The Analects

by Confucius

  Most commentaries follow the Han scholar Kong Anguo, who explains that by responding that he did not know the di sacrifice Confucius was avoiding saying outright that he disapproved of the way it was practiced in Lu. But Confucius’ answer also supports what the Book of Rites taught about the di sacrifice—that “only a king could perform the di.” And if we add to this what he tells Zilu in 2.17 about knowledge and knowing, then Confucius could also be saying: Only a king is granted the right to perform the di sacrifice, and if he truly knows the underlying principles of this ritual, his knowledge will be evident in his action; such a ruler has the respect and trust of his people, and so it will be easy for him to manage the affairs in his empire.

  3.12 “Sacrifice as if they were present” means sacrifice to the spirits as if the spirits were present. The Master said, “If I do not take part in the sacrifice, it is as if I did not sacrifice at all.”

  The description in the Jiyi chapter of the Book of Rites of a gentleman conducting a sacrifice to his deceased parent could serve as a gloss of the first sentence: “On the day of the sacrifice, he enters the room [of the ancestral temple where the rites will take place], and it seems to him that he sees the deceased. After the ceremony is over and he is ready to leave, he is still absorbed in what he thought was the voice of the deceased. And after he has exited the door, he can still hear faintly the sound of the deceased sighing. Thus the filiality taught by the former kings requires that the eyes of the son should never forget his parents’ looks, nor his ears their voices; and that his heart should never forget what they were inclined toward and what they liked. Because he loves them completely, they continue to exist. And because he is true in his devotion, they could still appear to him.” Thus it is the person who takes part in the sacrifice that makes the spirits present, and this, I believe, is Confucius’ point.

  3.13 Wangsun Jia asked, “What do you think of the adage ‘Better to flatter the god of the kitchen hearth than the god of the southwest corner’?”

  The Master replied, “The saying has got it wrong. When you have offended Heaven, there is no spirit you can pray to.”

  Early sources, including the records in the Analects, are able to provide some background to this exchange. When Confucius was in the state of Wei, he had trouble finding employment in the government of Duke Ling. Some people at the time suspected Confucius of being willing to get the ruler’s attention through those who were closest to him—through either Duke Ling’s wife Nanzi or the court doctor Yong Ju. And this, according to most of the commentaries, is what Wangsun Jia meant by the “southwest corner,” which was the darkest spot in a room and, by analogy, Duke Ling’s inner circle. Wangsun Jia himself was a chief counselor and a commander in the Wei army, and, like the god of the “kitchen hearth,” which was an open space, he had influence in the public arena, in both the political world and the military world. Thus some scholars think that Wangsun Jia was telling Confucius, by way of an adage, Better to ask me for help instead of the ruler’s personal attendants. And Confucius’ response was a rebuke to such a suggestion or any suggestion that he would stoop so low as trying to get a job through private influence. Mencius, in his defense of Confucius’ conduct in the state of Wei, says that if Confucius had been willing to find employment through improper means he would have approached Mi Zixia, who was Duke Ling’s favorite courtier and Confucius’ disciple Zilu’s brother-in-law. In Mencius’ view, the fact that Confucius did not ask for Mi Zixia’s help shows that “he advanced in a manner that was appropriate and withdrew in a way that was morally right.”

  3.14 The Master said, “Zhou took stock of the two previous dynasties. Splendid is her culture! I follow the Zhou.”

  Zhou culture was built on that of the two earlier dynasties, the Xia and the Shang. The Zhou kings looked back on the ritual practices of the Xia and Shang and “made adjustments according to the changing times” and “the changing sentiments of their people.” Since the Zhou had the advantage of retrospection and introspection, using the past as a mirror, her culture, in Confucius’ view, was grander and more elegant. Moreover, Confucius himself had the benefit of being a native of the state of Lu, which, because of its association with the Duke of Zhou, served as the depository and the center of Zhou culture.

  3.15 When the Master entered the Temple of the Great Ancestor, he asked questions about everything. Someone remarked, “Who said that the son of the man from Zou knew the practice of the rites? When he entered the grand temple, he asked questions about everything.” When the Master heard this, he said, “Asking questions is the correct practice of the rites.”

