Chapter Nù 3.1. Nù as seen philologically 3.1.1. Nù at first glance To those less conversant with the field, it may appear easier to make sense of nù initially because, unlike xǐ, which is semantically similar to a number of Chinese characters such as yuè and lè, nù stands out prominently from other emotional terms. This is analogous to “anger” in the English language; unlike “happiness,” which is difficult to differentiate semantically from “pleasure” and “joy,” “anger” seems to stand out in English the way nù does in Chinese.2 Both terms are so distinctive in meaning that nù carries almost the same emotional weight as “anger.” Nevertheless, there is still a need to refrain from over-exuberance in linguistic assimilation as the two languages function under different hermeneutical frameworks. I benefitted from Professor Kwong-loi Shun’s lectures during my visit to the Chinese University of Hong Kong in the summer of 2008. In his lectures on Ethics, Prof. Shun explored the Christian deadly vices using Gabriele Taylor’s Deadly Vices. The lecture on “Pride and Anger” highlighted Taylor’s position in seeing “aggressive anger” and “resentfulness” as “sophisticated anger” involving a “high degree of selfconsciousness”. This delineation was insightful and helped shape my view with regard to the different forms of anger in this chapter. For a detailed analysis of what constitutes “sophisticated anger,” see Gabriele Taylor, Deadly Vices (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 70-91. Emotive terms such as “indignation,” “fury” and “irritation” are synonymous with, and often viewed as subsets of, “anger,” with “anger” taking on an encompassing nature. This is unlike “happiness,” for it is controversial as to whether “happiness” is really a kind of “joy,” or otherwise. 85 For instance, in the English language, “anger” is not always the opposite of “happiness” the way nù is seen to be in a dichotomous manner to xǐ in Chinese. In fact, as shown in Chapter 2, this special symmetry in the Chinese understanding, understood in the context of the qì-theory, is instrumental in our distinguishing xǐ from yuè and lè. In the case of nù, when one’s qì is not in sync with the internal body systems, it becomes trapped within; over time, an accumulation of qì may lead to an emotional release of pent-up feelings. There are also other emotional terms in the Chinese language with meanings similar to nù, albeit less confusing as compared with xǐ. I will clarify what I mean in this section, where I focus on the related emotional terms yùn 慍, fèn 憤, fèn*3 忿 and on the more distant, but very important notion of yuàn 怨. To start with, the Shuō Wén Jiě Zì does not help in clarifying differences among these emotional concepts. Classifying all four characters above as having xíngshēng 形聲 etymological roots, it actually defines yùn as nù, nù (and yuàn) as huì 恚, and huì as hèn 恨 (synonymously related to “hatred”), neither of which is found in any of the primary texts. More importantly, hèn deviates too far in meaning from nù and yuàn. As for fèn, it is defined as mèn 懑, a very pictorial character, with a mǎn 滿 (full) on top and a xīn below, suggesting a heart that is filled (with an emotion,) but again, mèn is not found in the primary texts and is further defined as fán 煩 (near-synonymous to “vexed”) which, again, departs from the original meaning of fèn. The definition for fèn* To differentiate between 憤 and 忿, I transcribed them as fèn and fèn* respectively. 86 is also not helpful but in a different way—fèn* was defined as juān 悁, and juān as fèn*, and is thus, circular. In addition, juān is also not found in the primary texts.4 3.1.2. Yùn, fèn and fèn* Many modern etymological dictionaries explain anger-related emotional terms using nù as a benchmark. Yùn, for that matter, is described as a milder form of nù in the Gǔcíbiàn, and fleshed out as “dissatisfaction” (bù mǎn 不滿).5 It is correct to say that yùn is often suppressed, though it can also be shown through facial expression (yùn sè 慍色). For example, Zǐwén 子文 was said to be without yùn sè when he was thrice removed from office in Analects 5.19. However, I not agree that yùn is a lesser form of anger; I am more inclined to see it is as stronger form of anger, and, as I shall explain in the later part of this chapter, a more dangerous one, as it could hinder Confucian cultivation. In the Analects, yùn is typically evoked when one feels under-appreciated. The first passage in the Analects leaves us with a question that carries the emotional term of yùn: “Is it not gentlemanly not to take offence when others fail to appreciate your abilities 人不知而不慍, 不亦君子乎?” (Analects 1.1) Perhaps the fact that Confucius evokes this question together with the yuè one gains in learning and practice, and the lè in receiving like-minded friends from afar, shows the Master accepting and expecting that it is part and parcel of Confucian life to be under-appreciated. Perhaps Confucius understood that in the process of cultivation, a Shuō Wén Jiě Zì, 221. Gǔcíbiàn, 843. 87 Confucian individual must face the challenge and learn to come to terms with yùn as he will likely encounter situations where he finds himself sorely under-appreciated. To dismiss yùn as a mild form of anger is to underestimate its implication. Yùn is, in reality, similar to the destructive emotion of “resentment,” which will be discussed in the next section.6 Although yùn can be detected from one’s facial expression, it is a form of anger that is largely suppressed or contained, revolves around issues of self-respect and self-esteem, and is often kindled when one realises that one is slighted or underappreciated.7 Prof. Kwong-loi Shun has rightly pointed out to me the constraints and even inaptness of assimilating yùn with the western concept of “resentment.” This interpretation of yùn is in line with those found in the pre-Confucian classics. In the Zuǒzhuàn, Gōng 公鉏 was unhappy with the position he was offered; rather than voicing his opinion and triggering a potential conflict, he chose to exit by turning down the position (慍而不出) (“Xiāng Gōng 襄公 23.5”); The Jìn 晉 lady of Dào 悼 was angry with the decision of the Duke of Jin in the appointment of Shū Hóu 叔 侯 as the governor of Qí Tián 杞田 but had to control her anger and remonstrate tactfully (晉悼夫人慍曰: “ 齊也取貨 , 先君若有知也 , 不尚取之 .”)