The Useless Tree

Thoughts on the Classic of Filial Respect 孝經 and Student Protest in Hong Kong

This past semester, on leave from my usual gig at Williams College, I've been teaching at Lingnan University in Hong Kong. The time here is now coming to an end (returning to the US next week), but it's been a fascinating experience. My class, "Government and Politics in Contemporary China," has been enhanced by the Hong Kong perspective, the ongoing struggle of democracy supporters (paywall) here to maintain as much autonomy and freedom as they can against the encroachments of the PRC. Also, the community of scholars in Hong Kong working on ancient Chinese philosophy is extensive and active. And since it is a sabbatical, with only one class to teach this semester, there's been a bit more time to read texts that have escaped me over the years. One of these is the Xiaojing, the Classic of Filial Respect, which I have somehow missed.

All these things run together in my mind. Here are some thoughts on the Xiaojing and protest.

I delved into the "philosophical translation" of the text by Henry Rosemont (a fine man, RIP) and Roger Ames, which has a long and helpful introduction (that takes up most of the volume) to the very short classic text (only about twelve pages long). Rosemont and Ames place the Xiaojing in its historical context, explicate its key elements, and develop their ideas on "role ethics." But the first, most notable aspect of their work is their title: The Chinese Classic of Family Reverence. 

The standard translation is: The Classic of Filial Piety. In the very first paragraph Rosemont and Ames argue that "piety" is problematic insofar as it conjures up religious connotations and distracts from the active, this-worldly project of Confucianism. A fair point. But the word "filial" is so deeply ingrained in discussions of xiao 孝 that it is hard to jettison. "Family reverence" certainly captures the general intention of xiao and it expands the relevant social context beyond the father-son relationship suggested by "filial." But we probably need to keep "filial" in our translation, given its historical prominence, recognizing that it should, indeed, include relationships beyond that of father-son. I like something like "filial respect" for xiao, which moves away from piety but keeps contact with other translations. And we need to find a term reflects the nuanced understanding of "obedience" in the text.  "Reverence" must make room for protest, even resistance.

As for the text itself, perhaps the most striking point, especially for those not fully acquainted with the Lunyu and Mengzi, is Chapter 15, "On Remonstrance," where we have this exchange between Master Zeng and Confucius (using the Rosemont and Ames translation):

    [Master Zeng:] ...."I would presume to ask whether children can be deemed filial simply by obeying every command of their father."

    [Confucius:] "What on earth are you saying? What on earth are you saying?.....Thus, if confronted by reprehensible behavior on his father's part, a son has no choice but to remonstrate with his father, and if confronted by reprehensible behavior on his ruler's part, a minister has no choice but to remonstrate with his ruler. Hence, remonstrance is the only response to immorality. How could simply obeying the commands of one's father be deemed filial?"

 That last line is memorable: 從父之令，又焉得為孝乎！ 

It is clear that Confucius never meant filiality to be understood simply as blind obedience. Yes, in Lunyu 2.5, when asked to define filiality, he says: "It is not being disobedient." - 無違. But that is not absolute. We know that elsewhere Confucius and Mencius both urge remonstrance in the face of bad actions by fathers or even kings. The strongest expression of this idea might be Mengzi 5B.9, where he argues that should remonstrance against a bad ruler fail, then ministers of royal blood should dethrone him. One should not be silent or inactive in the face of immorality.

This is an important point to keep in mind, given the general structure of the Xiaojing. The text has an inescapably hierarchical quality about it. The opening chapter refers to the "former kings," and King Wen in particular (a typical convention of the classic texts) as exemplars of xiao. The "common people" look up at these sorts of leaders to learn how to be good. That top-down perspective is reiterated in Chapters 2-6, which begins with the "Emperor" as a paragon of xiao and then moves down the socio-political hierarchy - "hereditary lords," "ministers and high officials," "lower officials" - until finally the experience of the "common people" is discussed. While it may be true that xiao, or the lack of it, could be invoked to challenge particular leaders, the organization of the text is designed to reinforce the political authority of the existing power structure.

The implicit authoritarianism of the Xiaojing is to be expected, since it has been filtered through various political and intellectual movements throughout its history, most aimed at shaping social and cultural practice to the needs of political order.

But even within the powerfully hierarchical and disciplinary character of the text there is that ray of light: the rejection of blind obedience.

And that brings me back to contemporary Hong Kong and my students who struggle daily against the loss of their civil and political freedom. There is much in the culture here that pushes against their political activism: the highly competitive educational system; the unforgiving neo-liberal economy; the astronomical housing prices; and, yes, the generation gap with their parents who urge them not to rock the boat. Protest can be framed as a violation of filial respect in any of a number of ways. The political atmosphere is gloomy, the power of the PRC seems ineluctable. But the students persist. They know they will not achieve the kind of political autonomy they pursue, but they also know that they must resist and protect what they can.

And if, one day, their parents say to them that they are being unfilial for not following entreaties to give up the fight and go back to class and get a job, those students could say in response:

"What on earth are you saying?....How could simply obeying the commands of one's father be deemed filial?"

That's what the Xiaojing says.

Legal Exoneration: A Confucian Perspective

A reader messaged to ask for a Confucian answer to this question: what does society owe people who have been wrongly convicted of crimes?

She asks because she is working with people in Taiwan on the issue of legal exoneration, along the lines of the Taiwan Innocence Project.

Looking into the Lunyu and Mengzi we can find some passages that speak to this question, though only rather indirectly.  Perhaps the best place to start is with a reminder that Confucius holds a certain mistrust for highly routinized systems of administration, both political and legal (Analects 2.3; Analects 12.13). He believes that justice is best achieved by wise and humane leaders crafting decisions based on a careful consideration of particular social and familial circumstances. Some legal theorists have developed an interpretation of "Confucian Virtue Jurisprudence" to capture the distinctiveness of this perspective.

