Sage insofar as that is possible. Much of the detail of Confucius’ life is based on legend and superstition, for in the centuries following his death Confucius attained a god-like status in Chinese culture with the consequent attribution of supernatural powers and wonders to the historical figure. However, it is important to illustrate some aspects of his life (his early poverty, his family circumstances and responsibilities, his relationship with his disciples) if only to emphasize the humanity of the historical figure which was distorted by subsequent adulation. It also provides an oppor­ tunity to show his views on government and on the opportunities he had to enter government. It was not an all-or-nothing choice – it depended on the context and the circumstances: Confucius would not accept a position on any terms! There are also indications of his perception of his heavenly mandate which carried him through some difficult episodes in his travels. Chapter 3, ‘The Primacy of the Family: Familial Duty as the Basis of Social Order’, deals with Confucius’ view of the centrality of the family as the root and model of the state. If families are secure, if the children are filial and the parents act according to their duties, then the state will flourish. The Confucian view of the relationship between private and public morality is radically different from that espoused in the more familiar liberal tradition and yet, as we see in an incident from Dickens’ Hard Times, the Confucian view is not at all alien to our contemporary moral sensibility. The rule of law and the rule of family are not congruent: the question is which shall have priority for particular people in specific situations. For Confucius the answer is ‘family’. I argue that there is nothing conceptually contradictory in the notion of a system of government based on a familial model. Chapter 4, ‘Government and the Power and Example of Rulers’, begins with a consideration of the status of the common people in Confucius’ China and their place as the foundation of the state. Despite the fact that the society of his time was hierarchical, Confucius leaves us in no doubt that the function of government is the care of the common people, not

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the welfare of the ruling classes. Government is a matter of the moral excellence of the individual ruler serving as example and motivation for the moral development of the people. Resort to arms is a sign of failure of leadership and a failure (in the case of two disciples of Confucius) of advisors to fulfil their role in keeping their Lord on the proper path, the Way. The Confucian view of participation in government is not totally alien to the European tradition represented by Quintilian. At the centre of both is the requirement for moral integrity as well as political skill in the practitioner. Not every one of Confucius’ contemporaries shared his optimism regarding the possibility of renewing the Way. The so-called ‘Recluses’ were peers of the Sage who in various manners opted out of the disorder in their respective states and lived lives of anonymity rather than be implicated in the (dangerous) political chaos of the time. The chapter ends with the story of Po Yi and Shu Ch’I, two ancients who, despite being recluses, provided inspirational example for Confucius. The crucial issue of the ‘rectification of names’ is introduced in Chapter 5, ‘Confucian Thought and Language: The Rectification of Names’. In this chapter I try to elucidate some of the differences between the world-view of Confucius’ China and that of Europe. Basically this difference is that the latter privileges the pursuit of knowledge of ‘things in themselves’, the underlying essences which make individual phenomena what they are and which persist despite the illusion of change. The Chinese approach is radically different: their concern is with change itself, with processes. This leads to quite different ways of approaching the world which have significant social and political ramifications. One of the central concerns of Confucius was ritual (li). Chapter 6, ‘The Form and Substance of Ritual’, attempts to explain its significance in the Confucian philosophy. Ritual is often perceived from the Western point of view in terms of elaborately formalized behaviours which have no place in the life of an enlightened modern society. An attempt will be made to show the importance of rites, ritual behaviour and ‘unselfing’, ritual as an essential part of any society/community, and that the Confucian insights into the nature and purpose of ritual transcend the descent of ceremonial into empty and intimidating formulae. The issue of Confucian pedagogy is explored in Chapter 7, ‘Pedagogy and Learning’. Confucius was not part of an established educational system and so far as we know, apart from the Analects itself, ancient China did not have a structured system of instruction akin to later schools and colleges. Nonetheless he succeeded in forging a style of instruction which closely resembles the contemporary tutorial system.



Introduction: Confucius and the Analects

7

Finally, Chapters 8 and 9 address the nature of the gentleman. Chapter 8, ‘The Confucian Gentleman’, introduces the idea of the junzi, the Confucian gentleman who is the ideal human being. He is the product of the Confucian education and Chapter 8 explores his character and characteristics. This is followed in Chapter 9, ‘The European Gentleman in the Modern Age’, with a short account of the more familiar European conception of the gentleman as exemplified in the writing of Jane Austen and John Henry Newman. The point is to show that the Confucian conception is not as alien to a European sensibility as it might appear and that the same ethical imperatives are operative in both conceptions. The Conclusion will attempt to evaluate the relevance of Confucius and the Analects for contemporary life and education.

Notes For clarity I will refer to the Analects as the ‘book’, each of the 20 parts into which it is divided as ‘chapters’ and the subdivisions of the chapters as ‘verses’. Thus (13, 6) means Chapter 13, verse 6 of the Analects. 2 With a few exceptions all quotations from the Analects are from the translation of D. C. Lau: Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. D. C. Lau, London: Penguin Books, 1979. 3 Ames, R. T., and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998 4 Hamburger, Max, ‘Aristotle and Confucius: a Comparison’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 20, 2, 1959, 239. 5 Lai, Karyn L., ‘Confucian Moral Thinking’, Philosophy East and West , 45, 2, Apr. 1995, 250. 6 Lai, 251. 7 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 8. 1

Chapter 1

Confucius: The Historical Context

‘ The Zhou is resplendent in culture, having before it the example of two previous dynasties. I am for the Zhou.’ (The Analects, 3, 14)

The Sage Kings There is little reliable information on the history of China before the thirteenth century.1 First there were the ancient Sage Kings of legend, Yao and Shun, who would be revered by Confucius for their virtue, and then the Golden Age of the three dynasties, Xia, Shang, and Zhou. The earliest historical dynasty is believed to have been the Xia dynasty which was founded by the legendary kings Shun and Yu (the dynastic founder). The Xia dynasty dominated the Yellow River basin until the end of the seventeenth century BC. As far as Confucius was concerned, Chinese history began with the Sage King Yao. Yao was a figure of legend who reputedly ruled for a hundred years during the third millennium (2357–2257).2 He was revered as a king who won the obedience of his people, not through force or intimidation, but by the power of his humble personality. His reign was esteemed as the time of the Great Peace. His personal qualities of modesty, sincerity and reverence radiated throughout the kingdom and provided the model and motivation for similar behaviour and qualities in families and individuals. Yao’s was an ethical, not a military power. In the Shu Ching, the Classic of History, which predates Confucius, Yao was described as follows: He was reverent, intelligent, accomplished, sincere and mild. He was genuinely respectful and capable of all modesty. His light spread over the four extremities of the world, extending to Heaven above and Earth

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Confucius, the Analects and Western Education

below. He was able to make bright his great virtue and bring affection to the nine branches of the family. When the nine branches of the family had become harmonious, he distinguished and honoured the great clans. When the hundred clans had become illustrious, he harmonized the myriad states. Thus the numerous peoples were amply nourished, prospered, and became harmonious.3 De Bary comments that it requires ‘no depth of insight’ to see ‘embodied here in Yao all the civilized virtues of a good Confucian ruler’ with all his human characteristics: reverence, respect, intelligence, disciplined attainments, self-restraint, modesty and concern for others. He has the power to morally transform his people, ‘outward through successive degrees of kinship to distant states and the very ends of the world, harmonizing all mankind in one loving family and bringing them into a cosmic unity with Heaven and Earth’. This is a recognizable human world: ‘there is no creation myth here, no Genesis’.4 The human world, which joins Heaven and Earth, already exists in recognizable form and is accepted for what it is. Following Yao’s ‘commanding virtue’. the problem of succession is simply to find a worthy heir. ‘There is nothing contested, nothing problematical except how to find another paragon of humble virtue to whom rulership may be entrusted.’5 King Yao’s son was deemed unsuited to the task of ruling a kingdom so Yao sought the advice of the oracle of the Spirit of the Four Mountains. A man called Shun was identified as the proper choice to succeed Yao. He was not of noble lineage and in fact legend has it that his family conditions were trying, to say the least. Yet he bore his lowly and demanding circumstances with equanimity and exemplary filial devotion. Shun undertook the task of kingship with due reluctance and deference. He ruled from 2255 to 2205. Yao and Shun were revered in China as the archetypal kings. They promoted the good of the people rather than their own ambitions and ruled by example rather than by intimidation, force or fear. When Shun, in turn, came to choose his successor he also passed over his own son and chose Yu, one of his ministers. Yu reigned for only eight years, from 2205 to 2197. He established the Xia dynasty which lasted until 1766. During his short reign, Yu is credited with controlling the flooding along the Yellow River basin, thus increasing agricultural production and security by bringing an end to periodic catastrophes. This development reinforced the influence of the Xia over surrounding tribes. For roughly two millennia these legendary figures, Yao, Shun, Yu, and the



Confucius: The Historical Context

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Xia dynasty presided over a mythical Golden Age of peace and prosperity and became the models and inspiration for much of the Confucian approach to governance. Clearly, the ‘idea of the sage-king was Chinese before it became Confucian’.6 The Shang Dynasty The Xia dynasty came to an end with the rule of King Jie (1818–1766). Jie was a tyrant who was challenged and defeated by King Tang who founded the Shang dynasty which ruled the valley of the Yellow River from the eighteenth century until the twelfth. The Shang claimed the mandate of their dominant deity Di to justify their overlordship. They had bronze artefacts and weapons and developed a system of writing. The dynasty ruled until 1122. It is from this dynasty that the first historical/archaeological records date. These records take the form of oracle bones: the bones of oxen or tortoise shells on which questions regarding policy or requests to the ancestors were carved. Once the questions were engraved, the ‘oracle bones’ were heated until they cracked. The patterns formed by the cracks were then interpreted by the king himself to yield guidance as to future action or conditions (weather, crops, etc.). In the time of the Shang the quasi-feudal hierarchical model of Chinese society became the dominant model of social organisation. It was not egalitarian: The Shang showed the passionate preoccupation with hierarchy and rank that would become one of the hallmarks of Chinese civilization. As the son of Di (the dominant god of the Shang), the king was at the top of the feudal pyramid, in a class of his own. Next in rank were the princes of the royal house, rulers of the various Shang cities; below them came the heads of the great families, who held posts at court, and the barons, who lived on the revenues from rural territories outside the city walls. Finally at the base of the feudal pyramid, were the ordinary gentlemen, the warrior class.7 The Shang dynasty was oppressive, especially in its latter years. Shang rulers cared little for the concerns of the ordinary people who produced the wealth that the Shang aristocracy depended on to pursue lives of selfindulgent leisure. Most notable of the Shang’s excesses were their funeral rites which consigned immense amounts of wealth, including human victims, to the tomb on the death of senior members of the aristocracy. As a result the Shang lost the support of the people; a sign that they had lost the Mandate of their superior deity Di.

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The Zhou The Western Zhou Di Xin (1154–1122) was the last leader of the Shang dynasty. Like King Jie six centuries earlier he was a tyrannical ruler and highly unpopular. According to Confucian tradition, King Wu of the Zhou (a subject tribe) overcame Di Xin by the moral superiority of his ‘extreme virtue’ in contrast to the ‘extreme vice’ of the latter (an outcome which was retrospectively attributed to Wu’s father, King Wen). There was, in fact, a very bloody transition; ‘extreme virtue’ was decisively enforced by military power.8 According to one account, Wen was one of Di Xin’s senior ministers/advisors and became alarmed at the instability caused by his misrule. Wen attempted without success to reform his king through advice and virtuous example. However, Di Xin was then challenged by Wen’s son, Wu, and defeated in 1122. King Wu’s first act as victor was to declare his father, now deceased, as first king of the new dynasty, the Zhou. King Wen became known to history as the ‘Cultured King’. King Wu ruled from 1122 to 1115 and was known as the ‘Martial King’. In an alternative account, King Wen invaded the realm of the Shang in 1045, and was killed in the course of the invasion. His son, King Wu, eventually prevailed over the Shang. Whatever the truth of the overthrow of the Shang, King Wu died shortly after the Shang were displaced by the Zhou, leaving his son Cheng as his successor. When the Shang tried to benefit from Wu’s sudden demise and the immaturity of his son by challenging the overlordship of the Zhou, they were opposed by King Wu’s brother, Zhou Gong Dan, the Duke of Zhou, who decisively defeated them. This was followed, not by a peaceful transition of power but by a bloody internecine struggle for dominance within the Zhou. Zhou Gong Dan intervened to prevent the succession going to the King’s eldest son. He installed himself as nominal regent and de facto king on the disputed grounds that the nominated successor, Cheng (the future King Cheng), was too young to assume sole control of the empire. This perceived usurpation was contested by the late king’s other brothers and the issue was decided only after two years of bloody conflict.9 The negotiated outcome was a triumvirate comprising Zhou Gong Dan, King Cheng and a half-brother, Shao Gong Shi. However, following disagreement with the other members of the triumvirate regarding conflicting understandings of the philosophical foundations of legitimate rule, and the proper relationship between Heaven’s Mandate and the authority of the king, Zhou Gong Dan retired.10



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The dynasty established by Wen, Wu and the Duke of Zhou – the Western Zhou – would last for 275 years, ‘longer than any other dynasty would be able to do for the rest of Chinese history’,11 and set the template for sub­ sequent Chinese intellectual development in relation to government, culture and philosophy. The Western Zhou became the cornerstone of Chinese history: ‘the highly visible symbol that the architects of traditional China returned to again and again to assure themselves that its edifice was secure and well founded’.12 The Duke of Zhou Zhou Gong Dan (or at least a bloodless, idealized version) would be a cornerstone of Confucius’ philosophy, a commanding figure whom Confucius held responsible for the model Zhou culture which had fallen into serious decline in Confucius’ time. He is credited with creating a new kind of civility which would unify the disparate tribes and traditions in the central plains now emphatically governed by the Zhou. This comprised the rich tradition of ritual, music, administrative organization, social relations, morality and arts which Confucius inherited and which had become largely dysfunctional by the sixth century. The tradition was kept alive in Confucius’ home state of Lu which had been established as a Zhou colony by the Duke’s son Po Ch’in and where the Duke himself continued to be revered up to the time of Confucius. (‘How I have gone downhill!’ Confucius once exclaimed. ‘It has been such a long time since I dreamt of the Duke of Zhou’ (7, 5).) The state of Lu ‘was regarded as a bastion of the Old Zhou kinship system’.13 The Duke’s regency began what Confucius would consider to be a Golden Age which lasted for the duration of the Western Zhou (to 770). The three founders of the Western Zhou Dynasty, Wen, Wu and the Duke, became for Confucius ‘bywords for virtue and wisdom’.14 The Duke of Zhou realized that he needed an account of the Zhou’s conquest which would give a moral justification for the overthrow of the Shang. The speech in which he articulated this justification has been preserved in one of the classic Chinese sources.15 The Shang had abused their power and had oppressed the ordinary people through tyranny and corruption. Heaven (Tian) in sympathy with the suffering of the people had revoked the Mandate of the Shang and transferred the Mandate to the Zhou kings ‘who thus became the new sons of Tian Shang Di (Heaven Most High)’.16 Thus the Duke of Zhou introduced a significant moral dimension into the conception of kingship: rulers were not just those who were strongest but those who had the capacity to be most

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just. The king must rule with concern for the people; his right to rule was contingent upon his ruling with justice and virtue, not just the imposition of his will by force. Zhou Gong Dan went further, however. The Mandate of Heaven did not reside exclusively in the person of the king but was a more widely dispersed confirmation of ability and moral virtue: it involved not just the king but also his close advisors. It was the beginning of a theory of meritocracy which signalled a significant shift in power from the king to his close advisors: it had been his ministers, Zhou Gong Dan claimed, ‘who [had] enlightened King Wen’. King Wen was chosen for the Mandate of Heaven ‘because there were such men as Hong Yao, such as San Yisheng, such as Tai Dian, and such as Nangong Kuo’. The clear implication was that in the absence of such sage advisors, King Wen would not have received or retained the Mandate. (Later this perception would suit Confucius’ purpose of advancing the notion of a crucial role for the Shi advisors in good governance.) ‘It was those four men,’ Zhou Gong Dan went on, ‘who made King Wu enlightened; it was they who strove illustriously to uphold virtue.’17 Although Zhou Gong Dan retired from active political life, leaving King Cheng in control, and although there is very little further mention of him in the Western Zhou documents by the time of Confucius, ‘his legacy as a political hero [had grown] to the point of matching, and in some cases surpassing, even that of King Wen’.18 In this intervention at a crucial time in the history of China, the Duke of Zhou reinforced the notions of compassion and justice in the Chinese conception of governance which had existed since the time of the Sage Kings. Tian (Heaven) was not just concerned with the usual sacrifices of crops and animals but with rulership which embodied virtue. The great ruler, the ruler who could command the allegiance of the people, was not the ruler who could oppress them through fear, but lead them through virtue: this was the basis of the mandate of Tian. The Duke of Zhou had given China a moral vision of just rulership which would, through the agency of Confucius, influence political thinking for millennia to come. Eventually the Western Zhou fell into decline following invasion by barbarian tribes and the flight of the royal court to the east. This initiated the era of the Eastern Zhou which lasted until 221 and which comprises two historical periods known as the Spring and Autumn period (770–476) and the Warring States period (475–221). The former period takes its name from the court history of the state19 of Lu, the Spring and Autumn Annals, which chronicle events during those years in that state. It was during this period



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and in this state that Confucius was born (551). The name ‘Warring States’ period is self-explanatory: as the Zhou Dynasty declined, political, social and cultural cohesion was lost and various warlords, princes and self-proclaimed kings contended for autonomy and control of the Yellow River basin. The Mandate of Heaven Oracle bones from the time of the Shang indicate that one of the king’s functions was to communicate with the tribal ancestors to petition their help and to get them to intercede with the Lord on High. The Lord on High was originally a non-human god but never, apparently, an independently existing creator of the universe. In time the Lord on High came to be seen as the original ancestor of the Shang people.20 It was believed that the ancestors controlled all phenomena which lay beyond human control, such as weather and other natural phenomena, health and sickness, success or failure in battle, etc. The Shang king was required to maintain good relationships with the ancestors, especially with the Lord on High, on behalf of his people. He did this through his virtue, ‘a kind of attractive, charismatic power residing in a ruler who had won the endorsement of the ancestor spirits’.21 The Zhou adopted the Shang’s Lord on High as their own tribal god Tian, ‘Heaven’. Tian refers to ‘an anthropomorphic figure – someone who can be communicated with, angered, or pleased – rather than a physical place’.22 Tian charged a representative on earth, the king, the ‘Son of Heaven’, with the Mandate to rule. This title applied to the chosen person only as long as ritual correctness was maintained. This helps explain the claim that King Wu of Zhou overcame King Di Xin of Shang by the moral superiority of his ‘extreme virtue’. The latter had lost the support of the Lord on High by failing in virtue and losing the support of the people he governed so that the Zhou were justified in deposing him. (At least this was the story put about by the Zhou retrospectively to justify their overthrow of the Shang!) The notion of the Mandate of Heaven helps us to understand Confucius’ ideas on government. There are two related themes: only one who is selfless and sincere will receive the Mandate; non-coercive political order arises only when the ruler manifests the charisma of virtue. But what can be bestowed can be withdrawn, so it is essential that the holder of the Mandate of Heaven conforms to the will of Heaven, especially in the matter of ritual (li). Ritual refers not just to the ancestral offerings and the rites that accompanied them but to the detail of the king’s daily life and his sincerity

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in performing the rites. ‘We thus see in the Zhou beginnings of a concern with internal state of mind – a demand that one’s emotions and thoughts match one’s external behaviour ...’23 This requirement of sincerity and ritual observance filters down to the officers of the state in their dealings with one another and with the people, and to the people in their relations among themselves. As he functions as king, let him not, because the common people stray and do what is wrong, then presume to govern them by harsh capital punishments. In this way, he will achieve much. In being king, let him take his position in the primacy of virtue. The little people will then pattern themselves on him throughout the world. The king will then become illustrious.24 During the Western Zhou period, improvements in irrigation led to a growth in agricultural activity, the introduction of iron casting led to significant expansion in industrial activity, improved agricultural production and related economic activities. A significant growth in inter-state communications followed. At the same time Chinese society evolved from a system which was based on tribal/clan loyalties to a quasi-feudal structure. Ritual ceremonies which had their origins in religious rites were subsumed into the structures of social life, customs and mores. These rituals became increasingly complicated in defining relationships and institutions. ‘The focus of ritual actions shifted from man’s relationship with the supernatural to the relationship obtaining among members of human society, and their application was extended from the court to all levels of civilised society.’25

The Rituals The centripetal force which allowed the integration of vast estates and territories under a single ruler was provided by the li, the rites or rituals. The rituals were a reminder that the king was the Son of Heaven. His mandate came from Heaven and it was this Mandate which justified his right to rule. The rituals were intended to preserve the natural order of the universe. Correct performance of the rituals would ensure that the Way of Heaven (Dao) was implemented. The king as the figure linking Heaven and Earth could, if he correctly performed the rituals in due season, ensure the continuity of the



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natural order: planetary motions, seasonal changes, fruitful harvests, and the health and well-being of the entire community. There was no meaningful separation between Heaven and Earth: they formed a continuum, inseparable and equal partners in the ontological scheme of things. There was no independently existing Chinese god who transcended the natural order. The Judaeo-Christian conception of a Creator who was entirely separate from, and responsible for, the world would have puzzled Confucius’ contemporaries. ‘Heaven and Earth were complementary: divine and equal partners.’26 Heaven was not experienced by the Ancient Chinese as something separate from the realm of sense experience: Heaven was incarnated in the King, the Tianzi, the Son of Heaven Most High. Human beings implemented the Way (the Dao) of Heaven on Earth: Heaven, Earth, Human were not separate entities but integral parts – or processes – in the same reality: ‘earth was … the partner of Heaven, which could not implement its dao without the help of its counterparts here below ... the natural world and human society were inescapably bound up with each other’.27 Although the king had absolute power he could not act arbitrarily: authority comes at a price. The king’s commitment to power entailed a loss of personal freedom; the individual who assumes power becomes in a sense a sacrificial victim of the power he/she exercises. The king was the living archetype of the way in which life should be lived in conformity with the Way of Heaven. The ancestors were the link between Heaven and mundane experience. Originally the rituals, under the leadership of the king, were the prescribed ways in which the ancestors were invoked, honoured and celebrated. It was essential that the rituals be performed correctly so that nothing would disturb the harmony between Heaven and Earth or give offence to the ancestors, whose good offices were required to ensure stability and prosperity. However, over time it became clear that the practice of the rituals itself had a substantive effect on the individual who participated. By engaging in the rituals, participants gained an experience which was aesthetic and sacred, a contrast to the apparently arbitrary confusion of everyday life. As they participated in the rites they became actors on a larger stage, a stage which transcended the mundane, and provided them with a glimpse of a ‘holy community where past and present, Heaven and Earth were one’.28 The rituals presented an opportunity for self-transcendence. As belief in their magical efficacy declined, the rituals themselves became the point. They imposed a discipline and provided a model of behaviour which helped order society and maintain harmony between rulers and subjects and among the people themselves. At the very least they provided a substitute

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for conflict and brought about a displacement of power from the warrior class to the junzi, the gentlemen literati and political administrators. At best the rituals emphasized and encouraged moderation and self-control in the myriad interactions which comprised Chinese society. The Eastern Zhou In or about 770 BC, following disruptive wars and catastrophic natural disasters, the Zhou empire in the west (the Western Zhou) collapsed and the Zhou King Ping relocated his capital eastwards from Haojing (in present day Shaanxi province) to Chengzhou (present day Luoyang in Henan province) where the Eastern Zhou Dynasty survived, albeit in terminal decline, until 221 BC. The Eastern Zhou empire comprised numerous kingdoms or principalities which were generally ruled according to the principle of primogeniture, eldest son succeeding father.29 The overlords of these fiefdoms were either descendants of members of the Zhou clan, those who had become allies through treaty or intermarriage, and local warlords, too powerful to depose or too necessary for the defence of the borderlands to alienate. The king granted formal recognition of succession but left internal control and administration of their respective states to the local overlords in return for nominal obeisance, service and tribute. The role of the king became increasingly ceremonial only and the kingship lost significant political and military influence. As long as the local overlords were willing to give even nominal recognition to the king’s central role in providing a focal point for the worship of the ancestors, this quasi-feudal and clan kinship system was satisfactory. However, since the ‘most important factors that bound together such an elaborate system’ were the spiritual and material authority of superiors, and concomitant loyalty on the part of the inferiors, once the controlling force of superiors was weakened, and inferiors’ loyalty was diminished, ‘the whole system collapsed’.30 The Spring and Autumn period was a time of significant changes in politics, administration, economy, technology and commerce. The latter part of the period witnessed a significant disintegration of the old feudal arrangements and for a long time there was no clear-cut administrative system to replace it. As the influence of the king and his hereditary representatives in the respective states diminished, and as the ambitions of individual states and their princes increased, traditional models of government were no longer working and China entered a period of near lawlessness. ‘King Ping and his descendants were virtually powerless, and the whole (Chinese) world soon



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slipped into interstate anarchy, the more powerful states destroying and annexing many of the lesser ones, and wars became a constant prospect.’31 At the same time, growth in economic activity was accompanied by an increase in social mobility. Peasants began to reclaim land and establish a measure of economic autonomy. Mercantile activity (production and trade) brought opportunities for significant improvements in economic independence and social status. The social mobility consequent on these changes brought about significant social change. As the traditional feudal relationships were undermined by increased freedoms and new wealth, there was a corresponding destabilization in government within the individual states. The military and political power of several of the local nobles increased in the Spring and Autumn period as the central power of the king waned and the feudal relationship with its requirements of mutual duty and obligation began to fragment. Eventually the authority of the king was no longer taken seriously and he received no more than nominal recognition from the heads of the states. This disintegration intensified during the ‘Warring States’ period. As the more powerful states began to consolidate control over their weaker neighbours through military victories and political alliances, by the sixth century the smaller states had been subsumed into the more powerful. At the time of Confucius’ birth, the Eastern Zhou was fragmented between seven dominant and contending principalities (Qi, Jin, Zhou, Qin, Song, Wu and Yue) and a diminishing number of smaller states (including Confucius’ home state of Lu) which were holding onto their independence through judicious treaties and alliances. Some of the larger states (Chu and Wu, for example) asserted independence from the Zhou hegemony entirely. In many of them, powerful tribal families fought one another for supremacy independent of the king’s hereditary representative. Later, in some cases (notably, as we shall see, in the state of Lu during Confucius’ lifetime) even the principal retainers of such families, who had enriched themselves materially, and built political and military power-bases, were able to wrest power from the hereditary rulers. Chen32 identifies the major features of the society of the time: decline of the aristocracy, the rise of an unprivileged class to wealth and power, general moral disorder, extravagant lifestyles of the rich and the contrasting misery of the poor, corrupt government, widespread lawlessness and crime, the rise of a middle class. Mencius describes life in the time of Confucius: ‘The world faced decay and principles of right government faded away. Perverse speaking and oppressive deeds became rife. There were instances of ministers who murdered their sovereigns, and of sons who murdered their fathers.’33

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This was the age into which Confucius was born and which he hoped to redeem through the revival of the traditional values, relationships and behaviours epitomized by the Sage Kings (Yao, Shun and Yu) and the fabled Duke of Zhou. The Shi Following the collapse of the Western Zhou, administration of the states underwent radical change. The practice of preferment according to family or seniority was gradually replaced by a system which promoted merit rather than status; competence became the principal basis for promotion. One of the most significant changes pertained to the class known as the shi in the Zhou feudal system. Initially the shi were hereditary aristocratic warriors (knights) who were educated enough to serve in civil as well as military capacities: ‘not just robust warriors but also gentlemen with good manners and minds’.34 Competition (political, military, economic) within and between states contributed to the growth of a class of functionaries (best and brightest) whose families had been retainers or distant descendants of earlier nobility. These functionaries no longer necessarily possessed traditional military skills, but they tended to embody values associated with military service: ‘a sense of honour and an ideal of loyalty and service’. They were called ‘xian (worthy; i.e., one combining intellectual ability and moral integrity)’.35 The positions they occupied in the new post-feudal dispensation (as advisors, administrators, clerks, officers) were no longer the prerogative of family connections: ‘The shi were moving into roles that in an earlier age one had been born into.’36 This shift from status to competence conferred on the shi a new definition and the recognition of a new function. It now referred to ‘a person of excellence, one with high capabilities as well as character; it came to refer to a cultural status rather than social grouping’.37 Princes and nobles required competent administrators and advisors who combined intellectual capacity and moral commitment to their chosen leader. As former vassal states and families lost status and power (Confucius’ own family being a case in point), large numbers of young men of education and ability found opportunities for advancement in public/civil service and administration. Confucius was a member of the shi class which by the time of his birth had become ‘a class of specialists concerned with preserving and transmitting the traditional rituals and texts of the Zhou Dynasty’;38 the clerical and the military roles had been separated. While the six areas of study for the shi of earlier times comprised ritual, music, writing, mathematics,



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archery and charioteering, it was clear that the Sage himself had little regard for proficiency in the latter two: when it was suggested that Confucius had wide learning but had not made a name for himself in any field, he responded, ‘What should I make myself proficient in? In driving [a chariot]? or in archery? I think I would prefer driving’ (9, 2). The irony is evident: not alone is Confucius opposed to narrow specialization for the shi gentleman, but he considers that he has no business practising the military arts.39 The emergence of the shi as intellectuals and philosophers rather than warriors directed attention to the need for political and social stability. There readily followed from this concentration a focus on the kind of individual who would be best suited to promoting such stability. Political and moral philosophy preoccupied their thinking to the exclusion of speculation about the nature and purpose of the natural world which was so central to European philosophy. The shi gentleman (the junzi) was expected not just to provide advice and service for the ruler but to provide moral guidance by moral cultivation: be committed to the proper performance of ritual, demonstrate the requisite filial piety, show loyalty to lords and elders, and promote a spirit of humaneness throughout the kingdom. ‘This new cultural elite brought a new consciousness of their responsibility to serve the world. It was a mentality that nurtured many of the best minds of the time to devote themselves to the task of defining and disseminating ideas.’40 Confucius himself was the great exemplar of the shi gentleman. Nonetheless, some of the later texts suggest that ‘ruthless immorality and “byzantine” manoeuvrings … characterized the court life and interstate relations of the [Eastern Zhou] period’.41 The vocational objective of the individual shi was to find employment with a nobleman of substance. Such employment required that the applicant had cultivated the requisite personal qualities and that they possessed the requisite skills. The Analects, it might be said, constitutes a guide to the cultivation of the requisite moral character and to the acquisition of the necessary knowledge and skills. Confucianism emphasized ‘a cherishing of ritual as central to the cultivation of character and the maintenance of social order’.42 Those who are in leadership roles (princes, leaders, teachers, parents) acquire respect and status by observing their sacrificial duties and conforming to the demands of the relevant ritual (li). In this way they acquire de. De is usually translated as ‘virtue’ but it is not just virtue (arête) in the classical Greek sense of general excellence of character. It is more like the moral force of one who is wise, generous, authoritative; a force which confers a moral authority to which others respond with a sense of moral obligation.

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Knowledge of the Way (Dao) and of the attendant ritual practice had become lost and/or corrupted since the fall of the Western Zhou. As a consequence there was a decline in the quality of men in public service. This in turn meant that the common people were rudderless and confused as to what constituted good or bad behaviour. This was the world that Confucius set himself the task of reforming. Confucius did not initiate the idea of a central ruler; as we have seen, ‘unified, centralized rule by a single, preponderant figure had become the established pattern very early in Ancient China’. For Confucius and his contemporaries, central control by a powerful king was the ideal; the contentious question was who this should be. What Confucius attempted was to teach ‘how the exercise of such power might be guided and restrained in a humane way, through the moralization of politics’.43

Notes All dates are BC. Slingerland’s dating. Confucius Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003.  3 De Bary, W. T., ‘The Trouble with Confucianism’, The Tanner Lectures On Human Values, delivered at The University of California at Berkeley, 4–5 May 1988, http://www. tannerlectures.utah.edu/lectures/documents/debary89.pdf. Accessed 27-11-2010  4 De Bary.  5 De Bary.  6 De Bary.  7 Armstrong, K., The Great Transformation: the world in the time of Buddha, Socrates, Confucius and Jeremiah, London: Atlantic Books, 2006, p. 27.  8 Shaughnessy, Edward L., ‘Western Zhou History’ (292–351), in M. Loewe and E. L. Shaughnessy (eds), The Cambridge History of Ancient China: from the origins of civilization to 221 B.C.,Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999.  9 Shaughnessy, ‘Western Zhou History’, pp. 310–11. 10 Shaughnessy, ‘Western Zhou History’, pp. 314–17. 11 Shaughnessy, ‘Western Zhou History’, p. 351. 12 Shaughnessy, ‘Western Zhou History’, p. 351. 13 Cho-yun Hsu, ‘The Spring and Autumn Period’, The Cambridge History, p. 584. 14 Slingerland, p. xviii. 15 Classic of Documents (The Book of History), ‘The Shao Announcement’, Armstrong, footnote 81, p. 403. 16 Armstrong, p. 34. 17 Shaughnessy, ‘Western Zhou History’, pp. 315–16. 18 Shaughnessy, ‘Western Zhou History’, p. 317. 19 A ‘state’ should not be taken to mean ‘state’ in the modern sense. It was more like a city-state, a fortified city controlling a hinterland where related tribal groups came together for the dual purpose of religious celebration and defence.  1  2



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‘The process of the formation of the city-state in China hardly differs from that of the Greek and Roman city-state … a stage in the transitional process from a community based on blood relationship to that based on territorial ownership.’ (Kaizuka, Shigeki, Confucius, trans. Geoffrey Bownas, New York: Dover Publications, 2002, pp. 29–30). 20 Slingerland, p. xvi. 21 Slingerland, p. xvii. 22 Slingerland, p. xviii. 23 Slingerland, p. xix. 24 ‘The Shao Announcement’, p. 403. 25 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 86. 26 Armstrong, p. 70. 27 Armstrong, p. 72. 28 Armstrong, p. 76. 29 What follows is partly based on Kaizuka, pp. 13–33. 30 Chen Jingpan, Confucius as a Teacher, Beijing: Foreign languages Press, 1990, p. 49. 31 Nivison, David Shepherd, ‘The Classical Philosophical Writings’, The Cambridge History, p. 747. 32 Chen Jingpan, pp. 55–62. 33 Q. Chen Jingpan, p. 190. 34 Cho-yun Hsu, p. 583. The similarity to the ideal of the medieval European knight is striking: not just military prowess but culture and politesse as well. 35 Cho-yun Hsu, p. 583. 36 Nivison, p. 748. 37 Cho-yun Hsu, p. 584. 38 Slingerland, p. xxi. 39 Schwartz, Benjamin I., The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press: 1985, p. 58. 40 Cho-yun Hsu, p. 584. 41 Lewis, M. E., ‘Warring States Political History’, The Cambridge History, p. 591. 42 Nivison, p. 749. 43 De Bary.

Chapter 2

Who was Confucius?

‘There is Ch’iu for you.’ (The Analects, 7, 24)1

Introduction The true biography of Confucius, like that of any other semi-legendary figure, has become obscured by two and a half millennia of tradition, folklore and ideology. It is important to bear in mind that he was born into and lived his life within a predominantly oral culture. Although Confucius himself and his disciples were literate in the Classical Chinese of the time, the vast majority outside of such scholarly groups, at all levels of society, were unlettered, if not totally illiterate. Widely known even before his death, it should come as no surprise then that Confucius should have had his life story embellished, elaborated, and sanctified. Lau says that ‘Because Confucius gained the reputation of a sage, perhaps even in his lifetime, apocryphal stories about him abounded from very early times.’2 Nonetheless, despite ‘his immense importance in the Chinese tradition, little that is certain is known about Confucius;’3 a life of Confucius ‘must be reconstructed from a vast accretion of historic and legendary materials’.4 Surviving apocryphal stories depict superhuman erudition, wisdom, foresight and knowledge: even shortly after his death he had become a ‘wise man’ in popular lore, capable of answering ‘grotesque conundrums’, prophesying, and even performing magic.5 This tendency was intensified following his elevation to divine rank during the Han dynasty. ‘After his apotheosis in the Han dynasty,’ Waley writes, ‘Confucius was credited with the omniscience and moral infallibility of the Divine Sage.’6 Not all of the stories are to his credit. Rival schools of early Chinese thought (such as Taoism and Legalism) frequently presented him in an unflattering

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light so as to discredit his ideas and promote preferred alternatives. In any case, the little that is known of his life is at best uncertain and ultimately unreliable. ‘The sources for Confucius’ life,’ says the Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, ‘… do not carefully separate fiction and fact. Thus it is wise to regard much of what is known of him as legendary.’7 (The scant details in the Analects itself at least contain ‘no elements that bear patently and obviously the stamp of folk-lore or hagiography’.8) In the Analects, Confucius himself provides a brief account of his life (the shortest autobiography in all of literature!) as follows: ‘At fifteen I set my heart on learning; at thirty I took my stand; at forty I came to be free from doubts; at fifty I understood the Decree of Heaven; at sixty my ear was attuned; at seventy I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the line’ (2, 4). Much commentarial effort has been devoted to a range of elaborations of this passage but it is clearly an account of a life spent in pursuit of moral virtue, a ‘spiritual autobiography’:9 the six stages enumerated concern moral rather than physical growth. At 15 he set his heart on learning perhaps because, as a son of a shi family, an administrative career was the most likely to provide him with any prospect of success. By the time he reached the age of 30 he had sufficiently mastered the literature (the Odes, the History) and rituals of his culture so that he could accept his position (‘take his stand’), adopting his proper place in the social and ceremonial order. By 40 he had overcome any doubts he might have had regarding his role and place in this moral and social order. By 50 he realized that he had a heaven-conferred destiny to which he must submit if he were to be true to himself. By the time he reached 60 his ear had become ‘attuned’, he had mastered one of the more difficult of the functions of the sage, the capacity to listen, to open himself not just to the words of others (in a largely oral society) but also to the music, which, like the poetry (the Odes), embodied the accumulated cultural experience of his people. In an oral/aural community it is just as essential to listen as it is to speak.10 Finally, at 70, Confucius felt that his ‘heart’s desire’ was identical with right action; in a sense he no longer had to think about the right course of action: right action had become ‘second nature’ to him. This verse is widely regarded as either an account of Confucius’s own life or, it could equally be, what one might expect as the developmental arc of the life of a true gentleman or junzi. A third possibility is that when he said this, Confucius was consciously setting himself up as a model of behaviour, as a case history for his students perhaps, of how the Way might be achieved.



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Slingerland reads the passage as comprising three pairs of stages of development: In the first pair the aspiring gentleman commits himself to the Confucian Way, submitting to the rigours of study and ritual practice until these ritual forms have been internalized to the point that he is able to ‘take his place’ among others. In the second pair, the practitioner begins to feel truly at ease with his new manner of being, and is able to understand how the Confucian Way fits into the order of things and complies with the will of Heaven. The clarity and sense of ease that this brings with it leads to the final two stages, where one’s dispositions have been so thoroughly harmonized with the dictates of normative culture that one accords with them spontaneously – that is, the state of wu-wei.11 Confucius once expressed a desire to ‘go and live among’ the Nine Barbarian Tribes of the east out of disappointment at his failure to find employment under a virtuous ruler. When he was asked if he could ‘put up with their uncouth ways’ he replied, ‘Once a gentleman settles amongst them, what uncouthness will there be?’ (9, 14). This is a powerful testament to his belief in the reformative power of the gentleman and the Way: ‘Everywhere the gentleman dwells is transformed’;12 one only has to show the example for others to follow. Through his study and practice of the rituals and the inspiration he found in the figure of the Duke of Zhou, Confucius became convinced that the degenerating political and social condition of the Zhou empire could be reversed only by a general re-dedication to the rituals and the Way of Heaven. There was a perception of an intimate connection between the proper conduct of the rites and the well-being of the state. His Origins We know that the person we now refer to as Confucius was born ‘K’ung Ch’iu’ (or ‘Kong Qiu’), and that he was born in 552 or 55113 in Lu, a small state at the base of the Shandong Peninsula neighbouring on the larger state of Qi to the east.14 Confucius’ family name was K’ung (or Kong), his given name was Ch’iu: apparently his skull at birth had a prominent swelling and consequently he was named Ch’iu, which means ‘hill’. His familiar name was Chung Ni.15 In the Chinese tradition, Ch’iu would be the name by which Confucius would identify himself: it would be quite improper, however, for others to call him by this name. For normal use a special name

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was used: Confucius’ was Chung-ni, Chung meaning ‘second son’. We know that Confucius was the younger of two brothers.16 He was a member of the shi class. The shi were administrative and military retainers to the multiplicity of feudal lords who contended for ascendancy during the end of the Spring and Autumn period and the succeeding Warring States period. As the central control of the Zhou empire began to collapse, the contending lords came to rely increasingly on administrators appointed for their knowledge of ritual and diplomacy and their skill in administration. The only marketable possession of the shi was an intimate knowledge of cultural traditions and procedures, bureaucracy and diplomacy. Through this knowledge they became valuable to lords and princes eager to exploit the disunity and fragmenting authority of the collapsing Zhou empire. Political legitimacy would require the reintroduction of rituals and cultural institutions, hence the expertise of the shi became marketable and many of them travelled throughout the separate states and provinces offering their knowledge of the traditions and expertise in ritual to whatever lord would employ them. Confucius’ Family Confucius’ father, K’ung Shuliang He, was a military shi in the service of one of the powerful families of Lu, the Meng-sun.17 He seems to have had little to do with his son, except to provide an opportunity for hagiographers to trace a noble ancestry for Confucius back to the lords of Song, and before that to the kings of Shang. Some of the relevant stories regarding Confucius’ birth have been faithfully recorded by James Legge, one of the first Europeans to translate all of the works associated with Confucius into English.18 Clearly, a great deal, if not most, of what Legge records in relation to Confucius’ origins and life is part of the retrospective hagiographical tribute created after Confucius’ death and establishment as the Premier (divine) Sage of China. Shuliang He is said to have been a warrior-soldier of great prowess and heroism. Legge records that in the year 562 a group of his fellow warriors entered a besieged city through a gate which had been deliberately left open to entrap them. No sooner had they made their way inside than a heavy portcullis was dropped behind them, cutting off their retreat. They were saved by Shuliang He who was at the rear and was able to catch the portcullis in time and, with a superhuman effort, hold it up long enough for his companions to escape.19 Of course it would be important for the father of Confucius to have a heroic history of his own.



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Although Lau assures us that nothing is known about Confucius’ mother,20 Legge relates one of the apocryphal accounts of the circumstances of the Sage’s birth. According to this account, Confucius was the issue of Shuliang He’s old age whose first wife had borne him only daughters. By a concubine he attempted to rectify his lack of a male heir but although the attempt was successful in bringing forth male issue it was less than the triumph that Shuliang He might have hoped for. His first son, Mang-pi, was born a cripple.21 Subsequently, in advanced old age, and still without an able-bodied heir, Shuliang He sought a second wife from the Yen family. When the head of that family asked his three daughters which of them would marry this old warrior the two elder daughters maintained their silence. The youngest, Chang-tsai, however, dutifully replied that she would follow the wishes of her father.22 And so Chang-tsai became the wife of Shuliang He and in due time gave birth to Confucius. His Early Life Confucius was born in the state of Lu (roughly the area which is now Shandong province), although his father’s ancestors were from the state of Sung.23 He was born in the twenty-first or twenty-second year of the reign of Duke Hsiang of Lu, that is 551 or 552.24 His father died when Confucius was three and his mother was left pretty much to fend for herself. Whatever wealth there might have been must have been well accounted for in providing dowries for the daughters and for the care of Confucius’ brother, the crippled Mang-pi.25 According to the tradition, his mother, Chang-tsai, mindful of the responsibility on the elder, or able-bodied, son to perform the rites for his dead father, encouraged Confucius to take an interest in ritual. While other boys of his age played with toy weapons, Confucius played at the practice of the rituals.26 In any event, it appears that Confucius was forced to earn his living from an early age, probably in the lower echelons of the state administrative system. ‘I was of humble station when young,’ he once admitted to some disciples, ‘that is why I am skilled in many menial things’ (9, 6). It is said that he took employment with the Chi family (one of the three powerful feudal families of Lu) as a clerk supervising the grain warehouses. The tradition holds, unsurprisingly, that Confucius’ accounts and measures were impeccable, with the result that he was promoted to care of the Chi family flocks and herds,27 which, of course, flourished in an unprecedented manner.28

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This was the same employment alluded to in the Analects but it was hardly the employment that allowed him to have a meeting with the Viscount of T’an when Confucius was 27, to discuss a matter of protocol.29 At 19, Confucius married and in due time had a son, Li (Kong Li). Confucius had at least one daughter for we are told that he considered a certain Kung-yeh Ch’ang a suitable choice as husband for his daughter: ‘for though he was in gaol it was not as though he had done anything wrong’ (5, 1). This passage is taken as evidence of Confucius’ independence from social convention and represents ‘a powerful statement concerning the independence of true morality from conventional social judgement’.30 Someone in a position of authority (either the Duke of Lu or the head of the Chi family) sent Confucius a present of some carp to mark his son’s birth. As a consequence the son acquired the nickname Po-yü, ‘Top Fish’,31 and it is by this name that he is known in the Analects. The fact that someone in authority sent a gift on the occasion of his son’s birth shows that Confucius was already commanding public attention and the respect of the great, or, at least, that he was in the direct employment of someone of note.32 The Duke of Lu at that time was Duke Chao (538–510)33 but his rule was undermined and contested regularly by the Three Families. The Three Families of Lu were the descendants of the three younger sons of Duke Huan of Lu (711–694), the so-called Three Huan: Meng-sun, Shu-sun and Chi-sun. They are frequently mentioned in the Analects and Confucius was often in communication with members of each but had a particular relationship with the most powerful, the Chi. He was, according to Legge’s account, a ‘sort of dependant of the Chi family’.34 From the middle of the Spring and Autumn period (537, the fifth year of the reign of Duke Chao) the Three Huan controlled the army and ran the state of Lu as if it were a family business, paying little attention to the wishes or objections of the Duke35 who was the remaining vestige of the old Zhou order. His Family Relations Given that family is a central theme and a crucial paradigm in Confucian philosophy, it is surprising how little is known of Confucius’ own family circumstances. Nothing is known of his relationship with his wife apart from one hint in the Analects when he remarks that ‘In one’s household, it is the women and the small men that are difficult to deal with. If you let them get too close, they become insolent. If you keep them at a distance, they



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complain’ (17, 25). A comment typical of patriarchal (if not misogynistic) thinking in any culture of any age! His relationship with his son Po-yü conformed to tradition. When asked by a disciple if Confucius had taught him ‘anything out of the ordinary’ Po-yü replied that he had not. He added, ‘Once my father was standing by himself. As I crossed the courtyard with quickened steps, he said, “Have you studied the Odes?”’ When Po-yü answered ‘No’, Confucius declared, ‘Unless you study the Odes, you will be ill-equipped to speak.’ So Po-yü devoted himself to the study of the Odes. On another occasion Confucius enquired whether Po-yü had studied the rites. Again the answer was ‘No’ and Confucius declared ‘Unless you study the rites you will be ill-equipped to take your stand.’ So Po-yü devoted himself to the study of the rites. ‘I have been taught these two things,’ Po-yü concluded. The incident shows that Po-yü’s relationship with his father conformed to the tradition of filial respect and paternal aloofness: Po-yü’s submission is to be seen in the avoidance of eye-contact and the ‘quickened steps’ denoting a generally submissive demeanour. There is also the paternal concern and the immediate submission to the father’s wishes. Confucius made no concessions in what he demanded of his son, for the study of the Odes and the rites was central to what he required of his students. It also satisfied Po-yü’s interrogator that there was no additional or secret knowledge that Confucius retained for his own family or favourites (16, 13). The disciple was delighted with Po-yü’s response because with one question he had elicited three answers: ‘I learned about the Odes, I learned about the rites and I learned that a gentleman keeps aloof from his son’ (16, 13). But the passage also raises intriguing questions regarding Confucius’ involvement in his son’s education. Who taught Po-yü? When did his education begin? How was his teacher/school selected? Why, if Confucius had any role in the selection, was he not aware of, or did he not specify, the selection of the curriculum? On the face of it his approach to his son’s education appears nonchalant, to say the least! Elsewhere the Analects refers to Confucius’ giving advice to Po-yü regarding the importance of the Odes. He asks Po-yü whether he has studied the opening sections of the Book of Odes (the Zhou nan and Shao nan). ‘To be a man and not to study them is,’ Confucius told him, ‘like standing with one’s face directly towards the wall’ (17, 10). These sections ‘are entirely concerned with the Way of husbands and wives’.36 It is possible that this advice from the father to the son was given at a time when Po-yü was establishing his own household.

