Chapter Āi 4.1. Āi as seen philologically In previous chapters, I have demonstrated the dichotomous effect of xǐ and nù within the Chinese qì-framework. In this chapter and the next, I focus on āi and lè, another dichotomous pair of emotions found in early Confucian thought, perhaps best summarized by six words found in the “Yǔcóng Sān 語叢三 (Collected Sayings III):” 得者樂; 失者哀 (One who gains is lè; one who loses is āi).1 My purpose in this section is to establish the link between āi and shī 失 (losses), and to set the former apart from other similar emotions. Early on in life, human beings would have experienced losses along with its accompanying emotions. Not just the “agonizing pain in the heart” that one feels over the demise of loved ones or, in the case of younger people, the “heartbreak” over the end of a love relationship, but also the “heart-wrenching” pain on being punished for going against parental wishes or the copious tears shed on account of youthful betrayal: being overcome by waves of immense sadness, a sense of sharp, deep pain searing the heart that seems to further aggravate the hurt within. Understanding this anguish is instrumental to understanding emotions and why we often associate emotions with “Yǔcóng Sān” slip 59, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 212. 138 workings of the heart.2 We see this strong sad feeling as āi, a character found in writings as early as the Zhōu bronze inscriptions and which had become common usage by Confucius’ lifetime.3 Given the heavy occurrences of āi in pre-Confucian texts, it is interesting how the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” sees āi as a form of qì, for it might be the earliest, and perhaps the only, extant early Confucian text that interprets āi as such. At risk of over-speculating, perhaps this was how it worked: a person who loses a cherished possession, or who realizes how much that possession meant to him only after the loss, may experience a tumultuous emotional change brought about by the movement of qì within the body. To make the connection clearer, let’s look at my previous discussions on xǐ and nù, as well as hào and wù. We understood xǐ as an emotion generated within an agent when events turned out in accordance to the hào of him; conversely, nù is the resulting emotion when events turn out against his hào or to his wù. To go one step further, an agent would, consciously or otherwise, hope the events that are according to his hào Although modern sciences tell us emotions are essentially cognitive processes, nonetheless we still tend to associate emotions with the workings of the heart. Perhaps we can trace the root of this interpretation to obvious physiological changes associated with the heart. For example, when one experiences ecstatic joy or great anger, one’s blood pressure may rise and one’s heart rate may increase, causing other physiological changes such as the gushing of blood to the face. On this note, perhaps a physiological change that is more strongly felt is the “heart-wrenching” pain when deep grief is experienced. A word-search using the CHANT system shows hits in its collection of Zhōu bronze writings. We not dismiss the possibility of āi and its possible variants existing in the Shāng oracle writings. However, one important fact to note is that āi is found prevalently in all the pre-Confucian classics, and especially in the Shījīng, where the losses which the common people faced in their daily lives were recorded, and their disappointments aired through the writing and singing of odes. 139 would stay favorable to him, and when they not, wù and, for that matter, nù are often generated. However, this emotional transition is not necessarily always the case, for there are instances when a sense of loss (shī) is produced instead, which further provokes other emotions like anxiety, fear, grief and sadness. I shall be investigating, in greater detail, the emotions related to fear and anxiety towards the end of this chapter. What we are interested in this section are the possible melancholic emotions which might result. At this juncture, we hope that the dichotomous relations involved, which runs through the spine of this dissertation, has been clearly illustrated. Turn of events in life can lead to the generation of two possible types of emotions, which we have, for convenience in discussion, classified earlier as “positive” and “negative” ones. In the former case, when events turn out according to the hào of an agent, he feels xǐ (and yuè), and in situations where he is conscious of a sense of gain (dé), he feels lè (which we will investigate in the next chapter); whereas in the case of the latter, when events turn out against the hào, or more accurately, along the wù of an agent, he feels nù (which encompasses the cluster of nù-related emotions discussed in the previous chapter), and in occasions where he is conscious of a shī, he feels āi, which might lead him further to a fear of further shī. I shall cover another range of fear-related emotions towards the end of this chapter. 4.1.1. The connection of āi and dòng 慟 with losses Etymologically, āi is closely associated to crying. Composed of a kǒu 口 (mouth) enclosed in yī 衣 (clothes), āi is explained in the Zìjiě as related to the action of wetting the frontpiece of one’s clothes with tears, or that of using one’s sleeves to wipe 140 away one’s tears.4 The Gǔcíbiàn has even assimilated the pronunciation of the word with the sound one gives when crying, and on that basis it deduced that this word is used to convey the emotion one feels when a loved one dies or when one suffers a great misfortune.5 In the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū,” āi is associated with yín 吟 , which could be interpreted as “moaning:” 吟, 遊哀也; 噪, 遊樂也 (Yín is lingering āi; zào is fleeting lè).6 Not only we see here the relation between āi and moaning (which is closely connected to sobbing), we also see it contrasted with lè, and specifically with the joyful noises related to it (zào). Perhaps more interesting is the fact that the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” sees āi and lè as very similar in nature with regard to their “moving” the heart: The nature of āi and lè are similar, for they are not far from [the workings of] the heart. When one’s cries move one’s heart, one’s face is covered with tears, rocking forward and backward longingly, ending in qī; When one’s lè moves one’s heart, one’s tears will flow like the waters of an irrigated river rising to the level of one’s knees, the rocking movement of the body is like that when one cries in longing thoughts. 