Daoism and Confucianism
© Thomas Hilgers
First Encounter
You are in Asia, visiting someone you met two years ago at a college dance performance. Lin
was an exchange student then, eager to learn about other cultures, and she invited you to visit her
when you could. That time is now. You are staying with her family.
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“I’ll show you one of my favorite places,” Lin says, as you climb into a taxi. She gives the
address to the driver, who knows the place well. You pass along a street bustling with
motorcycles, bicycles, vendors’ wagons, and people jaywalking between cars. After fifteen
perilous minutes, you pull up in front of a building with three wide stairs and high pillars
supporting the roof. The stone columns are carved with writhing dragons. A large metal brazier
is in front of the temple, and from it rises a cloud of incense.
Your friend buys long sticks of incense from a nearby booth and gives some to you.
“Do the same thing I do,” she says.
Lin goes to the brazier, lights the incense, lifts the sticks several times, bows, and places the
sticks into the brazier. Then she helps you do the same. The people around you watch with great
interest. When you are finished, you walk with Lin into the temple.
Just inside the door are two tall, furious-looking golden statues.
“They are guardian gods,” Lin says. “They are keeping out bad people.”
The interior is amazing. It looks like a golden opera theater. At the back of the sanctuary are
several stories of windows with lighted statues inside. More altars are situated against each of the
interior walls. In the center of the room are about a dozen large tables, all loaded with offerings:
oranges, bananas, watermelons, water lilies, chrysanthemums, and much more. “The main god of
this temple is Mazu,” Lin explains. “She was the daughter of a fisherman’s family, and she
helped her father and brothers when they were in danger of drowning. Mazu has been worshiped
for a thousand years. She’s popular in China, Taiwan, Vietnam, and other places. The Daoists
claim her, but so do others, too.”
Lin points out the statues of many other gods, explaining who they are. You stop in front of a
circle, which appears to have two large commas inside.
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“That is the symbol of the Dao, with yin and yang mixing together,” Lin says.
As you walk around, you see a woman throwing what look like two crescents onto the floor.
“She is asking questions,” Lin says, “and the wooden pieces that she is throwing tell her ‘yes’ or
‘no’ or ‘maybe.’”
At last you emerge from the temple and sit together on the stairs in the sunlight. An old lady
comes by, guiding her little grandson who is on a red tricycle. A man close to you is selling
“spirit money”—paper with gold and silver printing—and three women next to him are selling
water lilies from pots, for offering in the temple. Across the street are restaurants, an electronics
store, and a motorcycle-repair shop. The street is noisy. Out here it is just another day.
You wonder, who is Mazu? Who are Daoists? What is the Dao? What are yin and yang? And
why do the Chinese have so many gods?
Basic Elements of Traditional Chinese Beliefs
Confucianism, Daoism (Taoism*), and Buddhism have been collectively called the Three
Doctrines, and together they have had a profound influence on Chinese culture and history.
Buddhism, as we saw in Chapter 4, was an import to China, with roots in Indian belief.
Confucianism and Daoism, on the other hand, sprouted and grew up side by side in the soil of
indigenous Chinese belief (see Figure 6.1). We thus begin our study of these two Chinese
religious systems by considering some of the features of traditional Chinese belief and practice.
Figure 6.1 Daoist and Confucian religious sites.
Early Chinese belief was a blend of several elements. Some of them, such as a belief in spirits,
can be traced back more than three thousand years. The following elements provided a basis for
later developments in Chinese religion and were especially important to the development of
Confucianism and Daoism.
Spirits Early Chinese belief thought of spirits as active in every aspect of nature and the
human world. Good spirits brought health, wealth, long life, and fertility. Bad spirits
caused accidents and disease. Disturbances of nature, such as droughts and earthquakes,
were punishments from spirits for human failings, but harmony could be restored through
rituals and sacrifice.
* Note: As mentioned earlier, the pinyin system of romanizing Chinese words will be
used in this book, with the older Wade-Giles spellings of important names following their
pinyin versions in parentheses. (Pinyin pronunciation is generally similar to English
usage, except that the pronunciation of c is ts, q is ch, and x is sh.) The pinyin spelling of
all Chinese words is used by the United Nations and is becoming standard in the world of
scholarship and art. The older Wade-Giles spelling of Taoism, Tao, and Tao Te Ching are
still common, but they are now being supplanted by Daoism, Dao, and Daodejing (also
spelled Daode jing, Daode Jing, and Dao De Jing).
Tian During the Shang dynasty (c. 1500–c. 1100 BCE) the omnipotent power that was
believed to rule the world was called Shang Di (Shang Ti) and was thought of as a
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personal god, capable of being contacted by diviners. Perhaps Shang Di was the memory
of an ancestor, and the veneration of Shang Di was part of the ancient practice of
honoring ancestors. In the Zhou (Chou) dynasty (c. 1100–256 BCE), a new political
regime—the Zhou kings—ignored the Shang belief and began explaining life in terms of
a different conception, Tian (T’ien), which is usually translated as “Heaven.” It appears
that Tian was envisioned both as an impersonal divine force that controls events on earth
and as a cosmic moral principle that determines right and wrong.
Veneration of ancestors The same cautious reverence that was shown to spirits was also
naturally felt for ancestors. Ancestors at death became spirits who needed to be placated
to ensure their positive influence on living family members. Veneration of ancestors
provided the soil for the growth of Confucianism.
Seeing patterns in nature China’s long and mighty rivers, high mountain chains, distinct
seasons, and frequent floods, droughts, and earthquakes all influenced the Chinese view
of the natural world. To survive, the Chinese people had to learn that while they could not
often control nature, they could learn to work with it when they understood its underlying
patterns. Some of the patterns were quite easy to discern, such as the progression of the
seasons, the paths of the sun and moon, and the cycle of birth and death. Others were
more subtle, like the motion of waves and the ripple of mountain ranges, as well as the
rhythm of the Dao (which we will discuss shortly) and the alternations of yang and yin.
Daoism may be traced back to this concern for finding—and working within—natural
patterns.