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Confucius as Teacher While seeking office, leading shi would attract students – young men who wished to enter public life – and the schools they established were widespread. At some point before his mid-30s Confucius’ fame as an expert in the rites had spread and he had gathered a coterie of students. These young men were also of the shi class and sought Confucius’ instruction as a prerequisite to entering public service.37 The Analects is the only record we have of this master–disciple group. The course of study was the pursuit of the fundamental value and significance of morality, historical awareness and rituals – a combination of technical skill, truth and tradition. Participants committed themselves to the study and interpretation of the ancient classics as sources of guidance toward correct individual behaviour and good governance. They dedicated themselves to the implementation of the values and principles embodied in the classics. As Confucius’ fame as a teacher spread, the number of disciples grew. Some accounts put the number at 3,000 but a figure like this is certainly an exaggeration. They did not all converge on Confucius at the same time nor, probably, were they all full-time students. Indeed many of those who feature in the Analects were already holders of public office. ‘We are not,’ Legge warns, ‘to conceive of the disciples as forming a community, and living together’.38 It was not a monastic system. Many of them must have had separate duties to attend to but it does appear, certainly from the evidence of the Analects, that Confucius was frequently, if not always, accompanied by a coterie of dedicated followers. The majority, however, as Legge suggests, probably only resorted to the Master ‘when they wished specially to ask his counsel or to learn of him’.39 Fewer than 30 disciples are actually referred to by name in the Analects, ‘and this includes,’ Lau cautions, ‘some who appear only once and some who never speak at all’!40 Two of those who joined Confucius’ group at an early stage were sons of the Chief Minister of Lu, Meng Yi Tzu.41 This connection, and the fact that his expertise in the rituals had a practical value to the state, resulted in Confucius being given a salary as a professor and scholar.42 As a result of this recognition he acquired the means and authorization to travel. He almost certainly visited Luoyang, the capital and ‘religious centre’ of the Eastern Zhou kingdom.43 His interest does not appear to have been in the mystical or spiritual aspects of the great temples but in the rituals, their role in structuring human relations and in maintaining stability and order. One tradition has it that while on this visit Confucius met with Lao Tzu,44 who was archivist in the Imperial Library. Over an extended period the



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two discussed ritual and propriety in great depth. It is said that Confucius learned more from this engagement with Lao Tzu than from any other experience during this visit in that Lao Tzu was sceptical of the role of ritual and may have tried to give Confucius a more pragmatic perspective. But the historical truth of the reported meeting is questionable since Taoism developed later than Confucianism, and there is even doubt concerning the historicity of its reputed founder. This story must be dismissed as nothing more than an aspect of the attempt to link the personages of Confucius and Lao Tzu45 and to make the former subordinate to the latter. Politics Politically or ideologically Confucius was ‘anything but a conservative’, although it might be accurate to describe him as reactionary, if by reactionary one means the belief that the good order has actually been realised in the historic past … the tao had been realised within the stream of human history and then been lost. We thus have the remarkable doctrine that the highest possibilities of human experience had already been achieved within the known human past and that the hope of the future was to recapture this lost splendour.46 Confucius believed that through the literary and historical sources available at the time he had ‘access to tangible, empirical knowledge of a society in which the tao (the Way) had actually been realised.47 This is why he was able to assert with conviction, ‘I transmit but do not innovate; I am truthful in what I say and devoted to antiquity’ (7, 1). According to Chen ‘He did not entirely idealise the past, but rather used his own present judgement to pick up freely the past human experiences which would be suited to meet the present social and individual needs.’48 As central control in the states and the empire weakened during the Spring and Autumn period, the most powerful families in the several states began to fill the power vacuum and eventually challenge the authority of the traditional rulers. Sometime around 517 the Duke of Lu, Duke Chao, (posthumously known as the Shining Duke) was forced by the Three Families to go into exile in the state of Ch’i. Confucius prudently followed since, as one associated with the Shining Duke’s administration, he was in some danger. The ruler of Ch’i at the time was Duke Ching (posthumously known as the Honoured Duke).49 He and Confucius had formed an acquaintanceship during an earlier visit of Duke Ching to Lu. Now he welcomed Confucius to

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his realm and they renewed the acquaintance through many discussions of politics and statecraft. There are three references to this visit in the Analects and two of these record conversations which Confucius had with Duke Ching, further evidence of Confucius’ reputation as a man of intellectual substance.50 The Duke considered giving Confucius a post as governor of a town but Confucius declined. He explained to his followers that he could not accept such a mark of favour from the Duke since the Duke had never followed any of his advice in matters of governance. There may have been an element of face-saving in this. For it is also recorded that Confucius was not favoured by the Honoured Duke’s Prime Minister, Yen P’ing-chung,51 who had taken a dislike to Confucius and to what he considered his airy theoretical approach to government.52 It is said that the Prime Minister dissuaded the Duke from giving Confucius a living on the grounds that philosophers like Confucius were impractical, haughty and conceited, as well as being preoccupied with funeral ceremonies rather than the good of the people. Such sentiments may have been common among the practising statesmen of the time.53 There followed a cooling of the relationship between the Duke and Confucius. When Duke Ching declared, ‘I am getting old. I am afraid I will not be able to put his talents to use,’ Confucius departed (17, 3). The Analects is dismissive of Duke Ching as a statesman: when he died, despite the fact that he had ‘a thousand teams of four horses each’, the common people ‘were unable to find anything for which to praise him’ (16, 12). However, Confucius bore no grudge against Yen P’ing-chung following the latter’s opposition to his appointment, for in the Analects he speaks positively of him: ‘Yen P’ing-chung excelled in friendship: even after long acquaintance he treated his friends with reverence’(5, 17). When Confucius returned to Lu he was in his early 40s.54 His political career had reached a nadir because of his failure to acquire a position in Ch’i.55 But, as we shall see, his political career was not yet over. When the Shining Duke died in exile in Ch’i, the dominant Lu family, the Chi-sun, selected the Shining Duke’s brother, Duke Ting (posthumously known as the Decisive Duke), rather than his son, as his successor. However, the Decisive Duke (surely an ironical sobriquet?) was no more able to assert his authority against the Huan Families than his predecessor had been and the ‘ruling authority of the principality became thus still more enfeebled than it had been before’.56 The lack of secure lawful order in the state deteriorated further as the military retainers of the Chi, Shu and Mang clans began, in their turn,



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to assert themselves. Increasingly political power became associated with military strength rather than the moral force which the hereditary rulers had been able to exercise. So, just as the Three Families had challenged and undermined the political and moral authority of the hereditary ruler, their own military chiefs and political advisors challenged and undermined the political authority of the Families themselves. In the most egregious case one of these, Yang Hu (Yang Huo?), the senior officer of the Chi, imprisoned his erstwhile master, Chi Hwan, head of the Chi family and the most powerful of the chiefs of Lu, until the latter made terms in order to obtain his liberation.57 On his return from Ch’i, Confucius was appalled at the way in which the rites were being dishonoured in Lu to promote the status of the usurpers. This was not just a matter of pedantry: if those who were taking power were negligent in their observance of the rites (which were intended to maintain the balance between Earth and Heaven as well as to secure stable human relations at every level of society) in what other areas of government responsibilities would they not be negligent? Meanwhile, some of his erstwhile students were being appointed to positions of power in Lu and elsewhere, and beginning the process of introducing Confucian ideas into government. But Confucius himself was ambivalent about entering public life.58 A senior minister in the state of Lu, one Yang Huo,59 was anxious to recruit Confucius in order to give credibility to the new political order. Confucius was reluctant to commit himself since he still harboured resentment at the manner in which the late Duke had been treated by the Three Families. The way in which Yang Huo circumvented Confucius’ objections is a neat example of the role of ritual in politics and shows how even the Master could be outsmarted in matters of protocol. Yang Huo sent an invitation to Confucius to speak with him. Confucius declined the invitation. In response, the minister sent Confucius a gift of a steamed piglet. Now according to the rules of propriety (ritual), Confucius was obliged to go to Yang Huo’s house to express his gratitude for the gift. Confucius had someone keep watch on Yang Huo’s house and it was only when he was assured that the latter was out that he went to pay the obligatory courtesy visit. As ill-fortune would have it, however, who did he meet on his way but Yang Huo himself! There was no escaping an interview. Yang Huo greeted Confucius and said, ‘Come now. I will speak with you,’ clearly allowing for no dissent from Confucius. ‘Can the man be said to be benevolent,’ he asked, ‘who, while hoarding his treasure, allows the state to go astray?’ Clearly the answer was ‘no.’ ‘Can the man be said to be wise,’ Yang Huo continued, ‘who, while eager to take part in public life, constantly

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misses the opportunity?’ Again the answer was clearly in the negative. ‘The days and the months slip by,’ Yang Huo concluded. ‘Time is not on our side.’ And Confucius was more or less compelled to answer, ‘All right. I shall take office.’ But in the event he did not. Slingerland considers his apparent agreement to be no more than a temporizing tactic and/or an agreement that in general Confucius was ready to take office but not with one he would have considered a usurper.60 Legge is less complimentary: ‘Chinese writers are eloquent in their praises of the sage for the combination of propriety, complaisance and firmness, which they see in his behaviour in this matter. To myself there seems nothing remarkable in it but a somewhat questionable dexterity.’61 While it is not clear how Confucius was suffered to stay in Lu, much less be openly critical of the practices of the de facto rulers, it is certainly the case that there was little likelihood of his accepting appointment to public office there. Perhaps he had his status in Lu in mind when he said, ‘If by the age of forty a man is still disliked there is no hope for him’ (17, 26). A couple of incidents recorded in the Analects illustrate how Confucius strove to remain aloof from the ongoing power struggles. As the situation in Lu deteriorated into intensifying political squabbling and corruption, Confucius was asked why he did not enter government in order to ameliorate matters. His reply is as revealing as it is evasive: he quotes a proverbial saying that anyone can exert an influence upon government ‘simply by being a good son and friendly to his brothers’. Indeed, in so doing, he continues, ‘a man is, in fact, taking part in government. How can there be any question of his having actively to “take part in government”?’ (2, 21). This is revealing in its appeal to an ancient tradition to justify and vindicate Confucius’ current action (or inaction). It also endorses a conception of government, and a central teaching of Confucianism, which goes beyond a narrow notion of the exercise of political power over a political unit such as a city or a state. In its most extended meaning ‘government’ is each and every one doing their duty to others appropriately. At some point about the year 500 the Three Families finally broke the power of Yang Huo who fled into exile in Ch’i. However, a confederate of Yang Huo’s, one Kung-shan, continued to sustain a rebellion against the Three Families, particularly against the Chi family, by holding their chief city, Pi. He invited Confucius to join him. Confucius appeared attracted by the offer to such a degree that a disciple remonstrated with him: ‘We may have nowhere to go, but why must we go to Kung-shan?’ Confucius replied: ‘The man who summons me must have a purpose. If his purpose is to



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employ me, can I not, perhaps, create another Zhou in the east?’ (17, 5). The implication being that Confucius would consider any opportunity to promote governance based on the Way and have an opportunity to re-create the golden age of the Western Zhou. In the event he did not join the rebellious Kung-shan and it is probable that he never had ‘any serious intention of doing so’. Legge holds that on occasion he ‘amused himself by playing with [his disciples’] notions about him. This was probably one of them’62 On the other hand it is possible63 that whereas Yang Huo wished to defeat the Three Families in order to aggrandize himself, Kung-shan may have wished to oppose the families in order to re-establish the legitimacy of the hereditary Duke, a move which would certainly have won the approval of Confucius. In any event Confucius did not join him and this may have cleared the way for Confucius to take office in Lu under the Three families. He became, it is said, Chief Magistrate of the town of Chung-tu.64 Accounts of his influence in public office as magistrate of Chung-tu, as Assistant-superintendent of Works, and as Minister of Crime are, in Legge’s judgement, simply ‘indiscriminating eulogies … of little value’.65 Indeed there is general scepticism that Confucius ever held significant public office: ‘The accounts of the offices he held over his lifetime vary widely, but one can safely assume that he never attained any power or high position and that he never, in his own view, truly fulfilled his public vocation.’66 Whatever the detail of these employments, Confucius must have made a significant impression for he had access to the Duke himself as is evidenced by two passages in the Analects.67 One great cause of concern to the Duke was the fortified cities held by the Three Families from which they could defy his authority. Confucius proposed that the Families’ cities should be deprived of their fortifications so that only the Duke had defensible strongholds. The Chi complied; the Shu opposed the proposal but were defeated by the Duke’s forces. The Meng retreated behind the fortifications of their chief city Ch’ang and could not be dislodged. Confucius’ proposal ground to a halt68 but tradition holds that his authority in the state greatly increased because he had strengthened the Duke’s authority and weakened the Families. However, the policy of subduing the Three Families caused concern in neighbouring Ch’i. The government there realized that if the clans in Lu were brought to heel Lu would become a more powerful state. As such, under an ambitious leader, it would pose a significant threat to Ch’i. With this in mind the Duke of Ch’i sent a lavish gift to the Duke of Lu which included 80 courtesans of surpassing beauty. Initially Confucius was

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tolerant of this unusual offering. However, when he saw how infatuated the Duke had become with his new acquisition, even to the point of neglecting the rites, he resigned and stayed away from court for three days. Then he departed (18, 4). When challenged to give reason for his resignation, Confucius cited the Odes: A woman’s tongue Can cost a man his post A woman’s words Can cost a man his head. It didn’t take any great diplomatic insight to realize that these courtesans were intended to influence the judgement and decisions of the Duke of Lu. This was the end of Confucius’ political career and the beginning of his itinerant life.69 ‘(A)nd the sage went forth,’ Legge says, ‘to thirteen weary years of homeless wandering.’70 His Itinerant Life Confucius’ first journey brought him west of Lu to the state of Wei. It must have been a despondent body of disciples which accompanied him for we find them being reassured by a border official at the borders of Wei. This individual asked for an audience with Confucius and when the audience was concluded he said to the disciples, ‘What worry have you, gentlemen, about the loss of office? The Empire has long been without the Way. Heaven is about to use your Master as the wooden tongue for a bell’ (3, 24). This ‘border official’ was evidently one of the ‘recluses’ who was educated enough and insightful enough to appreciate Confucius’ principles and mission.71 He was certainly a significant enough individual for Confucius to grant him an interview. His reassurance would have steadied the resolve of the disciples. According to Legge, Confucius spent ten months in Wei, ‘and then for some reason left it to go to Ch’in’.72 On the way to Ch’in he was mistaken for a notorious criminal (a desperado called Yang-hoo73) and found himself under siege by the inhabitants of the town of K’uang. The disciples who accompanied him were distressed but Confucius strove to reassure them by declaring his belief in his heavenly mission. ‘With King Wen74 dead,’ he declared, ‘is not culture invested here in me?’ He went on to explain that if Heaven intended culture to be destroyed then his successors would ‘not be able to have any part of it’. On the other hand



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if Heaven did not intend the ancient culture to be destroyed, then ‘the men of K’uang’ could do nothing to harm him (9, 5). Confucius was clearly declaring his belief that he had a heavenly mandate against which mere mortals like the ‘the men of K’uang’ were powerless. After this incident he appears to have returned to Wei where he stayed with Shih Yu, an official whom he held in high regard. He said, ‘How straight Shih Yu is! When the Way prevails in the state he is as straight as an arrow, yet when the Way falls into disuse in the state he is still as straight as an arrow’ (15, 7). Such an endorsement marks Shih Yu as a true gentleman and a true devotee of the Way; he is impervious to the temptations of office, and even when the Way does not prevail in the state he remains incorruptible. The wife of Duke Ling of Wei was one Nan Tzu,75 a woman notorious for, in Legge’s words, ‘her intrigues and wickedness’.76 Due to the circumstances of his visit and his friendship with Shih Yu, Confucius was obliged to grant an interview to Nan Tzu. One of his senior disciples, Tzu-lu, took great exception to this association. Confucius became agitated and swore, ‘If I have done anything improper, may Heaven’s curse be on me, may Heaven’s curse be on me!’ (6, 28. As in other places in the Analects the repetition is a sign of the intensity of his feelings.) An indication of the notoriety of Nan Tzu can be seen in an anecdote related by Legge. One day the Duke drove out in his carriage accompanied by Nan Tzu. He required Confucius to follow in another carriage. Whether the Duke considered this to be a sign of honouring the philosopher or an attempt to legitimize his relationship with Nan Tzu, the people who watched the outing had no doubts: ‘Lust in the front!’ they roared. ‘Virtue behind.’ Clearly Nan Tzu’s reputation was not a matter of public approbation!77 Following this compromising visit Confucius left Wei and went to Ch’in. On the way he approached the state of Sung with some intention of including it in his itinerary. But he was prevented by a threatening incident. For reasons which are not at all clear his life was threatened by one Huan T’ui, ‘an ill-minded officer of Sung’.78 As before, the disciples who accompanied Confucius were alarmed, but the Sage himself was nonplussed and remarked, ‘Heaven is author of the virtue that is in me. What can Huan T’ui do to me?’ (7, 23). His response to this incident and to the previous threat to his life at K’uang show clearly that Confucius believed that he was the possessor of some kind of heavenly mission or destiny. That this belief was shared by others is clear from the incident with the official at the borders of Wei that Confucius was ‘the wooden tongue for a bell’ (3, 24) which would herald the return of the Way.

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Confucius spent a considerable time in Ch’in before returning to Wei. En route, however, he was captured by enemies of Wei and, in order to secure his release, he was forced to swear that he would not continue to Wei. Yet on release he continued his journey. A disciple challenged his breaking of the oath that he had given. ‘It was a forced oath,’ he replied. ‘The spirits do not hear such.’ This story is related by Legge who immediately comments: ‘I would fain believe it is not true’,79 perhaps considering it just another example of Confucius’ ‘somewhat questionable dexterity’. He was well received in Wei but the Duke did not employ him. So far his travels had been fruitless and he complained, ‘If anyone were to employ me, in a year’s time I would have brought things to a satisfactory state, and after three years I should have results to show for it’ (13, 10). Such was his belief in the reforming power of the Way. At around this time he received an invitation from one Pi Hsi, an officer of Ch’in. This individual was holding the town of Chung-mau against his chief. Confucius was of a mind to accept the invitation but a disciple objected that Confucius had always taught that a superior man will not associate with one who is an evil-doer: ‘the gentleman does not enter the domain of one who in his own person does what is not good’. It was clear that Pi Hsi was in rebellion against his chief and if Confucius were to consort with him it would legitimize the rebellion and destroy Confucius’ reputation for integrity. Confucius agreed but in the process vented some of his frustration at the apparent failure of his mission: ‘It is true, I did say that. But has it not been said, “Hard indeed is that which can withstand grinding”? Has it not been said, “White indeed is that which can withstand black dye”? Moreover, how can I allow myself to be treated like a gourd which, instead of being eaten, hangs from the end of a string?’ (17, 7). What Confucius is suggesting is that he is too righteous to be led astray (he can withstand grinding, and black dye) and that rather than being a useless ornament (hanging from the end of a string rather than nourishing) he has a task to accomplish. This sense of waiting for the opportunity to serve (and the attendant frustration) is repeated elsewhere in the Analects. When a disciple asks him, ‘If you had a piece of beautiful jade here, would you put it away safely in a box or would you try to sell it for a good price?’ Confucius immediately replies ‘Of course I would sell it. Of course I would sell it. All I am waiting for is the right offer’ (9, 13). Confucius himself is the piece of jade awaiting employment. Confucius remained in Ch’in for more than a year but events in Lu would eventually lead to his return. Duke Ting died in 494 and was replaced by



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Duke Ai. Shortly thereafter Chi Huan Tzu, the chief of the Chi family and, as Senior Minister, the effectual ruler of Lu, died.80 He was succeeded as Senior Minister by his son, Chi K’ang Tzu. Chi K’ang Tzu asked Confucius whether his disciple Chung Yu (Tzu Lu) was ‘good enough to be given office’. Confucius replied, ‘Yu is resolute. What difficulties could there be for him in taking office?’ When Chi K’ang Tzu asked whether (Tuan-mu) Ssu was ‘good enough to be given office?’, Confucius replied that Ssu was a ‘man of understanding’ and asked ‘What difficulties could there be for him in taking office?’ Chi K’ang Tzu selected a third disciple, Ch’iu (Jan Yu; note that this was also Confucius’ personal name), asking whether he was good enough to be given office. Confucius replied that Ch’iu was accomplished and asked ‘What difficulties could there be for him in taking office?’ (6, 8). So, despite the fact that Confucius himself was not offered office it is clear that in the new dispensation in Lu his advice was sought and his disciples considered suitable candidates for official appointments. In the event, we know for certain that only one of Confucius’ disciples was given office by Chi K’ang Tzu. However, while Confucius himself was not recalled at this time he wished to return to Lu to provide a source of advice for other disciples who had been appointed: ‘Let us go home. Let us go home [to Lu],’ he exclaimed. ‘Our young men at home are wildly ambitious, and have great accomplishments for all to see, but they do not know how to prune themselves’ (5, 22). Evidently more than one disciple had been appointed to office but, no matter how successful or accomplished they might have been, Confucius considered them still in need of the guiding and restraining hand of the Master. A year later we find Confucius in She, a district of Ch’u. When the Governor asked Tzu-lu, a disciple of Confucius, about the Master, Tzu-lu gave him no answer. When Confucius heard about this he challenged Tzu-lu, asking why he didn’t say something to the effect that Confucius ‘is the sort of man who forgets to eat when he tries to solve a problem that has been driving him to distraction, who is so full of joy that he forgets his worries and who does not notice the onset of old age’ (7, 19). Surely the self-description of a man contented with his life despite repeated disappointments.

Return to Lu Confucius returned to Lu in  484 during the reign of Duke Ai when the Chief Minister was Chi K’ang Tzu.

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He was now 69. He had not been successful in his efforts to attain office. Throughout his travels he had sometimes been consulted but more often ignored, rebuffed and disappointed. He had just five more years to live. Yet he had attained that state in which he could follow ‘his heart’s desire without overstepping the line’ (2, 4). But his quest for significant influence in political affairs had been unsuccessful. Although Duke Ai and the First Minister often consulted him (there are three mentions of conversation with the Duke and five with Chi K’ang Tzu in the Analects), Confucius does not appear to have had any great influence on affairs of state from then on. It is believed that he spent his declining years principally in literary pursuits: he is said to have collected and edited the Odes and also to have undertaken the reform of music. Another tradition has him writing the Spring and Autumn Annals, the history of his native state which gives its name to this period in Chinese history (722–480). He is reputed to have said, ‘It is the Spring and Autumn which will make men know me, and it is the Spring and Autumn which will make men condemn me.’81 His son Li (Po-yü) died in 483. Confucius bore his passing with equanimity. In 481, close to the end of Confucius’ life, Duke Chien of Ch’i was assassinated by one of his counsellors, Ch’en Ch’eng Tzu, who usurped power. On hearing this Confucius was indignant, for such a crime was contrary to everything he professed. His response was solemn and ritualistic. Having bathed he went to Duke Ai’s court in Lu and reported what had happened, requesting that the Duke take steps to punish the offender: ‘May I request,’ Confucius said, ‘that an army be sent to punish him?’ The Duke responded, ‘Tell the three noble lords’ (the chiefs of the Three Families who, as Duke Ai is tacitly admitting, are the true holders of power in Lu). ‘I have reported this to you,’ Confucius replied, ‘simply because I have a duty to do so, seeing that I take my place after the Counsellors.’ He then reported the event to the heads of the Three Families who refused to intervene in the affairs of Ch’i. Confucius said to them, ‘I have reported this to you simply because I have a duty to do so, seeing that I take my place after the Counsellors.’ It appears then that at the end of his life Confucius did, indeed, hold office in Lu but below the level of counsellor or minister (14, 21). We do not know a great deal about the details of Confucius’ final illness and death except that he died in 479, ‘a date which has hardly ever been doubted by any scholar up to the present’.82 On the occasion of one serious illness Confucius’ disciple Tzu-lu83 sought the Master’s permission to offer a prayer on his behalf. When Confucius asked whether ‘such a thing’ was ever done (as if he wouldn’t know!), Tzu-lu replied that it was. He went on to specify the prayer: ‘pray thus to the gods



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above and below’, to which Confucius replied, if that is the case, ‘I have long been offering my prayers’ (7, 33). Confucius is asserting that his prayer has been his entire life’s work. So rather than encourage any intercession with Heaven, Confucius is prepared to accept whatever judgement Heaven may have in store for him. His life’s work has been self-cultivation and service, not any attempt to curry favour with Heaven. Again during a serious illness (whether the same one or another), Tzu-lu, wishing to honour the Master, instructed Confucius’ disciples who were in attendance to ‘act as retainers’, that is to behave as if Confucius was a lord. However, when Confucius’ condition improved he declared that Tzu-lu had been ‘practising deception’, and engaging in a serious abuse of ritual. By pretending that Confucius had retainers when he had none, he asked, ‘who would we be deceiving? Would we be deceiving Heaven?’ More importantly Confucius declares his specific worldly attachments: ‘Would I not rather die in your hands, my friends,’ he asks his disciples, ‘than in the hands of retainers?’ His interest is not in an elaborate funeral but in being buried by those who know and have affection for him: ‘Even if I were not given an elaborate funeral,’ he declares, ‘it is not as if I was dying by the wayside,’ that is in poverty, loneliness and anonymity (9, 12). And so Confucius’ life came to an end.84 Although he had sometimes despaired at his lack of political success in re-establishing the empire of the Zhou and establishing the Way,85 at the end he did not seem to consider his lack of office and humble circumstances to be anything to be ashamed of or to be compensated for: his rebuke to Tzu-lu is indicative of his own sense of fulfilment and his pleasure at being in the care of devoted friends rather than compliant underlings. Two consecutive verses in the Analects might be taken for an epitaph: ‘The gentleman is troubled by his own lack of ability, not by the failure of others to appreciate him.’ (15, 19) ‘The gentleman hates not leaving behind a name when he is gone.’ (15, 20)

Notes ‘Ch’iu’ was Confucius’ personal name. Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. D. C Lau, London: Penguin Books, 1979, p. 161.  3 Lau, p. 9.  4 Schwartz, B., The World of Thought in Ancient China, London: Belknap Press, 1985, p. 59.  5 The Analects of Confucius, trans. A. Waley, New York: Vintage Books, 1989, pp. 13–14.  1  2

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Waley, p. 16. Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, ‘Confucius’, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ confucius/#ConLif Accessed 16 April 2011  8 Waley, p. 14.  9 Confucius, Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, p. 9. 10 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, pp. 257–8 11 Slingerland, p. 9. ‘Wu-wei’ means literally ‘non-activity’; unthinking conformity to what is right. The sheng, or divine sage, rules through the goodness of his person assuring ‘the fecundity of his people and the fertility of the soil’. Waley, p. 18. 12 Ma Rong, q. Slingerland, p. 91. 13 Lau, p. 164. 14 Nivison, David Shepherd, ‘The Classical Philosophical Writings’, The Cambridge History of Ancient China: from the origins of civilization to 221 B.C., M. Loewe and E. L. Shaughnessy (eds), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. 15 Wilhelm, Richard, Confucius and Confucianism, trans. George H. Danton and Annina Periam Danton, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1931, p. 4. 16 Kaizuka, Shigeki, Confucius his Life and Thought, trans. Geoffrey Brownas, New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 2002, p. 42; Waley, p. 16. 17 Kaizuka, p. 40. 18 Legge, James, Confucius, The Chinese Classics: Translated into English with Preliminary Essays and Explanatory: Vol. 1. The Life and Teachings of Confucius, 2nd edn. London: N. Trübner, 1869, Chapter: Section I: Life of Confucius. http://oll.libertyfund.org/title/2270 Accessed on 2011-04-16. Legge (1850–1895) was a Scottish Congregational missionary who devoted most of his life to translating the Chinese classics and ended his days as holder of a new Chair of Chinese Language and Literature at the University of Oxford. 19 Legge, ‘Life’. This event is mentioned in passing in Lau, p. 164. Kaizuka, p. 53, provides an alternative version of the story. 20 Lau, p. 164. 21 It is not clear what the nature of his disability was but he was deemed unfit to ‘carry out ancestral rites and sacrifices’ (Clements, J., Confucius: a Biography, Sutton Publishing Limited, 2004, p. 8), which meant that an able-bodied son was an urgent necessity before Shuliang He died. 22 The paradigm of the dutiful and submissive daughter is not confined culturally. And, just as it is important for the Christian myth that the mother of the One conform to the cultural paradigm, ‘Behold the handmaid of the Lord! Be it done unto me according to thy word,’ so it is important in the story of Confucius that his mother is seen to humbly acknowledge her familial role. 23 Wilhelm, p. 3. 24 Wilhelm, p. 4. 25 While it is generally accepted that Confucius’ elder brother Mang-pi was a cripple, it appears that whatever his physical (or mental) condition it did not prevent him having a daughter. We do not know her name but we are told twice in the Analects (5, 2 and 11, 6) that Confucius acted as surrogate father in the matter of her marriage. (Perhaps by this time Mang-pi was dead.) Confucius chose Nan-jung as  6  7



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her husband because ‘when the Way prevailed in the state he was not cast aside and when the Way fell into disuse he stayed clear of the humiliation of punishment’ (5, 2). Alternatively (or additionally?), Nan-jung was chosen because since he was cautious in word (and consequently in deed) he would be employable in a righteous state (one that possesses the Way) and circumspect enough to avoid harm in unrighteous times. (We have no information regarding the wishes of the young lady in the matter!) The incident demonstrates Confucius’ capacity to join the practical responsibility of making provision for his niece with the evaluation of the moral worth of a disciple. 26 Clements, p. 11. 27 Clements, p. 15. 28 Wilhelm, p. 6. 29 Lau, pp. 164–5. 30 Slingerland, p. 39. Slingerland quotes Fan Ning’s opinion that the act was a criticism of ‘the corrupt and excessive manner in which punishments were administered in [Confucius’] fallen age, and to provide future encouragement to those who truly held fast to rectitude’ (Slingerland, p. 39). Again, we have no information regarding the wishes of the young lady in the matter! 31 Clements, p. 13; Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 32 ‘It does not appear whether these offices were held by Confucius in the direct employment of the State, or as a dependent of the Chi family in whose jurisdiction he lived. The present of the carp from the duke may incline us to suppose the former.’ Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 33 Kaizuka, Appendix 1, pp. 185–6. 34 http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext02/lggpr10h.htm. 35 During Confucius’ lifetime there were four dukes who were for the most part merely nominal rulers of the state: Duke Hsiang who died when Confucius was about 10; Duke Chao who was forced into exile in C’hi by the Huan Families in  517 and died there six or seven years later; Duke Ting, Chao’s brother, who ruled until 497; Duke Ai his son who was also forced into exile by the Huan (Kaizuka, Appendix 1, p. 186). 36 Liu Baonan quoted in Slingerland, p. 204. 37 Much as the young men of the Greek city states would have engaged the services of Sophist teachers. 38 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 39 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 40 Lau, p. 196. 41 Clements, p. 21; Lau, p. 165. 42 Clements, pp. 21, 22. 43 Clements, p. 23. 44 Lao Tzu (Lao Zi, the Old Master) was the author of the Tao Te Ching and the founder of Taoism. 45 Kaizuka, p. 86. 46 Schwartz, p. 63. 47 Schwartz, p. 64. 48 Chen Jingpan, Confucius as a Teacher, Beijing: Foreign languages Press, 1990, p. 192.

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Clements, p. 32. Lau, p. 166. 51 Lau, p. 248. 52 Clements, pp. 32–9. 53 It has probably been the case always and everywhere that the practitioners of statecraft are dismissive of the theoretical approaches of academics. 54 Kaizuka, Appendix 1, p. 186. 55 Clements says that at this stage Confucius’ career ‘was in tatters’, p. 42. 56 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 57 Lau, pp. 167–8. 58 Lau, p. 167. 59 Lau is sceptical of the idea that this Yang Huo is the same as Yang Hu, ‘an official in the household of the Chi family who managed not only to usurp power in the Chi family but also the power in the state of Lu’ (167). 60 Slingerland, pp. 199, 200. 61 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1, emphasis added. Legge was doubtless well acquainted with the universal political tradition of ambivalence. He clearly expected more of a moral giant like Confucius. 62 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 63 Slingerland, 202. 64. Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 65 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 66 Schwartz, p. 59. 67 3, 19; 13, 15. 68 Clements, pp. 80–1. 69 Clements, p. 84. 70 Legge, ‘Life’. 71 See Chapter 4. 72 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 73 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 74 The nominal founder of the Western Zhou Dynasty. 75 Lau, p. 239. 76 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 77 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 78 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. Lau has him as a descendant of Duke Huan and ‘commander of the armed forces in that state’. Lau, p. 240. 79 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 80 In 492. Lau, p. 237. 81 Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 82 Kaizuka, p. 45. 83 This could not have been Confucius’ final illness since Tzu-lu predeceased him. He was one of Confucius’ favourite disciples and one of those who had been longest with the Master. There was a strong sympathy between them: Legge refers to him as ‘a sort of Peter’ among the disciples. He was freer in his conversations with Confucius than any of the others dared to be. Confucius had predicted that Tzu-lu would come to a violent end: ‘A man like him,’ he said, ‘will not die a natural death’ (11, 13). And so it was to be. When Confucius 49 50



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left Wei, Tzu-lu remained in official service there. When a revolution broke out Tzu-lu would not forsake the prince who had treated him well: he died fighting in defence of his lord in Wei in 480. Lau, p. 247; Legge, ‘Life’, Section 1. 84 There is no mention of any family involvement in his passing. 85 ‘The Phoenix does not appear nor does the River offer up its Chart. I am done for’ (9, 9). Confucius was, however, constantly in fear of falling short of his own pursuit of the Way: ‘potential failings are a source of constant worry’ (Slingerland, p. 64). ‘It is these things that cause me concern: failure to cultivate virtue, failure to go more deeply into what I have learned, inability, when I am told what is right, to move to where it is, and inability to reform myself when I have defects’ (7, 3).

Chapter 3

The Primacy of the Family: Familial Duty as the Basis of Social Order

‘Simply by being a good son and friendly to his brothers a man can exert an influence on government.’ (The Analects, 2, 21)

Family Relationships For Confucius the family is the starting point of socialization: within the family the individual acquires his or her first experience of harmonious social relations, learns the various roles which are required by society and learns how to behave appropriately within the various roles that one is required to fulfil (parent, sibling, relation, superior, subordinate, neighbour, friend, etc.) The paramount moral obligation is filial piety (xiao), respect for parents – and by extension all older people – and the ancestors. Only when one has learned the appropriate forms of behaviour within the family can one apply these forms outside: how and when to show respect and compliance; when care, sympathy, compassion and empathy are appropriate; when to be submissive and dutiful, and when to be challenging and opposing. There is nothing strange or alien about this idea: it has permeated all human societies for millennia; it describes a psychological process of development and sociological process of preparation rather than a legalistic imperative. This is why the family, not the individual, can be seen as the foundational unit of society: for the family is the seedbed and the proving ground for future citizens, the origin of social virtue. (The idea is intensified in Chinese society, however, because of the centrality of the parentsbecome-ancestors as a central feature of the society.) The outcome is not always positive: dysfunctional families will produce dysfunctional members of society (but the outcome is not inevitable). The problem this poses is that the family can be blamed for any lapse from proper conduct on the

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part of the individual. This is a significant sociological and developmental problem even now; and the central issue remains unresolved: to what extent can the family, the parents, the familial ethos, be held responsible for the antisocial behaviour of the wayward individual? According to the Analects, anyone who is unwilling to commit to the care of immediate family is unlikely to support care for others in the community. ‘This,’ Wang concludes, ‘is why in the Confucian tradition xiao (filial piety) was understood as the “root” of humanity and morality.’1 The Analects is quite explicit in this regard, ‘The gentleman devotes his efforts to the roots, for once the roots are established, the Way will grow therefrom. Being good as a son and obedient as a young man is, perhaps, the root of a man’s character’ (1, 2). In the Confucian universe the fundamental principle, the model and the paradigm of political and social order, is family relations: political and social order are contingent on secure foundations in the family; this is axiomatic in the Analects. It is highly unlikely that one who has developed the proper respect for parents and elders will engage in political rebellion or subversion. ‘It is rare for a man whose character is such that he is good as a son and obedient as a young man to have the inclination to transgress against his superiors; it is unheard of for one who has no such inclination to be inclined to start a rebellion’ (1, 2).2 The family is a natural community, not a ‘social contractarian community’, and as such is regarded as the basic social unit in most societies.3 The moral obligations which follow from family membership are in a fundamental sense non-negotiable for either parents or children. However, the reciprocal duties and obligations are differential over time; providers become dependants and dependants become providers with the passage of years: ‘being a son or a daughter of one’s parents,’ Wang concludes, ‘one is obligated or has a duty to respect them as parents and to take care of them if necessary’ irrespective of whether the relationship has been voluntarily entered into.4 A Western liberal view might contest the belief that autonomous moral agents can be held responsible for actions or obligations which they have not freely undertaken; they should only be held to account for actions to which they have voluntarily committed.5 However, it has been argued that our familial obligations (caring for young children or aged parents) ‘cannot be consensual, contractarian and voluntarist’. Such obligations should be considered ‘existential, communal and historical’. They are moral duties ‘determined mainly by what kind of existential situation (we are) in and what kind of social role (we) play’ rather than by any specific or explicit obligations we undertake.6 Simply put, we have obligations which we do not



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choose but which are imposed on us by our specific existential situation; to renege on such obligations is disloyal and dishonourable; it is wrong. As we have seen,7 when challenged as to why he had not entered government Confucius replied by citing the Book of History to the effect that, ‘Simply by being a good son and friendly to his brothers a man can exert an influence upon government’ (2, 21). Confucius’ point here is that there is no radical demarcation between the life of the individual in the family and the governance of the state: the two are inseparable and mutually dependent. The Great Learning states, ‘Before governing the country, you must first regulate your family.’ It goes on to elaborate as follows: There has never been a case where a man could not educate his own family, and yet could educate others. Therefore the Superior man perfects the education for the country without leaving his own home. Filial piety is the means by which you serve your ruler. Fraternal submission is the means by which you serve your elders. Compassion is the means by which you deal with everyone.8 In short, the virtues practised and learned in the home, by both parents and children, are the same virtues which are required to govern the state. Filial piety and fraternal submission are not a recipe for arbitrary authoritarianism; there is nothing arbitrary about these relationships or the responses they elicit. Confucius sees them more in the nature of reciprocal and inescapable context-dependent obligations between the superior and the sub­ordinate, father and son, elder brother and younger, ruler and subject. Fundamental Relationships The primary duty of a young (male) person is to be a good son at home and respectful to his elders when outside the home. This relationship of child/ parent is one of the four foundational relationships upon which the social order is built: husband–wife, child–parent, minister–lord and friend–friend.9 The child–parent relationship is, obviously, the first one which the individual will experience. The dynamic of the relationship is submission to parents and commitment to their service: the aim is that the young man will ‘exert himself to the utmost in the service of his parents’ (1, 7). As we shall see later, a formal fulfilment of this demand is not sufficient: it must be done in the proper spirit, that is, vivified by affection. This foundational relationship can only be forged in the home and it is significant that, despite the patriarchal orientation and language of the Analects, it is both of the

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parents who should be the object of this filial respect, not just the father.10 If these duties of filial respect are widely neglected neither the community nor the state will or can prosper. Confucius’ definition of a good or dutiful son is demanding and continuing: Observe what a man has in mind to do when his father is living, and then observe what he does when his father is dead. If, for three years, he makes no changes to his father’s ways, he can be said to be a good son. (1, 11) This principle of filial submission, extending even after the death of the father, is certainly deemed important enough to have it repeated later: ‘If, for three years,’ Confucius says, ‘a man makes no changes to his father’s ways, he can be said to be a good son’ (4, 20). This requirement of filial submission places limits even on the freedom of movement of the individual son; he must constantly keep his parents appraised of his whereabouts and movements so as to save them undue worry: ‘While your parents are alive,’ Confucius insists, ‘you should not go too far afield in your travels. If you do, your whereabouts should always be known’ (4, 19). In short, the son should have no real independence from his parents until three years after his father’s death. Regarding someone who challenged the traditional three-year period of mourning for a parent, Confucius said: How unfeeling he is. A child ceases to be nursed by his parents only when he is three years old. Three years’ mourning is observed throughout the Empire. Was he not given three years’ love by his parents? (17, 21) What is of modern significance here is not just the way in which a traditional practice is justified in terms of the biological fact that the infant is totally dependent on the care of others for the first three years of life, but the acceptance that this creates a reciprocal obligation based on mutual affection. The difficulty with this requirement of filiality is that the father may not have been a just individual himself; he may not have acted righteously, in accordance with the Way. In such a case the requirement that the son continue to act in accordance with the father’s wishes appears prima facie to be plain wrong, if not perverse! But here we have a significant difference with a Western tradition based on abstract principles of law and social regulation as opposed to a system based on familial affection and loyalty. This duty of the son to the father raises a significant issue regarding the moral priorities of Confucianism. A number of verses in the Analects appear



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to imply that the son owes filial obligation even if his father is wrong! ‘[P]riority [is] given to familial affection and loyalty,’ Slingerland tells us, ‘over considerations of what is more abstractly “right”.’11 He considers trustworthiness and reverence to be ‘secondary virtues’ (as distinct from rightness and ritual propriety – ren and li – as primary virtues). These ‘secondary virtues’ may be misplaced in situations which require a more reflective or subtle response as to what the informing or foundational principles of rightness and ritual propriety require. Slingerland illustrates the point by relating the story of Wai Sheng, a ‘legendary paragon of trustworthiness’. Wai Sheng promised to meet a girl under a certain river bridge. However, when a storm caused great flooding in the countryside the prudent girl stayed at home. But the trustworthy Wai Sheng kept to the appointment and was drowned. This was an occasion when trustworthiness needed to be adjusted to take account of radically changed circumstances; the individual must be flexible (a characteristic which Confucius insists on when identifying the features of the gentleman). Rightness and ritual propriety demand trustworthiness and reverence respectively but only as appropriate to circumstances, not to the point of stupid inflexibility. The dogged application of a secondary virtue can lead to inappropriate results and even, as in the case of Wai Sheng, tragedy. (One wonders what the girl thought of her suitor when she heard the news!) A succession of four verses in Book 2 provide an elaboration of the nature of filial piety. Confucius insists, for example, that one should ‘Never fail to comply … When your parents are alive, comply with the rites in serving them; when they die, comply with the rites in burying them; comply with the rites in sacrificing to them’ (2, 5). In the first place, ‘Never fail to comply’ (Do not disobey) means that one should honour one’s parents in accordance with the rites during their life and when they join the ancestors. Ritual propriety is the guide to proper behaviour – but it is not sufficient. For a second injunction of the Master requires that the son should not cause anxiety in his parents: ‘Give your father and mother no other cause for anxiety than illness’ (2, 6). This is one of the passages that present a difficulty because of disagreement between the principal translators. Whose illness is in question here? The possible illness of the child which would undoubtedly cause anxiety to concerned parents, if only about their own future security; or the possibility of illness befalling the parents themselves? 12 A later commentator suggests that the passage means that the son should be ‘respectful, careful, and selfpossessed’ and should avoid any behaviour ‘that would cause his parents undue worry’.13 The only part of his parents’ welfare that the son has no

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control over is the onset of (his/their?) ill health. This is the only legitimate cause of worry for aging parents. But there is more. For acting in accordance with the rites and avoiding occasions of parental anxiety can be done in an unfeeling, formalized, mechanical, detached manner. More is needed, respectful feeling! Nowadays for a man to be filial means no more than that he is able to provide his parents with food. Even hounds and horses are, in some way, provided with food. If a man shows no reverence, where is the difference? (2, 7) The difference is, of course, the nature of the affection which informs and guides the care. This is a characteristic swipe by Confucius at his contemporaries; when they fulfil the rites at all it is done in a mechanical, unfeeling manner. But the essence of propriety in relation to the rites is the genuineness of the inner feeling of which the rite itself is the appropriate expression. What is important in providing for one’s parents is the internal state of the child, the intention, the motivation behind the care: the respectful attitude ‘encompassing,’ in Slingerland’s words, ‘both a manner of behaving and an emotional attitude’.14 This is reinforced when Confucius declares, ‘What is difficult to manage is the expression on one’s face.’ He goes on that the young simply ‘taking on the burden when there is work to be done or letting the old enjoy the wine and the food when these are available ... hardly deserves to be called filial’ (2, 8). Demeanour is important: filial piety is more than simply bearing a burden dutifully and giving precedence to elders; the demeanour expressive of an internal emotional state is crucial, it is affection: ‘Serving one’s parents … involves … deep affection, a harmonious disposition, and a willing heart,’ says Zhai Hao.15 What is required is not only a dutiful respect but more importantly ‘a kind of spontaneous, profoundly affectionate bond’.16 Filial Duty and Public Obligation The link between filial behaviour and the quality of government is reinforced once more in 2, 21. As we have seen, Confucius believes that ‘being a good son and friendly to his brothers a man can exert an influence upon government’: one is already participating in the governance of the state by establishing the ‘root of virtue’ in oneself. The stable family, built upon a true appreciation and conduct in relation to filial duty, is the bedrock upon which the state is built.



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The root of ren (righteousness, benevolence) is filial love as practised in the family. The hierarchical order, and the concomitant reciprocal obligations, which is accepted naturally in the family, expands into the community and to the wider society. This is not just cowed submission: the hierarchy includes (or ought to include) the family relations of filiality and fraternity, and the accompanying affection, in the wider context. When Fan Ch’ih asked about benevolence, Confucius replied, ‘Love your fellow men’ (12, 22). For Confucius, ‘ethics is not a matter of how we should be bounded, but of how we can follow social rules willingly and naturally’.17 The good ruler is modelled on the good father, the good subject is modelled on the dutiful son. The gentleman begins with loving the parent and this relationship expands into the wider world. ‘A young man should be a good son at home and an obedient young man abroad’ (1, 6). He is ‘reverent and does nothing amiss, is respectful towards others and observant of the rites, and all within the Four Seas are his brothers’ (12, 5). This filial relationship is the bulwark against insubordination and rebelliousness in the body politic: one who is ‘good as a son and obedient as a young man’ is unlikely to ‘transgress against his superiors’ or ‘start a rebellion’ (1, 2). The Analects is unusually unambiguous with regard to the priority of filial obligation over any other consideration. Confucius’ view was that in serving one’s parents one ‘ought to dissuade them from doing wrong in the gentlest way’. If, however, following such gentle remonstration, the advice is ignored, then one ‘should not become disobedient but should remain reverent’ to one’s parents. ‘You should not complain,’ he warns, but continue to be respectful to their wishes ‘even if in so doing you wear yourself out’ (4, 18). What this means is that even when the son believes that his parents are set upon a foolish, dangerous, even criminal course of action he is allowed, even required, to remonstrate, but if they persist, eventually to become complicit. This adds a whole new dimension to the injunction to ‘honour thy father and thy mother’ as we see it in the Judaic tradition.18 The ‘unique level of obedience’ even goes beyond what we would consider to be normal legal responsibilities and even exceeds ‘the demands of dutifulness in the political realm’.19 The father/son relationship is not completely at one with the lord/minister relationship. In the latter case if the minister is not heeded after he has made three attempts to dissuade his lord form a particular action then it is open to him to leave the lord’s service (albeit this might be a dangerous course of action!). The political relationship is contingent and voluntary whereas the familial relationship is necessary, it is natural: one can never not be the son of one’s father or (despite the literary trope of ‘disowning’) not be the father of one’s son.

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Filiality is not a one-way street however; just as the son has responsibility for the welfare of the father, the father has a corresponding responsibility for the son as illustrated by the following apocryphal anecdote related by Legge.20 While Confucius was chief magistrate of Chung-tu (Zhong-du), a father brought a charge against his son. We are not privy to the reason why this particular father sued his son but we may suppose that it was in consequence of some grave misdemeanour or neglect of filial duty. On hearing the case Confucius’ decision was to imprison both father and son for three months and then send them both home. He was criticized on the grounds that he had always promoted filial duty as the first priority of governance. Why had he not imposed an exemplary punishment on this unfilial son? Confucius’ reply was that the father was as remiss in his duty in failing to rear his son properly, as the son was in not being filial. This is a point, as we shall see, he makes repeatedly in relation to government: if those in command do not behave with propriety and fulfil their duties correctly then it would be unreasonable to expect their subordinates to do so. This case lays bare the heart of Confucian doctrine: it is incumbent on children to honour and obey their parents, not just in childhood but throughout their lives, not just during the lifetimes of the parents but even after their deaths, when they join the ancestors. The family is at the centre of the Confucian world just as reverence for the ancestors is at the heart of Chinese culture: how the families of the state are conducted will eventually determine how the state itself fares. The family is more than the preparation, it is the model. On the face of it Confucius would have been expected to rule in favour of the father. Surprisingly, however, he left both father and son in prison for three months: in general filial duty is not just an obligation on the child; it also involves the obligations of parents to ensure that the children are well trained/educated in their obligations.21

Public vs Private Morality The Analects relates how the Governor of She boasted that a man of the village (a ‘straight person’) whose father stole a sheep promptly reported his father to the authorities. Confucius responded that those who are considered straight in his own village are quite different. ‘Fathers,’ he declares, ‘cover up for their sons, and sons cover up for their fathers’ (emphasis added). This is what constitutes straightness: ‘In such behaviour is straightness to be found as a matter of course’ (13, 18). Confucius’ response emphasizes the priority of familial relations over considerations of public obligation.



