Chapter Introduction On the Subject Matter and Methodology Adopted In recent years, the recovery of valuable manuscripts, largely from southwestern China, has changed our perspective of ancient China considerably, making it necessary to reassess what we know about the early Chinese intellectual landscape.1 The Guōdiàn 郭 店 bamboo texts excavated in 1993 and published in 1998, and the Shànghǎi museum corpus (commonly abbreviated as the Shàngbó 上 博 texts) retrieved in 1994 and published from 2001 to 2008 afford fresh insight into the formation of early Confucianism.2 Specialists have carbon-dated these newly recovered texts, which are The renowned sinologist, Lǐ Xué Qín 李學勤, for example, raised the possibility of a new Chinese intellectual history based on the vast amount of archaeological findings unearthed in recent decades. With these finds, he envisages the end of “doubting antiquity (yígǔ 疑 古 ),” which was the dominant hermeneutical position of 20th-century sinology, and the dawn of “interpreting antiquity (shìgǔ 釋古)” in 重寫學術史 (Shíjiāzhuāng: Héběi Jiàoyù chūbǎnshè, 2002), and his Zǒu Chū Yí Gǔ Shí Dài 走出疑古時代 (Shěnyáng: Liáoníng the study of ancient Chinese history. See Lǐ Xué Qín, Chóng Xiě Xué Shù Shǐ Jiàoyù chūbǎnshè, 1997). 荊門市博物館 , Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn 郭店楚墓竹簡 (Běijīng: Wénwù chūbǎnshè, 1998); Mǎ Chéng Yuán 馬承源 ed., Shànghǎi Bówùguǎn Cáng Zhànguó Chǔ Zhú Shū 上海博 物館藏戰國楚竹書 vol. 1-7 (Shànghǎi: Shànghǎi Gǔjí chūbǎnshè, 2001-2008). Jīngmén Shì Bówùguǎn largely Confucian in nature,3 to the late Warring States period (476 - 221 B.C.E.), and not The Guōdiàn and the Shànghǎi Museum corpus also contain texts that are not Confucian in nature. For instance, the Guōdiàn corpus contains a shorter version of the Daoist text Lǎozǐ interesting cosmological account, the “Tàiyī Shēng Shuǐ body of sayings now given the title “Yǔcóng Sì 老子, an exceptionally 太一生水 (The Tàiyī Begets Water),” as well as a 語叢四 (Collected Sayings IV),” which can be considered 雜) in nature. These formed the focus of my Masters thesis. As for the Shànghǎi Museum corpus, some of it are better classified as eclectic and military texts (bīngshū 兵書 ); there is also a complicated Daoist cosmological account, the “Héngxiān 恒先 (Eternal Origins),” as well an alleged Mohist text, the “Guǐshén Zhī Míng 鬼神之明 (The Revelations of the Spirits).” For the purposes of this eclectic (zá dissertation, I focus on the Confucian texts. Besides the Guōdiàn and Shànghǎi Museum collections, other important Confucian archaeological finds in the past few decades include the texts discovered at Bājiǎoláng 八角廊, Fùyáng 阜陽 and Yínquèshān 銀雀山, but they are dated to the early Hàn 漢 (206 B.C.E. – 220 C.E.) period, and are thus not included in the pool of primary sources examined here. For these Hàn 定縣漢墓竹簡整理小組, “Dìngxiàn 40 Hào Hànmù Chūtǔ Zhújiǎn Jiǎnjiè 定縣 40 號漢墓出土竹簡簡介,” in Wénwù 文物 1981 vol. 8, 11-13; Fùyáng Hànjiǎn Zhěnglǐzǔ 阜陽漢簡整理組, “Fùyáng Hànjiǎn Jiǎnjiè 阜陽漢簡簡介,” in Wénwù 1983 vol. 2, 21-23; and Yínquèshān Hànmù Zhújiǎn Zhěnglǐzǔ 銀雀山漢墓竹簡整理組, Yínquèshān Hànmù Zhújiǎn 銀雀山漢墓竹簡 vol. (Běijīng: Wénwù chūbǎnshè, 1985), respectively. Our understanding of early philosophical Daoism has been greatly enhanced by the discovery of Mǎwángduī 馬王堆 silk manuscripts, Confucian texts, see Dìngxiàn Hànmù Zhújiǎn Zhěnglǐ Xiǎozǔ which contain not only a version of the Lǎozǐ, but also a number of texts collectively titled Huángdì Sìjīng 黃帝四經 , the latter of which have given us a new understanding of “Huánglǎo 黃老 Daoism.” See Mǎwángduī Hànmù Bóshū Zhěnglǐ Xiǎozǔ 馬王堆漢墓帛書整理小組, Mǎwángduī Hànmù Bóshū 馬王堆 漢墓帛書 vol. (Běijīng: Wénwù chūbǎnshè, 1980). later than 278 B.C.E.,4 which suggests they probably predated the Mencius or Mèngzǐ 孟 子. Hence, these new findings provide great potential in bridging the gap between the thought of Confucius or Kǒngzǐ 孔子 (551 - 479 B.C.E.) and that of Mencius or Mèngzǐ 孟子 (372 - 289 B.C.E.). This dissertation seeks to understand the nature of early Confucianism through a study of the early Confucian interpretations of emotions. It draws its sources from the Analects or Lúnyǔ 論語, the Mencius or Mèngzǐ 孟子, and the recent archaeological manuscripts, with cross-references to the pre-Confucian classics so as to situate these early Confucian texts in their proper context. It is important to note that this dissertation is focused on two aspects: what the early Confucian understanding of emotions reveals about early Confucianism and the ethical implications involved. There is no consensus on the precise date of these findings. Historically, the Guōdiàn corpus was likely buried before 278 B.C.E. when the Qín general Bái Qǐ Yǐngdū 白起 (? - 257 B.C.E.) invaded the Chǔ 楚 capital of 郢都 (where the tomb in which the Guōdiàn bamboo slips were found was situated) and changed the nature of Chǔ burials. This dating does not necessarily apply to the Shànghǎi museum bamboo slips as they were not found in Chǔ tombs but were retrieved from the antiques market in Hong Kong. However, archaeologists have carbon-dated the latter as 2257 ± 65 years ago, which places them at 313 - 183 B.C.E This chapter looks at early Confucianism in general; I also discuss the main methodological principles. Chapters to form the core chapters of this dissertation, each investigating a group of emotions. Because of the strong connection between philology and philosophy in Chinese thought, each of the subsequent chapters addresses these two distinct yet closely connected aspects separately, with greater emphasis on the philosophical understanding of the emotions in early Confucianism. Chapter summarizes and concludes the dissertation. 