by Confucius
16.4 Confucius said, “There are three types of friendship that can benefit you and three types of friendship that can harm you. It would be to your benefit to be friends with those who are upright, those whom you can trust, and those of broad learning. It would do you harm to be friends with those with practiced manners, an affected sweetness, a glib tongue.”
The contrast between the two types of friend is clear: it is the distinction between the genuine article and a fake. A true friend is upright and upfront with you about any misstep you may have made. You can benefit from his straight talk; you can trust that he is speaking to you for your good; and you can learn from his broad knowledge. The person you should stay away from is someone who is a clever fake. Because he wants something from you, he tries not to offend you—this explains his “practiced manners” and his “affected sweetness”—but as soon he has gained your favor, he will try to mislead you with his facile tongue.
16.5 Confucius said, “There are three kinds of pleasure that can benefit you and three kinds of pleasure that can harm you. The pleasure of hitting the right measure in your practice of rites and music, of celebrating the goodness of others, of having many worthy friends—all this will benefit you. The pleasure of being self-important, of being a slacker and a loafer, of drinking and feasting to excess—all this will do you harm.”
It is human nature to seek pleasure, but it is the sudden rightness in the playing, in the doing, that gives lasting pleasure; it is also this kind of pleasure that has the potential to transform us. This, I believe, is Confucius’ point about rites and music. But he also talks about the joy of celebrating other people’s achievements and of having true friends, friends possessing the characteristics he describes in 16.4. Such pleasure comes from a warmer place—it springs from the heart.
16.6 Confucius said, “There are three kinds of mistake a person is likely to commit when attending a gentleman. To speak when it is not one’s turn to speak is being impetuous. Not to speak when it is one’s turn to speak is being evasive. To speak without taking notice of the other person’s expression is being blind.”
Xunzi cites this passage in his essay “Encouraging Learning,” and then he adds: “A gentleman is neither impetuous, nor evasive, nor blind. He responds to others in a timely and appropriate manner.” Qian Mu thinks that the mistakes people tend to make when speaking often spring from a lack of respect, but by being close to a gentleman—to someone who is neither impetuous, nor evasive, nor blind—“they can make progress in cultivating their moral selves.”
16.7 Confucius said, “The gentleman guards himself against three things. When he is young and his blood-and-vital force is still unsettled, he guards himself against sensuous temptations. When he is in his prime and his blood-and-vital force is vigorous and unyielding, he guards himself against being combative. After his blood-and-vital force has declined, he guards himself from being grasping.”
The “blood-and-vital force” (xueqi) did not become a topic of intellectual discussion in China until the Warring States period. Thus we can be fairly certain that the voice in the present statement is not that of the historical Confucius. His later disciples Mencius and Xunzi, however, sparred across the century over the question of how to deal with those problems stemming from the physical and sensual side of our nature. Mencius said that one should “let one’s will [zhi] be in charge of one’s vital force [qi]” and nourish one’s vital force with just the right amount of attention, which meant that one should “neither forget to tend to it nor help it grow.” Xunzi gave a lot more thought to the question. In fact, one could say that the driving force of his moral teaching is an attempt to understand the unstable elements of our nature and to find a reasonable and moral solution to our obsessions with beautiful objects or beautiful women, with wanting to win or wanting to be right, and with wanting to have more of pleasure or more things.
16.8 Confucius said, “The gentleman stands in awe of three things. He is in awe of Heaven’s mandate, of great men, and of the words of sages. The petty man is unaware of the presence of Heaven’s mandate; he belittles great men; and he regards the words of sages with mockery.”