哀、樂, 其性相近也, 是故其心不遠. 哭之動心也, 浸鞄, 其剌戀戀如也, 戚然以終; 樂之動心也, 浚深膕舀, 其剌則流如也以悲, 條然以 思.7 Zìjiě, 671. Gǔcíbiàn, 837. “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” slip 33, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 180. “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” slip 29-30, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 180. 141 In liànliàn 戀戀, we see the strong and enduring nature of āi: that of one being reluctant to part with someone or something one cherished. Along this line, the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” is perhaps correct in highlighting āi as the appropriate emotion in mourning: When mourning, one should experience āi of a longing nature. 居喪必有夫戀戀 之哀.8 Āi belongs to the family of emotions where we find “melancholy” or “sadness” but, strictly speaking, it does not correspond to any particular one of its members. In fact, in D. C. Lau’s translation of the Analects, āi, in the emotional sense, is seen in five different contexts, as “sorrow,” “sadness,” “grief,” “mourn” and even “compassion.”9 I believe we can understand this wide disparity as an effort to choose the best word to fit the context given the range of English lexicon available for translation, and rightly so. But it would also be worth noting that, in most, if not all, cases where āi is mentioned in early Confucian texts, it can be interpreted as the sad feeling when one suffers losses.10 Another possible but much less used candidate when it comes to conveying sadness over losses in early Confucianism is dòng. Occurring in only two passages in all our related primary texts,11 one is found in the well-known Analects 11.10 where it is “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” slip 67, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 181. In Analects 3.20, 8.4, 19.14, 19.25 and 19.19 respectively. 10 For that matter, the Shuō Wén Jiě Zì defines āi as mǐn 閔 and mǐn as diào 弔, which is “to console,” that is, the mourning over the loss of lives. (Shuō Wén Jiě Zì, 34; 249.) In fact, even the common exclamation of āi zāi 哀哉 found in, for example, Mencius 7.10 and 11.11 can be fleshed out as a compassionate call of pity for the losses one suffers. (In the case of both Mencian passages, the reference is to sympathy for one who loses the privilege of reaping the fruits of cultivating oneself according to the Way.) 11 Interestingly, dòng is also not found in the pre-Confucian classics, where āi occurs prevalently. 142 used four times, relating the immense sorrow which overcame Confucius when his favourite disciple died: When Yen Yuan [Yán Huí] died, in weeping for him, the Master showed undue sorrow. His follower said, “You are showing undue sorrow.” “Am I? Yet if not for him, for whom should I show undue sorrow?” 顏淵死, 子哭之慟. 從者曰: “ 子慟矣!” 曰: “有慟乎? 非夫人之為慟而誰為?” I shall discuss this intriguing episode at length when we enter the philosophical discussions of āi in the next section, but perhaps one point to take note is that, despite the second occurrence of dòng in our pool of primary texts, found in the “Yǔcóng Sān,” equating dòng with āi (慟, 哀也), most etymological dictionaries see dòng as a deeper form of āi, that is, one which involves immense grief. It does seem that if āi causes pain in the heart, the emotion of dòng, represented by a character made up of the heart (xīn 心) radical on the left and another character which means “motion” (dòng 動) on the right, pains the heart with greater impact. 4.1.2. The multifaceted nature of qī Having clarified characters that are associated with the mourning of losses in one’s life, I shall next look at similar emotions which not necessarily involve losses. In one of the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” passages quoted earlier, we have read how crying ends with a feeling of qī (qī rán yǐ zhōng 戚然以終). Qī is, in fact, one of the most intriguing characters philologically: the Shuō Wén Jiě Zì traces its origins to a form of 143 axe,12 and this is substantiated by its usage in this sense as early as the Shījīng.13 The meaning of qī, as is more commonly used now, is that of “kinship.” Whether fleshed out causally like 戚則親 (if qī, then qīn) or 不戚不親 (if not qī, then not qīn) in the “Wǔxíng;” or used together like 親戚遠近 (qīnqī far and near) in the “Liù Dé,”14 qī used in the sense of “kinship” also has very early roots. By the time Mencius 2B1 was written, the phrase qīnqī had already developed to a sense more proximal to its modern meaning.15 It is difficult to establish the relationship between the two senses without overspeculating. However, by the time qī developed into its usage in the third sense—as a melancholic emotion—it had already become a widely accepted usage. In this section, I am interested in the second and third senses of qī stated above, as well as how they relate to each other. The “Wǔ Xíng” puts qī in an interesting emotional causal chain, a part of which I shall investigate: 12 Shuō Wén Jiě Zì, 267. 13 See for example, “with shields and spears, and axes, large and small, he commenced his march ( 干戈戚 揚, 爰方啟行)” in “Gōng Liú 公劉,” (The She King, 484), which was also quoted in Mencius 1B5. 14 See “Wǔ Xíng” slips 13; 21; and “Liù Dé” slip 48, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 149; 150; 188. 15 As seen from the claim that “one who has the Way will have many to support him; one who has not the Way will have few to support him. In extreme cases, the latter will find even his own flesh and blood 得道者多助, 失道者寡助. 