1.1. The subject matter 1.1.1. The early Confucians My area of interest is “early Confucianism,” which should be understood as the thought of Confucius, as well as the interpretation of his thought, mainly in the Warring States period. As is well known, the most reliable source on the teaching of Confucius, the Analects, was unfortunately, not written by the master himself. Instead, it comprises Confucius’ sayings and doings, recorded by his disciples and, in the last five chapters, the sayings and doings of Confucius’s disciples recorded by the next generation of disciples;5 Most scholars agree that the last five books of the Analects were written much later, mainly because they are accounts of what Confucius’ disciples said and did, rather than the Master himself. See, for example, D. C. Lau trans., Confucius the Analects (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2002), 265-270. This was also the view of Brooks and Brooks, who attempted to reorganize the Analects in a chronological manner. See E. Bruce Brooks and A. Taeko Brooks, The Original Analects (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998). All English translations of the Analects and the Mencius in this dissertation are taken from D.C. Lau’s, namely Confucius the Analects and Mencius (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2002) respectively, unless otherwise stated. All names, except the more commonly used Latinised “Confucius” and “Mencius,” are in pīnyīn. likewise, the Mencius is a record by Mencius’ disciples of what he said and did. In other words, although Confucius and Mencius may be the source, the evidence we have for their teachings is derived from a group of interpreters who were instrumental in the passing down of a “Confucian tradition.”7 Who, then, are these interpreters, namely, the “early Confucians”? What is distinctive and central in the collective memory of this group of people? As D.C. Lau has pointed out, although there are scholars who maintain that the Mencius was actually written by the Master himself, there are reasons to believe the otherwise. Lau concludes, based on the posthumous titles of feudal lords mentioned, the use of the appellation “tzu” [zǐ 子] and the nature of the variant passages in the book, that Mencius was compiled by more than one of Mencius’ disciples. However, he also added that this “does not detract Mencius from its authoritativeness” as there “is rarely any divergence in the text where the same passage is found more than once. The words of the Master were, as is to be expected, sacrosanct in the eyes of the disciples, and the greatest care must have been taken to preserve them as they were spoken by him.” See D C Lau trans., Mencius, 347-349. Confucius was one of the most important thinkers in Chinese Philosophy, especially if we consider Chinese thought to be predominantly “Confucian” in nature. However, “Confucianism” is not, in a strict sense, synonymous with “Confucius’ thought.” Rather, the term Confucianism encompasses different interpretations of the Master’s thought by subsequent thinkers over a two thousand-year span. Departing from Confucius’ original writings and thinking when he was alive, Confucianism has developed into different and diverse traditions both in content and orientation. For example, Confucianism in the Hàn (202 B.C.E. - 220 C.E.) took on elements of correlative yīn-yáng the Sòng 漢 陰陽 philosophy; neo-Confucianism in 宋 (960 - 1279) and Míng 明 (1368 - 1644) took on elements from religious Daoism and Buddhism; and contemporary “new-Confucianism” looks at how Confucian cultivation fits within the present world context. Strictly speaking, if we are to adhere closely to the Chinese language, this group of intellectuals should be called the “rú-ists,” taken from the term “rú 儒” and the school of thought it represents, namely, “Rú-ism” (Rújiā 儒家), for the term “Confucians” seems to suggest that this group of intellectual only exist after Confucius. In actual fact, Confucius himself belonged to this social group by the name of Rú, which existed before him. However, there is an important reason why we can yet call the particular group of intellectuals “Confucians,” for by the time of Confucius, there is no evidence suggesting that they are still performing the traditional duties which formerly makes them distinctly rú.8 Instead, what characterizes them after Confucius is, rather, the fact that they were followers of Confucius’ teachings, and thus, could be legitimately regarded as “Confucians.” In other words, the development of “Rú-ism” seems to take on a major The origin of rú is still unknown and heavily speculative. In 1954, Wing-Tsit Chan identified its origins as one of the eight basic unsolved problems in Chinese Philosophy. The traditional interpretation was that of Hú Shì 胡適 (1891 - 1962), who explained rú as “weakness” and the rú-ists as “people in ancient China who wore antiquated-style garments and whose expression indicated meekness.” In this regard, they were seen as remnants of the overthrown Shāng 商 (17 th - 11th Century B.C.E.) empire and their role was to perform the Shāng traditional religious rites. Fung Yu-lan, on the other hand, saw these people instead as Zhōu 周 (11 th Century - 256 B.C.E.) officials who lost their official posts upon the disintegration of the Zhōu feudal system. See Wing-Tsit Chan, “Basic Problems in the study of Chinese Philosophy,” in Philosophy East and West vol. no. 1, (April 1954), 157-166. In this article, a number of other interpretations like those of Guō Mò Ruò 郭沫若 (1892 - 1978) (discussed along Marxist line of class struggle) and Herrlee G. Creel (1905 - 1994) (rú being a derived sense from the non-combatant nature of these people) were also identified; but I agree with Chan’s assessment that they are too narrow, and Fung’s interpretation can complement Hú’s in our understanding of what really constitutes rú. change with the flourishing of Confucius’ thought, the impact of which is such that it renders a nominal change from “Rú-ism” to “Confucianism” reasonable.9 Regardless of Confucius’ hereditary roots, his ideal political system was largely based on the Zhōu feudal system, which by his time, was already disintegrating and in decline. In line with the common belief then, the Zhōu was the legitimate authority that received the Heaven’s mandate (Tiānmìng 天 命 ) 10 to rule when they succeeded in overthrowing the last king of Shāng. In a way, the Zhōu feudal system was similar to the Western medieval systems, where the ruler was hierarchically above a bevy of landlords who had hereditary rights over fiefs and vassals.11 With this well-knit and interlocking This transition is of paramount importance. Paraphrasing Hú Shì’s position, Wing-Tsit Chan has pointed out that Confucius, being a Shāng descendant, “represented a new type of ju [rú], firm, active, and progressive [instead of the stereotyped ‘weak,’]. Thus, Confucius… revived an old tradition, injected new blood into it, and raised it to new heights.” See Wing-Tsit Chan, “Basic Problems in the study of Chinese Philosophy,” 161. 10 Tiānmìng is the Zhōu house’s political banner when they sought legitimacy for their taking over of political leadership from the Shāng, with the Zhōu ruler as “Son of Heaven (Tiānzǐ 天子).” For a detailed account of the astrological background of Zhōu’s notion of Heaven’s Mandate, see David W. Pankenier, “The Cosmo-political Background of Heaven’s Mandate,” in Early China vol. 20, (1995), 121-176. 