Source Text: Analects: With Selections from Traditional Commentaries. Confucius. Translated (with an Introduction and Commentaries) by Edward Slingerland. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. 2013. §0. Introduction to the Analects as a Text: The Analects is not a ‘book’ in the traditional sense, but a record of the teaching process of the early Confucian school, committed to writing several generations after Confucius (~551-479 B.C.E.), the model of this practice, had passed away. The text of the Analects was likely written to keep the teaching of Confucius alive in both content and form. This helps account for the fact that so many of the individual sayings in the Analects (literally: “ordered sayings”) are exceedingly cryptic. As Slingerland notes in his preface to the text, these sayings “were originally embedded in a conversational context within which their meaning could be gradually extracted,” as we see in the case of Confucius himself, who makes comments “intended to elicit [judgments] from his disciples, which [responses] are then corrected or commented upon by the Master.” (Slingerland 2003, vii) For later readers of the Analects such as ourselves, the written tradition of commentary on the text which began in the Han Dynasty (~202 B.C.E.-220 C.E.) serves as a stand-in for the original conversational environment in which students would be initiated into the dialogical-pedagogical process of problem-posing and judgment-correcting initiated by Confucius and reproduced in the early Confucian school. Consequently, Slingerland argues that without the interpretative apparatus of the commentary tradition, the Analects is too easily dismissed as “fortune cookie” type wisdom: concise sayings which are incomprehensible at best and empty cliches at worst. (Ibid. vii-viii) §1. Key for Reading the Analects – The Four Checks: Our key for using this edition (Slingerland 2003) of the Analects is to subject each saying we read, to the best of our ability, to four checks to restore it to the historical context and practice of reflection in which we can appreciate its significance: Check each saying against its historical context: What are the fundamental social, political, economic, and/or cultural problems that serve as the provocation and mediating context for the saying? How to check: In the short commentary/survey paragraphs underneath each saying, Slingerland typically provides both relevant or immediate historical context and the history of reception/interpretation by the commentary tradition. Check each saying against its dramatic setting: Who are the characters? What are the social roles of the interlocutors? How are they expected to behave in this context? How to check: Likewise, Slingerland often supplies this in the commentary/survey paragraphs underneath each saying. Check each saying against other sayings (first of all, sayings in the same book, and second, sayings with a common theme found in other books): Does this saying contradict others in the book? Does it resonate with the cluster in which it is placed? Are there strong connections or starker oppositions to other sayings on other books? How to check: Many of the commentary/survey paragraphs under each saying will end with a string of numbered sayings with strong thematic resonance to the saying in question – for example, Slingerland’s commentary/survey paragraph under 2.1 (on the analogy between the virtuous ruler and the pole star) with the string: “Cf. 2.3, 2.21, 12.17, 12.19, and especially 15.5.” (p. 8) Follow these references when possible and continue to search for the elusive ‘order’ of the ‘ordered sayings’. This is essential in light of the fact that Confucius will adapt his one teaching to adjust to the pedagogical needs of the moment (3.4) – for example, giving four different answers to four different interlocutors who ask him what filial piety means (2.5-2.8) – to the point of seeming self-contradiction, which puzzles his disciples (11.22) (Saying) 11.22: “[…] Zihua, [having observed both exchanges], inquired, “When Zilu asked you whether or not one should immediately take care of something upon learning of it, you told him one should not, as long as one’s father and elder brothers were still alive. When Ran Qiu asked the same question, however, you told him that one should immediately take care of it. I am confused, and humbly ask to have this explained to me.” The Master said, “Ran Qiu is overly cautious, and so I wished to urge him on. Zilu, on the other hand, is too impetuous, and so I sought to hold him back.” (p. 120) and, occasionally, Slingerland himself (14.6). (Note) On the problem of interpreting contradictions in Confucius’ teaching: “14.6 The Master said, “Certainly there are those gentlemen who are not Good, but there has never been a petty person who is Good.”” In his commentary, Slingerland disputes the viability of another interpretation of this saying that tries to avoid contradiction with other sayings: ”However, this admission that even the gentleman can lapse on occasion contradicts 4.5 (“If the gentleman abandons Goodness, how can he merit the name? The gentleman does not go against Goodness even for the amount of time required to eat a meal”).” (p. 156) While Slingerland maintains the contradiction, he resolves it on another level by claiming the Analects is concerned with consistency in action rather than theoretical consistency (see his commentary to 4.15, 17.2). For a different hermeneutic approach to contradictions such as these, see Rudolf G. Wagner’s “Making Sense: Wang Bi’s Commentary on the Lun Yu,” in Zhong Ri sishu. Quanshi chuantong chutan (Taipei: Taiwan daxue chuban zhongxin, 2008), vol. 1, 109-58. According to Wang Bi, Confucius’ disciples – including the editors who compiled the Analects (Lunyu) itself! – “feel forced to apply to the Master terms which are mutually exclusive and cannot be true for the same object at the same time,” and are therefore baffled, but were nevertheless not “aware of the quandary their [use of language] highlighted” (p. 133). For Wang Bi, this is a necessary consequence of the inability of language to define or name (ming) the Sage (pp. 134-135). To account for why Confucius would himself enter a state of a ruler bent on chaos, despite having previously instructed his disciples that a gentleman does not do so (17.6), Wang Bi argues that this proves Confucius is not a mere gentleman (junzi) who could be corrupted by entering the territory of an evil ruler, but a Sage who is no longer bound by the moral regulations the gentleman needs to guard himself: “Here we have the Sage as the emblem of the ideal ruler who is utterly freed from conventions of the moral correctness that will bind the ‘gentleman’ as they cannot pollute [the Sage’s] purity and undo his grand enterprise. Confucius being in this category can even enter the lair of a rebel if there is a chance that this man might want to apply his teachings” (pp. 140-141). Check each saying against your own experience: Does this saying pass the ‘smell test’ you typically apply to discern what is and is not bullsh*t? How much weight does this have in your experience? How foreign is it from your experience? How to check: See if you can match the lesson of the saying to advice you have received/given or imagine a problem-scenario in which the same advice might apply. Is the advice meaningful, and to what extent does its meaningfulness or meaninglessness have to do with the characters and roles of the people involved? Is there a way to keep the past teaching alive while tempering it through understanding the present?  §2. The Method of the Analects: Our thesis will be that the method of presentation is purposefully cryptic, but for good reason and to great effect. Aside from Confucius’ suspicion of language as such (when evaluated as a means of conveying or effecting the Way [Dao] of Heaven [tian]), (Note) On the inability of language to convey the way of heaven: On Wang Bi’s reading, sayings like 17.19 both indict language itself as a medium for the Way and signify to us that the Analects must be interpreted in a manner that attends to what the words of the Sage indicate that cannot be put into words: “17.19 The Master sighed, “Would that I did not have to speak!” Zigong said, “If the Master did not speak, then how would we little ones receive guidance from you?” The Master replied, “What does Heaven ever say? Yet the four seasons are put in motion by it, and the myriad creatures receive their life from it. What does Heaven ever say?”” Wagner (2008) tells us that for Wang Bi, this is the answer to “one of the thorniest problems of Confucius as Sage” – namely, “the manifest absence of grander philosophical statements in the Lunyu. […] Why had Confucius not held forth on the ultimate truths[?]” (pp. 141-142) Confucius patterns himself on the rule of heaven over the seasons: heaven’s control is so insuperable it oversees the transformations of the world, never needing to issue commands or specific injunctions to direct the alternation of hot and cold in procession according to the unspoken order of the four seasons. (Ibid., pp. 143-144) In the Analects, this patterning was mastered by Confucius’ moral exemplars, the legendary sage-kings, who ruled by virtue rather than coercion, or what Confucius calls ruling “by means of wu-wei” (15.5): “the ruler morally perfects himself and thereby effortlessly transforms everyone around him.” (Slingerland, p. 176) Rule by means of wu-wei means rule by efficacious, non-coercive, effortless action – a form of cultivated but spontaneous and unselfconscious appropriateness in speech and action. (Called ‘harmonious ease’ [he] in terms of the ideal practice of ritual [li], in 1.12, see also: 7.11, 8.8, Slingerland’s glossary p. 243, and introduction p. xix). Echoing 17.19, in 2.1 Confucius uses the image of “the Pole Star” to convey ruling through the power of virtue: “it simply remains in its place and receives the homage of the myriad lesser stars.” For Wang Bi, Wagner concludes, Confucius’ patterning of (and aspirational identification with) heaven implied by 17.19 has direct bearing on how we should read the Analects: “Confucius is not Heaven and Earth, as a Sage he only patterns himself after them. Therefore he only ‘wishes’ to be without words while continuing to talk. But this statement signals together with his refusal to address certain topics altogether, that his language is not common speech, but tries to bridge the gap between wordlessness and inept definitory language through the ‘subtle words,’ which are full of subtle meaning but so hard to decipher, and harder still to imitate.” (p. 144) we know that Confucius warns against the error of thinking that individual saying could guarantee flourishing (or cause ruin) (13.5). For Confucius, wisdom [zhi] (Definition) Wisdom (zhi): See Slingerland’s Glossary of Terms: “An important virtue that seems to involve a cognitive understanding of the Way, as well as an ability to accurately perceive situations and judge the character of others.” (p. 243) does not consist in possessing wise sayings, (Note) On those who cannot apply or live up to wise sayings: See Confucius’ criticism of the person who can recite several hundred of the Odes by heart but cannot flexibly apply this knowledge in a situation-specific manner (13.5). It