千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 54

形端表正

xíng duān biǎo zhēng

"proper form manifests uprightness"


形, translated here as "form," typically refers to something's physical form. I'm most familiar with it as part of 形意拳 xingyiquan, one of the Chinese martial arts I practice. It's usually called "form and intent boxing" in English.

端 commonly refers to the tip or genesis of something, like a bud on a branch, but also means "correct." Kroll's dictionary lists 端坐, to sit upright, as an example.

正 or "uprightness" is moral uprightness, of course. This line isn't simply about good posture, though it's about that, too.


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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 53

德建名立
dé jiàn míng lì

"A name built on established virtue"

Or, if you want to continue with the exhortatory style, "build a name on established virtue." Either way, sounds like a slogan you'd see attached to a 20th century manufacturing company.

On an unrelated note, I recommend Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan's latest album, Districts, Roads, Open Space. It's not necessarily an ideal soundtrack for reading classical Chinese, but then again, it's not not an ideal soundtrack for reading classical Chinese.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 52

克念作聖

kè niàn zuō shèng

"If one is capable of reflection, one can act like a sage"

Man, am I falling behind on this project, and this blog in general. Oof. Anyway, this line comes from the 書經 Classic of Documents, according to Paar. 克念 can also be read as "control one's thoughts." I think it's safe to say that anyone worthy of being considered a sage is capable of reflection and can control their thinking, even if you go beyond the Confucian definitions of what constitutes sagacity.


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莊子與髑髏 / Zhuangzi and the Skull

During the most recent lesson in my classical Chinese course (of which I cannot speak highly enough: you should sign up for the next one here), we discussed this passage from the 外篇 "outer chapters" of 莊子 Zhuangzi. I really liked the style of it, and not only because I'm a sucker for talking skulls: I found the image of Zhuangzi prodding a skull with his horsewhip, then using the skull as a pillow, quite entertaining. (The bit about the skull furrowing its brow is pretty hilarious, too.) My translation follows the original. Enjoy.

 莊子之楚，見空髑髏，髐然有形，撽以馬捶，因而問之曰：夫子貪生失理，而為此乎？將子有亡國之事，斧鉞之誅，而為此乎？將子有不善之行，愧遺父母妻子之醜，而為此乎？將子有凍餒之患，而為此乎？將子之春秋故及此乎？於是語卒，援髑髏枕而臥。夜半，髑髏見夢曰：子之談者似辯士。視子所言，皆生人之累也，死則無此矣。子欲聞死之說乎？莊子曰：然。髑髏曰：死，無君於上，無臣於下，亦無四時之事，從然以天地為春秋，雖南面王樂，不能過也。莊子不信，曰：吾使司命復生子形，為子骨肉肌膚，反子父母妻子、閭里、知識，子欲之乎？髑髏深矉蹙頞曰：吾安能棄南面王樂而復為人間之勞乎？

Zhuangzi was on his way to Chu when he saw an empty skull, bleached but intact. Prodding it with his horsewhip, he asked the skull, "So, were you so greedy for life that you lost all sense of reason, and ended up like this? Or did you end up like this because you were sentenced to death by the axe for serving a defeated kingdom? Or was your conduct terrible, and you ashamedly abandoned your disgraced parents, wife, and sons and ended up like this? Or did you end up like this after suffering cold and hunger? Did you end up like this after your years ran out?"

After saying this, Zhuangzi picked up the skull and, using it as a pillow, went to sleep.

At midnight, the skull appeared to him in a dream, saying: "You talk like an eloquent man. Examining your words, though, they're all about the burdens of the living. The dead, on the other hand, don't have such problems. Would you like to hear me talk about death?"

"Naturally," Zhuangzi said.

"In death," the skull said, "there are no masters above, and no servants below. The concerns of the four seasons don't exist, either. The years pass without constraint in heaven and earth. Even a king facing south from his throne wouldn't have it better."

Zhuangzi didn't believe the skull. "If I could have the Master of Fate return you to your living form, make you flesh and bone again, return your parents, wife, and sons to you, put you back in your village among your acquaintances, you wouldn't want that?"

The skull furrowed its brow and said, "Why would I give up the joys of a king and return to the toils of the human world?"


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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 51

景行維賢

jǐng xíng wéi xián 

"admire the actions only of the worthy"


Damn, it's been over a month since my last entry. Things have been hectic, but not that hectic.