(“Xiāng Gōng 29.11”); Chán Bān 酁般 was angry over the cession of his city but instead of demanding it back, went away in indignation (慍而行)(“Āi Gōng 17.7”). Chú All these three instances point towards displeasure that is suppressed due to one’s inferior social position. On the other hand, the two occurrences of yùn in the Shījīng pertain more to the grudges bore against one by inferior men and foes: “my heart is full of trouble, being resented by small men ( 憂心悄悄, 慍于群小)” 柏舟,” in The She King, 39-40); “Though he cannot eliminate the grudges of his foes, he did not let fall his fame (肆不殄厥慍, 亦不隕厥問)” (“Mián 緜,” in The She King, 441). (“Bó Zhōu 88 Fèn is similar to yùn in that it is also an emotion accumulated and built up within the self. However, fèn may not be related to anger at all. It occurs twice in the primary texts—both in the Analects, where the term is used with a positive connotation: “bracing up.” In Analects 7.8, Confucius sees fèn as a necessary condition for enlightenment, qǐ 啟 ; and in 7.19, he even sees himself as a person who forgets about his meals when studying hard (fā fèn wàng shí 發憤忘食). It is perhaps in this meaning of fèn that we can understand why the great péng 鵬 was described as “rising in nù (nù ér fēi 怒而飛)” in the first chapter of the Zhuāngzǐ 莊子 much later. The crux of this matter actually lies in the heavy dosage of qì-theory. Whether as a gentleman bracing himself for long periods of study, or a gigantic bird mustering strength for flight, both contexts are understood as a welling-up of qì within oneself.8 The Recall Cáo Guì’s 曹劌 well-known theory in warfare as recorded in Zuǒzhuàn, where the mustering of qì is linked with the raising of morale of the troops and instrumental to the victory of an army. See “Zhuāng Gōng 莊公 10,” James Legge trans., The Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso Chuen, in The Chinese Classics vol. V, (from here, the Tso Chuen), 84-87. In fact, in a lesser-known account in “Xī Gōng 15.4,” there is an interesting remonstrative account on how xuè and qì function in horses, which also interestingly involves the notion of fèn: “Now for the fight that is before us, you are using horses of a different State. When they become afraid, they will change their usual way, and go contrary to the will of their driver. When they become confused, they will get excited. Their timorous blood will flush all their bodies, and their veins will everywhere stand out. Externally they will appear strong, but internally they will be exhausted. They will refuse to advance or retire; they will be unable to turn around. Your lordship is sure to repent employing 今乘異產, 以從戎事, 及懼而變，將與人易. 亂氣狡憤, 陰血周作, 張脈僨興, 外彊中乾. 進退不可, 周旋不能, 君必悔之.” (Ibid., 167-168.) them. 89 understanding of fèn helps us in our comprehension of nù, for they operate in the same hermeneutical framework with regard to emotions. Fèn retains this meaning and it is only much later that it includes the element of anger, as is often used in modern Chinese phrases like “qìfèn 氣憤 (angry).” Fèn*忿, on the other hand, has everything to with the emotion of anger in early Confucianism. In fact, if we are to take an open display of anger as a criterion for categorizing different forms of anger, then yùn and fèn* probably lie at opposite ends of a continuum. If yùn is subtle, then fèn* is forthright; if yùn is accumulated within, then fèn* is dissipated outright. In Analects 12.21, fèn* is seen as a sudden fit of anger that makes one forget the safety for self and parents;9 and in Analects 17.1610 as well as the “Zūn Dé Yì (Esteeming Virtues and Rightness),”11 fèn* is used together with lì 戾 (near to the meaning of “ill-tempered” or even “tyrannical”). Without doubt, in the Confucian To the question from Fàn Chí 樊遲 about “misguided judgement (huò 惑 ),” Confucius replied rhetorically: “To let a sudden fit of anger make you forget the safety of your own person or even that of your parents, is that not misguided judgement? ( 10 一朝之忿, 忘其身以及其親. 非惑與?)” When comparing ancient people with his contemporaries, Confucius pointed out that “in antiquity, in being conceited, men were uncompromising; today, in being conceited, they are simply ill-tempered ( 古之 矜也廉,今之矜也忿戾).” 11 The “Zūn Dé Yì” identifies the riddance of one’s ill-temper and conceitedness as the responsibility of a better man. ( 去忿戾, 戒惎勝,為人上者之務也.) See “Zūn Dé Yì” slip 1, Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 173. 90 context, extreme anger in the form of fèn* is often seen as undesirable.12 3.1.3. The nù in yuàn Another important concept is yuàn, often translated as “grievances,” “lamentations” or “complaints,” though one can see it more as an emotional behavior, rather than an emotion per se. To draw an analogy, “complaint” is to “anger” like “laughter” is to “joy.” Yet I chose to focus substantially on yuàn in this chapter because a presence or absence of yuàn is often used as a gauge to reflect the presence or absence of an emotion, and for that matter, oftentimes an undesirable one. Confucius, for example, in his advice to Zhòng Gōng 仲弓 in Analects 12.2 on what is, puts “free from yuàn 12 It is perhaps worth noting that 忿 can be a noun meaning “quarrel,” which is still in line with our interpretation of it as forthright and undesirable anger. For now, there is a need to explain the three occurrences of xiǎo fèn* 小忿 (small fèn*) in the Zuǒzhuàn. “Small fèn*” does not imply that fèn* in these contexts are small in magnitude. All three instances are, in fact, found in remonstrative arguments for the restraining or resolving of short-term and mindless fèn* which might lead to disastrous undesirable consequences. For example, in “Dìng Gōng 6.2,” Gōng Shū Wén Zǐ 公叔文子 remonstrated to the duke that “your own son and the sons of us your ministers you were ready to give as hostages… does it not seem improper that for a small occasion of anger you should now cover over your former kindly feeling and action? ( 公子與二三臣之子, 諸侯苟憂之, 將以為之質… 今將以小忿蒙舊德, 無乃不可乎?” (The Tso Chuen, 763.) On that note, we also need to be aware of the fact that unresolved fèn* can lead to suppressed and accumulative resentment, as seen in “Xī Gong 24.2,” where the two other instances of fèn* are found: “… although brothers may have small quarrels among themselves, they will not for them cast away their relative affection. But now, when Your Majesty, unable to bear the resentment of a slight quarrel, is casting away the affection of Qing [qīn], what is to be said? (… 則兄弟雖有小忿, 不廢懿親. 