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In Confucius’ view, proper relations between father and son (the family) provide the roots of goodness (1, 2), and goodness – rather than the rule of law – is the principal value in ordering a state: ‘Guide [the common people] by virtue, keep them in line with the rites, and they will, besides having a sense of shame, reform themselves’ (2, 3). This approach to the tension between public and private morality is at odds with the Western tradition. Socrates In Plato’s Euthyphro we find Socrates waiting outside the courthouse where he is to be tried on charges of impiety and corrupting the youth of Athens. He meets Euthyphro, a vain young man who prides himself on his knowledge of religious and ethical matters. In the course of their conversation we learn that Euthyphro is also awaiting a trial – in his case he is the accuser, he is prosecuting his father on a charge of manslaughter! Euthyphro’s father had apprehended a labourer who had killed one of the family servants. Euthyphro’s father had overpowered the killer, bound him hand and foot, and thrown him into a ditch while he sent someone to report to the authorities. However, due to delay and neglect, the prisoner died in the ditch. This sequence of events led to Euthyphro’s bringing the charge of manslaughter against his father. Euthyphro is convinced that it is not an act of impiety for him to bring the charge against his father for, regardless of whether the victim deserved to die or not, the central question is whether the man was ‘killed lawfully or not’. In effect Euthyphro is setting some kind of objective imperative of justice above his own subjective judgement or any filial obligations. When Socrates raises the possibility that a distinction might be made between bringing a charge against one ‘who is a relation and one who is not a relation,’ Euthyphro replies that he considers that ‘the pollution [the crime] is the same in either case’. He continues, ‘[t]he real question is whether the murdered man has been justly slain. If justly, then your duty is to let the matter alone; but if unjustly, then even if the murderer lives under the same roof with you and eats at the same table, [you must] proceed against him.’22 Now, although Socrates takes issue with Euthyphro with respect to the latter’s understanding of ‘piety’ and its essential meaning, the substantive dilemma itself is neither removed nor resolved: which should have ethical priority, the objective rule of law, or the force of filial obligation and familial loyalty?

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With regard to the status of the rule of law, Socrates himself, as would soon become clear, was in no doubt that law superseded other obligations. When presented with the practicable choice of availing of the opportunity to escape or submitting to his death sentence he chose the latter on the grounds that by choosing to escape he would undermine the authority of the laws and of the city of Athens. And he could not do this for he holds the city in highest esteem as the source of all that is good in his life. Although he has spent most of his life probing deep into the moral frailties of Athens and its most prominent citizens, it is clear that he is fully committed to the state and its laws. One can be critical and yet be faithful. ‘Do you imagine,’ Socrates says in the Crito, ‘that a State can subsist and not be overthrown, in which the decisions of law have no power, but are set aside and overthrown by individuals?’23 For Socrates (and Plato) once one submits to the authority of the state and accepts the consequent benefits there can be no reneging on the covenant for personal advantage. ‘Think not of life and children first, and of justice afterwards,’ he concludes his dialogue with Crito, ‘but of justice first, that you may be justified’ in the afterlife.24 At this point in Western history the dichotomy between the ascendancy of abstract principles of morality and justice, embodied in the persona of the state, on the one hand, and personal considerations, whether individual, familial or tribal, on the other, emerges. This dichotomy would lead, eventually, to the deontological ethics of Kant (whose ‘categorical imperative’ decouples principles of morality and justice from human connection and emotion) and to a variety of ‘universability’ criteria to provide a basis for the pre-eminence of the ‘rule of law’. Confucius In a comparable incident Confucius leaves no ambiguity in placing filial obligation above the law. In the incident of the stolen sheep the Governor’s view that uprightness consisted in complying with the law as a priority over familial obligation represents the ‘Socratic’ point of view which prevails throughout the Western liberal democratic tradition. Confucius’ response is contrary: for him ‘straightness’ consists in familial loyalty: ‘Fathers cover up for their sons, and sons cover up for their fathers’ (13, 18). Such familial solidarity constitutes ‘straightness’ as a matter of course. As Ames and Rosemont comment, ‘In the tension between the family and Governor’s law, Confucius is saying that the law does not trump the family. Order begins at home.’25 Confucius does not deny the legitimacy of the law: he is setting out a priority of obligation



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rather than a critique of law. ‘It is the duty of the filial son,’ Slingerland comments, ‘to sacrifice himself in order to prevent the law from being applied to his father.’26 If this exchange is judged from the perspective of the liberal tradition of the pre-eminence of law it appears to show that within Confucius’ code illegal means may justifiably be used to protect members of one’s family. The criminality of stealing the sheep is not being denied. However, the preeminent Confucian concern is the appropriate response when a member of one’s family is involved. As Confucius notes, a son who sees his parents doing wrong should only gently remonstrate and remain reverent (4, 18); there is no question of denouncing them to the authorities! The son mentioned in the Governor’s account of the stolen sheep incident, who was otherwise ‘straight’, bore witness against his father. In Confucius’ eyes this son’s action inverted the proper order which places familial loyalty before legal obligation. In the Western tradition we privilege a conception of justice which holds that abstract and detached ‘moral principle’ is unarguably superior to familial obligation.27 The two traditions (loyalty to family vs loyalty to abstract principles of justice; human bonds or rule of law) appear irreconcilable. But it would be a mistake to think that the moral sensibility of the liberal tradition is completely dominated by abstract principle rather than by family connection. Dickens An interesting and relevant example of the tension between the two is to be found in Charles Dickens’ Hard Times. A central character in Hard Times, Thomas Gradgrind, is initially presented as the embodiment of principle. He is convinced, and considers it his mission to convince others, that society and human life generally must be conducted upon principles which are factual, rational, or abstract. The central feature of Gradgrind’s approach is commitment to fact (or what he and his peers consider to be fact) and statistical regularities which take on the appearance of laws of nature. ‘‘NOW, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!’28

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It is on the basis of fact and statistical measurement that all human affairs, whether individual or collective, must be conducted. It is on this basis that Thomas Gradgrind conducts his own children’s education, concentrating on matters of fact only and deliberately eschewing any considerations of feeling, relationship, imagination (fancy) or compassion.29 Tom Gradgrind’s children, notably Louisa and Tom Junior, are the principal victims of this dispassionate, quasi-empirical, approach to human experience and human conduct. Louisa emerges an emotional cripple, Tom (‘The Whelp’) an immoral wretch. In the event, Tom Junior embezzles funds from the bank of Thomas Gradgrind’s friend Josiah Bounderby and manages to lay suspicion on the blameless Stephen Blackpool. When it becomes clear that Tom Junior is the culprit, it becomes necessary for Gradgrind Senior to face an unanticipated and unwelcome reality: how is he to save his son from justice ? He discusses the problem with his daughter Louisa: ‘Let me know,’ said her father, ‘if your thoughts present your guilty brother in the same dark view as mine.’ … ‘And now, how is he to be found? How is he to be saved from justice? In the few hours that I can possibly allow to elapse before I publish the truth, how is he to be found by us, and only by us?’30 The man of principle, having reality knock on his own door in the form of an unwelcome fact, belatedly realizes that there is more to life than verbal definitions, rational argument, and desiccated statistical tables; there is affection, familial bonds, paternal duty. Gradgrind does not deny the force of abstract principle (‘your guilty brother’; ‘before I publish the truth’) but he is forced to the realization that when the law (abstract, rational, universal) collides with personal relationships (concrete, affective, immediate) no principle of compromise is available to resolve the dilemma. One must take sides: Euthyphro chose principle and law over traditional familial piety; Thomas Gradgrind chooses family. Despite the fact that Gradgrind inhabited a law-constituted society, he chose (if ‘choose’ is the correct moral verb; did he have a choice?) to stand by his son. This is more a ‘Confucian’ than a principled ‘Socratic’ position. Thomas Gradgrind, despite his utilitarian convictions, reverts to a more fundamental human relationship to guide his decision and his action. It is within the context of this tension in the Western tradition31 that the Confucian position should be considered. However, it is not the case that the Analects unambiguously elevates family loyalty over submission to the law. Confucius declares that ‘While the



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gentleman cherishes a respect for the law, the small man cherishes generous treatment.’ (4, 11; Slingerland’s translation is, ‘The Gentleman thinks about punishments, whereas the petty person thinks about exemptions.’) This appears to present an internal contradiction: if ‘the gentleman’s public, impartial orientation’ is the opposite of ‘the petty person’s penchant for personal gain and favouritism’32 where does this leave the pre-eminence of filial loyalty? But Confucius nowhere denies the importance of principles of justice and law. ‘The gentleman is comfortable with social distinctions and holds fast to the norms, whereas the petty person has his mind focused upon nothing but profit, and if he falls afoul of the law, tries to avoid punishment without giving it a second thought.’ 33 He is simply saying that when the norms of justice and law come into conflict with filial relationships the latter should prevail. The primary focus is always filiality. The law ‘does not trump the family. Order begins at home’.34

The Ideal Community and the Family It has been suggested that non-familial relationships (such as legal, economic, communal, political) should not be based on the model of familial ones. [F]amily relationships involve a whole, different set of values, loyalties, caring, feeling, and closeness, which are different from non-familial relationships. Values and feelings that are appropriate within the family context – for example that between mother and child – are often inappropriate in others – such as that between employer and employee.35 If we look at pre-revolutionary political ideas in Europe and elsewhere, the notion of a paternalistic relationship between ruler and ruled predominated; prevailing values were more akin to ‘family values’ than to contemporary conceptions of individual liberty. Robert Filmer,36 for example, one of the last great defenders of the absolute power of monarchy, could argue that the monarch was the Patriarch of his people. Filmer’s sense was not metaphorical as the following well illustrates: If we compare the natural rights of a father with those of a king, we find them all one, without any difference at all but only in the latitude or extent of them: as the father over one family, so the king, as father over many families, extends his care to preserve, feed, clothe, instruct, and defend the whole commonwealth. His war, his peace, his courts of justice, and

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all his acts of sovereignty, tend only to preserve and distribute to every subordinate and inferior father, and to their children, their rights and privileges, so that all the duties of a king are summed up in an universal fatherly care of his people.37 This contrasts starkly with any notion of individual autonomy and rights. The autonomy/rights conception made the relationships of the paternalistic conception (loyalties, caring, feeling, closeness) obsolete if not downright objectionable. Locke targeted this paternalistic conception of government and argued effectively against Filmer’s position. The purpose of parental power, Locke asserted, is to facilitate the gradual development of children to the state where they are capable of the autonomy and rationality necessary to control their own lives.38 The principal difference between monarchy and parenthood is that the latter is of limited duration and has as its purpose the liberation of the individual to his/her autonomy. The former, monarchy, is permanent. The point is not to adjudicate between the two conceptions of government but simply to illustrate that the ‘family theory of government’, as argued by Filmer, has nothing that is conceptually contradictory. It is a conception which worked for many centuries as a justifying theory of government. Fascist governments of the twentieth century attempted to re-establish dominant paternalistic rule. Even today, one finds states and employers expressing familial values and aspirations as a way of addressing desirable state/citizen, employer/ employee relationships, especially in relation to those deemed to be in need of support, assistance or understanding. The justification for interventions may be rights-based, but the motivation is often relational. Paternalism has not gone away and the notion of the family as the model (the ‘Nanny State’) for the community and community relations hasn’t either. My intention is not to endorse the inappropriate application of the family model, simply to acknowledge its practicability and its appropriateness on some occasions. When we think of alternative models of society we must try to detach ourselves from our geographical and historical location within, and commitment to, one particular manifestation in order to recognise possible alternatives. After all, it was only as a result of such non-parochial imaginative leaps that social/political progress was possible at all. Why shouldn’t there be a society structured along the lines of family bonds, obligations and duties? The question is whether such a society is conceptually possible in the first instance, only subsequently whether it is morally desirable. It is pointless to devote time and attention to dismissing the impossible; it is instructive to at least consider the conceptually possible.



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A society/community may be modelled on the family without wishing to duplicate all family characteristics, even all those considered desirable: what binds the family may well bind the state. The state may wish to extend some aspects of family relations (e.g. submission to legitimate authority, control of certain individual and collective behaviours, responsibility for individual and collective actions, reciprocal duties and entitlements, etc.) without falling into the absurdity of attempting to adopt or promote all the physical or emotional intimacies associated with family relations. The fact remains that in most modern states the preliminary work of preparing children psychologically, emotionally, culturally and socially for their role as citizens continues to fall to the family. Family loyalties, like loyalty to the nation/community, are inherited, inculcated and unquestioningly accepted until such time as the individual has the desire and the capacity to interrogate them. It is surely a common feature of a healthy family and a just society that such questioning is not only tolerated but encouraged (meal-time arguments, universities, free media). It is intriguing that at the same time as the nation state (even those described as ‘democratic’) is based upon a detached, impersonal, principled rule of law, extreme situations (external threat, war, natural disaster) demand from the citizenry not a rights-based individualized response in the first instance but one based on solidarity, community, loyalty, obedience, sacrifice, love of country (Mother-land, Father-land, Home-land),39 tradition, culture, language, etc. The absurdities of extending all of the features of the family to the state are too manifest. But when it comes to it the state has the same dilemma to face as Thomas Gradgrind has: is it to be guided exclusively by abstract principles of justice or is there room (or a necessity) for humane considerations? When we look at the legal systems of liberal democracies we find that although justice may be blind (to individual differences of heredity, status, wealth and power) there is still room for understanding and compassion in relation to individuals. Justice may be blind but it need not be without compassion.

Notes Wang, James, ‘The Confucian Filial Obligation and Care for Aged Parents’, Twentieth World Congress of Philosophy, 1998, Section 3: ‘Conclusion: Xiao as a Virtue for Today’; http://www.bu.edu/wcp/Papers/Comp/CompWang.htm. Accessed 16 April 2011  2 A more recent translation makes the issue clearer: ‘It is a rare thing for someone who has a sense of filial and fraternal responsibility to have a taste for defying  1

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authority. And it is unheard of for those who have no taste for defying authority to be keen on initiating rebellion.’ Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998.  3 The Constitution of Ireland (Dublin: Government Publications), for example, asserts in Article 42.1, ‘The State acknowledges that the primary and natural educator of the child is the Family.’  4 Wang, Section 1: ‘Consent and Moral Obligation’.  5 English, J., ‘What Do Grown Children Owe Their Parents?’, in C. Sommers, and F. Sommers (eds), Vice and Virtue in Everyday Life, Fort Worth: Harcourt, 1993; Daniels, N., Am I My Parents’ Keeper?, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988.  6 Wang, Section 1: ‘Consent and Moral Obligation’.  7 Chapter 2.  8 The Great Learning, The traditional commentary, attributed to Confucius, through the transmission of Tseng Tzu, trans. Charles Muller, http://www.acmuller.net/ con-dao/greatlearning.html, note 9. Accessed 16 April 2011  9 Confucius, Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, p. 3. 10 It is worth noting here that in the European context it would be the seventeenth century before Locke introduced the concept of parentalism to replace paternalism in the matter of child/parental relationships. (See Locke, J., ‘Paternal Power’, in O. O’Neill and W. Ruddick (eds), Having Children: Philosophical and Legal Reflections on Parenthood, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979, pp. 240‒6.) 11 Slingerland, p. 5. 12 Translator: Legge, ‘Parents are anxious lest their children should be sick.’ Lau, ‘Give your father and mother no other cause for anxiety than illness’; Slingerland, ‘Give your parents no cause for anxiety other than the possibility that they might fall ill’; Waley, ‘Behave in such a way that your father and mother have no anxiety about you, except concerning your health’; Soothill, ‘Parents should only have anxiety when their children are ill’; Ames and Rosemont, ‘Give your mother and father nothing to worry about beyond your physical well-being’; Couvreur, ‘Les parents craignent par-dessus tout que leur fils ne soit malade’; Dawson, ‘It is when father’s and mother’s only worry is about one being ill.’ 13 Huang Kan, q. Slingerland, p. 10. 14 Slingerland, p. 10. 15 q. Slingerland, p. 11. 16 Slingerland, p. 11. 17 Jiyuan Yu, ‘Virtue: Confucius and Aristotle’, Philosophy East and West, 48, 2, 1998, 332. 18 Exodus, 20:12. 19 Slingerland, p. 35. 20 Legge, James, Life of Confucius, Prolegomena to The Chinese Classics, ftp://sunsite. informatik.rwth-achen.de/pub/mirror/ibiblio/gutenberg/etext01/prolg10.txt Accessed 16 April 2011 21 Clements, J., Confucius: a Biography, Gloucestershire: The History Press Limited, 2004, p. 76 ff. 22 Plato, Euthyphro, trans. Benjamin Jowett, http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/euthyfro. html. Accessed 16 April 2011



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Plato, Crito, trans. Benjamin Jowett, http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/crito.html Accessed 16 April 2011 24 Plato, Crito. 25 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, n. 213, p. 254. 26 Slingerland, p. 147. 27 During the so-called ‘Cold War’, and the Western ‘liberal’, ‘Christian’ or ‘Catholic’ denunciation of Communism, children in Western schools were regaled with stories of how their peers in the Communist USSR were indoctrinated to denounce parents to the state authorities if they deviated in any way from the state orthodoxy. This was presented as evidence of the moral depravity of a system which placed statist obligations over familial loyalty. It was an unarticulated premise of such stories, and one which gave them their moral force, that family loyalties superseded any loyalty to the state; but then it depended on which state was in question! 28 Dickens, C., Hard Times, London: Signet Classics, 1997, p. 11. 29 It is worth noting in passing that Gradgrind’s conception of knowledge of ‘fact’ is no more than possession of a verbal definition. Such verbal information – Bitzer’s definition of a horse – is given priority over the lived experience of Sissy Jupe which, while it may be relatively inarticulate, is nonetheless empirically rooted and existentially authentic. Sissy Jupe knows horses although she may not be able to give a learned description of her knowledge. Dickens, pp. 13–14. 30 Dickens, p. 27 (emphasis added). 31 Forster, E. M., Two Cheers For Democracy, New York: Mariner Books, 1962, p. 68. 32 Slingerland, p. 33. 33 Cheng Shude q. Slingerland, p.33. 34 Ames and Rosemont, n. 213, p. 254. 35 Lai, Karyn L., ‘Confucian Moral Thinking’, Philosophy East and West , 45, 2, Apr. 1995, 264. 36 Sir Robert Filmer (1588–1653) was the author of an Patriarcha, published in 1680, in which he defended absolute monarchy, considering the father of a family to be the true model of government: the king should be considered the father of his people. Filmer’s views were later attacked by John Locke in his first Treatise of Government. 37 Filmer, Robert, Patriarcha Or The Natural Power Of Kings, 1680, Ch. 1, http://www. constitution.org/eng/patriarcha.htm, Accessed Saturday, 16 April 2011. Emphasis added. 38 Montgomery, Jonathan, ‘Children as Property’, Modern Law Review, 51, 1988, 323. 39 The parental metaphors are not without significance. 23

Chapter 4

Government and the Power and Example of Rulers

‘ When those above are given to the observance of the rites, the common people will be easy to command.’ (The Analects, 14, 41)

The Common People ‘The ultimate purpose of government is the welfare of the common people. This is the most basic principle in Confucianism …’1 Who were the common people and what was their status in Confucius’ teaching on government? The common people (the masses) were ‘the amorphous indeterminate mass of peasants’ in contrast to those who were cultivated and educated. Education and acculturation, not birth, was the determining difference between the undifferentiated ‘common people’ and the cultured ruling class.2 ‘Being a person (i.e. rising above the undifferentiated mass) is something one does, not something one is; it is an achievement rather than a given.’3 The common people were expected to be submissive, obedient and reverent to those in authority; they would normally be controlled by law and punishment.4 They expressed virtue by the proper fulfilment of their everyday occupations as labourers, farmers, trades people, artisans, etc. Like peasants in medieval Europe, their obligations included providing unpaid labour for their lords when required. It was this aspect of their lives that Confucius refers to when he cautions his disciples regarding the employment of the common people ‘at the proper seasons’(1, 5). They were largely uneducated and uncultivated and so did not question their condition. They may have been able to follow the Way in some sense (i.e. live in a state in which it prevails) but they could not realize it, that is cause it to come into being in their lives. This does not mean that they were irrevocably trapped in their condition. Confucius’ favourite disciple, Yen Yüan (Yen Hui), was

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able, despite humble birth and impoverished circumstances (6, 11; 11, 19), through dedication and perseverance to become the most accomplished of the disciples, comparable to Confucius himself (7, 11). When they come under the influence of benevolence or authoritative behaviour the common people will respond appropriately. ‘Benevolence is more vital to the common people than even fire and water. In the case of fire and water, I have seen men die by stepping on them, but I have never seen any man die by stepping on benevolence’ (15, 33). Confucius, as the intimate of the great and powerful, was never in any way contemptuous of the common people; after all, his own circumstances in his youth were not privileged. He fully realized their foundational role at the bottom of the social pyramid as generators of the wealth that made the entire edifice of power possible. Confucius consistently asserts that they are best governed through benevolence, kindness and the moral example of their superiors. A positive attitude towards the common people was not an innovation of Confucius. Already in the Book of History, which predated him and which would have been a significant text in the curriculum of his students, the common people are identified as fundamental to the well-being of the state. The masses ought to be cherished, Not oppressed, For it is only the masses who are the root of the state, And where this root is firm, the state will be stable.5 The common people are the foundation of the state, ‘the ground out of which society and the state can grow’.6 The Confucian model for the state is the family. Confucius, it appears, cannot conceive of any other form of social organization: like the family society is stratified, roles are differentiated, duties and obligations are assigned to specific roles. The common people are the children of their ruler and are dependent on him for their welfare and security. The key to the stability of the state is their confidence in their ruler’s efficacy as a ruler. ‘[W]hen there is no trust,’ Confucius said, ‘the common people will have nothing to stand on’ (12, 7). And if the common people have nothing to stand on then the state itself is without foundation. It is for this reason that they should be considered before food, mourning and sacrifice (20, 1). The way to win the common people over is addressed as follows: ‘If a man is tolerant, he will win the multitude. If he is trustworthy in word, the common people will entrust him with responsibility. If he is quick he will achieve results. If he is impartial the common people will be pleased’(20, 1). It was



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clearly important for the Confucian administrator to win and retain the loyalty of the common people. Confucius insists that the common people should not be neglected with regard to education: once they are settled as a population, and made prosperous, they should be educated. When Confucius visited Wei, the disciple Jan Yu drove his chariot. They were impressed by the teeming population of Wei and Jan Yu asked Confucius what one should do with a numerous population. Confucius replied, ‘Improve their circumstances,’ and then ‘Train them’ (13, 9).7 The injunction to ‘train them’ is taken to refer to moral education. The priority is significant: there is no point in instruction unless the basic needs have been met. The material welfare of the people and the economic stability of the state comes first. ‘The common people,’ Confucius said, ‘can be made to follow a path but not to understand it’ (8, 9). The common people, in other words, could be made to follow the Way through the example of virtuous behaviour on the part of their superiors. They could not, however, be brought to an understanding of the Way. This was not because they lacked the necessary intelligence. As we have seen, neither poor circumstances nor humble birth was an insuperable barrier for an individual. Confucius made this quite clear when he said of Chung-kung, ‘Should a bull born of plough cattle have a sorrel coat and well-formed horns, would the spirits of the mountains and rivers allow it to be passed over [for sacrifice] even if we felt it was not good enough to be used?’ (6, 6). If the sacrificial animal meets the requirements, his parents, however humble, should not be a reason for excluding him. Even if the parents of an aspiring gentleman are of inferior birth this is not sufficient reason for rejecting him; what is decisive are his own virtues and commitment. So there can be no presumption that Confucius meant that the common people were unintelligent or incapable of responding to whatever education was available to them. There is clearly a paucity of educational opportunities in the society of the time. This is why he advocates training and instruction once the common people have been made prosperous. The common people could tell when their superiors were worthy of their loyalty and when their superiors were making demands of the people which the superiors themselves were not prepared to meet. ‘If a man is correct in his own person,’ Confucius said, ‘then there will be obedience without orders being given; but if he is not correct in his own person, there will not be obedience even though orders are given’ (13, 6). Example is vital. Whether in the family, in the state, or in the classroom people are best led by example, not by precept or exhortation. ‘Encourage the people to work

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hard by setting an example yourself,’ Confucius told Tzu-lu. When asked to elaborate, all he added was ‘Do not allow your efforts to slacken’ (13, 1). When Duke Ai asked Yu Juo8 what he should do if his finances were reduced following a bad harvest, Master Yu suggested that he might consider taxing the people ‘one part in ten’. The Duke was nonplussed: ‘I do not have sufficient as it is when I tax them two parts in ten. How could I possibly tax them one part in ten?’ Master Yu’s answer goes to the very heart of the matter regarding the importance of the common people: ‘When the people have sufficient, who is there to share your insufficiency? When the people have insufficient, who is there to share your sufficiency?’ (12, 9). Master Yu’s advice is uncompromising: reduce taxation to enrich the common people. If the common people prosper then their ruler will prosper. On the other hand, if the welfare of the common people is not his first consideration then the ruler cannot be content. The point of this kind of comment is that the primary function of the ruler is to attend to the needs of his subjects as his children. If the children are not properly cared for how can the parent be content? ‘I have never seen a situation,’ Confucius said, ‘where their children were rich and the parents poor.’9 Chi K’ang Tzu asked Confucius what he would think if, ‘in order to move closer to those who possess the Way, I were to kill those who do not follow the Way?’. Confucius replied that it was not necessary to kill anyone; the ruler should just desire the good himself and ‘the common people will be good’. ‘The virtue of the gentleman is like wind,’ he explained, ‘the virtue of the small man is like grass. Let the wind blow over the grass and it is sure to bend’ (12, 19). For readers in modern liberal democracies, however, Slingerland makes a thoughtful comment: ‘Throughout traditional Chinese texts on rulership the common people are portrayed as childlike and easily influenced by their superiors, and therefore not totally accountable for their behaviour.’10 Nonetheless the welfare of the common people is paramount and should be the central concern of the ruler and his government.

Government The human community envisaged by Confucius was a stratified community comprising a hierarchy of hereditary rulers and ruled. The notion of political hierarchy is not one which is attractive to the modern democratic sensibility: we tend to see democratic forms and practices as a reaction against, and an improvement upon, such systems. Nevertheless, if we are to understand the Confucian vision of human goodness then we must



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make the effort to understand the community within which such goodness will be developed. Confucius was not a revolutionary: he does not question the existence of a society based on inherited differentiation although he does champion an administrative meritocracy. The society in which he passed his life and the society in which he imagined his theories being implemented did not differ radically in terms of the ways in which wealth, power and control were distributed, only in the way they were used. The Confucian ideal is a moral hierarchy: the inherited stratification is necessary for the proper moral ordering of society. A well defined and established ruling class is a necessary element, not simply a historical accident. While Confucius was not a democrat in any sense, neither was he an uncritical supporter of those who held, and vied for, power in the society of his time. He was quite selective in his support of the rulers of the Yellow River kingdoms: the education of his students was aimed at providing, not alternative rulers, but the best possible political advice for existing rulers and the imperative, whenever it should be necessary, of reminding rulers of their princely duties and responsibilities. And this is the crucial art: for the rulers must not be allowed to do as they please; they must be kept to their duties and obligations. They are rulers because they are expected to fulfil their duties. If they fail to do so they lose the ‘Mandate of Heaven’ and may be removed, by violent means if necessary. The first priority for any government must be to win the support of the people it governs. When asked by Duke Ai what he, the Duke, must do ‘before the common people will look up to me?’ Confucius answered, ‘Raise the straight and set them over the crooked and the common people will look up to you. Raise the crooked and set them over the straight and the common people will not look up to you’ (2, 19). Those who are placed in positions of trust by the ruler must themselves be individuals of utmost moral integrity. However high-minded and noble the ruler might be, it is only if his subordinate functionaries, those who mediate the will of the sovereign, are above reproach that the people will willingly submit to rule. Elsewhere Confucius repeats this advice with a codicil: ‘Raise the straight and set them over the crooked,’ he said, adding, ‘This can make the crooked straight’ (12, 22). Deeply embedded in this advice is the Confucian belief that government, whether at the level of the family or the state, is a matter of example: just as the parent is expected to lead the child by example so the ruler, and the agents of the ruler, are expected, by their example, to raise the standard of behaviour among their subordinates and among the common people.

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On another occasion Confucius recommended that if a ruler wants to govern adequately then he should provide sufficient food and armaments, and retain the trust of the people. The disciple asked, ‘If one had to give up one of these three, which should one give up first?’ Confucius said, ‘Give up arms.’ When challenged to identify a priority between the remaining two he replied, ‘Give up food. Death has always been with us since the beginning of time, but when there is no trust, the common people will have nothing to stand on’ (12, 7).11 Once a ruler loses the confidence of the people nothing else matters; once he gains their confidence anything is possible.

Ren Perhaps the most important concept in Confucian ethics is ren. Ren is humaneness, benevolence or compassion, essentially love of others: in some contexts ‘benevolent person’ is substituted for ‘gentleman’ as a translation of junzi. The Classical Chinese graph for ren is the graph for ‘man’ plus the graph for ‘two’. This emphasizes that goodness is not to be explained by some inner psychological or spiritual state but by the quality of one’s relations and interactions with others. ‘[T]he word summarizes how a human being should ideally behave toward other human beings, i.e. it embraces all the human virtues.’12 Ren is a necessary characteristic of the gentleman. ‘The gentleman never deserts benevolence, not even for as long as it takes to eat a meal’ (4, 5). It has its roots in the family which explains ‘why it is said to be accessible to all, and that anyone is capable of exercising it’.13 Confucius was the first to teach ren ‘as the supreme principle of human existence, namely, of the noble man. In this respect, he may be regarded as the discoverer of the human spirit in Chinese civilization.’14 Ren is nurtured in the child’s earliest experiences in the family: ‘Being good as a son and obedient as a young man is, perhaps, the root of a man’s character’ (1, 2). Filial love is essential in the moral formation of the individual because the proper relationship between the child and the parents is the child’s first and formative experience in accepting authority and hierarchical relations. Kinship involves a natural hierarchy and through it is established natural authority relations, while its extension/expansion to other social relations naturalizes the idea of hierarchy and authority in the wider society … A family may not be a democratic forum or provide a context for equality, but it is a place one loves to be in.15



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Family relations expand out into the wider society through the extended family, neighbourhood, community to the world at large. The acceptance of authority and hierarchy, and that rule will be exercised with justice and equity, is transferred to non-familial figures. This is why it is rare for a man who ‘is good as a son and obedient as a young man to have the inclination to transgress against his superiors; it is unheard of for one who has no such inclination to be inclined to start a rebellion’ (1, 2). But the submission of the people to their ruler must be voluntary; if it is compelled there cannot be very much mutual affection. The confidence of the people is not to be won through fear, coercion and punishment. For Confucius the key is the consistent good example of those in charge: the ruler, his counsellors (ministers) and his officials. Zhang Ping is worth quoting at length here: When one rules by means of Virtue, then everyone gets to fulfil their own nature, and everything in the world is put to use without being aware of it. This is why the Master says, ‘The common people can be made to follow it.’ If, however, one tries to rule by means of punishments, one has to set up sanctions to prevent the common people from being bad. Once the common people become aware of these preventive sanctions, they will simply devise more clever ways of being bad [to evade the sanctions]. This is why the Master says, ‘They cannot be allowed to understand it.’ The point is that one should govern by means of Virtue, which causes the people to follow and nothing more, rather than by means of punishments, in which case the people become aware of one’s technique. Slingerland adds: ‘ruling by a publicised legal code merely inspires the common people to devise devious ways to get around the law’;16 their behaviour would be prudential rather than moral. Chi K‘ang Tzu asked Confucius about government. Confucius answered, ‘To govern is to correct. If you set an example by being correct, who would dare to remain incorrect?’ (12, 17). If the people were to be ruled by sanction and punishment rather than by virtuous example then they would ‘devise more clever ways [to evade the sanctions]’. Human nature changed little in the two millennia between Confucius and Rousseau. The following example from Rousseau’s Émile nicely illustrates the difference between true morality and prudence. ‘Most of the moral lessons which are and can be given to children,’ Rousseau wrote, ‘may be reduced to this formula’:

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Master: You must not do that. Child: Why not? Master: Because it is wrong. Child: Wrong ! What is wrong? Master: What is forbidden you. Child: Why is it wrong to do what is forbidden? Master: You will be punished for disobeying. Child: I will do it when no one is looking. Master: We will keep an eye on you. Child: I will hide. Master: We will ask you what you were doing. Child: I will tell a lie. Master: You must not tell lies. Child: Why must not I tell lies? Master: Because it is wrong, etc. ‘That is the inevitable circle,’ Rousseau concludes. ‘Go beyond it, and the child will not understand you. What sort of use is there in such teaching? I should greatly like to know what you would substitute for this dialogue. It would have puzzled Locke himself. It is no part of a child’s business to know right and wrong, to perceive the reason for a man’s duties.’17 The alternative for both Rousseau and Confucius is the moral example of the significant superior, ruler, parent or teacher.

The Power of Example Confucius distinguished between two contrasting approaches to government. The approach which was most common (if not universal) during his lifetime used fear and the threat of punishment to keep subjects in submission: this would teach them to be prudent only, not moral. The alternative which he proposed was radically different: rule by example, by trust, by winning the confidence of the people rather than frightening them into submission. ‘Guide them by edicts, keep them in line with punishments,’ he declared, ‘and the common people will stay out of trouble but will have no sense of shame’ (2, 3). His advice is similar to Rousseau’s description of the correct approach with the pre-moral child: coercion and punishment will only lead to shameless evasion. Rousseau’s advice to teachers in the matter of moral formation was straightforward and practical. He urged that teachers, rather than recite



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precepts and impose prohibitions, should themselves be ‘good and kind’ and let their example ‘sink into [their] scholars’ memories till they are old enough to take it to heart’.18 For Confucius the common people must come under the influence of virtue to be morally transformed. The function and inspiration of ritual is that the people ‘will, besides having a sense of shame, reform themselves’ (2, 3). The moral objective is to eliminate rather than to repress the tendency to do bad. What should the example of rulers and superiors consist of? Government should be educative: ordinary people learn what is appropriate, or at least acceptable, behaviour from the example of those who rule them. By the Spring and Autumn period neglect of the customary rites and neglect of the elderly had become prevalent among the common people. Since their rulers had chosen to disregard obligations of proper behaviour or respect for the elderly, the ancestors and the customary rituals then why should those whom they ruled bother? On the other hand, if the ruler carefully attended to ritual propriety then ‘the virtue of the common people will incline towards fullness’ (1, 9). This, of course, is true not just of rulers themselves but of all those in positions of influence: ‘When the gentleman feels profound affection for his parents, the common people will be stirred to benevolence. When he does not forget friends of long standing, the common people will not shirk their obligations to other people’ (8, 2). Confucius was convinced that charismatic power was sufficient to ensure propriety among the common people. ‘[P]olitical order is not obtained by means of force or government regulations, but rather by the non-coercive influence of the morally perfect person.’19 The model for human governance in the family or in the state is the harmony of the Heavens and of the natural world. It is also the paradigm for the human ruler: to be as consistent as the Pole Star providing the focal point for the behaviour of the masses. ‘The rule of virtue,’ Confucius said, ‘can be compared to the Pole Star which commands the homage of the multitude of stars without leaving its place’ (2, 1). When asked by the Senior Minister of Lu (Chi K’ang Tzu) how he could make the people ‘respectful, dutiful, and industrious’, Confucius told him that he should ‘Rule over them with dignity and they will be reverent; treat them with kindness and they will do their best; raise the good and instruct those who are backward and they will be imbued with enthusiasm’ (2, 20). When Chi K’ang Tzu (a Senior Minister in Lu from 492 to 468) asked Confucius about government, Confucius explained that to govern means to correct. But being correct begins with the ruler himself: ‘If you set an example by being correct,’ he told Chi, ‘who would dare to remain incorrect?’ (12, 17).

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In other words the ruler must first look to the correctness of his own behaviour. If his own behaviour is correct then his example will influence the behaviour of his people; the personal virtue of the ruler will spread through the realm as a model. But ‘governing’ means that the ruler must correct himself in an active sense as well. Chi K’ang Tzu was also having a specific problem with the prevalence of thieves in the state of Lu. When he asked for Confucius’ advice, the Sage answered that the minister should look to his own behaviour in the first instance: ‘If you yourself were not a man of desires,’ he said, ‘no one would steal even if stealing carried a reward’ (12, 18). Two things are clear from this exchange: the importance of the correctness of the behaviour of those in authority but also the risk that Confucius was prepared to take in explicitly admonishing the most powerful man in the state! In another answer, presumably to a similar question regarding government, Confucius said that the two principal requirements were ‘observing the rites’ and ‘showing deference’. These are the essential components of good government, government based on virtue rather than on ‘force or reward and punishment’.20 If the ruler or administrator (minister) met these requirements then he would have no difficulties in public life (4, 13). Slingerland comments that a good ruler ‘morally transforms the people and renders them obedient through the suasive power of his Virtue’. For Confucius the practice of ruling through law and punishment was evidence of a failure of virtue on the part of the ruler. Ritual structures correct behaviour; rites provide the communal context for behaving correctly, they encourage propriety. In addition, ritual points up the human value of even the most insignificant and easily disregarded aspects of life. Ritual is the means through which the common people take the ordinary details of their lives seriously. Social harmony rather than adversarial contention is the ideal. ‘This valuing of social harmony over the adversarial assertion of individual interests has become an enduring feature of societies in the Confucian cultural sphere.’21

Ritual Propriety and Deference Deference is a necessary personal attribute in a hierarchically ordered society. According to the Zuo Commentary,22 deference is the ‘mainstay of ritual propriety’. When the age is ordered ‘gentlemen honour ability and defer to those below them, while the common people attend to their agricultural labours in order to serve those above them’. Once the Way is lost the age declines. There is ‘a lack of ritual, giving birth simultaneously to disorder



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and cruelty’.23 Ritual prevails throughout a society which is based on ‘excellent virtue’, so that even when the ‘common people attend to their agricultural labours in order to serve those above them’ the demands of ritual are fulfilled; for ritual requires that each person fulfils his or her role with propriety. The ‘spirit of the rites’ is essential for establishing political order. The gentleman, whether as husband, father or administrator, best rules by ruling himself, by presenting his own developed moral perfection as example. So the three things mentioned by Master Tseng in his daily self-examination (loyalty to his undertakings, trustworthiness in word, commitment to selfimprovement, 1, 4) represent the imperatives of self-cultivation which constitute the root of good government.24 Without these manifestations of virtue, the ruler/administrator has no moral influence over their subordinates or the common people. In sum, if the ruler himself and those whom he chooses to assist him are virtuous, the virtue of the common people will follow. ‘When those above love the rites, none of the common people will dare be irreverent; when they love what is right, none of the common people will dare be insubordinate; when they love trust-worthiness, none of the common people will dare be insincere. In this way, the common people from the four quarters will come with their children strapped on their backs’ (13, 4).25

A Case in Point This perception is repeated by Confucius when he is approached by two disciples, Jan Yu and Chi-lu, both of whom were advisors to the Chi family of Lu (16, 1). The Chi family were preparing to go to war against Chuan Yü, a small but strongly fortified state with a strategic position which Jan Yu thought was ‘sure to be a source of trouble for the descendants of our master in the future’. More importantly from Confucius’ point of view, it was the location for a very important annual ceremony. Jan Yu and Chi-lu came to Confucius for advice, if not for approval for the projected military expedition. Confucius was direct and unambiguous in his criticism of them: ‘surely it is you who are at fault?’ he scolds them, for allowing things to come to such a pass that war is being considered. ‘It is what our master wishes,’ they argued. ‘Neither of us is in favour of it.’ But Confucius was relentless in taking them to task: ‘What use to a blind man is the assistant who does not steady him when he totters,’ he demanded, ‘or support him when he falls?’ (16, 1).

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He insists that the primary concern of the head of a state or a noble family should be the even distribution of wealth and social stability. Equitable distribution eliminates poverty, if there is harmony ‘there is no such thing as under-population’, and where there is stability there will be no rebellion. The primary response to disquiet among distant subjects should be for the ruler to cultivate his ‘moral quality in order to attract them’, and once they have been won over to ‘make them content’. Jan Yu and Chi-lu, he goes on, have failed ‘to help [their] master to attract the distant subjects’. ‘Instead,’ he declared, ‘you propose to resort to the use of arms within the state itself.’ This is a failure of governance ‘within the walls of [the Chi family] palace’ itself, that is, a failure on the part of trusted advisors to guide their lord properly. In short, Jan Yu and Chi-lu are subjected to the wrath of Confucius because their practice ran counter to his high ideals of government. It is ironic that such a scolding should be directed at two of the most accomplished and successful disciples. Both Jan Yu and Chi-lu are mentioned among the ten most talented as being particularly accomplished in relation to government (11, 3). Yet elsewhere, perhaps as a consequence of this conversation, Confucius speaks of them in a most disparaging fashion, denying that either of them is in any sense a ‘great minister’ and that they will do anything they are told to do short of ‘patricide or regicide’ (11, 24).26

A European Comparison Confucius the teacher was concerned with a very pragmatic outcome. Like the later teachers of rhetoric in Greece and Rome, his eye was fixed constantly on practical participation in government, both for himself and for his students. These were not scholars bent on an academic or contemplative career but men whose principal ambition was to participate in the governance of a state. Perhaps the clearest example in the European tradition of the kind of enterprise Confucius was engaged in is to be found in the writing of Marcus Fabius Quintilian (ad 35–100). 27 In Quintilian’s time, rhetoric was the central concern of the higher education of the ruling classes and an essential element in preparing Roman citizens for public service. Only the man who was properly skilled in rhetoric was considered qualified to serve the empire in the legislature, in administration, in the law courts, or in commanding the legions. The orator was the man who could use rhetoric to change opinion (and so bring



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about changes in policy) while entertaining, informing and persuading his listeners. This emphasis on rhetoric entered Roman public life from the Greek tradition. The Greek Sophists had taught that human excellence consisted of a number of skills which could be used to achieve some end or other or enjoyed for their own sakes (that is, they could be considered as having instrumental value – like a tool – or entertainment value – like a game or toy). In either case, however, they were not considered to have any necessary connection with truth or virtue. In opposition to this tradition was the teaching of the great philosophers, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, who conceived of philosophy as essentially the pursuit of the good or the true. What really mattered in education was the inculcation of moral and intellectual virtues. This dichotomy is still with us and resurfaces every time we ask questions as to whether education should emphasize method or skill (i.e. be technical), or whether its primary concern should be with knowledge and truth (i.e. be humanistic or liberal). Quintilian, however, would not allow for a separation between public service and the service of truth. Statecraft could not be amoral. The orator needed not only to learn the skills of oratory but also crucially needed to concern himself with truth and virtue. The ideal orator must be a man of integrity, a man who is morally good. So, therefore, the excellent orator is required not only to be a consummate speaker, but he should also be ‘a good man, and consequently we demand of him not merely the possession of exceptional gifts of speech, but of all the excellences of character as well’.28 Not alone should the orator be a good man, but ‘that no man can be an orator unless he is a good man’.29 The principles which inform a life of moral integrity should not be the business of philosophers alone. The ideal citizen (like the Confucian gentleman) who is prepared to play his part in the management of the affairs of the state, who can ‘guide a state by his counsels, give it a firm basis by his legislation, and purge its vices by his decisions as a judge’,30 must be a person of the highest integrity. The orator therefore must be close to the real sage in the Confucian sense: he must be not only perfect with regard to his morals, but he must also be expert in the science and practice of oratory, that is to say, government. Despite time and geographical distance there is a meeting of minds here which sees government as the practice of virtue. This is not to say that we can infer any identity between Confucius’ educational ideas and those of Quintilian other than a belief in the need for engagement in political life by men who are educated in, and committed to, virtue.

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Advice to Disciples Regarding Government Confucius’ ideas on government were not naïve. Living as he did at a time of widespread conflict and unremitting warfare within and between states, he could not but be familiar with the grim and bloody realities facing anyone in government. Yet his counsel to his students was never war-like or aggressive. His advice always emphasized what they should be and do before they made demands on others: ‘If one sets strict standards for oneself and makes allowances for others when making demands on them, one will stay clear of ill will’ (15, 5). For the most part, Confucius advocated an approach to government which was calm, measured and constantly grounded in the rites. ‘In guiding a state of a thousand chariots,’ he advised his disciples, ‘approach your duties with reverence and be trustworthy in what you say; avoid excesses in expenditure and love your fellow men; employ the labour of the common people only in the right seasons’ (1, 5). These ‘middle administrators’ should be respectful, trustworthy and frugal and make appropriate demands on those they govern (the subject population) only when necessary. The ‘common people’ are not there for the convenience of or exploitation by the ruling class. On the contrary, as is made clear at several points throughout the Analects, the care of the common people should be a primary concern for rulers as the care of children is the primary consideration of parents. The gentleman should not show weariness ‘over daily routine’, and should ‘give of [his] best’ when there is action to be taken (12, 14). The wise administrator should ignore the small faults of those he appoints to office and promote those who are talented. But above all he should appoint only those who are prepared to lead by example. ‘Set an example for your officials to follow; show leniency towards minor offenders; and promote men of talent’ (13, 2). But Confucius’ advice to his students with regard to public life is prudential as well as moral; he does not expect them to expose themselves to unnecessary risks; he is not asking them to be martyrs for the cause. ‘Enter not a state that is in peril; stay not in a state that is in danger. Show yourself when the Way prevails in the Empire, but hide yourself when it does not’ (8, 13). He makes it abundantly clear that if a state is disordered those who follow the Way should remain invisible: if the Way is not being realized then the disciples should go into reclusion rather than put themselves in danger or, worse still, suffer the shame of association with a state in which the Way does not prevail. In fact there are two causes of shame: to be successful in a



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state where the Way does not prevail, or not to be successful when it does! ‘It is a shameful matter to be poor and humble when the Way prevails in the state. Equally, it is a shameful matter to be rich and noble when the Way falls into disuse in the state’ (8, 13). So, when the state is disordered the gentleman should either go into reclusion or find another state which is worthy of his service. A disordered state is one in which the normal standards of propriety and filial loyalty no longer prevail, where ‘ministers are assassinating lords and sons are killing fathers’.31 There is no suggestion that the follower of the Way should place himself in danger in order to change the situation (although that is what Confucius himself spent his life doing!). But it begs the following question: if the disciples are to hold aloof from a state which is disordered, who then will give the leadership necessary to return it to the Way? Confucius’ own example, the stubborn pursuit of an opportunity to put the Way into practice wherever he might, perhaps gives the answer. ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’ is a piece of advice for rulers attributed to Sun Tzu, the Chinese military strategist who was a contemporary of Confucius.32 Though less war-like than Sun Tzu, Confucius expressed a similar idea: ‘Ensure that those who are near are pleased and those who are far away are attracted’ (13, 16). One reason for his annoyance at Jan Yu and Chi-lu was because rather than attract ‘those who are far away’ (i.e. the people of Chuan Yü), their immediate response was military intervention. Confucius was aware that winning ‘hearts and minds’ was more important and more lasting than military victories. For the epitome of good governance, Confucius returns to the example of the ancient Sage Kings. Sage King Shun ‘achieved order without taking any action’. So great was his virtue and his influence on the people that all he had to do was ‘to hold himself in a respectful posture and to face due south’, that is, adopt the correct ritual position, and all else would fall into place (15, 5). But just because Shun was ‘doing nothing’ it did not follow that nothing was being done. The good ruler ensured that each official was well selected and knew his duty; once this had been done there was nothing further for the supreme leader to do except, like the conductor of a wellrehearsed orchestra, adopt the correct posture and as a consequence what should happen would happen: ‘if the ruler can fill his ministerial posts with able people and effectively set the machinery of government in motion,’ Slingerland explains, ‘the state will more or less run itself ’.33 This is an example of wu wei. Wu wei means literally ‘non-doing’ or ‘effortless action’, and refers generally to the manner in which something is done. ‘An action is wu wei if it is spontaneous, unselfconscious, and perfectly efficacious.’34

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In the present context it refers to ruling through the moral force of the ruler’s virtue, his charisma: as the ruler morally perfects himself he ‘thereby effortlessly transforms everyone around him’.35 When the ruler’s personal virtue is sufficiently developed, its beneficent influence is felt throughout the realm. By being the Pole Star at the centre of the state the ruler enables everyone to perform his or her allotted function appropriately.36 So there are two components to sagely rule: the appointment of the correct people to office, and their effortless direction through the model of the ruler’s exemplary virtue.