Yang and yin After about 1000 BCE the Chinese commonly thought that the universe
expressed itself in opposite but complementary principles: light and dark, day and night,
hot and cold, sky and earth, summer and winter. The list was virtually infinite: male and
female, right and left, front and back, up and down, out and in, sound and silence, birth
and death. It even came to include “strong foods,” such as meat and ginger, and “weak
foods,” such as fish and rice. The names for the two complementary principles are yang
and yin.
Yang and yin, symbolized by a circle of light and dark, represent the complementary but
opposing forces of the universe that generate all forms of reality.
These principles are not the same as good and evil. Yang is not expected to win over the
force of yin, or vice versa; rather, the ideal is a dynamic balance between the forces. In
fact, the emblem of balance is the yin-yang circle, divided into what look like two
intertwined commas. One half is light, representing yang; the other is dark, representing
yin. Inside each division is a small dot of the contrasting color that represents the seed of
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the opposite. The dot suggests that everything contains its opposite and will eventually
become its opposite. Both forces are dynamic and in perfect balance as they change, just
as day and night are in balance as they progress. We can think of yang and yin as
pulsations or waves of energy, like a heartbeat or like breathing in and out.
At the Temple of Heaven, in Beijing, the emperor performed ceremonies to honor Tian
(“Heaven”).
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© Bilderbuch/Design Pics/Corbis
Divination Divination is a system that is used for looking into the future. It was an
integral part of early Chinese tradition. The oldest technique involved the reading of lines
in bones and tortoise shells. Later, an elaborate practice was developed that involves the
Yijing (I Ching), the Book of Changes. It is an ancient book that interprets life through
an analysis of hexagrams. A hexagram is a figure of six horizontal lines. There are two
kinds of lines: divided (yin) and undivided (yang). A hexagram is made of two
trigrams—figures of three lines each.) A hexagram is “constructed” by tossing sticks or
coins and writing down the results, beginning with the bottom line. Thus sixty-four
different hexagrams are possible. The hexagrams are thought to represent patterns that
can develop in one’s life, and the Yijing gives an interpretation of each hexagram. With
the help of the Yijing, a person can interpret a hexagram as an aid in making decisions
about the future.
This hexagram for “contemplation” is made from two trigrams. The lower trigram means
“earth,” and the upper trigram means “wind.”
We now turn to two great systems of Chinese religious thought, Daoism and Confucianism,
which many consider to be complementary traditions. Daoism is often thought to emphasize the
yin aspects of reality and Confucianism the yang. Together they form a unity of opposites.
Although we’ll discuss these systems separately, one before the other, separate treatment is
something of a fiction. The two systems grew up together and actually, as they developed, helped
generate each other. We must keep this in mind as we study them.
Daoism
Because it incorporated some of the previously mentioned elements and many others from
traditional Chinese belief and practice, Daoism is really like a shopping cart filled with a variety
of items: observations about nature, philosophical insights, guidelines for living, exercises for
health, rituals of protection, and practices for attaining longevity and inner purity. We should
note, however, that Daoism and Chinese folk religion are not exactly the same thing, although
the terms are often used interchangeably, and in some cases the border between the two is not
clear.
Daoism includes ideas and practices from the earliest phases, represented in the Daodejing and
Zhuangzi (Daoist scriptures, which we’ll discuss shortly), as well as innumerable later
developments. It was once common to make a distinction between the earliest phase, which was
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praised for its philosophy, and later ritualistic and religious development, which was less
appreciated. But scholars in recent decades have given great attention to a host of Daoist topics:
liturgy, lineages of masters, religious communities, monasticism, deities, prayers, art, clothing,
and even dance. Scholars see these developments as a part of the organic growth of the early
insights. While continuing to value the ideas espoused in the early documents, scholars today
point out that the “real” Daoism is the entire spectrum of development, from the earliest ideas to
contemporary practices.
The Origins of Daoism
The origins of Daoism, quite appropriately, are mysterious. Its earliest documents contain many
threads—shamanism, appreciation for the hermit’s life, desire for unity with nature, and a
fascination with health, long life, breathing, meditation, and trance. These many threads point to
a multiplicity of possible sources, which seem to have coalesced to produce the movement.
Laozi (Lao Tzu)
Every movement needs a founder, and Daoists trace themselves back to a legendary figure
named Laozi (Lao Tzu), whose name means “old master” or “old child.” Whether Laozi ever
existed is unknown. He may have been a real person, the blending of historical information about
several figures, or a mythic creation.
In the traditional story, Laozi’s birth (c. 600 BCE; Timeline 6.1, p. 212) resulted from a virginal
conception. According to legend, the child was born old—hence the name “old child.” Laozi
became a state archivist, or librarian, in the royal city of Loyang for many years. (Legendary
stories also relate how Confucius came to discuss philosophy with the old man.) Eventually
tiring of his job, Laozi left his post and, carried by an ox, traveled to the far west of China. At the
western border, Laozi was recognized as an esteemed scholar and prohibited from crossing until
he had written down his teachings. The result was the Daodejing, a short book of about five
thousand Chinese characters. After Laozi was finished, he left China, traveling westward. Later
stories about Laozi continued to elaborate his myth. He was said to have taken his teachings to
India, later returned to China, and ascended into the sky. He was soon treated as a deity, the
human incarnation of the Dao. In this capacity he came to be called Lord Lao. Many stories were
told of his apparitions. He continues to be worshiped as divine by many Daoists.
The Daodejing
The Daodejing (Tao Te Ching) is generally seen as one of the world’s greatest books. It is also
the great classic of Daoism, accepted by most Daoists as a central scripture. Its title can be
translated as “the classical book about the Way and its power.” Sometimes the book is also
called the Laozi (Lao Tzu), after its legendary author. Possibly because of its brevity and
succinctness, it has had an enormous influence on Chinese culture.
The book has been linguistically dated to about 350 BCE, but it seems to have circulated in
several earlier forms. In 1972, at the tombs of Mawangdui, archeologists discovered two ancient
copies of the text that differ from the arrangement commonly used. Another shorter ancient
version was found in a tomb at Guodian in 1993. It contains about one-third of the standard text. 1
The version that is commonly known and used is from the third century CE.
In the eighty-one chapters of the Daodejing, we recognize passages that seem to involve early
shamanistic elements, such as reaching trance states and attaining invulnerability (see chapters 1,
16, 50, and 55). The book shows some repetition, has no clear order, and exhibits a deliberate
lack of clarity. In form, each chapter is more poetry than prose. This combination of elements
suggests that the book is not the work of a single author but is rather the assembled work of
many people, gathered over time. It may be a collection of what were once oral proverbs and
sayings.