is not enough to agree with the “exemplary words” of Confucius himself (who wouldn’t?) if you cannot change yourself to accord with them (9.24). but is defined by recognizing what you know and what you don’t know as, respectively, what you know and what you don’t know (2.17). Confucius denies that he possesses wisdom: 9.8 The Master said, “Do I possess wisdom? No, I do not. [For example, recently] a common fellow asked a question of me, and I came up completely empty. But I discussed the problem with him from beginning to end until we finally got to the bottom of it.” In the rare moments when Confucius does claim any distinction in virtue, it’s solely because of his exceptional love of learning [xue] from the wisdom of the ancients (5.28, 7.20, 7.28, 16.9). (Note) On the ‘love of learning’: See: “5.28 The Master said, “In any village of ten households there are surely those who are as dutiful or trustworthy as I am, but there is no one who matches my love for learning.”” If someone else in the Analects does match Confucius’ love of learning, it is his disciple Yan Hui (6.3), who Confucius even suggests might not require the same kind of conscious effort in learning Confucius himself does (see Slingerlands commentary for 2.9, 5.9, 16.9). (Definition) Learning (xue): Slingerland defines learning [xue] as the internalization and emulation of ideal models, observing and benefitting from the behavior of others, mastering language for self-expression through study of the classics, and making the accumulated wisdom of the ancients the basis for one’s thinking (p. 239). To the extent Confucius can, nevertheless, be called ‘wise’, it is because he seeks wisdom: namely, as we saw in 9.8, through the continuous development of problems to the point they are converted into their own solutions. Throughout the Analects, Confucius’ method of instruction is posing problems and correcting solutions or judgments his disciples offer in response. Confucius even says that his criterion for selecting students is their willingness and capacity to develop problems: 7.8 The Master said, “I will not open the door for a mind that is not already striving to understand, nor will I provide words to a tongue that is not already struggling to speak. If I hold up one corner of a problem, and the student cannot come back to me with the other three, I will not attempt to instruct him again.” (Note) On the gentleman’s impartiality of judgment: In 15.39, Confucius says: “In education, there are no differences in kind.” This saying resonates well with 7.8, as the willingness and capacity to rise to the challenge of the problems posed to them by the Master seems to be the characteristic Confucius most admires in his students, even if they must struggle more than others to learn. See 1.15 (Zigong) and 3.8 (Zixia), and Slingerland’s commentary for each, for examples of those moments in which Confucius’ disciples make “the sort of conceptual leap that Confucius required of his students” (p. 20). See also Confucius’ comments on the impartiality in the judgment of the gentleman, who is not predisposed for or against anyone but associates with those he considers right (4.10) and, so far as he is good, is the only one who can truly love or despise others based on an accurate assessment their moral character (4.3, 17.24). In 9.11, Confucius’ most advanced disciple, Yan Hui, describes his experience of the Confucian pedagogical method as follows: 9.11 With a great sigh Yan Hui lamented, “The more I look up at it the higher it seems; the more I delve into it, the harder it becomes. Catching a glimpse of it before me, I then find it suddenly at my back. The Master is skilled at gradually leading me on, step by step. He broadens me with culture and restrains me with the rites, so that even if I wanted to give up I could not. Having exhausted all of my strength, it seems as if there is still something left, looming up ahead of me. Though I desire to follow it, there seems to be no way through.” With these sayings (9.8, 7.8, 9.11) in mind, we can begin to account for the purposefully cryptic method of presentation in the Analects, which we can put in two formulas: (1) hiding the particular in the general (8.14), (2) leaving a blank space (15.26). Hiding the particular in the general (8.14) 8.14 The Master said, “Do not discuss matters of government policy that do not fall within the scope of your official duties.” There are two immediate problems with this saying: first, Confucius is unemployed for much of his life and does not have an official position, (Note) On Confucius’ unemployment: There are frequent references, both implicit and explicit, to Confucius’ failure to find employment as a minister to a wise ruler – or any ruler at all – in the Analects, both in the sayings themselves and in the commentary. An incomplete list: 1.10, 2.18, 2.21, 3.24, 4.2, 4.5, 4.14, 5.7, 6.8, 9.2, 9.9, 9.13, 9.17, 11.2, 11.26, 13.3, 13.10, 13.14, 14.35, 14.38-39, 15.14, 17.5, 17.7, 18.3, 19.25. See also: Slingerland’s Introduction (pp. xxiv-xxv) and his introduction to Book Eighteen (p. 213). but is regularly consulted on affairs of state because of his reputation (Confucius: “If there were governmental matters to be discussed, how would I have not received word of them, even though I am not employed?” – 13.34; see also 1.10 and 2.21 for the ways Confucius will ‘participate’ in government without an office); second, Confucius often discusses government policies (e.g., policies pertaining to treatment of the peasantry: 1.5, 12.9, 13.9), especially insofar as they are signs that indicate the moral character of the officials who implement them. The best way to interpret 8.14 is to focus on how Confucius will often speak in generalizations which, when contextualized properly (as advice for his specific interlocutor at that specific moment), turn out to have particular content – whether they are critical or encouraging, positive recommendations or negative course-corrections. (Note) On hiding the particular in the general: See Slingerland’s comment to 3.19: “Again we have a general observation about ritual and virtue that probably has a more specific target as well.” (p. 25) A good example is 2.24, which is a general admonition about proper conduct in ritual sacrifice to spirits, but is given specific content as a critique of the ritual violations of the Ji Family in 3.6. In the case of Advising Duke Ai (2.19) on how to win the obedience of his subjects, Confucius simultaneously avoids the impropriety of discussing matters of government policy that fall outside the scope of his duties (8.14) and manages to make a specific recommendation for a change in administrative policy. How? By leaving a blank space (15.26) in his advice which is meant to be filled in by his interlocutor in the form of a specific answer. Leaving a Blank Space (15.26) 15.26 The Master said, “I once knew a time when scribes [who did not know how to write a word] would leave the text blank, and those who owned horses [that they could not tame themselves] would lend them to others. Nowadays, there is no one like this.” (2a) Filling in the Blank Space: Confucius’ vague advice to Duke Ai in 2.19 – Raise up the straight and apply them to the crooked rather than raising up the crooked and applying them to the straight – generates a specific course of action for the Duke to take when contextualized. As Slingerland tells us in the commentary/survey paragraph below saying 2.19, Confucius is using a metaphor drawn from the “press-frame” technique of straightening out crooked wood – namely, by binding it to a straight piece of wood that serves as a standard and to which the crooked wood is slowly molded with slight, repeated pressure applied over a long period of time with a system of clamps. The Duke asks Confucius how he can compel the common people to be obedient to his command. The fact that Confucius responds with the press-frame metaphor suggests the Duke’s real problem is not disobedient subjects. (Note) On obedience of the people as a sign of the virtue of the ruler: While public reputation always needs to be scrutinized by the gentleman (15.28), Confucius says he only praises or criticizes rulers and ministers if they have been ‘put to the test’ by the reaction of their subjects to their administration (15.25). As Confucius puts it concisely in 13.6, “When the ruler is correct, his will is put into effect without the need for official orders. When the ruler’s person is not correct, he will not be obeyed no matter how many orders he issues.” In the commentary/survey paragraph, we learn that the people of Lu justifiably resented the Duke because, in the words of the commentator Jiang Xi, “he cared only for sensual pleasures and left control of [his] administration [of the state of Lu] to a flock of evildoers” (qtd. by Slingerland, p. 14). In this light, we see that the Duke’s request was for a means of forcing people to obey his crooked administration, which they resist, Confucius implies, because they have a better sense than the Duke of what a straight (rather than crooked) standard would be: “Duke Ai was presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and sagely worthies filled his state. If he had simply raised them up and employed them, he could have become the true king of Lu.” (Ibid.) Having contextualized Confucius’ advice by reference to (1) the press-frame metaphor for rectifying crooked wood without coercion and (2) Jiang Xi’s identification of the political problem of crooked administration (and the resentment it causes among the people) that prompts the Duke to seek out Confucius’ advice, Confucius’ recommendation must be the following course of action for the Duke: first: fire your ‘crooked’ (self-serving and corrupt) administration, second: elevate ‘straight’ (or virtuous and faithful) ministers to take their place, third: become ‘straight’ enough yourself both to have the standard for distinguishing ‘straight’ from ‘crooked’ and be that standard by which the crooked, if bound as if to a frame and pressed over time, can be straightened out. (2b) Leaving the Blank Space Blank: Other times, the lack of a specific answer to fill in a blank space is itself the answer - for example: in Book V, Confucius withholds the name of Good or the Wise (on the Confucian ‘rectification of names’ – see 13.3, 13.4) despite all the examples of exemplary and virtuous rulers or ministers his disciples bring up (5.5, 5.6, 5.8, 5.9, 5.15, 5.16, 5.18, 5.19, 5.24). The redirection in this second case is supposed to return us to the practical activity of striving to actualize individual potential for virtue in social forms (since only social virtues in practice are real virtues). Or: when Confucius withholds the name of the Good, he is redirecting you to seek it out and resume the activity of striving for it (5.8). (Note) On the difficulty of judging anyone to be ‘Good’: Slingerland comments on 5.8: “The fact that Goodness functions as the ultimate telos defining the narrative arc of one’s life means that no final judgment concerning whether or not a given person possesses Goodness can be delivered until that life has been completed. This is why Goodness is portrayed as a dimly perceived and ever-receding goal to a work eternally in progress in 9.11, and why Confucius is reluctant here and elsewhere (5.19, 7.26, 7.33, 