  “The Temple of the Great Ancestor” refers to the temple of the Duke of Zhou. “The man from Zou” refers to Confucius’ father, Shuliang He, who, according to Kong Anguo, had once been an administrator in the district of Zou. There are at least three ways of explaining why Confucius “asked questions about everything.” Some scholars believe that Confucius “was extremely cautious” even though “he knew the rites well.” Others say that because in performing the rites the rulers of Lu had used ritual utensils and robes and sacrificial animals that were the prerogatives of the Zhou king, Confucius asked questions in order to force the ruler and his counselors to defend their practice. I, however, feel that Confucius asked questions even though he knew the ritual rules well because for him each occasion was different and so he would approach the rites as if he were performing them for the first time. Asking questions heightens awareness and enlivens the ritual experience. Thus he said, “Asking questions is the correct practice of the rites.”

  3.16 The Master said, “It is stated, ‘In ritualistic archery, the object is not hitting the hide [of the target] [zhupi] because men do not have equal strength.’ This was the way of ancients.”

  The archery Confucius refers to was archery in a ritual context (lishe), which was performed to music and meant to enforce the idea of “the middle” (zhong), of finding a center in one’s conduct and demeanor. This, according to the early ritual texts, was different from archery in a military exercise, where strength and accuracy were important. “To shoot an arrow means to let go—letting go one’s intention and purpose,” the Book of Rites says. “Thus with a composed mind and an upright posture, one is able to hold the bow and arrow steady. In this way, the arrow [like the mind’s intention] will have a chance of reaching the center [zhong].” Most English translations, following the reading of the Song scholars, render zhupi as “piercing the hide.” But Cheng Shude, citing the Han commentaries, says that zhupi simply meant “hitting the target,” which “already implies a test of strength because one must be strong in order to send an arrow to the target.”

  3.17 Zigong wanted to do away with the practice of sacrificing a lamb in the ceremony of announcing the beginning of a month [su]. The Master said, “Si [Zigong], you don’t want to waste a lamb, whereas I don’t want to see the rite disappear.”

  It was the practice of the Zhou emperor in the first half of the dynasty to assemble the regional rulers in his capital sometime between late autumn and early winter to hand out the calendar for the next year that would indicate, for instance, whether there was to be a leap month. This was one way for him to assert his authority over his empire. Each of the regional rulers would take the calendar back to his ancestral temple, and he would mark the beginning of each month with an announcement and a sacrificial offering in the temple before holding court with his counselors. The ritual, called su, was related to the idea of “renewal” (su) and was meant to demonstrate that each month the ruler was ready to revitalize his government. But the practice stopped at the imperial level by the second half of the Zhou dynasty, and, by around 611 BC, about a hundred years before Confucius was born, most of the su ritual had disappeared in the state of Lu, save the sacrifice of the lamb. Thus Zigong says to his teacher, Why waste a lamb on a ceremony that no one cares about anymore? Even so, Confucius replies, he cannot let it go. The attachment he expresses is not just a reaction of his
heart, because it could also mean that he is still hoping for a revival of the su. This is wishful thinking, perhaps, but it is understandable, given his belief in the political efficacy of the Zhou rites.

  3.18 The Master said, “If in serving your ruler you try to do everything correctly by the rites, others will look upon you as being obsequious.”

  This is Confucius’ observation on how others might perceive a person who, in serving his ruler, is attentive to the rites. Transgressions against correct behavior, in his view, had been going on for so long and had become so prevalent that the world was confused about right and wrong, and so people would regard a man who was vigilant about rules of propriety as “being obsequious.”

  3.19 Duke Ding asked, “How should a ruler treat his ministers, and how should the ministers serve their ruler?”

  Confucius replied, “The ruler should treat his ministers in accordance with the rites. The ministers should serve their ruler by doing their best.”

