Asian Religions, page 5
The solution to these ills offered by Confucianism is what Tu Weiming has called an “anthropocosmic” vision: a commitment to “cosmic humanism” that places human flourishing as the central goal of life and affirms the perfectibility of human life.5 Perfection can be accomplished through individual effort: education, performance and appreciation of the arts, responsibility toward others, personal integrity, and an attitude of seriousness in one's character and conduct – what some in the West have called a “purpose-driven life,” though without reference to an external director or force. Certainly the idea that Confucianism is communal or group-oriented is partially true, but Confucian cultivation always begins with self-effort. Purposeful living radiates outward from the individual who is fully committed to the goal of human perfection. Still, there can be no human flourishing if the individual does not recognize him- or herself as a center of relationships, that is, as part of a wider community of family, friends, workplace, country, and human as well as non-human species. One of the most important aspects of Confucian education is learning how to treat others as one would want to be treated oneself. Ultimately the arena for individual self-expression is inextricably social.
Of course ancient China produced alternatives – that is, other religions or other solutions. We will examine Taoism as the principal rival to Confucianism in Part III, but the Confucian tradition has recognized two other religious and ethical competitors. One of these was associated with another major figure of Chinese antiquity: Mozi (墨子), who gathered a significant group of followers around what we may describe as a “utilitarian” doctrine, called “universal love.” This group, which did not survive into the Common Era, had a utopian vision of proletarian equality, a powerful ruler, and “economy in funerals and warfare” so as to focus resources on the daily needs of the people.6 Interestingly, the Chinese communist revolution saw in Mozi a home-grown precedent for its doctrine of radical egalitarianism controlled by a strong central government.
The second rival to Confucianism was the “legalist” or “realist” school, which also favored a powerful governing class in order to control the chaotic desires of the common people through a strict rule of law and order and stringent punishments for wrong-doing. This school maintained that people are by nature governed by self-interest and inclined to selfish behaviors. Only through punishment could they be corrected. Confucius vehemently disagreed with this view, arguing instead that persons in positions of authority (parents, teachers, and the state) should lead by example, not by coercion. The political idealism of Confucianism has inspired many generations of Chinese reformers, who have frequently raised a prophetic voice against the autocratic tendencies of the state (whether the imperial state of traditional times or the communist state of the present). That is to say, Confucianism – despite attempts by the Chinese government, past and present, to claim it as their own – has never supported any concentration of power in the state.
Over against Mo-ism and legalism, the Confucian vision emphasizes differentiated relationships (the cultivation of family and friendship ties) and morality or righteousness that comes from within rather than being imposed from without. We will explore these themes more fully in the chapters that follow.
Notes
1 Technically speaking, the term zongjiao (宗教) did exist in very early Chinese books, and it is possible that modern Japanese scholars found their inspiration there. But it certainly did not mean “religion” in the general, comparative sense in which we use it today. See Anthony Yu, State and Religion in China: Historical and Textual Perspectives (Peru, IL: Open Court Publishing Company, 2005).
2 See Lionel M. Jensen, Manufacturing Confucianism: Chinese Traditions and Universal Civilization (Raleigh, NC: Duke University Press, 1998).
3 Here and in subsequent chapters, all the quotations from Confucius' Analects (論語, Lunyu) are translated by the author. The Chinese text can be found at http://ctext.org/analects, an online resource of the Chinese Text Project. For a complete English translation of The Analects, see D. C. Lau, trans., Confucius: The Analects (New York: Penguin Classics, 1979).
4 The interview can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxBJUc4wVms (accessed July 21, 2012). Tu Weiming (杜維明) is dean of the Institute for the Advancement of Humanistic Studies at Peking University and formerly Professor of Religion at Harvard University. He has published extensively on Confucian thought in both English and Chinese.
5 Tu Weiming, “A Confucian Perspective on Learning to be Human,” in his Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation (Albany: SUNY Press, 1985), pp. 51–66.
6 Burton Watson, trans., Mozi: Basic Writings (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), pp. 53–64, 69–80.
4
The Religious Dimensions of Confucianism
In Chapter 1 we explored some definitions of religion and found the traditional definition – religion as the belief in supernatural beings – to be problematic for a number of reasons. First, it overemphasizes “belief” against practice; and, second, it focuses on an idea of “supernaturalism” that is understood very differently in different traditions. In the case of Confucianism, there is no supernatural world per se, though gods and spirits (especially the spirits of ancestors) have been venerated in China from the time of Confucius to the present day. Rather than being supernatural, these spirits are present, or immanent, in the world of everyday experience: they are not “pure spirit” over against matter, not “heavenly” over against “earthly,” not “wholly other” (to use a phrase coined by Christian theologians to describe God) or “beyond” or “outside” the world.
Confucian spirits are spirits of the dead, that is, spirits of those who have once lived – ghosts and ancestors. The Confucian cultures of East Asia practice “ancestor veneration”: families make offerings to their deceased parents and grandparents on a daily basis, and again on the Pure Brightness Festival (清明節, Qingming jie) in early spring. The early Confucian tradition described the rites that should be extended to the ancestors, including funerals, mourning rites (traditionally the mourning period lasted for three years), and death-day anniversaries. While today these rites are not as elaborate as they once were, the spirit of Confucian ancestor veneration remains strong.