寡助之至, 親戚畔之.” In any case, qīnqī as a phrase is also widely found in the Mòzǐ 墨子, and understandably so, given its emphasis in honoring the worthies, often turning against him. at the expense of one’s relations. I shall discuss this further in the next section. 144 …Upon observation, one is at ease; when at ease, then mild-tempered; when mild-tempered, then yuè; yuè, then qī; qī, then closeness 察則安, 安則溫, 溫則悅, 悅則戚, 戚則親…16 We have covered the state of ān (at ease) in the second chapter and will investigate in greater details in the fifth. Wēn 溫 here could be interpreted as the mildness in one’s temper that leads to yuè, which is, as we have also discussed, a form of pleasure to the heart. The chain of emotional changes is, perhaps until now, reasonable, but it is hard for us to see how yuè can lead further to qī if we are to see qī as a melancholic emotion. Instead, qī here should be better understood in its second sense: that of “kinship,” or rather, an inter-human tie which resembles “kinship,” which can lead us further to a sense of closeness, qīn. In fact, we can even see qī as an emotion generated when one feels the presence of an intimate inter-human tie. This new interpretation of qī can be further substantiated by a negatively-formulated version of another emotional chain which varies a little from the previous one: Without transformation, one cannot be yuè; without yuè, one cannot feel qī; without qī, one cannot feel closeness; without closeness, one cannot feel ài; without ài, one cannot be rén. 不變不悅, 不悅不戚, 不戚不親, 不親不愛, 不愛 不仁.17 Here we observe the connection between, again, yuè and qī, followed by that of qī and qīn, which is instrumental in the Confucian cultivation of rén. Given the negation 16 “Wǔ Xíng” slip 13, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 149. 17 “Wǔ Xíng” slip 21, in Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 150. 145 involved, we should not see qī as a noun. Instead, it does seem that qī here is, again, better understood as the feeling one has over an inter-human tie resembling that of kinship, which can be fleshed out as a verb or an adjective. If we accept that qī can mean both kinship and emotion, then this unique sense of qī as “the feeling of inter-human ties” seems to favor both. And it is perhaps through an understanding of this sense of qī that we can see how qī as “kinship” and qī as an emotion connect. This is where the Wittgensteinian concept of “family resemblance,” introduced in Chapter 1, comes into the picture. In fact, this highlights a very important element in melancholic emotions, which is more distinct compared to emotions such as empathy, figuratively lifting melancholy to a level of “nobility.” I shall explore this element in detail when I discuss bēi in the next section. For now, it is sufficient to note that we can only empathize with someone when we feel for that particular person. In other words, we must feel an emotional connection between that person and us before we can understand his position. And perhaps it is this connection of the heart that allows people to understand melancholic emotions and feel the heartache of one suffering. In fact, it is in this sense that we should understand the following sentence found in Mencius 1A7: …For though the deed was mine, when I looked into myself I failed to understand my own heart. You described it for me and your words struck a chord in me. 夫我 乃行之,反而求之,不得吾心; 夫子言之於我心有戚戚焉… The well-known context is that of Mencius appealing to King Xuān of Qí to extend his compassion for the ox to that for his people: On seeing an ox about to be 146 sacrificed shrinking in fear, King Xuān had called for it to be replaced by a lamb. Only when Mencius pointed out to him that his act of compassion was a sign of his potential to become a virtuous king did King Xuān realize the significance of what he had done. This emotion the king felt in his xīn, was described as the xīn having a feeling of qīqī. It is difficult to conclude that this feeling of qīqī necessarily involved a feeling of melancholy (extended from the ox to the people), but it is clear that qīqī is an emotion that contains a substantial amount of empathy. Going deeper into what is involved in this multifaceted emotion of qī, the sense of “feeling of inter-human ties” notwithstanding, it is still inaccurate to see qī as a purely melancholic emotion. In the Analects, there were only two occurrences of qī and they represented different emotions. In Analects 3.4, qī is described as the most appropriate emotion to have during funeral rites: … in mourning, it is better to err on the side of grief than on the side of formality. 喪,與其易也,寧戚. This reminds us of the “āi of a longing nature” in the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” which was recommended as the appropriate emotion in mourning, as discussed earlier. As with āi, the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” claims that crying ends with qī, which means qī can be involved in the action of crying as well.18 What, then, is the difference between āi and qī? Perhaps a second look at Mencius 3A2, quoted in the discussion of yuè in Chapter 2, will make the meaning clearer. When Duke Dìng 定 of Téng 滕 died, his crown prince was complimented for his appropriate behavior during the burial ceremony: 18 Though that does not mean all qī are associated with crying. 147 itself in compassionate government. With such a sensitive heart behind compassionate government, it was as easy to rule the Empire as rolling it on your palm .”孟子曰: “人皆有不忍人之心. 先王有不忍人之心, 斯有不忍人之政矣. 