今天子不忍小忿以 棄鄭親, 其若之何?)” (Ibid., 192). 91 in the country or family (在邦無怨, 在家無怨)” as the desired ethical outcome of being rén. The emotions involved here are actually very complex, and we can see a certain element of anger involved, whether the anger is directed at others or at oneself. I shall use a contemporary analogy to illustrate this inter-connectivity. Supposing someone aspires to a certain position within a company, and when he does not succeed, displeasure in the form of anger may build up. He may be angry with others (perhaps his friends, for not helping him to secure the position); he may be angry with himself (for not possessing the ability or seizing the opportunity for promotion) or he may feel envy or “red eyed” over the benefits that did not come his way or jealousy for his colleague who was promoted instead.13 This example is probably very similar to the circumstances faced by the early Confucians. Because of the chaos and politics of the times, a Confucian may not be named an official even though he was sufficiently capable; through cultivation, he then had to learn to deal with his anger how events turned out. This brings us to a very important passage in the Analects: …The Master said, “I not complain against Heaven, nor I blame Man. In my studies, I start from below and get through to what is up above. If I am 13 This does not mean anger has replaced envy/ jealousy, for it is envy and jealousy that fuels anger. This can be easily proven: when envy/ jealousy is removed, one stops being angry. To use the example above, when one realizes the heavy responsibility involved in taking up the new position, one may stop being jealous/ envious and thus stop being angry. In this particular context, it is perhaps appropriate to see anger as a “second-order” emotion compared with envy/ jealousy. 92 understood at all, it is, perhaps, by Heaven.” 子曰: “不怨天, 不尤人; 下學而上達 . 知我者, 其天乎.” (Analects 14.35) To say that one does not yuàn Heaven or blame men carries certain assumptions—a person with similar circumstances in life would be, precisely, inclined towards doing the otherwise. And if we were to scrutinize the emotion involved where a person laments his plight, it would seem that there is an element of anger involved or, at the very least, a sense of frustration. In fact, if we read deeper into the passage, one could almost sense Confucius’s frustration in not being able to find someone who understands him; hence, his wish to focus on his study humbly, to know more about “what is up above,” and concluding that if “anyone” at all could understand him, it was likely “what is up above.” I will look into this unique form of anger in the closing section to this chapter.14 3.1.4. Conclusion Nù is an easier emotional concept to clarify than xǐ, though not necessarily easy to understand. Like its English counterpart “anger,” nù is more of an encompassing term.15 When events in life not take place according to an individual’s wishes, nù results in degrees from irritation to resentment, to more extreme forms of anger. The major difference among various forms of nù lies in whether one keeps the emotion largely 14 Note that yuàn also takes on a melancholic stance, especially with regard to lamenting over the death of loved ones, which I will discuss in the next chapter on āi. 15 As pointed out previously, this is not applicable to its near-parallel, xǐ, which is not used as an encompassing notion. 93 suppressed (yùn) or gives vent (fèn*). This welling-up of nù is similar to the building-up of fèn but it is only much later that fèn comes close to nù in the similar semantic sense of “anger.” In this section, I set out to identify the different possible candidates of nù, setting each apart and preparing the platform to discuss philosophically. I highlighted yùn and fèn* as two forms of nù, with yùn being practically hidden, and fèn* being entirely overt. In the discussion, I clarified fèn as its semantic link with nù did not take place until much later. I have also shown how yuàn comes into the picture and complicates matters by adding in elements of envy and jealousy. In the next section, we shall consider the rightfulness of anger in the early Confucian context, before exploring the implications of yùn in Confucian cultivation and how yùn is at least as vicious as—or more so—than fèn*. I will then conclude with a discussion of yuàn in the light of nù, and in particular, an interesting kind of yuàn, that which is held against Heaven. 3.2. Nù as seen philosophically 3.2.1. Nù as anger Perhaps let us begin with the desirability of nù. A reference to Aristotle’s wellknown approval of anger as recorded in the Nicomachaean Ethics would probably start us off in the right direction: There is praise for someone who gets angry at the right things and with the right people, as well as in the right way, at the right time, and for the right length of time…. The deficiency, whether it is a kind of non-irascibility or whatever, is blamed, because people who not get angry at things that they ought to get 94 general. For one, to say that Confucius did not talk about luàn is not true. In fact, it may be right to say Confucius was concerned about correcting the disorder and chaos of his times. As such I would propose to interpret Analects 6.21 as Confucius refraining to comment on the various superstitions that people then were practicing. 