14.1) to pronounce anyone truly Good, including himself (7.34). There is probably also a secondary concern that seeing oneself as having already achieved Goodness would make one complacent and lazy.” (p. 42) In the same way Confucius will not instruct anyone who does not return to him with the other corners of the problem he presented them with, he says: “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?’” (15.6). We learn something about the Good by the very fact we cannot judge any one person to possess Goodness: “When being Good is so difficult, how can one not be hesitant to speak about it?” (12.3). The Good, in other words, is determined by our activity of striving for it, which is how it appears in the world even when our world fails to live up to its measure. (Definition) Goodness (ren): See Slingerland’s Glossary of Terms: “Goodness, Good (ren ). In the Analects, Goodness refers to the highest of Confucian virtues. In pre-Confucian texts such as the Book of Odes, ren was an adjective referring to the appearance of a handsome, strong, aristocratic man, and the term is cognate with the word meaning “human being” (ren ). In this context, ren would thus perhaps be best rendered as “manly.” One of Confucius’ innovations was to transform this aristocratic, martial ideal into an ethical one: ren in the Analects refers to a moral, rather than physical or martial ideal. In post-Analects texts, it has the more specific sense of empathy or kindness between human beings—especially for a ruler toward his subjects—and in such contexts is therefore usually translated as “benevolence.” Although we see hints of this later usage in the Analects (12.22, 17.21), it is much more commonly used there in the more general sense of “Goodness,” the overarching virtue of being a perfected human being, which includes such qualities as empathetic understanding (shu ) or benevolence (hui ).” (p. 238) Or: the Good acquires positive definition as the activity of constant self-rectification (which requires both self-reflection in thought and self-correction in practice). (Note) On the difficulty of pursuing the Good: One needs “constant effort and indefatigable determination” (Slingerland, p. 93) to pursue the Confucian Way (9.19), which requires a true passion or love for the Way itself (4.6, 6.12). Even Yan Hui, Confucius’ most adept disciple (2.9, 9.20-21, 11.4), seemingly despairs over the difficulty of the Confucian Way (9.11). Furthermore, Confucius is in one case incredulous at a description of someone who seems, on the basis of said description, to deserve the name ‘Good’ (14.13). Confucius denies that he has attained any single aspect of the threefold way of the gentleman, even if Zigong claims by describing the gentleman Confucius was describing himself (14.28). The pursuit of Goodness is so difficult, it might even require your death (15.9). There is a “method of Goodness”: “Desiring to take his stand, one who is Good helps others to take their stand; wanting to realize himself, he helps others to realize themselves” (6.30; see also 7.2, 7.34). However, there are no guarantees – not even following Confucius himself: “When it comes to being Good, defer to no one, not even your teacher.” (15.36) In other words, there is no esoteric Confucian teaching: 7.24 The Master said, “Do you disciples imagine that I am being secretive? I hide nothing from you. I take no action, I make no move, without sharing it with you. This is the kind of person that I am.” Nothing is held in reserve as secret wisdom (see also 16.13, where Confucius’ son, Boyu, denies that he has acquired any ‘esoteric learning’ from his father). (Saying) 16.13: “Ziqin asked Boyu, “Have you acquired any esoteric learning?” […] Boyu replied, “I have not. My father was once standing by himself in the courtyard and, as I hurried by with quickened steps, he asked, ‘Have you learned the Odes?’ I replied, ‘Not yet.’ He said, ‘If you do not learn the Odes, you will lack the means to speak.’ I then retired and learned the Odes. “On another day, my father was once again standing by himself in the courtyard and, as I hurried by with quickened steps, he asked, ‘Have you learned ritual?’ I replied, ‘Not yet.’ He said, ‘If you do not learn ritual, you will lack the means to take your place.’ I then retired and learned ritual. “These two things are what I have been taught.” Ziqin retired and, smiling to himself, remarked “I asked one question and got three answers: I learned about the Odes, I learned about ritual, and I learned how the gentleman keeps his son at a distance.”” See also Slingerland’s commentary: “Along with 8.8, this passage serves as one of the clearer expressions of the constitutive function of the Confucian tradition: learning the Odes provides one with the resources to speak (cf. 13.5, 17.9–17.10), and learning ritual provides a model for everyday behavior, allowing one to “take one’s place” among other adults in society (cf. 2.4, 12.1, 20.3). As Huang Kan notes, “The rites are the root of establishing one’s self by means of reverence, frugality, gravity, and respectfulness. With the rites, one can be at ease; without the rites, one will be imperiled.” Regarding the principle of “keeping one’s son at a distance,” Sima Guang remarks, “To ‘keep at a distance’ refers not to being cold or alienating, but rather to being timely in the way one allows one’s son to approach, and always receiving him with ritual propriety. The point is simply that father and son do not consort with one another day and night in an indecently familiar manner.” A passage from the Summary of Discussions suggests that such formality does not extend to the third generation: “The gentleman keeps his sons at a distance, but is familiar with his grandsons.” Boyu’s denial that he has received any esoteric instruction accords with the Master’s statement in 7.24 that he “hides nothing” from his disciples, as well as the Analects’s general eschewal of abstruse concerns in favor of the everyday practicalities of self-cultivation (5.13, 7.21, 7.25).” When Confucius withholds judgment, this act of leaving a blank space is itself the answer. To take another example, look at Confucius’ response to Zilu’s questions about the spirits (11.12). (Saying) 11.12: “Zilu asked about serving ghosts and spirits. The Master said, “You are not yet able to serve people—how could you be able to serve ghosts and spirits?” “May I inquire about death?” “You do not yet understand life—how could you possibly understand death?”” Also see Slingerland’s commentary on 11.12: “In this passage—often cited by Western commentators as an expression of Confucius’ profound “humanism”—we clearly see Confucius’ practical orientation: the aspiring gentleman is to focus his energy on virtuous conduct and concrete learning rather than empty speculation (cf. 7.21). As Huang Kan remarks, “the teachings of the Zhou Dynasty and of Confucius have to do solely with the here and now.” More metaphysically oriented commentators such as Zhu Xi contend that the Master did have esoteric teachings about death and spirits, but that Zilu is simply not yet ready to hear about them, and must complete more basic levels of education before he can receive the esoteric teachings. This, however, is unlikely. As Chen Tianxiang puts it, “The Way of the two sage-lords, the three kings, Duke Zhou, and Confucius focuses solely upon the exigencies of daily human existence and does not depart from them for an instant . . . nowhere do we hear of teachings concerning various levels of esoteric comprehension that must be completed so that one might understand the mysteries of death . . . The Master correctly saw that Zilu’s questions were only remotely related to practical concerns, and therefore answered him [as he did].”” When Confucius’ disciple Zilu becomes obsessed with the occult and arcane rites of appeasing spirits, Confucius redirects Zilu’s focus to the concrete practice of moral self-cultivation of social virtue in everyday life. Confucius says to Zilu: “You are not yet able to serve people—how could you be able to serve ghosts and spirits? […] You do not yet understand life—how could you possibly understand death?” Confucius has high esteem for ritual ancestor worship in the form of sacrifice and mourns the loss of the rite in his day (“You regret the loss of the lamb, whereas I regret the loss of the rite.” – 3.17), (Saying) 3.17: “Zigong wanted to do away with the practice of sacrificing a lamb to announce the beginning of the month. The Master said, “Zigong! You regret the loss of the lamb, whereas I regret the loss of the rite.”” See also Slingerland’s commentary: “According to commentators, this lamb sacrifice had originally been part of a larger ritual in the state of Lu to mark the official beginning of the new month, and which— according to the Annals (Legge 1994d: 243)—was discontinued during the reign of Duke Wen. According to Huang Kan, although the larger ritual itself was no longer being practiced by the rulers of Lu, the practice of sacrificing the lamb was being kept alive by traditionally-minded government functionaries. Zigong does not see the point of continuing this vestigial, materially wasteful practice in the absence of its original ritual context. Insisting upon the continuance of this practice, however, is Confucius’ way of mourning the loss of the original rite and keeping its memory alive, which in his view is worth the cost of an occasional lamb. The valuing of ritual propriety over pragmatic or financial considerations links this passage to 3.13, and the fact that Lu— as the inheritor of Zhou culture—still preserved at least the forms of the ancient rites links it to 3.9 and 3.14.” but this rite has value for Confucius regardless of whether ghosts and spirits are real. To the extent ritual sacrifice in ancestor worship has value, it is because of its rectifying effect on the living (3.11, 3.12, 3.13). This is also why Confucius has scorn for an allegedly ‘wise’ man who tries to bribe the spirits for better divinations (5.18): the best way to honor the spirits of one’s ancestors is living up to their legacy and taking responsibility for the traditions and world they handed down to you (6.22). §3. Project of the Analects – Moral Self-Cultivation and Reflective Restoration of Zhou Tradition: In negative terms, the virtuous form of life for the Confucian gentleman (junzi) (Definition) Gentleman (junzi): See Slingerland’s Glossary of Terms: “Gentleman (junzi ). Meaning literally “son of a lord,” junzi referred in Western Zhou times to a member of the warrior aristocracy. In Confucius’ hands, it comes to refer to anyone capable of becoming a kind of moral aristocrat: an exemplar of ritually-correct behavior, ethical courage, and noble sentiment—in short, a possessor of Goodness.” (p. 238) is characterized by avoiding pettiness or one-sidedness (“The gentleman is not a [ritually valued but overly specialized] vessel” – see 2.12; 5.4). In positive terms, it is characterized by applying ‘the Mean’, which is a comprehensive standard of balance to be achieved with regard to personal practices of cultivating the right internal disposition and external behavior, ritually appropriate and emotionally sincere care for others, and the dutiful and earnest performance of one’s official duties (1.12, 3.7, 6.18, 6.29, 11.16, 13.21, 15.3, 