TimeLine 6.1
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Timeline of significant events in the history of Daoism and Confucianism.
What was the original purpose of the book? One theory holds that its overall purpose was
political, that it was meant as a handbook for rulers; another sees it primarily as a religious
guidebook, meant to lead adherents to spiritual insight; and still another views it as a practical
guide for living in harmony with the universe. It is possible that the Daodejing fulfilled all these
purposes and that its passages can have several meanings at the same time. Part of the genius of
the book is its brevity and use of paradox: its meaning depends on who is interpreting it.
Throughout the Daodejing are references to the Dao. The book speaks of its nature and
operation; it describes the manner in which people will live if they are in harmony with the Dao;
and it gives suggestions for experiencing the Dao. The book also provides images to help
describe all of these things. What, though, is “the Dao”?
The Daodejing begins famously by saying that the Dao is beyond any description. It states that
the Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao. In other words, we cannot really put into
words exactly what the Dao is—a fact that is ironic because the book itself uses words. Yet the
book goes on to tell us that the Dao is “nameless”; that is, it is not any individual thing that has a
name, such as a door, a tree, a bird, a person. The Dao cannot be named because it has no form.
But the Dao can be experienced and followed by every individual thing that has a name. The
Daodejing says the Dao is the origin of everything and that all individual things are
“manifestations” of the Dao.
Although the Dao is the origin of nature, it is not “God,” because it does not have personality. It
neither cares about human beings nor dislikes them—it only produces them, along with the rest
of nature. Because the Dao makes nature move the way it does, it can be called the way or the
rhythm of nature.
To experience the Dao, we must leave behind our desires for individual things, a concept that
runs counter to everyday concerns—how much something costs, what time it is now, whether
something is big or small. In fact, the Daoist way of seeing things is so odd to some people that
at first it seems like trying to see in the dark, as the end of the first chapter of the Daodejing
describes:
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery.
The Daoist sees things differently. To illustrate, there is an intriguing example in the twentieth
chapter of the Daodejing: A Daoist is observing a group of people who are in a park, celebrating
a holiday. They all seem happy as they climb up to the top of a terrace where a ceremony will
occur. They appear to know what they are doing and where they are going. Not the Daoist,
though, who feels “formless” and “like the ocean”—adrift. 2 The Daoist is troubled by the
contrast. The others seem happy and sure of themselves, but the Daoist can only watch, and feels
strangely like an outsider. Then the chapter ends with a sudden, extraordinary affirmation. The
Daoist recognizes something intensely personal and difficult but willingly accepts the sense of
separateness from the others and from their conventional way of seeing things. The Daoist
accepts, and concludes,
Laozi, the “father of Daoism,” is here portrayed riding on an ox.
© Burstein Collection/Corbis
I am different.
I am nourished by the great mother.
Thus, the Dao cannot be “known” in the same way that we see a car or hear a sound, for
example. It cannot be perceived directly but rather by intuition. Perhaps it is like the difference
between only hearing musical sounds and recognizing a song.
The Daodejing presents several powerful images wherein the Dao seems most active and visible.
Contemplating them can help us experience the Dao, and by taking on some of the qualities of
these images, we begin to live in harmony with the Dao that inhabits them. Several common
images follow:
Water Water is gentle, ordinary, and lowly, but strong and necessary. It flows around
every obstacle. Chapter eight of the Daodejing praises it: “The highest good is like
water.” 3 It assists all things “and does not compete with them.”
4
Woman The female is sensitive, receptive, yet effective and powerful.
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Child The child is full of energy, wonder, and naturalness.
Valley The valley is yin, and it is mystery.
Darkness Darkness can be safe, full of silence and possibility.
Deeper Insights: The Seasons of Life
A famous story illustrates what it means to live in harmony with nature: Upon hearing of the
death of Zhuangzi’s wife, a friend, Huizi (Hui Tzu), goes to offer sympathy. Although he expects
to find Zhuangzi crying and in ritual mourning, Huizi finds Zhuangzi instead singing and
drumming on a bowl. Huizi is shocked—and says so. Responding in a thoughtful way, Zhuangzi
says that at first his wife’s death saddened him terribly, but then he reflected on the whole cycle
of her existence. Before his wife was a human being, she was without shape or life, and her
original self was a part of the formless substance of the universe. Then she became a human
being. “Now there’s been another change, and she’s dead. It’s just like the progression of the
four seasons, spring, summer, fall, winter.” 5 When winter comes, we do not mourn. That would
be ungrateful. Similarly, a human being goes through seasons. Zhuangzi describes his wife as
now being like someone asleep in a vast room. “If I were to follow after her bawling and
sobbing, it would show that I don’t know anything about fate. So I stopped.” 6
In this story, note that Zhuangzi is singing and playing on a bowl. Rather than mourn passively,
he does something to counteract his sorrow. His singing is a profound human response, quite
believable. And Zhuangzi does not say that as a result of his insight he no longer feels sad.
Rather, he says that as far as mourning is concerned, “I stopped.” In other words, despite his
feelings, he deliberately behaves in a way that seems more grateful to the universe and therefore
more appropriate than mourning.
This tale suggests that to live in harmony with nature means to accept all its transformations. The
great Dao produces both yang and yin, which alternate perpetually. The story says that yin and
yang are our parents and we must obey them. If we cannot embrace the changes, we should at
least observe them with an accepting heart.
Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu)
Daoism was enriched by the work of Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu), who was active about 300 BCE.
What we know of him comes from the writings he left behind. His personality seems playful,
independent, and in love with the fantastic. The book of his writings, called the Zhuangzi
(Chuang Tzu), is composed of seven “inner chapters,” which are thought to be by the author
himself, and twenty-six “outer chapters,” whose authorship is less certain.
The Zhuangzi, unlike the poetry of the Daodejing, contains many whimsical stories. It continues
the themes of early Daoist thought, such as the need for harmony with nature, the movement of
the Dao in all that happens, and the pleasure that we can gain from simplicity. It underscores the
inevitability of change and the relativity of all human judgments. It also adds to Daoism an
appreciation for humor—something that is quite rare in the scriptures of the world.