It is difficult to explain “Heaven’s mandate” as it was first conceived in early Zhou. The idea unfolded through the teachings of Confucius and of the Warring States thinkers Mencius, Xunzi, Mozi, Zhuangzi, the authors of the Laozi, and many more, each with his own take on how it relates to human existence and to the human will. “Heaven’s mandate,” within the Confucian canon, refers to what is and what must be after one has done one’s best. There is no blame and no rancor about what may befall because one stands on destiny’s path, knowing that there is no more one could do. Thus, Confucius says, the gentleman is in awe of—is always aware of—that which is beyond his effort. The petty man, however, is remiss with regard to Heaven’s mandate because, to him, it is “blurry and indistinct,” He Yan says. Such a man cannot see it clearly and so he is not in awe of its power. And the same can be said about the petty man’s treatment of the great men and of the words of sages. “The great man is upright but is not arrogant, and so the petty man belittles him,” He Yan explains. “The words of sages cannot be understood by means of small knowledge, and so the petty man mocks them.”
16.9 Confucius said, “Those who are born with knowledge are at the top. Next are those who acquire knowledge through learning. Behind them are those who have difficulties [absorbing knowledge] but are still determined to learn. And at the bottom are people who have difficulties [absorbing knowledge] and do not even attempt to learn.”
Even though Confucius acknowledges the fact that humans are born with different degrees of intelligence, he sticks to his basic premise that, in the end, it is about effort: nearly everyone can possess knowledge as long as he is persistent in his pursuit of learning.
16.10 Confucius said, “There are nine things the gentleman gives thought to: he aims to be clear in vision, keen in hearing, amicable in his expression, courteous in his manners, conscientious in carrying out his words, and respectful in attending to his responsibilities; and when he is in doubt, he asks questions; when he is angry, he reflects on the unwanted consequences this could cause; when he sees a chance for gain, he asks whether it is right.”
By giving thought to something, one gives attention to what one is doing and so will have greater success in achieving it—this is how Sun Qifeng explains the passage, citing Mencius, who says, “If your mind gives thought to it, you will get it. If not, you won’t get it.” But what is more interesting, and indeed surprising, is the list of things the gentleman “gives thought to,” which includes not just perception and demeanor but also occasions when he is in doubt or angry, or when he sees a chance for gain. And what Confucius says about the thoughts that go through a gentleman’s mind on such occasions is also illuminating.
16.11 Confucius said, “‘Seeing goodness, he acts as if [it is running ahead of him and] he is not able to catch up. Seeing what is not good, he acts as if he is recoiling from the touch of hot water.’ I have known people like this, and I have heard such an expression. ‘He lives in reclusion in order to pursue his purpose. He practices what is right in order to attain the moral way.’ I have heard such an expression but have not yet known someone like this.”
Yan Hui talks about his pursuit of the good with the same sense of urgency that is described in the first statement here. He says in 9.11, “The more I look up at it, the higher it appears. The more I bore into it, the harder it becomes. I see it before me, yet suddenly it is behind me.” Thus it is possible that Confucius has Yan Hui in mind when he says, “I have known people like this.” Qian Mu thinks that Confucius’ remark regarding the second statement is also about Yan Hui. Because Yan Hui died young and could not fully realize what he had learned, Confucius saw only Yan Hui’s “hidden virtue but not how it could be put to use,” Qian Mu writes, and if Yan Hui was short of attaining what was morally right, no one else, in Confucius’ view, could have achi
eved such a feat.
16.12 Duke Jing of Qi had four thousand horses. On the day he died, people could not find anything praiseworthy to say about him. Bo Yi and Shu Qi died of hunger at the foot of Mount Shouyang. Up to this day people still sing praise of them. This is what it means.
Speculations abound about this bit of record for two reasons: no speaker is mentioned, and the remark at the end seems to suggest that the contrast between Duke Jing and the two brothers, Bo Yi and Shu Qi, is meant to illustrate some point, for which there is no reference. Some scholars say that 16.12 is a continuation of 16.11—that Confucius remains the speaker and the discussion, in part, is still about men like Bo Yi and Shu Qi, who cultivated their character in reclusion but did not have a chance to realize their virtue in practice. But if we accept this theory, then how do we account for the comment about Duke Jing of Qi? The Song scholar Cheng Yi suggests another reading: the two lines cited from Ode 188 in 12.10, he says, should be placed at the beginning of this entry, thus allowing the two examples to illustrate the idea that what people praised was “not a person’s wealth but the fact that he was different.” In my commentary on 12.10, I have already expressed doubt about this interpretation.
