by Confucius
17.5 Gongshan Furao was about to stage a rebellion, using Bi as his base. He summoned the Master, and the Master wanted to go. Zilu was not happy about it, and he said, “We may be at the end of our road, but why must we go to Gongshan?”
The Master said, “This man must have had some purpose in mind when he summoned me. If he can put me to use, can I not, perhaps, create a Zhou dynasty in the east?”
Gongshan Furao—Gongshan Buniu in the records in the Zuo Commentary—was a protégé of Yang Hu. He assumed Yang Hu’s position as chief retainer of the Jisuns following Yang Hu’s failed attempt to topple the hereditary families in 502 BC. Before long, Gongshan also made his ambitions known; the Analects clearly states that he wanted “to stage a rebellion.” And like Yang Hu, he solicited help from Confucius. But this time, instead of giving Gongshan a vague answer as he had done with Yang Hu, Confucius took the offer seriously, which prompted Zilu to ask, Are we really so desperate? In response, Confucius said he thought that Gongshan had set his sights on bigger things, beyond his own interests. And if such a man could put him to use, Confucius mused, could he not accomplish something truly grand? The goal he had in mind was to realize in the east, in his home state, a Zhou dynasty with the pluck and vision of her founders from the west, men like King Wen and King Wu and the Duke of Zhou. As history shows, Confucius, in the end, decided not to join Gongshan. He was appointed minister of crime in the Lu government soon after, and when Gongshan finally took his band of men to the streets in 498, Confucius was working for the other side: by then it had become his responsibility to suppress the rebel forces and restore order to Lu.
17.6 Zizhang asked Confucius about humaneness. Confucius said, “To be humane is to be able to realize five things when dealing with the world.”
“May I ask what are these five?”
“Being respectful, large-minded, trustworthy, quick in response, and generous. If you are respectful, you will not be met with insult. If you are large-minded, you will win the hearts of the people. If you are trustworthy, people will have confidence in you. If you are quick in response, you will get things done. If you are generous to others, this will be enough [storing up of kindly feelings] to ask them to do things for you.”
Given the fact that the interlocutor, Zizhang, is someone who is keen on having an official career, many scholars feel that when he asks about “humaneness” (ren), he must be referring to humane government (renzheng). What Confucius says in response seems to confirm this view. Yet the “five things” he mentions also illustrate a basic point in all his teachings on humaneness, which is that humaneness has reciprocity as its working principle. They reinforce what he says in 6.30: “A humane person wishes to steady himself, and so he helps others to steady themselves. Because he wishes to reach his goal, he helps others to reach theirs.”
17.7 Bi Xi summoned the Master, and the Master wanted to go. Zilu said, “In the past, I have heard you say, ‘A gentleman will not enter the domain of someone who has acted, in person, like a reprobate.’ Now Bi Xi is about to use the district of Zhong Mou to stage a rebellion, and you are thinking of joining him. How would you explain this?”
The Master replied, “Yes, I have said that. But have I not also said, ‘Some things are so hard that no amount of grinding could wear them thin, and some things are so white that no dye could color them black’? Moreover, how can I be like a bitter gourd that hangs from the end of a string and can not be eaten?”
Bi Xi was a family retainer working for Zhao Jianzi, a hereditary counselor from the state of Jin. We do not know for sure why Bi Xi decided to rebel against Zhao Jianzi, but from the records in the Zuo Commentary, we learn that Zhao Jianzi had an inimical relationship with another hereditary family, the Fans, also of Jin, and that he feuded with the state of Wei over territorial issues. This, in turn, drew the Fans and the state of Wei together as close allies. The Zuo Commentary says that in the year 490 BC, “Zhao Jianzi sent a punitive expedition against the state of Wei on account of Wei’s support for the Fan family. The army laid a siege on the district of Zhong Mou.” An earlier record in the same source says that Zhong Mou was once under the jurisdiction of Jin and was in the possession of the Zhao family. What this suggests is that for some reason Zhong Mou was forced out of the hands of the Zhaos, and, by 490, the Zhaos were trying to get it back. The event that led to the Zhaos’ losing Zhong Mou could have been the uprising Bi Xi instigated, the Qing scholar Jiang Yong explains; and if that was the case, then Bi Xi must have been on the side of the Fans even though he was Zhao Jianzi’s employee. Confucius got himself involved in some version of this political tangle because he was a sojourner in the state of Wei during those years.