The only thing I find interesting about this line is the use of 景, which typically means "sunlight" or "scenery," but here means "look up to" or "admire," which makes sense, seeing as how one often has to  look up to admire the sunshine.


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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 50

詩贊羔羊

shī zàn gāo yáng

"The Classic of Poetry praises lambs"


Lambs are cute, sure, but Paar notes that this is a reference to the following lines from the Classic of Poetry (AKA the Book of Odes):

羔羊之皮、素絲五緎。
委蛇委蛇、自公退食。

"The skins of lambs and sheep, their five seams white;
Unhurried, they withdraw from public to dine."

This is still somewhat unhelpful, but Paar explains that the lambskins in question are lambskin clothes worn by officials, and the white thereof signifies their spotless character. Thrilling stuff, huh?

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 49

 墨悲絲染

mò bēi sī rǎn

"Mozi was saddened by dyed silk"


墨子 Mozi is one of China's philosophical heavyweights, though his ideas (which I'm not all that familiar with, sadly, though I did recently get a Chinese-language book on Mohist thought that will inevitably take me forever to read) were ultimately overshadowed by Confucianism.

It's safe to say that Mozi wasn't literally upset by the sight of dyed silk. Paar describes it as Mozi being "reminded of how a good man could be corrupted in the company of evil associates." 

On an unrelated note, while these four characters are individually quite pleasing to the eye, I especially like the appearance of the line as a whole, mainly due to how the upper and lower elements of each character fall into place.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 48

器欲難量

qì yù nán liáng 

"seek to be immeasurably capable"

This one threw me off from the get-go, since I know 器 as "tool" or "instrument." Turns out it also means "capacity" or "capability," which stems from another use of the character as "vessel"—i.e., something capable of holding things.

What I translated as "immeasurably capable" is actually "hard to measure." Same difference, I reckon.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 47

 信使可複

xìn shǐ kě fù

"make pledges that can be kept"

 

信 has a number of meanings, most of them involving trust, faithfulness, etc. You can see it in the character's two components: a man 人 (which often takes the form 亻 when used as a component) standing by his word 言. That assessment, which is bit too gimmicky for me most of the time, at least works here without being too much of a stretch.

In modern Mandarin, 信 most commonly means "letter," as in those things few people write to one another anymore. I, however, am a letter-writer, so if you're interested in handwritten correspondence, send me an email.

複 here means "to repeat," which makes sense but sounds weird in English in this context.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 46

靡恃己長

mí shì jǐ cháng 

"do not rely on one's own merits"

Just as one shouldn't talk too much shit about others, one shouldn't think too much of oneself, no matter how skilled or talented one might be. 

The characters used for "shortcomings" (短) and "merits"(長) mean, among other things, "short" and "long," respectively. When used together in modern Chinese, 長短 can mean "length," as well as "right and wrong" or "good and evil." The use of two antonymous characters to express the concept that connects them is pretty common in Chinese.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 45

罔談彼短

wǎng tán bǐ duǎn 

"do not discuss the shortcomings of others"

 

This line directly corresponds to the following one, so I'll write that one up in a minute. I'm relying on my own skills and usual Chinese reading tools at the moment, since I'm still in isolation and my 千字文 materials are in the other room (where my wife could get them for me, but I don't want to bother her since she's got things to do).

While it can be cathartic to talk shit about someone else's failings, and in some cases is a completely necessary step towards resolving problems involving or caused by that person, the Thousand Character Classic wisely warns against it. Focusing on another's shortcomings allows you to ignore your own, and to deflect any blame that might rightfully fall on you. Besides, it's just shitty and unconstructive to snipe at people all the time. 

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 44

得能莫忘

dé néng mò wàng

"If you gain an ability, do not ignore it"

Paar, in my edition of the 千字文, parenthetically notes that the ability (or as he puts it, "capacity") is "for virtue": should you develop the capacity for virtue, don't neglect it. There's nothing in the line that immediately points to "virtue" as an underlying object of discussion, other than that the character most frequently associated with virtue, 德, is pronounced the same way and in the same tone. Not that this would've necessarily been the case when the Thousand Character Classic was assembled, since spoken Chinese has, like all languages, changed a great deal over time; nevertheless, you could replace 得 with 德 in this line and it'd still make sense.