16.13 Chen Kang [Ziqin] asked [Confucius’ son,] Boyu, “Have you been taught anything special?”
Boyu responded, “I have not. One day my father was standing there by himself, and as I crossed the courtyard with quickened steps, he said, ‘Have you learned the Odes?’ I answered, ‘Not yet.’ He said, ‘Unless you learn the Odes, you won’t be able to speak.’ I then went back and learned the Odes. Another day, he was again standing there by himself, and as I crossed the courtyard with quickened steps, he said, ‘Have you learned the rites?’ I answered, ‘Not yet.’ He said, ‘Unless you learn the rites, you won’t be able to find your balance.’ I then went back and learned the rites. I have been taught these two things.”
Delighted by what he heard, Chen Kang said, “I asked one question and learned three things. I learned about the Odes; I learned about the rites; and I learned that the gentleman maintains some distance from his son.”
Whether it is other people’s children or his own, Confucius offers the same instructions: Learn the Odes and let the rites guide your conduct to the proper measure. This is what his son, Boyu, revealed. What it means, of course, is that Boyu received no special treatment from his father and that Confucius did not believe in imparting his teaching through secret transmission.
Quoting the Song historian and ritual scholar Sima Guang, Liu Baonan says, “‘Distance’ [in the context of Chen Kang’s remark] does not refer to emotional distance but to the ritual propriety with which the father receives his son,” which means that he would always maintain the “dignity of a father,” not becoming overly familiar with his son. Liu also says that according to the ritual regulations of early China, fathers and sons among the governing elite had to live in separate residences in order to avoid suspicion of favoritism, which explains why Boyu met his father while “crossing the courtyard.” And even on the rare occasion of seeing his father, the son, “out of respect,” quickened his steps.
16.14 The ruler of a state refers to his wife as “lady,” and she refers to herself as “little child.” The people of the state refer to her as “the lady of the lord,” but when they are abroad, they refer to her as “our humble little lord,” while the people of other states also refer to her as “the lady of the lord.”
Like 16.12, the present entry is, again, an anomaly, which led the Republican period scholar Liang Qichao to conclude that this was a passage from a ritual text that somehow found its way into the Analects as a bookend to this chapter. Other scholars feel that there is no reason not to believe that Confucius is the speaker. Confucius, they say, is stating the various ways of addressing the wife of a ruler in a manner that is appropriate to the speaker’s relationship to her.
BOOK SEVENTEEN
17.1 Yang Huo [Yang Hu] wished to see Confucius, but Confucius did not want to see him. He, therefore, sent Confucius a piglet as a present [so that Confucius would be forced to go to his house to thank him]. Confucius waited until Yang Huo was not at home to pay his respects, but on the way back he bumped into this man. Addressing Confucius, Yang Huo said, “Come here! I want to talk to you.” He continued, “Would you call a man humane if he clutches a cherished jewel in his bosom while letting the country go lost and adrift? I would say not. Would you call a man wise if he is eager to take part in government while letting opportunity slip by again and again? I would say not. Days and months are rushing forward. Time is not on our side.”
Confucius said, “Right. I shall take up office.”
Yang Hu was a dark horse from the late Spring and Autumn period, with an ambition that knew no bounds, and attitude and swagger to match. He dominated the politics of Lu from 507 to 502 BC even though he was only a retainer in the Jisun family. At the height of his power, he took a huge risk in attempting to have his own lord, the head of the Jisuns, eliminated, but his plan went awry: another hereditary family came to the Jisuns’ rescue and defeated his army in the capital of Lu. According to the account in the Zuo Commentary, when the battle was over, Yang Hu “took off his armor, walked over to the ruler’s palace, rifled the precious jades and the great bow”; he then went home “to have a meal and a nap.” This episode ended Yang Hu’s political career in Lu, but it did not stop him from seeking his fortune elsewhere. Confucius’ meeting with Yang Hu must have happened sometime before 502, when Yang Hu was still making preparations for an all-out assault on the governing elites of Lu. Thus it is strange that this man should be the one to give Confucius a lecture for not putting his talent, “his cherished jewel,” to use in helping to keep their country from going adrift. Confucius must have been aware of the insincerity of his plea, for Yang Hu cared only for his own interests. His call for Confucius to serve the state was a call for Confucius to serve him, and for this reason Confucius had been dodging his approach until they bumped into each other by chance. Even then—even when Yang Hu was trying to persuade Confucius to join him—he behaved like a bully, but in the end he managed to wring only a vague answer out of Confucius.