以不忍人之心, 行不忍人之政, 治天下可運之掌上 .” If we were to read carefully the Mencian theory of extending the working of one’s compassionate heart to the mechanism behind a compassionate government, it should not be difficult for us to realize that this doctrine was actually characteristically Confucian. It follows the Confucian “extending” manner of cultivation, that of cultivating the self before contributing to the interests of one’s family and country. I am more interested in understanding how the emotion of qī actually fits into the picture. Without the newly discovered materials, it may be difficult to link the two senses of qī (as kinship and as a melancholic emotion) together, but as I showed in the last section, the Guōdiàn and Shànghǎi bamboo slips have shown how the sense of kinship can be read as a sense of inter-human closeness and from that perspective provide the Wittgensteinian link to the sense of a melancholic emotion through empathy. In this process, the Confucian way of “extending” also plays an important part: it is only when one senses a close inter-human tie with another that one is able to understand the sorrows of another; and it is with this ability to empathise with another that allows one to build more meaningful relationships with other human beings. From here, it is just one step away from seeing how this qī also takes on the sense of anxiety which was covered in the earlier section. Anxiety is, after all, worry, though not necessarily rational ones, for the future. For one to be able to worry about the future, one needs to acquire the ability to speculate, and that also involves the psychological 164 emotion of extending, be it from past precedents, contemporary examples or more complicated factors like individual mentalities and complexes. Anxiety is thus, qī that is developed negatively. On that note, again like what we have pointed out earlier, the absence of the character bēi as an emotion in both the Analects and the Mencius deserves our attention. If we look at the heavy dosage of empathy involved in linking up the various senses of qī, it should not be difficult to see that bēi in this aspect is actually an even more appropriate word. We have seen how bēi is used as a word for compassion, with its roots probably associated with the ability to link changes in one’s environment to one’s feelings. In fact, we can even say that without the psychological state of extending, one can never be bēi. For example, one can never be bēi over the coming of autumn if one does not possess the sensitivity and imagination to link the phenomenon of autumn to the physiological state of dying. The fact that bēi is not used in a text like the Mencius, which has one of its most central doctrines anchored in the act of extending, is interesting, and perhaps this further substantiates our speculation, as pointed out in the previous section, that bēi might be a character that originated from the south. All things being equal, if we were to rate emotions aesthetically, bēi is definitely more beautiful compared to qī: not only because it contains the “noble” element of empathy that can be found in qī, but also because it also does not carry the negative baggage of anxiety. In addition, as discussed in the previous section, bēi is sophisticated in the sense that it was treated in the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū,” together with lè, as the acme of one’s emotions. 165 As far as extant texts are concerned, the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” is the only text that presents xǐ, nù, āi and bēi together as a cluster of emotions (instead of the conventional xǐ, nù, āi and lè;) and yet, it is also the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” that raises bēi and lè to the heights of emotion, to the extent of even seeing both as causally dependent, as we have seen earlier. In fact, the significance of the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” lies in its reiteration of bēi as not only a noble emotion, but also, especially with its association with 樂 (both as “joy” and “music”), as one that is aesthetically pleasant. Thus far, we have journeyed from āi and dòng, which are emotions very much associated with losses, to qī and bēi, which are emotions less so, but rather, more associated with empathy. These four fall under the umbrella of melancholic emotions. I shall next make an excursion into fear and anxiety, seen as emotions generated when one speculate possible losses in one’s future, and explore what is the Confucian position with regard to losses and the emotions that come with them. 4.2.3. From losses to āi and from āi to fear: Is Confucius without fear? If we see grief as an emotion very much associated with the physiological changes one experiences in the biological heart, then fear is probably another. The heart beats faster when in fear of impending threats. The distinctive similarity between the two emotions is that both are directed at a similar intentional object. Both emotions of grief and fear have to with losses, the former with the past, the latter with the present or 166 future.40 Before launching into the discussion proper, we should first distinguish fear from anxiety. It is true that most if not all cases of anxiety can be fleshed out as fear, but fear always has an object in particular, be it a physical one like snakes or lightning or a more abstract ones like embarrassment or death. Either perspective can be formulated as “a fear of the loss of X,” where X can be anything tangible like life; or intangible ones like happiness or reputation. Anxiety, on the other hand, is fear, but a largely irrational one; or to put it accurately, fear of an event or object that is, at least not imminently threatening. For example, a person can be anxious about his future even though he has a secure job; or he can be anxious about how a performance will turn out even though he is already fully prepared. Unlike fear, there need not exist a reason for anxiety to be generated. In other words, for most cases of anxiety, there seems to exist, no rational cause for one to feel anxious about.41 40 I thank and agree with Prof. Kwong-loi Shun on his advice that this section can be omitted given the limited depth we can go into by discussing it as part of a chapter. Indeed, the concept of fear and anxiety, together with its various connotations in western philosophy, warrants a chapter-length if not thesis-length of investigation. I have chosen to include this section just as a preliminary study in the study of emotions that makes our study on “emotions that deals with losses” complete. I have intentions to study the notions of fear and anxiety within the context of early Confucianism in greater depth in the near future. 