The Chinese term for “ritual” is li (禮; see Figure 4.1). The graphic components of this character show a stand supporting an incense container, which recalls an even earlier time when “burnt offerings” of animal meat were provided to the gods. In the later dynasties sacrifices were made once a year at the imperial palace. Today, however, the primary ritual of offering to ancestors consists in burning incense and imitation paper money. Prior to Confucius, the li also included grand ceremonies at the imperial palace, seasonal celebrations associated with the movement of planets and stars, and great offerings for success in warfare, hunting, planting, and harvest.
Figure 4.1 Li: ceremony, ritual; ceremonial living, propriety, conscientiousness, personal comportment.
By the time of Confucius the li had fallen into disuse. There was so much political and social strife then that the subsequent era was named the Warring States period. It was a time of social unrest, mass migrations, want, and starvation. Religious practices were viewed cynically. They were deemed useless, a waste of resources, a distraction from the “real world” of military preparation, management of labor, and the suppression of rampant lawlessness. But, rather than seeing li as a distraction, Confucius felt that its restoration would actually alleviate these problems – not so much because the gods or spirits would intervene or save the world (as we might think of the purpose of prayer), but because li had an intrinsic, transformative value. Confucius and his followers felt that, if people could be taught how to practice li, then they would become more appreciative of order, harmony, community, and cooperation.
Since the li had largely disappeared from daily practice, their restoration required education in history, reading and interpretation of ritual manuals, moral preparation, and the arts. Confucius took his inspiration from ritual performances that had been held centuries before. These were elaborate rites, featuring performances by large orchestras with wind and percussion instruments and by dancers wearing beautiful clothes and arrayed in perfect rows and columns. In other words, religion for Confucians was highly aesthetic – it was performative in every sense of the word. Confucius loved this performative aspect even if the actual rituals could no longer be conducted, and he trained his followers in music and dance.
Confucians believe that, if people are trained in the arts, history, and literature, if they come together to celebrate significant events or to ritually express concern for social problems, if they model their daily lives on ritual patterns, then it does not matter if gods and ancestors can “hear” them – indeed it does not even matter if they actually exist! The early Confucian thinker Xunzi (荀子) said this explicitly. He was philosophically skeptical about the existence of gods and spirits, but still advocated that people perform li and lead a li-patterned life. This point is difficult for Westerners to understand: most atheists would see no point in worship or prayer. If you do not believe in God, why would you still make offerings to God? Wouldn't these acts seem empty, pointless, even hypocritical? The answer is “yes” only if “belief” is the central definition of religion. For Confucians, the performance of ritual is much more important than what we would call religious belief.
Why? It is worth exploring this idea further.
One of Confucius' great innovations was a reinterpretation of li. As we have seen, the traditional definition of li was something like “worship,” “offering,” or “rite.” Confucius was enamored of the ancient rites and hoped to restore them. But his reason for doing so – to change the world radically, to harmonize human relationships, and to bring order to a chaotic situation – led him to a deeper understanding of li. His understanding can be expressed in this way: “Li are the proper patterns of human action in a living, social context.” That is, the model of li should be applied to every situation, whether religious or not. “The Master said, ‘Do not look at what is contrary to li, do not listen to what is contrary to li, do not speak what is contrary to li.’ ”1 Confucius encouraged his students to make every gesture, every look, every word in accordance with li. Just as we can use the word “ceremony” as a synonym for “ritual,” I describe the Confucian ideal of human existence as “ceremonial living.” This means that we live each moment of our lives as if we were participating in a ceremony. “Greet others as you would a great guest,” Confucius said in the Analects (“Yan Yuan,” chapter 2); the most frequently seen image or statue of Confucius shows him holding his hands together, in the traditional gesture of greeting (see Figure 4.2).
Figure 4.2 Statue of Confucius at the Confucian Temple in Shanghai, China. © Philip Lange / iStockphoto.
How often do you do each of the following? How important do you think these actions are?
looking others in the eyes when speaking with them;
identifying yourself when making a phone call;
greeting the people you meet;
introducing people who do not know one another;
avoiding gossip;
saying “May I help you?” to lost strangers;
saying “How are you?” on the street/sidewalk/halls;
helping little old ladies to cross the street;
saying “Excuse me” when appropriate;
following through on promises;
addressing elders respectfully;
inviting acquaintances to social events;
helping friends in need;
maintaining a respectful appearance;
dressing neatly;
getting up early in the morning;
making your bed;
sitting up straight;
waiting patiently in line;
serving others at the dinner table;
helping in the kitchen.
You might agree that they are important, but for Confucians they are of ultimate importance – they are religious, both in the sense that they were derived from religious ritual in antiquity and in the sense that they can transform individuals and societies in an ultimate sense. Confucians believe in the perfectibility of persons and societies; they are quite optimistic about human nature, at least with respect to its potential.