The invitation from Bi Xi was the third time that a family retainer asked Confucius to join him as the retainer was preparing to revolt, which makes one wonder just what sort of reputation Confucius had among his contemporaries and what sort of feelers he put out to make men like Gongshan and Bi Xi think that he might accept their offer. Here Confucius gives us his story. He says that he cannot let the stuff he was born with be hollowed out and tossed away like the flesh of a bitter gourd. He simply cannot imagine himself as an empty shell hanging from a string. And because this is how he has chosen to live his life, he is willing to work with all types, even those whose conduct is suspect, and he is confident that no amount of grinding or dye could wear his principles thin or cast a shadow over his character.
17.8 The Master said, “You [Zilu], have you heard about the six words [referring to the six noble tendencies] and the six problems as a result of letting [these noble tendencies] get stuck in a state of benightedness [liubi]?”
Zilu replied, “No, I have not.”
“Sit down, and I will tell you. To love humaneness without a love for learning leads to foolishness. To love the quickness of intelligence without a love for learning leads to an unmoored life. To love trustworthiness without a love for learning leads to harm [done to others and to oneself]. To love forthrightness without a love for learning leads to derisiveness. To love courage without a love for learning leads to unruliness. To love unwavering strength without a love for learning leads to wild behavior [that could be offensive to others].”
Liu Baonan suggests using Xunzi’s writings on obsession and benightedness (liubi) to understand what Confucius meant by the six problems attendant on the nobler human tendencies. These problems all have to do with the absence of a love for learning. Without learning, these tendencies would be on their own, in the dark, without light and guidance, and they often produce results that are at odds with what they might have achieved. Confucius in 8.2, 17.23, and 17.24 expresses the same idea in slightly different ways.
17.9 The Master said, “My young friends, why is it that none of you learn the Odes? The Odes can give the spirit an exhortation [xing], the mind keener eyes [guan]. They can make us better adjusted in a group [qun] and more articulate when voicing a complaint [yuan]. They teach you [the humane and the right way] to serve those who are as close to you as your parents and as distant from you as your ruler. They also let you become familiar with the names of birds and beasts, plants and trees.”
Confucius has already stated his love for the Odes and what they can do to refine our moral and aesthetic sensibilities in 1.15, 2.2, 3.8, 3.20, 8.8, 16.13, and many other places. Here, using just four words, xing (), guan (), qun (), and yuan (), he gives a summary of the transformative power of the Odes, for the private self and for its relationship to the larger world, whether the relationship is close or distant. Poetry is also able to bring us closer to the natural world, Confucius observes, as we learn the names of the birds and beasts, the plants and trees.
The Qing scholar Jiao Xun, in his preface to a study of the Book of Poetry, points out the difference between learning from poems and learning from lectures about right and wrong. He explains, “Poems do not speak explicitly about something. They say it metaphorically. They do not speak about moral principles but about human feelin
gs. They do not try to harangue us; they simply stir our emotions.” The sound of poetry is “gentle and true,” Jiao Xun writes, unlike the voice of the self-righteous man, who can easily “exasperate the listener” or, if he is speaking to the ruler, “bring harm to himself.”
17.10 The Master said to Boyu, “Have you applied yourself [wei] to [what you have learned from] the Zhounan and Shaonan poems [wei Zhounan Shaonan]? Unless a person applies himself to what he has learned from the Zhounan and Shaonan poems, he will be like someone standing with his face toward the wall.”