Perhaps the most famous of all the stories in the book tells of Zhuangzi’s dream of being a
butterfly. In his dream he was flying around and enjoying life, but he did not know that he was
Zhuangzi. When he woke up he was struck by a question: Am I a person dreaming that I am a
butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a person? This story hints that the boundary
between reality and the imaginary is not really as clear as we might think.
Another story makes fun of people’s judgments and the arbitrariness of their joy and anger. A
trainer gave his monkeys three acorns in the morning and four at night. When the monkeys
conveyed their dissatisfaction with receiving too few acorns in the morning, the trainer obliged,
giving them four acorns in the morning and three at night. As a result, “the monkeys were all
delighted.” 7
The Zhuangzi rejects every barrier, including that between the ordinary and the fantastic,
between the normal and the paranormal, as hinted by the story of the butterfly dream. But the
love of the marvelous really shows itself best in some stories that talk of the supernatural powers
that a wise person can attain. The Zhuangzi tells of an exceptional person who could tell
everything about one’s past and future, another who could ride on the wind, and another who
was invulnerable to heat or pain. The Zhuangzi thus elaborates the potential results of being one
with the Dao.
Basic Early TEACHINGS
The main teachings of the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi can be summarized as follows:
Dao This is the name for whatever mysterious reality makes nature to be what it is and to
act the way it does. The Chinese character for Dao is commonly translated as “way,” but
it has also been translated as “existence,” “pattern,” and “process.” Primarily, the Dao is
the way that nature expresses itself—the natural way. Human beings can unite
themselves with the Dao in the way they live.
Wu wei: the ideal of effortlessness To have stern commandments would go against the
nature of Daoism; but it does offer recommendations about how to live—
recommendations that do not come from a divine voice but from nature, the model of
balance and harmony. The recommendation most often mentioned in the Daodejing is wu
wei, which literally means “no action.” Perhaps a better translation is “no strain” or
“effortlessness.” The ideal implies the avoidance of unnecessary action or action that is
not spontaneous. If we look at nature, we notice that many things happen quietly,
effortlessly: plants grow, birds and animals are born, and nature repairs itself after a
storm. Nature works to accomplish only what is necessary, but no more. Consider the
plain strength of the ordinary bird nest. Birds build homes according to their needs, and
what they make is simple and beautiful; they don’t require circular driveways, pillars, or
marbled entryways. The ideal of “no strain” is the antithesis of all those sweat-loving
mottoes such as “No pain, no gain” and “Onward and upward.”
The boatman who goes with the river’s flow is an example of wu wei in practice.
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Simplicity Daoism has often urged its followers to eliminate whatever is unnecessary and
artificial and to appreciate the simple and the apparently ordinary. In this regard, Daoists
have tended to distrust any highly formal education, owing to its inherent complexity and
artificiality. (This was one of their major complaints against the Confucians, who put so
much trust in education.) In a passage that has delighted students for centuries, the
Daodejing in the twentieth chapter states its opinion: “Give up learning, and put an end to
your troubles.”
Gentleness Because Daoists pursue the gentle way, they hate weapons and war. The wise
person loves peace and restraint and avoids all unnecessary violence. The wise person
“does not regard weapons as lovely things. For to think them lovely means to delight in
them, and to delight in them means to delight in the slaughter of men.” 8
Relativity People see things from a limited point of view that is based on their own
concerns. They see things in terms of divisions: I-you, good-bad, expensive-cheap,
valuable-worthless, beautiful-ugly, and so forth. Daoists believe that it is necessary to
attain a vision of things that goes beyond these apparent opposites.
Daoism and the Quest for Longevity
Daoism has absorbed many practices that are thought to bring a person into union with the Dao.
These practices help the person feel the flow of nature, attain spiritual purity, and live a long life.
To use the word yoga to describe Daoist exercises could be misleading, because yoga is a
Sanskrit word. But this word is useful for conveying to nonspecialists the physical aspect of
Daoism. The canon of Daoist literature includes recommendations for many types of arm and
body movements, breathing regulation, diet, and massage. Today, several popular physical
disciplines continue this interest. Most influential is taiji (t’ai chi), a series of slow arm and leg
motions thought to aid balance and circulation. An astounding sight in the early morning in
China is to see hundreds of people doing taiji exercises in the parks. The spectacle looks like
ballet in graceful slow motion.
One “yogic” practice is called internal alchemy. It aims at transforming and spiritualizing the life
force (qi, ch’i) of the practitioner. Some later forms of internal alchemy teach exercises that
move the life force from its origin at the base of the spine upward to the head. From there it
circles back, via the heart, to its origin. This movement is accomplished through certain postures,
muscular exercises, and practices of mental imagery. Some Daoists have held that these
techniques of internal alchemy can create an entity—the “immortal embryo”—that can survive
the death of the body.
In ancient China, some people experimented with physical alchemy, hoping to create an elixir
that could extend life and even make a person immortal. Because gold did not rust, individuals
attempted to make gold either into a drinkable liquid or into a vessel from which an elixir could
be drunk. Jade, pearl, mother-of-pearl, and compounds of mercury were also utilized. Some
people undoubtedly died as a result of these experiments. When there seemed to be little success
in this direction, the alchemical search became a metaphor for the development of the type of
internal alchemy just described. In Chinese culture there remains, however, a great interest in
pills, foods, and medicines that are believed to prolong life. Some of these (such as ginseng,
garlic, and ginger) seem to have genuine medical benefits.
The Development of Daoism
Early Daoism was not an “organized religion.” Many of its earliest practitioners lived alone, as
some still do today. The reclusive lifestyle of the hermit dates back to ancient China, and some
chapters of the Daodejing may have emerged from that way of life.
As time went on, however, the movement took on many organized forms. Elements of Daoism
appealed to individuals and groups interested in achieving a variety of goals. Among their aims
were longevity, supernatural abilities, control over disease, social reform, political control, and
spiritual insight. Because of the wide-ranging interests within Daoism and its capacity to easily
form new groups, there emerged over centuries a multitude of sects, branches, and religious
communities. Their power waxed and waned, depending on their ability to maintain themselves
and on the interest of current rulers. (For example, Daoism reached perhaps its lowest point of
influence in 1281, when the emperor commanded that Daoist books be burned.) Among the
many organizations that developed, two proved to be particularly long-lived and influential. Both
still exist today.
