Having just returned from a business trip, I noticed a surge of pretentious cultural refinement in the commercial world. Amidst the whirlwind of opportunism, everyone seems eager to embrace "Confucian merchant" status by flaunting their newfound interest in traditional Chinese studies. If "Confucian merchants" emerge from what were once mere "breast merchants" (a pun on the homophonic Chinese terms for "breast" and "Confucian"), this can hardly bode well for genuine traditional scholarship. Imagine a trend where even real breasts become scarce—let alone true Confucians. What do popularized breasts achieve, other than fueling hype for augmentation and expansion? Similarly, what becomes of popularized Confucianism? Its fate would fare no better than any breast, real or fake. Traditional Chinese studies, too, risk becoming hollow if reduced to a nationwide fad.
Yet the revival of traditional Chinese scholarship is inevitable. China's economic rise demands an authentic Chinese intellectual voice on the global stage. And what, aside from our traditional studies, can we truly offer? Only fools or self-deceivers would deny this. Why should the standards of Chinese scholarship not one day rank among the world’s academic benchmarks? As China’s influence grows, this is an inevitability. That said, it must be clarified: while Chinese Buddhist texts heavily influenced by Confucianism and Daoism exist, Buddhism itself does not fall under traditional Chinese studies. Traditional medicine, even sexual practices from ancient texts, may qualify—but Buddhism transcends the narrow confines of "Chinese" or "Western" scholarship.
However, one cannot discuss Buddhism without first mastering both Chinese and Western traditions. Only those proficient in these realms are qualified to engage with Buddhist philosophy. Speaking of Chinese studies and Confucianism, we must begin with Confucius, and to discuss Confucius, we start with the Analects. How could the foundation of Chinese civilization—Confucius and the Analects—be shaken by the radical youths of the May Fourth era or other historical critics? Yet throughout history, as many have interpreted the Analects, so too have they distorted it. This work is for all who have misunderstood Confucius.
Xue Er (学而)
The Master said: "Is it not a pleasure to study and practice what you have learned? Is it not joyful when friends visit from afar? Is one not a noble person if they remain unresentful when unrecognized?"
Detailed Explanation
The adage that "half the Analects can govern the world" hints that its opening lines are far deeper than the shallow interpretations often imposed. The chapter title "Xue Er," plucking two characters from the text, may have inspired Li Shangyin’s poetic titles and later the rigid formulas of eight-legged essays, but little else. Chapter divisions were added posthumously; the Analects flows as a cohesive whole, unbound by artificial sections.
These three rhetorical questions—"Is it not...?"—have been drowned in endless commentary, yet few grasp their true meaning. At first glance, they seem abrupt, even nonsensical. How could such lines open China’s most revered text? If taken superficially, the Analects would be history’s greatest fraud or a jumble of mad ramblings.
In truth, these three sentences form a singular, unified thesis—the essence of Confucian thought. The vast canon of Confucian classics merely expands upon this foundation. Understanding these lines illuminates the entire Analects, revealing its coherence.
"To study and practice what you have learned"—What is "study"? Who studies? What is studied? What does study achieve? The sentence lacks a subject. Insert "duck" as the subject: "The Master said: 'When a duck studies and practices, is it not pleased? When duck friends visit from afar, is it not joyful? If ducks feel no resentment when unrecognized, are they not duck kings?'" This absurdity would suit a poultry shop sign. Without resolving the missing subject, the Analects remains unintelligible.
The subject lies within: the junzi (君子), or "noble person." The Analects is for the junzi, and its teachings culminate in this ideal. Confucianism, at its core, is the "study of becoming a junzi." What is a junzi? One destined to become a jun (君)—a ruler, a sage.
Why "study of the junzi" and not "study of the sage"? Sages need not study. The Analects details how a junzi evolves into a jun (sage) through learning. "Study of the junzi" does not mean "learning to be a junzi," but rather that only a junzi can truly study, progressing toward sagehood. A duck’s "study" yields only a duck king. Thus, a poultry shop has no use for the Analects.
Becoming a sage is no overnight feat. To read the Analects, one must first resolve to become a sage through its teachings. Without this resolve, reading it is pointless—better to peruse "Duck Proverbs." Only with this aspiration do the Analects’ words gain meaning. Reading demands a worthy reader; those unwilling to rise to its challenge merely skim symbols on a page.