Smeared Type

by Jian Ping

I gave a talk to Dr. Lucy Xing Lu’s Asian Culture and Communication class at DePaul University yesterday. The moment I stepped onto the Lincoln Park Campus, I felt the dynamics and energy unique to university—students rushing to their classes, chatting in groups, or riding their bicycles to get to their destinations. It was an atmosphere of youth and learning.

I barely made it on time to the classroom and started my talk immediately after Dr. Lu’s introduction. I knew the students had just read Confucius’ Analects and the focus of the class was on Asian philosophy, religion, and cultures. I put the emphasis of my talk on Confucian values, especially “filial piety,” using anecdotes from Mulberry Child to illustrate my points. I like the classroom setting and encouraged the students to raise questions at any time. They did—this group of 20 students was very engaging and asked many good questions. I planned to talk for 45 minutes, plus 10 or 15 minutes for questions. But we got into animated discussions and Dr. Lu graciously gave us the time to continue—letting us take over her planned readings on Taoism/Buddhism for the day. We ended up using up the entire period of class, and afterward, a few students stayed behind and continued our conversation. I was quite impressed by their interest and participation.

Of course, being a Chinese parent, I couldn’t help but finish my talk by encouraging them to excel in their studies—“the love of learning” (好学), as Confucius stated in his Analects.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: a Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com

By Jian Ping

 When we started our class on Confucius’ Analects at the Asian Classics program, our instructor Alan suggested we follow three “rituals” in honor of Confucius.  

 “Number one,” he said, “we call Confucius Master Kong”. The romanization of the Chinese name Kong Zi didn’t reflect the proper respect for him. “Kong” is Confucius’ family name, and “Zi”, refers to a sage or master. We readily accepted the proposal.  

“Number two,” Alan continued, “We start our class with a formal greeting. I’ll say ‘Good morning, class’ and you’ll stand up and say ’Good morning, teacher.’” The 20 plus students discussed about it for a while and agreed to the practice.

It was the third ritual Alan proposed that threw us into dispute.

Alan taped a portrait of Master Kong on the blackboard and suggested we bow to the master at the beginning or ending of each class.

The word “bow” sounded like a bomb exploding in the classroom.

“Wait a minute,” one student said. “I have a problem with that.” He raised his voice: “We’ve been brought up questioning and challenging authorities in this country. We’d never blindly submit to a master or a government. I don’t feel comfortable bowing.”

“I can bow to knowledge, but not to a person,” another student chided in. “It’s not in our culture to bow, to be submissive.”

My friend Hong, my husband Francis and I were the only Chinese in our class. We looked at one another and were very surprised by our American classmates’ reactions.

“Bowing in this context is an indication of respect,” Hong said. “It doesn’t mean being submissive to authority.”

 “We are not talking about bowing at 90 degrees,” I added. “A lowering of the head is just like tipping your hat.”

The discussion got heated. Our American friends wouldn’t budge. Despite Alan’s explanation that the ritual only bound us for the duration of the class and served to simulate the way the Master would have taught, they objected strongly. In the end, we comprised by agreeing to stand up at the end of the class and bow to the center—to knowledge and to one another for sharing knowledge, but not to anyone in particular.

I was amazed by my American classmates. Kong Zi is a philosopher, a sage and a famed teacher, not a dictator.

Throughout the entire quarter, we practiced these rituals. We stood up to greet Alan. We slipped from time to time by referring to the sage as Confucius instead of Master Kong and corrected ourselves. Alan placed Master Kong’s portrait on the blackboard at each class, but we never bowed to him. Instead, we dutifully bowed to the center of the class from our circular seating at the end of each session and said: “Thank you.” It reminded me of our cultural differences each time we practiced the ritual.  

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. For more information, please visit www.moraquest.com or www.smearedtype.com

by Jian Ping 

I’ve been taking classes at the Asian Classics program at the Graham School, University of Chicago. It’s a four-year program covering history, literature and religion in India, Middle East, China and Japan. We have about twenty people, our age ranging from the 40s to 70s and our background differing from lawyers, scientists, school teachers, retired business owners/executives, full-time mothers, and this spring semester, as we turn our studies to Buddhism, a Zen priest. It’s a wonderful group and we meet every Saturday in Hyde Park campus for two sessions, which last for three hours—truly an enlightening and fun experience.

This is our third year, focusing on China. My husband Francis and I are both in the program. Since it’s on China, we participate more in class discussions, bringing in our cultural perspective and understanding. During the winter semester when we were studying Confucius and Mencius in one session and Tang poetry in the other, Francis and I sometimes took turns to read the text in Cantonese and Mandarin respectively, to the amazement of our American classmates—the same text sounded so differently.

I grew up during the Cultural Revolution in China, therefore, never learned Confucius’ Analects. I very much enjoyed reading it. In addition to the English text, I also read the Chinese, and sometimes, compare them side by side. I have to say that it is much easier to read it in contemporary English than the classic Chinese.