It might, then, be reasonable to look at how Confucius and Mencius describe noble-minded leaders (junzi - 君子) when they realize they've made a bad decision, and use those passages to answer the broader question of legal exoneration for people wrongly convicted.

In this regard we find Analects 19.21:

子貢曰：「君子之過也，如日月之食焉：過也，人皆見之；更也，人皆仰之。

Zigong said: "Mistakes of the noble-minded are like eclipses of sun and moon: they make a mistake, and it's there for everyone to see; they make it right, and everyone looks up in awe." (Hinton)

This suggests that if a miscarriage of justice occurs, it should be recognized and rectified. Indeed, the error cannot but be noticed: it is as obvious as an eclipse. How could it not, then, be made right?

That, at least, is what a good person, and by extension a good legal system, would do. This sentiment is repeated in Mengzi 2B.9, with a bit more detail. There, Mencius is asked about an apparent misjudgment made by the Duke of Zhou, one of the revered founders of the Zhou Dynasty.  It seems the wise Duke appointed his elder brother, Guan Shu, to keep the remnants of the previous Shang Dynasty under control. Guan Shu, however, sided with the Shang and attacked Zhou, an irruption that was eventually put down by the Duke but not without raising some questions about his decision-making. Mencius tells us, referencing Analects 19.21, that the Duke made things right, and he did so in a way we all can learn from:

且古之君子，過則改之；今之君子，過則順之。古之君子，其過也，如日月之食，民皆見之；及其更也，民皆仰之。今之君子，豈徒順之，又從為之辭。

"...when the junzi of old committed an error, he corrected his course. When a ruler errs today, he persists in his error. The error of the junzi of old was like an eclipse of the sun or moon: the people all observed it, and when he changed course they all admired him for it. Nowadays rulers not only persist in their errors, they make excuses for them." (Enos, pdf)

It appears that the good behavior of the Duke of Zhou had been forgotten in the age of Mencius ("nowadays").  But look at the key point: to persist in an erroneous decision, and to make excuses for it, is deplorable. The right thing to do is to change course, to correct the error in a public and transparent manner.

To return to the question at hand - what does society owe people who have been wrongly convicted of a crime? - the first part of an answer would be: a public and transparent process of exoneration, as noticeable as the aftermath of an eclipse of sun and moon.

But how do you make up for the loss inflicted by wrongful conviction: perhaps years in jail, loss of livelihood, family disintegration? Confucius, as usual, would not have a strict formula of recompense, but he would be sympathetic and generous. Look at how he treated one of his followers who had been wrongfully convicted in Analects 5.1:

子謂公冶長，「可妻也。雖在縲絏之中，非其罪也」。以其子妻之。

The Master said of Gong Ye Chang that he might be wived; although he was put in bonds, he had not been guilty of any crime. Accordingly, he gave him his own daughter to wife. (Legge)

Obviously, these days we do not treat women in such a manner: daughters have the freedom to choose to marry whom they want. But think of the sentiment behind the act here: Confucius is expressing a supreme trust and respect for someone who had been wrongfully convicted. He is establishing an on-going and valuable relationship with him. The spirit of this gesture suggests that, extrapolated to modern circumstances, society, as represented by its government and legal system, owes wrongfully convicted persons sufficient social recognition, and perhaps economic means, to allow them to reconstruct their lives with dignity and honor. 

We might also keep in mind again here that Mencius emphasizes the importance of helping people gain a "certain livelihood" so that "they shall have sufficient wherewith to serve their parents, and, for those below them, sufficient wherewith to support their wives and children; that in good years they shall always be abundantly satisfied, and that in bad years they shall escape the danger of perishing." This would point to a policy that would help the wrongfully accused find jobs and maintain a stable incomes after their re-integration into society.

Beyond these rudimentary notions of what Confucius and Mencius might advocate in cases of exoneration, there is also a response they would firmly reject: the cold, brutal Legalist treatment meted out to poor Mr. He, as recounted by Han Feizi. (pp. 224-225).

Mr. He was a double victim of wrongful punishment. He twice brought what he knew to be a valuable piece of jade to the king, and twice the king's jeweler failed to see that it was indeed genuine, and twice the king had Mr. He's foot chopped off. After hearing of Mr. He's grief (he cried until his eyes bled!) over the injustice he was dealt, the king sent an aide to investigate. The heartless message to Mr. He was: "Many people in the world have had their feet amputated - why do you weep so piteously over it?" (天下之刖者多矣，子奚哭之悲也?). Mr. He replied that he wept because his integrity had been impugned. The wrongful imputation of a deceitful character was harder to bear than even the loss of both feet.

Han Feizi makes Mr. He's story into an allegory for the travails of the proponents of Legalism: their political philosophy is like the the unappreciated jade, valuable yet spurned. What is missing, however, in this Legalist rationalization is a recognition of the victim's plight. No sympathy, no redress, no chance of exoneration. Mr. He is simply collateral damage in the king's battle to maintain political power against potential deceivers.

This inhumane ideology is clearly at odds with the views of Confucius and Mencius. That, at least, is the stance of Han Feizi, who relentlessly attacks Confucians for being, among other things, idealist dupes, destined to lose political struggles.

Chinese tradition includes both a clear Confucian justification for exoneration and a strong Legalist rejection of the same.  Activists at the Taiwan Innocence Project, should they want to, can find some solace in the Lunyu and Mengzi.  The Han Feizi, not so much.