61 Confucius found himself in precarious times where there was social unrest due to the breakdown in the political infrastructure. Wars were prevalent and crimes were rampant. In times like this, perhaps it was natural for people to appeal to all sorts of superstitions in frantic searches for spiritual protection. Having little knowledge with regard to the various forms of beliefs and superstitions, it was perhaps wise for Confucius to advise his disciples to keep a neutral position with regards to the various forms of religious practices. Instead, when a Confucian gentleman is found to be in office, he should concentrate on the social problems at hand, and distance himself from superstitions so as to be clear-minded and effective. This does not mean Confucius deterred people from their religious rituals, and especially those to their ancestors. However, we remember him asserting in Analects 3.12 that “unless I enter into the spirit of a sacrifice, it is as if I did not sacrifice,” encouraging people to be sincere in their rituals. 61 Creel devoted a substantial part of his article in a non-agnostic exposition of 6.21, but from a different angle. He starts his discussion with an in-depth study of 6.10, illustrating how “keeping a distance” is a form of respect, and that in ritualism, proper respect is incompatible with familiarity, before concluding why Confucius in 6.21 did not speak of these entities—not only is there an absence of people prepared to receive them, his refrain is one of showing respect, rather than an act of aloofness. (Ibid., 82-92). 122 Perhaps the point to take note is, when he said “entering into the spirit of a sacrifice,” he did not mean any random and blind sacrifice to an unknown god, like what the agnostic men of Greece did on Mars’ Hill,62 which is the classic example in defining agnosticism. He is actually calling for a much more involved attitude. Any sacrificial ritual inevitably involves four elements, namely the agent performing the ritual, the sacrifice, the manner of sacrificing, as well the recipient of the sacrifice. And for Confucius, a sacrificial ritual is definitely more than going through motions: The Master said, “Surely when one says ‘The rites, the rites,’ it is not enough merely to mean presents of jade and silk. Surely when one says ‘Music, music,’ it is not enough merely to mean bells and drums.” 子曰: “禮云禮云, 玉帛云乎哉? 樂云樂云, 鐘鼓云乎哉?” (Analects 17.11) Even if one gets the sacrifice and the sacrificial rituals correct, the condition of the heart is equally, if not more important. Virtue ethicists would probably argue that the Confucian approval for rituals is based on the virtues it brings out of a person, rather than on the ritual itself. Getting the sacrifice correct highlights virtues like discipline, reverence and sincerity, which by themselves are intrinsically good. In fact, this reverent attitude extends well beyond religious rituals: Even when a meal consisted only of coarse rice and vegetable broth, he invariably made an offering from them and invariably did so solemnly. 雖疏食,菜羹,瓜祭, 必齊如也. (Analects 10.11) 62 Acts 17:22-23, The Holy Bible. 123 Interestingly, this is very near to the religious act of being grateful for one’s blessings, a common element found across almost all religions. Here is an interpretation of Confucius seeing religious practices as a means of acquiring virtues, which is still consistent with the claim that he was religiously agnostic, since we can argue that he treated religion merely as a tool. However, there were also times when we are not sure whether he was thinking along this line. To illustrate, caught in his illness, Confucius seems to hint at some personal manner of worship: The Master’s illness became grave. Tzu-lu [Zǐ Lù] asked permission to offer a prayer. The Master said, “Is there such a thing?” Tzu-lu [Zǐ Lù] said, “Yes, there is. The prayer offered is as follows: pray ye thus to the gods above and below.” The Master said, “In that case, I have long been offering my prayers.” 子疾病, 子 路請禱. 子曰: “有諸?” 子路對曰: “有之; 誄曰: ‘禱爾於上下神祗.’”子曰: “丘之 禱久矣.” (Analects 7.35) Who are these gods above and below? This brings our attention to the identity of this recipient of worship and, for that matter, back to Analects 14.35 from which I quoted at length. It is difficult to interpret Heaven here as a pattern or a Way. Confucius seems to be talking about an anthropomorphized Heaven to whom people can complain, and one that may be capable of understanding him. Moving away from his previous position of maintaining a distance from spiritual matters, he disclosed that his learning was, ultimately, to “get through to what is up above.” The mere fact that he thought he could work hard to know “what is up above” contradicts the claim that he was religiously agnostic. In 14.23, he again reiterates this 124 point: “the gentleman gets through to what is up above; the small man gets through to what is down below,” extending this act of seeking to that of a gentleman. “Starting from below and getting through to what is up above” is coherent with 17.9 discussed previously on the knowledge Heaven is trying to transmit through the changing of the seasons and the coming into being of the hundred things. In Analects 16.8 Confucius regarded “the awe of the Decree of Heaven (wèi Tiānmìng 畏天命)” as one of the ways of a gentleman. The objective of Confucian learning in 16.8 further substantiated the claim that this “awe” is more than a blind agnostic worship of an immense unknown. Rather, it is the awe paid to a Heaven whose Decree is accessible to gentlemen who are willing to learn about it. However, to acquire this feeling of being in tune with Heaven’s Decree and to be constantly convinced is perhaps ineffable, especially when circumstances actually point the other way. One can draw a parallel to the feeling of possessing “hào rán zhī qì 浩然 之氣 (flood-like qì)”63 in the Mencian tradition, which is a mystical feeling of being with one with the macrocosm.64 But from here, a more dangerous step ensues. Does an understanding of Heaven’s Decree necessarily lead to an assurance that Heaven knows best, and perhaps, despite the 63 Mencius 2A2. 