One is an ancient organization called the Way of the Heavenly Masters (or Celestial Masters;
Tianshi, T’ien-shih). The organization traces itself back to a second-century teacher, Zhang
Daoling (Chang Tao-ling), who was believed to have had visions of Laozi. Zhang Daoling is
thought to have developed an organization that helped Daoism survive into the present. Control
of the organization is based on a hereditary model, with power usually passing from father to son
to grandson. The heads of the organization have the title of Heavenly Masters. The organization
set up a system of parishes. It is strong in Taiwan and has come to life again, after severe
repression by the Communist government, on the mainland.
The second persistent form of organized Daoism involved monasteries and related groups of
celibate monks and nuns. Although this form of Daoism was also suppressed in the early days of
the Communist government, it has resumed in mainland China, though under careful
governmental control. This monastic order is known as the Way of Complete Perfection
(Quanshen, Ch’üan-chen). It deliberately has blended elements of Daoism, Buddhism, and
Confucianism. Its principal prayer book was reprinted in 2000. Morning and evening services
that make use of the prayer book may be attended at many of its monasteries—most notably at
the White Cloud Monastery (Baiyunguan) in Beijing.
At the end of a family’s annual ceremony to honor its ancestors, red-robed Daoist priests conduct
participants to the offering table. Venerating one’s ancestors is a key element of Chinese
religions.
© Thomas Hilgers
One of the stimuli that influenced Daoism to take an organizational path was Buddhism, which
entered China in the first century CE. Buddhism was brought by a monastic clergy who set up
monasteries and temples that had impressive rites. Daoism followed these models in its own
development. By the fifth century CE, Daoism had grown into an organization with significant
political influence.
Daoism also imitated Buddhism in its production of a vast number of sacred books with wide-
ranging topics: guidebooks on meditation, breathing exercises, and sexual yoga; stories of
wonderworkers and of ecstatic excursions made to the stars; recipes for longevity and magical
powers; manuals of alchemy; and descriptions of ritual. A small sample of titles conveys the
flavor of Daoism: Scripture of Wondrous Beginning, Scripture of Great Simplicity, Like unto a
Dragon, Wondrous Scripture of Inner Daily Practice, Pillowbook Scripture, Biographies of Spirit
Immortals, The Yellow Court Scripture, and Scripture on Going beyond the World. A collection
of more than a thousand authoritative books was gathered and makes up the Daoist canon
(Daozang, Tao Tsang). A major edition of the canon was published in 1445, but supplements
continued to be added later.
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In Chinese temples, it is not unusual to encounter entranced shamans and their followers. Some
temples try to keep shamans away with warning signs.
© Thomas Hilgers
Daoism developed a pantheon of hundreds of deities. Some are powers of the universe; others
are people who became immortal; others are ancestral spirits. The deities include Laozi, spirits of
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nature, protective household gods, deified historical figures, and many others. Most important
are the Three Purities (Sanjing, San Ching). These constitute a Daoist trinity (probably modeled
on the Buddhist notion of the three bodies of the Buddha). The first of the Three Purities is the
primordial Dao; the second, a deity responsible for transmission of Daoist insight, is called the
Heavenly Worthy of Numinous Treasure; and the third is the deified Laozi, whose image may be
recognized by its white hair. Several female deities are important. Among them are Mother Li,
the mother of Lord Lao; Mazu (mentioned earlier), a deified girl who has become the patroness
of fishermen; Doumu, a star deity called Mother of the Big Dipper; and the Queen Mother of the
West, who is a mother figure responsible for all the immortals. The Jade Emperor, an ancient
legendary figure, is thought of as an emperor who rules heaven and earth and who judges
people’s deeds at the end of each year.
Other commonly worshiped gods are household gods, such as the gods of the hearth and the
doorway, and gods of the sky, earth, water, and town. Worship is also given to regional deities
and to the spirits of ancestors. Daoist temples represent many of these gods with statues and
paintings, and offerings of food, water, and incense are regularly placed in front of the images.
Daoism is strong in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and in overseas Chinese communities, such as in
Malaysia and Singapore. After initially being repressed by the Communist Party, Daoism is
experiencing a resurgence on the mainland. A large statue of Laozi was erected in 1999 in
southeastern China, and pilgrims from Taiwan and elsewhere routinely travel to the mainland to
honor the goddess Mazu at her pilgrimage site, Meizhou Island in southeast China.
Deeper Insights: The Chinese Garden—Bridge to the Infinite
The philosopher Wing-Tsit Chan has written of the semireligious role that a Chinese garden can
play:
Nature is never looked upon by the Chinese as chaotic or disorganized. Heaven and earth
co-exist in harmony, and the four seasons run their course regularly.... This harmony of
man and nature in the flow of the great stream of rhythm makes the Chinese garden more
than something merely secular. It is true that no one would look upon the Chinese garden
as a religious structure.... But in spite of all this, we cannot deny the fact that the garden
is regarded as an ideal place for meditation. Meditation may be purely moral, an effort at
self-introspection. Intense and sincere meditation, however, inevitably leads to the
absorption in the Infinite. 9
Because of government support on the mainland for Complete Perfection Daoism, many of its
temples and monasteries are being rebuilt, particularly in traditional mountain locations.
Heavenly Master Daoism is also growing on the mainland. It was never suppressed in Taiwan
and is the major form of ritualized village Daoism. Its clergy do ministerial work, attending to
the needs of the public. Exorcists, who are often identified by their red hats or scarves, work to
heal and restore harmony. Priests, identified by their black caps, primarily perform blessings,
funerals, and other rites.
Daoist practices and beliefs are kept alive not only by Daoists but also by the Chinese tendency
to blend beliefs of several systems. It is common, for example, to find Daoist images in Buddhist
temples. In the mind of most Chinese, there need be no argument. In ordinary practice, elements
from Daoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism are combined. The three religions are mutually
supportive—as their members have generally agreed.