41 However, this does not mean fear is always rational, especially in the case of phobias. For that matter, one may harbor fear incidents that have little chance of happening (for example, dying in one’s sleep) or something that might not even exist (a unicorn). 167 The Master said, “The man of wisdom is never in two minds; the man of benevolence never worries; the man of courage is never afraid.” 子曰: “知者不惑 ; 仁者不憂; 勇者不懼.” (Analects 9.29) The Confucian gentleman is often clear-minded and thus, at ease. In fact, in Confucius’ ideals, a man should reach a state of not being in two minds by the age of forty.42 Having established himself a decade ago, he should be clear of the path he should follow in life, and according to the standards set in 9.29, it is only then that he can be considered wise. From then, it would take another decade before he matures to becoming a man who understands the Decree of Heaven. Confucius also sought to become a benevolent man, and according to him, courage comes naturally with benevolence.43 At a certain point in his life, he was thought by Zǐ Gòng to have already attained the virtues of benevolence, wisdom and courage and is thus clear-minded, worriless and fearless. 44 The Analects also depicts Confucius as one who taught his disciples to be cautious, if not being a careful person himself. Is a gentleman really without fear? This section seeks to explore, briefly, the fears and worries of a gentleman. Unlike grief, there are different Chinese characters which mean fear and/or anxiety. Let us explore them one at a time: 42 Analects 2.4. 43 Analects 14.4. 44 Analects 14.28. 168 4.2.3.1. The dilemmatic fear: jù 懼 When Confucius mentioned “fearlessness,” he was not referring to recklessness. In fact, the rashness of Zǐ Lù is one he greatly disapproves of: (Comparing Zǐ Lù with Yán Huí,)… The Master said, “I would take with me anyone who would try to fight a tiger with his bare hands or to walk across the River and die in the process without regrets. If I took anyone it would have to be a man who, when faced with a task, was fearful of failure and who, while fond of making plans, was capable of successful execution.” 子曰: “暴虎馮河, 死而不悔 者, 吾不與也. 必也臨事而懼, 好謀而成者也.” (Analects 7.11) Confucius frowned upon blind foolhardiness. This is interesting because Confucius sought in his disciples a fear for failure, as this would mean cautiousness in executing a life plan and thus ensuring a better chance of success. In this sense, fear is considered desirable.45 At first glance, it is interesting that fear of losing can be seen as a positive attribute. But perhaps, like grief, fear is very much a double-edged sword. Though grief is undesirable since it comes necessarily with the suffering of losses, it can, at the same time, capacitate a person to feel for others. Similarly, though fear is undesirable, it comes necessarily with an acknowledgement of a vulnerability to losses, and can thus instill prudence in one’s behavior. 45 Prof. Kwong-loi Shun has pointed out to me the important distinction between “fear” and “fearfulness,” the latter of which conveys a state of caution, alertness and being on guard against missteps, and thus illustrating the constraints of using one-to-one translation for notions in Chinese philosophy. 169 In fact, there is more than one desirable character trait that might be cultivated if one has the right amount of fear in oneself, for it can also bring about a sense of gratitude, like in Analects 4.21 which was discussed in Chapter 2: The Master said, “A man should not be unaware of the age of his father and mother. It is a matter, on the one hand, for rejoicing and, on the other, for fear.”46 子曰: “父母之年, 不可不知也: 一則以喜, 一則以懼.” Fear can exist in two forms: over a relatively controllable event or over an uncontrollable one. A Confucian gentleman cherishing the time he spends with his parents because of fear of the brevity and unpredictability of life. Having understood the positive side of fear, we are now ready to examine what Confucius meant by “the man of courage is never afraid (yǒng zhě bú jù 勇者不懼)” in Analects 9.29. Like Analects 2.24, it is evident that Confucius meant “never afraid to things that one ought to do” here: The Master said, “… Seeing what ought to be done, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage (見義不為, 無勇也).” And this even includes doing the right thing at the expense of one’s life, like what was described of Zhuāngzǐ of Biàn 卞莊子 in Analects 14.12. 懼 in this passage as “anxiety,” whereas James Legge has more accurately translated as “fear.” However, the latter’s translation of “父母之年, 不可不知也” as “The 46 Translation mine. D. C. Lau has translated years of parents may by no means not be kept in the memory,” though literally more accurate, is too lengthy. 170 However, if one is courageous in everything without discretion, then courage can turn out to be a vice: The Master said, “Being fond of courage while detesting poverty will lead to insubordination. Excessive detestation of men who are not benevolent will provoke them to insubordination.” 子曰: “好勇疾貧, 亂也. 人而不仁, 疾之已甚, 亂也.” (Analects 8.10) There are many examples which we can quote when it comes to Confucius’ disapproval of sheer courage, 47 but perhaps what sums up Confucius’ position with regard to the limits of courage, and the necessity of fear is Analects 14.4: “A man of virtue is sure to be the author of memorable sayings, but the author of memorable sayings is not necessarily virtuous. A benevolent man is sure to possess courage, but a courageous man does not necessarily possess benevolence.” 子曰: “有德者, 必有言; 有言者, 不必有德. 