64 The fact that both Mencius and the excavated Confucian texts show no evidence of agnosticism can also be taken as a side-proof that Confucius may not have been. As Creel puts it, “If Confucius was agnostic, it is remarkable that his views in this respect did not make more impression upon those who came close after him in the Confucian tradition.” (“Was Confucius Agnostic?”, 67.) 125 sufferings one is currently facing, that everything will eventually turn out well? In other words, does it mean that the righteous, who act and behave as Heaven decrees, will triumph in the long term despite their current sufferings? This needs clarification, for it attributes to Confucius’ Heaven a property given only to its Mohist counterpart, namely, its righteousness. 65 If we take a look at Analects 3.13, Heaven seems to be given a heavy role of agency: When you have offended against Heaven, there is nowhere you can turn to in your prayers. 獲罪於天, 無所禱也. Given Confucius’ aversion towards superstitions, coupled with his belief that Heaven understood him, we should not interpret offending Heaven here as a failure to appease an unknown higher being. Instead, what we see here is more of a form of righteous anger. It is as if there is a higher being that oversees right and wrong, and there is this assurance that any fight of the unrighteous against the righteous will be futile. But the problem remains: whose set of rights and wrongs, good and evil, are we referring to? What is the probability that Heaven’s set is different from Confucius’s? The Master said, “Heaven is author of the virtue that is in me. What can Huan T’ui [Huán Tuí] to me?” 子曰: “天生德於予, 桓魋其如予何?” (Analects 7.23) 65 The Mohists believed in the existence of a righteous Heaven who would reward the good (and right) and punish the evildoers (wrongdoers.) 126 It does seem that Confucius believed Heaven was on his side, and that the virtuous things he was doing were in tune with Heaven’s set of rights and wrongs. But taking a step back to consider, both 3.13 and 7.23 were probably recorded in situations where Confucius was in heightened spirits, though that does not mean the views expressed then were irrational. As pointed out earlier, we should note that, even though Confucius was a teacher, he was also an individual in the real world, equally vulnerable to emotional upsets when faced with downturns in life. Faced with events that evoked strong reactions, such as the deaths of his disciples, even Confucius found his faith in, and understanding of, Heaven challenged. These were not the only examples illustrating such strong emotional reactions. The Analects contain many instances where Confucius evoked the name of Heaven when struck by vehement emotions of anger, grief and perplexity. In Analects 6.28: The Master went to Nan Tzu [Nán Zǐ]. Tzu-lu [Zǐ Lù] was displeased. The Master swore, “If I have done anything improper, may Heaven’s curse be on me, may Heaven’s curse be on me!” 子見南子, 子路不說. 夫子矢之曰: “予所否者, 天厭 之, 天厭之!” Confucius was, apparently, indignant about Zǐ Lù’s misunderstanding. Perhaps his anger extended beyond Zǐ Lù, and was really in response to his accusers. But it was Zǐ Lù’s response that turned out to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. At that point, Zǐ Lù’s inability to prove himself caused Confucius to pledge his integrity over Heaven’s blessing. Here, Confucius reacted vehemently, invoking Heaven’s name; more importantly, he deviated from a fatalistic view of Heaven’s will to one responsive 127 to the works of human. His interpretation of Heaven here swings dangerously to that of the Mohists, who would become Confucian anti-fatalistic rivals, to one that blesses the good (and right) and curses the evil (and wrongdoers). One of Confucius’ disciples, Tài Zǎi, believed that Heaven had set Confucius on the path to sagehood,66 and perhaps at some point in his life, the Master himself did think he was carrying out Heaven’s Decree. This understanding of Heaven’s Decree is attainable given the correct cultivation of observing patterns in nature, and as far as this section is concerned, the conclusion seems to be that Heaven has its set of right and wrong attainable by man; and one who follows Heaven’s Decree has Heaven on his side. This religious position is far from agnosticism. But apparently, the story does not stop here. Confucius did not find himself in favorable position during arduous times. If Heaven is for him, why did situations sometimes work against him? Bó Niú’s sickness and Yán Huí’s death thrust him into the realities of life on earth; not only did he demonstrate excess grief, he also questioned and lamented to Heaven, contrary to what he claimed in Analects 14.35. Only at this abysmal period in Confucius’s life did it dawn on the Master that he had possibly misinterpreted Heaven’s Decree. This is where the element of “fatalism” comes in, and where Confucianism departs from Mohism. When the Master met with danger in K’uang [Kuāng], he said, “With King Wen dead, is not culture invested here in me? If Heaven intends culture to be 66 Analects 9.6. 128 destroyed, those who come after me will not be able to have any part of it. If Heaven does not intend this culture to be destroyed, then what can the men of K’uang [Kuāng] to me?” 子畏於匡. 曰: “文王既沒, 文不在茲乎. 天之將喪斯 文也. 後死者不得與於斯文也. 天之未喪斯文也. 匡人其如予何?” (Analects 9.5) The Master said, “It is destiny if the Way prevails; it is equally Destiny if the Way falls into disuse. What can Kung-po Liao [Gōngbó Liáo] in defiance of Destiny?” 子曰:“道之將行也與? 命也; 道之將廢也與? 