17.8, and 20.1). This is best exemplified by Confucius himself, who gives an instructive autobiography in Book Two: 2.4 The Master said, “At fifteen, I set my mind upon learning; at thirty, I took my place in society; at forty, I became free of doubts; at fifty, I understood Heaven’s Mandate; at sixty, my ear was attuned; and at seventy, I could follow my heart’s desires without overstepping the bounds of propriety.” As Slingerland explains in his commentary on 2.4, We have here Confucius’ spiritual autobiography. We can see his evolution as encompassing three pairs of stages. In the first pair (stages one and two), the aspiring gentleman commits himself to the Confucian Way, submitting to the rigors of study and ritual practice until these traditional 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 this 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 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. (p. 9) The ‘breadth’ of avoiding pettiness and applying the mean is reflected in the comprehensive scope of the Confucian project, which requires the simultaneous pursuit of the Good in moral self-cultivation, giving form to one’s native substance through cultural refinement, and advocacy for social reform, through the reflective restoration of Zhou Dynasty ritual and political traditions. The practical consistency of the Confucian gentleman allows them to be inconsistent in theory, since the purpose of discussing any one theoretical doctrine is contingent on its value as a means of encouraging different interlocutors to begin pursuing or continue in pursuit of the singular Way (Dao). (Note) On the context-sensitive and interlocutor-specific instruction of the sage: Legge, qtd. in Slingerland: “The different answers, given about the same subject to different questioners, show well how the sage suited his instruction to the characters and capacities of the parties with whom he had to do[.]” (p. 125) In short, the consistency of the Confucian gentleman is found in their contextually attentive, responsive, and appropriate practice of the Confucian project to reform self and society. For Confucius himself, this means the practice of educating the next generation of upright ministers to balance their native (moral) substance with worldly skills and cultural refinement. (Definition) Uprightness (zhi): See Slingerland’s Glossary of Terms: “Uprightness, straightness (zhi ). Refers to a kind of moral rectitude (6.19, 18.2), and also has the sense of “forthright”—i.e., not being shy about informing others of their faults—and in this sense represents the opposite of obsequiousness (see esp. 15.7, 16.4). It is normally a desirable virtue, but—like trustworthiness—can easily turn into the vice of intolerance, rudeness, or excessive rigidity when not possessed by a true gentleman (5.24, 13.18, 17.8).” (p. 242) (Definition) Native substance (zhi): Same location: “Native substance (zhi ). Native substance refers to the moral “stuff” that a person brings to the process of acculturation, probably consisting of both inborn qualities and characteristics developed in early childhood. Although Confucius felt that a balance between native substance and cultural refinement was ideal (6.18, 12.8), his dislike for hypocrisy at times caused him to place more emphasis on the importance of native substance (3.3, 3.4, 5.10, 5.22).” (p. 240) (Definition) Culture/cultural refinement (wen): Same location: “Culture, cultural refinement (wen ). Literally referring to writing, wen often serves in the Analects as a general term pertaining to the sort of acculturation—training in ritual, the classics, music, etc.—acquired by someone following the Confucian Way (6.27, 9.5). In this respect, it is often portrayed metaphorically as a kind of adornment or refinement of the “native substance” (zhi ) an uneducated person brings to the process of acculturation. It is often emphasized that cultural refinement requires a suitable substrate of native substance, as in 3.8, where wen is compared to cosmetics applied to a beautiful face, but ultimately a proper balance between the two must be struck (6.18, 12.8). Sometimes wen is also used in the more narrow sense of a set of specific practices like those later formalized as the so-called “six arts” of ritual, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and mathematics, in which any gentleman was trained (see 1.6; similar to the sense of yi , “arts,” in 7.6).” (p. 237) Why the Zhou Dynasty? The Confucian social project of reflectively restoring lost or degraded Zhou dynasty traditions is also driven by this concern for practical consistency. The Zhou dynasty is privileged for Confucius because it integrated and preserved the best elements in prior dynastic cultures (2.23, 3.9, 3.14). (Note) On Confucius’ veneration of the Zhou: See Slingerland’s Introduction: “One might wonder why Confucius so venerated the culture of the Zhou, and not that of the even more ancient Shang or Xia. In 3.14, Confucius suggests that the Zhou represents the culmination of ancient culture, combining the best features of the cultures that preceded it: “The Zhou gazes down upon the two dynasties that preceded it. How brilliant in culture it is! I follow the Zhou” (cf. 8.20). He also, however, seemed to have a more pragmatic rationale: there simply was not very much extant information about the cultures of the Shang or the Xia that one could follow (3.9), whereas the great advantage of the state of Lu was that, as the fiefdom of the descendants of the Duke of Zhou, it preserved Zhou culture more or less intact (commentary to 3.17, 6.24).” (p. xxii) Confucius regards the legendary sage-kings and founders of the Zhou dynasty as models for emulation (7.5, 8.18-8.21, 15.5) on account of their virtue or charismatic power (de) derived from their correct practice of ritual (li) (Definition) Ritual (li): See Slingerland’s definition of ritual (li) in the glossary of terms: “Ritual, ritual propriety (li ). A set of traditional religious and moral practices, which in the Confucian context were believed to have been revealed to the Zhou kings by Heaven. The scope of ritual is quite broad, encompassing not only sacrificial offerings to the spirits, but also aspects of one’s daily lives that we might be tempted to label as “etiquette,” such as the manner in which one dresses, takes one’s meal, approaches one’s ministers, etc. (see especially Book Ten). By submitting to and internalizing ritual forms, an aspiring gentleman is able to restrain improper inborn tendencies (8.2, 12.1), acquire the means to “take his place” (li ) among other adults in society (2.4, 8.8, 16.13, 20.3), and thereby win the favor of Heaven. Ritually-acquired virtue is also portrayed as the only proper way to rule the world (3.11, 12.11, 14.41).” (p. 241) in an effortlessly effective and unselfconsciously appropriate (wu-wei) manner. (Definition) Wu-wei: See Slingerland’s definition of wu-wei in the glossary of terms: “Wu-wei . Meaning literally “no-doing” or “non-doing,” wu-wei serves as both individual spiritual ideal and political ideal for Confucius. It might be best translated as “effortless action,” because it refers not to what is or is not being done, but to the manner in which something is done. An action is wu-wei if it is spontaneous, unselfconscious, and perfectly efficacious. The state of wu-wei represents a perfect harmony between one’s inner dispositions and external movements—and thus is perceived by the subject to be “effortless” and free of strain—as well as a state of harmony between the individual and Heaven, which means that a person in the state of wu-wei also possesses Virtue. In the political realm, wu-wei refers to ruling by means of Virtue. Wu-wei is therefore an effortless form of rulership whereby the ruler merely makes himself correct and thereby wins the spontaneous fealty of everyone in the world. For wu-wei as personal ideal, see especially 2.4, most of Book 10, and 14.13; as political ideal, see especially 2.1, 2.21, 8.18–8.19, 12.19, 13.6, 15.5, and 17.19.” (p. 243) This body of ritual began with the rites of sacrifice to ancestral spirits in the succession of dynasties preceding the Zhou (Xia and Shang) and expanded to encompass the social patterns and codes of conduct for everyday life that held the society of the Zhou Dynasty together in a complex, internally differentiated unity – one ordered hierarchically, but non-coercively. For Confucius, this body of ritual formed the core of the only truly sustainable (dynamic and self-reproducing) social system in history (2.23), in large part due to its emphasis on ‘filial piety’, which Confucius held to be the “root” of virtue (1.2) since “political order grows naturally out of the moral character formed within the context of family life” (pp. 1-2). In fact, Confucius assumes that the ritual tradition of the Zhou dynasty was so accommodating of the richness of humanity in its integrative powers that it could anticipate, respond to, and neutralize any weakness we might attribute to human nature. (Note) On the relation between tradition and human nature: As Slingerland explains in his Introduction: “The view that prevails in the Analects seems to be that the imperfections inherent in human beings are not too great a problem for a tradition in good order—one which has the resources to trim, guide and reform one’s raw nature in such a way that a state of harmony between both the individual and society and the social order and the cosmos can be attained. The Way of the Zhou in its heyday was such a tradition. It is only in the absence of such a tradition—or in the presence of a corrupted or decadent tradition—that these unsavory qualities of human nature are allowed to run amok.” (p. xxiii) In a famous saying, Confucius describes the ritually correct rule-by-virtue of the legendary sage-king Shun, whose moral self-cultivation caused the world to spontaneously rearrange itself into harmony around him: 15.5 The Master said “Is Shun not an example of someone who ruled by means of wu-wei? What did he do? He made himself reverent and took his proper [ritual] position facing south, that is all.” The legendary sage-kings and Zhou founders not only earned the approval of ancestral spirits, but also the “mandate” (ming) of “Heaven” (tian). (Definition) Heaven (tian): See Slingerland’s Glossary of Terms: “Heaven (tian ). The tribal god of the Zhou, who is deliberately conflated in Zhou writings with the Shang’s god, the Lord on High. Early graphic forms of tian seem to picture a massive, striding, anthropomorphic figure, who is from the earliest times associated with the sky. Hence “Heaven” is a fairly good rendering of tian, as long as the reader keeps in mind that “Heaven” refers to an anthropomorphic figure—someone who can be communicated with, angered, or pleased—rather than a physical place. From Zhou times on, Heaven is viewed as the source of normativity in the universe, the all-powerful Being who, when pleased with proper ritual conduct, charges its representative on earth with the Mandate to rule, as well as the power of virtue that made realizing the Mandate possible. Heaven is also viewed as responsible for everything beyond the control of human beings (things relegated to “fate”) and—in Confucius’ view—for revealing to human beings the set of cultural practices and texts collectively