仁者, 必有勇; 勇者, 不必有仁.” In other words, a man who is full of drive and enthusiasm may use them in a wrongful manner and thus fall short of benevolence; whereas if a man understands benevolence, he is sure to demonstrate the strength and tenacity of a fearless and righteous man. 4.2.3.2. The healthy fear: wèi 畏 This leads to a particular sense of fear that is perhaps felt by the gentleman, often represented by another character, wèi. 47 See for example, Analects 17.8; 17.23 and 17.24. 171 There is an additional element to wèi which is absent in jù—the element of respect. Wèi is perhaps more appropriately translated, as D. C. Lau did, to mean “in awe of”: Confucius said, “The gentleman stands in awe of three things. He is in awe of the Decree of Heaven. He is in awe of great men. He is in awe of the words of the sages. 子曰:“君子有三畏: 畏天命, 畏大人, 畏聖人之言.” (Analects 16.8)48 The Decree of Heaven, great men and the words of the sage has one thing in common—all three command authority and respect. And of the three, perhaps the first is the one that is most important as great men and sages are not only respected for their virtuous characters, they are esteemed for their ability to understand and follow the Decree of Heaven. I have already discussed at length, Confucius’ religious position in the previous chapter. To summarize, as far as Confucius’ thought is concerned, man should try his very best to the right things, though people who did the right things may not be rewarded, and in fact, in chaotic times like that of Confucius’, the opposite is often the case. In cases like these, man should not bear resentment against the turns of events, as decreed by Heaven, but are to accept it respectfully, with the assurance that one has already done one’s best. That aside, Confucius also sees the acquisition of worldly achievement, which is not necessarily in diverging path with the cultivation of virtues, as worthy of respect. He 48 It is perhaps worth noting that James Legge also translated wèi as “in awe of.” In this light, Arthur Waley’s translation as “fear” misses out the element of “respect.” Cf. James Legge, The Four Books, 247; Arthur Waley, The Analects of Confucius (London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1956), 206. 172 believes that a man, upon reaching a certain age of maturity, should take up certain responsibility in society and be good at what he is doing.49 Sometimes awe is commanded by propriety and gravity in appearance.50 This is echoed in Analects 7.38 where Confucius was described as “cordial yet stern, aweinspiring yet not fierce, and respectful yet at ease (溫而厲, 威而不猛, 恭而安).” 4.2.3.3. The earnest fear: kǒng 恐 We have yet a third character, kǒng, which is always used as fear of an incident but never of an object. The Master said, “Even when I spurred myself on in my studies as though I were lagging behind, my fear was that I might not make it in time.” 子曰: “學如不及, 猶恐失之.” (Analects 8.17) We see here an earnest Confucius eager to make progress in his studies. Perhaps not coincidentally, the three occurrences of kǒng in the Analects have to with the urgency of learning and thinking, and the fear of events that might hinder one’s study and thus, moral cultivation.51 A short investigation of the above three fear-related characters seems to suggest that, contrary to Confucius’ saying in Analects 9.29, a benevolent man has a lot to fear in life. Although he stressed in 14.4 that a benevolent man necessarily has courage, the Master actually meant courage to the right thing. In actual fact, he did not approve of a 49 Analects 9.23. 50 Analects 20.2. 51 Analects 5.14; 19.4. 173 reckless man of courage. Summarily, unlike a fearlessly brave man, a benevolent man has a healthy sense of fear for both Heaven and man, and especially for the former. 52 4.2.3.4. Anxieties and worries: huàn 患 and yōu 憂 Given that, what was Confucius referring to when he said that a man of benevolence never worries? The crux of the matter lies actually in what constitutes worries. Worries are less associated with fear than with anxiety. The Master said, “Do not worry about your lack of official position. Worry about what earn you a position. Do not worry about the lack of appreciation of your abilities on the part of others. Seek to be worthy of appreciation.” 子曰: “不患無 位, 患所以立; 不患莫己知, 求為可知也.” (Analects 4.14) This passage, together with its variations in 1.16 and 14.30, sees Confucius stating his stand with regard to the acquisition of an official post. And perhaps addressing the worries of his disciples, he has directed their attention to concerns that are evidently more important, namely appreciating others and improving oneself. We see here an excellent interplay of anxiety and fear. What Confucius is actually saying here is that one should not feel anxious of one’s future, but should, rather, fear the inability to appreciate others and the failure to cultivate oneself. The usage of the character huàn is apt, for it can mean both anxiety and fear. A man of benevolence should seek to cultivate himself and respect others, instead of worrying about his future. In fact, if he were really in awe of Heaven, he should be able 52 As we are investigating what Confucius means when he says “the man of courage is never afraid,” I am quoting extensively from the Analects. However, the interpretation of these three fear-related characters is consistent with the understanding of those found in the recovered bamboo slips and the Mencius. 174 to treat whatever befalls him in the future as the will of Heaven and accept it with an ease of mind, as long as he has tried his best. In this aspect, Zǐ Xià seems to be in alignment with the Confucian spirit: Ssu-ma Niu [Sīmǎ Niú] appeared worried, saying, “All men have brothers. I alone have none.” Tzu-hsia [Zǐ Xià] said, “I have heard it said: life and death are a matter of Destiny; wealth and honour depend on Heaven. The gentleman is reverent and does nothing amiss, is respectful towards others and observant of the rites, and all within the Four Seas are his brothers. What need is there for the gentleman to worry about not having any brothers?” 司馬牛憂曰: “人皆有兄弟, 我獨亡!” 子夏曰:“ 商聞之矣:‘ 死生有命, 富貴在天.’ 君子敬而無失, 與人恭而 有禮; 四海之內, 皆兄弟也. 