Daoism and the Arts
It is possible to see Daoist influences in many Chinese art forms, although the extent of the
influence is impossible to determine with precision. Paintings of Laozi riding on an ox are clear
examples of Daoist influence, as are references to Zhuangzi in poetry, but beyond that it is
perhaps more accurate to say that poetry and the arts share many of the same concerns of Daoist
thought—just as they do of Chinese Buddhist and Confucian thought.
As we know, the immensity, flow, and mystery of nature are common themes in the Daodejing,
and some of the book’s most important images are flowing water, the valley, and the uncarved
block of stone. These themes and images are abundant in Chinese painting.
In Chinese nature painting, perspective is important. Images drawn from nature are often
presented either very close up or at a great distance. Paintings of a bird or a stalk of bamboo seen
close-up help the viewer see the mysterious energy at work in these nonhuman forms of life: a
bird perches in a certain way on a branch, and a stalk of bamboo emerges in its own special way
into the sunshine. These paintings make us look more closely at the humbler elements of
nature—cats, rabbits, birds, deer—and recognize that they, too, have their own interests and
patterns of living and that our human patterns are only a small part of the much wider repertory
of nature.
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This scroll, though painted in Hangzhou in 1953, includes many classic elements of Daoist
painting—mountains, bamboo groves, streams, and waterfalls. As its inscription suggests, the
scroll expresses the notion that mountains and clouds bring perfection.
© Thomas Hilgers
Chinese gardens unite natural and constructed elements to produce a sense of harmony between
human beings and nature.
© Thomas Hilgers
The garden is more than the supplement to the house. It fulfills a higher function of life, the
function that only art can fulfill.
Wing-Tsit Chan 10
The great genius of Chinese nature painting is particularly evident in the paintings of landscapes
seen at a distance. These paintings often depict hints of mountains far away and, beyond them,
infinite space. Some portray a person gazing far into the distance, even beyond the painting
itself. What we most notice in these works is the fascinating use of empty space. Some of the
paintings are almost half empty, but they do not feel unfinished, as if something were missing.
Ma Yuan (c. 1160–c. 1225) was a master of this effect. In his painting entitled A Scholar and His
Servant on a Terrace, a gentleman looks out past pine branches into the distance; the upper left
half of the painting, in the direction of the man’s gaze, is entirely empty. In his painting Walking
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on a Mountain Path in Spring, a man strolls into an emptiness—virtually the entire right side of
the painting—inhabited only by one small bird. The space of the paintings is the positive
emptiness to which the Daodejing draws our attention.
Chinese poetry frequently praises themes also found in the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi: the joy
of life in the countryside, away from the complications of the city; the change of seasons;
simplicity; and harmony with nature. The poet who is often praised for his fine expression of
Daoist ideals was Li Bai (also spelled Li Bo and Li Po). He lived during the Tang dynasty and
died about 762 CE. Little is known about his life, but his death is famous. According to tradition,
he died as the result of a poetic accident. Sitting drunk in a boat one night, Li Bai reached out to
embrace the moon’s reflection on the water, but he fell in and disappeared beneath the surface.
One of his poems is about Zhuangzi’s dream of being a butterfly. Another is about Li Bai’s being
so absorbed in nature that he did not notice dusk coming on; when he stood up at last, flower
petals fell off his clothes. His poems are so highly regarded that they have been memorized and
recited by the Chinese for centuries to express their own deepest feelings.
The serpentine form pictured here is a classical Chinese “poetry stream.” Wine-sipping
gentlemen challenged one another to compose a complete poem in the time it took a wine cup to
float from the beginning of the stream to its end.
© Thomas Hilgers
Chinese garden design is an art form that complements and completes Chinese architecture. The
house is yang, the realm of the square and the straight line; the garden is yin, the realm of the
circle and the curve. Inside is family harmony; outside is harmony with nature. One realm
supports the other. Chinese garden design differs from that of common Western design. Instead
of straight lines and symmetry, walkways meander, and bridges may zigzag. Gates, in imitation
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of the moon, may be round. And water moves in its natural manner—that is, not upward, as in a
fountain, but only gently down.
The rooflines of this temple in Southeast Asia reflect Chinese traditions.
© Thomas Hilgers
Daoism and the Modern World
Daoism may be expected to regain much of its earlier standing. Because it has never been
suppressed in Taiwan, Hong Kong, or overseas communities of Chinese, it will remain strong
there, and its only challenge will come from the secularizing forces of the contemporary world.
On the Chinese mainland, as we have seen, there are many indications of a revival. In mainland
China, Daoist temples are being rebuilt, often with financial aid from abroad, and Daoist temples
may now be found at many traditional mountain sites, in urban locations, and in villages. Daoist
pilgrimage seems to be reviving—particularly in southeastern China, probably because of its
geographical proximity to travelers from Taiwan.
As scholars increasingly bring attention to Daoism, the presence of female imagery and themes
is becoming more widely known. The Daodejing speaks of the value of nurturing and the role of
the mother, calling the Dao “the mother of all things.” Several major deities are female, as noted
above. Historians have also come to realize the role that historical women have played in
Daoism. Women have become Daoist nuns, teachers, and matriarchs. Women have also become
Daoist priests. And many of the important symbols of Daoism are suggestive of the female,
including the cave, the valley, flowing water, and the flaming pearl. These continue to influence
the world of architecture and art.
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In world culture, Daoist ideas such as those found in the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi continue to
spread their influence. (After the Bible, the Daodejing is the world’s most frequently translated
book.) Daoist art and ritual are gaining increased attention as a result of recent museum
exhibitions, particularly through the work of the Art Institute of Chicago and the Asian Art
Museum of San Francisco. And contemporary scholars of Daoism, by shedding light on actual
Daoist practice, are introducing Daoism to a wider public.
Deeper Insights: Daoism and Nature
Daoism seems to have begun as part of early Chinese attempts to understand the movements of
nature. Over the many centuries of its existence, Daoism has created a body of literature,
complex ritual, and a well-developed way of looking at the world. At the heart of all these lies
appreciation for the forces of yin and yang, which are constantly active in the workings of
seasonal change, planting and harvesting, and all forms of life.
Daoism encourages human understanding of nature’s movement, so that there can be harmony
between human beings and the rest of nature. Daoism encourages human beings to be simple and
egoless. It promotes health through meditation, exercise, contemplation of nature, and living in a
harmonious environment.