Recluses, Primitives and Dropouts Confucius’ dream of making a ‘Zhou in the East’ (17, 4), of restoring the high culture and stable harmonious society of the Western Zhou which he so revered (‘The Zhou is resplendent in culture … I am for the Zhou’, 3, 14) was not shared by many of his peers. In reaction to the social and political chaos of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods many philosophers and political advisors withdrew from public life altogether and disappeared into isolated rural communities where they joined the peasantry in the mundane processes of food production or other humble activities. These were the recluses or hermit ‘primitives’ who chose to embrace a strict, ascetic and self-sufficient way of life rather than participate in the disintegration of the social order which was taking place at the centres of power. The incident of the border official who reassured the disciples that ‘Heaven is about to use your Master as the wooden tongue for a bell’ (3, 24)37 is interesting for two reasons. Firstly there is the perception that Confucius’s lack of office was destined so that he could assume the task of spreading knowledge of the Way. The second point of interest is the identity of the border official. His insight regarding Confucius’s mission and its importance and Confucius’ willingness to grant him an interview indicate that he was a junzi, a righteous man whose lowly position was a protective cloak. Many of these pessimists saw no hope or likelihood of resolving the political, social and moral difficulties of the time. While many of them were men who were fit for public office, they had fled the world in fear or in despair, preferring to live in relative obscurity. Their decision to opt out rather than run the significant risks of joining in the political maelstrom of the time casts into sharp relief Confucius’ optimism (or idealism), the courage of his



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decision to remain in the public arena and engage with those in power with whom he very often disagreed fundamentally. Confucius was not an admirer of these recluses. The gentleman is concerned with the pursuit of moral excellence, not with practical pursuits such as the production of food. When he was asked how to grow crops and vegetables, for example, he replied that in respect of growing food he was not as good as an old farmer or an old gardener. This is a thinly veiled criticism of those disillusioned philosophers who ‘dropped out’ and took to farming rather than persist in the pursuit of the Way. ‘The gentleman,’ Confucius reminds his disciples, ‘devotes his mind to attaining the Way and not to securing food’(15, 32). Some of these recluses are mentioned by name in the Analects. Chieh Yü, the ‘Madman of Chu’, was an individual who, apparently, ‘feigned madness in order to avoid public service’.38 This is a good indication of how risky public service was perceived to be at the time. Chieh Yü went to live as a subsistence farmer. He passed by Confucius singing a rhyme which made reference to the failure of the Phoenix to appear (a symbolic reference to the non-appearance of a Sage King): Phoenix, oh phoenix! How thy virtue has declined! What is past is beyond help, What is to come is not yet lost. Give up, give up! Perilous is the lot of those in office today. (18, 5) This is a judgement on the practicality of Confucius’ mission: it is dangerous, and in any case it is doomed to failure, for the Phoenix (a new Duke of Zhou) has failed to reappear. Confucius should ‘Give up!’. Whoever participates in government puts himself in peril. Confucius apparently was always eager to engage with such people but when he left his carriage in order to speak with Chieh Yü, the madman hurried off. We are left wondering why. Did he flee from an engagement with Confucius or from the danger of public identification and the risk that he could be pressed into service, or worse? One of these ‘conscientious objectors’, Wei-sheng Mu, challenged Confucius directly, even addressing him (insultingly) by his personal name, Ch’iu. He asked, ‘why are you so restless?39 Are you, perhaps, trying to practice flattery?’ Confucius replied, ‘I am not so impertinent as to practice flattery, it is just that I so detest inflexibility’(14, 32). Wei-sheng Mu means to suggest that Confucius’

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travelling from state to state (flitting from perch to perch) in search of an official position is frivolous and self-promoting. Confucius’ response is that he doesn’t give up as Wei-sheng Mu has done; he is stubborn in sticking to the task of attempting to bring about reform, but he does not share the inflexibility of those who will not reform their conceptions of the state and of how government should be conducted. Indeed, Confucius himself appears to be the stubborn one in his persistent attempts to persuade those in power that there is a better way to govern. The action of the recluses is sometimes, if not always, honourable and Confucius was not without sympathy for those of high moral principle who withdrew from public engagement because they had serious reservations regarding the direction that political developments were taking. Some, he said, ‘shun the world’, others ‘shun a particular place’, then there are those who ‘shun a hostile look’. Finally there are those ‘who shun hostile words’ (14, 35). Those who ‘shun the world’ are those who opt for reclusion because the age itself is disordered; consistency and values are no longer dependable and they consider that they have no alternative. Those who ‘shun a particular place’ opt out because their particular state is disordered. Those who withdraw because of a ruler’s ‘hostile look’ fear for their lives because of the disfavour that such a look betokens. Finally those who depart because of ‘hostile words’ have the same fear of a potentially life-threatening disfavour, but more importantly, perhaps, the hostile words and looks indicate that those in power are not well disposed towards the Way. Confucius himself, however, despite constant and considerable setbacks, persists in his efforts to promote the Way. If he realized the futility of what he was attempting he wasn’t the only one. A gatekeeper, who probably was himself a recluse, heard that one of the disciples came from the retinue of Confucius and he asked, ‘Is that the K’ung who keeps working towards a goal the realization of which he knows to be hopeless?’ (14, 36). One would need to be more than a humble gatekeeper to presume to make such a judgement. Once when Confucius and his retinue wished to cross a flooded river, the Master sent Tzu-lu to ask directions of two men, Ch’ang Chu and Chieh Ni, who were yoked together pulling a plough (18, 6). When they learned that the query came from Confucius of Lu, Ch’ang Chu replied, ‘he doesn’t have to ask where the ford is’, implying that Confucius would surely know the Way in a world inundated by political chaos. Chieh Ni responds in a manner which points up the allegorical and metaphorical nature of being a recluse: ‘For your own sake,’ he advises Tzu-lu, ‘would it not be better if, instead of following a Gentleman who keeps running away from men, you



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followed one who runs away from the world altogether?’ He says this without interrupting his work (he ‘covered up his seeds with dirt’).40 When Tzu-lu told Confucius what had passed between him and the men, the Master replied after some thought, ‘One cannot associate with birds and beasts. Am I not a member of this human race? Who, then, is there for me to associate with? While the Way is to be found in the Empire, I will not change places with him’ (18, 6). This appears to be the first category of recluse that Confucius mentioned above, those who abandon the effort because the age itself is disordered. Confucius’ response is to insist that only in the context of human society can one achieve true humanity through following the Way: ‘[R]ightful social duties and the elaborations of culture are part of any properly human life.’41 The general view was that such recluses were concerned only to keep their hands from getting dirty by avoiding political office. It is part of the intentional irony of the Analects that the recluses avoid ‘getting their hands dirty’ in the political sphere which is repeatedly contrasted with engagement in farming and gardening where the recluses literally get their hands dirty. The second of the two, when he had made his comment about Confucius, ‘proceeded to cover up his seeds with dirt’, that is, buried his knowledge and hid it away from the world.42 On another occasion Tzu-lu was separated from the travelling party. He met ‘an old man carrying a wicker basket suspended from his staff’. He asked the old man if he had seen his Master. The old man replied, ‘You seem neither to have toiled with your limbs nor to be able to tell one kind of grain from another,’ a reference to Tzu-lu’s scholarly dress. Tzu-lu waited in an attitude of respect for the man’s venerable age while the latter continued his work. Finally he invited Tzu-lu to his home, fed him (on a freshly cooked chicken), introduced his two sons, and gave him a bed for the night. When Tzu-lu subsequently met up with Confucius and told him what had transpired Confucius said, ‘He must be a recluse,’ and sent Tzu-lu back to meet with him again. But the man had already disappeared. Tzu-lu remarked (presumably to the two sons) on the discrepancy between the old man’s observance of appropriate behaviour between ‘old and young’ and his abandonment of the ‘duty between ruler and subject’. Behaving in such a way is ‘simply because one desires to keep unsullied one’s character’ (to keep one’s hands from getting dirty). ‘The gentleman,’ Tzu-lu concludes, ‘takes office to do his duty’ (18, 7), even though he knows that the Way will not be recognized and even though he knows that he is doing so at hazard of his life. These are the reasons why the recluses abandoned public life: lack of commitment, lack of hope and lack of courage.

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On another occasion (14, 37), ‘a man carrying a basket’ (meaning that he was a farmer or a manual labourer) heard Confucius playing the chimes and remarked that his playing was ‘fraught with frustrated purpose’ and roundly condemned him: ‘How squalid this stubborn sound is,’ he declares. ‘If no one understands him, then he should give up, that is all.’ He then goes on to quote from the Odes (which no farmer or manual labourer could have done). Whether Confucius’ response (‘That would be resolute indeed. Against such resoluteness there can be no argument’) is intended to be ironic or wistful is unclear: either would make sense, and both would be disapproving of the defeatism of the recluse.43 Confucius is sceptical of claims that reclusion is a legitimate manner of realising the Way: ‘I have heard such a claim, but I have yet to meet such a man’ (16, 11). In other words, despite others’ claims to the contrary he believed his own obstinate pursuit of practical results to be the only legitimate course of action. On the other hand he celebrated Po Yi and Shu Ch’i who starved to death in seclusion rather than compromise with a state which had lost the Way: ‘Duke Ching of Ch’i had a thousand teams of four horses each, but on his death the common people were unable to find anything for which to praise him, whereas Po Yi and Shu Ch’i starved under Mount Shou Yang – and yet to this day the common people still sing their praises’ (16, 12). Their story reflects Confucius’ commitment to filiality and integrity.

Po Yi and Shu Ch’i Po Yi and Shu Ch’i were the elder and younger sons of Lord Guzhu of Ku Chu. Their father had determined that the younger of the two, Shu Ch’i, would succeed him. On his death, however, Shu Ch’i insisted that it would be more proper for his elder brother Po Yi to succeed to the throne. Po Yi declined to act contrary to his father’s express wish that Shu Ch’i should succeed and so he departed from the state and fled to the mountains. Shu Ch’i was equally unwilling to accept precedence over his elder brother and followed him into exile. Subsequently a third brother was invested as ruler. When King Wu of the Zhou was preparing to attack King Zhow (his overlord),44 these two worthies attempted to prevent him both physically (by grabbing the reins of his horses) and morally (by remonstrating with him: ‘To be a minister and yet attack your lord – how can this be called dutiful?’). The supporters of King Wu wanted to execute them for their interference but the Grand Duke recognized their integrity (and also recognized, on a more pragmatic level perhaps, that alive they did not pose any threat



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to the Zhou conquest, whereas dead they would have been martyrs). When the Zhou victory was accomplished, Po Yi and Shu Ch’i refused to eat the grain of Zhou considering it unrighteous and shameful to accept any largesse from a dynasty that had acquired power through the use of force; they subsisted on wild grass and herbs. When it was pointed out to them that the natural produce of the land was no less a property of the Zhou usurpers than the cultivated produce, they ceased eating altogether and starved to death under Mount Shou Yang.45 Po Yi and Shu Ch’i epitomized the honourable pacifist society informed by righteousness that Confucius so admired and promoted. Unlike the recluses of Confucius’ own time, Po Yi and Shu Ch’i followed their convictions to the end, putting their own lives at hazard in pursuit of a principle of traditional rectitude and non-violence. They also served as models for contemporary political and personal behaviour. Confucius remarked that they ‘never remembered old scores. For this reason they incurred little ill will’ (5, 23). They remained true to their principles and integrity: ‘Not to lower their purpose or to allow themselves to be humiliated describes, perhaps,’ Confucius said, ‘Po Yi and Shu Ch’i’ (18, 8). A further indication of Confucius’ regard for these ancient worthies and their principles can be found in the following episode. Confucius was residing in the state of Wei as a guest of the state. While he was there the authority of the Duke of Wei was being contested by the Duke’s father who should have been sovereign. (Clearly the Duke was acting contrary to the fundamental principle of filiality.) It would not have been appropriate or prudent for Confucius to take any overt position in relation to this particular matter. The disciples debated among themselves as to what Confucius’ view on the matter might be, whether he was supportive of the son’s position as Duke or of the father’s claim. Tzu-kung agreed to put the question to the Master. He could not put a direct question in a way which might have compromised both of them. (Direct questions demand direct answers, any of which, reaching the wrong ears, could have adverse consequences.) Instead he asked: ‘What sort of men were Po Yi and Shu Ch’i?’ to which Confucius replied, ‘They were excellent men of old.’ When Tzu-kung asked if they had any complaints, Confucius replied that they ‘sought benevolence and got it. So why should they have any complaints?’ Tzu-kung reported as a result of this exchange that the Master was not on the side of the current Duke (7, 15). The reference to Po Yi and Shu Ch’i was clearly an invocation of the need for filial piety in the matter, a filial piety which the current Duke had not demonstrated in usurping his father’s position.

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Confucius comments on a list of seven famous recluses (18, 8).46 Of the final pair (Yü Chung and Yi Yi) he says that they ‘gave free rein to their words while living as recluses, but were unsullied in character and showed sound judgement in accepting their dismissal. I, however, am different,’ he concluded. ‘I have no preconceptions about the permissible and the impermissible.’ By this he means that unlike Yü Chung and Yi Yi he had no preconceived notions of the Way since the Way is not a given set of rules or principles but a future which must be realized by each individual for himself. Confucius remains flexible and responsive to changing conditions, alert to opportunities for his own self-realization as well as for introducing his theories into government.47 Although Confucius had been derided by the recluses for avoiding any real commitment to service his response was neither to give up nor to give in, neither to retire from the scene in order fastidiously to preserve his inner integrity, nor on the other hand, to accept whatever office might be available simply for the sake of keeping himself politically occupied and comfortably provided for. Rather, peripatetically on the political circuit of ancient China, Confucius travelled the twisting road that lay between easy accommodation and total withdrawal.48

Notes Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. D. C Lau, London: Penguin Books, 1979, p. 32.  2 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 139. Of course, then as now, social and economic circumstances were powerful influences in affecting one’s life’s choices and access to educational opportunities but they were not absolutely determinant.  3 Hall and Ames, p. 139.  4 Hall and Ames, p. 141.  5 Quoted Hall and Ames, p. 144.  6 Hall and Ames, p. 144.  7 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998  8 A disciple of Confucius who was prominent in the Confucian school following the Master’s death.  9 Confucius Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, p. 130. This is part of an exchange (recorded in The Garden of Persuasions) between Confucius and  1



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Duke Ai of Lu on the same subject. Confucius’ advice is the same as Master Yu’s. ‘The purpose of government,’ he said, ‘is to make the common people rich.’ 10 Slingerland, p. 134. 11 ‘Community will not endure’ in the more recent translation, Ames and Rosemont, The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, Random House, 1998, (n. 7 above). 12 Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. Raymond Dawson, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993, p. xxi. 13 Wong, B. and Loy, Hui-Chieh, ‘The Confucian Gentleman and the Limits of Ethical Change’, Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 28, 3, 2001, 212. 14 Ha Poong Kim, ‘Confucius’s Aesthetic Concept of Noble Man: Beyond Moralism’, Asian Philosophy, 16, 2, 2006, 112. This is why Confucius is counted by the German philosopher Karl Jaspers as one of the four unique sages of the ‘axial age’. See Jaspers, K., Socrates, Buddha, Confucius, Jesus: the paradigmatic individuals, trans. Ralph Manheim, London: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1962. 15 Jiyuan Yu, ‘Virtue: Confucius and Aristotle’, Philosophy East and West, 48, 2, 1998, 332. 16 Slingerland, p. 81. 17 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, Emile, or Education, trans. Barbara Foxley, London: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1921, Book II. 18 Rousseau, Emile, Book II. 19 Slingerland, p. 8. 20 Slingerland, p. 33. 21 Slingerland, p. 132. 22 One of the three commentaries to the Spring and Autumn Annals. 23 Zuo Commentary, q. Slingerland, p. 33. 24 Slingerland, p. 79. 25 This passage points out a feature of the Chinese ‘feudal’ system of government. The peasants were free to move from place to place so might be expected to gravitate towards a state with an enlightened ruler. 26 See Wong and Loy, pp. 212–13. 27 Flanagan, F. M., The Greatest Educators Ever, London: Continuum Books, 2006, ‘Quintilian: The Education of the Orator’. 28 The translation of the Institutio used is that provided by Bill Thayer at http:// penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Quintilian/Institutio_ Oratoria/home.html Accessed 17 April 2011 29 Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, Book XII, Chapter 1, par. 3. 30 Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, Book I, Preface, par. 10. 31 Bao Xian q. Slingerland, p. 82. 32 Sun Tzu was the author of The Art of War, written about 500 bc i.e. during Confucius’ lifetime. 33 Slingerland, pp. 175–6. 34 Slingerland, p. 243. 35 Slingerland, p. 176. 36 An interesting example of such effect in a domestic setting: ‘When her father was home, the household settled around a fixed point. He organised nothing, he didn’t go about the house worrying on other people’s behalf, he rarely told

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anyone what to do – in fact, he mostly sat in the library. But his presence imposed order and allowed freedom. Burdens were lifted. When he was there, it no longer mattered that her mother retreated to her bedroom; it was enough that he was downstairs with a book on his lap. When he took his place at the dining table, calm, affable, utterly certain, a crisis in the kitchen became no more than a humorous sketch; without him it was a drama that clutched the heart.’ McEwan, Ian, Atonement, London: Vintage, 2001, p. 122. 37 See Chapter 2. 38 Slingerland, p. 216. 39 ‘perching now here, now there’ (Waley); ‘flitting from perch to perch’ (Ames and Rosemont). 40 Slingerland’s translation. 41 Slingerland, p. 217. 42 One is reminded of the Gospel story of the man who buried his talent rather than use it in the world. Matthew 25:14–28. 43 Slingerland, p. 170. 44 See Chapter 1. 45 Lau, p. 244; Slingerland, p. 197. 46 Perhaps the ‘seven who arose’ mentioned at 14, 37. 47 Hall and Ames, pp. 95–6. 48 De Bary, W. T., ‘The Trouble with Confucianism’, The Tanner Lectures On Human Values, lelivered at the University of California at Berkeley, 4 and 5 May 1988, http://www.tannerlectures.utah.edu/lectures/documents/debary89.pdf Accessed 17 April 2011

Chapter 5

Confucian Thought and Language: The Rectification of Names

‘The gentleman is quick in action but cautious in speech.’ (The Analects, 1, 14)

Language and Thought At least two philosophical ways of apprehending the world are possible. One views the world as based on a system of immutable laws which are discoverable. It begins with the observation of the discrete experiences and attempts to intuit the underlying order. It is based on the belief that the world has an innate logic: the cosmos operates according to set laws and patterns which can be apprehended and made intelligible by human reason. This is the logical/rational Western tradition which is based on the belief that there is ‘an implication of cosmological assumptions requiring that the logos of the cosmos be characterised in terms of causal laws and formal patterns’.1 The Western analytical approach in philosophy is an attempt to discover the essence of objects, events, phenomena in human experience. There is the presumption of a transcendent, unchanging reality behind the world of appearance, a ‘univocal aspect behind the many instances, the literal behind the metaphorical, the root meaning behind the history of a term’s usage’.2 This is the familiar Socratic approach which involves the dialectical search for a definition which is a sufficient account of the essence of a class of phenomena. ‘Objectivity’, meaning a detachment from context in order to explain and make intelligible the nature of phenomena, is the philosophical norm and a fundamental principle of science. It reflects the belief that there are ‘things’ out there that can be known ‘in themselves’, that remain constant despite changing appearances or conditions, and independently of our relationship to them:

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[The] dominant mode of learning in the West, throughout its history, has been to acquire knowledge about the world, to learn the way the world is; and to describe that world in grammatical sentences, expressing complete thoughts, sentences which are true or false.3 The second way views the world as a myriad of events that can be viewed from any number of perspectives. This approach ‘privileges process, plurality, and particularity over substance, unity, and universality’.4 This is the aesthetic Classical Chinese world view. Whereas logical understanding moves from part to whole, aesthetic understanding moves from whole to part. Rational understanding builds up a pattern of meaning from parts; it involves the demonstration of the dependence of the parts on the whole. Aesthetic understanding begins with the apprehension of a novel pattern and ‘articulates it by appeal to the insistent particularity of its individually unique components’.5 For the early Chinese thinkers what was constant was change itself not that which underlay appearance and change. In the early Chinese texts ‘reality and appearance are one and the same, and the reality is that everything changes, in nature, in society, and at the personal level’.6 Chinese philosophy was not concerned with describing things ‘in themselves’ (‘in essence’) but ‘how they stand in relation to something else at particular times’. The world is ever-changing (as Plato and the other Greek philosophers acknowledged) but, as a consequence, so too are the relations between the phenomena that make it up. Consider the developmental relationship between parents and their children over the course of their respective lives. Neither parent nor child ‘is either benefactor or beneficiary in and of herself, but only in relation to specific others at specific times’.7 The infant’s relationship with her mother is quite different from that of the articulate child or of the rebellious teenager. She becomes the adult friend (who perhaps now has children of her own), the carer in old age, the ultimate mourner, the carrier of memory. These relationships are not fixed; they are developmental. Wittgenstein may have been closer to the Chinese mindset in what he has to say regarding the language ‘game’. Words such as ‘daughter’ (except in a simplistic biological sense) or ‘friend’ do not denote any kind of essence but an ongoing relationship to others who are engaged in a similar range of activities and flexible responses to changing circumstances and conditions. Relationships are correlational; all of the constituent parties are dependent on the other(s) for their full personal significance and realization. If the relationship is sundered, all parties to the relationship are diminished and



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impoverished. There is no ‘essence’ of the relationship; each relationship can be ‘defined only “correlationally”, at any given time’.8 Things and people are defined only in relation to other things or people, not in terms of some persistent transcendent essence.

Language How we think about the world and the language we use to describe it and our experience of it are interrelated.9 While the Ancient Chinese inhabited a similar world of flora and fauna as their Greek counterparts, the language they used embodied a significantly different way of engaging with that world philosophically. The respective presuppositions about the world of the Greeks and Chinese, their different beliefs and attitudes concerning it, their distinctive ways of thinking about it, are reflected in the respective languages they used to explain it. The ancient Classical Chinese in which the Analects and the other classics of the era are written does not rest upon the same presuppositions, beliefs and linguistic practices as do ancient Greek and modern languages (such as English) in the Indo-European family of languages. Ancient Greek, English and other Indo-European languages refer to aspects of the perceived world as if they were ‘super-ordinate’, essentially unchanging and fixed features of reality, and describe any change as a ‘subordinate’ quality or ‘accident’. Experiences are divided into categories: ‘things, actions, attributes of things, and modalities of actions – nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs’.10 So when we come face-to-face with something unfamiliar our instinctive first impulse is to view it in the context of these categories. Classical Chinese, on the other hand, describes the world in terms of processes, events and interrelationships. Think of a tree as it passes through its life-cycle and its annual stages of growth during which it undergoes seasonal changes in appearance as well as being subject to unanticipated events (lightning strike, pruning, felling, disease). Yet as we see it, it retains its essential identity as ‘the tree in my garden’, an underlying identity that remains constant despite the changes. While appearance changes with the passage of time, the underlying reality, the ‘tree-in-itself’ (the ‘it’ at the start of the paragraph) remains the same throughout; the essence of the tree persists: the tree is bare, is budding, is leafy, is turning, is shedding, is bare … but the tree persists through all change: change is transient, the underlying reality endures.

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The Ancient Chinese view the tree, not primarily as an underlying essence to which differential qualities attach over time, but as a process of change – through bare, budding, leafing, leafed, turning, falling, bare. For them the ‘tree’ is a process, as it were, of treeing, of being a tree, a cyclical processional event, and of becoming all that a tree should become. The observer’s relationship with the tree changes as the observer herself changes and as the tree proceeds through each stage of the cyclical seasonal process and the arc of its life. In the end ‘the tree’ is the sum of all these events from its first germination to its eventual demise. This is not a relationship between two static entities (observer and observed) but an interaction between two dynamic entities. Whereas initial developments in scientific thinking in the West led to the identification of fundamental laws which were supposed to explain the changing phenomena of the sensible world, in China a similar exploration led to explanations in terms of time and the cyclical rhythms of nature. According to the noted historian of Chinese science Nathan Sivin: Scientific thought began, in China as elsewhere, with attempts to comprehend how it is that although individual things are constantly changing, always coming to be and perishing, nature as a coherent order not only endures but remains conformable to itself. In the West the earliest such attempts identified the unchanging reality with some basic stuff out of which all the things around us, despite their apparent diversity, are formed. In China the earliest and in the long run the most influential scientific explanations were in terms of time. They made sense of the momentary event by fitting it into the cyclical rhythms of natural process.11 In the Classical Chinese tradition there is the assumption that the human being (or better, as Ames suggests, the human ‘becoming’) is dynamic, a process rather than an essence, ‘something that one does rather than what one is’. Human experience is located within a specific human community; how one behaves and develops within that community, ‘rather than some essential endowment that resides within one as potential to be actualised’,12 gives meaning to individual lives. If one accepts ‘change’ as the defining norm then it is easier to comprehend the totality of a human life: self-identity is not some underlying substance, some unchanging ‘soul’, but a continuous process of ‘becoming’ which ends only when the individual human being loses the capacity to affect or respond to events which affect him or her. ‘George Washington’ is not some fundamental substance which simply changes appearance over



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time; ‘George Washington’ is a narrative which can be properly judged only at its conclusion. At any point we can say whether the story is going well or badly with respect to some agreed objective or standard, but we cannot judge the life until the life is over. In this sense persons are, like words, to be understood by exploring relevant associations that constitute their specific patterns of meaningful relationships. Persons are not perceived as superordinated individuals – as agents who stand independent of their actions – but are rather ongoing ‘events’ defined functionally by constitutive roles and relationships as they are performed within the context of their specific families and communities.13 The key philosophical objective for Confucius was how best to co-ordinate, correlate and respond to the continuously changing realities and processes, familial, social and political, that one encountered. Harmony, not intellectual intelligibility, is the ultimate aim. And ritual is the way to establish harmony. Ancestor reverence as the defining religious sensibility, family as the primary human unit, authoritative humanity [benevolence] … and filiality as primary human values, ritualised roles, relationships, and practices as a communal discourse, are all strategies for achieving and sustaining communal harmony.14 In the European tradition ‘truth’, certain knowledge of reality arrived at through the exercise of detached rationality and logical thought, is the ideal of knowledge. The Western aim is the discovery of discrete truths which underlie nature (science) or persist outside nature (theology) which are accessible to human reason. In the Confucian world, on the other hand, we find an emphasis on ‘social practices that promote harmonious social behaviour’. European philosophers were concerned with the truth or falsity of assertions about the world whereas Chinese philosophers were more interested ‘in the pragmatic “behavioural implications” of words’.15 There is a corresponding difference between the Western conception of individualism and the Confucian concept of the person. In the former, difference and independence are (at least in principle) celebrated and seen as necessary sources of creativity and originality. In China, on the other hand, the emphasis is on interdependence rather than independence, on stability and tradition rather than innovation. Social coherence is achieved ‘through the actualization of integrative emotions held in common among

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individuals’.16 Far from being the ‘unencumbered individual’ dear to the liberal mindset, the Confucian person is ‘at the centre of a nexus of relationships, not an isolated monad’.17 He/she is an actor in an ongoing drama whose role is comprehensible only in the context of a communal narrative.

The Cosmos In the Western Judaeo-Christian tradition a unique, independent, and selfconstituting Being ‘determines order and value in the world while remaining aloof from it’.18 Ancient China had no creation myth, there was no creator, no prime mover, and changing appearances were not considered deceptive. The Ancient Chinese did not have any good reason for thinking that there might be an explanation of why the world is as it is, and thereby had no reason for seeking a transcendental answer to the question of why we are in this world.19 The universe is conceived without any need for an explanation as to its origins. This conception requires no transcendent power outside the world we inhabit which is credited with creating and sustaining it. Hence there is no inequality of being, no ‘superior’ being to which all others must defer and which is credited with their existence. In Confucius’ understanding, the universe comprises three ultimates or powers: heaven, earth and humans. Each of the constituents has a special role and unique contribution to the interrelationship of the three, and together they are the origin of everything: generated by heaven, nourished by earth and perfected by humans. These three components are equal and their relationship is characterised by harmony rather than opposition or confrontation. … Heaven and Earth are sometimes combined to refer to the metaphysical and material world, in which humans live and act, and by which humans organise their life and guide their behaviour.20 Just like human community, the universe is a complex of mutually inter­ dependent inter-relationships. Each of its components is necessary for the full development of the others; they can thrive only in concert. The rules and principles which constitute this unity do not exist independently of the unity itself.



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While Confucius wished to apply the effortless regularity which characterizes Heaven and Earth to human affairs and thus restore harmony in the universe, he did not direct his students towards the non- or super-human. Instead he stressed the need to embrace the quotidian, the everyday ordinariness of social and family life. His strength as a teacher lay in the fact that he showed his disciples how they could transform the ordinary into the extra-ordinary, the secular into the sacred.21 When he was asked ‘how the spirits of the dead and the gods should be served’, Confucius’ answer was quite dismissive: ‘You are not able even to serve man,’ he replied. ‘How can you serve the spirits?’ In the same vein when asked about death he responded, ‘You do not understand even life. How can you understand death?’ (11, 12). It is notable that Confucius was not dismissive of spirits, gods, or death, but of the presumption that mere human beings could have anything of value to offer them. His teaching was largely concerned with behaviour, Dao, the Way, how to engage with the world, how to harmonize events.22 What was important was action in the world rather than the contemplation or analysis of it. ‘The relative unimportance of logic in China and the importance of semantics reflects the fact,’ Ames tells us, that the Chinese world-view ‘accepts the processional and hence provisional character of natural, social, and cultural order’.23 The aim is not the establishment of some kind of objective truth but the pursuit of consensus and harmony. When we begin with a question like ‘What is the truth?’, we commit ourselves to the values of objectivity, logic and some kind of transcendence: ‘an encounter between a self-contained subject and an independently given object’.24 The relevant question in Classical Chinese philosophy is, ‘Where is the Way?’ The answer to this kind of question commits us to behaviour, example, harmony and consensus. The Chinese philosophical method did not attempt to establish some kind of essentialist definition to which all specific examples should conform, but to study the ‘ways of living and thinking of particular persons who have set an example for their world’,25 and to develop an appropriate response to their lives and example. This narrative approach to experience is more akin to an existential engagement with literature than an impersonal analysis of experience and understanding. As with literature the interpretation (of a text) is always channelled through the life experience of the individual (reader) which makes each experience (reading) always specific and unique.26 Confucius presents himself as a guide and a model to direct his students’ attention to the features of the method whereby the requisite

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self-mastery can be achieved. As we have seen, the Chinese tradition has no concept of God in the Western or Judaic sense. In its place the Chinese celebrate and honour ancestral figures, commemorate cultural heroes and elevate leading historical figures to quasi-divine status. (Confucius himself became one such.)27 Consequently Chinese philosophers tend to be pragmatic, practical rather than theoretical; their lives illustrate their lived philosophy in a way which is not found in the Western tradition. So ‘reason’ in the Classical Chinese tradition is not the pursuit of an objective, impersonal standard by which disagreements regarding the nature of the world around us can be resolved. It is more like what we might call ‘reasonableness’, a negotiated agreement regarding what may be done in response to changing circumstances. Confucius’ principal pedagogical method is to direct his students’ attention to the accumulated wisdom of the past and to the behaviour of exemplars (‘often passionate, sometimes courageous intellectuals advancing their own programmes of human values and social order’28) in specific challenging circumstances. But he emphasized that learning was more than simple imitation of the exemplars of the past. ‘Acts of virtue might be imitated, but the spirit that made such acts truly virtuous required a personal commitment beyond imitation. It had to be directed not only without but within.’29 The culture embodies the historical significance of these exemplars; through their efforts certain forms of behaviour (the rites) became woven into the perception of social reality. The wisdom, the exemplars, the culture combine to form and to inform the community. It is instructive in this context to recall what Pragmatist philosopher John Dewey had to say about community. Society exists in communication; the words ‘common’, ‘community’ and ‘communication’ have more than an etymological connection: community is built on commonalities and communication is the way in which these commonalities are transmitted from person to person, from generation to generation. ‘The communication which insures participation in a common understanding is one which secures similar emotional and intellectual dispositions – like ways of responding to expectations and requirements.’30 The communication of established reactions to common experiences from the old to the young is what makes for the continuity of a community, and which establishes the ‘rites’ or ‘rituals’ which regulate human experience. It is a common experience of communities worldwide (including schools and other educational institutions) that a community’s narrative has an



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internal coherence, a logic, which structures knowledge and induces trust in communal wisdom. For Ames, ‘trust’ in this regard is ‘a quality of relatedness demonstrated in [a person’s] capacity to foster productive relationships that begin with the maintenance of one’s integrity and extend to the enhancement of one’s natural, social, and cultural contexts’. Process and change have priority over form and stasis:31 a community accepts innovation as a dynamic account of the manner in which human beings adapt to the inevitability of change. There is nothing in the Confucian tradition which corresponds to the search for transcendent universals. Confucius did not present an impersonal, objective standard of morality to which we can appeal to arbitrate disagreements. On the contrary he allowed that ‘morality is invariably a function of those specific, and always fluid, circumstances that define any situation’.32 The emphasis is on what is ‘appropriate’ rather than what is ‘true’ (in some objective sense), that is, what conforms best to prevailing circumstances in terms of harmony and individual integrity, rather than being in compliance with some impersonal, external standard. Confucius’ conception of ‘knowledge’ tends to be practical: it is ‘performative and participatory’.33 His pedagogic task was to prepare young men for government, for the service of the common people. What he offers them is ‘a kind of know-how: how to affect robust and productive relationships’.34 The purpose is to establish a lasting just social order rather than the pursuit of philosophical or scientific truth. The Way is a programme of self-mastery in the service of communal harmony. Finally it should be remembered that early Chinese thought does not separate mind and body as Western philosophy has done (the infamous mind/body duality). Confucius speaks of ‘heart-mind (xin)’.35 Thinking and feeling have the same source and there is no clearly delineated separation of the two; there is one function that encompasses both thinking and feeling. Thinking is holistic: it cannot be completely separated from the emotions that accompany it; thoughts have an affective dimension, emotion has a reasoning dimension. Thought and feeling are interactive, mind and body can never be fully disentangled from one another. As physical human beings we are located in a physical environment; we live and move, plan and react in this environment. It is only in the most trivial ways, if at all, that we can fully detach ourselves from this physicality; we think about things we care about, we care about the things that occupy our thoughts. ‘If we believe that human beings are, or can be, purposeful agents, we cannot simultaneously believe that they are altogether autonomous, disembodied, individual rational minds.’36

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The Rectification of Names Confucius was challenged by a disciple to say what he would do if the Lord of Wei put him in charge of his state. His answer introduced the famous doctrine of the ‘rectification of names’. Confucius replied: ‘If something has to be put first, it is, perhaps, the rectification of names.’ When names are not correct, what is said will not sound reasonable; when what is said does not sound reasonable, affairs will not culminate in success; when affairs do not culminate in success, rites and music will not flourish; when rites and music do not flourish, punishments will not fit the crimes; when punishments do not fit the crimes, the common people will not know where to put hand and foot. Thus when the gentleman names something, the name is sure to be usable in speech, and when he says something this is sure to be practicable. The thing about the gentleman is that he is anything but casual where speech is concerned. (13, 3) Confucius’ point, and a first principle in his political ethics, is that in the various relations in society nature provides a sufficient foundation for government. If the various relations are properly maintained and observed ‘according to their relative significancy’ then good government will obtain.37 In a related response when asked about government by Duke Ching of Ch’i, Confucius answered, ‘Let the ruler be a ruler, the subject a subject, the father a father, the son a son’ (12, 11). The Duke was delighted with the reply, seeing at once in Confucius’ answer a vindication of what he would have taken as the natural order of things. For, he said, ‘if the ruler be not a ruler, the subject not a subject, the father not a father, the son not a son, then even if there be grain, would I get to eat it?’. In other words if the natural (social) order did not prevail there would be no guarantee of stability. This at first glance appears to the Western reader to be no more than a succession of tautologies yielding little by way of information or guidance. Yet many of the terms we use in everyday communication carry approbation or censure: ‘doctor’, ‘teacher’, ‘thief’, ‘liar’, ‘hero’. These terms are not merely denotative or descriptive: they are also evaluative. We use such terms to remind others (or ourselves) of the conduct and values proper to the role in question. If someone is described as a ‘doctor’ or a ‘judge’ we expect standards of behaviour which we do not expect of people who are not doctors or judges. We might even remind an individual of their ethical, professional or social duty by the admonition ‘But you’re a doctor!’ or ‘That’s no



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way for a judge to behave!’ We do not need to spell it out: it is (or it ought to be) a sufficient reminder of the duties and behaviours appropriate to the role. If we say of someone that ‘he was never a proper teacher’, or ‘she was never a real lawyer’, we are making the same kind of judgement: there is a standard of behaviour which we expect when certain titles (roles) are ascribed to individuals. There are concepts which cannot be defined independently of their particular excellence. Each of this class of concepts (which includes persons and actions) ‘has a given specific purpose or function’. Excellence is part and parcel of their definition. If we take ‘son’ or ‘father’ as functional concepts (that is, as having fundamental human purposes or functions, apart from denoting purely biological relationships), this kind of understanding applies. That is to say, ‘son’ implies ‘good son’, ‘ruler’ implies ‘good ruler’, as ‘doctor’ implies ‘good doctor’. To talk about a farmer, a father or a son is not just to make factual identifications but to set standards: human roles and human action have teleological significance; they are to be understood with reference to ‘the ends of human action ... the facts about human action [which] include the facts about what is valuable to human beings ...’.38 That is to say that the human roles and actions include standards to which these roles and actions are expected to measure up. The knowledge of the appropriate behaviour is already there in the way we speak about persons, situations and things. In order to access such knowledge it is not necessary to engage in a reductive (Socratic) dialectic to find some kind of essence; one simply consults the experience of the past, the instances of exemplary carriers of the roles in question. It is in this context that Confucius’ responses above should be understood. When he uses words like ‘ruler’, ‘son’ and ‘father’, he is referring not just to the names of roles but more particularly to the obligations and standards associated with these roles. Words like father and minister ‘do not refer simply to bare biologic or political facts … every role is the bearer of its own role-norms’.39 This is why Confucius’ first concern if he were given the governance of a state would be the rectification of names. The ‘chain of reasoning’ in his answer is not intended to establish the logical or even the rational connection between the successive links; it is the moral connection and the moral significance of the successive terms which is crucial. Confucius’ idea of the ‘rectification of names’ (or the ‘ordering of names’) is central to understanding his use of language. His philosophy springs from a vision of the world in which the reality of human being is an interpersonal reality in which the individual, community and the state are

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‘correlates determined through communication’.40 Naming is not simply a matter of sticking pre-existing labels to recurring events or to discrete objects or persons. To name something is to attempt to bring about a desirable state of affairs. For Confucius, language is dynamic, it does not just (or even primarily) describe something or assert that this or that statement is true or false; it is connected to change, to development.41 When we use the phrase ‘I promise’ we are not describing or naming anything but undertaking that a certain state of affairs will come about in the future. The undertaking is not separate from the expression, it is the expression. When someone says, ‘Thank you for a lovely evening’, the speaker is not just naming or describing, they are expressing gratitude; the expression is the gratitude. More significantly when the foreman of a jury stands and delivers the verdict ‘We find the defendant guilty as charged’, the act of uttering the words changes the legal status of the defendant from accused-presumed-innocent to criminal, with all of the personal, familial and social consequences that this will entail. This illustrates the kind of understanding that Confucius has of language: that the utterance itself will bring into being the state of affairs that it refers to; his language is performative, impelling the world ‘towards a certain realisation, [making] it known in a certain way’.42 We should consider the ‘rectification of names’ not as a rather simplistic logical exercise but as the starting point of good government. Confucius allows of no radical distinction between the idea conveyed by the word and the political or social action which the word demands. To be a father is to engage appropriately in the social and familial activity of being a father, to be a ruler is to rule justly, to be a son is to be filial in one’s relations: the words are more than denotative labels, they are existential demands. The ‘rectification of names’ requires that ‘things in actual fact should be made to accord with the implications attached to them by names’.43 Naming has a performative force in beginning the process of bringing a desirable state of affairs about. ‘To name [a possible world] is a prompting to “actualise’ it,”’ Hall and Ames write. ‘The performative dimension of naming and its relationship to meaning is evidenced in the fact that “name” is frequently defined as “to cause certain possibilities to be realised”.’44 While Confucius was deeply respectful of and committed to the Zhou institutions and cultural traditions, this does not mean that he advocated a simple return to the early (Zhou) institutions and culture.45 On the contrary, he was consistent in acknowledging the changing circumstances of life. Unlike Plato he did not advocate creating a socio-political system which would concretize a desired order for ever. In ‘naming’ the world Confucius



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is not only celebrating the Zhou past but articulating a possible world which embodies the Zhou past in changing circumstances and communicating this vision to others in an attempt to bring it into reality. He uses language to realize a new reality which will be appropriate to emerging circumstances and at the same time true to the values of the Zhou past. Words don’t just describe the world; they also ‘impel a person towards a certain kind of experience … not only are names used to describe the order, they are also used for effecting order in what is to be named’.46

Paulo Freire It may be helpful to relate all of this to the thought of Paulo Freire, the twentieth-century Brazilian educator who revolutionized thinking on education in the latter decades of the twentieth century.47 Unlike other animals, human beings ‘emerge from the world’ in the sense that they are able to detach themselves from their immediate experience, objectify it and reflect on it through the medium of language; they are able to name the world, and, in naming it, transform it. This is man’s ontological vocation, the ‘vocation to become more fully human’. Freire attempts to return us to an old realization regarding the word: the word is not just a vocal noise or visual symbol but a significant instrument of power; to be able to name something is to begin to exercise control over it, to recruit it to the cause of human transformation. We transform the world by naming it, by identifying in it those features which are most important to our security and well-being, and by locating and challenging the contradictions which subvert the process of humanization. By naming the world we intensify our relation to reality and begin the process of bringing about a state of affairs which is preferable to that which is current. ‘Human existence cannot be silent,’ Freire wrote. ‘To exist humanly is to name the world, to change it.’48 Action is an important dimension of the word. When naming the world loses its dimension of action then reflection deteriorates also, and ‘the word is changed into idle chatter, into verbalism, into an alienated and alienating “blah”’. The word becomes empty, and although it can sound as if it is denouncing the world, it cannot really do so, ‘for denunciation is impossible without a commitment to transform, and there is no transformation without action’.49 So merely saying what we think needs to be done to be transformed is insufficient, a matter of ‘empty words’. Equally for Confucius, learning pertains to behaviour in the real world rather than to theoretical knowledge.50 It is not by memorizing, reciting or

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composing texts that one becomes learned but by the careful cultivation of one’s moral behaviour and speech. He draws a clear distinction between words and action. ‘I used to take on trust a man’s deeds after having listened to his words,’ Confucius once declared. ‘Now having listened to a man’s words I go on to observe his deeds’ (5, 10). Like Freire, Confucius repeatedly warns against inauthenticity in oneself and hypocrisy in others. One cannot naïvely take on trust what an individual says he will do. The true test of speech is behaviour. It might be appropriate here to remind ourselves what Freire was reacting against, what he called the ‘banking concept’ of education: the predominantly verbal nature of Western education and the central role of the rote memorization of texts, interpretations, definitions, and assessments. This kind of education is illustrated most tellingly in Dickens’ Hard Times where (even in an aggressively functional scholastic setting) learning consists of no more than the memorization and recitation of definitions. Practical knowledge, the result of engagement with the world, is suppressed and ignored. ‘[Girl number twenty] give me your definition of a horse.’ (Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarm by this demand.) ‘Girl number twenty unable to define a horse!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, for the general behoof of all the little pitchers. ‘Girl number twenty possessed of no facts, in reference to one of the commonest of animals! Some boy’s definition of a horse … Bitzer,’ said Thomas Gradgrind. ‘Your definition of a horse.’ ‘Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth, namely twenty-four grinders, four eye-teeth, and twelve incisive. Sheds coat in the spring; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs, too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod with iron. Age known by marks in mouth.’ Thus (and much more) Bitzer. ‘Now girl number twenty,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘You know what a horse is.’51 The irony, of course, is that Sissy Jupe (‘Girl number twenty’) has spent her life in a travelling circus and is thoroughly familiar with horses – more so than any other pupil or even Gradgrind himself. But she cannot reduce this lived knowledge to the verbal formulae which are the stock-in-trade of the formal school system. Sissy’s is an active engagement with the reality which the words denote. For her, horses are not verbal definitions but living breathing animals for which she has a responsibility. In a similar way



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Confucius deems the words ‘ruler’, ‘father’, ‘son’ to be roles to be fulfilled rather than labels to be applied.