known as “the Way.”” (p. 239) (Definition) Mandate (ming): Same location: “Mandate (ming ). Also see “fate.” Ming refers literally to a command issued by a political superior to an inferior or a decree issued by a ruler. In a metaphorical and religious sense, it refers to Heaven’s command to his proxy on earth, the king, to rule the human world. In Shang and Zhou times, the Lord on High or Heaven was believed to grant the Mandate to rule the world to the ruler who maintained ritual correctness. Zhou texts claim that the Shang lost the Mandate because of gross ritual improprieties and general immorality, which motivated the Lord on High/Heaven to withdraw the Mandate from the Shang and give it to the Zhou. Since the holder of the Mandate was believed to also receive virtue from Heaven as a sign of its favor, he would be able to rule by means of wu-wei. 2.4, 16.8.” (p. 240) (Definition) Fate (ming): Same location: “Fate (ming ). Also see “Mandate.” In the sense of “fate,” ming refers to the whole range of circumstances that are both external to the Confucian practice itself and beyond the control of human beings. Even when used in the sense of “fate,” ming continues to preserve its connection to Heaven and the metaphor of “mandating” or “commanding”: fate is what is mandated by Heaven, the normative standard of the universe. It is therefore not only pointless, but also morally wrong, to struggle against it. The proper attitude of the gentleman is to accept what fate brings and focus his attention on things actually within his control, such as self-cultivation. See 6.10, 7.3, 7.19, 11.18, 12.4–12.5, 14.36, 19.1, and 20.3.” (p. 239) This concept of “Heaven’s mandate” – itself an appropriation and transformation of the Shang “Lord on High” (shangdi), originally the deified ur-ancestor of the Shang, who was conflated with and replaced by the Zhou’s god, ‘Heaven’ – was introduced by the early Zhou to provide retrospective justification of their usurpation of Shang rule. Early Zhou texts claim “Heaven’s mandate” was revoked from the Shang on account of their gross ritual violations and given to the Zhou. This means, however, that just as “Heaven’s mandate” was revoked from the Shang, it could be revoked from the Zhou, and indicated a normative authority higher than any one ancestral line. (Note) On the legendary sage-kings, the Zhou founders, and “Heaven’s mandate”: It is worth quoting at length from Slingerland’s Introduction, which gives the following account of this historical-conceptual development: “Traditional Chinese historiography presents the Xia Dynasty as the first of the legendary dynasties of the Golden Age, supposedly founded by the legendary sage-king Yu. Yu is also credited with taming the floods of the Yellow River, thereby making what we now think of as north-central China habitable for the Chinese people. The earliest Chinese civilization for which we have archeological and written evidence, however, is the Shang Dynasty (sometimes alternately referred to as the Yin Dynasty), the traditional dates of which are 1751–1122 b.c.e. It is from the Shang that we have the first written records from China, in the form of so-called “oracle bones.” These oracle bones are pieces of ox scapula or tortoise shells used in divination. Questions concerning the proper course of action or requests for things such a rain, directed to the spirits of the Shang ancestors, were written upon them, and heat was then applied. The answer from the ancestors—yes, this military campaign will be successful or no, rain will not be forthcoming—were revealed in the resulting pattern of cracks decoded by the diviner, who was often the Shang king himself. Often the ancestors were asked to intercede with the being who wielded the greatest power of all over the Shang people, the ur-ancestor known as the “Lord on High” (shangdi ). The Lord on High seems originally to have been a nonhuman god who gradually came to be viewed as the first human ancestor of the Shang people, and therefore—by virtue of seniority—the most powerful of the ancestor spirits. The Lord on High and the other ancestor spirits of the Shang were viewed as dwelling in a kind of netherworld somewhere above the human realm (hence the Lord “on High”), from which vantage point they continued to monitor the behavior of their descendents, receive sacrificial offerings, hear questions and requests, and control all the phenomena seen as lying beyond human control (weather, health and sickness, success or failure in battle, etc.). Establishing and maintaining a good relationship with these spirits—especially the most powerful of them, the Lord on High—was one of the primary concerns of the Shang ruler. In the oracle bones we find a special term, de , referring to the power accrued by a ruler who, through timely and appropriate sacrifices, successfully established and preserved such a relationship with the ancestors. We will translate this term as “Virtue,” with the caveat that the reader should keep in mind the original sense of the Latin virtus—the particular “power” residing in a person or thing, preserved in modern English in such expressions as, “By virtue of his great intelligence, he was able to solve the problem.” Virtue [de] in the early Shang context refers to a kind of attractive, charismatic power residing in a ruler who had won the endorsement of the ancestral spirits. This power could be perceived by others, serving as a visible mark of the spirits’ favor, and its attractive qualities allowed the ruler to both win and retain supporters. Sometime near the end of the second millennium b.c.e., a people known as the Zhou invaded the Shang realm and deposed the last of the Shang kings. The traditional date of the conquest is 1122 b.c.e., but this has been the subject of great dispute and the conquest may in fact have occurred over a period of time rather than in one fell swoop. In any case, what is clear is that the Zhou people were very eager to identify with the religious and political systems of their predecessors. We have much more in the way of written material from the Zhou Dynasty that helps us to understand their religious worldview. The most reliable source is the set of inscriptions that have been found on bronze ritual vessels discovered in tombs, intended as commemorations on the occasion of the making of the vessel, which reveal much about early Zhou history and thought. Less reliable—because subject to scribal changes, both intentional and unintentional— but far more rich in content are the received texts that purport to date from the Zhou Dynasty. The most helpful of these are the Book of Documents (shangshu or shujing ) and the Book of Odes (shijing ), the former a collection of historical documents and governmental proclamations supposedly dating back to earliest years of Chinese history, and the latter a collection of folk songs and official state hymns. The current belief in scholarly circles is that at least half of the Book of Documents is a fourth century c.e. forgery, whereas much of the Book of Odes represents genuinely pre-Confucian material, probably dating between 1000–600 b.c.e. The traditional account of the Zhou conquest credits King Wu (“The Martial King”) with defeating the last of the Shang kings, the infamous Zhow , and posthumously declaring his father to be the first of the Zhou kings, King Wen (“The Cultured King”). When King Wu died, his designated heir, the future King Cheng (“The Perfected King”), was not yet old enough to assume the throne. For the duration of his minority, China was ruled by King Wu’s brother, the famous Duke of Zhou, a wise and strong regent who promptly ceded his position once King Cheng came of age. This triumvirate who established the early Zhou—King Wen, King Wu, and the Duke of Zhou—became bywords for virtue and wisdom. The religious worldview of the Zhou borrowed heavily from the dynasty that they replaced. One reflection of the Zhou eagerness to identify with the Shang was their adoption of the Shang high god, the Lord on High, who was conflated with and eventually replaced by their own tribal god, tian. Early graphic forms of tian seem to picture a massive, striding, anthropomorphic figure, who is from the earliest times associated with the sky. Hence “Heaven” is a fairly good rendering of tian, as long as the reader keeps in mind that “Heaven” refers to an anthropomorphic figure—someone who can be communicated with, angered, or pleased—rather than a physical place. Heaven possessed all of the powers of the Lord on High and in addition had the ability to charge a human representative on earth with the “Mandate” (ming ) to rule. Ming refers literally to a command issued by a political superior to an inferior or a decree issued by a ruler; in a metaphorical and religious sense, it refers to Heaven’s command to its proxy on earth, the king, to rule the human world. Just as the Lord on High sent blessings down to those of his descendents who performed the sacrifices correctly, Heaven was believed to grant the Mandate to the ruler who maintained ritual correctness. The Book of Odes and Book of Documents claim that the Shang lost the Mandate because of gross ritual improprieties and general immorality, which motivated the Lord on High/Heaven to withdraw the Mandate and give it to the Zhou. In this way, the Zhou rulers presented their motivation for conquering the Shang as merely the desire to enact Heaven’s will, rather than any selfish desire for power on their part. Similarly, since the holder of the Mandate was believed to also receive Virtue from Heaven as a sign of its favor, early texts present the conquest as relatively effortless—King Wu simply arrived on the battlefield with his troops and the awesome power of his Virtue caused most of the opposing armies to immediately submit to him. This is the origin of two themes in Chinese religious thought that were inherited by Confucius: only someone who is selfless and sincere will receive Virtue from Heaven, and political order is properly brought about only through the charismatic, noncoercive power of Virtue—the need to exert force viewed as evidence that a ruler does not truly enjoy Heaven’s favor. Another important development seen in early Zhou texts is what might be described as the increasingly impartial nature of their supreme deity. The Lord on High was the blood ancestor of the Shang royal line and thus had a special loyalty to the Shang kings. Heaven, on the other hand, is a supreme deity who has chosen to bestow the Mandate upon the Zhou because of their ritual propriety. In this case, what has been given can also be taken away. Ancestors still play a crucial role, and the Zhou were eager to claim for their ancestral line the same sort of privileged access to the supreme deity that the Shang line enjoyed, but there is no longer any guarantee that the ancestors can protect their descendents from the wrath of Heaven if they go against its will. This accounts for a constant refrain seen throughout the Book of Odes and the Book of History: the Zhou kings must be extremely careful about preserving their Virtue, lest they suffer the same fate as the Shang. As in Shang times, the manner in which to assure the favor of the supreme being was through the proper observance of a set of practices collected referred to as “ritual” (li ), but in the Zhou conception both the scope and nature of ritual practice was understood differently. Shang ritual consisted primarily of sacrificial offerings to the spirits of the ancestors, and the main concern was that the sacrifices were performed properly— that the food and drink offered were of sufficient quality, that the proper words were intoned, etc. By Zhou times, the scope of ritual had grown significantly, encompassing not only sacrificial offerings to the spirits, but also aspects of the Zhou kings’ daily lives that we might be tempted to label as “etiquette,” the manner in which one dressed, took one’s meal, approached one’s ministers, etc. In addition, proper performance of ritual duties became more than a matter of simply observing external forms because in order for ritual practice to be acceptable to Heaven, it was necessary that the king perform it with sincerity. 