11 The hierarchy, from top down, comprised gōng 公, hóu 侯, bó 伯, zǐ 子 and nán 男, which A.C. Graham thinks is translatable to Duke, Marquis, Earl, Viscount and Baron respectively. See A. C. Graham, Disputers of the TAO: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China (Illinois: Open Court, 1989), 2. system,12 the Zhōu ruling house was able to hold on to power for around four centuries, before a succession of weak rulers led to its decline and eventual sacking of its capital by the Quǎnróng 犬戎 in 771 B.C.E With this defeat and the shifting of the Zhōu capital to Chéngzhōu 成周 (in present-day Luòyáng 洛 陽 ), the Zhōu ruling house never regained its authority; eventually, its power was reduced to nominal; dukedoms started taking the name of overlordship (bà 霸) resulting in conflicts and wars. It was during these chaotic times that Confucius entered the historical scene. In a way, Confucius represented the conservative voice of his time: his path to the attainment of his ideal political system was essentially a return to the golden age of Zhōu, where everyone used to abide by a proper code of conduct.13 This set of ethical rules which provides guidance on the propriety in social behavior was set out in the rites (lǐ 禮) 12 Functioning under a feudal system where the empire was ruled by the Tiānzǐ and governed by a balance of kinship units comprising surnames that were the same as (tóngxìng 同姓) and different from (yìxìng 異 姓) the ruling house, the Zhōu empire demonstrates a well-organised political system in which we see a systematic fiefdom and titles succession system; an established tax and tribute system; as well as a checkand-balance system between the ruler and the landlords. For a good description of the Zhōu political system, see Cho-yun Hsu and Katheryn M. Linduff, Western Chou Civilisation (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1988), chapters 5-7. 13 This is of course, a romanticized portrayal of the past. In fact, it was common for many early Chinese philosophers to fall back on history and tradition, even if it meant fabricating the truth, to bring about changes in the present, tuō gǔ gǎi zhì 託古改制 (making use of past traditions to change the present system); many instances can be found in early Warring States texts such as Mencius. of Zhōu, and passed down in written form by texts accumulatively known by the same name, which, with cross reference to the other traditional classics,14 helped Confucius derive notions of yí 宜 (generally translated as propriety) and yì 義 (rightness or righteousness). 15 However, given the changing circumstances, he also saw a need to provide a universal moral principle for the people, centered on what was arguably the 詩, Shū 書, Yuè 樂, Yì 易 and Chūnqiū 春秋. Contrary to past speculation among sinologists that the classification of these six classics as the “six canons (Liù Jīng 六經)” came much later in history (as the term Liù Jīng was only first mentioned in the “Tiānyùn 天運” chapter of the Zhuāngzǐ 莊 子 ), the “Liù Dé 六德 (Six Virtues)” in the Guōdiàn corpus listed the name of these six classics in 14 They are namely, Shī sequence (though the term Liù Jīng was not mentioned). (See “Liù Dé” slips 24-25, Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 188.) Given this, it is possible that the six classics had already been canonized at the time of the early Confucians. But this does not mean the five classics we have now (Yuè is no longer extant) are the same as what was available to the Confucians. There are several texts in the present five classics that could have been later additions or even forgeries. 15 For a good examination of the etymological roots and historical interpretation of yì, see David L. Hall and Roger T. Ames, “Getting it right: On saving Confucius from the Confucians,” in Philosophy East and West vol. 34 no. 1, (Jan. 1984), 3-23. predominant notion in Confucius’ thought: the notion of 仁.16 16 The relation between and lǐ is a dynamic one. Wei-Ming Tu, for example, sees as “a principle of inwardness” and not a quality acquired from outside, whereas lǐ is “an externalization of jen (rén) in a specific social context,” or “a principle of particularism.” He added that: “A Confucian may very well refute an established lǐ by exposing its incompatibility with jen [rén].” See Wei-Ming Tu, “The creative tension between Jen and Li,” in Philosophy East and West vol. 18 no. 1-2, (Jan.-April 1968), 29-39. This rén-centred interpretation is different from Herbert Fingarette’s which placed his emphasis on lǐ instead, seeing lǐ as a “holy rite,” by which an adherence is central in importance. See Herbert Fingarette, Confucius: The Secular as Sacred (New York: Harper and Row, 1972). Kwong-Loi Shun, in a separate article on the Analects much later, identified two traditional positions, the “instrumentalist,” where has an evaluative priority over lǐ; and the “definitionalist” where is defined by an adherence to lǐ, seeing the latter as “conservative” as “no longer provides a standard against which one can assess the justifiability of revising or departing from a rule of lǐ.” He proposes an interpretation that lies “between the two extremes,” where “rén is shaped by the existing lǐ practices in that it is not intelligible and cannot be shown to have validity independent of lǐ,” and yet there is “room for departing from or revising an existing rule of lǐ,” although revision “has to proceed against the background of a general acceptance of the existing lǐ practices and has to be based on good reasons,” adding that Confucius probably believes “that the existing lǐ practice function well and that there is little basis for departure or revision.” (Kwong-Loi Shun, “Jen and Li in the Analects,” in Philosophy East and West vol. 43 no. 3, (July 1993), 457-479.) This position is later described by Chenyang Li as the “constitution” position, who, instead of using Shun’s analogy of marriage where lǐ is compared to the rites involved in a marriage, necessary and sufficient for (analogically, the marriage), recommended his grammar-language metaphor to illustrate the lǐ-rén relation. In his article, he listed six reasons why his analogy was aptly construed, and also explained how, by seeing lǐ as “cultural grammar” and as “the mastery of a language,” one avoids two areas where Shun’s analogy breaks down. See Chenyang Li, “Li as Cultural Grammar: On the Relation between Li and Ren in Confucius' Analects,” in Philosophy East and West vol. 57 no. 3, (July 2007), 311-329. 