The Power of the Word Terms used to denote human relations are not just descriptive, they have a moral prescriptive force and that is what Confucius is alluding to in the doctrine of the ‘rectification of names’. There is an important connection between names and social or moral reality; terms which are used to denote the various human relationships (ruler, father, son, minister) also have an evaluative function. Confucius’ answer about the ‘ruler [being] a ruler, the subject a subject, the father a father, the son a son’ (12, 11) would, in a European philosophical context, be considered no more than a facile series of tautologies. For Confucius, however (and this would have been well understood by his interlocutor), it means that government works well only if people act in accordance with what is proper to their various roles. When we identify someone as a parent, a teacher or a pupil, we are identifying roles within which certain behaviour is appropriate and therefore which it would be reasonable to expect in fulfilling these roles correctly. This is not to say that such roles are fixed and inflexible: clearly as a teacher, parent or doctor, one’s response must be sensitive to significant changes in the context of the teaching, parenting or doctoring. One of the moral judgements which any practitioner must make is to decide when circum­ stances are sufficiently different to warrant a difference in intervention or treatment. There is no calculus for such judgements: they cannot be the result of rote learning or the application of some kind of metric. Similarly, subordinates, patients or students must decide when it is appropriate to ‘speak out’ when a significant authority figure appears to have behaved contrary to the role which he or she discharges. Although the Golden Rule, the injunction (not) to treat others as we would (not) wish to be treated, may be a guide, it can be no more than this. We must make the judgement, take the decision and engage with the reality in a new way in the full knowledge that we may be mistaken in our reading and our interpretation of the situation, and in our chosen action. This is why the gentleman, or exemplary person, is neither casual nor careless in what he says; he leaves nothing to chance. His speech should be such that it is precise, clear and accessible to all of his subordinates who can then implement the instruction of their superior without ambiguity or confusion. Whether in personal action or in government, persons, situations

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and actions should accord with the moral and social imperatives entailed in their names. Confucius calls for the ‘rectification of names’ because for him a society is governed by a network of names each of which reflects a status which has a prescribed set of duties. An ordered society is that in which names are ‘rectified’. If each person played a role suitable to the personage he assumed in society, the society would be pacified and harmonious.52

Confucius and Socrates The major difference between Confucius and Socrates is that the former attempted to use his adaptations of established Chinese ideals to influence government directly through his own interventions or indirectly through the interventions of his erstwhile student disciples. Socrates, on the other hand, sought an absolutist truth; his interest in practical affairs such as government was secondary. When this pursuit of absolutist truth was taken up by Plato it was in the attempt to found the governance of a stable state on unchanging, transcendental concepts such as ‘justice’. There may be an essentialist dimension to what Confucius has to say about language: the notion that names entail certain imperatives which are common to all members of the class to which the names belong (fathers, sons, rulers, etc.).53 However, Confucius considered individual excellence as the means to stable government. If those in the various roles of authority and seniority (ruler, counsellor, father, brother, etc.) fulfilled their allotted roles faithfully then government would be unproblematic. Indeed, when asked directly why he did not take part in government, Confucius replied by quoting the Book of History: ‘Simply by being a good son and friendly to his brothers a man can exert an influence upon government;’ by fulfilling his familial roles properly a man is taking part in government (2, 21). Government is not just rule imposed from the apex of the pyramid of state; it involves everyone in the state fulfilling their allotted roles correctly. Confucius is at pains to insist repeatedly that it is only when those in authority, rulers and their counsellors, fulfil their roles correctly that the common people will have ‘a sense of shame and reform themselves’ (2, 3). Confucius’ concern with language is more than ‘verbal etiquette’. For the establishment of the Way it is necessary is to correct the abuse of language and try to bring it into conformity with the exemplars of the past to



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meet the needs of the present and the future. It is an ethical issue, one which must be executed in the behaviour of the role bearers themselves, not in any theoretical disputation of the issues. The clarification of meaning must go hand-in-hand with the implementation of the meaning in action. In Freirean terms what Confucius requires is a praxis: the end goal is ‘action and reflection of men and women upon their world in order to transform it’.54 Confucius’ insistence on the ‘rectification of names’ should be read as a caution rather than as an imperative; it should be interpreted as a matter of the need for fiduciary trust (between rulers and subjects, superiors and subordinates) rather than as an absolute imperative of linguistic meaning. The following anecdote may clarify further. A certain military commander was presented with symbols of nobility and status above his entitlement. On hearing of this, Confucius was incensed. ‘What a pity! It would have been better to give him many cities,’ he declared. It is insignias of office and titles alone that cannot be conceded to pretenders – they must be managed by the ruler. Proper titles give rise to confidence, and confidence is what protects the insignia of office. It is insignia in which the meaning of ritual propriety is invested, and it is ritual … propriety that carries appropriate conduct into practice, appropriate conduct is what gives rise to benefit, and it is benefit that brings equanimity to the people. Such things are what structure government, and if you concede them to pretenders, you concede the government along with them. If the government is lost, the country will follow, and there can be no stopping it.55 Confucius is advising his disciples that accuracy in language and trust in the symbols of status and power are necessary for the maintenance of social order. He does not say that they are sufficient. The issues involved transcend linguistic propriety: it is a matter of ethics, not etiquette. Clearly Confucius could not have believed that social evils would disappear simply if those in authority attended to linguistic accuracy; but negatively he surely realized that ‘social evil’ would become more likely and widespread if confidence in the utterances of rulers was undermined. If the ruled cannot have full confidence in the words of their rulers, and in the value of the forms and symbols to which they, rulers and ruled alike, submit, then where do they go for direction and guidance? If there is no confidence that words mean what they appear to mean, and that rulers actually mean by their words what the words appear to mean, then there is no basis for mutual

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trust which is a necessary foundation for social order, from the family to the state.56 And surely Confucius is right? We could not condone, for example, anyone being allowed to use the insignia of the medical profession, the police, the judiciary or the government without due competence and authority. Language, no less than symbols and insignia, has a value, a currency in which we trust, and it can be devalued by inappropriate use. Devaluation of language undermines general confidence in the social order just as the abuse of symbols for political or individual purposes does. No less than symbolic forms of status and authority, accurate use of language is essential for the proper ordering of affairs whether of family, state or professions. We expect that those who fulfil important social roles are not just qualified and authorized to use the symbols of office which confer power and status but that their communications to those in receipt of their ministrations, services or leadership will be communicated in a clear, understandable and professional manner. So what Confucius had in mind was not just the careless use of language but the abuse of language by leaders/advisors for political or personal gain, for turning events to their own advantage. We see it yet in the utterances of politicians the world over. Such hypocrisy is at the root of his disdain for the ‘village worthy’ who is ‘the ruin of virtue’ (17, 13), whose glibness ‘overturns states and noble families’ (17, 18). The village worthy conforms to convention and acquires social status but he lacks the necessary commitment to the Way.57 ‘Artful words,’ Confucius says elsewhere, ‘will ruin one’s virtue’ (15, 27). A disciple asked Confucius (12, 20), ‘What must a Gentleman be like before he can be said to have got through?’ By ‘getting through’ the disciple explained that he meant that the gentleman who served in a state or in a noble family would be known. ‘That,’ Confucius replied, ‘is being known, not getting through.’58 He went on to explain that ‘getting through’ describes a man who is ‘straight by nature and fond of what is right, sensitive to other people’s words and observant of the expression on their faces, and always mindful of being modest’. On the contrary, ‘being known’ is no more than ‘putting up a façade of benevolence’ which is contrary to his actions. Once again there is condemnation of hypocrisy, of seeming to be what one is not. Ethics is irreducibly practical: neither moral theories nor tests of moral reasoning, however adequate in their own terms, are of much practical assistance in dealing with the moral complexities of life or in providing for an adequate and practicable moral education. Morality is about action not



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theory. ‘If we were to ask of a person,’ Hare declares, ‘“what are his moral principles?”, the way in which we could be most sure of a true answer would be by studying what he did.’59 For it is a commonplace of human experience that one may espouse certain moral principles, be reflective and articulate in the analysis of moral theory and dilemmas, and yet not be particularly moral in one’s personal behaviour. At first sight it appears that Confucius’ moral philosophy is predominantly a first-order activity, that is, that it is chiefly concerned with moral action, example and behaviour. Western moral philosophy, by contrast, is primarily a second-order activity; it is principally concerned with knowledge of the moral language and concepts which underlie moral behaviour. Confucius is primarily concerned with providing his person and his own behaviour as a model for his disciples to emulate (first-order) whereas Socrates searches for definitions in pursuit of intellectual moral enlightenment (second-order). However, a hard-and-fast distinction between first- and second-order activities is questionable: talking about morality or analysing moral concepts is itself a moral action. But it does not necessarily commit one to ‘a basic moral stance’.60 For one can be an astute analyst of moral issues and yet be morally corrupt. Just because Confucius does not overtly seek Socratic definitions does not mean that he is not engaging in the second-order activity of pursuing ethical knowledge and understanding; he redefines and expands the application of traditional terms to extend moral space and the direction of moral action. Similarly, while Socrates attempts to make moral meanings explicit it does not follow that he does not behave morally and provide moral guidance for others. His discourse itself is a moral activity ideally embodying qualities like honesty, integrity, consistency, precision, etc., which we demand of an argument or analysis; the discourse is the action. In Socrates’ case it went even further, of course. Whatever the details of his personal life it should be remembered that he submitted to his death sentence because to attempt to evade it would be contrary to his moral commitment to the values and laws of Athens.61 So it is not a matter of contrary, mutually exclusive, forms of moral discourse (Confucian, Socratic) but of emphasis: in Confucius the primary emphasis is on behaviour and ritual, in Socrates on language and conceptual understanding. Both Confucius and Socrates presented themselves as responding to some manner of divinely inspired – or imagined – and mandated mission (tian, Delphic Oracle, inner voice) as models of behaviour and arbiters of language. Each of them tried to illustrate the connection between linguistic usage and moral behaviour. In Socrates’ case he tried to show that what

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passed for knowledge of ethical matters in the Athens of his time was no more than the opinionated and self-serving responses of a variety of individuals. In Confucius’ case he tried to redefine established conceptions in order to bring order to a chaotic world. In fact Confucius’ claim that he was not an innovator obscures the manner in which he redefined central terms in the Classical Chinese canon (ren, junzi, li, etc.).62 Far from being indifferent to word/concept meanings, Confucius was involved in a process of redefining central concepts to address a new reality. For both philosophers then, if behavioural dispositions or concrete actions do not match the accompanying words then the words become worse than meaningless – they provide the converse of regulatory guidance. Hypocrisy undermines all social contracts including language, morality and politics. Undetected deliberate misrepresentation through language, behaviour and values is subversive of the way of life it claims to be promoting and defending. Counterfeit currency undermines the very system which gives it its plausibility. Socrates’ analytical attempts to arrive at a full understanding of moral/ ethical terms such as virtue and justice were ultimately practical: a complete verbal definition would embody the essence of the desired moral characteristic and this understanding would lead inevitably to correct moral action, for to know the good, according to Socrates, is to do the good. Confucius also, but to a lesser extent, examines and analyses moral terms and attitudes; not in pursuit of intellectual clarity, or of a compelling definition, but in order to expand concepts in his moral agenda of personal, familial and social behaviour so that they would be equal to the changing social and political conditions. He extends the application of the term ren, for example, beyond its conventional use (in which it denotes a simple innate kinship affection) to an ethical signifier of much broader significance, to denote the benevolence or righteousness of the ideal man, the gentleman.63 Far from merely denoting kinship affection, ren ‘refers to the consummation of personal ethical excellence’.64 Socrates’ programme was not just a matter of clarification and tidying up the rather confused thought and language of his Greek contemporaries. The net effect of the method was to radically alter the relevant concepts and language ‘so as to change (his interlocutors’) moral consciousness.’65 The point of changing moral consciousness was moral action in accordance with the new conceptions, an altered moral sensibility. It was not a disinterested academic exercise. Both the Confucian and Socratic approaches were transformative. For both Confucius and Socrates, accuracy in language was ‘the prerequisite for correct living and even efficient government’.66



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Socrates shows the difference between specific examples (instances, conceptions) and a sufficient definition of a concept. In a similar way Confucius shows how a context-specific virtue (like filial piety) can be extended and universalized. But while Socrates’ method is dialectical rational analysis, Confucius’ is not: his is more intuitive than logical, but no less based on communication through language. In Socrates’ case ‘dispassionate’ analysis does not mean ‘disinterested’; in Confucius’ case personal involvement does not mean ‘self-interest’. Each in his own way used the resources of his culture to extend moral understanding and each taught what it means to be a moral agent by word and example. Each offered himself as a model of his moral method. Each presented models of behaviour which were based on a profound evaluation of human nature and showed through their own lives (and in Socrates’ case through his death) that the words they spoke were worth little unless acted upon. Virtue is not taught by merely verbal prescriptions or conceptual analyses. ‘[T]he kernel of being moral, of being human, consists in something that lies deeper than the cognitive.’67 Moral virtue is already built into terms which were central to the teaching of both philosophers. Their selection of paradigms was not random: ‘justice’, ‘goodness’, ‘wisdom’, ren (benevolence), shu (reciprocity), xiao (filial piety) are all core concepts in the consideration and practice of human virtue. All such terms are chosen deliberately because they already have a moral significance and weight. The major difference was that Socrates proceeded in the belief that there was a transcendental reality of unchanging meanings (essences) which could be accessed and which would lead to righteous behaviour. Confucius, on the contrary, proceeded in the belief that changing circumstances required not only the discovery of existing meanings but the extension of such meanings (if not the invention of new meanings) for an uncertain present and an unknowable future. The purpose of the ‘rectification of names’ is to create a language which will facilitate moral discrimination, judgement and behaviour. The ‘rectification of names’ reminds us that a primary function of language is to affect the way we live, not just to describe the world but to change it. To dismiss this kind of intervention as ‘propaganda’, ‘brainwashing’, ‘ideology’, etc. is to miss the point. There is no such thing as a neutral natural language, much less is there a neutral moral language. All languages embody ranges of connotation and affect 68 which can be used to guide and influence feeling, choice and action. The ‘rectification of names’ has both a regulative and an evaluative function. In the first place it is a prescriptive theory which requires that individuals conform to the moral requirements of the titles, ranks and offices that they

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hold. Each relationship – father/son, husband/wife, elder/younger, ruler/ subject – is a binary role-set which carries obligations and duties on both sides. The ‘rectification of names’ is a process of making these obligations and duties explicit so that there is no misunderstanding regarding the behaviour required and no ambiguity regarding the evaluation of such behaviour when it occurs. Thus, Confucius’ advice to the ruler to first rectify names is not meant to urge a change in the usage of names, but rather to ensure that the names in question are applied to persons fitting the moral stations associated with those names, or to ensure that persons have to change in order to live up to the name they carry. Terms such as ‘father’, ‘ruler’, ‘friend’, and so on bring with them implications of relationships, and have normative import.69

Notes Hall, David L., ‘What has Athens to do with Alexandria? Or Why Sinologists Can’t Get  Along with(out) Philosophers’, in S. Shankman and S. W. Durrant (eds), Early China/Ancient Greece: Thinking through Comparisons, Albany: State University of New York, 2002, p. 25.  2 Ames, R. T., ‘Thinking Through Comparisons’, in S. Shankman and S. W. Durrant (eds), Early China/Ancient Greece: Thinking Through Comparisons, Albany: State University of New York, 2002, p. 105.  3 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, p. 32.  4 Hall, ‘What has Athens to do with Alexandria?’, p. 25.  5 Hall, ‘What has Athens to do with Alexandria?’, p. 27.  6 Ames and Rosemont, p. 23.  7 Ames and Rosemont, p. 24.  8 Ames and Rosemont, p. 24.  9 Ames and Rosemont, p. 20 ff. 10 Ames and Rosemont, p. 22. 11 Quoted Ames and Rosemont, p. 25; emphasis added. 12 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 106. 13 Ames and Rosemont, p. 29. 14 Ames and Rosemont, p. 30. 15 Hansen, C., ‘Chinese Language, Chinese Philosophy, and “Truth’’ ’, The Journal of Asian Studies, 44, 3, 1985, 505–6. 16 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 23. 17 Tu Wei-ming, Way, Learning, and Politics: Essays on the Confucian Intellectual, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993, p. 38. 18 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, (n. 3 above), p. 30.  1



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Ames and Rosemont, pp. 32–3. Xinzhong Yao, An Introduction to Confucianism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, p. 139. 21 See Fingarette, H., Confucius: the Secular as Sacred, Illinois: Waveland Press Inc., 1998. 22 Many of Confucius’ disciples of course also wished to learn how to ‘get on’ in the sense of social preferment and material success. 23 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 95. 24 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 95. 25 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 97. 26 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 97. 27 See Gier, Nicholas F., ‘On the Deification of Confucius’, Asian Philosophy,1:3, 1993, 43–54. 28 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 100. 29 Tu Wei-ming, p.42. 30 Dewey, J., Democracy and Education: an Introduction to the Philosophy of Education, Los Angeles: Indo-European Publishing, 2010, p. 3. 31 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 98. 32 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 106. 33 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 106. 34 Ames, ‘Thinking through comparisons’, p. 99. 35 ‘For the early Chinese the xin contained both our cognitive capacities and our affections and so is best thought of as “heart and mind”.’ Ivanhoe, Philip J., Confucian Moral Self Cultivation, New York: Peter Lang, 1993, p. 30. 36 Rosemont, H., A Chinese mirror: moral reflections on political economy and society, Chicago: Open Court Publishing Co., p. 66. 37 Legge, James, Confucius, The Chinese Classics: Translated into English with Preliminary Essays and Explanatory Notes by James Legge, Vol. 1. The Life and Teachings of Confucius, 2nd edn,London: N. Trübner, 1869. Chapter: Section I: Life of Confucius. 38 MacIntyre, A., After Virtue, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981, p. 81 39 Schwartz, Benjamin I., The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985, p. 92. 40 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, (n. 3 above), p. 268. 41 It might be argued that all language is like this. See Searle, John R. (1975), ‘A Taxonomy of Illocutionary Acts’, in K. Günderson (ed.), Language, Mind, and Knowledge, Minneapolis, Vol. 7; Austin, J. L., How to do things with Words: The William James Lectures delivered at Harvard University in 1955, ed. J. O. Urmson, Oxford: Clarendon, 1962. 42 Hall and Ames, pp. 268–9. 43 Steinkraus, W. E., ‘Socrates, Confucius, and the Rectification of Names’, Philosophy East and West, 30, 2, 1980, 262. 44 Hall and Ames, p. 272. 45 Hall and Ames, p. 271. 46 Hall and Ames, p. 274. 47 See Flanagan, F. M., The Greatest Educators Ever, London: Continuum, 2006, Chapter 17, ‘Paulo Freire: Education for Freedom’. 19 20

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Freire, Paulo, The Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. Myra Bergman Ramos, London: Continuum International, 2000, p. 83. 49 Freire, p. 87. 50 Confucius Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, p. 6. 51 Dickens, C., Hard Times, London: Signet Classics, 1997, p. 14. 52 Jiyuan Yu, ‘Virtue: Confucius and Aristotle’, Philosophy East and West, 48, 2, 327. 53 Fung, Yu-lan, A Short History of Chinese Philosophy, London: The Free Press, 1976, p. 41. 54 Freire, p. 79. 55 Ames and Rosemont, n. 206, p. 253, quoting The Zuo Commentary to the Spring and Autumn Annals. 56 Orwell, G., ‘Politics and the English Language’, Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters, Vol. 4, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1970. 57 Slingerland, p. 206. 58 ‘Getting through’ is translated variously as ‘accomplished’ (Slingerland), ‘successful’ (Dawson), ‘influential’ (Waley), ‘prominent’ (Ames and Rosemont), ‘distinguished’ (Legge), ‘esteemed’ (Soothill). In general the distinction appears to be between one who genuinely follows the Way and one who makes a name for himself by adopting the appearance of one who follows the Way. 59 Hare, R. M., The Language of Morals, London: OUP, 1952, p. 1. 60 Mahood, G. H., ‘Socrates and Confucius: Moral agents or moral philosophers?’, Philosophy East and West, 21, 2, 1971, 177. 61 Flanagan, Chapter 1, ‘Socrates and the Search for Definition’. 62 Ren appears in the pre-Confucian Book of Poetry to refer to noble huntsmen, people who display admirable ‘manly’ qualities. (Jiyuan Yu, ‘Virtue: Confucius and Aristotle’, Philosophy East and West, 48, 2, 323). It came to refer to the ‘practical manifestations of being humane’. Likewise, junzi originally referred to a ruler’s son. Over time, and due in no small measure to its use by Confucius, it came to be a central ethical term ‘gentleman’ meaning one who, irrespective of birth, lived (or strove to live) an exemplary moral/social life (Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. Raymond Dawson, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993, pp. xviii, xxi). 63 See Mahood, ‘Socrates and Confucius’. 64 Van Norden, B. W., Confucius and the Analects : new essays, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 27. 65 Mahood, p. 183. 66 W. K. C. Guthrie, q. Steinkraus, p. 262. 67 Mahood, p. 186. 68 It is these features of language rather than the primary denotative meaning which gives literature its power. 69 Lai, Karyn L., ‘Confucian Moral Thinking’, Philosophy East and West, 45, 2, Apr. 1995, 252. 48

Chapter 6

The Form and Substance of Ritual (Li)

‘To return to the observance of the rites through overcoming the self constitutes benevolence.’ (The Analects, 12, 1)

King of the Zhou In the confusion that accompanied the decline of Zhou ascendancy (marked by the end of the Western Zhou in 771) the rites and rituals that the Zhou had established began to lose their original power and significance. However weak his military or political influence might be, the Zhou king continued to be recognized as the Tianzi, the son of Heaven, the possessor of the Mandate to rule. This Mandate required the King to conduct the rituals so that the proper harmony between Heaven and Earth would be maintained. The ceremonial actions which the king performed were necessary to ensure that the forces of nature remained orderly and that human activities such as crop production were successful. Heaven and Earth were complementary partners in the cosmos: the activities of humankind served to bring them into harmony or to disrupt such harmony.1 Human beings, and particularly the king, were the means through which Heaven could act upon the Earth. ‘Instead of seeing a gulf between Heaven and Earth,’ as Western religions and philosophers tended to do, ‘the Chinese saw only a continuum’.2 The Dao, the Way, of Heaven could not be brought about without human intervention. The natural order and the well-being of society depended on how conscientiously the King fulfilled his role. ‘When the King’s power was strong, the earth broke into flower. If it was in decline, his subjects fell sick and died prematurely, the harvests failed, and the wells dried up … the vision was holistic. The natural world and human society were inescapably bound up with each other.’3 If the king failed to maintain the harmony between Heaven and Earth through the proper conduct of the rites then chaos

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followed: there were floods, famine, storms, earthquakes, solar and lunar eclipses, comets ... any one of a range of phenomena could be taken as indicating that the king was no longer fulfilling his function properly, and that was a sign that he could no longer claim the Mandate of Heaven, and that meant that he could be deposed legitimately. As the Son of Heaven, the king was the principal instrument for bringing about the required harmony. The continuing proper conduct of the appropriate rites reminded his unruly vassals that he was the one who possessed the Mandate. For this reason, despite the decline of its political and military influence, the kingship of the Zhou lasted for another 500 years yet with little but a waning moral authority. While they had their origin in religious ceremonials, over time the rituals came to encompass the variety of formal human conduct which expresses interpersonal relations. The relevant period in Chinese history ‘witnessed a transition from spirit-centred to human-centred ritual, from shamancounsellor to sage-counsellor, from authority by virtue of one’s position to authority of one’s person’.4 The rituals became the means for an individual to live as a man among his peers. ‘The word li on the most concrete level refers to all those “objective” prescriptions of behaviour, whether involving rite, ceremony, manners, or general deportment, that bind human beings and the spirits together in a network of interacting roles within the family, within human society, and with the numinous realm beyond.’5 The context became humanized yet the rites never fully lost the sense of an original religious experience. The focal point of the rituals changed from the other-worldly to ‘the relationship obtaining among members of human society, and their application was extended from the court to all levels of civilised society’ .6 Rituals appropriate to every social stratum and to every social and familial occasion took their lead from the ritual behaviour of the king and the higher nobility. The rituals represented an idealization of the cosmos and its constituent relationships, Heaven/Earth, Ruler/Subject, Father/Son, etc. Participation in the rituals reminded the participants that there was more to life and experience than met the eye: when the rituals were performed appropriately ‘something magical occurred within the participants that gave them intimations of divine harmony’.7 They became, for a little while, other than themselves, reminded of their status as role-bearers rather than as discrete individuals. The rituals give a context and a significance to the participation of each one in social and ceremonial life and practice. In the rituals ‘each participant would have his proper place … if one did not understand the ritual procedures, he would literally not know where to



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stand’.8 Participation in the rituals made each aware of his or her place in the social matrix. ‘Unless you study the rites,’ Confucius told his son, ‘you will be ill-equipped to take your stand’ (16, 13). Indeed, so strong did the rituals become as a mechanism for maintaining social stability that their power increased as the power of the Zhou kings declined during the Spring and Autumn period (722–481). It was the power of ritual rather than the authority of the king which continued to give the Chinese people whatever stability they had. Among the noble class, in particular, ritual assumed a crucial importance for ordering lives and relationships: ‘Whatever you did, there was a correct way of doing it.’9 It was this increasing reliance on ritual which created the need for experts: every prince, lord and noble needed guidance regarding the correct ritual behaviour for each occasion. This gave great influence to those who were expert in the rites and gave them privileged access to centres of power. Eventually these ritual experts ‘transformed the whole of life into an elaborate ritual performance in order to bring peace and order to the great plain’.10 The rituals were particularly important in diplomacy and inter-state relations where it was essential for princes to protect their prerogatives and status without recourse to war. In such situations use of the rules of ritual could be serpentine indeed! A minor prince visited a more powerful neighbour who died during the visit. The visiting prince was invited to dress the corpse – the job of a vassal. If he refused he would be guilty of a grave discourtesy but if he agreed to do so he would be declaring himself subject to the more powerful state. His ritual expert solved the problem. The prince should accept the invitation to dress the corpse but bring a sorcerer with him: this was what princes did in their own domain when making a condolence call on one of their vassals. The situation was now reversed: the minor prince, at the invitation of the more powerful state, had established his superiority!11 The prevailing political condition in Confucius’ time was war, avoidance of war or preparation for war. In such circumstances ritual was often used to deceive, to lull, to misdirect, to camouflage true intentions, ambitions and expansionist plans. The meaning and significance of li was all too frequently used to refer to rituals and ceremonies which were no more than façades and hypocrisies which veiled ruthless political and social ambition. The political leaders of the time considered ritual superficial, but necessary to conceal their real intentions from their opponents and useful sometimes in manipulating them as the preceding story shows. Custom, tradition, ceremony, were seen as optional social decoration; they restricted rather than liberated social and political activity, and were considered convenient façades

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to cloak the raw social and political realities of the time. Confucius realized, however, as perhaps no one before him had, that far from being a peripheral, dispensable feature of human activity, ritual embodies the essence of civilized behaviour. In Confucius’ mind the li had reached their perfection with the accession of the Zhou Dynasty some six centuries earlier. ‘In the context of the Analects, li refers to the norms and practices of the Zhou Dynasty. As such li in the Analects does not mean “rites” as in some general or indifferent sense of “mores,” “customs,” or even “ceremony,” but rather the specific norms and practices of the early Zhou whether real or imaginary.’12 Every aspect of life was subject to the requirements of ritual. Confucius was concerned because the observance of the rites had become corrupt and in many cases the appropriate rituals were not being observed even by the rulers themselves. Confucius complains about this when he bemoans the fact that even though the records of the Zhou rituals are available, and there is one (himself) who can explain them, those in power do not observe them (3, 9). This is the context in which Book 10 of the Analects should be understood. Whether this Book should be read as an account of the behaviour of Confucius himself or as an exemplary set of impersonal ritual guidelines is immaterial: what it shows is that the Confucian gentleman must behave with rigorous discipline at all times, in public and in private, in matters of personal relations, appearance, ritual duties, comportment, dress, diet, etc. Book 10 emphasizes ‘the ease and grace with which [Confucius/the gentleman] embodies the spirit of the rites in every aspect of his life – no matter how trivial – and accords with this spirit in adapting to new and necessarily unforeseeable circumstances’.13 Ritual is the means of facilitating truly human relationships and coherent society but also provides the means for the individual to pursue self-perfection. Li promotes the functioning of the ordered family which is the fundamental unit of society, and in Confucius’ view provided the chief means of restoring the social order which had been disrupted. The li, however, do not demand blind conformity; indeed the use of ritual to induce conformity could be seen as a major abuse, ritual as oppression. Whatever else Confucius wanted to bring about it was not a blind submission to the rites. Current practices must be constantly scrutinized to ensure that they adequately fulfil the purpose for which they were originally intended in the light of changing circumstances. Li are those meaning-invested roles, relationships, and institutions which facilitate communication, and which foster a sense of community. The compass is broad: all formal conduct, from table-manners to patterns of greeting and leave-taking, to graduations, weddings, funerals, from



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gestures of deference to ancestral sacrifices – all of these and more are li. They are a social grammar that provides each member with a defined place and status within the family, community, and polity. Li are life-forms transmitted from generation to generation as repositories of meaning, enabling the youth to appropriate persisting values and to make them appropriate to their own situations.14

The Li Individual As noted in the preceding chapter, the Confucian self is not the ‘unencumbered individual’ of the Western liberal tradition divested of the burdens of inherited tradition and culture and free to choose or make her own life regardless of the details of her origins. The Confucian self lives within the concrete social interrelations which are the origin and warrant of one’s identity and personhood. Individual identity is formed over a lifetime in a complex matrix of social relationships, inherited obligations, and interactions. It is primarily a public identity. ‘Without others and without social relations, the self has no ground on which to be based, and self-cultivation cannot be possible.’15 There are no independent human entities (except, perhaps, in Aristotle’s sense of gods or brutes). Self-development is a process of developing the connections to one’s given relationships and roles; it is a social rather than a radically individual process. The ideal Confucian society comprises individuals who interact harmoniously and progressively with the other members of their sustaining community. The self is never understood as radically separate. Indeed Confucius would view the liberal view of the unencumbered self as impoverished, if not incomprehensible or impossible, since it eliminates the particularities of community, history, tradition, culture and inherited social responsibilities which give individuals their identity and significance. Each role (signified by its appropriate name, ruler, father, son, etc.) has prescribed obligations and an associated status. The son, for instance, has a duty of filiality to his parents. This is not just his obligation to others, it is also an obligation to himself: it is the way in which he develops his own moral integrity, his full personhood. Identity (moral and social) is forged by the fulfilment of his obligations to other people and to the communities (family, neighbourhood, community, state) which sustain him. These obligations, and the manner in which they are fulfilled, are embedded in the cultural tradition of which the individual is a part. The li through which they are expressed are the embodiment of the accumulated experience and wisdom of past generations.16

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Confucian society is an interconnected system of roles and relationships: individual and society are not in opposition, they are mutually supportive and complementary. One cultivates oneself through learning to perform one’s roles properly. Every member of the society, at whatever level and in whatever role, is expected to pursue continuing self-cultivation through the correct fulfilment of his or her roles in the family and society. The means through which this is accomplished is participation in li. For Confucius (as for Aristotle) society is a natural phenomenon and it is only by acknowledging this reality that one can properly pursue one’s individual good: one enhances oneself by enhancing one’s appropriate participation as a contributor to familial and social order. And familial and social order are necessary for the individual’s pursuit of his or her own projects. Only a stable sustaining community allows us the freedom to pursue our own projects. But these projects must in turn be of some benefit to the community. This reciprocal relationship between the individual and the community is one that liberalism often appears to minimize. As a consequence an aggressively selfish approach to individual rights tends towards a related neglect of the duties required to sustain and develop the community which nurtures the individual. In the Western world we tend to disregard the ceremonial dimension of our activities and relationships. When we think of ceremony (if we think of it at all) we associate it with occasional formal civic or religious functions which are separate from our everyday experience and concerns. Confucius’ unique insight was that, far from being merely superficial decoration which could be used to cloak the brutal realities of life, ritual was intimately woven into the everyday experience of everyone; he extended the meaning of li to direct attention to its function in making human life truly human. No small part of his task was to instil in his disciples, and in any ruler who would listen, a conviction regarding the proper relationship between ritual, individual behaviour and public well-being. He realized that ‘an obsession with forms, and the ignoring of substance, can be deadly. The loss or corruption of ceremony radically diminishes human experience. What we need to do is to give life the grace of ceremony, not to empty ceremony of life.’17 Truly human life, life as it is lived above the level of the animal, is infused through and through by ceremony: the way we greet people, share a meal, behave in public spaces, interact with others in various roles (friend, sibling, parent, colleague, authority), to the highest level of ceremony we find in our religious observances, and in the conduct of our political, cultural and legal lives. We have only to think of the differences we expect from individuals’ behaviour in different settings to appreciate how crucial ceremony



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is: behaviour at a sporting event compared to behaviour at a religious event (the word ‘solemn’ demarcates this difference); behaviour at a friend’s party compared to behaviour in the doctor’s waiting room; behaviour in the library compared to behaviour in the pub, and so on. Each situation requires an appropriate form of behaviour and an appropriate language register; each relationship requires a different mode of linguistic and symbolic communication. Now generally we do not refer to these differing forms of behaviour as ‘ceremonial’ (except perhaps in the cases of legal, religious or high state contexts which require formal solemn demeanour and language, and appropriate dress). Nonetheless they call forth different specific forms of behaviour from those who participate in them. If the behaviour manifested is deemed inappropriate (which presumes that we know what is appropriate) we condemn those responsible as ignorant (they do not know the correct behaviour), ill-mannered, boorish, ill-bred. Depending on how much the objectionable behaviour deviates from what is expected it becomes threatening and oppressive. Part of the process of growing up, which is the process of initiation into our social and cultural community, is learning the ceremonies of the community. Failure to do so makes adequate social relationships and cultural understanding difficult if not impossible. The formalities of our social and cultural milieu must be learned so that we can perform them with a skilful spontaneity which makes them appear natural. When we meet a friend on the street, when we enter the local library, when we participate as a ‘fan’ at a sporting event, we do not stop, deliberate and then select the more appropriate from a menu of accessible alternative behaviours. From childhood we have learned the appropriate response so that it has become (in Aristotle’s apt phrase) ‘second nature’ to us. If we are placed in a situation for which we are unprepared (greeting guests from another culture) we are uneasy, awkward, ‘at a loss’, we cannot ‘take our stand’. For an important aspect of ritual (li) is the physical aspect, ‘taking one’s stand’, not just knowing one’s place but knowing the appropriate manner in which to occupy that place. In such a situation we look to others for a lead – just as we did when we were children attending our first football match, our first religious ceremony, our first symphony concert. There are different appropriate responses for different occasions; when we have learned them we behave accordingly. We can think of ritual, ceremony, rites at several levels. The more obvious are those ceremonies which we consider to be such – the opening of parliaments, the investiture of monarchs or heads of State, courts of law, civic

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functions, public funerals, state occasions – and with these we can have no doubt but that a certain form of behaviour is required for participants and observers alike. At a lower level, on important occasions, whether individual, family or communal – marriages, births, death and burial, significant birthdays and anniversaries – we are all expected to behave in a manner appropriate to the occasion. If we do not we will disrupt the proper conduct of the ritual and draw on ourselves the opprobrium of the other participants. Other, even more pedestrian, occasions of ritual would include attending concerts (note the difference between the behaviour appropriate to attendance at a symphonic recital and the performance of a rock band), using a library or public transport, even conducting a transaction in the local shop. All of these daily activities, which appear bereft of any semblance of ritual, are actually replete with learned formal responses. One of Confucius’ cleverest innovations was to de-couple li from purely religious or superstitious contexts. He did not engage in metaphysical speculation and, in Armstrong’s apt phrase, ‘discouraged theological chatter’. Although originally li meant something like ‘holy ritual’ or ‘sacred ceremony’, Confucius extended its meaning to include ‘the entire body of the mores, or more precisely, of the authentic tradition and reasonable conventions of society’.18

The Importance of Ritual At the very highest level – the investiture of a head of state for example – ritual (oath taking, selection of witnesses, use of a sacred text and sacred verbal formulae, invocation of continuity with the past, etc.) reminds us of the solemnity of the occasion and helps to reinforce our perception of the importance of the office and the status of the office holder. It is easy to accept in a case like this that the ritual itself is not just a marginal add-on to the selection and appointment of a head of state but is itself foundational in creating the necessary perceptions of solemnity, marking the office as of the highest importance. For the perception is, in a real sense, the reality: such offices have a currency value and can be devalued just as money or reputation can be devalued by treating either with a lack of seriousness. The head of state commands the necessary authority and respect only to the extent that the authority and respect is acknowledged. But ritual has other functions – no less foundational, no less solemn, albeit more modest in scale. The crucial milestone events in human life (individual and collective) are marked by all cultures, by all societies, with appropriate rituals: birth, the passage from childhood to adulthood,



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marriage, and death. Whether expressed through religious or secular institutions these rituals are largely social: they provide an essential structure within which the individuals affected can acknowledge the significance of the experiences they celebrate and solemnize. They also provide a structure for culturally sanctioned behaviour appropriate to the occasion. Public celebration on the occasion of a birth acknowledges the entry of a new member into the human (and more specific cultural and social) community. There is a profound moral significance in this celebration for this is not a free-floating individual but a new member of a specific community within which human identity takes specific form (ethnic group, nationality, culture, language, religion, ideology, etc.). Similarly, the rites associated with death are focused on the need for communal support for the bereaved as much as on a celebration of the life of the individual who has died. Marking anniversaries of birth and death reinforce these perceptions and also reinforce the mutual dependency of individual and community. Rites and rituals are a fundamental means of coming to terms with human experience and of giving collective expression to appropriate responses. Ritual does not end there. Mighty state occasions or significant communal/individual occasions are not the full story. For in everyone’s life there is the experience not just of the life-changing and annual events and anniversaries (births, marriages and deaths) but also of the quotidian rituals which give significance to day-to-day experience; even the most humble activities of everyday social life are infused with ceremony. In many cases such rituals are so familiar and commonplace that we do not see them as rituals at all. Li are not just found in formal situations like courts of law, parliaments, religious ceremonies and so forth. They also prescribe behaviour in a multitude of quotidian situations: how to behave in libraries, in shops, in cinemas, in others’ homes, in our own home (each situation or relationship demands a specific form of behaviour, politeness, civility, manners). Ritual is learned so that one can participate fully in familial, social and interpersonal life. Part of growing into a community is the process of internalizing the forms of behaviour and addressing the rituals appropriate to the diverse situations we may meet. For all ordinary circumstances – asking, thanking, enquiring, helping, etc. – we learn the appropriate behaviour as we grow up. This behaviour is not learned by precept but by practice informed by example and reinforced by correction. We need to transcend ourselves – to become other-regarding – in the exercise of virtue. How do we learn the relevant sympathy? The same way we learn language: by having behaviour and response modelled for us, by having our attention directed to certain aspects of reality rather than to others, by being reprimanded and/or

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corrected when our behaviour and responses are inappropriate, etc. Through such interaction the child gradually builds up a conceptual scheme, a contextual understanding and a vocabulary which is distinctively moral. There is nothing in the context itself, apart from the behaviour of those who are experienced, to direct the responses of a child. It is what John Holt has called the Discipline of Culture.19 The mechanics of ritual become invisible in the behaviour of those who have become so proficient that they use ceremony spontaneously. It appears ‘natural’ but it is anything but as we immediately realize when a transgression occurs: impolite, ‘ignorant’, boorish behaviour, the use of an inappropriate social code, for example addressing someone by an inappropriate title, with inappropriate familiarity, in an inappropriate tone of voice or register of speech. One does not normally address one’s grandmother in the same way that one addresses one’s friends in the pub; one does not behave in the same way in a library or church as one does at a football match; the tone of voice used in speaking to one’s child will not do in speaking to someone in a professional setting. Knowing the appropriate forms and being able to practise them competently (effortlessly) makes for effective social relationships and establishes the individual as a bona fide member of the relevant community. Our lives are replete with ceremonies but we tend to be blind to them because we (adults) are practised in the ceremonies which prevail in our culture. We tend to take them for granted except when they are transgressed, or when we are responsible for the social formation of children. It is only when we enter a foreign culture where we are not experienced that we become aware of the ubiquity of ceremony and we quickly become conscious of our maladroitness in speech, behaviour, and in the prevailing forms of interpersonal communication, both verbal and non-verbal. We suddenly realize how all-pervasive ceremony is in structuring and enabling social intercourse. We begin to see human relations through the eyes of a child. Greeting and Eating Greeting A couple of examples may serve to clarify the nature and ubiquity of ceremony in human societies. ‘Informal’ does not mean ‘lacking ceremony’. All it means is that the ceremonial form is not obvious, it does not demand attention as it might at a formal public occasion. When we meet a friend whom we haven’t seen for a long time our greeting is spontaneous (because we know how to ‘behave’



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in such circumstances) but does not have any apparent ‘formality’ (in fact if it did the greeting would be stilted and inauthentic). However, if our behaviour did not conform to what is usual for such circumstances our friend would know at once that something was amiss. Ritual does not just teach us how to behave appropriately, but how to gauge and interpret the behaviour of others.20 Consider how we welcome a guest to our home. The forms of behaviour we use – from the formal and deliberately polite greeting we extend to a stranger or to a very important guest to the friendly, relaxed greeting with which we welcome familiar friends or family members – are all structured forms of behaviour. There is nothing arbitrary about the differences corresponding to the different occasions. Even our ‘informal’ friendly welcome is ceremonial: through our behaviour, our words, actions and demeanour, we communicate an important message to our guests regarding their status in our esteem and we communicate important information to them regarding how we expect them to behave in the circumstances. Whether we shake hands, smile, enquire after their well-being, offer a seat, or suggest refreshment, whether demeanour is ‘formally polite’ or relaxed and easy, even the room in the house to which we guide them, will make a statement about the regard in which we hold them and how we expect them to reciprocate. The status of the welcome, intimacy and regard changes as the nature of the reception changes. Saying a cheerful ‘How are you? Come in!’ to a friend who calls appears to be the epitome of informality. But if we simply opened the door in silence and turned our back, leaving them to decide whether to come in or not, the relationship would take on a radically different complexion.21 Our visitor would quickly conclude that there was something amiss, that what they had thought would be a relaxed, friendly visit has now become something different, something fraught. The ritual has been disrupted – or, more correctly, the appropriate ritual has been displaced by another and the guest must now be alert to different cues and be prepared to make different responses. The issue is not the presence or absence of ceremony but the nature of the ceremony and the manner in which it structures the interaction. Ceremony in this sense is the manner (manners!) in which our behaviour structures, and is structured by, the occasion. ‘We have,’ Fingarette remarks, ‘an enormous repertoire and hierarchy of ritually meaningful gestures.’22 These range from the formal (introductions, offering a toast at a public banquet, introducing a speaker at a professional event, responding to an invitation, giving a speech at a family occasion) to the less obviously ‘ceremonial’. Our social and interpersonal

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behaviour is replete with words, phrases and gestures which are ritually significant. When they are formal, or used in formal situations, they are easily recognized as such and the parameters are clear. But less formal situations demand ceremonial responses also. The way in which we greet our work colleagues each morning, for instance. Our ‘Good morning’, or comments about the weather, or comments on the most recent sporting event, or reference to the morning’s headlines, do not usually have any overtly utilitarian function. The substance of the comments is largely irrelevant. The point about such comments is that they are largely ceremonial; their function is not primarily to convey information, but to establish the day’s relationship. ‘Their absence would be noticed and taken as a sign of something amiss.’23 Ceremony also functions to structure and control our feelings appropriately. In their raw state our feelings are transient and involuntary: unthinking reactions to developing situations. Ceremony (manners) provides a structure and a control; it is voluntary conduct. On opening the door to the caller I have options. I can extend my hand with a smile and say something welcoming. By doing so I am setting a tone, a ceremonial framework, of friendliness and hospitality. On the other hand I may choose to act otherwise. If the caller is a canvassing politician or proselytizer for example, I may respond negatively and make it clear that I either do not wish to engage in conversation at all or engage only in an adversarial way. But I ought to do so within the bounds of civility, that is, within the bounds of controlled feelings; otherwise my behaviour is boorish, ill-mannered, uncivilized! Through alternative rituals I can elicit the appropriate emotions and feelings rather than submit to immediate felt reactions to circumstances and events. ‘Ceremony evokes and embodies feeling. If I am spontaneously engaging in the forms of friendly welcome, I normally also feel friendly … The ceremony gives the inner feeling outward shape and expression. The outer behaviour evokes the feeling.’24 The importance of ceremony as a means of structuring feelings and relationships comes into sharp focus when important occasional ceremonies, such as weddings, births and funerals, force themselves into our lives. Eating All ceremonies are attached to a utilitarian function: eating is the means of nourishing the body. But this is not the full significance of the act of sharing a meal with family, friends, relations or colleagues. Shared meals are a ubiquitous feature of every human culture. Although we are animals we do not feed as other animals do. We have developed ceremonial ways of



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eating that are in stark contrast to the manner in which most other animals consume food. While there are significant differences in eating ceremonies across cultures there is no human culture which does not have a prescribed way for the preparation and consumption of food. We sit on chairs, squat on mats or kneel at tables; we use conventional implements (knives, forks, chopsticks); in some cultures, hands and fingers are used but always in some communally stylized and approved way.25 From the state banquet to the family dinner the process of feeding ourselves is structured by conventions and behavioural prescriptions. The necessary act of eating becomes an opportunity for fellowship, for conversation, for engaging with matters of mutual interest, for mutual enjoyment, for bonding. It is also an opportunity to take the measure of others in certain respects: how we comport ourselves in sharing a meal is a significant indicator of our civility, our cultural nous. Ceremony transforms the purely animalistic act of nutrition into a social event. ‘Men become truly human as their raw impulse is shaped by li. And li is the fulfilment of human impulse, the civilized expression of it – not a formalistic dehumanisation. Li is the specifically humanising form of the dynamic relation of man-to-man.’26

Social Li John enters the local convenience store. He waits his turn in the queue for service. When his turn comes he greets the server (‘Hi!’, ‘Good morning’, ‘How are you today?’) who then (presumably) responds appropriately (‘I’m fine’, ‘Lovely day today’, etc.). He next presents his purchases – paper, bread, milk, and perhaps asks for something which is located out of his reach behind the counter, ‘Can you give me some X, please.’ The server obliges. John tenders a currency note, the server accepts and counts out the change. John thanks him/her and she/he responds – ‘You’re welcome’. John takes his leave – ‘Goodbye’, ‘Take care’, ‘See you soon’. The server wishes him a good day, ‘Have a nice day’, ‘Bonne journeé’, or whatever is the culturally appropriate phrase. This is not the only way such a transaction can be conducted but it is a culturally appropriate way. John, or the server, could perform their role in the transaction without, for instance, using any of the conventional language associated with giving and receiving, ‘please’, ‘thank you’, ‘you’re welcome’. In such a case a detached observer would surely conclude that there was something lacking, something amiss; the small gestures and words which betoken consideration, friendliness, recognition of the human presence of the other.

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What should have been an interpersonal encounter (however trivial it might be in the wider scheme of things) has become a mechanical transaction which would be no different if it involved only two automatons. Once we have mastered ceremony to the point that we can engage in it spontaneously, we can choose behaviour, tone, language and register ‘unthinkingly’ to be appropriate to the occasion and to the individual(s) we are dealing with. Our address changes depending on whether we are speaking about serious or trivial matters, to our friends or to strangers, to someone in a position of authority or to a subordinate, to someone with whom we have an intimate relationship or to someone whose relation to us is more distant, on whether the engagement is personal or functional. The forms of speech we use to a male colleague are not the same as used with one’s wife. A young man doesn’t use the same tone of voice or language register to his grandmother as he does to his male companions. ‘The tones of voice and forms of eye contact may differ in only subtle ways physically, but ceremonially, in their social meaning, they can make the difference between an effective social relationship and a disrupted one.’27

Learning Li Human social and interpersonal conduct (politeness or ritual) is largely, if not exclusively, a matter of learned behaviour. Because the ritualistic forms we use to ease our social and interpersonal interactions are so familiar, we have become habituated to them, we tend not to notice them, to take them for granted. Ritual humanizes experience; it takes us out of our preoccupation with self and locates us, however fleetingly, in the presence of others as a participant, an equal; it enables us to ‘take our stand’. Being respectful in church, mosque or synagogue; quiet in the library, concert hall or theatre; enthusiastically noisy at ball game or rock concert, are all appropriate ways of participating in a human ritual. One has only to imaginatively transfer one behaviour to an alternative context to see how the variety of appropriate behaviours are context-dependent. Ritual differs from law. Law is imposed, ritual is appropriated: ‘Guide them by edicts, keep them in line with punishments, and the common people will stay out of trouble but will have no sense of shame. Guide them by virtue, keep them in line with the rites, and they will, besides having a sense of shame, reform themselves’ (2, 3). Although both systems (law and ritual) regulate behaviour, they differ in two important respects. In the first place, failing to meet the requirements of ritual has no punitive legal consequences. The appropriate consequence of failure to conform to the requirements of ritual



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is shame; avoidance of ‘shame’ is a powerful motivator for shame means dishonour not just to oneself but also, and more importantly in Confucian society, to one’s parents and family. Law can enforce compliance out of fear of punishment but there is no official punishment for violating ritual. The discipline of law is externally imposed, the discipline of ritual is self-discipline. In the second place, whereas law is largely a negative regulation (‘Thou shalt not ...’) imposed from outside, ritual has both negative and positive aspects and operates internally rather than externally once it has become established. (Of course, when ritual is being learned it is rather like law: the response of the child is reinforced by either reward or punishment. Once the relevant ritual has been internalized however – conscience, superego – its power comes from within.) Certainly the sense of ‘shame’ that accompanies failure to comply with ritual is an internal motivator. Law affects the behaviour of those who are subject to the law, but it cannot change their character. Ritual, however, since it is ingrained in everyone from their earliest experiences, forms character from the beginning. Law regulates behaviour largely by prohibiting certain kinds of actions and threatening penal repercussions. Ritual not alone prohibits, it also requires certain kind of behaviour. Responsibility to ritual is both negative and positive: certain things are prohibited, certain things are required. As we have seen above (2, 3), Confucius was sceptical regarding the educative value of law: law may be effective in controlling behaviour but it does not form character (except the kind of character which seeks out ways of avoiding the consequences of the law). However, Confucius’ aim is to form self-regulating people, people who behave righteously because that is the kind of people they are. The importance of ritual and propriety in our own (and our children’s) lives cannot be overstated. It requires little stretch of the imagination to accept that many, if not all, aspects of contemporary Western life require that we know the ritual appropriate to each situation. The success of our personal, social and economic relationships depends on our being able to assume the correct demeanour, use the appropriate language, etc. It is an important part of a child’s education that he or she is trained in the roles which he or she will have to play in the community.

Li and Emotion Ritual has the power to embody and harness appropriate emotions: ‘Unless a man has the spirit of the rites,’ Confucius warns, ‘in being respectful he will wear himself out, in being careful he will become timid, in having courage

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he will become unruly, and in being forth-right he will become intolerant’ (8, 2). Ritual or ceremony not alone enables one to structure one’s emotional responses, it assists in evoking the relevant and appropriate emotional responses just as music does. The experience of being at a funeral or remembrance ceremony is not just an occasion for venting emotion: it is an opportunity to structure the appropriate emotion and to express it in a culturally appropriate way. By attending the ceremony I am choosing to participate in the communal grieving and choosing to subordinate any inchoate grief I might feel to the structure of appropriate form. This is a significant humanizing function of ceremony. ‘The ceremony gives the inner feeling outward shape and expression. The outer behaviour evokes the feeling.’28 However, lest we conclude that the ceremony is the more important aspect, remember that when Confucius was asked about the basis of ritual propriety, observing the rites, he advised that ‘in mourning, it is better to err on the side of grief than on the side of formality’ (3, 4). In other words the ceremony itself, if it does not evoke or express the appropriate feeling, is not sufficient: the preeminent element is the grief, not the ceremony! The aim of ritual is harmony, a correct balance between form (the ritual behaviour) and feeling (the appropriate emotion). If one is to err it should be on the side of the emotion out of which the ritual has grown, the ‘roots’ of the ritual, the ‘emotions that ideally inform and motivate the ritual forms’.29 The priority of the appropriate emotion is emphasized again in a metaphor drawn from the Odes: ‘There is first the plain silk. The colours come afterwards’ (3, 8). The ‘plain silk’ is the unstructured emotion, the colours – which are meaningless without the material to apply them to – are secondary but necessary for the full appreciation of the excellence of the silk. The form of the ritual is incomplete without the proper expression of the relevant emotion. The difference is pointed up by Confucius in relation to the care of parents: providing them with food is insufficient – one does no differently for hounds and horses. What is important is the reverence with which the parents are served (2, 7). It is important to be reflective in the observance of the rites so that we do not lose sight of their original purpose, evoking and expressing appropriate emotional responses. The function of ritual is to structure and direct our emotions so that they are appropriate to circumstances.

