Over the weekend I re-read the books of Mencius for my class this week – fortunately in a little cabin by the sea on the west coast of Vancouver Island – a perfect place for quiet meditation and reflection on the words of this fourth century Chinese philosopher. A Confucian thinker, Mencius is considered one of the most important, if only because he greatly elaborated and wrote on the precepts of Confucius and was an advisor to the monarchs of his day.
I’m planning on writing my first term paper on Mencius and others – with specific attention to the prescriptions for living a “good life” that various traditions suggest. WIth Mencius these precepts are somewhat simple to pick out, as his texts are sets of advice and parables recorded as some form of instruction to those rulers to whom he had allegiance – not unlike Machiavelli’s The Prince – which we will be reading later in the course.
Most of my familiarity with Chinese philosophy comes from a brief dalliance with Taoism in my twenties – and while I claim no special insight from that early interest – it is worth noting that Lao Tzu’s writing seem a natural starting place for Mencius both in form and content. While the writings of Mencius are not nearly as poetic as the Tao Te Ching (first published in written form many years after the death of Lao Tzu and Mencius), the style of breaking each teaching into a section or parable is shared between those texts – Mencius being more plain-spoken and thus his message more accessible to the modern reader.
The key theme in Mencius is benevolence in leadership, with all other prescriptions following from there. Mencius’ thoughts on humility, tradition, ancestor-observance, conservation, moderation in lifestyle, natural order, human nature, leadership by example, self-reflection, duty and loyalty are all exposed through the many examples and stories which he draws on – some being merely conversations he is recounting for posterity. His tendency is towards a human nature that has the capacity for extremes (in cruelty, in possession, in carelessness, in acquisition) but has the ability for moderation and dignity in all choices. His arguments for benevolent leadership are based in reason… for a leader who ensures his people are provided for is a true king and by Mencius’ logic, people are controlled more easily by compassion than by cruelty. Not only that, but because enjoyments are better enjoyed in company than by oneself – and selfish pursuits breed resentment, it only makes sense that those who have should share with those who haven’t.
To wit – one of my favourite passages:
King Hsuan of Ch’i asked, ‘Is it true that the park of King Wen was seventy li square?’
‘It is so recorded,’ answered Mencius.
‘Was it really as large as that?’
‘Even so, the people found it small.’
‘My park is only forty li square, and yet the people find it too big. Why is this?
‘True, King Wen’s park was seventy li square, but it was open to woodcutters as well as catchers of pheasants and hares. As he shared it with the people, is it any wonder that they found it small?
‘When I first arrived at the borders of your state, I inquired about the major prohibitions before I dared enter. I was told that within the outskirts of the capital there was a park forty li square in which the killing of a deer was as serious an offence as the killing of a man. This turns the park into a trap forty li square in the midst of the state. Is it any wonder that the people find it too big?’
To Mencius, our human nature – what separates us from the animals – are the four “limbs” of compassion, shame, courtesy and modesty, and an understanding of what is right and wrong. Compassion brings us to benevolence, shame impresses on us our duty, courtesy and modesty show the way to the observance of rites (respect and traditions), and the ability to grasp right and wrong give us wisdom. It is these four foundations on which he counsels the rulers – observing at one point that we can never straighten others by bending ourselves, and again at another that the people are not fooled by unctuous words in the stead of benevolent action.
Humility is another theme to which Mencius frequently returns as part of his teaching that any man has the ability to become a sage – given the right approach to living. It is only through humility that we can be students as often as teachers, and that we do not take liberties above others which we would not taken above us. Because we will be treated in accordance with how we treat others, Mencius counsels that we act out of valour, integrity and generosity – not assuming the motivations of others, and being aware of the consequences before we speak ill of others.
He claims, moreover, that to live without benevolence, wisdom, duty and courtesy is to be a slave (to baser urges? to material possessions?).
Essentially, Mencius provides a straight-forward manual to better living through moderation – stripped of references to love (except as brotherly, or that owed family out of duty), or any of the passions except to deride them. He prescribes an ascetic approach to life as something to be balanced carefully in order to achieve the proper way without unnecessary conflict. The early Taoist concept of Wu Wei (effortless action or action without force – roughly translated) obviously influences the approach of Mencius – – one in which human struggle is minimized and the individual strives to stay on the path that is most naturally before them.
Four years ago today, at 4 pm, I walked into a restaurant in my neighbourhood and met the man who is my match. One year ago today, at 4 pm, I married him at this spot on the west coast of Vancouver Island. Today, at 4 pm, we’re sharing a moment again in this most gorgeous of places – crazy in love, content in companionship, and ready for another year of the beautiful life we have together.
Class discussion about Medea raised some interesting points which hadn’t occurred to me on my first two readings of the text where I focused mainly on gender and the division between revenge and justice. Specifically some inquiries related to place were raised that I thought worth noting for future reference.