命也;公伯寮其如命何!” (Analects 14.36) It could have been that Confucius was a suitable candidate with regard to the handing over of the Zhōu heritage, but it may also be that Heaven did not want the traditions to be passed down. In fact, Heaven might even dictate a time when the Way does not prevail. This seems to bring us full circle: did Confucius really believe that he had an intimate knowledge of Heaven, or was it simply a fatalistic understanding and acceptance of whatever befell him? Initially, it did seem that in times when vehement emotions were involved, Confucius had shown signs of optimism that Heaven was on his side, but when beset by great losses, his view seems to waver, and perhaps herein lies the paradoxical nature of 129 Confucius as an individual.67 3.2.3.4. The Chinese Problem of Evil It is perhaps appropriate now to draw a parallel between Confucius and the seemingly unhappy Mencius in Mencius 2B13: When Mencius left Ch’i [Qí], on the way Ch’ung Yu [Chōng Yú] asked, “Master, you look somewhat unhappy. I heard from you the other day that a gentleman reproaches neither Heaven nor man.” “This is one time; that was another time. Every five hundred years a true King should arise, and in the interval there should arise one from whom an age takes its name. From Chou [Zhōu] to the present, it is over seven hundred years. The five hundred mark is passed; the time seems ripe. It must be that Heaven does not as yet wish to bring peace to the Empire. If it did, who is there in the present time other than myself? Why should I be unhappy?” 孟子去齊.充虞路問曰: “夫子若有不豫色然. 前日虞聞諸夫子曰: “君子不怨天, 不尤人.” 曰: “彼一時, 此一時也. 五百年必有王者興, 其間必有名世者. 由周而 67 Confucius’ fluctuation with regard to his religious position was also mentioned by A. C. Graham when he wrote “Confucius may be seen to fluctuate between a faith that heaven will protect his mission and despair that Heaven has abandoned him,” but he is perhaps nearer to the “stages of life” position when he added “He struggle to understand ‘destiny’ (mìng, literally ‘decree’, what Heaven has decreed.) The reconciliation which he calls ‘knowing destiny’ and claimed to have attained at age 50 was a calm recognition that personal fortune and the rise and fall of a good government were ultimately beyond man’s control, and to be at peace it is enough to have done one’s best.” (A. C. Graham, Disputer of the TAO, 1718.) 130 來, 七百有余歲矣. 以其數則過矣; 以其時考之, 則可矣. 夫天未欲平治天下也; 如欲平治天下, 當今之世, 舍我其誰也? 吾何為不豫哉!” In many ways, Confucius and Mencius were relating the same paradox that they shared across centuries. Both saw chaos in their society and wanted to address it; both possessed the ambition and ability to bring about changes, and both believed that Heaven intended for him to bring about change, but circumstances were such that both were unable to fulfill their dreams. Perhaps to bring this point further, the problem the early Confucians faced here is similar to that of the Mohists, namely, a Chinese equivalent to the Problem of Evil. A revised Problem of Evil, taken out of the Western theistic model, is this: 1. If a righteous Heaven exists, it will reward the good and punish the evil. 2. The good was unrewarded and the evil was unpunished. 3. Therefore a righteous Heaven does not exist. This is the problem the Mohists definitely have to face, because they explicitly believed in a righteous Heaven which sides the good. In fact, the “Guǐshén Zhī Míng 鬼 神之明,” a text suspected to be Mohist by the transcribers, had shown us that a certain faction of the Mohists might have questioned the existence of a righteous Heaven using the Problem of Evil argument. By quoting historical examples of the good suffering seemingly undeserved death, the text had concluded that “there are occasions the spirits and gods are illumined, and there are occasions where they are not (鬼神有所明有所不 131 明), ”68 and in which míng 明 in this context can take on different senses, though all are connected and relevant, be it understood as “manifested in physical appearances”, “explicit in intention” or “enlightened in doings,” all three suggest the presence of the spirits and the gods.69 However, there is one possible way to get around this problem: accept that Heaven has its own judgment of good and evil, right and wrong; and accept current suffering is necessary in the grand scheme of things. Interestingly, scholars have tried interpreting the “Guǐshén Zhī Míng 鬼神之明” differently by defining the character míng 明 differently, which can also mean “to illuminate,” thus reading “鬼神有所明有所不明” as “there are things which the spirits and gods explain and there are things which they not,” which, incidentally, is a classic solution to the Problem of Evil! In this aspect, early Confucian thought can be said to be in line with that of these Mohists, and it is interesting because individuals who think this way can be read as fatalistic (as most would read Confucius) and anti-fatalistic as well, which was one of the central tenets in Mohist thought. And having that in perspective, this similarity puts into question how fatalistic early Confucianism was. 68 “Guǐshén Zhī Míng” slip 5, Shànghǎi Bówùguǎn Cáng Zhànguó Chǔ Zhú Shū vol.5, 320. 69 Judging from this contesting position, it is difficult for us to conclude that the “Guǐshén Zhī Míng” is definitely a Mohist text. It could be a text written, in response to the “Míng Guǐ 明鬼” chapters of the Mòzǐ 墨子, by the rivals of the Mohists—the Confucians being one highly probable interest group. 