Evolving Li Of course ceremony has a down side: it can be used to reinforce social convention through orthodox rituals and ceremonies which have outlived



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their significance and become oppressive. If ceremonies have been allowed to become oppressive and inflexible then they suck the vitality out of human interrelationships and impose what might be called a ‘false consciousness’ in that the ceremony itself comes to be seen as more important than the human community which expresses it. Ceremony can also be subverted. It is a constant temptation for those in authority (parents, teachers, religious, civic and political leaders) to abuse ritual structures and ceremonies in order to reinforce control. Obsession with form, ritual, etiquette may cause us to lose sight of the underlying human purpose. Such obsession empties ceremony of life rather than giving life ‘the grace of ceremony’.30 The Confucian gentleman must have the capacity not to conform or submit blindly to ‘an imposed and unnatural order’,31 a ceremonial which has lost its significance. The gentleman must be an ‘original source of meaningful action’ who possesses the flexibility to respond to changed circumstances: he looks to the tradition for guidance while adapting the tradition where appropriate to novel situations. One might say that he appropriates the tradition, he makes his own of it and expresses himself through it; he therefore has yi, a ‘cultivated sense of what is right or morally proper’.32 In the absence of a systematized code of moral principles beyond the actual activity of the rites, the cultivated man must creatively respond to changing circumstances by adapting specific rituals appropriately. His only guide to the rightness of his adaptation is a sense of the rightness of what he is doing. If this adaptation is taken up by others and by succeeding generations then his innovation (yi) becomes the new convention (li). Existing ritual actions ‘are the repository of the yi that past generations have invested in the world’;33 they are human institutions and consequently subject to human review: this is the meaning of tradition. Tradition does not preclude the opportunity for subsequent generations to influence it through their own yi, that is, to engage with tradition in such a way that they make it more meaningful and significant for the changed circumstances of their lives. Consequently tradition in Confucius’ teaching should not be seen as absolute or inflexible – it provides a context within which individuals and generations express their yi. Take the analogy of any art form. The basic form is received in the tradition and for some (if not most) it is sufficient to conform to the received model. For others the received model is an opportunity for self-expression: an accomplished practitioner will achieve flexibility and creativity within the form. For a very few that self-expression is the opportunity for innovation which eventually may be integrated into the received model and so change the tradition.

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What we call ‘tradition’ is a result of yi acts of the past: acts of originality and creativity which exploited a new insight, a new interpretation in the existing orthodoxy. (Confucius and Jesus both claim not to be innovators because each claims that he does not attempt to radically overthrow the existing tradition but to reinvent it.)34 The tradition must be viewed not as an ‘uncriticised source of human conduct’,35 a given which must be rigidly complied with, but as an ongoing process of creative interpretation. ‘Understanding ritual actions explicitly as having their origin in yi acts permits insight into the importance of tradition as an (inter)personal source of harmonious relations in the social realm.’36 Confucius is anything but a reactionary conservative. In recent times in Western societies, for example, it has been realized that the conduct of the judicial system must be modified to reflect a growing realization that many vulnerable participants, victims, children, witnesses, were being denied justice because they felt overwhelmed by ritualistic court procedures. The conduct of courts of law was changed to accommodate the rights and needs of such groups. These changes do not mean that ritual has been abandoned; the ‘majesty of the law’ persists in its ceremonies but the way in which the majesty of the law is expressed has changed. Changing the traditional arrangements did not dilute the authority of the courts. On the contrary, changing the tradition enhanced its central purpose: the dispensation of justice in as equitable a manner as possible. If the purpose of ritual (tradition, ceremony) becomes overwhelmed or obscured, or worse still perverted, by the act of ritual itself then it requires change. What is required is good judgement rather than blind observance. It is the man who makes the Way, not the other way round! In a sense Confucius advocates a ‘situation ethic’ whereby it may well be the specificity of the occasion which determines the proper behaviour rather than an unthinking application of an outworn tradition.

Notes Armstrong, K., The Great Transformation: the world in the time of Buddha, Socrates, Confucius and Jeremiah, London: Atlantic Books, 2006, p. 70.  2 Armstrong, p. 71.  3 Armstrong, p. 72.  4 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 87.  5 Schwartz, Benjamin I., The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985, p. 67.  6 Hall and Ames, p. 86. (n. 18 below) The Secular as Sacred (Fingarette, Herbert, Confucius: the Secular as Sacred, Illinois: Waveland Press Inc., 1998).  1



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Armstrong, p. 75. Hall and Ames, p. 86.  9 Armstrong, p. 116. 10 Armstrong, p. 117. 11 Armstrong, p. 117. 12 Wong, Benjamin and Loy Hui Chieh, ‘The Confucian Gentleman and the Limits of Ethical Change’, Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 28, 3, n. 12, 230. 13 Confucius Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, p. 98. 14 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, 51. 15 Yuli Liu, ‘The Self and Li in Confucianism’, Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 31, 3, 367. 16 Yuli Liu, , 365. 17 Fingarette, H., Death: philosophical soundings, Chicago: Open Court, 1996, pp. 57–63, 62. 18 Fingarette, H., Secular as Sacred, Illinois: Waveland Press Inc., 1998, p. 6. 19 Holt, J., Freedom and Beyond, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1972; Warnock, Mary, ‘The Foundations of Morality’, in Anthony O’Hear (ed.), Philosophy at the New Millennium, Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplement 48, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. 20 This is a significant problem for those affected by Aspergers Syndrome. 21 Fingarette, Death, p. 59. 22 Fingarette, Death, p. 59. 23 Fingarette, Death, p. 59. 24 Fingarette, Death, p. 62. 25 Of course even the eating conventions can become oppressive: extravagant concern regarding which piece of cutlery to use first, which glass, whether to defer to those on the right or the left, whether it is permissible to put one’s elbows on the table, speak out of turn, burp, rob a social occasion of its primary function of easing communication and interrelationship. This is an instance of ceremony being used to oppress rather than to facilitate. 26 Fingarette, Secular as Sacred, 7. 27 Fingarette, Death, p. 62. 28 Fingarette, Death, p. 63. 29 Slingerland, p. 18. 30 Fingarette, Death, p. 63. 31 Hall and Ames, p. 98. 32 Slingerland, p. 241. 33 Hall and Ames, p. 98. 34 ‘Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil,’ Jesus assured his contemporaries (Matthew, 5:17); Confucius similarly disclaimed any notion that he was a radical: ‘I transmit but do not innovate’ (7, 1). 35 Hall and Ames, p. 110. 36 Hall and Ames, p. 109.  7  8

Chapter 7

Pedagogy and Learning

‘The gentleman perfects his way through learning.’ (The Analects, 19, 7)

Philosophy Chinese philosophy begins with Confucius. There was an anonymous literary tradition and an associated tradition ‘of history, institutions, concepts, and customs’ stretching back for more than 500 years but it was not individualized. Beginning with Confucius, philosophers began to interrogate this tradition, to ‘consciously study or neglect, treasure or disregard [it]’.1 In short, they began to do philosophy. But it was a different kind of philosophy to that which is familiar in the Western European tradition. ‘[P]eople looked back,’ Nivison tells us, ‘to … the beginnings of Zhou rule [from the eleventh century bc], as a kind of golden age and they came to think of the ideal human situation as one in which order was maintained for the good of all …’2 The Analects is essentially pedagogic in nature. The chapters comprise ‘a record … of a dynamic process of teaching … verbally and by personal example’.3 While the Analects is not dialectic in form, neither is it merely an improvement manual (a kind of How to be Good and Influence Government). However, it may have been intended as the basis for dialectical intercourse between a scholarly master and his pupils. It appears to be intentionally cryptic: it is not sufficient for Confucius’ students in the text to learn anything by heart: they must engage with what they hear and complete it for themselves. So, as well as being pedagogical in the sense of being an instructional text, the Analects also models a method of study and learning. ‘When I have pointed out one corner of a square to anyone and he does not come back with the other three,’ Confucius declared, ‘I will not point it out to him

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a second time’ (7, 8). The method of learning was interactive but required a very high level of commitment and intelligence from the learner.

Confucius as a Teacher Confucius’ principal vocation was that of teacher although his primary choice would have been to serve a just ruler as guide and advisor in matters of state. Schwartz comments that a career in teaching others what he would have wished to practise himself ‘seems to have been his ultimate solace for his failure to achieve his highest mission of shaping the world through the political order’.4 Little is known of the structure and method of the actual Confucian scheme of education beyond what can be inferred from the text of the Analects itself. Certainly Confucius required a high level of literacy from his students; how else would they engage with the classical texts. In Confucius’ lifetime these may have included the Great Learning, the Doctrine of the Mean, the Book of History, the Book of Filial Piety and certainly, the Book of Songs or the Odes. The Book of Odes is a collection of over 300 poems which was extant at the time of Confucius. It provides a reflection of the lives, experience, relationships and beliefs of people who lived during the early Zhou period. Many of the poems were originally popular songs which (as contemporary popular songs do) dealt with fundamental human experiences: relationships, family, work, conflict. There are also court poems, and poems praising the founders of the Zhou Dynasty as well as sacrificial and ceremonial hymns. Confucius’ students appear to have been self-selected. He required only that they be committed to learning and diligent in their studies. As he said, ‘I never enlighten anyone who has not been driven to distraction by trying to understand a difficulty or who has not got into a frenzy trying to put his ideas into words’ (7, 8). He was clearly a demanding master. A disciple, Tsai Yü, was in bed in the daytime and Confucius compared him to a piece of rotten wood which cannot be carved or to a wall of dried dung which cannot be trowelled. Such indolence caused Confucius to change: ‘I used to take on trust a man’s deeds after having listened to his words,’ he said. ‘Now having listened to a man’s words I go on to observe his deeds. It was on account of Yü that I have changed in this respect’ (5, 10).5 The ability to pay fees did not pose a problem for a promising student. Confucius was not involved in the process of teaching and learning for mercenary reasons (which raises the rather obvious question as to how he earned his living and supported a family). Indeed his most favoured disciple, Yen Yüan (also referred to as Yen Hui, or simply Hui), was noted



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for his poverty. Since Confucius strove to direct the attention and commitment of his disciples beyond externalities such as wealth and status to the intrinsic value of the Way (dao), it is unlikely that ability to pay fees would have been a deciding factor in choosing or accepting disciples.

Learning and Thinking The very first verse of the Analects introduces the topic of learning, its nature and significance. ‘Is it not a pleasure,’ Confucius asks, ‘having learned something, to try it out at due intervals?’ (1, 1). Learning is the process of cultivating the self. ‘Trying it out at due intervals’ has been variously rendered (‘rehearsing it constantly’,6 ‘having occasion to practice what one has learned’,7 ‘repeatedly applying’ what has been learned8). The learning involved is the emulation of others who have charted the Way, who have become exemplars of human goodness and who have consistently embodied it in their lives. (The lives of the saints fulfilled a similar function in the Western Christian tradition.) Ceaseless practice leads to the awareness of goodness, goodness becoming ‘second nature’, a part of the individual which was not realized before. This verse invites the interpretation of ‘learning’ as a process of personal development and refinement rather than the acquisition of information or inert knowledge: a privileging of ‘knowing how’ over ‘knowing that’; knowledge is a task to be accomplished rather than a body of information to be mastered. Process and change have priority over form and stasis ‘as the natural condition of things in Classical Chinese cosmology’.9 There is a clear difference between thought (meditation, contemplation) and learning: on its own, thought is of no avail. ‘I once spent all day thinking without taking food and all night thinking without going to bed,’ Confucius said, ‘but I found that I gained nothing therefrom. It would have been better for me to have spent the time in learning’ (15, 31). Learning provides a platform for effective thought: but learning without the controlling influence of reflection is ill advised; to engage exclusively in unreflective learning by rote is a recipe for bewilderment, a view which might be endorsed by any modern teacher. On the other hand a course of thinking without reference to the insights of the past, the study of the great exemplars, is dangerous. ‘If one learns from others but does not think,’ Confucius said, ‘one will be bewildered. If, on the other hand, one thinks but does not learn from others, one will be in peril’ (2, 15). Confucius acknowledges the dual dimensions of study: as an active pursuit which requires the student to acquire the knowledge and wisdom of the past; but

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such acquired knowledge and wisdom must be interrogated in the light of prevailing insights and needs. As Bao Xian comments: ‘If one learns but does not reflectively seek out the meaning of what is being taught, one will be lost and will have gained nothing from it.’10 Learning requires the active participation of the student but it also imposes structure upon the student’s engagement. There is also the need for a balance between tradition and innovation: the former without the latter is inert and oppressive; the latter without the former is volatile and dangerous. Without the context and discipline provided by the tradition, learning ‘might be compared to randomly banging on a piano in ignorance of the conventions of music’.11 Proper (social or moral) behaviour must be modelled and practised. It cannot be the subject of some kind of ‘discovery’ or ‘trial and error’ learning. Any learning requires the anchor and context of the tradition and prevailing social practice. Unreflective and uncritical rote learning makes one a prisoner of a onedimensional view. On the other hand, a personal pursuit of wisdom or knowledge without reference to the insights of others leads to a depletion of intellectual energy: one has ‘merely exhausted one’s intellectual energy for nothing’.12 Confucius’ conception of learning requires the active participation of the learner within the received tradition. This view is endorsed from the point of view of the teacher when he declares, ‘A man is worthy of being a teacher who gets to know what is new by keeping fresh in his mind what he is already familiar with’ (2, 11). (Legge’s version of the same verse puts the matter much more robustly from the point of view of the teacher: ‘If a man keeps cherishing his old knowledge, so as continually to be acquiring new, he may be a teacher of others.’) In other words we need the tradition to guide us in our engagement with the present and in our response to innovation. The business of the teacher is to give fresh life to the tradition by reinterpreting it in a manner that demonstrates its relevance to contemporary experience. Confucius appears to insist that the teacher is one whose understanding of, and engagement with, present conditions is rooted in his understanding of the past. There is a humility involved in learning: we submit to the experience of the past, of the tradition, in order to come to terms with the present and to prepare for the future.

Tradition Tradition is what one begins with. It is a truism that no one can reinvent the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of the past. Beginning with the



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tradition allows one to explore alternatives within the broad parameters which the tradition provides. Perhaps it is in this sense that many of the great innovators did not claim to be introducing anything new: on the contrary, they depicted themselves as reclaiming the existing orthodoxy. Jesus was careful to reassure his hearers: ‘Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil’ (Matthew, 5:17). Yet his message was clearly a selective reinterpretation of the tradition. Similarly Confucius was at pains to distance himself from any suspicion of radicalism, assuring his disciples that ‘I transmit but do not innovate; I am truthful in what I say and devoted to antiquity’ (7, 1). But of course such a declaration is disingenuous: every reinterpreter introduces new elements under the guise of ‘clarification’. Teaching is a retelling, each retelling is a reinterpretation, each reinterpretation is a rediscovery, each rediscovery is a re-creation.13 Confucius did not transmit the ancient simply because of its age but because he believed that ‘the ancient embodies the good and the memory of this good has been preserved in records that embody the saving truth’.14 There are two ways of reading Confucius’ disavowal of innovation: literally as meaning that he genuinely believed himself to be a neutral transmitter of the tradition, since he believed that ‘the Zhou kings established the ideal set of institutions that perfectly accord with human need’.15 In a similar vein Jesus declared that he came only to fulfil the law, not to change it. But with the most neutral purpose possible it is difficult to understand how a tradition can be transmitted to a new age without at least some element of adaptation. Confucius, no more than Jesus, was not naïve enough to think that he was not reinterpreting for another era. ‘I was not born with knowledge,’ he said, ‘but, being fond of antiquity, I am quick to seek it’ (7, 20). He did not consider himself to be especially gifted or enlightened. However he considered himself better than those who attempt innovation without being grounded in what is already known; such people are presumably those who think without learning: ‘There are presumably men who innovate without possessing knowledge, but that is not a fault I have. I use my ears widely and follow what is good in what I have heard; I use my eyes widely and retain what I have seen in my mind’ (7, 28). Following ‘what is good in what I have heard’ indicates a selective rather than an uncritical transmission of the past. The Way Confucius addresses the issue of character in the same kinds of terms to be used two and a half millennia later by R. M. Hare.16 One’s true character is not to be found in words or reputation but in action and behaviour.

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Confucius declared, ‘Look at the means a man employs, observe the path he takes and examine where he feels at home. In what way is a man’s true character hidden from view? In what way is a man’s true character hidden from view?’ (2, 10). The repetition reinforces the importance of the point he is making regarding the centrality of behaviour as the indicator of virtue. The same sentiment is found later when he observes, ‘in his errors a man is true to type. Observe the errors and you will know the man’ (4, 7). Confucius is not like Jesus who describes himself as ‘the way, the truth, and the life’ and warns that ‘no man cometh unto the Father, but by me’ (John 14:6). This is a very prescriptive and exclusionary formula: it is Jesus’ way or no way. Confucius’ Way is much more individualistic and much more modest; it is not Confucius’ Way which the disciple must embrace; each must create the Way for himself. It is the individual who makes the Way, not the Way that makes the individual: ‘It is Man who is capable of broadening the Way. It is not the Way that is capable of broadening Man’ (15, 29). Confucius was exasperated with the refusal or failure of his contemporaries to embrace the Way. ‘Who can go out without using the door?’ he complains. ‘Why, then, does no one follow this Way?’ (6, 17). For to Confucius the need for the Way is as obvious as the need for a door leading into the world. This verse is about learning. The Way is not provided: there are exemplars (like the Sage Kings of old, like Confucius himself) whose lives show how the Way is created. But each individual makes his or her own Way by walking it. Nor is the Way mystical or theoretical, it is the concrete experience of properly ordered human relationships which leads to moral excellence. ‘When walking all people know that they have to go out by means of the door,’ Fan Ning comments, ‘and yet none realise that it is only by means of learning that they can be truly accomplished.’17 The learning involved includes, crucially, the learning of ritual, the ritualization of everyday life: Ritual encompasses the great and the small, the manifest and the subtle … therefore the primary rites number three hundred, and the everyday rites number three thousand, but the destination to which they ultimately lead one is the same. There has never been a person who has entered a room without using the door.18 The only way to live a proper human life is to emulate the Way of the ancients as embodied in the rites of the Zhou. But this is not an act of unthinking emulation: there is a difference between making a journey by following a ready-made map and making a voyage of discovery. Following the Way is somewhere between the two: there is not a predetermined course



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but neither is the journey random and unstructured. The task is informed (and to a certain extent circumscribed) by the cultural inheritance. ‘In our interpretation,’ say Ames and Rosemont, ‘to realise the dao is to experience, to interpret, and to influence the world in such a way as to reinforce and extend the way of life inherited from one’s cultural predecessors. This way of living in the world then provides a road map and direction for one’s cultural successors.’19

Human Nature Confucius pays very little direct attention to the issue of a conception of human nature, a fact commented upon by one disciple who remarks that Confucius does not expound ‘on human nature and the Way of Heaven’ (5, 13). As we have seen above, Confucius was displeased with Tsai Yü for his indolence and lack of application to learning. His judgement of Tsai Yü as being unsuitable for the pursuit of the Way was not, presumably, a comment on human nature generally but a comment on the individual’s suitability. Yü was hopeless not because of the lack of any ‘natural’ capacity, but because of an individual predisposition to sloth. Yet the question of ‘natural’ capacities remains. There is no worked-out theory of human nature in the Analects. It is possible to find support for conflicting views. When Confucius says that ‘Men are close to one another by nature [and] diverge as a result of repeated practice’ (17, 2), he appears to be saying that all are equal in terms of innate endowment. This appears to be an assertion that basic human nature is universal and that people differ as a result of tradition and social practices into which they are born. But this is immediately called into question by the very next verse which says that ‘It is only the most intelligent and the most stupid who are not susceptible to change’ (17, 3). Confucius in fact had a very clear idea that there were very distinct categories of people when it came to the knowledge of the Way. There were first of all ‘those who are born with knowledge’, next are ‘those who attain knowledge through study’, next come those who ‘turn to study after having been vexed by difficulties’. Lastly there are the ‘common people’, who make no attempt to address their difficulties through study (16, 9). But Confucius’ comment that he compares a man’s deeds with his words appears to indicate a conception of human nature and how it is to be judged. His disparaging comparison of Tsai Yü to rotten wood and dried dung appears to imply that human nature is something given and

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sometimes irredeemable. Neither rotten wood nor dried dung lends itself to improvement because of its basic nature. So there would appear to be little point in reprimanding the slothful disciple. Every craftsman (including the teacher) requires sound material to work with; if the basic material is not sound then the effort of the craftsman will be in vain. All of which begs the question of the influence of early education. Surely the quality of one’s early life and educational conditions will profoundly affect whether one will be capable of pursuing the Way? We can be certain that the young men who came into the Confucian circle of students were already well versed in the modes of behaviour required by their society and by the Confucian company. It is highly unlikely that if these young men did not already know how to behave they would have been accepted as disciples by Confucius. Presumably Confucius would distinguish between capacities common to all human beings and dispositions which were the result of upbringing and early education. Virtues are not native talents: they are the result of education (Aristotle’s ‘habituation’) and may be a prerequisite of further moral education. Tsai Yü’s unmannerly indolence was not a matter of chance; it was a result of upbringing. Whether a person is capable of being morally educated cannot be a matter of chance. As we have seen, Confucius makes this explicit: it is education – culture – that makes the difference between people; they are ‘close’ by nature, and ‘diverge as a result of repeated practice’. The Ames and Rosemont translation is even more explicit in this regard: ‘Human beings are similar in their natural tendencies, but vary greatly by virtue of their habits.’ When he was in Ch’en, Confucius yearned for home because the young men who had remained behind were ‘wildly ambitious’ and even though they had ‘great accomplishments for all to see, they do not know how to prune themselves’ (5, 22). These young men were certainly not lacking the energy and commitment so obviously absent in the lethargic Tsai Yü. What they lacked was the cultivation and refinement brought about by discipline and restraint. While the disciples in Lu were unfinished they had, unlike Tsai Yü, the proper traits which simply needed to be cultivated. Their intentions were good and their enthusiasm beyond question, but they lacked the discipline and restraint necessary for the task of government. The Confucian gentleman comprises two elements: natural or original ‘substance’ and the ‘refinement’ acquired through education and selfcultivation. One’s natural talents must be complemented by acquired refinement; there is a need for each to be balanced by the other. If this



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is not the case, Confucius warns, if there is a ‘preponderance of native substance over acquired refinement, the result will be churlishness’ while if ‘there is a preponderance of acquired refinement over native substance, the result will be pedantry’ (6, 18). However, a separate verse records Tzu-kung as saying that ‘the stuff is no different from refinement; refinement is no different from the stuff. The pelt of a tiger or a leopard, shorn of hair, is no different from that of a dog or a sheep’ (12, 8). As embodied in the gentleman it is impossible to separate the two; the inherited natural traits and the self-developed refinement are equally important. ‘Basic disposition and refinement, nature and nurture, cannot be separated.’20

The Teacher A significant feature of Confucius’ pedagogy was his practice of tailoring his teaching to the individual characters and circumstances of his students. A disciple asked whether he should immediately carry into practice what he heard. Confucius replied that since the disciple should firstly consult his father and elder brothers he was ‘hardly in a position immediately to put into practice what [he] had heard’. A second disciple asked the same question and this time the Master answered that he should immediately carry into practice what he heard. When challenged to justify giving radically different answers to the same question, Confucius replied that as the first disciple had ‘the energy of two men’ he needed to be restrained, whereas the second disciple needed to be urged forward because he tended to hold himself back (11, 22). Individualized learning is not a recent invention: here we see Confucius deliberately tailor his response to take account of the personal characteristics and needs of the students involved. That he gave two contrasting (if not contradictory) answers to the same question did not appear to bother him. The instruction was learner-centred in that it matched Confucius’ estimation of the character and ability of the student. Confucius’ pedagogical ‘method of goodness’ was deceptively simple: ‘Quietly to store up knowledge in my mind, to learn without flagging, to teach without growing weary, these present me with no difficulties’ (7, 2). Although Slingerland declares that ‘These seemingly modest qualities … are something far beyond the grasp of most people’,21 it could be that Confucius was really only articulating the qualities of a dedicated teacher. The Ames and Rosemont rendition, however, adds a dimension not found in the Lau translation: ‘To quietly persevere in storing up what is

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learned, to continue studying without respite, to instruct others without growing weary – is this not me?’ If this version is true to the spirit and intent of the original surely this must be the earliest expression of the idea of teaching as a vocation which we have? For the idea of vocation involves the self-creative activity of the individual, the choice of a life-path, or career, which allows the individual to become the best person he or she can be.22 To ‘have’ a vocation is to be aware of the personal life project which will enable one to become one’s ‘best self’, to be the best person one can be: ‘is this not me?’. This notion of the vocational sense of the Way is reflected in the acknowledgement of one of Confucius’ most celebrated disciples, Tseng Tzu, ‘Every day I examine myself on three counts,’ Tseng Tzu said. ‘In what I have undertaken on another’s behalf, have I failed to do my best? In my dealings with my friends have I failed to be trustworthy in what I say? Have I passed on to others anything that I have not tried out myself?’ (1, 4). The ‘three counts’ are important for together they exemplify the vocation of the Confucian gentleman: commitment to the welfare of others, being true to one’s word, being a practitioner of the tradition that one has inherited, not just a theoretician. The emphasis is on practice, ‘actual social behaviour’ as opposed to ‘academic theoretical knowledge’.23 There must, in the process of human development, be a process of ‘mind-andheart’, an ‘embodied form of knowledge that is at least as affective as cognitive’.24 It is a process of self-development. Tseng Tzu ‘examined his own person every day, and if there was a failing, he corrected it; if there was not he intensified his efforts’.25 That this is a crucial element of full commitment to the Way is borne out by Confucius’ own complaint that he had not yet met a man ‘who, on seeing his own errors, is able to take himself to task inwardly’ (5, 27). The cultivation of the mind-and-heart is to develop ‘an inextricable combination of mental and emotional faculties’ rooted in lived experience. The goal of the cultivation is not an idea of abstract universalism but a dynamic process of self-transcendence, not a departure from one’s source but a broadening and a deepening of one’s sensitivity without losing sight of one’s rootedness in the body, family, community, society, and the world.26 The sentiment is repeated when Confucius appears to deny that he is ‘a sage or a benevolent man’ and suggests that ‘it might be said of me that I learn without flagging and teach without growing weary’. This apparently commonplace description leads one of the disciples to comment, ‘This is precisely where we disciples are unable to learn from your example,’ for these are the qualities of sagehood (7, 36). What is so difficult? Confucius



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has communicated his own deep fear of failure in his pursuit of the Way to his disciples: the things that cause him concern include ‘failure to cultivate virtue, failure to go more deeply into what I have learned, inability, when I am told what is right, to move to where it is, and inability to reform myself when I have defects’ (7, 3). It is not just a matter of teaching and learning but of constructing a proper life, finding and cleaving to the Way and leading others through example. The fear of falling short in this pursuit is a source of constant concern, and this need for unflagging self-discipline and self-criticism has communicated itself to the disciples. This raises another question relating to pedagogy: can one teach the desire to learn to someone who does not already possess it? Is the motivation to learn something which can itself be learned or is it a precondition of all learning? The comment of Li Chong is worth noting here: ‘Learning involves hard work rather than material benefit, and in itself is not the kind of thing one naturally loves or takes joy in. This is why it is easy to become negligent or indolent in one’s studies.’27 Confucius says that ‘Even with a man who urges himself on in his studies as though he was losing ground, my fear is still that he may not make it in time’ (8, 17). This is both an ‘exhortation and warning to the aspiring student’28 that true learning requires constant application: it is hard work the benefit of which is not always readily apparent. Confucius cannot teach someone who does not have a felt need to learn; those who will learn from him must already have a commitment to what he has to teach. As a universal (conceptual) feature of learning, teachers teach, learners learn; teachers cannot learn for the learner. No student will learn from any teacher unless she is passionately committed to learning. Whether or not teaching and learning (any teaching and learning) will ultimately be successful is beyond the power of the teacher to determine; teachers can only influence, only the student can make the commitment to the effort necessary to learn. Even if she does so there is no guarantee that this learning will be carried into practice in the future or practised in a desirable manner. Confucius makes the latter point clear when a youth from a village whose people had a reputation for being difficult to talk to (about the Way) came to be received by him. The disciples were hesitant to allow the youth into the Master’s presence. Confucius said, however, ‘Approval of his coming does not mean approval of him when he is not here. Why should we be so exacting? When a man comes after having purified himself, we approve of his purification but we cannot vouch for his past’ (7, 29). Reception of a guest who comes in a proper manner need not entail endorsement of his background or character. Nor is it to be taken as an implicit endorsement

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of anything she might do in the future. Teaching and learning do not deprive anyone of free will. The teacher can only indicate the Way by word and example; it is the choice and responsibility of the learner to put it into effect: ‘It is Man who is capable of broadening the Way. It is not the Way that is capable of broadening Man’ (15, 29). Ultimately the success of learning depends on the will of the learner: an army can be deprived of its commander, Confucius acknowledges, but ‘even a common man cannot be deprived of his purpose’ (9, 26). One’s purpose is one’s own and if there is failure to pursue that purpose then the blame is one’s own. Confucius advises that there are three kinds of things which one benefits from: taking ‘pleasure in the correct regulation of the rites and music, in singing the praises of other men’s goodness and in having a large number of excellent men as friends’. There are equally three kinds of things which are negative: taking ‘pleasure in showing off, in a dissolute life and in food and drink is to lose’ (16, 5). There is an echo of Aristotle in Slingerland’s comment that ‘one must learn to take joy in the right sort of things’, which leads to a pedagogical issue: ‘the trick is how one can instil this joy in a person who lacks it or, conversely, how one who lacks this joy can go about acquiring it’.29 This is the central problem for the educator, be she teacher or parent. How do we motivate our children, pupils and students to love what is good and be repelled by what is not?

The Learner We know little about how the disciples were chosen. ‘In instruction,’ the Master said, ‘there is no separation into categories’(15, 37). No distinction should be made between students on irrelevant bases. (‘In instruction there is no such thing as social classes.’30) ‘I have never denied instruction to anyone,’ Confucius said, ‘who, of his own accord, has given me so much as a bundle of dried meat as a present’ (7, 7). His selection of disciples was egalitarian. He appeared to favour those of humbler circumstances, ‘simple rustics’, those who progressed through their own effort and application (11, 1). Confucius defends a disciple of lowly birth on the grounds that he should be judged on his own merits rather than on the quality of his family background or circumstances. He uses an interesting metaphor: if a bull which is the issue of plough cattle had the requisite attributes ‘would the spirits of the mountains and rivers allow it to be passed over even if we felt it was not good enough to be used [in sacrifice]?’(6, 6). Humble origin should not preclude anyone who is otherwise qualified from the



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pursuit of the Way. But this then raises the question: if individuals are to be judged solely on their own merits, independent of family circumstances and background, how influential or decisive is the family in moral, cultural formation? Confucius’ assurance that he had ‘never denied instruction to anyone who ... [had given him] so much as a bundle of dried meat as a present’ (7, 7) can also be read as an indication of the age at which students came to him for instruction. It has been suggested that the reference usually translated as ‘dried meat’ may also be translated as ‘the strip with which a man can bind his hair’. And traditionally tying up the hair indicated the onset of male adulthood, usually about the age of 15.31 So the verse could indicate that Confucius accepted students as soon as they had passed from childhood to adulthood. This may be related to his account of his own development in which he tells us ‘at fifteen I set my heart on learning’ (2, 4), perhaps indicating the appropriate age at which further education should begin. Presumably by that time the prospective student would have mastered the basics of reading and writing and so be equipped to begin the study of the texts (Odes, History, etc.). Zhu Xi confirms that ‘In ancient times they entered the school for greater learning at the age of fifteen.’32 In any case it seems certain that Confucius never turned away a prospective student on grounds of family background or wealth. The Way is not exclusive or exclusionary: all that is required is the right will. However, Confucius demands a stringent standard of behaviour of his students: their minds must already be ‘striving to understand’ and their tongues ‘struggling to speak’. And their commitment must be such that they have been ‘driven to distraction by trying to understand a difficulty or … [gotten] into a frenzy trying to put his ideas into words’. The method is demanding and exacting, students are expected to perform: ‘When I have pointed out one corner of a square to anyone,’ Confucius declared, ‘and he does not come back with the other three, I will not point it out to him a second time’ (7, 8). Confucius is not teaching a fixed body of knowledge although existing knowledge both theoretical (the texts) and practical (the practice of ritual) is an essential part of the learning process. But these are to be used by the student to take account of prevailing circumstances: they are enabling rather than prescriptive. ‘The gentleman is no vessel,’ Confucius tells us (2, 13), that is, the gentleman is not designed to conform to a particular purpose or to accommodate certain set contents. His intellectual knowledge is not intended to serve a specific purpose, but to enhance his virtue. He does not acquire virtue through becoming acquainted with specific teachings or through mastering specific ritual only. The path to virtue is

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forged through appropriately applying knowledge and expertise in concrete situations. The student’s enthusiasm must be such that he is prepared to commit himself to the discovery of the Way from the incomplete hints and directions that the Master provides. He must have, in Slingerland’s comment, ‘an inchoate need for what study is able to provide’.33 Significantly, however, there is also a maieutic34 quality to Confucius’ teaching. This maieutic quality is seen in the opacity of much of the Analects. Generally Confucius does not present answers to his students’ questions but replies in such a way that they are forced to ‘figure out’ the answers for themselves, that is, come back with the other three corners of the square! We know that Confucius’ preference was for young men of more than ordinary ability (‘Those above the common lot’35) since to them difficult matters may be communicated (‘the highest subjects may be announced’36). ‘You can,’ the Master states, ‘tell those who are above average about the best but not those who are below average’ (6, 21). In other words Confucius’ teaching was intended for those of higher than average intellectual ability. Yet, as we have seen, Confucius tailored his response to suit the intellectual capacity and character of his students. But more is required than capacity: one may have the intellect but lack the motivation. Confucius makes it clear that his students must come to him seeking – ‘I have never been able to do anything for a person who is not himself constantly asking, “What should I do? What should I do?”’ (15, 16). This appears to make it clear that the aspirants have already been through a process of moral formation so that they want to develop further. Confucius’ students possess genuine love for the Confucian Way. But not just the theory: ‘One cannot but give assent to exemplary words,’ Confucius said, or ‘be pleased with tactful words.’ But it is not the words which are most important; ‘[W]hat is important is that one should reform oneself. I can do nothing with the man who gives assent [to what he hears] but does not rectify himself or the man who is pleased [with what he hears] but does not reform himself’ (9, 24). Confucius requires of his disciples nothing less than a full enthusiastic commitment to the practical pursuit of the Way. Like any good teacher, Confucius himself continues to learn and shows the humility of the true seeker of truth: ‘Even when walking in the company of two other men, I am bound to be able to learn from them. The good points of the one I copy; the bad points of the other I correct in myself’ (7, 22). Of course what is not made explicit here is the manner in which Confucius would judge which aspects of the behaviour of others was worthy of dismissal or emulation. The issue is repeated where Confucius says, ‘When you meet someone better than yourself, turn your thoughts to



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becoming his equal. When you meet someone not as good as you are, look within and examine your own self’ (4, 17). While ‘learning’ generally focuses on classical texts, its point is practice: personal formation by emulating and internalizing the ideal models of behaviour presented in these works. Learning is not confined to texts: it includes observing and emulating the behaviour of living exemplars. When Tzu-kung was asked who Confucius had learned from he replied that the way of the Sage Kings ‘is still to be found in men’. Everyone has something of the way of the Sage Kings in him. ‘Superior men have got hold of what is of major significance while inferior men have got hold of what is of minor significance.’ In short, it is possible to learn from everyone (19, 22)!

The Continuity of Learning As is clear in parts of the Analects itself, Confucius’ disciples did not always agree on the meaning or the import of what he said. This became even more evident after his death when the ‘Confucian’ tradition fragmented into several factions, each claiming to be the true inheritor of his message. In one such disagreement recorded in the Analects two of the disciples, Tzu-yu and Tzu-hsia, took contrasting positions in relation to learning and pursuit of the Way. Tzu-yu criticized Tzu-hsia’s approach, claiming that Tzu-hsia’s students were required to engage in menial tasks such as sweeping and cleaning, responding to calls, replying to questions and following instructions. He claimed that ‘On what is basic they are ignorant. What is one to do with them?’ When Tzu-hsia heard this, he defended his approach: ‘In the way of the gentleman,’ he said, ‘what is to be taught first and what is to be put last as being less urgent? The former is as clearly distinguishable from the latter as grasses are from trees. It is futile to try to give such a false picture of the way of the gentleman. It is, perhaps, the sage alone who, having started something, will always see it through to the end’ (19, 12). Tzu-yu’s criticism is not just methodological, for it contains an element of accusation that Tzu-hsia is selling his students short in confining them to lowly, even menial, activities rather than introducing them to the fundamental principles of the Way. But in his reply Tzu-hsia makes three valid pedagogical points: firstly, a practical pedagogy has a developmental order: it is only by beginning at the elementary things that one can hope to progress to a fuller knowledge and understanding. The Way is a developmental journey which must be undertaken in small stages. If the learner is introduced too early to the difficulties of the task then he is likely to grow

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discouraged. (One could take analogies from any branch of learning – we must learn our letters before we can read, our scales before we can play, walk before we can run!) In the second place, what is small and apparently trivial can be distinguished from what is large and important in the same way that grass can be distinguished from trees but such distinction should not be taken as implying that the lesser is unnecessary. The mundane but necessary activities should also be approached with care; there is a li appropriate to everything. A third point is that the ability to devote care to the apparently trivial is a good indicator of one’s future development. It was usual in apprenticeships dating from medieval times in Europe, for example, for the apprentice to earn his keep and learn his trade by beginning with the most menial tasks and ‘working up’ to the highest level of proficiency. Tzu-hsia’s students are clearly required to submit to the li of the elementary tasks (whatever is to be done there is a correct manner of doing it). In any case the Way is the same for both the novice and the more mature learner; it is just that each perceives it from the perspective of his own experience and capacity. For it should be remembered that the Way is not a given path to be followed but an individual’s path to be created.

Priority of Practical Behaviour over Theoretical Knowledge The fundamental nature of Confucianism is pragmatic. The central purpose of the Analects is to emphasize the importance of informed practice over abstract theory. Although it is possible to take the ‘single thread’ (‘doing one’s best and … using oneself as a measure to gauge others’, 4, 15) as some kind of abstract principle which binds all of the Confucian teaching together, it is more likely to refer to a practicum, a way of being in the world. Theoretical understanding, philosophizing in the Western sense, is not a priority. There are three stages of learning: mastering the basics, discussing with others, and teaching (1, 1). Learning is primarily a matter of self-cultivation, not a mastering or rote-learning of a body of theory. To be learned, in this view, is to know how to live according to the Way, a practical kind of ‘knowing how’ rather than abstract theoretical knowledge, ‘knowing that’.37 This practical orientation is reinforced by Tseng Tzu’s daily self-examination with regard to doing his duty, his trustworthiness and his practice of what he teaches (1, 4). Confucius taught four kinds of things: culture (cultural refinement), moral conduct, doing one’s best (conscientiousness), and being true to one’s word (trustworthiness; 7, 25). All are matters which are embodied



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in one’s behaviour. There is little in the Analects about the ‘meaning’ of morality in a theoretical sense. Tzu-hsia came closest to a definition of Confucian educatedness when he declared that ‘a man has received instruction who appreciates men of excellence … who exerts himself to the utmost in the service of his parents and offers his person to the service of his lord, and who, in his dealings with his friends, is trustworthy in what he says’. Such a person ‘may say that he has never been taught’ (1, 7), for he is educated to action (performance, behaviour) rather than in theory. He does not necessarily have any detailed knowledge of the theory to ‘justify’ his practice. To be educated in this sense is to have mastered the behaviour relating to the four primary relationships: husband/wife, child/parent, minister/lord, friend/friend. If an individual does not fulfil these relationships properly any intellectual or cultural accomplishments are irrelevant. Cultural accomplishments are the ‘six arts’ which hold a central place in Ancient Chinese education analogous to the trivium and quadrivium38 in the Western European tradition. The ‘six arts’ were ritual, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy and mathematics. These accomplishments were expected of anyone claiming to be cultured but they were always secondary to the performance of the dutiful relationships which dominated familial, social and political life. An apt metaphor compares the duties of the basic relationships to the roots and the cultural arts to the branches of a tree: ‘Virtuous behaviour is the root and, while the cultural arts are the branches, only by exhausting both root and branches, and knowing which is primary and which secondary, can one enter into virtue.’39 If the roots are not sound the branches cannot flourish. Relationships and duty have priority of over purely intellectual accomplishment: ‘A young man should be a good son at home and an obedient young man abroad, sparing of speech but trustworthy in what he says, and should love the multitude at large but cultivate the friendship of his fellow men. If he has any energy to spare from such action, let him devote it to making himself cultivated’ (1, 6). Moral duty comes first. It is only when his moral duty has been fulfilled that the young man ought to devote time to ‘making himself cultivated’ in the traditional arts.

Esoteric knowledge When a disciple complained that Confucius did not express a view ‘on human nature and the Way of Heaven’ (5, 13), he directs attention to

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Confucius’ focus upon the real world of human affairs and human behaviour rather than any concern with theoretical issues such as ‘human nature’ in the metaphysical sense or the ‘Way of Heaven’ in any theological sense. Both human nature and the Way of Heaven can be considered as being outside of human control whereas Confucius’ concern is what is within human control, how human beings can make the best of the circumstances in which they find themselves both individually and socially. These lacunae in Confucius’ teaching led to suspicion on the part of some disciples that there was some hidden knowledge in Confucius’ teaching which he was not sharing with them. He was at pains to deny this: ‘My friends, do you think I am secretive? There is nothing which I hide from you. There is nothing I do which I do not share with you, my friends. There is Ch’iu for you’ (7, 24).40 All that he was concerned with was taking the teaching and example of the ancients and putting it into practice suitably adapted to prevailing circumstances. Apart from knowledge of the odes and the rites, Confucius’ insistence that there is no additional esoteric knowledge involved in learning the Way was borne out by the evidence of his son Po-yü that he had not been taught ‘anything out of the ordinary’.41 The priority of practice over theoretical knowledge is stressed again when we hear of Tzu-lu’s fear that ‘Before he could put into practice something he had heard, the only thing he feared was that he should be told something further’ (5, 14). Tzu-lu’s fear of learning something new is that it would give him insufficient time to establish the practice of what he already knows. This is the core of the Analects, a preoccupation with practical moral behaviour. (It might also be seen, of course, as a recipe for conservatism, a reaction to innovation; not outright opposition but a tentative, cautious approach.) Of course all that the Analects communicates is, in a sense, theoretical; but the literary account can only hint at the exemplary nature of Confucius’ relationship with his disciples. Theoretical teaching has, of course, a role to play in teaching people how to act. But theoretical teaching cannot compare with the intense effect of a close relationship with a living exemplar, a moral apprenticeship. The Analects records conversations, reflections, questions and answers, but they are conversations, reflections, questions and answers about ways of life and behaviour. There was a theoretical teaching (teaching through words) but also practical teaching by his own personal example and by directing his disciples to the great exemplars of the past. The emphasis throughout is on actual moral practice.



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Music Confucius was quite explicit regarding the importance of music in his educational programme; he considered it indispensable to the formation of virtue. The Analects records that when he ‘heard the shao in Ch’i’ he ‘did not notice the taste of the meat he ate’ for three months! ‘I never dreamt,’ he said, ‘that the joys of music could reach such heights’ (7, 14). As a consequence he urged his disciples to adopt the shao (which he believed to be intimately associated with the reign of the Sage King Shun) and the wu (a musical tradition associated with Wu, the founder of the Zhou Dynasty). Confucius said of the shao ‘that it was both perfectly beautiful and perfectly good’, and of the wu ‘that it was perfectly beautiful but not perfectly good’ (3, 25). The wu he considered to be ‘not perfectly good’ because ‘it was laden with the martial courage’ of King Wu and could not be ‘fairly described as expressing goodness’.42 The essence of music is not only that it embodies harmony but that it induces harmony in its hearers. The harmonization of experience, of response, of expression, of the human, the natural and the celestial world is at the epicentre of Confucius’ message. He clearly had little regard for the popular music of his day, dismissing the tunes of Cheng as wanton. Clearly little has changed in relation to the appreciation of music in the intervening 2,500 years. There seems to be a timeless distinction between formal/classical music and popular music universally regarded by older generations as ‘licentious’ (jazz, rock ‘n’ roll, even at one time the waltz!). The Cheng music, according to Slingerland, ‘had a simple but catchy beat, was sung by mixed groups of men and women, and gave rise to sexual improprieties – all of which should sound very familiar to concerned parents of any nation or age’.43

The Disciples There appears to be general agreement that there were certainly fewer than 70 disciples in all – the conventional count is 77 – but the Analects mentions only 27 of these by name. It may be that as successive generations of Confucius’ immediate disciples set up their own Confucian schools, the numbers of ‘Confucian’ disciples grew with the generations in a form of ‘apostolic succession’. In general, Confucius’ relationship with the disciples appears to have been warm and supportive. In at least one case (Yen Yüan) there is clear evidence of deep affection.

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Confucius demanded very high standards of performance and behaviour. A disciple is taken to task for adopting a casual posture while waiting for the Master. This is a matter of ritual impropriety (the disciple should have been standing). Confucius responded by tapping him on the shin with his cane, not as a punishment but simply as a reminder to adopt a more fitting posture. His remark on the occasion is indicative of his belief in the importance of self-discipline and propriety in the young: ‘To be neither modest nor deferential when young,’ Confucius remarked, ‘to have passed on nothing worthwhile when grown up, and to refuse to die when old, that is what I call a pest’(14, 41). Another example of how the behaviour of the young can be indicative of their future development concerns a boy who brought a message. ‘I have seen him presume to take a seat and to walk abreast his seniors,’ Confucius said. ‘He does not want to make progress. He is after quick results’ (14, 42). Again the lack of ritual propriety (the young should stand in the presence of, and walk behind, elders) betokens weak moral character (or perhaps, if left uncorrected, leads to weak moral character). But why did Confucius not reprove the boy or those who had sent him? As we have seen from Confucius’ advice to his son, the odes are necessary to the education of the gentleman. Confucius complains that his disciples do not study the odes and attempts to point out the centrality of the odes in the life of the cultured man. Confucius was convinced that a knowledge of the odes contributed significantly to the individual’s social interaction, his capacity to serve his family and his lord, as well as furnishing his mind with all kinds of useful information. ‘An apt quotation from the Odes,’ he tells them, ‘may serve to stimulate the imagination, to show one’s breeding, to smooth over difficulties in a group and to give expression to complaints. Inside the family there is the serving of one’s father; outside, there is the serving of one’s lord; there is also the acquiring of a wide knowledge of the names of birds and beasts, plants and trees’ (17, 9). The role of classical texts such as the Book of Odes is not only to give one the language to express oneself, but the accumulated wisdom of the ancients that they represent should form the very basis of one’s knowledge and thinking.