10 Strictly speaking, this qì-theory pertaining to emotions cannot be found explicitly in the Analects, but the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū”39 does see the emotions of xǐ, nù, āi and bēi as qì. To further substantiate this, we also see the relationship between emotions and qì highlighted, albeit less explicitly, in other excavated texts. The “Yǔcóng Yī 語叢一 (Collected Sayings I),” for example, states that all who possess “xuèqì” also possess xǐ and nù (凡有血氣者皆有喜有怒). 40 We shall come back to the notion of “xuèqì” shortly. The fact that some early Confucians saw emotions as qì does not come as a surprise. In fact, if we take a look at how the early Chinese understood the notion qì and the nature of qì itself, we can even say that the qì-theory has its roots much earlier than the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū,” perhaps as early as the Analects. Let us look, in further detail, how this qì-theory in early Confucianism came about. Qì is a very interesting notion because, like 道, it is a common notion used by thinkers of different intellectual orientation. Similarly, as with dào, scholars tend to see the qì-theory as originating from Daoist thought, and understandably so, as it was often 39 The Shànghǎi Museum bamboo slips also contains a similar passage, the “Xìng Qíng Lùn 性情論 (On Nature and Qíng),” which differs from the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” in slips arrangements as well some individual characters. (See Shànghǎi Bówùguǎn Cáng Zhànguó Chǔ Zhú Shū vol. 1, 119-168.) For convenience, I shall quote only from the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū,” unless a difference between them is instrumental in our discussion. 40 “Yǔcóng Yī” slip 45, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 196. 28 used in early medical narratives and cosmological accounts, which were commonly classified as texts with Daoist inclination.41 Interestingly, the character qì has yet another meaning: “air” or “gas,” and is often linked in early cosmological accounts with the natural sky. The “Tàiyī Shēng Shuǐ,” for example, takes qì together with earth (tǔ 土) as elements making up heaven (tiān 天) and earth (dì 地);42 the “Héngxiān,” on the other hand, carries a different account of how dì is made up of coarse qì (zhuó qì 濁氣); and tiān, that of clearer ones (qīng qì 清氣), before moving on to classifying the myriad of things in between as being made up of qì as well.43 The link between the cosmological elements and the human body is, again, not surprising—perhaps one of the most basic phenomenological facts people of the past would have observed is that life begins with the inhaling of one’s very first breath and ends with the exhaling of one’s very last; and that when one is living, even though qì (as air) moves in and out of the body, there is always, at any point of time, a certain portion 41 Dào is definitely not a term used exclusively by the Daoists. Commonly translated as “the Way,” it is placed in high importance by even Confucius himself. See for example, Analects 4.8. 42 43 “Tàiyī Shēng Shuǐ” slip 10, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn , 125. “Héngxiān” slip 4, in Shànghǎi Bówùguǎn Cáng Zhànguó Chǔ Zhú Shū vol. 3, 291. 29 of air inside one’s body. 44 44 Relating qì with air, or for that matter, wind (fēng 風) has a long history in medical narratives. Paul U. Unschuld, for example, traces qì etymologically as “vapors rising from millet” and sees parallels in fourth century B.C.E. Greek Hippocratic medical accounts, which “should not be overlooked.” See Paul U. Unschuld, Medicine in China: A History of Ideas (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 72. However, Unschuld did elaborate that qì is not simply air, “its meaning included related ideas and phenomena such as ‘that which fills the body,’ ‘that which means life,’ ‘breath,’ and ‘vapors’ in general, such as clouds in the sky, or even ‘wind’… Ch’i [qì] was considered to float through the air and, together with blood, through the organism,” which he translated as “‘influence,’ with a substance or matter connotation in mind,” and saw alternative translation of it as “energy” as “a basic misconception that is not supported by Chinese ancient sources.” (Ibid.) As more medical narratives come to light, we also see later classifications of acupoints (xuè 穴) as locations for either qì or fēng, bearing in mind that 穴 also carries the meaning of “cave” in the Chinese language. (See, for example, Wang Shumin, “A General Survey of Medical Works contained in the Dunhuang Medical Manuscripts,” in Vivienne Lo and Christopher Cullen. eds., Medieval Chinese Medicine: the Dunhuang Medical Manuscripts (London and New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2005), 45-58. (As a matter of interest, the editors of this book translated qì as “vapors.”) This mystical relation between the cosmological qì and the bodily qì was further developed in the Mencius, where we see interesting accounts like the retaining of the qì of the night (cún yè qì as the well-known narrative on the “flood-like qì” (hào rán zhī qì 存夜氣 in 6A8) as well 浩然之氣 in 2A2) which one gets from tiān and dì. These correlative accounts of qì are however, not restricted to the Mencius. In the “Róngchéng 容成氏” for example, we read of how King Shùn 舜 was said to be able to distinguish right from wrong by looking at the qì of yīn and yáng ( 乃辨陰陽之氣而聽其訟獄 .) (See “Róngchéng shì” slip 29, in shì Shànghǎi Bówùguǎn Cáng Zhànguó Chǔ Zhú Shū vol. 2, 273.) There are more examples I can cite but it suffices to say that, by the time the newly retrieved texts were written, qì was already an important concept in Chinese thought as a whole. 30 In actual fact, we can even find the bodily accounts of qì in the Analects. Besides reading qì as “breath,”45 we also see in Analects 16.7, the usage of the compound phrase xuèqì 血氣, which is made up of two characters, xuè 血 (blood) and qì, and it does seem that even Confucius himself saw the link between blood and air. We not know if the early Confucians knew that it was the blood that carried the air which they breathed, but the very word “xuèqì” does suggest an intimate connection between xuè and qì. 46 45 46 See for example, Analects 10.4. We have no access to the medical literature of Confucius’ time, but we can still deduce the main tenets. Magico-religious explanations of the bodily functions aside, the earliest record of a more “scientific” account were the oldest parts of the received recensions of the Huáng Dì Nèi Jīng 黃帝內經, which Donald Harper has brought to our attention. With the oldest parts possibly dating to the first century B.C.E., he informs us of a theory where “illness is said to arise from pathogenic conditions of the vapor [qi] within the system of mai 脈 (vessels) and internal organs in the human body.” This theory, which is based on the circulation of blood and air within one’s body and named the “vessel theory” by Harper, “was the key to the new Warring States conception of the body, its health, and its ailment.” And “Like qi (vapor), mai as the name for vessels in the body that carry both blood and vapor was first attested to in fourth century B.C. sources. Blood vessels were originally referred to as mai, as indicated by the Zuozhuan description of an excited horse with ‘ridges of swollen vessels bulging’ and an analogy in the Guanzi that describes water as ‘the blood and vapor of the Earth — like what flows through the muscles and vessels.’ The conception of the mai and their contents continued to acquire new meaning between the fourth and first century B.C., culminating in the Huang Di Nei Jing idea of jingmai 經脈 (conduit vessels).” (Donald Harper, “Warring States Natural Philosophy and Occult Thought,” in Michael Loewe and Edward Shaughnessy eds., The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 875-877. 31 From there, it is just another step to linking human emotions with the circulation of blood and air in the body, which is precisely what we read in Analects 16.7: Confucius said: “There are three things the gentleman should guard against. In youth when the blood and ch’i [qì] are still unsettled, he should guard against the attraction of feminine beauty. In the prime of life when the blood and ch’i [qì] have become unyielding, he should guard against bellicosity. In old age when the blood and ch’i [qì] have declined, he should guard against acquisitiveness.” What we see here is perhaps a direct link between the flow of xuèqì and the generation of emotions. From this short narrative, it is clear how xuè and qì come together as “energy,” given the fact that Confucius describes a young and impetuous person as having excess energy that are not channeled to right places; a mature adult in his prime as having the optimal amount of energy and thus strong; and an old person as losing vitality as his life approaches finality. What I have set out to show here is that the description of emotions in the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” as qì was not an abrupt idiosyncrasy in the early Confucian context. Instead, it is possible to say that seeing emotions as qì was a natural development in early 32 Confucianism, and perhaps in Chinese thought as a whole. 47 Nevertheless, while it makes sense to explain xǐ and nù as resulting from the movement of qì within one’s body, it is less possible to make the same connection for other emotions due to the lack of substantiating textual evidence in the case of the latter. To illustrate, perhaps we can associate fear with the holding of breath; or sorrows with qì that causes pain in the heart, but to that without supporting primary texts is to overspeculate. As far as extant textual evidence is concerned, it is safe to hold that some early Confucians did recognize a connection between emotions and qì, the dynamics of which we have a clear picture in the antonymous dichotomy of xǐ and nù. We have seen how xǐ is generated when events go in accordance to one’s wish and how nù is produced in the case of the opposite. We can, in fact, safely flesh the positive turn of events as dé (gains), whether as tangible rewards such as monetary windfall, or intangible such as a boost in self-esteem, and conversely, view the negative 47 The influence of the qì-theory on emotions can be easily seen in modern Chinese idioms like xǐ qì yáng yáng 喜氣洋洋 and nù qì chōng chōng 怒氣沖沖 . If we look at instances of qì used together with emotional terms in the Chinese lexicon, xǐ and nù are probably the only complementing emotion terms, that is, with yuàn, as an exception. However, we can always say there is an element of nù in yuàn. This is perhaps another piece of side-evidence for the belief that xǐ and nù make up a special pair in Chinese emotions. Also, to focus on the main topic at hand, I shall not go into detail on the relation between qì and zhì 志, or even the more well-debated relation with yán 言 in Mencius 2A2, but it is worth noting that qì and zhì were often discussed together, or even held in contrast, in pre-Mencian texts like the “Yǔcóng Yī” and especially, the “Mín Zhī Fù Mǔ 民之父母 (The Guardians of the Common People).” (See “Yǔcóng Yī” slips 45-49, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 196; and in particular, “Mín Zhī Fù Mǔ,” in Shànghǎi Bówùguǎn Cáng Zhànguó Chǔ Zhú Shū vol. 2, 149-180). 33 turn of events as shī (losses). Along these lines, the emotions of lè and āi can be associated with dé and shī respectively. This is especially so when lè is often seen as a state of zìdé 自得; and āi, frequently linked with the grief over losses, of which we shall discuss in detail in the fourth and fifth chapter. 1.2.3. Wittgenstein and Gadamer as useful pointers 1.2.3.1. Wittgenstein’s notion of “family resemblance” In my discussion, I will also use certain useful hermeneutical tools. One of them is the idea of “family resemblance” discussed by Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889 - 1951) in his Philosophical Investigations, which I mentioned in the previous section on understanding the diverse semantic range of qíng. The idea of “family resemblance” is instrumental in any research based on wordstudy as it accounts for the reason why a character possesses senses which seem to have no connection with one another, as what we have seen to be likely the case for the shift in the meaning of qíng from the sense of “basic instincts” to that of “love” earlier. I will use the same model to understand some other Chinese characters like 樂 with various meanings including “music” and “joy.” The link could easily be fleshed out using “joy in listening to music” as a “transitional” sense. However, Wittgenstein has more to offer about the nature of language besides this convenient philological tool. To see his point, we need to understand that his Philosophical Investigations was actually written to correct the “grave mistakes” 48 he made earlier in his first book, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. Early on in his 48 In “Preface,” in G.E.M. Anscombe trans., Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations: The German Text, with a Revised English Translation (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), x. 34 academic career, Wittgenstein was absorbed with the possibility of finding a logical explanation for the structure of an ideal language where every word carries clear demarcated meanings. But in his later years, he realized this was not possible. A natural language is not made up of words with clear boundaries when it comes to the meanings it carries. Instead, the meaning of any word is dependent on the particular “languagegame,” or context, in which it is used. To illustrate, he uses the notion of “games” and explores the similarity between a ball game and a card game that makes them both “games.”49 In transiting from the former sense to the latter, “much that is common is retained, but much is lost,” but the tricky part lies precisely in pinpointing which are so and which are otherwise. Thus instead of analysing, Wittgenstein urges us to simply “look and see,” and we will “see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities, sometimes similarities of detail.” 50 And thus the concept “game” corresponding to the word “game” is essentially a “concept with blurred edges.”51 He next argues against Frege who “compares a concept to an area and says that an area with vague boundaries cannot be called an area at all,” and seeks to assure his reader that the belief in the existence of an “ideal language” containing words with clear and distinct meanings is misguided.52 49 Ibid., 27. 50 Ibid. 51 Ibid., 29. 52 Ibid., 33. 35 What Wittgenstein sets out to dismiss is the myth that “‘inexact’ is really a reproach, and ‘exact’ is praise. And that is to say that what is inexact attains its goal less perfectly than what is more exact.”53 Indeed, as he claims, a language is natural in the sense that “we know when no one asks us, but no longer know when we are supposed to give an account of it.”54 With this in mind, we should look at the context in which a particular word is used instead of trying to come up with a clear and definite meaning. Or, as Wittgenstein puts it: “We must away with all explanation, and description alone must take its place.”55 In this context of the dissertation, I not seek to explain each and every individual emotional word in a bid to come up with clear rules in which it was used. It is not possible to so because the nature of language is such that words carry concepts with vague and overlapping boundaries when it comes to meanings, such that the user (and, in this case, the writer) does not need to know the full meaning of a word to use it. He just had to focus on the context or the meaning of the word within his sentence. This brings us to Wittgenstein’s notion of “private language.” In a way, we are all users of our own private language in the sense that only we understand fully what we are trying to convey. Wittgenstein uses the example of pain to illustrate.56 Only the person in pain knows what he means when he says that he is in pain: there is no way we can know 53 Ibid., 36. 54 Ibid. 55 Ibid., 40. That said, the author is aware of the fact that Wittgenstein had also rejected the idea of a “private language”. 56 Ibid., 75-78. 36 whether the pain someone is going through is the same as the pain we have had, or the pain we think he is going through. Again, to put it in context, if it is written that someone feels joy, we are not sure if his joy is the same as our understanding of joy. To make the matter more complicated, we are using texts written or edited by more than one person, and it would be erroneous to assume that an expression of joy in a text is of the same kind or degree as that in another, even though the same word is used. In fact, if we seek to find a universal meaning for a word across all the texts, what we need is just a person who uses emotional words idiosyncratically to knock us off from our track. In the words of Wittgenstein: “There is no sharp distinction between a random mistake and a systematic one. That is, between what you are inclined to call ‘random’ and what ‘systematic’.”57 This is something we have to constantly keep in mind. 1.2.3.2. Gadamer’s thesis of “fusion of horizon” Another point which we have to keep in mind is Hans-Georg Gadamer’s (1900 2002) proposition of a “fusion of horizon” when it comes to interpreting written texts. In brief, a reader is never able to read any text “objectively”—there is no way of “getting inside another person and reliving his experience” and any reading is an interpretation bound by the “pre-judgment” of the reader and thus, essentially involving a fusion of the 57 Ibid., 48. 37 horizon of the reader with that of the writer.58 In fact, we can even get a sense of how our prejudices can interfere with our interpretation when we read Wittgenstein’s works, for he wrote that “one cannot guess how a word functions. One has to look at its use and learn from that. But the difficulty is to remove the prejudice that stands in the way of doing this. It is not a stupid prejudice.”59 However, to put it in the positive light of Gadamer, though it is a fact that we can never away with our prejudice or “pre-judgment”, we should, instead, embrace it. A Gadamerian approach in interpreting early Confucianism has been suggested by Alan Chan since the 1980s. In three articles spread over a couple of decades,60 he has argued for a Gadamerian approach and subsequently defend it against Jürgen Habermas’ critique of ideology when it comes to understanding the role of tradition in the early Confucian context. He has illustrated how traditions, in the eyes of early Confucians, are not 58 “To understand what a person says is, as we saw, to come to an understanding about the subject matter, not to get inside another person and relive his experience (Erlebnisse). We emphasized that the experience (Erfahrung) of meaning that takes place in understanding always includes application.” (Joel Weinsheimier and Donald G. Marshall trans., Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method (London: Continuum, 2004), 385. In short, Gadamer believes that it “is not only impossible but manifestly absurd” to relieve ourselves of our prejudices (understood without its present negative connotation as “pre-judgment” or preconception) to reach an objective understanding of a text. (Ibid., 398; 273; 390.) 59 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, 93. 