Foreign-ness
Something I had given very little thought to when reading the text was the whole notion of “othering” that Medea embodies. Not only is she from “away” (dark, Asian, implied to be from a barbaric place) – but the feeble excuse that Jason uses for his marriage to Glauce is that by marrying Corinth royalty, he will cement a place for himself, his children (and by extension Medea) in a city where they are otherwise foreigners. Medea is driven to murder at the point where the King exiles her – his fear stoked as much by her foreign origins as her threats. Medea, barely settled in a strange land, living on the edge of the city where her husband has abandoned her, is pushed once again into landlessness.
Homelands
And of course, she can’t go home because she has murdered her brother and betrayed her father. More than once Medea reviles Jason for the position he has put her in – barred permanently from the land of her birth, she will never again call a land “home”. In Ancient Greece (and really, many parts of the world today) this would be a truly pitiable state – for we are defined by our people and the customs to which we are born. Not only is Medea feared because she is believed to be a witch, but because her habits come from elsewhere and she has knowledge that the people of Corinth do not (herbal medicines and poisons both demonstrated in the text of the play). In her own land she would be revered as the daughter of royalty, but under the spell of the God Eros she has given it up for Jason. This causes a deep psychic rupture – is it any wonder that she is distraught by it? To lose one’s homeland is to grieve deeply.
Oaths
Much is also made of oaths in the play – that Jason’s punishment is somehow warranted because he has broken an oath to the Gods to stay faithful to Medea. As our prof pointed out – we no longer make oaths when we marry, but contracts – but there are still some times that we do make oaths even in our modern context. What is it that the oath implies? Belonging, essentially. We make an oath to an institution when we wish to be included within it and are willing to adhere to and emulate the collective values of that institution. When Jason breaks his oath, he is rejecting the power and will of the Gods and is in essence suggesting that he sees himself outside or above his culture. This demonstrates profound hubris, and in Greek mythology hubris pretty much always gets punished severely.
The question which I haven’t resolved even now is whether Medea remains a somewhat sympathetic figure even though she commits the most unspeakable crime of our human society – filicide. Jason has left her in an untenable spot: landless, unable to provide for her children, and certain that if she leaves them behind in his care that his new wife will have them dispensed with (see the wicked step-mother plot in one of its earliest incarnations) or else they will be treated cruelly. Does she do them a service to end their potential suffering as landless migrants – the suffering that so enrages her? For as much as Jason believes that her anger is rooted in her sexual passion for him, it is clear in her language that she is experiencing much more profound loss than a husband. Her family, her identity, her homeland all float in the broken oath of Jason – her actions a desperate maneuver even the balance so that she can be released to something greater.
If you’re on my Facebook or Flickr, you’ve already seen this jacket – a hybrid of a bunch of sewing mistakes which started with choosing the most unflattering pattern ever for my figure (Sew Serendipity is an awesome book for learning to sew, but for some reason every jacket/tunic/dress in it has a high waistline which basically cuts my short body in half and makes me look a little rounder than I would like).
Body-image-pattern-issues aside. The green wool (vintage boucle) I got for $6 at an estate sale in August. The silk on the scarf was $5 at Dress-Sew. The brushed cotton plaid was leftover from a plaid-jumper that didn’t work and ended in the scrap pile. Plus two spools of thread = $15.
About half-way through the jacket, I realized how much it wasn’t going to work with front closures. The jacket fits and all, but somehow the fittedness plus the flare partway down only served to accentuate aspects of my body that I don’t like. But even so, I decided to keep on with it because it was really just an experiment in jacket-making and I wanted to see how it would turn out. I really love the fabric and I didn’t want to resign in failure – so I thought perhaps I would just close it at the top with a button or a large pin and be done with it.
But…. without any closures on the front, the jacket looked really plain. The night I finished hemming the sleeves, I wasn’t very happy with my sewing-self and so I decided to work on a scrap-scarf.When I have a sewing fail, I always return to something I know I can do so as just to get right back on the horse. The scarf was devised with ultimate-scrap appeal – the edges of the fabric are joined with a top-stitch, the wool bits were pasted down with a simple zig-zag after being cut fairly randomly to fit on the silk panels….. and I backed the whole thing in chocolate-brown piece of wool from the same estate sale as the boucle. I love these scrap scarves!
And then I had one of those magical, inspirational flashes…. what if I attached the scarf to the jacket and used the scarf instead of a button as a make-shift enclosure around the neck? This would give the neck more of a collar-like importance and add to the overall jacket appeal. I felt super-brilliant for a few minutes as I pinned it on and tried it. With an extra snap added at the top of the jacket for stability – it totally worked! I stitched it on and ended up with this autumn wool jacket/cape/scarf combination that still isn’t overly flattering but it doesn’t matter because wearing it open shows off your actual figure underneath. Brilliant yes? And now I get to move onto something else!