君子何患乎無兄弟也?” (Analects 12.5) In fact, Confucius has a low opinion of a person who is full of anxiety and always worrying: The Master said, “Is it really possible to work side by side with a mean fellow in the service of a lord? Before he gets what he wants, he worries lest he should not get it. After he has got it, he worries lest he should lose it, and when that happens he will stop at nothing.” 子曰:” “鄙夫! 可與事君也與哉! 其未得之也, 患得之; 既得之, 患失之; 苟患失之, 無所不至矣!” (Analects 17.15) There is yet another character that means worries, namely yōu, which was touched on previously in the discussion of āi. Yōu acquires a positive connotation only in the newly discovered texts and Mencius, where a person worrying about the condition of his country and society is celebrated which we can, again, flesh out along the line of empathy 175 for his fellow countrymen.53 However, as far as the Analects is concerned, this positive aspect of yōu has not been highlighted. In fact, in Analects 7.19, Confucius was quoted as seeing himself as a person who “is so full of joy that he forgets his yōu.” Indeed, unlike later Confucian statesmen in times of chaos, Confucius did not see himself as one who was, at least overtly, worried. His joy was based on what we would have perhaps called “a clear conscience” today: Ssu-ma Niu [Sīmǎ Niú] asked about the gentleman. The Master said, “The gentleman is free from worries and fears.” “In that case, can a man be said to be a gentleman simply because he is free from worries and fears?” The Master said, “If, upon self-examination, a man finds nothing to reproach himself for, what worries and fears can he have?” 司馬牛問“君子.” 子曰: “君子不憂不懼.” 曰: “ 不憂不懼, 斯謂之君子矣乎?” 子曰: “內省不疚, 夫何憂何懼?” (Analects 12.4) 53 See for example, “One should bear all the difficult and worrying responsibilities and be behind others when it comes to joyful events 凡憂患之事欲任, 樂事欲後” in “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” slip 62, Guōdiàn Chǔmù Zhújiǎn, 181. Perhaps one of the most influential passages in the Mencius when it comes to statesmanship is 6B15, where it is said that a great man who is about to be given heavy responsibility needs to go through many trials: “That is, why Heaven, when it is about to place a great burden on a man, always tests his resolution, exhausts his frame and makes him suffer starvation and hardship, frustrates his efforts so as to shake him from his mental lassitude, toughen his nature and make good his deficiencies… Only then we learn the lesson that we survive in adversity and perish in ease and comfort.” From Mencius onwards, statesmen, and especially those in chaotic times, see taking on the troubles and worries of their times as their responsibilities, and “Survive in adversity and perish in ease and comfort ( 生於憂患, 死於安 樂)” (Mencius 6B15) becomes a popular and inspirational political slogan thereafter. Adversity here is yōuhuàn 憂患, which, if we break up and translate literally, gives us “anxieties and worries.” 176 The Confucius’ ideal of a gentleman is one who is full of joy and not worried about losses in life. When faced with inevitable losses, he is able to respond with the appropriate degree of grief and reconcile himself with the inevitability in the turn of events. Grief, in this sense, not only helps him deal with his own losses, but also helps him understand the emotions evoked when others face losses. Instead of spending his life worrying about more possible losses, he directs his attention to the interest of others, and from there, to the understanding of how human relationship works. By grieving, he is not only being sincere to himself. He is also cultivating himself morally, which capacitates him to continue his life with joy and full assurance that with the correct kind of fear in life, he is able to face future losses, with ease of mind. 4.2.4. Conclusion I started this section with a discussion of āi as well as its stronger form, dòng, which are emotions very much associated with the losses one suffers in life. I have focused on theories of āi in the early Confucian contexts based on significant articles that have been written on how Confucius made sense of the death of his beloved disciples, and have proceeded to a discussion of early Confucian understanding of āi over death in general. We have also seen how the extent of āi is related to the strength of the connection between the living and the dead, and how the presence of inter-human closeness is necessary for the generation of āi. This effectively brings us from the discussion of āi and dòng to sad emotions which involves a stronger sense of empathy, namely that of qī and bēi. As much as āi is associated with the act of crying, qī is very much connected to a sad countenance. But perhaps more importantly, qī, with its other sense of “kinship,” provides a good, if not 177 better, platform for the connection of inter-human closeness with the noble virtue of empathy. Given the communitarian nature of Chinese thought, it is not surprising to find the element of empathy growing in importance in early Confucian teachings. If we are to take the notion of empathy as criterion and rank the desirability of emotions according to the dosage of empathy involved, bēi would have been at the pinnacle of this range of melancholic emotions, if not for its falling short in universality probably due to its speculated geographical affiliation. Not only can empathy in bēi be built around inter-human connectivity, it also commands sensitivity in one to feel melancholy through turns of events not necessarily related to other human beings. For example, the sight of a fallen autumn leaf may cause a sensitive person to think of his aging parents. In addition, the beauty of bēi lies in its alignment with its seeming antonym emotion of lè, for both emotions can interestingly result in similar emotional behavior. It is thus, again, not surprising to find newly discovered texts like the “Xìng Zì Mìng Chū” placing the emotion of bēi in high esteem. Lastly, since this chapter begins with emotions associated with the