A Daoist statement of religious belief, made by the Chinese Daoist Association, summarizes
these ideals. It points out that the Daodejing states that Heaven follows the Dao and the Dao
follows what is natural (chapter 25). Therefore, human beings, who must follow the way of
nature, must value the earth.
We can see how Daoist ideals match well with those of the environmental movement, which also
recommends human restraint, harmony, and care for the natural world. But Daoists have begun
practical steps to express their ideals. At Taibaishan, for example, they have created the first
temple of ecology. There they hold workshops to promote their vision. A group called the
Temple Alliance on Ecology Education has helped create the Qinling Declaration. Members who
sign the statement promise to use their temples for ecological education, farm their lands
sustainably, protect water resources, protect species, and care for forests.
Confucianism
Daoism, as we just saw, seeks to bring human beings into union with the Dao, particularly
through imitating certain qualities in nature—its harmony, lack of strain, and flowing mystery.
The complex of ideals and beliefs that helped give shape to Laozi’s teachings also influenced
Confucius, the major teacher of the second great Chinese school of thought. Thus, it is not
surprising to find Confucianism as concerned with the Dao as Daoism is; as one Confucian
classic says, “He is the sage who naturally and easily embodies the right way.” 11
This “way” is
the cosmic Dao that permeates the entire universe—the Dao that we see in the everyday life of
the noble person also “in its utmost reaches... shines brightly through heaven and earth.” 12
The Dao in Confucianism
There is a difference, however, between Daoist and Confucian notions of the Dao. For
Confucians, the Dao of primary interest is the Dao within the human world, manifested in “right”
relationships and in a harmonious society. It was social harmony that Confucius described when
he listed his particular wishes: “[In] regard to the aged, to give them rest; in regard to friends, to
show them sincerity; in regard to the young, to treat them tenderly.” 13
The Master said, “At fifteen, I had my mind bent on learning. At thirty, I stood firm. At forty, I
had no doubts. At fifty, I knew the decrees of Heaven. At sixty, my ear was an obedient organ
for the reception of truth. At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired, without transgressing
what was right.”
from the Confucian Analects 14
In Daoism, everything is a part of the rhythm of nature—the Dao. In Confucianism, however,
although birds and clouds and trees are what they should be, human beings do not automatically
become what they should be. The sweet, spontaneous infant can quickly turn into the selfish
child. The Confucian would say that training in virtue is necessary in order to enable the Dao to
manifest itself clearly in the human being.
The Doctrine of the Mean, an important Confucian text (discussed later in this chapter),
recommends several types of training, including training in the cultivation of personal
equilibrium and harmony. We should recall that the Daoist ideal of the Daodejing warns against
such “training,” feeling that formal education has a potential for distorting one’s originally pure
state. Confucians, however, hold that the best training does not contaminate character but, by
cultivating virtues, gives it definition and clarity.
The Life of Confucius
Confucius was born about 551 BCE, at a time when China was not a single empire but a group of
small kingdoms. His name was Kong Qiu (K’ung Ch’iu). He later became known by the title of
Kong Fuzi (K’ung Fu Tzu), meaning “Master Kong,” but he is known in the West by the Latin
version of his name, which was created and spread by European Catholic missionaries.
Tradition relates that Confucius was from a once-noble family that had fled at a time of political
danger to the state of Lu (south of present-day Beijing). His father died when Confucius was a
child, and despite their poverty, his mother raised him as an educated gentleman. He enjoyed
chariot riding, archery, and playing the lute. In his teens, he became seriously interested in
pursuing scholarship. He is said to have held a minor government post as tax collector, probably
to support his mother and his studies. His mother died when he was in his late teens, and he
entered into a state of mourning. When the period of mourning was over, he began his public life
as a teacher.
Images of Confucius are found in many Chinese temples throughout Southeast Asia.
© Thomas Hilgers
Despite his eventual success as a teacher, Confucius had always wanted to play an influential
part in government, and it is possible that for a time (c. 500–496 BCE) he became a government
minister. Confucius married and is believed to have had a son and a daughter. He lived for about
fifteen years outside of his home state but eventually returned to Lu to take a somewhat
ceremonial post as senior advisor. He died about 479 BCE.
Living According to Confucian Values
The period in which Confucius was born was a time of social turmoil because of the
disintegration of the feudal system. Seeing families and individuals suffering from the social
disorder, Confucius concluded that society would function properly only if virtues were taught
and lived.
The ideals of Confucius were two: he wanted to produce “excellent” individuals who could be
social leaders, and he wanted to create a harmonious society. He believed that these ideals were
complementary: excellent individuals would keep society harmonious, and a harmonious society
would nurture excellent individuals.
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Confucius believed that each human being is capable of being good, refined, and even great; but
he differed from the Daoists because he was convinced that a human being cannot achieve those
qualities in isolation. In his view, a human being becomes a full person only through the
contributions of other people and through fulfilling one’s obligations to them. These other people
include parents, teachers, friends, aunts and uncles, grandparents, ancestors, and even
government ministers.
Twice yearly during the spring and autumn equinoxes, South Korea hosts a solemn ceremony to
honor the Chinese philosopher Confucius and other eminent Confucian scholars of China and
Korea.
© Nayan Sthankiya/Corbis
Confucius also believed that more than social interaction (which even animals have) is needed to
achieve personal excellence. For Confucius, that “more” is what makes ordinary human beings
into excellent human beings, “superior persons.” What constitutes that “more”? What are the
sources of human excellence?
Deeper Insights: The Ideal Human Being
Confucianism is often thought of as a system for the regulation of social groups. Yet
Confucianism is also a system for the transformation of the individual. Under-girding
Confucianism is not just the ideal of an orderly society but also the ideal of a perfect human
being.