  Duke Ding was the last ruler Confucius served in Lu, and someone who was partly responsible for Confucius’ exile. The conversation must have taken place when Confucius was still the minister of crime in his government. It was around this time that Confucius was hoping to find some way to help Duke Ding take back the authority inherent in his position as the ruler of Lu, and here he suggests that the ruler should “treat his ministers in accordance with the rites.” Scholars from the Han and Song understand these words to mean that if the ruler did not veer from the rules of propriety, his ministers would follow his example, and they would serve him by doing their best. But the Ming scholar Jiao Hong and the Qing scholar Yu Zhengxie propose another reading. Jiao Hong, quoting an early text, says, “‘Only by way of the rites can one govern a state.’ The system of the rites was the apparatus the former kings used to create titles and social distinctions and to weed out any shoots of disorder.” Yu Zhengxie thinks that the rites (li) were different from etiquette (yi)—that Confucius could not be telling Duke Ding “to be even more respectful and yielding” to the counselors who had made him look like a minion. “The authority of the rites,” Yu writes, “was the way by which a ruler could safeguard his country, implement his decrees, and hold on to his people.”

  3.20 The Master said, “In the guanju poem, there is joy but no immodest thoughts; sorrow but no self-injury.”

  Confucius told his son to learn the Odes, to let the poems teach him to speak, because the voices in them were always appropriate: they “never swerve from the path.” And for him, the guanju (“Fishhawk”), the first poem from the guofeng section of the Odes, best illustrates this point. The voice in the poem is that of a young man, probably a prince, yearning for the woman he desires: “Wanting, sought her, had her not, / Waking, sleeping, thought of her.” Yet the yearning does not leave the young man wretched, and his thoughts never stray. He does not make an obvious display of his feelings but instead enlists the help of the men and women in his community. “With harps we bring her company,” the poem reads. “With bells and drums do her delight.”

  3.21 Duke Ai asked Zai Wo about the altar to the god of the soil [she].

  Zai Wo replied, “The Xia used pine. The Shang used cypress. The Zhou used chestnut [li], in order, they say, to make the people tremble [li].”

  When the Master heard about this, he said, “Don’t try to explain what is already done. Don’t attempt to remonstrate about what is finished. Don’t decry what is already past.”

  Zai Wo became a disciple before Confucius was forced out of Lu in 497 BC. So, like Zigong, Yan Hui, and Zilu, Zai Wo was at Confucius’ side when the latter was in exile.

  The character she could refer either to the altar to the god of the soil or to this god’s spirit tablet, and the wood—pine, cypress, or chestnut—could refer either to the material of the spirit tablet or to the trees planted around the altar. One simple explanation of Confucius’ rebuke of Zai Wo for his remark is that Zai Wo, who had a reputation for being too clever for his own good, did not know what he was talking about. The trees planted around the altar of this god were those that suited the condition of the soil, which meant that the trees used could be different from region to region, state to state. Thus, Confucius thought, what Zai Wo said about the practice of the Xia and the Shang had no historical basis and his advice for Duke Ai—to plant chestnuts (li) “in order to make the people tremble [li]”—sounded pathetic. Most commentaries favor this explanation even though Confucius’ response does not bear any direct relation to Zai Wo’s conversation with Duke Ai. The Qing scholar Liu Baonan offers another theory. Liu believes that Zai Wo’s reply to Duke Ai was a coded message, urging the ruler to act aggressively against the Three Families. And when Confucius heard about this, he realized what Zai Wo was trying to convey and advised against it, saying, “Don’t decry what is past,” meaning the action and deeds from the past that brought the ducal house to its decline.

  3.22 The Master said, “Guan Zhong was a man of small capacity.”

  Someone said, “Does this mean that Guan Zhong was frugal?”

  The Master said, “Mr. Guan had three residences, yet every officer on his staff had no separate duty other than the one he was assigned. How could this be considered frugal?”

  “In that case, did he understand the rites?”

  “Rulers of states put up gate screens [in front of their palaces]. Mr. Guan also put up a gate screen. Rulers of states, when entertaining another ruler, had an earthen stand to be used for wine cups after the guests had drained their cups. Mr. Guan also had such a stand. If Mr. Guan understood the rites, who does not understand the rites?”