60 Alan K. L. Chan, “Philosophical Hermeneutics and the Analects: The Paradigm of Tradition,” in Philosophy East and West vol. 34 no. 4, (Oct. 1984), 421-436; “Hermeneutics and Critical Theory: Toward a Confucian Self-Understanding,” in Peter K. H. Lee ed., Confucian-Christian Encounters in Historical and Contemporary Perspective (Ontario: Edwin Mellen Press, 1991), 38-67; and “Confucian Ethics and the Critique of Ideology,” in Asian Philosophy, vol. 10 no. 3, 2000, 245-261. 38 dogmatic adherence to the past, but necessarily contain an element of versatility which allows a fusion of horizons between the past sages and them. In the most recent of his three articles, Chan focused on how Confucius (and the early Confucians), in seeing the Zhōu culture as a “reservoir of insight and truth” worthy of emulation and conservation, managed, at the same time, to be critical with regard to dogmatic adherence to traditions. Rising to Habermas’ challenge of finding a solution to the effects brought about by possible systematic corruption of tradition, he has found, within the Analects, room for gradual though radical changes when it comes to applying what is learnt from tradition in a Confucian self-cultivation process. This, he insisted, was not a “wholesale rejection” of tradition; rather, “in looking to the past for a recipe of order and harmony, the conservative Confucian brings his learning and judgment to rectify present conditions.”61 In the same way, this reminds us of the way the early Confucians interpreted the sayings of Confucius, and for that matter, any interpretation of ours on theirs. By the period of Warring States, Confucius’ thought had already become part of a “Confucian tradition,” and two thousand years after that, the early Confucians’ interpretations of Confucius’ thought have also added to this rich “tradition.” When interpreting Confucius, the early Confucians had, intentionally or otherwise, imposed their own judgment onto Confucius’ words and thoughts; thus, as mentioned earlier, what subsequent generations understand as Confucius’ teachings was not necessarily what Confucius had said, but what the early Confucians interpreted Confucius to have said. 61 Alan K. L. Chan, “Confucian Ethics and the Critique of Ideology,” 245; 259. 39 Perhaps like Wittgenstein, Gadamer also has more to offer if we look at the historical context in which Truth and Method was written. In Part Two of his book, “The Extension of the Question of Truth to Understanding in the Human Science,” Gadamer starts with a brief account of hermeneutics as a field transiting from the Enlightenment to Romanticism. He sees the development of Romantic Hermeneutics as one from the “analogous impulses along two paths,” namely “theological hermeneutics” and “philological hermeneutics,”62 and in a way, both paths are very much related. The way the West treats the Bible can be taken in parallel, though of course not symmetrically, with how the Chinese treats the Analects and the Mencius, or for that matter, tradition in general. For one, Confucian disciples held the sayings of their masters, passed down in the form of a written tradition, in high esteem; and in hermeneutics, the Bible is similar with these Chinese texts in the sense that both were written by various individuals— possibly at different times in history—and later compiled together as a whole. As such, not only are these works subject to grammatical and historical interpretation, there is also a “circular relationship” between the whole of the text with the parts of it.63 In the former, we realize that “what is true of the written source, that every sentence in them can be understood only on the basis of its context, is also true of their content. Its meaning is not fixed;”64 and in the latter, the whole of the text “guides the understanding of individual passages: and again this whole can be reached only through the cumulative understanding 62 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 175. 63 Ibid., 176-177. 64 Ibid., 178. 40 of individual passages.”65 It is, thus, of no coincidence that Wilhelm Dilthey took on a philological approach when trying to understand the nature of historical thought, and that of human understanding.66 As far as this dissertation is concerned, I not go into complexities such as those raised by Friedrich Schleiermacher on how “to understand means to come to an understanding with each other”67 or the intricate mechanism behind how to “understand a writer better than he understood himself,”68 both of which refer to the unbridgeable gap between the writer and the interpreter, such as “what a writer meant” and “what an interpreter thought he meant;” or “what a writer meant” and “what a writer really meant,” but I hope this sufficiently highlights the intricacies involved in doing classical studies, especially one with a rich written tradition. In a way, the Gadamerian approach applies to the present understanding of emotions in early Confucianism, serving, again, more as a reminder. It is true that there is no way we can put ourselves perfectly in the shoes of the early Confucians and see what they had seen, or feel what they had felt, during their time. No matter how meticulous we are in “reconstructing” the past, there is no way we can fully achieve a complete or even objective understanding of the horizon of these early Confucians. In fact, we can also say that the early Confucians, no matter how hard they tried, could never reconstruct what Confucius thought. In other words, in their interpretation of Confucius’ thinking, they 65 Ibid., 176. 66 Ibid., 178. 67 Ibid., 180. 68 Ibid., 191. 41 have, intentionally or otherwise, “reconstructed” it with their own set of pre-judgment, just as we, in ours, have done the same. However, that does not mean we cannot try to achieve an interpretation that is as near to the writers’ thought as possible, based on the context as well as language used. In this light, there are definitely better reconstructions than others. Thus, both Wittgenstein and Gadamer have reminded us of the limits we face when we seek to “reconstruct the past,” but that does not necessarily mean any such efforts are totally futile. Instead what we seek to achieve is to get as near to our goal as possible, keeping in mind these limits. 