This morning, I took out The Analects and thumbed through the first few pages. Once line immediately caught my attentions:

子曰：“父母在，不远游，游必有方。”

The English translation by Roger Ames goes: The Master (Confucius) said, “When your father and mother are alive, do not journey far, and when you do travel, be sure to have a specific destination.”

This is about filial piety. According to Confucius, a filial child who observes the right ritual, 礼, should stay close to his/her parents so as to take care of them and if he/she has to travel, to tell the parents specifics about the journey so the parents can be relieved of worrying.

I know I cannot qualify as a filial daughter since my mother lives in China and I am far, far away. I do call her every weekend, though. I chat with her and two of my older sisters—Yan has moved back to care for her since Father passed away in 2008, and Wen lives two flights up in the same building and spends every evening with Mother, tending to her needs. Filial children in its true sense!   

Is it because of my astray from the teaching or the next generation who grow up in the U.S. that the tradition is fading into history?

My daughter Lisa and I live in Chicago, in two apartments less than two miles away. But I seldom see her—she is either too busy with her work or her social life, or I, by the same token, too busy with my writing, reading or social activities. However, I think it’s fair to say that my longing to see her is much stronger than her desire to see me.

Last weekend, Lisa went to Florida to join a group of friends for a short vacation.

“Please drop in a line or two and let me know you are okay,” I wrote to her via email. I know she checks her BlackBerry and does texting constantly.

Four days passed, not a single word from her. I have to get on Facebook to check her postings to learn her whereabouts.  

I don’t know I should blame her or kick myself. I wonder when I can ask Lisa to read Confucius’ Analects.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. visit www.mulberrychild.com or www.moraquest.com for more information.

It’s interesting to read Ellis’ writing on the revival of Confucius ideology in today’s China. During my recent trip to Beijing and Changchun, I saw many books interpreting the classics of Confucius on the shelves of bookstores.  

I remember growing up in China during the Culture Revolution. Reciting Mao’s quotations and shouting revolutionary slogans replaced the learning of classic Chinese, which rendered our generation illiterate to classic Chinese. Needless to say, we couldn’t read any of the Confucius’ teachings in its original writing. However, during the “Anti-Lin and Anti Confucius Movement” (Lin Biao, Vice Chairman and Mao’s heir apparent who was later condemned as a traitor), we were all required to denounce Lin and Confucius. We, middle school students at the time who had entered elementary school as the Culture Revolution swept through country, had no clue why Lin and Confucius was linked together. We followed the Party line and imitated newspaper articles.

Now students started reciting Confucius statements in its classic form, and the ideology of harmony, social order and obedience to elders and authority were hailed. Yu Dan, a college professor, wrote a series of books on deciphering classic Chinese philosophies, including one on Confucius. She put a modern spin or application in her interpretation and became very popular among the young. She reached celebrity status in China and hosted a lecture program on television. Reportedly, one of her book sold more than four million copies the first month it was released.

As a Chinese, I am happy to see the revival of Confucius in China. The Chinese culture is embedded with Confucius values despite the “smashing” of its ideology in China’s recent history. However, I hope the study is conducted from a cultural and philosophical perspective, as how Aristotle and Plato are studies, and it’s not subjected to current political needs.     

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com

I was interested to read recently in “The Week,” that Confucius, China’s greatest thinker, and long regarded as an arch enemy of the Communist system, is now receiving state sanctioned backing for a revival. 

As part of an effort by the Chinese government to restore Confucian teachings, the state is funding a $30 million film about the philosopher, at the same time as Confucian texts are being pushed in both universities and schools.  In addition, Confucius Institutes are being set up in more than 50 countries to promote Chinese culture.  Even much of the prison population is being taught the teachings of Confucius in an effort to reduce repeated criminal activities.  The Beijing Institute of Genomics has recently compiled a massive database of Confucius’s descendants, trying to recognize direct blood line descendants amongst the 1.3 billion Chinese.

Unlike Christ, Confucius was not a religious leader or teacher, but he embraced the idea of harmony and obedience and focused on orderly behavior in one’s life, rather than any hopes or fears for what would happen in the next life.  Maybe this is why the teachings of Confucius are acceptable to China’s Communist leaders, because they require no belief in God, but give some valuable lessons which can address the disparities in status and standard of living that exists for much of China’s population.  These disparities could clearly lead to social unrest and the resulting problems, in the future, which the government would clearly want to avoid.

It appears the government believes that a return to Confucian values of honor and decency will fill the ethical vacuum that is a result of China’s explosion of economic growth and rampant consumerism.

The reinstatement of Confucius is yet another example of China rapidly moving to world power status and creating a “Chinese way” of dealing with modern day issues and problems.

Ellis M. Goodman, author of Bear Any Burden: www.bearanyburden.com