17.2 The Master said, “People are similar by nature; they become distinct through practice.”
Much of the discussion in the commentaries focuses on the question of whether Confucius’ statement here is the precursor of Mencius’ more pronounced stance that “human nature is good.” Qian Mu’s comments, I feel, are the most succinct; they also reflect the more astute observations from the earlier generations of scholars. Qian Mu believed that Confucius was reluctant to talk about human nature—as Zigong tells us in 5.13—and therefore that the point of his assertion in the present passage was not about human nature (xing) but about practice (xi). By stating that human natures are alike, Qian Mu says, Confucius “is encouraging people to learn,” because through learning—and practice—there will emerge differences in skills and intelligence, understanding and perception. Unlike Mencius, who was “interested in contrasting humans with animals”—and thus his theory that humans are of a higher order because their nature is good—Confucius, Qian Mu observes, was only concerned about “how humans might be compared against each other.”
17.3 The Master said, “Only the most intelligent and the most stupid are not inclined to change.”
Many scholars suggest reading 17.3 together with 17.2. Here, Confucius seems to say that he would like to amend just slightly what he said earlier, and say that most humans, though not all, not the most intelligent or the most stupid, have a malleable nature, and so it is important to put effort into shaping that nature into something of moral worth. Liu Baonan feels that it would be a mistake to understand “the most stupid” as those who are born with a despicable nature, as some scholars from the Han and Tang suggest. He agrees with the Qing scholar Dai Zhen, who says, “When a person is born with low intelligence, it will be difficult to explain to him the teachings of rites and m
oral rightness. This is the reason why he may give up learning altogether and why [Confucius said] he is ‘not inclined to change.’” But Dai Zhen also thinks that it is possible for such a person to meet the right friend or the right teacher—someone who is able to inspire him to learn and help him get out of the rut. He writes, “Confucius said, ‘[the most stupid] are not inclined to change,’ not that ‘they are unable to change.’”
17.4 The Master went to Wucheng. While there, he heard the playing of stringed instruments together with the sound of singing. He smiled and said, “Why use an ox knife to kill a chicken?”
Ziyou replied, “In the past, Master, I have heard you say, ‘A gentleman, having been instructed in the moral way, will know to love others. The common people, having been instructed in the moral way, will be easy to govern.’”
The Master said, “My young friends, what Yan [Ziyou] just said is right. What I said earlier was meant to be a joke.”
The Chinese would use the expression “Why use an ox knife to kill a chicken?” in much the same way as we would describe certain efforts as “much ado about nothing.” But how do we understand it in the context of this conversation? Just what brought on the joke? What does the “ox knife” refer to, and which chicken was Ziyou trying to kill? And why did Confucius apologize to Ziyou for a remark he made in jest? Ziyou, we learn, was the steward of Wucheng, a small district in the state of Lu. When Confucius heard music and singing being performed there, he realized that Ziyou, in trying to give the people of Wucheng an education, had taught them to play stringed instruments and to sing in poetic verses, which, Confucius thought, was not something most men in similar positions would do. And so he smiled, and he compared it to using an ox knife to kill a chicken. This put Ziyou on the defensive. Citing a remark Confucius had made on another occasion, he said that instruction in “the moral way”—by this he meant music—would allow the governing elite to be more caring and the common people to be more amicable and, therefore, easier to manage. Confucius, sensing that Ziyou was not happy about being teased, said Ziyou was right: “What I said earlier was meant to be a joke.”
