Confucianism: A Very Short Introduction (Very Short Introductions)

by Daniel K. Gardner

A concerned heaven, a heaven invested in the well-being of the people (see chap. 1), confers a mandate to rule on virtuous and benevolent men who, like heaven, are committed to the people’s welfare.

What is essential to note here is that heaven does not act on its own; heaven responds to the wishes and will of the people. In “wailing and calling to heaven,” the people voice their displeasure and discontent with the ruler and with the conditions prevailing in the state.

The Mandate of Heaven thus stands in rather sharp contrast to the European doctrine of the “divine right of kings,” where rulers are granted the right to rule directly from God

1912), the first edict the leaders issued, inviting the Chinese populace to welcome Manchu rule, invoked the spirit and language of the Mandate of Heaven:

Both Mencius and Xunzi fully embraced the Master’s core beliefs: (1) that man can become a sage; (2) that moral goodness results from self-cultivation; (3) that learning is a part of the self-cultivation process; (4) that a vanguard elite is essential in promoting morality among the people; and (5) that good governance depends on the virtue of the ruler,

fundamental disagreements between the two great thinkers, most especially over the source of man’s moral perfectibility.

Mencius locates that source internally in human nature, asserting that man is born with a nature that naturally tends toward goodness, just as water naturally tends to flow downhill (6A.2).

Xunzi strongly objects, unambiguously proclaiming: “Man’s nature is evil” (sec. 23, “Man’s Nature is Evil”).

For Mencius, each and every human being is born with the four shoots of true goodness, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom.

that nowhere in this passage does Mencius go on to say that having been moved to compassion, we would all actually rush to rescue the child.

Holding on to the mind-and-heart is thus what distinguishes the morally superior man from others. It is this mind-and-heart, Mencius says, that enables man to think and reflect; and only by thinking and reflecting is man capable of keeping to the right path—

If the people lack a constant livelihood it follows that they will lack a constant mind-and-heart. And if they lack a constant mind-and-heart, they will become reckless and depraved, and there is nothing they will not do.

A ruler who speaks of profit prompts his people as well to speak of—and pursue—profit, which not only leads them astray, away from attending to their moral shoots, but ironically does nothing to profit the ruler or his state.

While rulers may be deposed, there is no call here for popular revolution, as it is the ministers alone who have the right to depose an evil ruler (cf. 5B.9).

Xunzi explains: Man’s nature is evil; goodness is the result of deliberate action. The nature of man is such that he is born with a fondness for profit. If he indulges this fondness, it will lead him into wrangling and strife, and all sense of courtesy and humility will disappear.

Therefore, we may speak of an end to the program of learning, but the objective of learning must never for an instant be given up. To pursue it is to be a man, to give it up is to become a beast.

“Rituals trim what is too long and stretch out what is too short, eliminate excess and remedy deficiency, extend the forms of love and reverence, and step-by-step bring to completion the beauty of proper conduct”

Where ranks are all equal, there will not be enough goods to go around; where power is equally distributed, there will be a lack of unity; where there is equality among the masses, it will be impossible to employ them. … If men are of equal power and station and have the same likes and dislikes, then there will not be enough goods to supply their wants,

To conclude: Mencius and Xunzi, the founders of the two major branches of early Confucianism, agree: (1) that man is morally perfectible; and (2) that to achieve moral perfection man must undertake a self-cultivation process.

But for Mencius, the source of man’s moral potential is internal, found in man’s nature itself; for Xunzi, it is to be found externally, in the culture, especially in the body of ritual created by the sages of antiquity. For Mencius, consequently, self-cultivation is largely a process of gentle nurturing, of keeping the growing inner goodness shielded from the harmful and corrupting influences of society; for Xunzi, the process is necessarily more expansive and aggressive, and looks directly to society for tools capable of “straightening” or reshaping man’s inborn twisted nature.

thinkers responsible for the grand reformulation of the Confucian intellectual tradition a millennium later would reject Xunzi’s view of human nature and embrace Mencius’s sunnier outlook that man is born with the shoots of perfect goodness within him.

Neo-Confucianism represents a reworking of the Confucian tradition. It upholds the values and ethics of classical Confucianism but reorients that Confucianism in two important ways: (1) it grounds the values and ethics of classical Confucianism in an elaborate system of metaphysics (that is, an explanation of the nature of being and knowing) generated over the eleventh and twelfth centuries; and (2) on the basis of this system of metaphysics, it creates a structured program of self-cultivation, a step-by-step template for “becoming a sage.”