aftermath of past losses, it ends with a cluster of emotion connected to the possibility of future ones. In this family of emotions, we started with the dilemma of jù, which is portrayed as both desirable (courage) and undesirable (recklessness) in different contexts in the Analects, and continued with wèi, which acknowledges that Confucians should have healthy fear along the line of respect with regard to specific things, before concluding with kǒng, which amongst its many usages, conveys a sense of fear of falling behind in thinking and learning. And with the exploration of two other emotions huàn and yōu, we concluded 178 that instead of fear, the early Confucians were generally more against undue anxieties and worries. Losses are part and parcel of life and practically all great thinkers have their suggestions on how to deal with them. This is perhaps particularly so in the chaotic historical context of the early Confucians where life can be full of uncertainties. Perhaps as Mencius has suggested, these trials and tribulations are essential in molding a great man.54 What we have seen in this chapter is precisely how the early Confucians learned to recover from grief, extended their experience to the cultivation of precious virtues such as empathy, and developed courage in the face of future challenges to come. 54 Mencius 6B15. 179 [...]... presented a strong case for this by drawing evidence ranging from the tombs findings to the mentality involved in ancestral worship, to written records in the classics and archaeological findings to show that the early Chinese did believe that something continues on after the ending of physical life See Albert E Dien, “Chinese Beliefs in the Afterworld,” in Los Angeles County Museum of Art Overseas Archaeological... often link āi with sincerity — āi is genuine and the act of mourning is a natural expression of this emotion generated genuinely within oneself The purpose of mourning, as described by Zǐ Yóu, is to provide an avenue for one to relieve the pain within oneself using an outward expression Analects 19. 14 not only recommends mourning as a channel for āi to flow, but seems to be against any pretension in excessive... the sustenance of three in the “Liù Dé,”38 the appropriate handling of inter-human relationship was always a crucial element in early Confucian ethics, if not Confucianism as a whole However, all is only well if the interests involved in these inter-human ties do not conflict with one another On occasions where they do, early Chinese thinkers have offered different solutions in their bid to resolve... anxiety within the context of early Confucianism in greater depth in the near future 41 However, this does not mean fear is always rational, especially in the case of phobias For that matter, one may harbor fear incidents that have little chance of happening (for example, dying in one’s sleep) or something that might not even exist (a unicorn) 167 The Master said, “The man of wisdom is never in two minds;... wàixìng for helping in the conquest, which comes hand in hand with the increase in manpower requirement in governing these expanded territories 162 become a gentleman who always makes the correct ethical choice when it comes to interhuman interaction; in that light, it is often the case that the most formative part of one’s education starts with the informal interaction with one’s kins, especially... 皆至其情也).25 From which we are in a better position to understand why the manner in which lè moves the xīn is described as similar to that of crying, as quoted earlier 4. 1 .4 Conclusion I started the discussion in this section by linking āi with shī, and seeing them as a contrasting pair with the parallel connection between lè and dé, which I will investigate in greater detail in Chapter 5 I have also suggested... gentleman Unlike grief, there are different Chinese characters which mean fear and/or anxiety Let us explore them one at a time: 42 Analects 2 .4 43 Analects 14. 4 44 Analects 14. 28 168 4. 2.3.1 The dilemmatic fear: jù 懼 When Confucius mentioned “fearlessness,” he was not referring to recklessness In fact, the rashness of Zǐ Lù is one he greatly disapproves of: (Comparing Zǐ Lù with Yán Huí,)… The Master said,... vulnerability to losses, and can thus instill prudence in one’s behavior 45 Prof Kwong-loi Shun has pointed out to me the important distinction between “fear” and “fearfulness,” the latter of which conveys a state of caution, alertness and being on guard against missteps, and thus illustrating the constraints of using one-to-one translation for notions in Chinese philosophy 169 In fact, there is more than one... active part in one’s life in the future. 34 This is made more so when there is an absence of a Chinese account on the reunion of people in an afterlife, which we have covered quite substantially in Chapter 3 on Confucius’ brand of agnosticism In fact, early Confucians also extended this feeling of āi over an irreversible death beyond human Zēng Zǐ, in Analects 8 .4, described the cry of a dying bird as... than animals having equal sentience with man Yet there is no concrete evidence which points towards a dismissal of Confucians considering animals lacking emotions 34 Āi in bereavement comes with a sense of loss, knowing that someone is dead Thus, it is perhaps also natural to hope that one will be missed and mourned after one dies in the future For instance in Analects 19.25, comparing himself with . mentality involved in ancestral worship, to written records in the classics and archaeological findings to show that the early Chinese did believe that something continues on after the ending of. occurrences is in the Chǔ songs (Chǔcí 楚辞), culminating in the works of Sòng Yù 宋玉. Keeping in mind the fact that both the Chǔ songs and the Guōdiàn bamboo slips were found in the southern kingdom. contains a substantial amount of empathy. Going deeper into what is involved in this multifaceted emotion of qī, the sense of “feeling of inter-human ties” notwithstanding, it is still inaccurate