Most scholars understand wei to mean “applying one’s effort to the study of,” but Liu Baonan thinks that wei suggests “practice”—“to take what one has absorbed and put it into practice”—a reading that reflects what Confucius has said about the point of learning poetry. Confucius tells his son, Boyu, in 16.13, “Unless you learn the Odes, you won’t be able to speak.” He says in 13.5 that to be able to recite the three hundred poems would not do a person any good if this person, when given a political assignment, is unable to apply his knowledge to the task at hand. But what is Boyu meant to learn from the Zhounan and the Shaonan, which are the initial two sections of the first block of the Book of Poetry called “Airs of States”? Liu Baonan explains that “since the guanju [the first of the Zhounan poems] celebrated the courtship of a prince for his fair maiden,” Confucius must have wanted his son to learn something about the proper relationship between a man and a woman, a husband and his wife, which is the most fundamental of all human relationships. Liu Baonan may be right, but Confucius may also have favored these poems because he thought that they were the most beautiful and the most morally sound and because they were associated with the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao, the two counselors from the early Zhou he admired above all other historical figures.
17.11 The Master said, “When we say ‘the rites, the rites,’ can we be talking just about jade and silk? When we say ‘music, music,’ can we be talking just about bells and drums?”
Most scholars agree that there are two ways of understanding Confucius’ remark here. Confucius could be saying this: Gifts of jade and silk and instruments of bells and drum are objects that are meant to bring to life the spirit of the rites or the spirit of music; but whether or not the outcome has integrity has nothing to do with the objects themselves—it depends solely on the person who carries out the rite. Such a reading could find support in 3.3. Or, as the Han scholars suggest, Confucius could be making an observation about the political ramifications of rites and music—that what is cherished in rites and music is not any of the objects used to implement the process but the order and the transformative influence they can bring to society.
17.12 The Master said, “To assume a dignified exterior with only a soft pith for an interior—that kind of person, to take an analogy from the riffraff [of the world], is like a thief that makes his way into a house by boring a hole through the wall.”
The type of person Confucius berates here is someone who carries himself like a gentleman but has the heart of a thief. What this man steals is the fine exterior of a true gentleman, but he is a fake because he has “only a soft pith for an interior.” This theme appears again in 17.13, 17.17, and 17.18, and what is interesting is that Confucius characterizes such an act as a form of stealing. And when a person steals the reputation of the good and of the virtuous, he brings ruin to the idea of the good and the virtuous—this is the reason Confucius despises such men.
17.13 The Master said, “The village goody man is a thief [and the ruin] of virtue.”
Most scholars agree that the most insightful commentary comes from Mencius. It is embedded in a conversation between him and his disciple Wan Zhang. Mencius says:
[The village goody man says,] “What is the point of having noble ideals? Words and deeds take no notice of each other anyway. . . . So why keep saying ‘the ancients, the ancients’? And why must you walk alone? You are born into this world, so try to be a part of it. And you will do fine if you seem friendly to everyone.” Thus he fawns on the world with flattery. Such is the village goody man [xiangyuan ]. . . . [Confucius thought that this man was the ruin of virtue] because if you want to censure him, you cannot find any evidence of his wrongdoing, and if you want to attack him, you cannot find a clear target. He is in tune with the prevalent custom and blends with the sordid world. When in a state of repose, he appears to be conscientious and trustworthy. When actively engaged with the world, he appears to be principled and immaculate. People are all pleased with him, and he thinks he is in the right.
According to Mencius, Confucius had said, “Of those who passed by my gate without entering my house, the only ones that caused me no regret were the village goody men.”
17.14 The Master said, “To hear something on the road and then right away to launch into a disquisition—this is to forsake virtue.”
Here Confucius is berating the “talking heads” of his time—men who have a theory about, and an angle on, everything, even things they have just heard. What they say, therefore, has no integrity, and as he sees it, they have forsaken virtue. Xunzi describes such men as those who allow themselves no time for learning and reflection and no time to ask questions about what they do not understand. “Whatever enters their ears comes out of their mouths,” which is the opposite of what a gentleman does, he writes. “A gentleman would keep quiet when he has doubt, and he would not form any viewpoint before he asked all the questions [he needed to ask].”
Some scholars believe that the object of Confucius’ disparagement is the gossip-monger: he hears something on the road and passes it on to others right away. This, one can say, is also an act of forsaking virtue.