Whether or not one's newly-acquired ability or capacity is for virtue or something else entirely, this is another good bit of practical wisdom that takes little effort—literally—to ignore. How many of us have been told we have a real knack for something, especially something we worked hard to get good at, only to turn our attention elsewhere and let our skills atrophy? 

If you couldn't tell already, I'm pretty much always up for talking shit about Confucian moralizing, and moralizing in general, but I guess I've reached the point in life when watching someone piss away talent, or the stronger points of their character, for no good reason bothers me more than it would have in the past. I still don't think that anyone should be pressured into doing something they don't want to do—just because you're good at, say, painting doesn't mean you're obligated to paint—but it can be a bummer to see potential get squandered, even if it's that person's right to squander it.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 43

知過必改

zhī guò bì gǎi

"If one knows one's errors, one must correct them"

You don't generally see 過 used as "fault" or "error" or "shortcoming" in modern Chinese, where it's typically a marker of a past event, or used in phrases like 過生日, "to celebrate a birthday."

This line offers unquestionably solid advice, and like a lot of good advice, it's easily ignored. All of us are aware of our shortcomings, but it's a lot easier to live with them than to deal with them. 

It's not only a personal admonition; it can be applied to institutions as well. I can imagine civil servants in imperial China referencing this line to comment upon the inefficiencies of a particular department, for example, or chiding subordinates with it (which I guess turns it back into a personal admonition).

You don't even have to go back in history to apply it on a bigger scale. America is fully aware of its errors, yet makes no effort to correct them. It's apparently easier to let kids get murdered than to stop teenagers from buying firearms, or to make cops do something other than stand around and demand respect from civilians. What happened in Uvalde the other day is proof of that. 

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 42

 男效才良

nán xiào cái liáng

"men, imitate the talented and good"


Apologies for my recent lack of writing. Time's been moving strangely, and it feels as if I've got a thousand things on my plate, none of which are getting done. What's even weirder is that when I stop to think about what those things might be, I can't identify a single one. 

Anyway, not a lot to say about this line, other than how it compares against the one before it. Women are supposed to be chaste and virtuous, which is achieved less by what they do than what they don't, whereas men are urged to actively emulate their society's role models. The passive/active dichotomy here could be seen as a reflective of 陰陽 yin and yang, but I don't think that's really the case. This is just women being told to behave one way and men another, and the women get the short end of the stick. Sounds pretty fuckin' familiar, doesn't it?

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 41

女慕貞潔

nǚ mù zhēn jié

"women, cherish your chastity and probity"

Another way of translating this is "women should cherish their chastity and probity," but that doesn't change the fact that here we have another edict of control. Throughout Chinese history, most women (or girls, since the Thousand Character Classic was presumably most often read by children) were not in a position to read this line, so it's primarily meant for boys. (Gotta teach 'em early who stands where in society.) When read alongside the next line, the sexism of this one is even more appalling.

貞潔 these days usually just means "chastity," but I opted for a longer description, because the "chastity and probity" referred to here were often expected of widows, to the degree that the virtuous widow became a cult figure of sorts in later dynasties. I'd like to know how much of this was just an elite thing, or whether it was widespread throughout society.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 40

豈敢毀傷

qǐ gǎn huǐ shāng

"How could one dare to harm it?"

"How dare you do as you see fit with your body? Your parents gave you that flesh! You have to look after it, or you'll be a disgrace to your family." - Confucian strawman, c. 500 CE

My days of heedless self-destruction are pretty much over, and I've come to appreciate the value of taking care of oneself ("take refuge in clean living," as Grails might say, though my living ain't exactly fully clean), but I still think folks have a right to bodily autonomy. This autonomy can manifest in some incredibly selfish or misguided ways that I don't agree with at all—anti-vaxxer bullshit, for example—but when the alternative is letting tradition, gerontocracy, and hollow moralizing dictate terms, I gotta side with allowing people do what they want with their future corpses. Of course, it's not that simple: human beings, while capable of rational behavior that benefits self and other, are not actually all that rational, and make decisions about themselves based on all kinds of faulty premises. Those decisions, regardless of the logic behind them, impact others, and expressions of autonomy (e.g., the aforementioned anti-vax nonsense) wind up fucking over a lot of people.