Learning, Study, and Education Yet the fact of the matter is that we have little direction regarding the actual content or implementation of the Confucian pedagogy. Look at the two questions that Confucius asked his son. First of all he asked him if he had



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studied the odes. The importance of the study of the odes is that ‘Unless you study the Odes you will be ill-equipped to speak’ (16, 13). But we know little about the method for the study of the odes. Was it a matter of learning them by rote? Of studying (or learning by rote) standard interpretations, appreciations and commentaries? Of using the odes or the standard interpretations, appreciations and commentaries as the basis for the exploration of value and meaning in contemporary society? Of using them as immediate guides to behaviour? We may get some insight from an exchange between Tzu-kung and Confucius about the difference between the poor man who is not ‘obsequious’ and the rich man who is not ‘arrogant’. Confucius’ view was that neither of them is equal to the poor man who, despite his poverty, delights in the Way, or to the wealthy man who, though wealthy, is ‘yet observant of the rites’. Tsze-kung immediately relates this to the odes, quoting, ‘Like bone cut, like horn polished,/ Like jade carved, like stone ground.’ Confucius commended Tzu-kung: ‘Only with a man like you can one discuss the Odes. Tell such a man something and he can see its relevance to what he has not been told’ (1, 15 and16). Tzu-kung has used the metaphor of the shaping of hard materials, cutting, polishing, carving, grinding, to indicate the difficulty and the long duration of selfcultivation. Although he frequently discoursed on the classics and the rites, there is little specificity in the Analects about what Confucius actually said by way of instruction! ‘The Odes are three hundred in number,’ he once said. ‘They can be summed up in one phrase, “Swerving not from the right path”’ (2, 2). This is itself a quotation from the Book of Odes. The original verse referred to the behaviour of well-bred horses but Confucius has no compunction about using it metaphorically for his own purposes to illustrate a moral message. In other words the Book of Odes can function as a resource for moral guidance. On another occasion he declared, ‘Be stimulated by the Odes, take your stand on the rites and be perfected by music’ (8, 8). But he also warns that the odes are limited as a source of guidance: ‘If a man who knows the three hundred Odes by heart fails when given administrative responsibilities and proves incapable of exercising his own initiative when sent to foreign states, then what use are the Odes to him, however many he may have learned?’ (13, 5). While knowledge of the odes may be a necessary condition of a successful education it is certainly not sufficient. The Book of Odes functions as a source of wisdom, of rhetorical illustration, of moral guidance and as a necessary social and cultural accomplishment of the Confucian gentleman. It provides a representative distillation of the culture of the ancient Zhou which in turn provides a context for the

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creative engagement with the present, using the past as the moral template. ‘Thinking per se,’ Hall and Ames remind us, ‘always involves a grounding in tradition and may never be modelled after the direct investigation of “nature” or undisciplined, imaginative constructions’.44 The tradition is embodied in the Book of Odes and other texts: even our contemporary conceptions of humanist education require a familiarity with the tradition which is conventionally embodied within the literary, musical or historical canon. Confucius also advised his son ‘Unless you study the rites you will be ill-equipped to take your stand.’ And Po-yü ‘retired and studied the rites’. But again the question: how did he study the rites? What did ‘study the rites’ actually mean in practice? An apocryphal story about Confucius’ own childhood has him playing with vestments and vessels as he learned and practised the rites. Did he mean his son and disciples to go away and ‘study the rites’ by role playing the various ritual situations? There were texts stipulating the appropriate behaviours for various occasions. When Confucius advises his son to study ritual he is probably directing him towards extant texts outlining rules and behaviours associated with ritual propriety. Although the Analects never mentions any specific text associated with ritual we can certainly infer from what Confucius said that collections of ritual rules were available to his disciples. One such would have been the Liji (Collection of Treatises on the Rules of Propriety and Ceremonial Usages), another the Yili (Etiquette and Rites).45 Chapter 3 of the latter, for example, ‘Marriage of an ordinary officer’, sets out in great detail the ceremonial presentation of a goose to the father of the intended bride by the messenger from the prospective groom. Everything is specified, the greeting, the entry into the house, the ritual positions each participant must adopt, etc. And this is only for the proposal! But we have no real knowledge as to how these texts were presented to or studied by students. This is not a question about acting in accordance with the rites but rather a question about how ‘learning the rites’ (learns about the rites, learns the form of the rites, learns the significance of the rites, learns the appropriateness of the rites, learns how to apply the rites to changing situations, etc.) is accomplished in the first place. ‘Learn the rites’, ‘study the rites’: what is this an instruction to do? Indeed Confucius’ pedagogy is so lacking in directive detail that one is tempted to think that the study of the texts (and of the Analects itself for that matter) is an occasion for textual wrangling rather than mastery of a practicum.



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Notes   1 Nivison, David Shepherd, ‘The Classical Philosophical Writings’, The Cambridge History of Ancient China: from the origins of civilization to 221 B.C., M. Loewe and E. L. Shaughnessy (eds), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 746–7.   2 Nivison, pp. 747–8.   3 Confucius Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, Preface, p. Vii.   4 Schwartz, Benjamin I., The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985, p. 60. Perhaps giving some substance to the dismissive claim attributed to H. L. Mencken ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach’!   5 ‘If we were to ask of a person,’ Hare declares, ‘“What are his moral principles?”, the way in which we could be most sure of a true answer would be by studying what he did.’ R. M. Hare, The Language of Morals, London, OUP, 1952, p. 1.   6 Gardner, D. K., Zhu Xi's Reading of the Analects, New York: Columbia University Press, 2003, p. 31.   7 Slingerland, p. 1.   8 Ames, R.T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, p. 71.   9 Ames and Rosemont, n. 1, p. 230. 10 Bao Xian q. Slingerland, p. 13. 11 Slingerland, p. 186. 12 He Yan, q. Slingerland, p. 13. 13 ‘Re-telling is not mere repetition. Every encounter with a narrative is an interpretive occasion. Interpretation involves an imaginative participation in the ethical experience of the narrative.’ Sor-hoon Tan, ‘Imagining Confucius: paradigmatic characters and virtue ethics’, Journal of Chinese Philosophy 32, 3, 2005, 416. 14 Schwartz, p. 67. 15 Slingerland, p. 64. 16 See 5 above. 17 Q Slingerland, p. 58. 18 The Record of Ritual, q. Slingerland, p. 58. 19 Ames and Rosemont, p. 45. 20 Ames and Rosemont, n. 193, p. 250. 21 Slingerland, p. 64. 22 Flanagan, F. M., ‘Teaching as a Vocation’, Oideas, 50, Dublin: Department of Education and Science, 2002; Hansen, David T., ‘Revitalizing The Idea Of Vocation In Teaching’, http://www.ed.uiuc.edu/eps/PES-Yearbook/94_docs/HANSEN.HTM Accessed 19 April 2011 23 Slingerland, p. 2. 24 Madsen,.R., ‘Confucian concepts of civil society’, in Damiel A. Bell (ed.), Confucian Political Ethics, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2007, p. 14. 25 Gardner, p. 136. 26 Tu Wei-ming q. Madsen, pp. 9–10. 27 Slingerland, pp. 83–4. 28 Slingerland, p. 83. 29 Slingerland, p. 194.

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Ames and Rosemont, p. 192. Slingerland, p. 66. 32 Gardner, p. 44. Waley also lends some support to the idea. Waley, A. (trans.), The Analects of Confucius, New York: Vintage Books, 1989, p. 242. 33 Slingerland, p. 66. 34 The idea of ‘maieutic’ is that a student or enquirer attempts to articulate latent concepts through a dialectic or logical sequence of questions. The maieutic method is the method of teaching associated with Socrates whereby truths may be elicited from the latent knowledge of students through a sequence of questions. 35 Ames and Rosemont, pp. 6, 21. 36 Legge, pp. 6,19. 37 See Ryle, G., The Concept of Mind, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 2000, Chapter 2. 38 Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic; Arithmetic, Geometry, Music, Astronomy. 39 Yin Tun, quoted Slingerland, p. 3. 40 His full given name was K’ung Ch’iu. 41 See Chapter 2. 42 Hall and Ames, p. 279. 43 Slingerland, p. 179. 44 Hall and Ames, p. 67. 45 Both can be found at http://www.chinaknowledge.de/Literature/Classics/liji. html#wangzhi. Accessed 19 April 2011. 30 31

Chapter 8

The Confucian Gentleman

‘The gentleman is free from worries and fears.’ (The Analects, 12, 4)

The Chün Tzu The title ‘chün tzu’ (junzi) is among the most frequently used in the Analects. The translation generally used is ‘gentleman’ although in some cases it is rendered as ‘exemplary person’, ‘benevolent person’ or ‘authoritative person’. The difference need not be significant for present purposes as we shall see. Originally the Chinese term had the literal meaning ‘ruler’s son’ and like the English word ‘gentleman’ had both social and ethical connotations. Socially in the European context the word ‘gentleman’ used to refer primarily to an individual’s social status in a hierarchical society, a status which placed him above the commoner but beneath the nobility. However, the original use of the term also had an ethical dimension: the gentleman was expected to behave in a manner appropriate to his inherited social position; status carried responsibility, a noblesse oblige. Similarly, in its original meaning the term ‘chün tzu’ ‘implies not merely superiority of birth but also superiority of character and behaviour’.1 Hence the behaviour, the ‘manners’ or ‘deportment’, of the individual was expected to meet certain standards or to conform to certain norms: ‘It was the duty of the gentleman in the social sense to behave as a gentleman in the ethical sense.’2 In his teaching Confucius succeeded in shifting the primary meaning intended by the designation ‘chün tzu’ to the ethical. The ‘chün tzu’ or ‘gentleman’ becomes a man who through his education has cultivated a superior moral character. The gentleman is ‘the ideal moral character’; becoming a gentleman requires ‘a great deal of hard work or cultivation’.3 The social status becomes secondary: if there is a question of ‘social status’ it is a consequence

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of behaviour, not of circumstances of birth. It is what a man does, rather than who he is, which is of primary importance.

The Characteristics of the Confucian Gentleman Generosity A gentleman must have a well-developed sense of social responsibility. A gentleman ‘gives to help the needy and not to maintain the rich in style’ (6, 4). This responsibility extends to his family, friends, neighbours, and beyond. A disciple of Confucius, one Yuan Ssu, was offered a large amount of grain. His first reaction was to decline the gift. Yuan Ssu was not being excessively fastidious: he was mindful of the requirement that the gentleman ‘does not forget what is right at the sight of gain’ (19, 1). Not alone should the gentleman not be avaricious, he should not allow even the taint of such to attach to him. Confucius, however, encouraged him to take it: ‘Can you not find a use for it in helping the people in your neighbourhood?’, reminding him that his obligations went further than his own scruples: one should be flexible (6, 5). ‘The gentleman is devoted to principle but not inflexible in small matters’ (15, 35). If a gentleman has an opportunity to help others he should grasp it. The key word is ‘flexibility’; the rules of conduct should be interpreted to take account of one’s responsibilities as a gentleman. ‘All within the Four Seas’ are the gentleman’s brothers (12, 5) and entitled to his concern; his social responsibility may begin with his family but it transcends home and neighbourhood and extends to the ends of the Earth. Everyone of goodwill will recognise the excellence of the true gentleman. His generosity is not simply a matter of transfers of wealth to the needy, it also involves the capacity to show others how they might improve their own circumstances. ‘The gentleman,’ Confucius said, ‘is generous without its costing him anything’: the gentleman can benefit the common people ‘by taking advantage of the things around them that they find beneficial’ (20, 2). He could, for example, encourage improvements in industry or agriculture with long-term and lasting benefits for all. The generosity of the gentleman also includes toleration: ‘the gentleman honours his betters and is tolerant towards the multitude’, says Tzu-hsia. ‘He is full of praise for the good while taking pity on the backward.’ The gentleman’s superiority is sufficient, he does not need to reinforce it at the expense of others: ‘If I am greatly superior,’ Tzu-hsia explained, ‘which among men need I be intolerant of?’ (19, 3). This tolerance should be shown towards the limitations of others: when it



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comes to employing others the gentleman does so ‘within the limits of their capacity’ (13, 25). (He) is not a Vessel The true gentleman is not a possessor of practical skills or a specialist in any technique. When Confucius declared that ‘The gentleman is no vessel’ (2, 12), he meant that the gentleman should not become preoccupied with particular skills simply to act as the instrument of someone else but should concentrate on the development of his moral and cultural character. ‘The artisan,’ Tzu-hsia explained, ‘masters his trade by staying in his workshop; the gentleman perfects his way through learning’ (19, 7). Learning is not the acquisition of skill but a component in the development of the person. The gentleman, Tzu-hsia added, does not take up ‘even minor arts’, however intrinsically worthwhile they might be, because of his fear that he might ‘get bogged down’ in the detail and be diverted from his pursuit of the Way and his participation in government. It has been suggested4 that this is a distinction between training and education; it is certainly a preference for a broader development than the acquisition of specific practical accomplishments. Yet Confucius himself acknowledged that he was skilled in many things, ‘a Jack of all trades’(9, 7). He explains that since he was ‘of humble station when young’ he had become skilled in ‘many menial things’ (9, 6) through force of his circumstances. Whatever ‘miscellaneous and sundry abilities’ he possessed he regarded as ‘little more than evidence of a misspent youth’.5 Despite Confucius’ own experience, however, he insisted that the gentleman is not a ‘vessel:’ he should not be skilled in many things. Whatever suspicions others might have, Confucius himself denies that he possesses any extraordinary knowledge. ‘Do I possess knowledge? No, I do not.’ He goes on to explain that even when a ‘rustic’ put a question to him and his ‘mind was a complete blank’ he ‘kept hammering at the two sides of the question until I got everything out of it’(9, 8). His apparent omniscience is nothing more than ‘sheer persistence’,6 and perhaps a kind of Socratic aptitude to delve into linguistic and conceptual meaning. Constancy and Authenticity ‘I have no hopes of meeting a good man,’ Confucius declared. ‘I would be content if I met someone who has constancy’ (7, 26). Constancy was an essential characteristic at a time when the old values were fragmenting,

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when the age was corrupt and many were masquerading as something they were not. The gentleman, by contrast, because he has submitted to the guidance of the traditional Zhou culture and the rites, can be ‘relied upon not to turn against what he stood for’ (6, 27). He will be dependable and reliable and is unlikely to go far wrong. The ‘spirit of the rites’ has the power to focus and control a man’s tendencies; without the spirit of the rites his courtesy will become tiresome, he will become timid as he tries to be careful, he will become unruly as he tries to be courageous, and he will become intolerant as he tries to be forthright (8, 2). True constancy requires authenticity. ‘Seek to be worthy of appreciation.’ It is more important to be authentic than to be successful. ‘A benevolent man is sure to possess courage,’ he said, ‘but a courageous man does not necessarily possess benevolence’ (4, 14). The disciples should not be primarily concerned about office, but of being in possession of the qualities that entitle them to office. The aim is not recognition but the personal moral qualities that earn recognition. In sum, Confucius expresses ‘a distaste for self-assertion, self-aggrandizement, and contention for external goods. The gentleman focuses solely upon achieving the external goods of the Confucian Way.’7 External recognition, and whatever concomitant rewards it might bring, is an acceptable consequence of authentic public service but not one which should be sought for its own sake. Taking an unpopular, contrarian view is sometimes the necessary duty of the gentleman but on its own it is not sufficient. While the gentleman must sometimes adopt unpopular views, such views do not necessarily signify his ethical status. ‘Is one who simply sides with tenacious opinions a gentleman?’ Confucius asked, ‘or is he merely putting on a dignified appearance?’ (11, 21). He is clearly aware of the dissimulation which can deceive the unwary: appearance is not the same as the underlying reality. The appearance of righteousness is not necessarily a reliable indicator of the presence of righteousness. This is why Confucius changed his mind in relation to the indicators of the merit of an individual: ‘I used to take on trust a man’s deeds after having listened to his words. Now having listened to a man’s words I go on to observe his deeds’(5, 10). At the same time it is important to distinguish between what is said and the one who says it. Confucius would not recommend someone ‘on account of what he says’, but at the same time he would not ‘dismiss what is said on account of the speaker’ (15, 23). In other words he was well aware that there is a clear distinction between the truth or worth of what is uttered and the reliability, character or purpose of the one who utters it. A dissembler may well utter honourable sentiments but that does not



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mean that his intentions are honourable. Neither should his character cast doubt upon the sentiment. ‘A man of virtue is sure to be the author of memorable sayings, but the author of memorable sayings is not necessarily virtuous’ (14, 4). The person and the utterance must each be evaluated on its own appropriate merits. Even persons of inferior birth or status may well express worthwhile ideas regarding matters with which they are concerned. Their social status is not a reason for ignoring what they have to say any more than it is a reason for accepting what one of superior social status has to say. Words and Deeds Yet for the Confucian gentleman words and actions are inseparable; he must be exceedingly careful and honest in his speech: ‘The gentleman,’ Confucius warns, ‘is ashamed of his word out-stripping his deed’ (14, 27). The language central to Confucius’ teaching is a ‘performative’ language. The performative relation between ideas and action, between theory and practice, is not optional. Language is performative in the sense that for the gentleman ‘saying requires the enactment of what is said in order to be true’.8 There can be nothing careless or negligent in his speech. A crucial element in this is the notion of ‘realizing’ in the sense of ‘making real’.9 The gentleman’s concern is to bring into focus ‘one possible future’ rather than hypothesizing about alternative realities.10 His utterances are not argumentative or speculative but promissory: they should be accurate predictions of his actions. ‘Having listened to a man’s words I go on to observe his deeds’(5, 10). The deeds are proof of the sincerity of the words. It is through turning his words into actions that the gentleman ‘realizes’ himself, makes his potential a reality, fulfils the promise contained in his words. The gentleman therefore must be ‘quick in action but cautious in speech’(1, 14). He should always ensure that his words do not outstrip his capacity to put them into practice: the words of the gentleman are like promissory notes, to be redeemed in the actions that fulfil them. Part of the problem with the small man or the ‘village worthy’ is that his words and his actions are disconnected: he may, as it were ‘talk the talk’ but he does not ‘walk the walk’ of putting his high-flown words into effect; the true gentleman, on the other hand, is ashamed to let his words outrun his capacity to act on them, to put them into effect. As Confucius remarked, ‘Claims [to benevolence or goodness] made immodestly are difficult to live up to’ (14, 20). This is why the gentleman is ‘loath to speak’. Confucius explains that men ‘in antiquity’ (by which he meant the Sage Kings and the men of

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the Eastern Zhou) were loath to speak ‘because they counted it shameful if their person failed to keep up with their words’ (4, 22). The boastfulness involved in talking beyond one’s capacity to put one’s words into effect does not fit with the humility and authenticity required of the gentleman. When asked by a disciple about benevolence, Confucius’ reply was laconic: ‘The mark of the benevolent man,’ he said, ‘is that he is loath to speak.’ He explained, ‘When to act is difficult, is it any wonder that one is loath to speak?’ (12, 3). The principal point here is that Confucius is not prepared to acknowledge the status of gentleman to anyone who is merely glib: smooth talk is not a guarantee of righteousness. He is more inclined towards the view of another great reformer who said of those who pretended to be what they were not, ‘Ye shall know them by their fruits.’11 ‘The gentleman is judged wise by a single word he utters,’ said Tzu-kung. ‘Equally, he is judged foolish by a single word he utters. That is why one really must be careful of what one says’ (19, 25). The gentleman’s speech must be appropriate to the context in which it is uttered. This is the importance of the conclusion of the verse about the rectification of names: ‘Thus when the gentleman names something, the name is sure to be usable in speech, and when he says something this is sure to be practicable. The thing about the gentleman is that he is anything but casual where speech is concerned’ (13, 3). The gentleman only uses language that is appropriate to a given situation and only suggests courses of action that it would be proper to carry out. In other words, something spoken of must be carried into effect, the gentleman must make good on his word. Exemplary Behaviour The example of the gentleman is of crucial importance in the governance of a state. ‘When the gentleman feels profound affection for his parents or his kinsfolk, the common people will be stirred to benevolence. When he does not forget friends of long standing, the common people will not shirk their obligations to other people’ (8, 2). Somehow, it is never made clear how, the example of the gentleman will have a profound effect on those around him. The virtue involved is ‘charismatic virtue’.12 The gentleman who has developed ‘charismatic virtue’ will have an effect far beyond his immediate family and kinship group. ‘The virtue of the gentleman is like wind,’ Confucius says elsewhere. ‘Let the wind blow over the grass and it is sure to bend’ (12, 19). The grass of course being the common people, the min13 following the example of the gentleman. But the metaphor is of an irresistible force, for when the



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wind blows the grass ‘cannot choose but bend’!14 In the Confucian universe the common people ‘are portrayed as childlike and easily influenced by their superiors’15 but it is not necessary to accept such a view to realize that people will follow the example of admired, even revered, leaders. It is not too distant from contemporary experience to see that the example of prominent cultural and political figures provides inspiration for the behaviour of others. Indeed we expect even our cultural and sporting icons, as well as our political and religious leaders, to behave in a manner appropriate to their status as such exemplary figures. The influence is not necessarily coercive: the wind ‘is informing, not coercing, and the grass is receptive, not submissive’.16

The ‘Village Worthy’ and The Small Man The Confucian gentleman is ‘straight by nature and fond of what is right, sensitive to other people’s words and observant of the expression on their faces, and always mindful of being modest’ (12, 20). This combination of honesty, righteousness, sensitivity and modesty is the essence of the gentleman.17 In this passage Confucius is contrasting the true gentleman with the pretender who is more concerned with reputation than with moral substance: a man who has ‘no misgivings about his own claim to benevolence when all he is doing is putting up a façade of benevolence which is belied by his deeds’ (12, 20). These were men whose support of the status quo served to endorse it and to promote their own self-interest. They paraded themselves as moral exemplars without the substance of true morality. In other words men who were not genuine, whose behaviour rather than being authentic was simply intended to persuade people to believe that they were something that they were not. The village worthy is a fraud, his appearance is counterfeit, attempting to win the reputation (and its attendant benefits) of the genuine gentleman. This is why the village worthy is dismissed by Confucius as the ‘thief of virtue’ (17, 13). Confucius advises a disciple, Tzu-hsia, to be ‘a gentleman ju, not a petty ju’. The ju is a specialist concerned with transmitting the rites and literature of the Zhou. The word ‘probably referred to men for whom the qualities of the scholar were more important than those of the warrior’.18 Confucius’ intention is that Tzu-hsia should devote himself to clarifying the Way for others rather than concentrate on making a name for himself: the gentleman ju is dedicated to the Way, the ‘petty ju’, like the village worthy, will be content with the semblance of righteousness in order to enjoy its social and material benefits. He presents himself as a model of virtue for the common people (his self-regard reinforced by their admiration) and by doing so in a

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fraudulent way blocks their access to true virtue (hence he is the ‘thief of virtue’). It is not in the regard of the common people that the gentleman finds his affirmation but in his own conviction of his righteousness. The Analects consistently stresses and contrasts the difference between the gentleman and the ‘small man’. The small man is one who does not give priority to moral considerations. When he acts it is primarily in the way that serves his own interests. The small man is used in the Analects as a counterpoint to the virtues of the gentleman: whatever the gentleman is, the small man is not. The small man’s motivation is profit rather than morality (4, 16) while the gentleman ‘helps others to realize what is good in them [and] does not help them to realize what is bad in them. The small man does the opposite’ (12, 16). In what is perhaps the oldest literary reference to the ‘yes-man’ Confucius tells us that whereas the gentleman ‘agrees with others without being an echo, the small man echoes without being in agreement’ (13, 23). The gentleman is ‘easy of mind’ and ‘at ease without being arrogant’, while the small man is ‘always full of anxiety’ and ‘arrogant without being at ease’ (7, 37; 13, 26). Part of the gentleman’s ease of mind is that what he seeks ‘he seeks within himself’, whereas what the small man seeks, ‘he seeks in others’ (15, 21). Self-examination is a constant concern and practice for the gentleman: ‘Every day,’ said Tseng Tzu, ‘I examine myself on three counts’ (1, 4).19 Even when the gentleman meets someone who is not as good as he is, he should ‘look within and examine [his] own self’ (4, 17). The small man on the contrary is likely to find fault with others, not with himself; he lacks the humility of self-awareness that characterizes the gentleman. The difference between the two is especially pointed in the way they relate to subordinates. The service of the gentleman is easy, we are told, but he is ‘difficult to please’. This is because he will only be ‘by pleased by following the Way’. The gentleman will employ only people who have demonstrated righteousness and proper behaviour. In addition he will assign duties to people in proportion to their abilities, he will not have unrealistic expectations. By contrast the small man ‘is difficult to serve but easy to please’. The perfection he requires is not moral perfection but perfect compliance with his self-serving wishes. He will be pleased ‘even though you try to please him by not following the Way’, by not complying with what is proper. At the same time when he employs others, ‘he demands all-round perfection’, rather than being satisfied with the best that they can contribute within the limits of their abilities (13, 25). ‘The gentleman,’ said Confucius, ‘is at ease without being arrogant;’ he is secure in his self-estimation and does not require to be affirmed by the subservience of others. The small man, on the other hand, ‘is arrogant without being at ease’ (13, 26). He is constantly looking for affirmation of his own



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self-estimation from others. The gentleman is meticulous and demanding in his self-evaluation but the small man is exacting in his evaluation of others. This is why the small man ‘is always full of anxiety’ whereas the gentleman is ‘easy of mind’ (7, 35). For the gentleman can rest assured in the conviction of his own righteousness whereas the small man, because he is not righteous, always craves the good opinion of others. The supreme virtue of the gentleman is morality rather than courage. If he is ‘possessed of courage but devoid of morality’ the gentleman will be troublesome; the small man who is courageous but has no sense of morality ‘will be a brigand’ (17, 23). For both of them, however, morality or righteousness is the curb on the excesses of other virtues.

The Virtues of the Gentleman Confucius identified three things definitive of the gentleman, ‘none of which I have succeeded in following’ he added with characteristic selfdisparagement. The gentleman is benevolent so he ‘never worries’, he is wise so he is ‘never in two minds’, he is courageous so he is ‘never afraid’. One of the disciples responded that what ‘the Master has just quoted is a description of himself’(14, 28). Confucius’ self-deprecation is found throughout the Analects. ‘In unstinted effort,’ Confucius said on another occasion, ‘I can compare with others, but in being a practising gentleman I have had, as yet, no success’ (7, 35). Confucius’ denial that he himself had ever succeeded in mastering the goodness and detachment necessary to be a gentleman is both an expression of modesty and a lesson in humility; it is also a very clear warning to his disciples regarding the danger of their speech outstripping their ability to put it into practice: claims are easy to make but difficult to accomplish. Whatever task he is given, from the microcosm of the household to the macrocosm of the state, the gentleman will not be deflected from the proper fulfilment of the task ‘even in moments of crisis’ (8, 6). This is because the gentleman ‘cultivates himself’, that is, he submits to the requirements of ritual in carrying out his tasks. As a ruler he ‘cultivates himself and thereby achieves reverence ... brings peace and security to his fellow [gentle]men ... brings peace and security to the [common] people’. The ideal of communal harmony is at the centre of Confucian philosophy. The ruler cultivates the social and political harmony necessary for the proper functioning of society at all levels. This is the ultimate achievement for the gentleman ruler for ‘Yao and Shun would have found the task of bringing

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peace and security to the people taxing’ (14, 40). He leads by example: as he has cultivated himself to fulfil the duties of his allotted role he encourages others, fellow gentlemen and the common people, to cultivate themselves to fulfil theirs. The gentleman ‘helps others to take their stand in so far as he himself wishes to take his stand, and gets others there in so far as he himself wishes to get there’ (6, 30). By cultivating himself, taking his stand on virtue and the rites, the gentleman shows others the way to their full self-realization. ‘The gentleman has morality as his basic stuff,’ Confucius said. The ‘basic stuff’ to which he refers is not some kind of innate trait or capacity: it is the mastery of appropriate conduct which has been learned. This appropriate conduct is put into practice by ‘observing the rites’. The gentleman ‘being modest gives it expression’, and by living up to his words ‘brings it to completion. Such,’ Confucius concludes, ‘is a gentleman indeed!’ (15, 18). The Analects is quite explicit regarding the dislikes of the gentleman. In Confucius’ case these dislikes are primarily of people who lack balance in their relations to others: ‘those who proclaim the evil in others ... those who slander their superiors’, but also includes those who fall short in their pursuit of the Way: those who, while courageous, ‘lack the spirit of the rites ... those whose resoluteness is not tempered by understanding ...’. Tzu-kung adds to Confucius’ list by including those in whom ‘plagiarizing passes for wisdom ... in whom insolence passes for courage ... in whom exposure of others passes for forthrightness’ (17, 24). Tzu-kung’s contribution repeats the disdain which the gentleman feels for what is not genuine. Wisdom, courage and honesty are central characteristics of the gentleman and their counterfeiting, like false currency, undermines the values themselves and misleads the common people.

Ren and Harmony ‘The gentleman agrees with others without being an echo.’ The gentleman is not a yes-man nor is he, despite his commitment to ritual, a martinet in the sense of one who insists on an inflexible adherence to the minutiae of forms and procedures. Confucius did not suppose that it was possible to achieve conformity of thought, much less unity of purpose, simply by imposing contrary views on those with whom he did not agree.20 His aim was harmony, not uniformity. Harmony is the link between the aesthetic and the socio-political: the Confucian gentleman strives to bring contrary or conflicting views together, not by forcing the imposition of one on the other



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but by rendering each in a manner which is compatible with the other. This was more than our conventional notion of ‘compromise’ whereby differences are settled by mutual concessions. Confucian harmony has been likened to ‘attuning’, which is defined as ‘the combining and blending of two or more ingredients in a harmonious whole with benefit and enhancement that maximizes the possibilities of all without sacrificing their separate and particular identities’.21 Think of the performance of an orchestral piece or the preparation of a complex recipe: ideally neither the individual instruments nor the individual ingredients lose their identities by becoming involved with the others: the bassoons or the peppers are still identifiable while contributing in their own characteristic way to the intermingling of sounds or flavours which is greater than the additive value of the individual components. The good conductor or chef retains the individual uniqueness of each component while at the same time combining them in terms of their best features.22 Ren (‘benevolence’, ‘humaneness’) is based upon harmony with other people, in the family, the community, or the state. The practice of ren is the lynchpin of Confucian ethics. It is based upon the immediacy of empathy rather than on objective principles of morality. The purpose of the individual development of the gentleman is to enhance his spontaneous moral and humane responses to events and human situations. His responses should be intuitive, guided by an aesthetic sense, by the needs of harmony, rather than by rational reflection. When Confucius declared that there was ‘one single thread binding my way together’, a disciple explained that Confucius’ Way consists in ‘doing one’s best and in using oneself as a measure to gauge others’(4, 15). The first component of ren is chung, doing one’s best. The second is shu, ‘using oneself as a measure to gauge others’. The latter is Confucius’ version of the Golden Rule. He makes this explicit when he is asked if there is a single word which can provide a lifelong guide to conduct. ‘It is perhaps the word “shu”,’ he replied. ‘Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire’ (15, 24). On another occasion when asked about benevolence he used the same formulation: ‘Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire’ (12, 2).23 Between them these two principles of action, chung and shu, provide a complete, if brief, summary of the practicalities of the Way. Shu is the means of assessing what is best for others. The gentleman uses himself as the pattern for what is appropriate: ‘a benevolent man helps others to take their stand in so far as he himself wishes to take his stand, and gets others there in so far as he himself wishes to get there’(6, 30). This is not a recipe for uniformity, for the Way is pursued by each unique individual for himself albeit within the constraints

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of the received culture. But these constraints are not totally deterministic; as circumstances change they provide the context within which the autonomous individual can realize herself. What Confucius is suggesting is that insofar as the gentleman has progressed in his own cultivation he should use himself as a model of what is appropriate for others. ‘The ability to take as analogy what is near at hand,’ he explains, ‘can be called the method of benevolence’(6, 30). What is ‘near at hand’ is the gentleman himself. Shu requires an act of moral imagination which involves the capacity to put oneself in the place of another, of experiencing the world from the other’s point of view. The key is flexibility: it should not be the gentleman’s intention to impose a fixed legalistic point of view on individuals or situations. Each response must be sensitive to the needs of the present: ‘I so detest inflexibility,’ Confucius said (14, 32). In an alternative interpretation, given that the self of the person of ren ‘is essentially embedded in his relations with his family members’, Jiyuan Yu suggests that the ‘single thread’ means that ‘one should do one’s best to deal with others as one deals with one’s parents and brothers’. The ‘single thread’ shows how filial love can be extended outward from the intimacy of the family to society at large; it is a way of cultivating virtue. When Confucius says that ‘The ability to take as analogy what is near at hand can be called the method of benevolence’(6, 30), he is referring to parents and brothers who are certainly closest to a person in terms of interpersonal behaviour. Using them as the template for deciding how one should or should not behave in dealing with others ‘is the art of acquiring virtue’.24 Confucian ethical training, then, requires that we treat others as we ought to treat our parents, brothers or sisters.

The Gentleman and Culture Confucius believed that the restoration of Zhou culture was his Heavenappointed mission: when he was under threat in K’uang he declared ‘With King Wen dead, is not culture invested here in me? If Heaven intends culture to be destroyed those who come after me will not be able to have any part of it’ (9, 5). A full understanding of this mission requires that we take account not just of his ethical ideas but also of the irreducible aesthetic dimension of his conception of the gentleman. The gentleman, no matter how successful, is more than ‘a rigid moralist, a fastidious observer of li (ritual)’.25 Enjoyment of the arts is essential. In general, ren is interpreted primarily as an ethical



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term, but it is not exclusively so. We can see throughout the Analects that Confucius’ interests were not confined to ethical or political matters. He took great pleasure in poetry and music, and not just as an adjunct of his political and ethical concerns. In describing his own character, for example, he tells us that ‘I set my heart on the Way, base myself on virtue, lean upon benevolence for support and take my recreation in the arts’ (7, 6). But the aesthetic is not just a matter of recreation in the narrow sense of diversion or amusement. The small man and the village worthy lack the appreciation of the aesthetic dimension of ren. For them morality, benevolence, is a means towards an end (usually their own self-interest) and will be evaluated pragmatically in terms of ‘pay-off’. Because he has an additional aesthetic appreciation of benevolence, the gentleman takes delight in ren. He is ‘awake to the beauty of ren, while the [small man] is not’.26 The experience of goodness is not just an ethical experience, it is also an aesthetic experience: the good is beautiful, but the beautiful is not necessarily good! While the ethical and the aesthetic often coincide, they do not do so necessarily. The music of the time of King Shun ‘was both perfectly beautiful and perfectly good’. The music of King Wu ‘was perfectly beautiful but not perfectly good’ (3, 25). The gentleman is constantly aware of the beauty in human experience and ‘accordingly takes pleasure in every expression of the human spirit’.27 When Confucius insisted that his son and students study the Odes it was as a necessary element in their aesthetic education, awakening them to human sentiments in human contexts. It is worth repeating that Confucius had no interest in abstract matters of ethical theory: all morality is embodied in familial and communal relations; ren is centrally concerned with interpersonal relations within the family, the community and the state. The aspirant gentleman should not just know about humane behaviour, he should delight in it: be ‘stimulated by the Odes, take [his] stand on the rites and be perfected by music’ (8, 8). There is an irreducible aesthetic dimension to moral perfection. Confucius’ purpose is to arouse humaneness in the disciples so that they will not just know about ren but will delight in it.28 Without this awakening to humaneness the learner will never be more than a small man who, although he may be proficient in ritual subjects and punctilious in his moral behaviour, will still be no more than a functionary. ‘Culture was what Confucius taught; indeed, his was humanistic education par excellence.’29 And morality was an indispensable component of this culture. His preference for a cultured life is shown when he challenges four disciples to declare their choice of life. The first three declare their preference in terms of political success or proper attendance at the rituals. The fourth,

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Tseng Hsi (Tien), who has been playing his lute while the others were speaking, stops and declares, ‘In late spring, after the spring clothes have been newly made, I should like, together with five or six adults and six or seven boys, to go bathing in the River Yi and enjoy the breeze on the Rain Altar, and then to go home chanting poetry’ (11, 26). When he had expressed his wish Confucius sighed and said, ‘I am all in favour of Tien.’ Tseng Hsi’s wish, quite different from the others’, is the preference of a poet, an aesthete even, not of a man primarily concerned with the call of politics, business or ceremony. It is a dream of aesthetic joy or spiritual fulfilment and it is the one with which Confucius concurs as nearest to his own heart. Beyond the necessities of government or ceremony there is the life of the cultured human being to be enjoyed. Life is for living!

Notes Waley, A. (trans.), The Analects of Confucius, New York: Vintage Books, 1989, p. 34. Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. Raymond Dawson, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993, p. xviii.  3 Confucius, The Analects, trans. and intro. D. C Lau, London: Penguin Books, 1979, p. 14.  4 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, New York: Random House, 1998, n. 31, p. 233.  5 Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 191.  6 Confucius, Analects with selections from traditional commentaries, trans. Edward Slingerland, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2003, p. 89.  7 Slingerland, p. 34.  8 Hall and Ames, p. 123; Fingarette, Herbert, Confucius: the Secular as Sacred, Illinois: Waveland Press Inc., 1998, pp. 11–15.  9 Hall and Ames, p. 50. 10 Hall and Ames, p. 55. 11 Matthew 7:15. 12 Slingerland, p. 78. 13 ‘This term is commonly used to refer to the governed. They are almost always depicted as the passive recipients of commands, employment, benefits, instruction, etc. When they are depicted as active, it is only in response to such initiatives by the rulers’ (Dawson, p. xx). 14 Waley’s translation. 15 Slingerland, p. 134. 16 Hall and Ames, p. 169. 17 ‘Essence’ is not meant to suggest that there is some kind of Platonic ideal to which the gentleman conforms but that without these characteristics an individual cannot properly be regarded as a gentleman.  1  2



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Lau, f/n p. 83. Cf. 144, 150. 20 This in fact was the practice of the Legalists who dominated Chinese political philosophy under the first real Chinese Emperor, Qin Shi Huang, who unified China in 221 bce. 21 Ames and Rosemont, p. 166. 22 The current Chinese Communist Party has substituted the Confucian notion of the Harmonious Society for references to Communism to secure China’s stability and prosperity. Žižek, Slavoj ‘Can you give my son a job?’, London Review of Books, 32, Oct. 2010, pp. 20–1. 23 Those from a Christian tradition are more accustomed to the Christian positive formulation found in Matthew 7:12, ‘Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets’, and Luke 6:31, ‘And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.’ 24 Jiyuan Yu, ‘Virtue: Confucius and Aristotle’, Philosophy East and West, 48, 2, 323–7. 25 Ha Poong Kim, ‘Confucius’s Aesthetic Concept of Noble Man: Beyond Moralism’, Asian Philosophy, 16, 2, 2006, 111–21. 26 Ha Poong Kim, 113. 27 Ha Poong Kim, 113. 28 Ha Poong Kim, 114. 29 Ha Poong Kim, 115. 18 19

Chapter 9

Confucianism and the Modern Age

‘The gentleman is reverent and does nothing amiss, is respectful towards others and observant of the rites, and all within the Four Seas are his brothers.’ (The Analects, 12, 4)

By way of suggesting that the analysis of the gentleman found in the Analects is not altogether alien (yet cognisant of the danger of imposing a modern European interpretation on Confucius) it might be informative, not to say enlightening, to consider examples nearer to home in time and space.

Austen’s Knightley All of Jane Austen’s novels deal with ‘manners’ in the broad sense that we have seen in Confucius’ notions of propriety and ritual. They are replete with ‘gentlemen’ who in some (even many) respects do not conform to the ideal gentleman of her imagination. In Emma, in the character of the aptly named Mr Knightley, she presents an idealized characterization of the gentleman which is largely reformative and backward looking. The novel is set in the rural England of the late eighteenth century. It depicts a hierarchical society in which it is assumed without question that the upper classes are responsible for the welfare of the lower and that the latter have little function other than the support of the former. The epitome of the gentleman in this society is to be found in the character of George Knightley, a ‘sensible man’ of ‘cheerful manner’1 who is deeply conscious of his responsibilities as the squire of Highbury and always sensitive and considerate in his dealings with others. As his name suggests, he combines the traditional knightly virtues of courage, chivalry and honour. In Austen’s depiction of Knightley it is difficult to find any trace of her trademark irony.

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By contrast, Mr Elton, the parson, plays the part of the ‘village worthy’ who acts according to his limited conception of the conventional norms of behaviour, but only out of consideration of his own advantage. In so doing he subverts the very values which sustain his status, and the status of the institution he represents, within the Highbury community. Knightley dismisses him as knowing ‘the value of a good income’, and as one who may ‘talk sentimentally, but … act rationally’.2 However, only those of educated discernment can tell the difference between the two. Emma’s protégée Harriet Smith cannot: ‘the very handsomest man that ever was’, she says of Mr. Elton, ‘and a man that every body looks up to, quite like Mr. Knightley!’.3 Initially Emma holds the same opinion. However, Elton proves himself, in many respects, the very antithesis of what Emma had believed him to be; he proves to be ‘proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others’.4 Knightley is acutely aware of the consideration due to others, whether such consideration is based on social station ( the hypochondriac Mr Woodhouse), genteel origins (the impoverished Bateses) or character (his tenant Robert Martin). In his behaviour he has regard to the rites, the social manners appropriate in one’s dealings with others which reflects their needs and situation. He is dismissive of Emma’s promotion of Harriet Smith especially when he learns of her refusal of Robert Martin’s proposal of marriage since Miss Smith has neither birth, means or breeding to justify such choosiness. Knightley concedes only that Harriet is pretty and good tempered, no more. As against that Robert Martin’s ‘manners have sense, sincerity, and good-humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could understand’.5 The judgement is in respect of character as long as circumstances of birth are comparable! Knightley might nowadays be dismissed as a snob, but he is a man who embodies the qualities of the masculine ideal of Jane Austen’s time and circumstances. He is not a snob: his problem is not with Harriet, it is with Emma who, in promoting Harriet Smith above her social station, is not ‘taking her stand’ and realizing her true self in the context of her cultural tradition: in promoting Harriet in the way she does she is demeaning herself. Knightley would never have spoken to Harriet herself in the dismissive terms that he used to describe her to Emma; the gentleman does not cause unnecessary pain. Knightley’s ire is directed at Emma herself; it was her flawed judgement which caused Harriet’s refusal and Robert Martin’s consequent disappointment and embarrassment. ‘[Knightley] felt the disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had given.’6 One is reminded of the Confucian saying



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that ‘The gentleman can be ‘deceived, but cannot be duped’ (6, 26); he is prepared to give credence once, but he cannot be entrapped. As the English proverb might say, ‘Once bitten, twice shy.’ The true source of the pain inflicted is Emma (who should have known better), not Harriet. Indeed when the occasion arises, Knightley, with true knightly chivalry, rescues Harriet from a mortifying social situation by inviting her to dance with him, indifferent to the social perceptions or judgements of the ‘quality’ of the neighbourhood, especially the ‘small’ Eltons.7 Although he is the squire of Donwell Abbey, Knightley is not especially wealthy but he is always prepared to be generous without ostentation. The novel is replete with examples which bear out Emma’s judgement that there is ‘no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do … any thing really goodnatured, useful, considerate, or benevolent’.8 The true Confucian nature of the Austenian ideal of the gentleman is revealed following the ‘Box Hill Incident’.9 At a long-anticipated picnic at Box Hill, Emma thoughtlessly hurts the garrulous but inoffensive Miss Bates, a woman of genteel birth who has been reduced to straitened circumstances. At the first opportunity she is admonished by Knightley who reminds her of the duty and compassion owed to ‘a woman of [Miss Bates’] character, age, and situation’. Far from being a figure of fun, Miss Bates, because of her reduced circumstances, ‘should secure your compassion’. Emma attempts to defend her behaviour but realizes the justice of Knightley’s reproof. Knightley’s reprimand comes from his knowledge of rightness (yi, a cultivated sense of what is right and morally proper) and a well-developed moral sense (shu, the Golden Rule). For him ‘good manners’ is not something superficial; it is the necessary form (li) of the expression of consideration for others. This is Confucian shu, using one’s own feelings and experience as a measure to gauge the feelings and experience of others; ‘Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire’ (15, 24). ‘Good manners’ or ‘politeness’ is not something optional which may be added to our interactions with others: it ought to be the stuff of the interaction itself. Knightley is presented as a model of moral probity and authority not just because of his genteel birth or because he is a landowner but because he embodies a commanding moral authority, a sense of consideration for others, and a true sense of the rightness and wrongness of actions. When he speaks it is with propriety; when he acts it is with propriety. Knightley is close to the Confucian ideal in that he is morally cultivated: he participates in the correct performance of ritual (i.e. his behaviour towards others on social occasions is proper); he shows filial piety (his behaviour to his brother and

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his family, his treatment of older people and social inferiors); he is true to his word and he manifests a developed sense of consideration for the needs and feelings of others (humaneness). He contributes meaning and value to his community in a manner which is essentially disinterested. He does not defend Miss Bates because it will raise his reputation in others’ opinion – in fact he risks losing the friendship of Emma by his intervention. By taking his stand in relation to Emma’s treatment of Miss Bates he helps Emma to take her stand: by being mindful of her words Emma will realize her ‘better self’. Knightley’s character is in stark contrast to another of Miss Austen’s gentleman heroes, Mr Darcy of Pride and Prejudice. In terms of nobility of birth and significance of wealth Darcy is surely the superior gentleman. Yet in terms of humane sensibility and moral authority Knightley is clearly the more gentlemanly of the two. Despite his considerable wealth and nobility of birth Darcy is a negligent, disagreeable boor. Knightley, however, takes his social position seriously: he has a well-developed sense of noblesse oblige which informs his every interaction with his family, friends and neighbours. He inhabits a position of natural leadership which is accepted by others not just because of his birth and situation but because he behaves benevolently and authoritatively without self-aggrandizement. His interest in others is an interest in their well-being and in the good relationships necessary for a secure community. Now of course in the world of Jane Austen Knightley’s birth and inherited social status was of crucial importance but she is at pains to show that without the cultivated manners of the gentleman birth is insufficient: in her view gentlemen are born and made.

Newman’s Gentleman By the beginning of the nineteenth century, ‘gentleman’ was a contested concept. There was no longer an unquestioning acceptance that only those of genteel birth were capable of the kinds of behaviour traditionally expected of the ‘born’ gentleman. New money and new political and social influence had undermined the presumption of the nobility’s right to rule. The nouveau riche of the industrial revolution and the newly emancipated bourgeoisie who formed the emerging managerial class were asserting their right to a social status which reflected their economic and political power: they should be recognized as gentlemen too. When John Henry Newman addressed the recently emancipated Catholic bourgeoisie of Dublin he could present them with an ideal of gentlemanliness which had less to do with circumstances of birth than with cultivated moral dispositions and education.