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 behavior—that becomes a primary theme in the thought of Confucius. Related to the perceived need for sincerity in ritual practice are the hints in early Zhou texts of a religious ideal that will come to be known as “wu-wei” (wuwei ). Meaning literally “no-doing” or “non-doing,” wu-wei might be best translated as “effortless action,” because it refers not to what is or is not being done, but to the manner in which something is done. An action is wu-wei if it is spontaneous, unselfconscious, and perfectly efficacious. Wu-wei action represents a perfect harmony between one’s inner dispositions and external movements, and is perceived by the subject to be “effortless” and free of strain. In early Zhou texts, a sort of unselfconscious skill and sincerity is associated with ideal exemplars, both the aristocratic lord or gentleman (junzi )—who throughout the Book of Odes is described as embodying the martial and social virtues that become his station with an effortless ease—and the more explicitly moral sage-ruler of old, such as Shun or Yao. Throughout early Zhou texts, the effortless moral skill of these aristocratic warriors or virtuous sage-kings is portrayed as a result of a special relationship to Heaven. Virtue is understood in these texts as accruing to those who are ritually correct in an wu-wei fashion— that is, those who accord with Heaven’s Mandate in a completely sincere, spontaneous, unselfconscious fashion. Attaining a state of wu-wei harmony with Heaven, they are thus rewarded with a power that not only brings them personal benefit, but that also allows them to more effectively realize Heaven’s will in the world. We will see this theme elaborated in the Analects where Confucius’ wu-wei gentleman combines both the physical mastery of the martial aristocrat in the Odes—although his mastery shows itself in ritual performance rather than in war—and the unselfconscious ease and selflessness of the virtuous kings of the Zhou, also sharing with them a special relationship to Heaven.” (pp. xvi-xx) This helps us understand how Confucius can occupy the meta-traditional perspective by personally emulating the Zhou Dynasty’s syncretic practice of cultural integration: the Zhou Dynasty is itself a meta-traditional tradition. He describes his approach as an effort to find the excellent – in his historical and literary studies of antiquity (7.20, 11.20, 15.11), his constant search for ‘teachers’ among anyone he encountered (7.22, 19.22) (Saying) 19.22: “Gongsun Chao of Wei asked Zigong, “From whom did Confucius acquire his learning?” Zigong replied, “The Way of Kings Wen and Wu has not yet fallen to the ground—it still exists in people. Those who are worthy understand its greater aspects, while those who are unworthy understand its lesser aspects. There is no one who does not have the Way of Wen and Wu within them. From whom did the Master not acquire his learning? And what need was there for him to have a formal teacher?”” See also Slingerland’s commentary: “Gongsun Chao was a minister in Wei. The point of Zigong’s response, Liu Baonan explains, is that the Way of the ancient Zhou kings was still preserved in the cultural practices of Confucius’ age: “The Master’s learning followed the Zhou in all respects. As we read in the “Doctrine of the Mean,” “Confucius reverenced and transmitted [the Way of] Yao and Shun, and modeled himself on the cultural brilliance of Wen and Wu” . . . The transmission of the great Way began with Yao and Shun and reached the Zhou of Confucius’ age, grandly embodied in their ritual and musical institutions. This is why Confucius declared that “Now that King Wen is gone, is not culture now invested here in me?” [9.5] . . . Worthy people recognize the greatness of its Heavenly provenance and its ability to order the human world, whereas the unworthy notice only the minor details of its artifacts and regulations. This is the manner in which the Way of Wen and Wu was still preserved, and the Master engaged in the editing and organizing of texts, as well as the praising and cultivating of practices, in order to create manifest cultural forms that could be recognized and known by others. Histories tell us that the Master questioned Laozi about ritual, inquired about music from Chang Hong, asked Master Tan about ministerial posts, and studied the zither with Music Master Xiang. If a person had something good to say or something good to demonstrate, the Master found him worthy to emulate, and therefore everyone served as his teacher. Is this not indeed what is referred to as accumulating great achievements?” For the evidence of Zhou cultural forms still present in the Lu of Confucius’ time, cf. 3.9 and 6.24, and for his practice of always learning from others, cf. 3.15, 7.22, 7.32.” – and to remember the excellent (7.28) for the sake of transmitting the wisdom of antiquity (7.1) to students and offering it to potential students, regardless of whether they rise to the challenge of living up to that wisdom. (Note) On Duke Ai and Ji Kangzi: Though Duke Ai of Lu does not seem to internalize Confucius’ advice or respectful remonstrations. Duke Ai continues to live for pleasure, neglecting government for the sake of entertaining dancers, provoking Confucius into finally departing the state of Lu in self-imposed exile, seeking employment elsewhere (18.4). Duke Ai shrugs off Confucius’ request to punish the usurper who murdered, and claimed the title of, the Duke of a nearby state, telling Confucius to make the same request to the Three Families who threaten to usurp Duke Ai’s own power in the state of Lu (14.21). However, Ji Kangzi, a powerful member of one of the three families who threatens to usurp Duke Ai, who inherits his title from the Zhou, does seem to be a more promising potential student – or even employer – for Confucius. This is because Ji Kangzi, unlike Duke Ai, does seem to be more preoccupied with whether he is ruling correctly as one of the de facto rulers of the state of Lu (2.20, 12.17-19). However, just as deferring to Confucius is no guarantee you have found the answer (i.e., the solution to the problem of attaining Wisdom, Goodness, the Way itself, etc.), dutifulness to tradition is not sufficient. As we see in 4.15 (repeated in 15.3), the ‘single thread’ on which all Confucius teaches can be strung together is the importance of “dutifulness (zhong) tempered by understanding (shu).” (Definition) Dutifulness (zhong): See Slingerland’s Glossary of Terms. On dutifulness (zhong): “Dutifulness, dutiful (zhong ). Dutifulness is the virtue of fulfilling one’s role-specific obligations, and is often linked to political duties (especially of a subordinate toward his superior) and to ritual obligations. Although zhong is often translated as “loyalty,” “dutifulness” is preferable because the ultimate focus is on one’s ritually-prescribed duties rather than loyalty to any particular person. Indeed zhong involves opposing a ruler who is acting improperly (13.15, 13.23, 14.7). Examples of dutiful behavior are found in 5.19 and 14.21, descriptions of the restrictions placed upon one’s behavior by the demands of duty are found in 8.14 and 14.26. For its relationship to the virtue of “understanding,” see 4.15.” (p. 238) (Definition) Understanding (shu): Same location: “Understanding (shu ). The character itself is made up of components meaning “comparing” (ru ) and “heart-mind” (xin ), and is defined in the Analects in terms of what might be called a “negative” version of the Golden Rule: “Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire” (15.24; cf. 5.12). It might thus be rendered as “understanding,” in the sense of an ability to show sympathy, through putting oneself imaginatively in another’s place or “being able to take what is near at hand as an analogy” (6.30). In 4.15, coupled with dutifulness (zhong ), it is described as the “single thread” tying together all that Confucius taught, and in 15.24 it is described as the “single teaching which can be a guide to conduct throughout one’s life.” “Understanding” seem to refer to an intuitive ability to amend or suspend the dictates of dutifulness—or to apply them flexibly—when holding to them rigidly would involve “imposing on others what you yourself do not desire,” and the ability to combine role-specific properness with some sort of context-sensitivity is an essential aspect of the overall virtue of Goodness.” (p. 242) If, as Slingerland explains, dutifulness is understood as fulfilling the obligations proper to one’s ritually-role and understanding is the ability to imaginatively put oneself in another’s place, then tempering dutifulness by understanding means you “know when it is appropriate or ‘right’ (yi) to bend or suspend the dictates of role-specific duty” (pp. 34-35; see also 15.37) according to “the negative golden rule”: “Do not impose upon others what you yourself do not desire” (15.24; see also 5.12). What Confucius demands is not blind return to tradition out of mere deference to arbitrary social authority. In fact, the Confucian project is driven by the problematic cultural and political situation in which counterfeiters of virtue – personified in the figures of the so-called “village worthy” [xiangyuan] (17.12-13) or “glib person” [ningren] with “clever tongue and fine appearance” (1.3; 6.16; 15.27; 16.4) – observe all the outward practices of convention for their own advancement in society but lack any real appreciation for the ‘traditional values’ they outwardly claim. (Note) On the Village Worthy: See Slingerland’s Introduction: “For Confucius, the emptiness and superficiality of his age is personified in the figure of the “village worthy” (xiangyuan), who carefully observes all of the outward practices dictated by convention, and in this way attains a measure of social respect and material comfort, but who lacks the inward commitment to the Way that characterizes the true Confucian gentleman. Confucius refers to the village worthy as the “thief of Virtue” (17.13), for from the outside he seems to be a gentleman and so lays a false claim to virtue. This is no doubt the sentiment informing 17.18: “I hate it that purple is usurping the place of vermilion, that the tunes of Zheng are being confused with classical music, and that the clever of tongue are undermining both state and clan.” Just as the debased people of his time use the mixed color of purple in place of pure vermilion and confuse the decadent