This perfect person is the junzi (chün tzu)—a term usually translated as “superior person,”
although a better translation may be “noble person.” The following quotations give a sense of the
virtue that guides the junzi—the person who shows humanity at its best. In such a noble human
being the Confucian ideals have been inculcated since childhood, and the virtues have been
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practiced for so long that the whole Confucian manner of relating to the world has become
completely natural. The “noble person,” as Alfred Bloom nicely describes, is
distinguished by his faithfulness, diligence, and modesty. He neither overpowers with his
knowledge, nor is afraid to admit error. He looks at all sides of any issue, is cautious and
not concerned for personal recognition. Carrying himself with dignity, he appears
imperturbable, resolute, and simple. He is exemplary in filial piety and generous with his
kin. In his relations with others he looks for good points, though he is not uncritical. As a
leader, he knows how to delegate responsibility and when to pardon or promote. He is
sensitive to the feelings and expressions of others. 15
A subtle portrait of such a person is given by George Kates, who describes the man who became
his personal tutor in China. Kates writes about the civilized manner that manifested itself in all
his tutor’s actions, even in the cultivated way the tutor entered a room and sat in a chair. The
tutor, Mr. Wang,
had contrived to make his humdrum life, composed of a daily routine of monotonous
teaching and domestic privation, symmetrical and reasonable indeed.... His eyes were
kind; and his glance could at times glow when some new thought would catch and hold
him. His side-face made you like him.... He... remained closed and therefore secure, if
only because he knew so well by indirection how to turn aside effectively any indiscreet
remark or lolloping conduct on the part of some new and immature pupil.... When Mr.
Wang became assured that we thus had the same sense of decorum, barriers fell. Yet I
remained more unwilling than ever now to press in upon his carefully guarded privacies;
and upon this base we built a tranquil relation, partial it is true, but one that lasted us
peaceably through many years. He became my formal teacher. 16
According to Confucius, excellence comes partly from the cultivation of an individual’s virtues
and intellect. Thus, education is essential. We should recognize, though, that for Confucius
education meant more than knowledge; it also involved the development of skills in poetry,
music, artistic appreciation, manners, and religious ritual. Confucius valued education because it
transmitted the lessons of the past into the present. He believed that much of the wisdom
required to produce excellent human beings is already expressed in the teachings of the great
leaders of the past. Convinced that the past provides fine models for the present, Confucius
thought that education could show the way to wise and happy living.
Moreover, Confucius saw civilization as a complicated and fragile creation; because of this, he
believed that civilized human beings must be full of respect and care. Care must be given to the
young, who will continue human life on earth, and to the elders, who teach and pass on the
traditions. There should be reverence for everything valuable that has been brought from earlier
generations.
Confucius’s idea of a perfect society was one in which every member of society would be cared
for and protected, and no one would feel abandoned. (Contrast this with modern industrial
society; in a city full of people, an individual can feel utterly alone.) Confucius believed that a
perfect society could come about if people played their social roles properly. His sense of social
responsibility was codified in the five great relationships.
The Five Great Relationships
In Confucianism, relationships are just as real as any visible object. Human beings are not
merely individuals. They are also interwoven threads of relationships with many people. To a
great extent, in Confucian thinking human beings are their relationships.
All relationships, however, are not equal. The level of a relationship may be determined by
personal factors, such as friendship or family connection, or by more formal social factors, such
as age or social status. Confucianism recognizes this inequality and actually lists relationships
according to a hierarchy, beginning with the most important:
1. Father-son Family is the foundation of society for Confucians, with the relationship between father and son at its core. This relationship also represents all parent-child
relationships. Parents must be responsible for the education and moral formation of their
children. The children must be respectful and obedient to their parents, and they must
care for them in their old age. Confucianism has extended this parental role in ways that
some people in more individualistic societies today might not appreciate; for example,
the parents are expected to help in the selection of a career and a marriage partner for
each child. But the relationship of obligation is mutual: parents and children must show
care for each other. The obligation of mutual care does not end upon death; even after
their parents’ death, children are expected to honor their parents’ memory, especially by
venerating photos of them at a home altar and by maintaining their graves. The parent-
child relationship is considered so fundamental that it often functions as the model for all
similar relationships, such as those between boss and employee and between teacher and
student.
2. Elder brother–younger brother Languages such as English, French, and Spanish do not distinguish between an elder brother and a younger brother. But the Chinese, Korean,
Vietnamese, and Japanese languages—which all have been strongly influenced by
Confucian thought—have different words for the two kinds of brothers. In their cultures,
the distinction is important. An elder brother must assume responsibility for raising the
younger siblings, and the younger siblings must be compliant. The practicality of this
arrangement becomes clear when we appreciate the possibility of an elderly father dying
before all his children have been raised. The paternal responsibility then would shift to
the eldest son, who has a unique status in the family.
The hierarchy of relationships governs the responsibilities between and among
individuals. The responsibilities of family members, especially of children for their
elders, are significant, and sometimes the duties can be problematic.
© LWA/Larry Williams/Blend Images/Corbis
3. Husband-wife Each person in this relationship is responsible for the other’s care. In Confucian thought, the relationship is hierarchical. The husband is an authoritative
protector, and the wife is a protected homemaker and mother. The Confucian notion of
marriage also implies much less romantic expectation than does the modern Western
notion; in Confucian societies wives, over time, can even become quite motherly toward
their husbands.
4. Elder-younger All older people have responsibility for younger people, because younger people need care, support, and character formation. This means, as well, that younger
people must show respect to those older than they are and be open to their advice.
Important to this relationship is the role of the mentor, which is taken very seriously in
Confucian cultures. The elder-younger relationship exists between a teacher and a
student, between a boss and an employee, between older and younger workers, and
between an expert and an apprentice. (The traditional characters for teacher in Chinese
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and Japanese literally mean “earlier-born.” The term suggests the relationship of master-
disciple, and it has overtones of strong mutual obligation.)
In some versions of the Five Great Relationships, the friend-friend relationship is listed
fourth. The relationship between elder and younger and that between friend and friend are
actually quite close, however. In friendship there is often a certain hierarchy: the friends
may differ in rank, health, wealth, or knowledge. And if the difference is not evident at
first, time will bring it about. In this relationship, the more powerful friend has a
responsibility to assist the other friend, who is in need. In Confucian culture, a friendship
entails serious commitment, and a friendship made in youth is expected to last a lifetime.
5. Ruler-subject It might seem that this relationship should be listed first, and sometimes it is.
17 However, more often it appears last in the lists, reflecting the Confucian perspective
on the role of the ruler: above all, a ruler must act like a father, assuming responsibility
and care for the subjects who are like his children. Thus, the father-son relationship is
primary in that it is the model for most other relationships.