Confucius was human, too

Chang-li Yiu

Professor Emeritus, Department of Mathematics & Physics

Confucius was the most revered person throughout Chinese history. He was considered the best of all teachers in a country where the social rank of the teacher was only below that of the emperor and the father. In “The Analects,” a book of his sayings and deeds recorded by his students, among all the serious subjects there is a little story:

Once Confucius said to some students, “You consider me an older man and won’t speak freely in my presence. Forget for a moment that I am so. At present you are unemployed and think that your merits are not recognized. Now supposing someone were to recognize your merits, what employment would you choose?”

One by one the students expressed their desires to be political leaders or diplomats. The Master smiled. Then he turned to one who had been quiet and said, “Tien, what about you?” The soft sound of the zither died away. Tien put it down, rose and replied, “I am afraid that my desire is different.” The Master said, “What’s wrong with that? Each names only his own desire.” Tien then replied, “In March, wearing newly sewn spring clothes, in the company of a few adults and children, I would love to go across the River I, sing at the Rain Altar, and then hum all the way back.”

The Master sighed, “I am with Tien.”

Poor other students! They must have felt tricked. Confucius had dragged them around China seeking employment, hoping to put into practice his ideas of righteous government.
But at this moment he was in a different mood. It was gratifying to know that such a great man also needed a time-out, that he was not the stuffy fellow many of his pedantic followers made him out to be.

It gives us a warm feeling to learn that these giants of history were humans, too. In the comic strip “Peanuts,” Charlie Brown picked up a lost pencil belonging to his secret love, a red-haired girl whom he was too intimidated to approach, and saw a chew mark. He held the pencil to his chest, smiling, and said, “She’s human!”

Plato recorded an incident after Socrates drank the poison: “He uncovered his face ... and said: ... ‘Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?’” Here was a philosopher who pondered all great problems of humanity. At the last moment, he worried about a small debt; he was human, one of us.

We all need to retreat sometimes from our daily struggles, to appreciate little things already in our possession, to see “Heaven in a Wild Flower.” It makes us more human, and also recharges us. An old Japanese folk art form called Netsuke helps us see delightful little things. It involves carving wood or ivory into whimsical forms such as small crabs, a little flower, intertwined eggplants or a grinning monkey. The forms don’t pretend to be a Michelangelo. They just remind us of the pleasure of simple things and make us smile. Look for them if you visit an Asian art museum.

Bai Chu-I was a great Chinese poet. He claimed his poems were simple enough to be appreciated by “old house maids and common laborers.” Mostly his poems described realistic scenery or events, but he also wrote an abstract short poem:

“Flower but not a flower; Fog but not Fog
It comes at midnight, leaves at down break
Like spring-dream it does not linger long
Like a morning cloud it departs without
a trace.”

It is so unlike his other poems. I wonder whether he took a break from his routine. The result is ethereally beautiful.

I cannot resist quoting a hilarious, wonderfully silly poem by the American poet Emily Dickinson:

“I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us – don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!”

A nice break can even work wonders in a great work of art. Beethoven’s “Missa solemnis” is no less great than his popular Ninth Symphony. In it, after a long and passionate interplay of full orchestra and choir, there is the passage Benedictus, dominated by a single violin, soothing and contemplative, before another emotional surge to the end.

That passage gives repose, time to reflect. It is like a sorbet served in the intermission of a rich banquet, to cleanse and refresh the palate. It makes the whole artwork balanced and perfect.
So, sometime, after a hard day, you might want to brew yourself a cup of Chinese chrysanthemum tea, add crystal sugar if you prefer, and sit down to watch the sunset or a cloud passing by, or to listen to Chopin’s Nocturnes.

I enjoy Rubinstein at the piano when it comes to Chopin. How about you?