For Confucians, these behaviors are indicative of good character. But, more significantly, they also “come naturally.” Of course, we don't just “know” these behaviors from birth – they have to be taught to us – but our desire to perform them, to be part of a family or a community, to see ourselves as “social animals” is something we possess naturally and desire from a very early age. In other words, anyone can practice them, and in fact most people are inclined to do so. This is because from birth we are living with others: we are raised by our parents, and we learn reciprocity (the spirit of give and take) from our family experience. Confucians would even say that becoming a good person – becoming fully human – is a natural process that does not require any outside force apart from the guidance of our parents and teachers. It is when these social patterns are disrupted that “evil” or socially aberrant behaviors appear.
Li (禮) can then be translated as both “ritual” and “ceremonial living.” Some scholars have understood the second sense of li to be “propriety” or “decorum,” but I think that these words suggest a certain stiffness or elitism that we do not find in Confucianism. Confucius thought that anyone could master li, because everyone has a natural inclination to live harmoniously with others. This idea is expressed through another term, ren (仁), meaning “love,” “kindness,” “benevolence,” or, as I prefer to translate it, “co-humanity.” “Co-humanity” works well for this character, because graphically the character is made up of two parts (see Figure 4.3), the left side referring to something “human” and the right side to the number two. So we exist as humans in co-human contexts, in pairs, or, by extension, in relation to others (indeed the number two here should not be taken literally: it means “more than one”). One of the important early Confucians, named Mengzi (孟子, Latinized as Mencius), put it very simply: “To be human means being co-human” (人仁也).2
Figure 4.3 Ren: kindness, benevolence; human-heartedness, “co-humanity.”
Ren is a feeling or emotion – what it expresses is not just the “fact” that we live in community, but that we are inclined to do so, that we want to live with others, to belong. So, to translate Mengzi's simple sentence again, “I am human insofar as I want to be part of a family and community.” That is to say, belonging comes naturally. This sense is very close to our hearts. Confucius said in the Analects: “As soon as I want ren, I have it” (“Shu Er,” chapter 30): as long as I want to be part of a group, I am part of a group. And, since being a “good person” means living harmoniously and responsibly with others, Confucians would say that we have a natural inclination to be good. Though what makes up li has to be learned (I don't know how to hold chopsticks properly unless someone teaches me), the sense of ren does not: it is innate.
Mengzi taught that this natural inclination was present in people from the start. He said that we have four “sprouts” of virtue:
1 Humans all have the sprout of compassion, 惻隱之心.
2 Humans all have the sprout of disdain for evil (sometimes translated as a “sense of shame”), 羞心.
3 Humans all have the sprout of respect for others (sometimes translated as “deference”), 恭敬心.
4 Humans all have the sprout of approval and disapproval (the ability to distinguish between right and wrong), 是非之心.
Allowed to develop naturally (under guidance, not by coercion), these sprouts develop into the virtues promoted by the Confucian tradition:
1 Compassion gives rise to ren (co-humanity, 仁).
2 Disdain for evil gives rise to yi (righteousness, 義).
3 Yielding gives rise to li (propriety, 禮).
4 Judgment gives rise to zhi (wisdom, 智).3
There is a famous story about Mengzi that illustrates his point. Interestingly, the story did not appear until several centuries after Mengzi actually lived, but it became very well known and is widely repeated. Every young person knows it. The story is called “Meng's Mother Moved Three Times” (孟母三遷, Meng-mu san-qian):
Mengzi's father died when he was very young. His mother, surnamed Zhang, raised her son alone. At the beginning they lived near a burial ground. Mengzi picked up the habit of crying and wailing, and he and his friends together mimicked the anguish and pain of the mourners. His mother said: “I can't let my son live here.”
So they moved next to a marketplace. Mengzi learned how to haggle and cajole. His mother said: “This is not a good place to live either.”
So they moved next to a meat market, and Mengzi learned how to butcher animals and how to earn a living on their suffering. Again his mother said: “Nor is this the place to raise my son.”
Finally they settled down near a school, and on the first day of every month Mengzi witnessed the ritual performances and the gestures of respectful greeting. Seeing this, he learned things one by one, and took them to heart. His mother said: “This is the place where my son should live.” And they stayed there.4
As long as there is a proper environment for us to grow up, our “sprouts” will naturally grow into full-fledged virtues. In fact Confucians place great emphasis on one's social environment: one's community, school, workplace, and country. As long as these are places that encourage what is best in us – to be responsible, caring, and involved – we will be good people. Any time someone does something anti-social (theft, drugs, prostitution, and so on), it is assumed that his or her environment was deficient. There is a strong tendency to blame the parents for the wrong-doings of children, and in fact parents of social outcasts usually experience shame and self-recrimination. This also places a great deal of pressure on children: behaving badly is bad enough, but the pressure not to disappoint our parents extends even to the best of us. If I'm not successful (doing well in school, playing a musical instrument, or achieving recognition in my career, as reflected in my status and salary), what will my parents think? Anything less than “perfection” will make my parents feel they did not raise me right! This pressure to succeed is a powerful social force in Confucian societies.5