132 In 1994, Chen Ning also addressed the Problem of Evil when he discussed theodicy in the Chinese context, and divided forms of theodicy into five70—teleological (delayed justice), occasional (god(s) failure to see), leadership (sufferings as tools for character-building), imperfection (sufferings due to the sufferer not being good enough) and posterity (sufferings brought about by ancestors on their descendants). Chen has also convincingly shown that all five explanations can be found in pre-Buddhist Chinese beliefs. Though we have no evidence that Confucius subscribed to any of these, Chen’s article has effectively illustrated the wide array of beliefs to which Confucius could reference if he found himself troubled by the Problem of Evil. What I would like to highlight here is a form of theodicy close to that of Chen’s teleological model. It is a form of delayed justice believing that all things will work out for the good in the long run, but with an important difference—that is, the delayed justice that comes about is not by human standards, but by Heaven’s. In this light, it is possible that early Confucians fluctuated in their religious position depending on the circumstances they faced. For both Confucius and Mencius, although there were times when they saw themselves living out their destinies of providing a cure for the political and social upheaval of their times, there were also times when they questioned Heaven’s Decree. At times like this, it was natural for them to try to reconcile the contradiction between their beliefs and the reality through the notion of Destiny. This is similar to a theist who, though believing in an all-loving God, appealed 70 Ning Chen, “The Problem of Theodicy in Ancient China,” in Journal of Chinese Religions, Fall 1994, no. 22, 51-74. 133 to an unknown God’s plan in explaining away the Problem of Evil. As much as the theist still believes in an all-loving God who would see to it that everything turned out well despite his present sufferings, Confucius seems to demonstrate a similar optimism that it was Heaven who understood him best and had a better plan in mind for him. This position is similar to the “conditional” position as mentioned earlier, but instead of seeing Confucius as resigning to amoral fate when it comes to accounting for bad things happening to the good, we can see him as putting trust in a Heaven that knows better. In this way, I am reading passages like Analects 2.4, 16.8 and 20.3 from a moral deterministic position and thus avoid the seeming contradictions in Tateno’s position which Chen presented.71 It is arguably true that understanding and accepting one’s destiny gives one peace of mind and makes the gentleman different from the small man, who is “ever full of anxiety,”72 and it only comes in a fairly elderly age of fifty, 73 when the hot-tempered assertion of one’s own will above Heaven receives its check. However, the maturing process of attuning oneself to following one’s Destiny is a religious position that might 71 Chen pointed out that Tateno did not explain these three Analects passage adequately. This is because he reads the Mìng in 2.4, 16.8 and 20.3 as amoral fate and there is no evidence of any bad events taking place prior to all three cases which could have caused Confucius to realize the importance of understanding and being in awe of Mìng. However we can also read the Mìng in the three passages as an unknown Decree of Heaven, and thus when Confucius said that we must understand and be in awe of Mìng, he was referring to the assurance of the higher hand of Heaven. 72 Analects 7.37. 73 Analects 2.4. 134 go beyond agnosticism. It is in fact, in line with a belief that there is a righteous determining-agent who understands. Perhaps there is a need here to point out that the inability to know the whole of a higher plan is not agnosticism. In fact, it encourages one to be faithful in abiding by what one interprets as the revealed part of the plan and to leave anything that is beyond one’s understanding to a higher Being. This mentality actually extends to explain the resilient spirit we see in Chinese thought. Masses are willing to suffer silently for their loved ones, with a conviction that although one may suffer in the present, their pains are understood by Heaven with an eye on the greater scheme of things. 3.2.4. Conclusion I started this chapter by showing a parallel to Aristotelian ethics in which a certain form of anger is considered reasonable and even desirable. Although there are instances of early Confucians warning people about the negative repercussions of nù, they have also acknowledged that at times, it may be legitimate for one to generate the feeling of nù within self. In fact, nù is often raised in early Confucian texts as the key emotion involved in the overthrowing of tyrants and reestablishment of peace and harmony in society. Given historical precedents, the early Confucians set out to warn rulers to take caution not to incur the wrath of their officials and the people. This is further backed up by the general belief, in the background, of an anthropomorphized Heaven that is able to mete out disasters if angered, with a dose of optimism that Heaven favors the righteous. I then looked at another form of anger that is deemed undesirable, namely that of yùn. Drawing it close to the meaning of “resentment,” I demonstrated how yùn is not mild nù, as suggested by some modern etymological dictionaries, but, rather, a more 135 vicious form of nù that could be detrimental to Confucian cultivation. The dangerous side of yùn lies in it accumulating before its final outburst in rage, as well as the hypocrisy involved when one shows a joyful outlook yet hides one’s angry emotions within. The nature of yùn is such that the anger is restrained because an immediate outpour of emotions is unfavorable to the standing of the agent and thus in the case when it materialized as yuàn, the consequences could become very serious, precisely because of its accumulated nature. The emotion of resentment is often further complicated by envy and even jealousy and in a situation where one feels that one is not given the due respect, the element of pride. In occasions where one is less secured, it might also involve worry for the loss of one’s social standing. The gravity of this form of anger was such that the early Confucians saw the regulation of hidden anger and the eventual elimination of yùn as an important part of their cultivation. Lastly, I looked in greater detail at anger that is raised against