I'd be more amenable to Confucian arguments about self-care if they weren't oriented towards maintaining a conservative, patriarchal social order. I'm about to start delving into other Chinese philosophical schools, so I hope to encounter something that provides an ethical framework as devoid of supernatural elements as Confucianism, but without the tired-ass hierarchy.

This line is the one I meant when, in the post on line 37, I said the 孝經 Classic of Filial Piety would turn up again.

豈 is a great character that marks a statement as not only rhetorical, but implies that it couldn't be otherwise at all. Whenever I see the character, I can't help but see two distinct elements, 山 and 豆: a mountain atop a bean, or maybe a hill of beans, neither of which is a meaningful reading at all. And that, 看倌, is why I am not a linguist or paleographer, but just some dude who's into classical Chinese.

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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 39

恭惟鞠養

gōng wei jū yǎng

"respect and be considerate of what was raised and nurtured"

In the last post I remarked on reading the Thousand Character Classic as poetry, not because it's a poem per se, but because it's not written in standard prose. It's quite condensed, and pretty much devoid of particles and other grammatical markers that might otherwise help the reader figure out what it's getting at. In a way, it's less of a hassle (I wouldn't say easier, that's for sure), since you don't need to parse lines the same way. Of course, since this is a text designed to teach people how to read 1,000 discrete characters, it wouldn't make sense to include a bunch of duplicate characters—there may be a narrative to parts of the 千字文, but it's not what matters.

This line continues the theme of taking care of oneself out of filial piety: your parents raised you and took care of you, so the right thing to do is to treat your body as a precious gift. Not the worst idea in principle, but it can certainly serve to reinforce the kind of unyielding obedience that I find unappealing.


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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 38

四大五常

sì dà wǔ cháng

"four greats and five constants"


Chinese cosmology typically holds that there are five elements: 水，土，金，木，火 water, earth, metal, wood, and fire. Calling them "elements" is misleading, though, as they're thought of more as processes or phases, not building blocks of the physical universe. The 四大 Four Greats referred to in this line of the Thousand Character Classic are the four elements we typically think of when we hear the term: water, earth, fire, and air. The presence of this concept in China is most likely due the influence of Buddhism.

The 五常 Five Constants can refer to the primary five Confucian virtues: 仁，義，禮，智，信 benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and sincerity, but also the Five Phases (五行) mentioned above. This double reading is undoubtedly intentional, but the line as a whole makes me wonder why there's a reference to an imported cosmological notion in the first place.

Looking back to the previous line, we can read it in conjunction with this one: "Presumably, this body and hair [exists] among the Four Great Elements and Five Constant Virtues [or Five Phases]." Paar pulls that "exists" seemingly out of thin air, but it makes the lines work together. If you were to look at the lines as part of a poem, you could probably drop the connecting phrase in English, but it's hard to argue that it doesn't make it easier to read.


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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 37

蓋此身髮

gài cǐ shēn fà

"Presumably, this body and hair"

This one is cryptic, but thankfully, Francis Paar (the editor of the edition of the 千字文 that I'm consulting) notes that this is a reference to a line from the 孝經 Classic of Filial Piety: 身體髪膚受之父母不敢毀傷 "Body, hair, and skin were received from our father and mother, and we dare not destroy or harm them." This is, I assume, one reason that long hair was prevalent in China for centuries, a style I approve of since I'm a longhair myself, even if the Confucian rationale leaves me cold. This passage from the 孝經 shows up again a few lines later.

蓋 is a strange particle that Kroll says "on the one hand indicates a measure of uncertainty and on the other expresses a measure of confidence in the statement," which is why I followed his lead and used "presumably" in my translation.

The following few lines all work together to form a longer statement, so this one isn't just weird and isolated.


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千字文 / The Thousand Character Classic, part 36

 賴及萬方

lài jí wàn fāng

"Benefits reached all regions"

Another pretty obvious one here: the rulers of old have quite a reach. 萬 means "ten thousand" and is often used to signify a large number of things, hence "all" here.

My copy of the 千字文 says that 賴 is used as an equivalent to 利, which can mean "advantage" or "profit," but Kroll's dictionary has a similar meaning attached to 賴 and doesn't mark it as a substitute character.

The next line gets a little more interesting and ties into what follows it, and both will require more effort than this entry, so I'll write those up soon and post them.


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