Its allure was such that Confucians plaintively acknowledged, “Be they adults or children, officials, farmers, or merchants, men or women, all have entered the Buddhist fold.” Even many scholars, the very men who were supposed to keep the Confucian Way alive and well, had been drawn to Buddhism over the years

fearful that Buddhism’s preoccupation with the enlightenment of the individual was distracting people at all levels of society from their fundamental Chinese—and Confucian—obligation to better themselves morally for the purpose of serving society and promoting the welfare of others.

For if all things are constituted of qi, all things and people in the universe are interrelated.

Every object, event, relationship, matter, and affair in the universe has principle.

Zhu insists. For him, the principle of the boat, the cart, the human being, the tree, and the father-son relationship is but a particular manifestation of the one universal principle.

And it is this allotment of qi that, depending on its degree of clarity and density, either enables a person’s innately good nature to shine forth or obscures it, preventing it from becoming manifest.

The aim of this investigation, of course, is not an understanding of the world for understanding’s sake, nor is it scientific inquiry that is being proposed. Rather, if a person genuinely understands the true nature of things and affairs, if he truly recognizes why things, affairs, and relationships are as they are, he will be capable of dealing with those things, affairs, and relationships he encounters in the world in a perfectly appropriate way.

He wishes to provide students with more focused direction, suggesting what “things” in particular are likely to yield clear and direct apprehension of principle. For Zhu Xi, these “things” turn out to be the texts of the ancient sages, the Confucian Classics:

To generalize, the Five Classics illustrate Confucian morality using examples and lessons from ancient history; identify ideal institutions and methods of governance drawn from the past; describe in detail how one should conduct oneself in life’s varying circumstances; and prescribe at length the ritualistic practices for maintaining a well-ordered society.

The Four Books tend to be less historical, descriptive, and concrete. Concerned primarily with the nature of man, the inner source of his morality, and his relation to the larger cosmos, they introduce and explain general principles of proper conduct and action and do not require the detailed, and often abstruse, knowledge of ancient Chinese institutions and social practices that comprehension of the Five Classics requires.

toward teachings in the canon that place considerably more emphasis on the inner realm of human morality—and on the all-important process of self-cultivation.

It should be clear that for Zhu Xi, the study of the canon is important not principally as an intellectual exercise but as the intellectual means to a moral—even spiritual—end. Through the classical texts, especially the Four Books, the sensitive reader can apprehend the principle underlying the universe and hence, as Zhu writes, “practice the Way with all his strength, and so enter the realm of the sages and worthies.”

A brief list of ways that eleventh- and twelfth-century “Neo”-Confucianism is “new” or different from classical Confucianism would include: • the use of a language of metaphysics; • the placement of man in the context of a universe of principle and qi; • the introduction of “the investigation of things,” probing principle as the basis of the Confucian self-cultivation process; • a narrowing of focus with an emphasis on man’s interior life; • the establishment of a set program of learning, privileging the Four Books over the Five Classics.

It may be an oversimplification to characterize premodern Chinese society and politics as “Confucian”—suggesting more of an exclusivity than is warranted—but to say they were heavily “Confucianized,” informed

(Of course, as with Western Christendom, a considerable disjuncture frequently existed between the ideals of the Chinese state and its actual practices.)

It is hard to exaggerate the influence that the examination system exercised in Chinese society. Children would begin their education in the home, typically under the tutelage of their mothers, with Confucian primers like the Three Character Classic.

Studies indicate that less than 1 percent of those sitting for the district examinations would ultimately pass the metropolitan examinations. And yet, even in the face of such long odds, virtually all literate Chinese would start down the examination path.

the examination system was subject to a litany of critiques by Confucian literati themselves.

When Confucius remarks to his disciples, “I transmit and create nothing of my own” (7.1), filial piety would have been just one of many of the tradition’s teachings and practices he had in mind.

In a culture where an indigenous belief in a creator deity did not exist—and where a foreign belief in one did not become widespread—it was the biological line alone that accounted for one’s existence and deserved the gratitude and praise of the individual.

“true goodness, righteousness, and morality” appeared on every page. But as the night wore on, and his reading continued, the madman “began to see the words between the lines, the whole book being filled with the two words—‘Eat People.’

Much of the disagreement occurred over the particular balance that should be struck between the adoption of Western techniques and learning and the preservation of traditional Confucian values.

Undermined by such conflicts, court infighting, and heightened imperialist pressures, the efforts at reform failed.

Mao charged the Red Guards with demolishing the “Four Olds”: old customs, old culture, old habits, and old ideas.

Yu Dan, was invited to give a series of seven lectures on Confucianism for public television’s program, “Lecture Room.” Explaining the significance of the Analects to daily life today—in a manner accessible to non-academics—she became an overnight sensation.