1.2.4. Conclusion In this section, I have briefly presented the structure of this dissertation along the lines of my chosen methodological approaches. Given the close connection between the Chinese language and its philosophy, I chose to enter the philosophical discussions of Chinese emotions using philological investigation. I also explored the notion of qì as closely related to emotions, evidently in xǐ and nù, and how I intend to use this antonymous dichotomy to connect with corresponding notions of dé and shī, and lè and āi, as well as how the discussion of emotions (other than the four highlighted) falls in place in this underlying dichotomous semantic structure.69 Lastly, I gave some insights 69 As mentioned, in this dissertation, I am more concerned with “what emotions means” than “what emotions are”; hence, I will not discuss the notion of qì extensively in subsequent chapters, but will, instead, focus on the respective emotions, always keeping in mind that there is an ontological link between emotions and the movement of qì in one’s body. 42 into what two Western philosophers, Wittgenstein and Gadamer, have to offer with regard to the understanding of semantic changes in language and hermeneutics in general. Writing a dissertation on early Confucianism, I have always been asked this question: What is the purpose or relevance in understanding the thoughts of a group of people, who lived in a historical context so different from ours and died more than two thousand years ago? I am sure this is a question many students in antiquarian studies— history or philosophy, sinology or philology—find themselves asking at some point in their endeavor. If we consider seriously the Wittgensteinian and Gadamerian approaches, then what we are investigating is anything but dead. Instead, the texts we are interpreting or investigating—and the specific characters within—promise eternity. Although there is no way we can go back to the past and relive the lives of these people, our interpretation of their world is necessarily a fusion of our horizons with theirs. With that in mind, a dialogue is carried out in every character that we attempt to analyze, and in every emotion we try to interpret. In this light, what we have at hand are resources that are still very much alive. 43 [...]... illustrating that qíng 25 A C Graham, Studies in Chinese Philosophy and Philosophical Literature (Singapore: Institute of East Asian Philosophies, reprint, 19 86), 59 26 Chad Hansen, “Qing (Emotions) in Pre-Buddhist Chinese Thought,” in Joel Marks and Roger T Ames, Emotions in Asian Thought: A Dialogue in Comparative Philosophy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 19 95), 19 5 27 Chad Hansen, “Qing (Emotions) ... terms in the pre-classical period Other emotional terms found include 17 qī in the oracle bones; as well as 9 āi, 1 jù, 2 qī, 14 wèi and 11 yōu in the bronze inscriptions In addition, we do not dismiss the possibility of the existence of other emotional terms or the variants of these terms in both records 22 An investigation of their interpretation thus serves as a good platform in understanding early Confucianism. .. Confucians interpreted specific emotions rather than on various meanings attributed to qíng 1. 1.3 Our interest This leads, then, to what is understood by emotions in the context of early Confucianism With regard to this dissertation, my emphasis was not in situating early Confucian emotional theories in the context of contemporary debates, but more on what the various narrative accounts of emotions in early. .. other words, the choice of xǐ, nù, āi and lè, is guided primarily by later delineation of them in Chinese tradition as the primary emotions In modern Chinese, of course, xǐ nù āi lè serves as a convenient idiom to mean emotions in general.33 I also looked at other related emotions in an attempt to pinpoint their meaning in early Confucianism; for example, the difference between xǐ and yuè 悅 , and their... (Emotions) in Pre-Buddhist Chinese Thought,” 18 3 28 Chad Hansen, “Qing (Emotions) in Pre-Buddhist Chinese Thought,” 19 5 15 in this text actually meant “idealized emotional dispositions,”29 and pointed out that “any attempt to translate qíng in such a text as either ‘reality response’ (with no affective sense) or simply emotions would be misleading,” adding that the “reality response” sense was only distinguishable... and nù in early Chinese texts and has convincingly shown that, among the “basic emotions which she identified, xǐ and nù were most often paired See Ulrike Middendorf, “Basic Emotion Terms in Warring States Texts: Sequences and Patterns,” 14 0 -14 4 27 Strictly speaking, this qì-theory pertaining to emotions cannot be found explicitly in the Analects, but the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū”39 does see the emotions. .. propagated in, for example, the Guōdiàn findings as belonging to a particular school exclusively 13 of the collective memory of this group of people known as the early Confucians.24 1. 1.2 Emotions, not qíng This dissertation looks at emotions as mentioned by this group of intellectuals in extant written texts, and how these narratives, in turn, shed light on what we understand as early Confucianism. .. “basic facts (of a matter)” and “basic instincts (of man),” and between “basic instincts” and emotions, ” and again between emotions and “love.” In this perspective, it makes sense to treat qíng meaning “basic facts” as belonging to the same lexical item as qíng meaning “love.”32 31 They are (1) Factual: The basic facts of a matter; (2) Metaphysical: Underlying and basic dynamic factors; (3) Political:... providing the flexibility when applying lǐ in practical situations In a way, this parallels Wei-Ming Tu’s and the “instrumentalists” interpretation of the relation between rén and lǐ as mentioned earlier in the footnotes See Philip J Ivanhoe, “Reweaving the ‘one thread’ of the Analects,” in Philosophy East and West vol 40 no .1, (Jan 19 90), 17 -33 19 It is interesting how similar versions of the Golden Rule... context In other words, my focus is not so much on what the emotions are in the ontological sense, but more of what the early Confucian understanding of emotions can tell us about early Confucianism, as well as the ethical implication involved However, there are certain underlying assumptions that can be made with regard to the nature of emotions as understood by the early Confucians Firstly, the early . of the emotions in early Confucianism. Chapter 6 summarizes and concludes the dissertation. 1. 1. The subject matter 1. 1 .1. The early Confucians My area of interest is early Confucianism, ”. 19 95), 19 5. 27 Chad Hansen, “Qing (Emotions) in Pre-Buddhist Chinese Thought,” 18 3. 28 Chad Hansen, “Qing (Emotions) in Pre-Buddhist Chinese Thought,” 19 5. 16 in this text actually meant. In 19 54, Wing-Tsit Chan identified its origins as one of the eight basic unsolved problems in Chinese Philosophy. The traditional interpretation was that of Hú Shì (18 91 - 19 62), who explained