one’s own fate. Compared with anger towards others, which might, arguably, be less vicious since there is at least a target where this anger can be directed, (whether the anger is eventually vented out is, of course, another matter), anger towards one’s fate or, as discussed, lamentation against Heaven, is, perhaps a more complicated emotion. We have begun with a discussion on poverty, and moved on to the exclusivity of kin relations and eventually the inability to fulfill one’s dream of bringing good to one’s society, as possible catalysts for the generation of angry emotions towards one’s fate. To find the early Confucian point of view with regard to this sort of frustration, I have attempted a deeper investigation into the religiosity of Confucius, and propose that Confucius’ peace, and for that matter, the consolation of his disciples, lies in the conviction that there exists 136 a Heaven that knows better. And perhaps it was this belief, which sometimes did waver in really difficult times as seen from the seemingly contradicting texts quoted, that offered the early Confucians a relief from the frustrating anger they may have felt when events did not turn out the way they had hoped. 137 [...]... criterion of intention is, interestingly, not applicable in the Confucian context, for we see, in the Analects, a lack of contextual discussion in the line of intentionality, which seems more in line with 19th-century Western concepts of criminality 1 03 子曰: “不患人之不己知, 患其不能也.” (Analects 14 .30 ) Both passages involve the shifting of paradigms When one fails to be recognized, one should either put oneself in the... to say that there is at least an enduring train of thought in the historical context of early Confucianism that attributes the occurrence of disasters to the There are substantiating texts for this in the Shījīng: “The king rose majestic in his wrath; He marshaled , , 旅 徂按以 旅 其整 爰 怒 斯赫王 his troops, to stop the invading foes ( )” (in “Huáng Yǐ King, 4 53) ; and “The king aroused his warlike energy, As if... shall examine yōu again when I discuss other fear-related emotions in the next chapter 34 “Yùn sī yōu 35 They are found, respectively, in “Yǔcóng Èr” slip 7 and 30 , both in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 204 36 The yōu one feels within oneself could also be from the yùn in others For example, Mencius 7B19 ,” in “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” slip 34 , Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 180 憂斯慍 quotes from the Shījīng when describing the... is, again, look inwards reflectively It should not be difficult to see the connection between Analects 1.16 and 14 .30 : when mistreated, one examines oneself, and if there is something to correct on one’s side, one amends while at the same time, reminding oneself to treat others with due 104 respect This thought is, in fact, in line with other important passages in the Analects 32 Looking at other early. .. genuine feelings and moral inclination In fact, according to Confucius, it was morally wrong to resent another and yet hypocritically befriend him: The Master said, “Cunning words, an ingratiating countenance and utter servility, these things Tsuo-ch’iu Ming [Zuǒqiū Míng] found shameful I, too, find them shameful To be friendly towards someone while concealing a sense of grievance, this Tsuo-ch’iu Ming... suffering as a result, one can still find joy in simplicity This is why Yán Huí, renowned for his joy in poverty and zeal in learning, was considered Confucius’ exemplary disciple.49 3. 2 .3. 2 Exploring the case of fate Let us, however, look at another situation: The Master said, In serving your father and mother you ought to dissuade them from doing wrong in the gentlest way If you see your advice being... Decree” in the life of individuals, which was regarded by Confucius as something to be awed52 and needed to be understood. 53 In short, a fatalistic reading of the Analects will probably bring us to one conclusion—that Confucius believed every man had his life and destiny, given by an agent called Heaven Incidentally, this thinking is in line with later Confucian tradition and made even more explicit 54 In. .. Zì Mìng Chū” Slip 2 -3, Guōdiàn Chǔmù 55 庸中 the first clause in the “Zhōngyōng 性謂 之命天 Zhújiǎn, 179,) which is consistent with “ (That which is allotted by Heaven is called nature),” ” chapter of the Lǐjì Chen Ning, “Confucius’ View of Fate (Ming),” in Journal of Chinese Philosophy, vol 24 no 3, (1997), 32 3 -35 9 118 interpretations into two groups, one with “single, unitary belief in the transcendent”... not mean he is condescending, he is firm if he finds himself to be in no wrong, and seeks to learn from his experience and refrain from doing the same thing to others Only then can he, as a ruler or an official, do things in a just manner so as 109 not to cause the resentment of others and maintain a harmonious relationship with his subordinates This attitude is echoed in other early Confucian texts after... character, look inward )” It is perhaps also interesting to note the emotion involved in Analects 1.16 and 14 .30 when one is under-appreciated is huàn 患 ; 也省自內而賢不見 焉齊思賢見( and examine yourself (“anxiety” or “fear”), which we shall explore more in the next chapter When one is not appreciated, there is a potpourri of emotions dependent, again, on the personality of the parties involved and the context 33 I shall . manner to xǐ in Chinese. In fact, as shown in Chapter 2, this special symmetry in the Chinese understanding, understood in the context of the qì-theory, is instrumental in our distinguishing xǐ from. angers would disappear. , ,” in “Jié Nán Shān ,” The She King, 31 2. 22 See for examples, The She King, 97; 36 5; 37 9. 23 “Qiǎo Yán ,” in The She King, 34 1. 98 Confucianism, many seem to. of yuàn in the light of nù, and in particular, an interesting kind of yuàn, that which is held against Heaven. 3. 2. Nù as seen philosophically 3. 2.1. Nù as anger Perhaps let us begin with