music of Zheng with true music, they mistake village worthies and “clever talkers” for true gentlemen. The prevalence of these counterfeiters of virtue and the popularity of decadent music are not the only signs of the fallenness of Confucius’ age.” (p. xxiv) See also 5.25, and Slingerland’s commentary: “[T]he aspiring gentleman must be constantly on guard against hypocrisy and other forms of insincerity. “Perfunctory gestures of respect” is a translation of zugong —literally “foot respect.” The reference is to mere physical gestures of respect (bowing, giving precedence) unaccompanied by genuine feeling.” (p. 50) These figures have made it increasingly difficult to distinguish between true and counterfeit virtue (13.22) and, therefore, Confucius complains about his contemporaries: “[Yet all I see around me is] nothing masquerading as something, emptiness masquerading as substance, limitation masquerading as grandness” (7.26). We can already see the problem of ‘glib’ distortions of Confucius’ own teaching, as when one of his disciples, Zilu, tries to justify his self-serving behavior by quoting a Confucian maxim out of context – as in, ‘Confucius says…’ – back to Confucius himself (11.25). (Saying) 11.25: “Zilu dispatched Zigao to serve as the steward of [the Ji Family stronghold of] Bi. The Master remarked, “You are harming another man’s son.” Zilu replied, “There are people there for him to govern, and altars to the soil and grain for him to maintain. Why must we think that it is only by reading books that one can be considered learned (xue )?” The Master answered, “It is for precisely this reason that I despise those who are glib.”” In his commentary, Slingerland explains: “Bi was the stronghold of the Ji Family, and thus the base of their personal power; cf. 6.7, where the virtuous Min Ziqian declines the position of steward. Zilu’s point seems to be that Zigao, although young and not particularly bright or well educated (11.18), can learn on the job through practical experience, and based on 1.7 we might expect Confucius to agree with him. Confucius’ rebuke can be understood in various ways. Most commentators argue that book learning is crucial to someone aspiring to take up an important official position, a view supported by a passage from the Exoteric Commentary: “Duke Ai asked Zixia, ‘Is it necessary to first learn before it is possible to bring peace to the state and protect the people?’ Zixia replied, ‘There has never been one who, without first learning, was able to bring peace to the state and protect the people.’” Waley also remarks that “the pertness of Zilu’s remark consists of the fact that he throws in the Master’s teeth a favourite Confucian maxim” (1989: 159, n. 4). Probably the point here is that Zilu is doing something that he knows at some level is wrong—pulling an inexperienced young man away from his studies and throwing him into a situation that is over his head, which will surely harm both the young man and the people under his rule—but trying to defend his behavior by citing a Confucian maxim out of context. Though clever, such behavior is morally despicable in Confucius’ eyes.” (p. 122) (Note) On other abuses of Confucian instruction in the Analects: In 2.5, we see one of the heads of the Three Families, Meng Yizi (of the Meng[-sun] family), ask Confucius for a definition of ‘filial piety,’ to which Confucius replies with the vague “Do not disobey.” When Confucius describes this exchange with one of his disciples, Fan Chi, we learn both that Meng Yizi did not ask Confucius to clarify the meaning of “Do not disobey” and (from Fan Chi’s request for clarification) that Confucius seems to have deliberately given Meng Yizi an ambiguous definition because he knew Meng Yizi would interpret it in a self-serving way – reinforcing his obedience to the unethical ways of his family – when Confucius was setting up a criticism of this exact distortion of filial piety – since, as Slingerland explains in his commentary, for Confucius, “the locus of obedience should be the rites” and “ritual propriety takes precedence over obedience to one’s parents’ unethical customs” (p. 10). On another occasion (3.21), Slingerland suggests that Zai Wo, one of Confucius’s least disciplined disciples (5.10), might be using the Confucian study of ritual propriety and knack for wordplay to offer Duke Ai ritual justification (sacrificing to ‘the altar to the soil’) for executing enemies of the state (p. 26). The corruption of Zhou tradition by self-serving appeals to its legacy for legitimacy extends as far as the de facto rulers of the state of Lu, the Three Families, (Note) On the Three Families and Zhou decline: See Slingerland’s Introduction for the historical significance of the Three Families in the waning of the Zhou Dynasty: “The Zhou system resembled that of feudal Europe, where the king enjoyed the fealty of the local feudal lords—usually relatives of the royal family or favored retainers—to whom he had granted hereditary fiefdoms. Although these fiefdoms were governed independently, all of the feudal lords were bound to obey the Zhou king in times of war and to submit periodic tribute to the Zhou royal court. The beginning of the decline of the Zhou can be traced to the sack of the Zhou capital in 770 b.c.e. by barbarian tribes allied with rebellious Chinese principalities. The Zhou court was forced to flee and a new capital was established farther east. The movement of the capital marks the beginning of the so-called “Eastern Zhou” period (770–221 b.c.e.), the latter part of which is often subdivided into the “Spring and Autumn” (722–481 b.c.e.) and “Warring States” (403–221 b.c.e.) periods. The Eastern Zhou period was characterized by a gradual decline in the power of the Zhou kings, with local feudal lords and ministers gradually usurping the traditional Zhou kingly prerogatives, and more and more openly running their fiefdoms as independent states. By the time of Confucius’ birth in 551 b.c.e., the Zhou kings had been reduced to mere figureheads, and even many of the feudal lords had seen their power usurped by upstart ministers. This was the case in Confucius’ native state of Lu , where the authority of the dukes—who could trace their ancestry back to the Duke of Zhou himself—had been usurped by a group of powerful clans, collectively known as the “Three Families”: the Ji-sun family, Meng-sun family, and the Shu-sun family.” (p. xx) who not only destroy the remnants of the Zhou dynasty’s legacy of social order but even pretend to inherit the Zhou dynasty by making ritual sacrifice to Zhou ancestors as if they were their own ancestral spirits. (Note) On the corruption of ritual sacrifice: See Slingerland’s Introduction: “The most prominent and egregious reflection of the sorry state of his contemporaries is the corruption of ritual practice among the political and social elite. It has already been noted that in Confucius’ native state of Lu, the practice of the di sacrifice had degenerated to the point that Confucius could not bear to look on it. Similarly, the overweening pride of the Three Families who ruled Lu in Confucius’ time caused them to usurp the ritual privileges properly accorded only to the Zhou kings—a transgression against the very structure of the cosmos that appalled and saddened Confucius (3.1–3.2, 3.6).” For more on the ritual violation of the di sacrifice, see 2.24, 3.10-3.15. Rather, Confucius’ mission – to ring heaven’s bell in a world that has lost the Way (3.24) – is to facilitate a reflective return to tradition in which ritual is performed with harmonious ease, with special emphasis on harmony of one’s inner dispositions and outward behavior, which enables adjustment for context and avoids the mechanical or inflexible repetition of dutiful behaviors as mere forms (1.12, 2.7-8, 7.11, 9.4, 15.37). For Confucius, the fact that Zhou tradition requires the performance of ritual with, as Slingerland describes it, the “unselfconscious skill and sincerity […] associated with ideal exemplars” (p. xix) means the body of ritual practice left behind by the Zhou Dynasty at its zenith provides its own, internal criterion for distinguishing between true and counterfeit inheritors of Zhou tradition. By making a constant effort, on the one hand, to carefully observe the everyday habits of others and, on the other, to diligently study the strengths and weaknesses of historical figures, the Confucian adept cultivates a power of judgment that should enable them to perceive the moral character of those around them. (Note) On the perceptive powers of a gentleman: See Slingerland’s introductory remark for Book 14: “Most of the passages in this Book concern themselves in some way with the respective duties of ruler and minister. Here the key to rulership is presented as employing people correctly, which requires that one be a good judge of character—a potentially difficult task, since often a person’s outward presentation does not always match their inner character or actual behavior (14.4, 14.6, 14.13–14.14, 14.20, 14.24, 14.27). A large portion of the Book (14.8–14.19) is dedicated to case examples of how one would go about judging the character of others, with the Master evaluating the behavior of various historical figures, noting both their strengths and weaknesses, and thereby illustrating the perceptive powers of a gentleman. On the minister’s side, one must be dedicated to the Way and not to the pursuit of salary, honest with oneself and others, and courageous in remonstrating with one’s ruler when it comes to matters of rightness. A good minister also persists in holding to rightness even when the situation seems hopeless (14.21, 14.38–14.39), and this probably accounts for the series of passages at the end of the Book (14.32, 14.37–14.39, 14.43) where Confucius rebukes (either verbally or by example) recluses or nonconformists of various types, who have given up the Confucian Way and withdrawn into private life.” (p. 153) What is decisive is how, exactly, one performs the same exact rituals everyone else does, which explains the importance of Book 10, which is meant to show how Confucius himself effortlessly embodies the true spirit of the rites in every aspect of his life. (Note) On the importance of descriptions of Confucius’ own graceful performance of ritual: See Slingerland’s introductory remark for Book 10: “Based on their style, lack of explicit subject, and parallels to be found in other early ritual texts such as the Record of Ritual or Book of Etiquette and Ritual, scholars have concluded that most of the passages in this Book were probably culled from a lost ritual text that provided anonymous guidelines and injunctions for the aspiring gentleman. From earliest times, however, this Book has been viewed by commentators as an extended description of the ritual behavior of Confucius in particular, and it was probably intended by the editors of the earliest stratum of the Analects (Books 1–10) to be understood that way. The translation and commentary will reflect this understanding of the text, rendering it as descriptive rather than injunctive, and understanding Confucius as the implicit subject, although he is only explicitly mentioned in a few passages. Seen as an actual description of the Master’s behavior rather than a set of impersonal ritual guidelines, Book Ten serves