  Guan Zhong was closely associated with Duke Huan of Qi from the seventh century BC. Duke Huan was the most powerful and the most distinguished regional ruler of the Spring and Autumn period and the first to be given the title of lord protector (ba). And in the view of most historians, it was his counselor, Guan Zhong, who catapulted him to that position. Yet Confucius says that Guan Zhong was a man of small capacity. And when asked what he means by that, he goes about answering in an indirect way, by rejecting the suggestion that he said so because Guan Zhong either was frugal or had knowledge of the rites. This, of course, leaves the reader ample room for interpretation. Some scholars say that Guan Zhong showed his limitation as a counselor—and so was a man of small capacity—because under his guidance Duke Huan became only a lord protector and not a true king. The eighteen-century scholar Cheng Yaotian, however, offers a more elegant explanation. He says that a man of large capacity is someone who is able to “hold his accomplishment” without letting it overflow. Emperor Yao was such a man because “his integrity was like that of heaven and so he took heaven as the measure of his capacity.” But Guan Zhong was not like Yao: “As his wealth became apparent, his excesses multiplied. By letting his three residences fill with officers and himself indulge in extravagances so that he could show off his riches, Guan Zhong was someone who could not contain his wealth.” Confucius, however, was not stuck with his view of Guan Zhong as “a man of small capacity.” In 14.16 and 14.17, he offers a powerful defense of this man when he considers Guan Zhong from a different perspective, which shows his flexibility as a judge of human character. And in this as in nearly all such cases, he tries to support every step of his evaluation with detailed knowledge of the person’s conduct.

  3.23 The Master, speaking about music with the Grand Musician [Zhi] of Lu, said, “This much can be known about music. It begins with vigorous playing [xiru]. And when it goes into full swing, [the sound] is pure and harmonious, [the notes are] bright and distinct, and [the passages] fluent and continuous until the music reaches the end.”

  Xiru could also mean “playing in unison,” but my reading follows that of Zheng Xuan, who says that ceremonial music always begins with the playing of “metal instruments” because this has the power “to arouse an audience and stir their hearts.” To this, Liu Baonan adds that after hearing the playing of bells, a person “would be happy to step
into the music.” Some commentaries say that the music being in “full swing” refers to the sound of the eight types of instruments (metal, stone, string, bamboo, gourd, earthen, hide, and wooden) coming together in a symphony. And “fluency” (yi) is the defining moment. It transcends the effort of playing in harmony, Liu Baonan notes, and allows the music to acquire a life of its own, which is “like the living impulse of plants and trees.”

  Mencius thinks that one could look at Confucius in light of what the latter said about music: Confucius could advance or retreat, take office or not take office, “all according to the circumstances,” in a timely fashion; so, as with a symphony perfectly executed, “from the ringing of the bells at the beginning to the trembling of the jade chimes at the end,” there was an “internal order” to his action. Confucius himself felt that music was the culmination of culture, and he had deep respect for the court musicians. These musicians were chosen for the profession because they were blind: “Because they could not see, their mind could not be distracted from sound.”

  3.24 A border official from the district of Yi asked to have an interview with Confucius, saying, “I have never been denied an interview with a gentleman who has come to this place.” Followers of Confucius arranged a meeting for him, and when he came out, he said, “Why should you worry about [your teacher] not having an official position? The world has been without the Way for a long time now. Heaven is about to use your master as the wooden tongue of a bronze bell.”

  Here a lowly official from a place near the border of Wei and Jin makes a prophetic statement about Confucius. He tells those disciples who followed Confucius into exile not to despair about their teacher’s not being able to find a government post because it is Heaven’s intent that he should exercise more influence and achieve greater things than what he could accomplish as an official. But exactly what sort of work did Heaven have in mind for him? How was Confucius going to discharge his duty as “the wooden tongue of a bronze bell”? Liu Baonan says that emperors in the past, “when they wished to give a command,” would have their officials ring such a bell “to arouse the people and get their attention.” A bronze bell with a bronze tongue was used to announce a military order; a bronze bell with a wooden tongue was used “to announce a decree for the purpose of moral instruction.” But Confucius did not have an official position and so did not have the political purchase to proclaim his teachings. Still, his later followers said, he was able “to revise the Odes and the Documents, reform the rites and music, and edit the Spring and Autumn Annals.” In this way, he, too, was like the wooden tongue of a bronze bell, but his utterances were far more consequential than the decrees of even the most powerful emperor.