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Despite the fact that he was in Dublin to promote the idea of a Catholic University, Newman’s comments on the concept of the gentleman were primarily of a secular nature; he described his task as an exercise in the ‘ethics of philosophy’. The ‘gentleman’ of whom he speaks, he tells us, ‘is the creation, not of Christianity, but of civilization’.10 While the context of his remarks was an analysis of the nature of a Catholic University, he acknowledged that the liberal education he was outlining ‘makes not the Christian, not the Catholic, but the gentleman’. The gentleman will be a person of ‘cultivated intellect, a delicate taste, a candid, equitable, dispassionate mind, a noble and courteous bearing in the conduct of life; – these are the connatural qualities of a large knowledge; they are the objects of a University ...’.11 Newman’s conceptualization was theoretical – he wished, as any good educator would, to sketch out the ideal graduate of his proposed university education as an objective and as a standard. This ideal graduate would be, first and foremost, a gentleman. It is important to realize that Newman was not speaking (any more than Confucius was) of the education of a (preexisting) gentleman but of the education which would produce a gentleman: how a liberal university education can provide the cultivation required for the formation of the true gentleman. A university is a place of universal learning, ‘a place for the communication and circulation of thought, by means of personal intercourse’.12 A true education requires the authentic living voice of the teacher, the professor. Books and other means of dissemination of knowledge are necessary but not sufficient. Becoming thoroughly versed in any area of expertise and scholarship requires that we ‘consult the living man and listen to his living voice’. Only the personal contact with a living practitioner can vivify learning, only ‘those in whom it lives already’ can bring it to life in the learner. The need for a living exemplar of the practice was no less important for Newman than it was for Confucius. Neither was aiming for someone who merely ‘possessed’ information. Without someone to bring information to life, both in the sense of vivifying it and of investing our lives with it, in an appropriate context it is inert, of value only to quiz show contestants and pedants. What is needed is information vivified as knowledge, how the information comes to life in an appropriate context, what it means. Only those who are proficient in the relevant field (Confucius himself in relation to the rites, the professor in relation to the information/knowledge available in higher education) can introduce the neophyte to the true value of the relevant field. From an initial declaration that ‘it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain’,13 Newman goes on to list the qualities which will be the hallmarks of his gentleman: kindness, compassion, generosity,

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modesty and prudence. (The gentleman ‘observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend’.14) In addition he is ‘patient, forbearing, and resigned, on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is his destiny’.15 Even if he is an unbeliever he is neither dogmatic nor disrespectful of the beliefs of others and his belief is ‘one of imagination and sentiment; it is the embodiment of those ideas of the sublime, majestic, and beautiful, without which there can be no large philosophy’.16 The gentleman, in sum, is a person of ‘cultivated intellect, a delicate taste, a candid, equitable, dispassionate mind, a noble and courteous bearing in the conduct of life’.17 Newman advocated a liberal education as the most appropriate for the cultivation of the gentleman. Even though students may be required to concentrate on a few chosen subjects, efforts must be made to avoid narrowness by keeping the student conscious of the breadth and depth of knowledge as a whole. The gentleman ‘is not a vessel’ (2, 12) and it is not necessary that he should master any particular skill, trade or profession. What creates the gentleman is a habit of mind, ‘a philosophical habit’, which will continue throughout his life. The attributes of this ‘philosophical habit’ are ‘freedom, equitableness, calmness, moderation, and wisdom’.18 This habit of mind is acquired through training which ensures that the intellect is not subordinated to some particular or marginal purpose, that it is not enslaved by the particular outlook of a specific view or attitude such as a specific trade or profession, a particular study or branch of knowledge. On the contrary the mind is ‘disciplined for its own sake, for the perception of its own proper object, and for its own highest culture’.19 Newman is not concerned with the commercial or material utility of knowledge. On the contrary, liberal education ‘is simply the cultivation of the intellect … its object is nothing more or less than intellectual excellence’. The purpose of liberal education is to open the mind, to correct it, to refine it, to enable it to know, and to digest, master, rule, and use its knowledge, to give it power over its own faculties, application, flexibility, method, critical exactness, sagacity, resource, address, eloquent expression, is an object as intelligible ... as the cultivation of virtue, while, at the same time, it is absolutely distinct from it.20 The problem is, as Newman points out, that we have no single word in the English language which refers clearly and unambiguously to ‘intellectual proficiency and perfection’. The terms ‘health’ and ‘virtue’ have a fairly



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clear meaning with reference to physical well-being and moral behaviour respectively. When we describe a person as ‘fit’ or ‘healthy’, ‘virtuous’ or ‘good’, there is general acceptance as to the kinds of claim we are making. In addition it is not strange to consider ‘health’ or physical well-being, or ‘goodness’ or moral well-being, as ends in themselves: we consider being healthy, or fit, to be a good thing irrespective of the uses to which the health or fitness might be put. How do we express the same kinds of judgements with reference to the intellectual life of the individual? We have no single word, no ‘recognised term’, to carry the burden of meaning Newman suggests. Confucius did; it was ren which encompassed the notion of becoming truly human, of realizing one’s potential for growth. In the absence of such a term, Newman proposes to refer to ‘the perfection or virtue of the intellect by the name of philosophy, philosophical knowledge, enlargement of mind, or illumination’. Whatever term we agree on, he argues that it is the function of a university to make the development, pursuit and promotion of this intellectual culture its principal objective. Its purpose, its raison d’être, is the education of the intellect, its function is the pursuit and development of intellectual culture. If it succeeds in cultivating such an intellect among its scholars then it has succeeded: ‘it has done its work when it has done as much as this’. The university ‘educates the intellect to reason well in  all matters, to reach out towards truth, and to grasp it’.21 The fundamental principle of Newman’s position is that the cultivation of the intellect is an end which is distinct from all others and which is sufficient in itself irrespective of any practical application it might have. A university should promote the health of the intellect just as a gymnasium promotes the health of the body. Liberal education and the advantages it confers must make a difference to the possessor and to all of those with whom he comes in contact. Newman does not mean a utility in any mechanical, commercial or economic sense. He does not mean a good which can be valued or priced in market or monetary terms. It is a good which is comprehensible nonetheless. The effect of a liberal education must be of advantage to its possessor in that it diffuses a ‘good, or a blessing, or a gift, or power, or a treasure’ to him and then ‘through him to the world’. ‘I say then,’ he concludes, ‘if a liberal education be good, it must necessarily be useful too.’22 Just as the body may be subjected to work which will test strength, stamina and resilience, the intellect will be subjected to the demands of specific professions or sciences. Just as any physical undertaking will require physical health and an appropriate level of fitness (‘as a man in health can do

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what an unhealthy man cannot do’), any intellectual undertaking will presuppose a certain level of intellectual acuity, ‘a general culture of mind’.23 This is the best preparation for any professional or scientific study or undertaking. Newman’s gentleman is not a vessel: like the Confucian gentleman he is an individual who can take the broader view necessary to establish a secure community in which the value of traditional values, while constantly questioned, become the bedrock of social relations.

Conclusion In these egalitarian times we may well be uncomfortable with the idea of the gentleman and its implications of some kind of socially endorsed inequality. We live in an age when the notion of any superiority of birth has been discarded (at least in principle) yet we are surely capable of recognizing the need for inequality in  all kinds of circumstances: we expect our architects, engineers, brain-surgeons, judges and so on to be much more proficient at what they do than members of the general public. We pay our sports stars and entertainers large amounts of money precisely because they surpass the ordinary in their chosen field. Yet in liberal democracies we expect our politicians to be ‘just like us’, ordinary duffers selected by their peers to do extraordinary work! Confucius, Austen and Newman all realized that there was a need for a cadre of cultivated individuals to provide effective cultural and moral leadership. Newman was not disinterested: his gentleman was defined within the context of the new opportunities which Catholic Emancipation offered the Irish Catholic middle classes. The gentleman as defined by both Newman and Confucius had a role as a social and political leader for a new kind of society (Irish Catholic, neo-Zhou) – the qualities required were not random. In Austen’s case she promoted the same kinds of qualities as they might be embodied in the traditional ‘knightly’ gentleman of genteel birth. Like Confucius she longed for the return of a golden age in which those born to rule would rule equitably and justly. The present concern is not with a history of the concept of the ‘gentleman’ as a uniquely social or class distinction, or as a formal title, but acceptable usage, and associated expectations, in relation to social, interpersonal and moral behaviour. In its origins the appellation ‘gentleman’ has connotations of ascendancy, the gentry, the nobility, with an inherited rather than an earned status. The gentleman is deemed to be the male



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issue of a family of higher rank, with a historic pedigree and a coat of arms. A gentleman was a gentleman by birth and circumstance and indeed in cases where the family or personal fortune of the individual in question suffered a setback it was in order to speak of a ‘gentleman of reduced circumstances’ – one might lose the wealth but never the mystical aura of being a ‘cut above others’. This is the gentleman of Jane Austen’s world, a world where the aristocratic tradition is already threatened by the nouveau riche who, successful in trade and speculation, lack the inherited consciousness of obligation to hierarchical society and community which so characterizes Mr Knightley. By the nineteenth century, however, the idea that a gentleman was identifiable not by his means but by his behaviour was becoming established. This did not mean that anyone who manifested the requisite behaviour would be acknowledged as a gentleman, for means and familial status were never far away. This is the context of Newman’s attempt to decouple his conception of ‘gentleman’ from the traditional aristocratic model. The true gentleman (as opposed to the ‘small man’, the ‘village worthy’ and the poseur) provided moral, social and cultural guidance to his community. The gentleman, whether Confucian, Austenian or Victorian, is expected to be morally cultivated, to be meticulous in the performance of his duties, both public and private, to be aware of correct behaviour in all kinds of social and cultural gatherings, to be humane in his dealings with others, to be trustworthy. By the time of Newman’s visit to Dublin the word ‘gentleman’ no longer signified a distinction of birth (genteel). Rather, the appellation was used to denote someone of superior education and refined manner who could enter good society on equal terms, and present as a credible candidate for leadership. As we can see from Newman’s description, he is expected to treat others with delicacy and understanding. However, he is still required, as in the case of Confucius or Knightley, to remind others of their duty, to enable and encourage them to ‘take their stand’.

Notes Austen, Jane, Emma, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998, p. 7. Emma, p. 59.  3 Emma, p. 68.  4 Emma, p. 122.  5 Emma, p. 59.  6 Emma, p. 60.  1  2

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Emma, p. 295. Emma, p. 201.  9 Emma, pp. 331–41. 10 Blehl, Vincent Ferrer (ed.), The Essential Newman, New York: Mentor Books, 1963, p. 197. 11 Newman, John Henry, The Idea of a University Defined and Illustrated: In Nine Discourses Delivered to the Catholics of Dublin, Discourse 5, p. 121. http://www.­ gutenberg.org/etext/24526, Accessed 19 April 2011. 12 The Essential Newman, pp. 160–1. 13 The Essential Newman, p. 201. 14 The Essential Newman, pp. 201–2. 15 The Essential Newman, p. 202. 16 The Essential Newman, p. 202. 17 The Idea of a University, Discourse 5, p. 121. 18 The Essential Newman, p. 180. 19 The Essential Newman, p. 191. 20 The Essential Newman, p. 181. 21 The Essential Newman, p. 182. 22 The Essential Newman, p. 193. 23 The Essential Newman, p. 193.  7  8

Conclusion

‘ The Master said, “‘The gentleman hates not leaving behind a name when he is gone.”’ (The Analects, 15, 20)

Confucius and Confucianism Following his death, Confucius’ disciples promoted his philosophical ideals and their influence was significant in many of the Chinese states. As Confucian idealists secured official positions, his teaching (or versions of it) became widely known and influential. However, before long a fundamental disagreement on the correct interpretation of his ideas appeared. Mencius (372–289) interpreted Confucius’ ideas from the point of view of a belief in the innate goodness of human beings, and Xun Zi (312–230) stressed the need for rigorous moral training to overcome the natural selfishness of individuals. By the third century AD there were eight contending schools of Confucian thought.1 At the same time an alternative philosophy was gaining influence. This was Legalism, which considered filial piety as an expression of self-interest only and not as a mechanism which could be used to create an effective state. The Legalists held that the will of the ruler can prevail only when the people are kept in line through the rigorous imposition of law. In 223 BC the Qin State unified China under the leadership of Ying Zheng (Qin Shi Huang – he of the Great Wall project and the famous terracotta tomb warriors). Qin Shi Huang became China’s first emperor. He was persuaded by his Prime Minister to suppress Confucianism in favour of the Legalist policy of autocratic centralization. Many Confucian scholars were put to death and Confucian books were burned, an incalculable loss to culture and scholarship. Under the succeeding Han dynasty (220 BC–265 AD) Confucian ideas were reintroduced and recovered political influence. Books associated with Confucius (the Four Books and the Five Classics)2 became the centre of

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official philosophy and for the next two millennia were the core of the curriculum for civil service examinations. Whether Confucius would have been pleased by such a development is a matter for speculation. Although he promoted participation in government of those educated in the Way, it is clear that his main emphasis was on the effects of personal transformation and behaviour rather than on the mastery of the minutiae of texts: when he urged his disciples to read the Odes and the Book of Rites it was as a means towards personal refinement rather than for the purposes of academic or social achievement. ‘Men of antiquity studied to improve themselves;’ he said. ‘Men today study to impress others’ (14, 24).

Confucius’ Character Confucius himself claimed to be no more than a traditionalist: ‘I transmit but do not innovate; I am truthful in what I say and devoted to antiquity’ (7, 1). His admiration for the Duke of Zhou was boundless: he believed the Duke to be the well-spring of the goodness and beauty found in the culture and social harmony of antiquity. But neither his admiration of the Duke nor his love of antiquity was simply an uncritical interest in the past. He might be termed a traditionalist or a classicist but this does not mean that he simply advocated reverence for a dead culture. He expressed this reverence in his ‘tremendous respect for the personality of an illustrious man’ as well as in his efforts to revive an exemplary culture. He was a humanist, ‘reverence for humanity, was fundamental in his outlook … in Confucius’ classicism, this reverence for humanity, and the authority of tradition both had equally essential parts to play’.3 He was ever mindful of his responsibilities: ‘To serve high officials when abroad, and my elders when at home, in arranging funerals not to dare to spare myself, and to be able to hold my drink – these are trifles that give me no trouble’ (9, 16). This represents an affirmation of Confucius’ values and a rebuke to those of his contemporaries who ‘though humble, were not willing to serve those who were noble; though young, were not willing to serve those who were elder; and who, moreover, were perfunctory and sloppy in their funeral arrangements and often besotted with wine’.4 Much about Confucius’ life can be seen as such reproach to the loose morals of his contemporaries. He was seriously at odds with the Zeitgeist of his age: he bemoaned the fact that he had no hope of ever meeting a sage or a good man; he would be content to meet someone who was constant though such a person too was a rarity in the benighted age in which ‘it is hard for a man to have constancy who



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claims to have when he is wanting, to be full when he is empty and to be comfortable when he is in straitened circumstances’ (7, 26). He conformed to the rites even when engaged in recreation.5 When fishing he used a line but not a net; when hunting he never shot at roosting birds (7, 27). We are to understand from this that he ‘adhered to traditional standards of sportsmanship … unlike his greedy, unprincipled contemporaries’.6 Hong Xingzu suggests that if Confucius ‘treats animals in this way, we can imagine how he treats people. Since he is like this when it comes to minor matters, we can imagine how he is when it comes to matters of importance.’7 Book Ten of the Analects, which in many ways resembles a manual of ritual practice, is traditionally read as an account of Confucius’ behaviour and presents him as the model gentleman. It emphasizes ‘the ease and grace with which Confucius embodies the spirit of the rites in every aspect of life’.8 If we allow this biographical interpretation of Book Ten it adds greatly to the picture of the persona of Confucius which can be gleaned from the remainder of the Analects. We learn that he adopted a correct form of address for differing circumstances: in his village he was ‘respectful and circumspect’ (10, 1) to avoid putting himself above his neighbours and especially the elders of the village. However, in his public persona, ‘in the ancestral temples or at court’, he was more eloquent though cautious and restrained. His reticence at home reflects reverence for, and deference to, his community elders. In public life, however, he adapted his behaviour and expression to the prevailing situation; he was respectful both to his colleagues and to his superiors. His ritual actions were always correct, precise and graceful (10, 2). Book Ten also provides details of his dress (style, material and colour) for a range of occasions.9 Similarly the details of his dietary practices are given and his constant practice of offering food to the ancestors indicates one who is deeply committed to traditional rituals. He was attentive to the welfare of others, placing their care and safety even before his own property. When his stables caught fire his first concern was for the welfare of people: ‘The Master, on returning from court10, asked, “Was anyone hurt?” He did not ask about the horses’ (10, 17). He was a modest man; he never claimed to be gifted or inspired (although at the same time convinced of his Heaven-set destiny) and was unpretentious in his claims to wisdom or knowledge. He certainly did not count himself among those rare individuals who are born with knowledge; anything he knows he knows because he makes the effort (7, 20). ‘I use my ears widely and follow what is good in what I have heard; I use my eyes widely

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and retain what I have seen in my mind. This constitutes a lower level of knowledge’ (7, 28). As we have seen in his response to Tzu-lu during an illness, he considered his entire life a prayer.11 He was ‘cordial yet stern, awe-inspiring yet not fierce, and respectful yet at ease’ (7, 36).12 He was himself the gentleman who was always ‘easy of mind, while the small man is always full of anxiety’ (7, 35). He was entirely free of four specific faults: arbitrariness, inflexibility, rigidity and selfishness: he ‘refused to entertain conjectures or insist on certainty; he refused to be inflexible or to be egotistical’ (9, 4). Since the Way was his standard, there could be nothing arbitrary about his thought or action. His every effort was bent towards perfecting his life in conformity to the Way. He did not entertain conjectures about matters beyond his knowledge or speculate beyond his experience. His preoccupation was always with the practical and the immediate to the exclusion of the conjectural. He had little tolerance for metaphysical speculation. When a disciple asked how the spirits of the dead and the gods should be served, Confucius replied, ‘You are not able even to serve man. How can you serve the spirits?’ When the disciple responded, ‘May I ask about death?’ Confucius was equally dismissive: ‘You do not understand even life. How can you understand death?’ (11, 12). Spirits and death are secondary to the understanding of people and life. Nor did he claim possession of any arcane knowledge beyond virtuous conduct and concrete knowledge of the here and now. ‘There is nothing which I hide from you,’ he assured his disciples. ‘There is nothing I do which I do not share with you, my friends’ (7, 24). When he was employed, ‘then he put himself forth; if dismissed, he went into seclusion’.13 He was flexible in his conduct because of his conviction that as circumstances change then the manner in which the Way is implemented must be correspondingly adaptable. He was not full of himself (egotistical) despite his abiding belief that he had been chosen by Heaven for his historic mission to restore the classical civilization and culture of the Zhou. This lack of self-importance was reinforced by his acknowledgement of the poverty of his early life: ‘I was of humble station when young. That is why I am skilled in many menial things.’ This was in contrast to status as a gentleman who was not expected to be skilled in technical matters. ‘Should a gentleman be skilled in many things? No, not at all.’ And yet he had no hesitation in describing himself as ‘a Jack of all trades’(9, 6).14 The key is humility; there is a self-deprecation on Confucius’ part in his refusal to disown his impoverished youth and his reluctance to trumpet his later accomplishments. It is not the accumulation of skills or accomplishments



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which is important to the self-definition of the gentleman but the ‘quality of his achievement as a person’.15 Confucius repeatedly denied possessing exceptional qualities. ‘Do I possess knowledge [wisdom]?16 No, I do not. A rustic put a question to me and my mind was a complete blank. I kept hammering at the two sides of the question until I got everything out of it’ (9, 8). It may be that there is a hint here of a Socratic engagement. To be aware of the limits of one’s knowledge is a universal indicator of at least the beginning of wisdom, and to be prepared to ‘hammer away’ at a problem a necessary element in its attainment. A further indication of this humility is his suggestion that he had not been able to achieve any aspect of the Way of the gentleman in the sense that as he said, ‘The Good do not worry, the wise are not confused, and the courageous do not fear.’ A disciple responded, ‘The master has in fact described himself’ (14, 28). Although the striking virtue here is humility it should be borne in mind that for Confucius, goodness, wisdom and courage were not states of being but processes, elements of the journey in the creation of the Way, requiring constant self-renewal, which ends only in death. As a disciple put it, ‘A Gentleman must be strong and resolute, for his burden is heavy and the road is long. He takes benevolence as his burden. Is that not heavy? Only with death does the road come to an end. Is that not long?’ (8, 7). Even though he was often beset by doubts and disappointments regarding his mission, Confucius remained true to his destiny to act as the ‘wooden tongue for a bell’ (3, 24), calling his contemporaries back to the Way of righteousness. Despite his lack of success he was unflagging in his attempts to establish the Way while always remaining humble about his own personal value; he saw himself as an instrument, a servant, not as any kind of millennial figure. ‘There is no one who understands me,’ he complains at one point. ‘If I am understood at all, it is, perhaps, by Heaven’ (14, 33). Although his mission was not recognized or appreciated by the rulers of his time, he consoled himself that in studying the Way in human affairs in order to understand the Mandate of Heaven, he would be understood by Heaven. He practised what he preached; he heeded his own oft repeated warning that a gentleman’s words should never exceed his actions or abilities. He was suspicious of the possibility of linguistic confusion: once he contemplated ‘giving up speech’ since the orderly course of the world will continue even without his efforts. ‘What does Heaven ever say? Yet there are the four seasons going round and there are the hundred things coming into being. What does Heaven ever say?’ (17, 9). He is regretfully suggesting that in the best possible world, just as Heaven rules the natural order without speech,

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so the social order should be ruled without speech by a Sage King. Whenever there is speech there is a danger of misinterpretation, of glibness, of a discrepancy between what is said and what is required.

How Successful was Confucius? In terms of the manner in which he might have defined his own life’s purpose he was not successful at all. He did not succeed in enlisting even one ruler to his project of making a ‘Zhou in the East’. The high culture and the harmonious society which he so revered (‘The Zhou is resplendent in culture … I am for the Zhou’, 3, 14) was certainly not revived during his lifetime. His confidence was not always secure, however. He believed that his commitment to the re-establishment of the Way would coincide with the appearance of a ‘sagely ruler’ who would utilize Confucius’ knowledge and wisdom to inform his rule and bring about the ‘Zhou in the East.’ Such a ruler did not appear to be forthcoming: ‘The Phoenix does not appear,’ Confucius complained, ‘nor does the River offer up its Chart. I am done for’ (9, 9).17 While he himself possessed the virtue of the sage, Confucius was born into the wrong age; there was no contemporary who would put his teachings into the practice of government. His life did not coincide with the appearance of a great Sage King who would use his knowledge of the Way to govern righteously and bring about the Utopian Millennium of which Confucius dreamed. He appears to have been no more successful in achieving his educational aims. We have already seen that Jan Yu and Chi-lu, although noted in the Analects as exemplary in government (11, 3), were subjected to Confucius’ ire because of their role in promoting the attack on Chuan Yu.18 Although they might have been promising statesmen they eventually lost the regard of Confucius who denounced them as mere yes-men who would do anything short of ‘patricide or regicide’ (11, 24). If these indeed were his best students as regards government then it is unlikely that he could claim any signal educational success.

Yen Yuan Confucius’ favourite disciple and most promising student was Yen Yuan (also known as Yen Hui, or just Hui) and he was the one in whom he had invested most hope for the revival of the Way in public life. He is listed in 11, 3 as being notable for virtuous conduct. When he died, Confucius was deeply affected: ‘Alas!’ he cried out, ‘Heaven has bereft me! Heaven has



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bereft me!’ (11, 9). The repetition marks the intensity of Confucius’ grief but also significant is his invocation of Heaven, which is quite unusual.19 One commentator notes that losing Yen Yuan ‘was like losing himself, and the repetition emphasises the depths of the master’s pain and sorrow’.20 Indeed the following verse re-emphasizes the point: Confucius ‘wailed without restraint’. So extreme was his grief that the disciples remonstrated with him, alleging that he was showing ‘undue sorrow’. ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘if any man’s death could justify abandoned wailing, it would surely be this man’s!’ (11, 9).21 On this occasion it appears that sincerity overcame propriety! It may also be noted that his grief at the passing of Yen Yuan was not matched (in the Analects at least) by any comparable measure of grief for his son, Po-yü, who apparently died the same year as Yen Yuan. And yet, extreme as his grief was, he did not disregard the requirements of the rites. He refused a request from Yen Lu, Yen Yuan’s grieving father, for his carriage as Yen Yuan’s coffin enclosure. His own son had not received such an accommodation (11, 8). Neither Po-yü nor Yen Yuan was ritually entitled to such a funerary honour. This was not a matter of indifference on Confucius’ part but of strict compliance with the ritual appropriate to the dead men’s status. However, despite opposition from Confucius regarding its propriety, the disciples arranged a lavish burial for Yen Yuan. This only intensified Confucius’ grief as he watched control of Yen Yuan’s burial being taken by others. ‘Hui treated me as a father,’ he lamented, ‘yet I have been prevented from treating him as a son’ (11, 11). It was not Confucius, Yen Yuan’s spiritual or intellectual father, but his biological, familial, father, Yen Lu, who had the final say in the matter of his burial. Yen Yuan is not the least of the enigmas of the Analects. At face value, as Confucius’ favourite disciple, we should expect that he would embody all of the characteristics of the model gentleman, bringing together accomplished benevolence and a cultivated commitment to ritual. And such it appears as we track through Confucius’ comments regarding this favoured disciple. Confucius was never less than enthusiastic in his praise of the younger man. He was particularly impressed by his tireless application: ‘If anyone can listen to me with unflagging attention, it is Hui I suppose’ (9, 20). This estimation was shared by others. When Confucius asked Tzu-kung whether himself or Yen Yuan was superior, Tzu-kung replied, ‘How dare I compare myself with Hui? When he is told one thing he understands ten. When I am told one thing I understand only two.’ Confucius agreed. ‘You are not as good as he is. Neither of us is as good as he is’ (5, 9). There is the implication that Yen Yuan had at least the capacity to be even greater than

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Confucius himself. Confucius had evidently invested great hopes in Yen Yuan, perhaps even considering him a possible successor. Perhaps this is why he is so disturbed at his death, not because of the loss of the man but because of the loss of the promise that a vigorous pursuit of the Way would continue after Confucius’ own death? Confucius thought that Yen Yuan’s commitment was exemplary in that he could master his thoughts and feelings for a significant time. ‘In his heart for three months at a time [he] does not lapse from benevolence.’ This was in contrast to his fellow disciples who could only do so sporadically: ‘The others attain benevolence merely by fits and starts’ (6, 7). When Confucius was asked by Chi K’ang Tzu (Senior Minister in Lu) which of his disciples was eager to learn, he replied, ‘There was one Yen Hui who was eager to learn but his allotted span was a short one and he died. Now there is no one’ (11, 7). When asked the same question by Duke Ai of Lu, he unhesitatingly named Yen Yuan: ‘He did not vent his anger upon an innocent person,’ he said, ‘nor did he make the same mistake twice.’ He added that since Yen Yuan’s death ‘no one eager to learn has come to my notice’ (6, 3). Of particular significance was Yen Yuan’s poverty. Confucius admired his ability to be content with living in ‘a mean dwelling on a bowlful of rice and a ladleful of water’ which ‘most men would find intolerable but Hui does not allow to affect his joy’ (6, 11). Twice in this verse the Master exclaims, ‘How admirable Hui is!’ On another occasion Confucius declares, ‘Hui is perhaps difficult to improve upon; he allows himself constantly to be in dire poverty.’ But this begs the question as to what Hui’s virtue actually consisted of? What did Yen Yuan do that made him such a paragon? Confucius commented that he could ‘speak to Hui all day without his disagreeing with me in any way. Thus he would seem to be stupid.’ He then added that when he took ‘a closer look at what he does in private … I discover that it does, in fact, throw light on what I said. Hui is not stupid after all’ (2, 9). This begs a number of questions. What was the manner or the substance of such daylong conversations? Was it a Confucian didactic monologue? A spirited argument about a significant difference of opinion? Was it about political tactics or the proper implementation of the rites? Was Yen Yuan being watched when he thought he was alone? Did Confucius conduct surveillance on his disciples? Or did he simply observe Yen Yuan’s interactions with the other disciples? In what manner did Yen Yuan ‘illustrate’ Confucius’ teachings? What specifically were the teachings that he illustrated? As well as lacking a clear curriculum and pedagogy, the Analects lacks what might count as adequate criteria for successful teaching and learning.



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Confucius said that only he and Yen Yuan ‘have the ability to go forward when employed and to stay out of sight when set aside’ (7, 11). This is equally puzzling. It is pretty certain that Yen Yuan never held office and we know that Confucius himself did not hold office for most of his life. Yet rather than ‘stay out of sight’ when unemployed, Confucius travelled widely in the hope of being taken into public service by some powerful ruler. Whatever else Confucius might be faulted for it was not self-effacement; he spared no effort in attempting to find a suitable position. By contrast Yen Yuan did not appear to have any real interest in finding a position at all. As he appears in the Analects, Yen Yuan is the most eager and insightful of the disciples. ‘Of all the disciples he seems to have come closest both to the intuitive grasp of the “underlying unity” and the achievement of jen [benevolence].’22 Among all of the disciples he appears to have the most comprehensive understanding of the totality of Confucius’ teaching and the demands it makes: ‘the almost superhuman stamina and determination’ 23 required to see it through. ‘The more I look up at it the higher it appears. The more I bore into it the harder it becomes … The Master is good at leading one on step by step. He broadens me with culture and brings me back to essentials by means of the rites. I cannot give up even if I wanted to, but, having done all I can, it seems to rise sheer above me and I have no way of going after it, however much I may want to’ (9, 11). Yet for all his commitment, Yen Yuan appears to lack the political ambition (and the associated material acquisitiveness) which surely is a necessary part of the Confucian programme. ‘[Yen Yuan] is perhaps difficult to improve upon,’ Confucius commented. ‘He allows himself constantly to be in dire poverty.’ By contrast ‘[Tzu-kung] refuses to accept his lot and indulges in money making, and is frequently right in his conjectures’ (11, 19). Tzu-kung went on to have a successful career both as a diplomat and as a merchant.24 Clearly there was no inherent contradiction between the two occupations and Tzu-kung appears closer to the Confucian ideal in one respect at least: ‘It is a shameful matter to be poor and humble when the Way prevails in the state,’ Confucius declared. ‘Equally, it is a shameful matter to be rich and noble when the Way falls into disuse in the state’ (8. 13). Although Confucius never expressed a preference for poverty over wealth, one must assume that in general he favoured wealth! Yet Yen Yuan ‘allows himself’ to continue in poverty: he is content with little and devotes himself totally to the pursuit of the Way. But to what purpose if not to a political career? One cannot avoid the suspicion that Yen Yuan is more of a contemplative scholar than a man of action. Schwartz refers to him as a ‘Somewhat saintly and mysterious person.’25 While Wong and Loy ‘are led

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to wonder if he tries too hard to make a point, which has the effect of drawing attention to himself’.26 That he self-consciously does so is clear from his reply when asked what he had set his heart on: ‘I should like never to boast of my own goodness,’ he said, ‘and never to impose onerous tasks upon others’ (5, 26).27 The first part of this reply is a surprising, if not decidedly odd, confession; it is akin to declaring that one tries hard not to be excessively proud of one’s humility! What is even stranger is that Confucius, ever quick to correct and reprimand his students, allows the declaration to pass without comment. It appears, overall, that Confucius’ favourite disciple is in fact living (and therefore advocating?) a life that is contrary to the life of active political involvement advocated and sought by Confucius himself. Perhaps Yen Yuan is making a scholarly or academic exercise out of a discipline which has very specific practical aims. If it is the case that one of Confucius’ educational aims was to prepare his students for public service then he appears to have failed with his most promising pupil.

Educational Significance What is Confucius’ significance as an educator outside of those cultures in the Confucian tradition? Have we in the non-Asian industrial liberal societies anything to learn from him? In common with all other educators, Confucius addressed the question of how a society should educate its young. One priority must be the transmission of the culture, for whatever else it may do, education must propagate the values, identity and aspirations of the community which sustains it. Formal education is the systematic attempt by human societies to safeguard their continuity. The young must be formed into social agents who can respond in non-egotistical modes such as duty, loyalty and compassion for the good of the collective. The demands of social life must be given priority over personal gratification if any society is to survive, much less flourish. Education inculcates the necessary discipline and self-control, transforming the self-regarding infant into the socially conscious and morally aware citizen. Human societies must promote a foundational consensus regarding central values and beliefs. Confucius found these in the legendary Western Zhou culture and in the exemplary lives of individuals in the history of China. His immediate educational purpose was to transmit and develop traditional knowledge and to inculcate the values he associated with that tradition. Perhaps the first thing we need reminding of is the true nature of tradition and



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its importance in family, community, and society. At first sight the weight of Confucian tradition coupled with the requirements of filiality would seem to be contrary to the spirit of individual autonomy, the possession of individual rights and the exercise of personal initiative so crucial in modern democracies. Yet the Analects returns us to a very important historical perspective: human beings are not born with ready-made identity or self-understanding. Individuals acquire identity and self-understanding because they are part of a larger social, cultural and historical reality. Only by participating in this larger reality can they become truly human. They do this by engaging in social practices which embody elements necessary to identity and selfunderstanding: how people recognize and treat each other, how they deliberate together, how they engage in various forms of exchange, the relevant rites and rituals. Following Gadamer Nuyen considers ‘self-understanding as understanding one’s own tradition, which in turn is the precondition of further understanding’. Filial piety is fidelity to the tradition transmitted by successive generations. This tradition provides the ‘appropriate foreknowledge for the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom’. It is necessary to learn to be filial as a precondition to learning anything. ‘[O]ne must acquire a perspective by immersing oneself in one’s tradition before one can embark on the task of interpretation and understanding.’28 It is only as members of such a community of understanding that anyone can achieve their highest and most complete moral existence. They derive their identity partly (even largely) from their membership in their given community: they are what they are because they belong to a cultural community.29 When Confucius advocated the culture of the Zhou he was promoting such a vision of community. For what he saw around him was a society which had fallen away from the community values of co-operation, mutual assistance and engagement in, and fidelity (not blind obedience) to, received traditions. He realized that the individual can only become her ‘best self’ by virtue of the fact that she was born into and grew up in a particular community. Her choices of the good life are both enabled and constrained by the way in which her perception of possibilities and alternatives, her attitudes and modes of behaviour, have been formed by that tradition. In effect she can only live the kinds of life that her community makes available to her. Like Confucianism, communitarianism is an argument against the disappearance of special ties and commitments in favour of an untrammelled self-interest.30 The tradition of the community ‘nourishes and maintains the subject and guides the subject in its task of understanding, as well as serves as the subject’s

196

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source of cognitive authority’. The individual ‘grows with and through tradition’.31 The individual’s access to the self-discipline, security, standards and aspirations without which learning cannot occur are available only insofar as they are embedded in this tradition. The tradition is transmitted to the growing individual through the family in the first place and then through the agencies (schools, colleges, social, religious and cultural institutions) which are mandated by society. But it is unusual for tradition (social, cultural, political) to remain unaffected by the process of transmission from generation to generation. There is always a need for flexibility in the reinterpretation of the received orthodoxy. It is only when the filiality/tradition nexus becomes inflexible and unresponsive to human needs that they become problematic. This was not an option advocated by Confucius. And yet the changes to the tradition he approves of in the Analects appear to be trivial in the extreme: a ceremonial cap of black silk instead of linen (because it is more frugal) while opposing prostrating oneself before ascending the steps (when approaching a powerful individual; 9, 3). These are hardly the judgements of a radical, much less revolutionary, individual. Confucius reminds us of the importance of tradition, family and community in our individual and collective experience. He stresses the importance of moral formation and mutual support in the conduct of our communal lives. The central figure in his teaching is the gentleman. This is not alien to the European tradition: our society values the role played by community leaders in supporting communal effort and in enabling individuals to ‘take their stand’, that is, to be the best people they can be.

Notes Schwartz, Benjamin I., The World of Thought in Ancient China, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985, p. 131.  2 Four Books: The Analects, The Mencius, The Doctrine of The Mean, The Great Learning; Five Classics: The Book of Odes, The Book of Rites, The Book of History, The Spring and Autumn Annals, The I Ching.  3 Kaizuka, Shigeki, Confucius, trans. Geoffrey Bownas, London: George Allen & Unwin, 1956, pp. 73, 74.  4 Zhang Zhentao, q. Slingerland, p. 92.  5 Ames, R. T. and Rosemont, H., The Analects of Confucius: a philosophical translation, Random House, 1998, p. 242, n.113.  6 Slingerland, p. 73.  7 Q. Slingerland, p. 73.  8 Slingerland, p. 98.  9 Lest we be dismissive of this kind of detail we should remember the role played by dress, style and colour in medieval Europe and which is institutionalized to  1



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the present day in the ceremonials of churches, courts, formal occasions and traditional universities. 10 He ‘hurried back’ according to Ames and Rosemont’s translation. 11 See Chapter 2. 12 The variations in the translations are interesting: Slingerland has: ‘The Master was affable yet firm, awe-inspiring without being severe, simultaneously respectful and relaxed’; Ames and Rosemont: ‘gracious yet serious, commanding yet not severe, deferential yet at ease’; Waley: ‘affable yet firm, commanding but not harsh, polite but easy’. 13 He Yan q. Slingerland, p. 87. 14 ‘The gentleman is no vessel’ (2, 12), that is, a ‘functionary’. Hall, David L. and Ames, Roger T., Thinking through Confucius, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 191. 15 Hall and Ames, 191. 16 Although Lau uses ‘knowledge’, Ames and Rosemont, Waley, and Slingerland agree on ‘wisdom’. 17 The phoenix and the chart were legendary symbols of the coming of a great sage ruler. 18 Chapter 4. 19 The intensity is even clearer in Couvreur’s French translation: his rendition, ‘le Ciel m’a ôté la vie! le Ciel m’a anéanti!’, would translate as ‘Heaven has taken life from me’, and, more intensely, ‘Heaven has destroyed me!’. http://wengu.tartarie.com/ wg/wengu.php?l=Lunyu&no=0 Accessed 19 April 2011 20 Slingerland , p. 114. 21 Waley’s translation. 22 Schwartz, p. 131. 23 Slingerland, p. 90. 24 Lau, p. 247. 25 Schwartz, p. 131. 26 Wong, Benjamin and Loy, Hui-chieh, ‘The Confucian Gentleman and the Limits of Ethical Change’, The Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 28, 3, 2001, 218. 27 True humility is to ‘feel and to behave as if we were low; not, to cherish a notion of our importance, while we affect a low position’. Newman, J. H., The Idea of a University Defined and Illustrated: In Nine Discourses Delivered to the Catholics of Dublin, Discourse 9, p.35 http://www.gutenberg.org/files/24526 Accessed 19 April 2011 28 Nuyen, A. T., ‘The contemporary relevance of the Confucian idea of filial piety’, Journal of Chinese Philosophy 31, 4, 2004, 437. 29 See Taylor, Charles, ‘Atomism’, in Philosophical Papers Part 2: Philosophy and the Human Sciences, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. 30 ‘There is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women and there are families.‘ Margaret Thatcher, Conservative Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, reported in The Observer, 27 December 1987. ‘[T]o an [subjective preference theory] economist ... there is no such thing as society, only the individuals who constitute it.‘ Ormerod, P., The Death of Economics, London: Faber, 1994, p. 34. 31 Nuyen, p. 436.

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Subject Index Analects  21 about Po-yü  31 Book Ten of  118, 187 Confucius about Yen P’ing-chung  34 care of common people  80 Duke of Lu  37 as exemplary in government  190 family loyalty  60–1 filial obligation  55 politics and statecraft  33–8 and power struggles  36 recluses in  83–4 relationship with his wife  30 secure foundations in family  50 as teacher  32 tradition xiao (filial piety)  50 conversations and reflections  152 gentleman characteristics  159–60 historical perspective  195 human nature  141 learning  137 morality in theoretical sense  150–1 preoccupation with practical moral behaviour  152 questions and answers  152 ritual (li)  118 shao and wu  153 Tzu-yu and Tzu-hsia  149 Ancient Chinese and Greek world see also Confucian thought and language beliefs and attitudes human experience  94–5 individualism  95–6 languages and aspects of perceived world  93–4 philosophical objectives  95 scientific thinking  94 autonomy/rights conception  62

biography of Confucius apocryphal stories  25 birth  27–8 Chinese tradition  25 Confucian Way  27 early life  29 marriage  30 son Po-yü  30–1 family  28–9 relations  30–1 itinerant life beliefs  39–40 disciple of  41 final illness and death  42–3 as heavenly mandate  38–9 invitation from Pi Hsi  40 notoriety of Nan Tzu  39 return to Lu during reign of Duke Ai  41–3 ten months in Wei  38 threatened by Huan T’ui  39 Tzu-lu prayers  42–3 on way to Ch’in  38, 40 life span  26 mastered literature (Odes, History) and rituals  26 politics  33–8 reformative power of gentleman and Way  27 stages of development  27 as teacher  32–3 The Book of Changes (The I Ching) system of divination  2–3 The Book of History common people  68 documents and speeches from early Zhou period  2–3 radical demarcation  51 Book of Odes  31, 136 knowledge and thinking  154

204

Subject Index

for moral guidance  155 as source of wisdom  155–6 tradition  156 The Book of Poetry  2 The Book of Rites social and ceremonial occasions  2 Book Ten  118, 187 Cheng music  153 Chi family  30 Chi K’ang Tzu, successor of Chi family  41 China civilization and Shang dynasty  11 culture history of Sage Kings  9 life and Jesuit missionaries  4 and philosophy  4, 135–6 Chün tzu literal and original meaning  159 social status  159–60 translation used for  159 Common people (the masses)  67 benevolence/authoritative behaviour  68 Confucian belief  71–2 Confucius view about  69 as foundation of state  68 moral excellence  83 moral hierarchy  71 rightful social duties and elaborations of culture  85 tax  70 Way understanding  69 communitarianism  195 Confucius see also Way of Heaven (Dao) approach to education  3 behaviour and interpersonal conduct  3 and Confucianism admiration for Duke of Zhou  186 discrepancy  189–90 Heaven-set destiny  187–8 hunting  187 life’s purpose  190 philosophical ideals  185 pragmatic nature  150 self-definition  188–9 success  190

values  186 Way  188 ‘wooden tongue for bell’  189 culture  4 de-couple li  122 doctrine  56 dream of making ‘Zhou in the East’  82 educational significance  194–6 human relationships  3 idealized society model  3 name  4 philosophy  3 shi class  20–2 society  120 as teacher  136–7 Yao views  9–10 Yen Yuan, disciple of  190–4 Confucian gentleman constancy and authenticity external recognition  162 individual merits, views on  162 person/utterance evaluation and social status  162–3 qualities  162 traditional Zhou culture and rites  161–2 culture and conception  170–1 cultured human being and choice of life  171–2 humaneness  171 ren, aesthetic dimension  171 Zhou culture, restoration  170 exemplary behaviour ‘charismatic virtue’, effect  164–5 state governance and  164–5 generosity circumstances improvement by own  160–1 social responsibility  160 tolerance  160–1 harmony aesthetic and socio-political, link between  168–9 ‘attuning’ 168–9 practical skills/specialist in technique  161



Subject Index

ren (‘benevolence’,‘humaneness’) basis  169 chung and shu  169–70 individual development, purpose  169 ‘single thread,’ significance of  170 Socratic aptitude of Confucius  161 Tzu-hsia, view on artisan  161 ‘village worthy’ and small man essential features  165 ju and  165–6 moral considerations  165–6 perfection, differing view on  166 self-estimation  166–7 self-examination  166 true gentleman and pretender  165–7 Tzu-hsia, advice to  165–6 virtues benevolent/courageous/wise  167 dislikes  168 morality  168 self-deprecation  167 self-realization and cultivating oneself  167–8 words and deeds benevolence  163–4 careful and honest  163 context  164 performative language  163 promissory  163 Confucian thought and language aesthetic Classical Chinese world view  92 Chinese philosophy  92 Chinese thinkers  92 Cosmos behaviour/Dao, concern on  97 Chinese philosophers lives and Western world  97–8 Chinese philosophical method  97 Confucian tradition and morality  99 Dewey, John, view about  98–9 ‘heart-mind (xin)’ concept of thinking  99 ‘knowledge’, conception  99 principal pedagogical method  98 strength as teacher  97 universe components, interrelationship  96

205

Western Judaeo-Christian tradition  96 developmental relationships  92–3 Paulo Freire’s thought on ‘banking concept’ of education  104 Confucius’s view on learning  103–4 education, revolutionized thinking  103 human existence and naming  103 practical knowledge  104 power of word human relations  105 moral and social imperatives  105–6 rectification of names good government and relationship maintenance  100 moral connection and significance  101 naming concept  101–2 regulative and evaluative function  111–12 standard of behaviour in accordance with  100–1 Zhou past in changing circumstances  102–3 and Socrates approach  91 clarification of meaning  107 difference between  106, 110–11 ethics and morality  108–9 familial roles  106 politician language  108 ‘social evil’  107–8 symbols of nobility and status  107 tian  109–10 transformative approaches  110 ‘verbal etiquette’  106–7 virtues  111 Western analytical approach  91 De, excellence of character  21 Deity Di  11 Di Xin (1154–1122)  12 Duke Chao (538–510)  30 Duke Huan of Lu (711–694)  30 Duke of Zhou  13 Duke Ting  40–1 Eastern Zhou dynasty  14 kingdoms  18

206

Subject Index

Émile  73 Emma, characterization of gentleman  175–6 Esoteric knowledge  151–2 European tradition  4 family relationships Confucian model  68 definition of good/dutiful son  52 emotional attitude  54 father/son relationship, case on  55–6 filial duty and public obligation  54 filial submission  51–2 foundational unit of society  49–51 ideal community  60–3 lord/minister relationship  55 public/private morality  56 Confucius  58–9 Dickens  59–60 Socrates  56–8 respect for parents, older people and ancestors  49 rightness and ritual propriety  53 rites and avoiding occasions  54 ritual propriety  53 three-year period of mourning  52 virtues  52–3 Western liberal view  50–1 Fan Ch’ih view of ren  55 filial piety (xiao)  49 Golden Age of peace and prosperity  10–11 government and power advice to disciples regarding  80–2 advisors of Chi family case  77–8 ancient Sage Kings as example  81–2 approaches  74 benevolence/authoritative behaviour  68 care of  80 common people (the masses)  67 Confucian belief  71–2 Confucius view about  69, 75–6 essential components  76 European comparison  78–9 as foundation of state  68 moral hierarchy  71 political order  75 public life  80

recluses, primitives and dropouts  82–6 ren  72–4 ritual propriety and deference  75–7 ruler/administrator (minister)  76 tax  70 Great Learning  51 Great Peace  9 Han dynasty (220 BC–265 AD)  25, 185–6 Hard Times  59–60 Heaven and mundane experience  17 ideal community and family  60–3 innovation (yi)  131–2 Judaeo-Christian conception of Creator  17 Judaic tradition  55 King Jie (1818–1766)  11 King Ping  18 King Wen  12 King Wu  12 knowledge of rightness (yi)  177 Ko˘ng Fu¯ zý (Master Kong)  4 Legge about Confucius  36 judgement  37 Liji (Collection of Treatises on the Rules of Propriety and Ceremonial Usages)  156 Lord on High  15 Lun Yü  4 Mandate of Heaven  14–16 Marcus Fabius Quintilian (AD 35–100) writing  78–9 modern age Confucianism Austen’s Knightley  175 Box Hill Incident  177 conventional norms of behaviour  176 hierarchical society  175 Highbury community  176 knowledge of rightness (yi)  177 novels  175 pain  176–7 self-aggrandizement  178



Subject Index shu  177 well-developed moral sense (shu)  177 Emma  175 Newman’s Gentleman beliefs  180 Catholic University idea  179 conceptualization  179 cultivation of intellect  181 dissemination of knowledge  178 economic and political power  178 ‘ethics of philosophy’  179 fundamental principle  181 hallmarks  179–80 liberal education  180–2 new money and new political and social influence  178 ‘philosophical habit’  180 ren  181 vivified as knowledge  179 Pride and Prejudice  178

‘objectivity’  91 Old Zhou kinship system  13 pedagogy and learning Confucius as teacher  136–7 continuity of  149–50 disciples  153–4 esoteric knowledge  151–2 human nature  141–3 interpretation  137 knowledge and wisdom  137–8 learner  146–9 music  153 philosophy  135–6 practical behaviour over theoretical knowledge  150–1 stages of  150 study and education  154–6 teacher  143–6 and thinking  138–9 tradition  138–41 trivium and quadrivium  151 unreflective and uncritical rote  138 Po Yi and Shu Ch’i  86–8 Po-yü  30 death  42

207

education  31 importance of Odes  31 relationship with father  31 Pride and Prejudice  178 Qiu¯ (Ch’iu)  4 reclusion  83–6 ren (‘benevolence’,‘humaneness’) basis  169 characteristic of gentleman  72 chung and shu  169–70 concept in Confucian ethics  72 filial love  72–3 individual development, purpose  169 morality and prudence  73–4 mutual affection  72 root of  55 ‘single thread’, significance of  170 rituals (li) continuity of natural order  16–17 emotions  129–30 evolving  130–2 importance of  122–3 eating  126 greeting  124–6 individual ceremonial dimension  120–2 Confucian  119–20 obligations  119 physical aspect  121 responsibilities  119 role  119 self-cultivation  120 self-development  119 social relationships and cultural understanding  121 King of Zhou, form and substance Analects  118 ceremonial actions  115 Dao, Way of Heaven  115 failed to maintain  115–16 focal point, changes  116 functioning of ordered family  118 Heaven and Earth  115 human relationships and coherent society  118

208

Subject Index

idealization, cosmos  116–17 maintaining social stability  117 meaning and significance  117–18 power of King  115 requirement of Mandate  115–16 roles  118 Spring and Autumn period (722–481)  117 Tianzi, recognized as  115 witnessed transition  116 learning  128–9 for self-transcendence  17–18 social  127–8 Sage Kings  9 self-development  119 Shang dynasty King Tang founder  11 oppressive  11 quasi-feudal hierarchical model of Chinese society  11 shi class gentleman (junzi)  21 hereditary aristocratic warriors  20 intellectuals and philosophers  21 objective of  21 in Zhou feudal system  20 Shih Yu as true gentleman and devotee of Way  39 Shining Duke  34 Shu Ching  9 society  98 spirit of rites  77 The Spring and Autumn Annals  14–15, 42 by Confucius  3 official historical record of state of Lu  2–3 Spring and Autumn period (770–476)  14 changes  18 growth in economic activity  19 military and political power  19 Tian (Heaven)  14–15 Tian Shang Di  13 tradition  132 Tzu-kung  193

Wai Sheng tragedy  53 ‘Warring States’  14–15 Warring States period (475–221)  14, 19 Way of Heaven (Dao)  16–17, 17, 140–1 well-developed moral sense (shu)  177 Western moral philosophy  3 Western Zhou dynasty  12–13 collapse of  20–2 irrigation  16 Xia dynasty, Shun and Yu founder  9 Xian  20 Xun Zi (312–230)  185 Yang-hoo  38 Yang Huo  37 meeting with Confucius  35–6 Yao Sage King (2357–2257)  9 human world  10 Shun as successor  10 Yu reign  10 Yellow River kingdoms  71 Yen Yuan, disciple of Confucius  190 see also Confucius achievement of jen  193 burial for  191 commitment  192 curriculum and pedagogy  192 grief for death  191 invocation of Heaven and  191 political ambition  193 position findings  193 poverty  192 praise  191–2 for revival of Way in public life  190–1 scholarly/academic exercise  194 Yili (Etiquette and Rites)  156 Zhou conquest  86–7 Zhou dynasty  12 feudal system  3 Mandate of Heaven  14 tribal god Tian  15 Wen, Wu and Duke of Zhou founder  13 Zhou Gong Dan  13–14 Zuo Commentary  76