as a sort of capstone for the first stratum, providing a series of descriptions of the Master effortlessly embodying in his words, behavior, and countenance the lessons imparted throughout the rest of the text. What is being emphasized in this Book is the ease and grace with which the Master 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. The final passage, 10.27, identifies this ability as the virtue of “timeliness” (shi )—that is, always according perfectly with the demands of the situation at hand. This is Confucius’ forte, and he is in fact known to posterity (through the efforts of Mencius) as the “timely sage”: the one whose ritual responses were always effortlessly and unselfconsciously appropriate (Mencius 5:B:1).” (p. 98) Virtue (or lack thereof) is inevitably revealed in the distinctive means someone employs to accomplish ritual tasks, their personal motivations for performing those rites, and the natural mode with which they conduct themselves where they feel most comfortable: “Where can he hide? Where can he hide?” (2.10). Put simply, it is not enough to give outward assent to tradition. One has to totally harmonize with it: 13.23 The Master said, “The gentleman harmonizes (he ), and does not merely agree (tong ). The petty person agrees, but he does not harmonize.” This necessarily involves interrogating why these rituals are performed in the first place, why traditional social orders command the respect they do – even among those who show only nominal, outward deference to them. As Confucius says in 3.15, asking questions about the ritual is itself a part of the ritual. (Saying) 3.15: “3.15 When the Master went into the Great Ancestral Temple, he asked questions about everything that took place. Someone said, “Who said that this son of a man from Zou understands ritual? When he went into the Great Ancestral Temple, he had to ask questions about everything.” […] When this comment was reported to the Master, his reply was, “This asking is, in fact, part of ritual.”” And Slingerland’s commentary: “The Great Ancestral Temple was located in the state of Lu, was dedicated to the Duke of Zhou, and was the site of the traditional di sacrifice mentioned in 3.10 and 3.11. Confucius’ father was supposedly from Zou. […] The simplest way to understand this passage is that ritual demands that one ask polite questions upon entering someone else’s ancestral temple, or that one not display one’s superior knowledge of ritual. As Kong Anguo puts it, “Although Confucius knew the ritual, it was appropriate for him to ask questions about it nonetheless—this is the height of carefulness.” Others read it together with 3.10 and 3.11 as a subtle condemnation of the manner in which the di sacrifice was being performed in Lu. As Liu Fenglu explains, ‘From the time of Duke Xi the rulers of Lu began usurping the [Zhou king prerogative] of practicing the di sacrifice in the Great Ancestral Temple. They employed ritual vestments, vessels, and officers of the Four Dynasties [appropriate only to the Son of Heaven], and were subsequently emulated by their ministers, who also usurped the great rituals. By asking about everything when he entered the Great Ancestral Temple, Confucius avoided directly criticizing this usurpation: he pretended to ask innocently, out of ignorance, such things as, “When was the precedent for this practice established?” or “What is the justification for this practice?” in order to indicate obliquely that Lu had no right to usurp the practices of the Son of Heaven.’” (p. 23) In a few extreme cases (e.g., 5.1, in which Confucius gives his daughter in marriage to Gongye Chang, a man formerly imprisoned and physically branded as a criminal), Confucius’ insistence on interrogating social conventions to appraise their value results, as Slingerland notes, in his “flouting conventional mores” and declaring “the independence of true morality from conventional social judgments” (p. 39). What empowers Confucius to make these kinds of criticisms of social conventions? Our first clue lies in the form of Confucian criticism: more (especially with elders or superiors) or less (especially with his students) indirect corrections of the actions, speech, or judgments of others that fall short of elegantly performed ritual propriety, but always within the bounds of ritual propriety itself and always for the purpose of instructive rectification. Note on Confucius’ method of rectifying criticism: While Confucius suggests that he does not have time to criticize others because he is concerned with rectifying himself (14.29), there are many cases of indirect criticism in the Analects (7.15, 7.31, 12.4). As Simon Leys observes, Confucius was a “great master of [the] subtle art” of the “polite insult” (qtd. in Slingerland, p. 209), as in the case of 17.20, where Confucius wants to inspire Ru Bei – who seeks Confucius for ritual instruction in a ritually inappropriate manner – to reflect on his own behavior and reform himself (Ibid.). How does Confucius accomplish this? By making it obvious to Ru Bei’s messenger that he was blowing Ru Bei off: “17.20 Ru Bei [sent a messenger expressing his] wish to have an audience with Confucius, but Confucius declined, saying that he was ill. As soon as the messenger went out the door, however, Confucius picked up his zither and sang, making sure that the messenger could hear him.” Furthermore, Confucius repeatedly emphasizes one’s duty to correct one’s friends (12.23, 13.28), which shows up in many of his critical comments made to or about his disciples (11.17-19, 11.24-25). While Confucius would not recommend criticism of family members, especially parents or elders, and even recommends covering for their mistakes or crimes to an extent (13.18), the dutiful child does have a responsibility to respectfully, no matter the abuses hurled at them in reply, reprove their family members (4.18). The Confucian prioritization of filial piety should be tempered by the rites, in opposition to following the unethical customs of one’s family (2.5) and may even extend to relationships between student and teacher (11.23) because brotherhood, and, by extension, filiality, is not reducibly biological (12.5). Even in the case of serving one’s lord as a minister, Confucius says: “Do not deceive him. Oppose him openly.” (14.22) Confucius justifies his criticism of rulers and ministers on the grounds that they are “put to the test” by the response their subjects have to their administration (15.25). Our second clue lies in Confucius’ claim, after surviving a failed assassination attempt, that Heaven itself has endowed him with the virtue he needs to complete the task that Heaven itself has assigned him (7.23; see also: 9.5, 14.35, 17.19), which, Slingerland explains, means he’s “subject only to Heaven’s command” (p. 71). (Saying) 7.23: “The Master said “It is Heaven itself that has endowed me with virtue. What have I to fear from the likes of Huan Tui?”” Slingerland explains that this was Confucius’ response to a failed assassination attempt by the Song military minister Huan Tui: “Huan Tui was a military minister in the state of Song who apparently wished to do Confucius harm. According to an account in the Record of the Historian, while in Song Confucius and his disciples were one day practicing ritual beneath a large tree when Huan Tui, in an attempt to kill Confucius, cut the tree down. The assassination attempt failed, and when the disciples urged the Master to make haste in escaping the state he delivered the remark reported here. Confucius is on a mission from Heaven (3.24), and is therefore subject only to Heaven’s command (ming). Human beings do not have the power to alter fate, and Confucius therefore accepts whatever may befall him with equanimity, viewing it as Heaven’s will. Very similar sentiments are expressed in 9.5 and 14.36.” If the Shang Dynasty failed to maintain “Heaven’s mandate,” the Zhou Dynasty, its ritual tradition, and the teachings of Confucius himself are, likewise, equally subject to Heaven’s authority, and will be “put to the test”: evaluated by their effect on the people for whom rulers and ministers of the state are responsible and to whom they must be responsive (15.25). If the Zhou tradition is truly universal, it would have to prove itself even among the barbarians (9.14). (Note) On the barbarians as a limit-test of the universality of the Zhou gentleman’s Way: See 9.14: “The Master expressed a desire to go and live among the Nine Yi Barbarian tribes. Someone asked him, “How could you bear their uncouthness?” The Master replied, “If a gentleman were to dwell among them, what uncouthness would there be?”” And Slingerland’s commentary: “The Nine Yi tribes were a group of “barbarians” who lived along the Eastern coast of present day China, possibly including the Korean peninsula. Many commentators link this passage to 5.7, where Confucius expresses a wish (facetious or not) to float away from China on a raft, and both passages are related to 9.9 and 9.13 in being expressions of frustration at having failed to find employment under a virtuous ruler in China proper. This passage is also a testament to the transformative power of the gentleman’s Virtue (cf. 12.19; as Ma Rong puts it, “Everywhere the gentleman dwells is transformed”), as well as the universality of the Way’s power: even non-Chinese barbarians are subject to its influence (cf. 13.19).” (p. 91) On the barbarians as a test of the universality of the good and virtue, see also 13.19, 15.6, 15.39, 17.2, 18.8. The reflective return to tradition is only effective so far as the tradition is a living one capable of inspiring a sense of duty in us through meaningful identification with traditional practices (or at least in the functions and values they serve). In the end, this is the criterion of timeliness (shi) the Analects commends us to apply to the Analects itself: (Note) On the virtue of timeliness (shi): See Slingerland’s commentary to 7.11: “The first remark refers to the virtue of timeliness (shi ): responding flexibly and appropriately to the situation with which one is confronted. As Kong Anguo puts it, it is the ability to “advance when it is appropriate to advance, and remain still when it is appropriate to remain still.” Such sensitivity to context and effortless grace is the hallmark of an accomplished gentleman.” (p. 67) See also Slingerland’s introductory remark to Book Eighteen (p. 213) and, especially, Slingerland’s commentary on Confucius’ celebration of the timeliness of the pheasant in 10.27: “While it is not entirely clear why the pheasant is being praised for timeliness (perhaps because it knows when to arise, when to alight, and when to fly off), the ideal of “timeliness” (shi)—according perfectly with the demands of the situation at hand—sums up fairly well the general theme of Book Ten: that the Master’s actions accorded perfectly with the demands of ritual propriety, no matter what the circumstances. Timeliness is Confucius’ particular forte, and indeed he is known to posterity (through the efforts of Mencius) as the “timely sage”—the one whose ritual responses were always appropriate to circumstances.” (p. 110) 2.11 The Master said, “Both keeping past teachings alive and understanding the present—someone able to do this is worthy of being a teacher.” Notes 1 General Introduction to the Analects