17.15 The Master said, “Is it really possible to work side by side with a petty fellow when serving one’s lord? Before he gets what he wants, he is already worried about not being able to get it. After he has gotten it, he worries about losing it. And when he worries about losing it, there is nothing he won’t do [to try to hold on to it].”
According to Liu Baonan, what a “petty fellow” wants to get is “an official position with a salary.” And because this man’s worry is about securing a spot and keeping it his, “he is too cowardly to speak candidly to his lord and to give him honest advice.” In the Analects, entries 17.12, 17.13, and 17.15 all describe aspects of this “petty fellow.” The Book of Rites also makes this observation: The gentleman and the petty fellow are alike in that they both worry about losing what they have gained, but while the petty fellow is afraid of losing his position, the gentleman is afraid of losing his grip on the responsibilities his position demands.
17.16 The Master said, “People in ancient times had three kinds of shortcomings, but even these [, I regret to say,] seem to have disappeared today. In ancient times, those who were wild dared [to act and speak their mind]. Today, those who are wild are simply out of control. In ancient times, those who were self-regarding had principles. Today, those who are self-regarding are contentious and bad-tempered. In ancient times, those who were stupid were at least straightforward. Today, those who are stupid are deceitful.”
Confucius’ point is that if a person is born with a flawed streak, he should turn it into a strength. If he is wild, this should give him the courage to pursue his purpose and speak his mind. If he is self-regarding, he should be a man of principle. If he is not smart, he should be respected for his honesty and candor. But as Confucius notes with regret, the people of his time simply threw away the positive potential of their flaws and let themselves slide into hopeless depravity.
17.17 The Master said, “A man of clever words and of a pleasing countenance is bound to be short on humaneness.”
Since this is identical to 1.3, one can refer to the commentary there.
17.18 The Master said, “I hate the thought of purple assuming the place of vermillion. I hate the thought of the tunes of Zheng bringing confusion to classical music. I hate the thought of clever talkers overturning states and
families.”
This again is a restatement of Confucius’ feelings toward anything or anyone—the color purple, the tunes of Zheng, or a clever talker—that has only the semblance of the genuine article. Entries 15.11, 15.27, 17.12, 17.13, 17.14, and 17.17 all try to address his problem with either Zheng tunes or glib men. But why did Confucius dislike the color purple? According to the Warring States sources, around the middle of the Spring and Autumn period, beginning with the lord protector Duke Huan of Qi, rulers of the regional states preferred to wear purple rather than vermillion, which was the official color of ceremonial robes in the Zhou court. The reason for Confucius’ aversion to purple is twofold: it is a mixed color (and so not authentic like vermillion), and it is proof of how easy it was for a strongman like Duke Huan to alter a tradition that was the prerogative of the Zhou king.
17.19 The Master said, “I wish not to speak anymore.” Zigong said, “If you do not speak, what will there be for your disciples to transmit?”
The Master said, “What does Heaven ever say? Yet the four seasons move in order, and the hundred things come to life. What does Heaven ever say?”
Among Confucius’ earlier followers, Xunzi was the one who wrote most elegantly about Heaven and its awesome power and about men who modeled themselves after Heaven. Obviously Confucius was a precursor, but Xunzi must have also learned from the Laozi. In “A Discussion on Heaven” he says, “The ranks of stars move in progression, the sun and moon shine in turn, the four seasons succeed each other in good order, the yin and yang go through their great transformations, and the wind and rain bestow their broad influence. All things obtain what is congenial to them and come to life, receive what is nourishing to them and grow to completion. One does not see [Heaven’s] working but sees only the results. Thus it is called godlike.” And a man who perfects his virtue, Xunzi writes in “Nothing Indecorous,” is also godlike: “Though silent, others understand him; though he bestows no favor, others gravitate toward him; though he is not angry, he possesses an awe-inspiring dignity.” But how does such a person instruct others if he says nothing? This was Zigong’s question. “He lets his own character and his own conduct be the measure,” Liu Baonan explains. “Like the movement of Heaven’s way, you will be able to know it when you see it.”
