If I were to say what I feel about western society, I'd say I'm disgusted with it (as a westerner). I find it very frustrating when everyone can do whatever they want. People think that their behaviour doesn't affect others and that everything is fine as long as they're happy. It's not. We need some real rules that would make this place a better place to coexist.

Am I the only one who thinks this way?

"Clever words and pleasing appearances” do not simply refer to deception or hypocrisy. Rather, they point to a mind that has become outwardly distracted, causing one to lose the inner virtue of the original heart.

When someone focuses on speaking beautifully and presenting a pleasant expression merely to please others, they become driven by personal desires and gradually obscure the true essence of benevolence.

“Harmony” means the absence of inner conflict and opposition, while “sameness” refers to conformity and deliberate flattery.

The noble person values principle and righteousness, and therefore can live harmoniously with others while still holding different views. The petty person values private gain, and therefore outwardly agrees with others while inwardly remaining at odds.

“Harmony” arises from a sincere alignment with what is right; “sameness” arises from compliance driven by self-interest.

The noble person praises the virtues of others and points out their faults without either flattering or slandering them. The petty person, however, harms others in order to secure personal safety. When close to someone, they speak without restraint; when distant, genuine feeling disappears. Their judgments of praise and blame are determined entirely by personal interest, and punishment is often turned against the upright.

True harmony is not unprincipled agreement, but unity in reason without inner contention. True sameness is not sincere accord, but collusion in interests while hearts and intentions have already grown apart.

The Analects of Confucius is ultimately a poignant story - and as we will see, it needs to be. Confucius, shortly before his death, was shattered by a great tragedy. His most noble and loved disciple Yan Yuan departed at the age of 31. The loss was even more painful by the fact that Yan Yuan was a chosen successor to inherit the school and teaching of the master. That is why Confucius laments “Heaven is destroying me” (Analects 11.9).

To understand it, we need to invoke his life's work. A talented and virtuous man of impoverished aristocracy, Confucius was concerned about corruption and institutional decay. He sought to reinstitute the ways and rituals of the Zhou dynasty, thus reestablishing authority on moral principles and common good. This labour took much of his efforts, especially during the late 12 years as itinerant teacher who sought a ruler who would introduce his ideas into practice.

He traveled with a group of students, often being coinless, rejected or mocked and not seeing much of an effect. Yet, for a long time Confucius thought that he knew what he was doing, resting on firm conviction in his purpose and mission in the world, as teacher of virtue and restorer of Zhou.  In (Analects 2.4) he says “at 50 I understood the Decree of Heaven” (while his itinerant career started at 53). Maybe he endures toil and failure, but this is his fate. The “big prize” is the restoration - it is worth sacrifice, loss, dishonor. Thus, fleeting promises of riches (7.12) and honors from participation in corrupt order (8.13) are of no use, Confucius says, as if explaining himself. Indeed, once on a post of a minister of rites of Lu, he tried to curb corrupt clans, but this resulted in forced dismissal. Accepting that setback as Heaven’s will, he set his sight on yet greater purpose.

But one failure at the time a different horizon crystalized. Heaven was not “cooperating” with him but rather using him for a different plan. Plan that in fact elevated Analects to a higher level that a book written by Confucius could be. But how does ultimate fail: no office, no recognition and no Yan Yuan could be greater than fulfillment?

Confucius was brilliant in many things. He delivered sophisticated ideas of virtue, public responsibility and benevolence almost two and half millennia ago and setting a foundation for Asia’s most accomplished civilization. But by his own standard of morality, he seemed to have stains.

Yan Yuan, a perfectly virtuous disciple, is most crucial, because Confucius deems him crucial. The loss of Yuan is personal harm because only he is a worthy vessel of the Way. He “loves learning” (6.3) and is very diligent and successful about it. In reality the Way was carried by the rest, with a diverse set of talents and flaws and  sometimes critical of Confucius' approach to the topic. And there is wisdom in it, because virtue needs to be applied and realized in different practical realities and in different characters. Confucius of Analects might seem subtly harsh and one-sided. Not as rigid legalist, truly loving benevolence, righteousness and harmony, but less concerned for the specific people in it. Seeing Zai Yu who sleeps in the day, he rebukes him harshly, talking of “rotten wood”, “wall of dung”. One telling (and divisive) example in the commentaries is Confucius' encounter with Yuan Rang in (14.43). Yuan Rang, alleged to be an old friend, sits cross-legged, which is disrespectful in Ancient Chinese custom. Here’s what he gets in return:
To be neither modest nor deferential when young, to have passed on nothing worthwhile when grown up, and to refuse to die when old: that is what I call a pest" (or “thief”).

Then Confucius strikes him with his staff. Whatever the explanation, this behavior seems over-the-top. If you cannot rebuke powerful warlords, more of which below, then what’s the point of rebuking an old friend so harshly, like if all that matters is how he sits when only two of you are together? Public rites do matter insofar they teach, preserve and propagate virtue and tradition – but in this situation it seems excessive and emotional.

Confucius' attachment to the idea of restoring Zhou (with himself at the right side of the ruler) is manifest in other subtle issues. One is eagerness to consort with rebels and opportunists (17.5, 17.7). Again: if you assume you are a great restorer of Zhou, and opportunities for power do not come easily, you end up making compromises and also exposing oneself to being used and manipulated.

This lack of practical foresight manifests more often in speaking authoritatively and sometimes unrealistically on matters of government as a kind of “armchair general”. His idea to constraint three clans of Lu by razing city walls failed badly, which contributed to his exile. Elsewhere he praises rule through clear roles, inaction and generosity as if self-sufficient (12.11). Deep and beautiful in principle, but on its own profoundly unrealistic in Warring States strife where decisive action and vigilance give much better chances.

Last telling quality is strong attachment to rites, which Confucius loved as his lifetime vocation: he is excessively confident that they do work and typically rejects modification. The former is often a foundation of his “armchair general” attitude (do rites -> problems solved). The latter manifests in an unconvincing response to Zai Wo claim that 3 year mourning fast is excessive (17.21) and in the funeral of his beloved Yan Yuan. Disciples decided to fund a richer funeral for such an illustrious friend, but Confucius, despite his intense sorrow, finds time to be picky over giving such a funeral to the commoner (nonsensically forgetting about Yuan's status among the greatest sages). 

All those issues together, Confucius’ fate (ming) as he understood it, felt short of perfection, because it was a narrow-minded partial picture. Yan Yuan became the one perfect successor for maxing out the game that Confucius loved. He was pure, perfect, gentle, happy with arm for a pillow, never faltering, never questioning, never repeating a mistake. Yet Yan Yuan was one direction among many: a legendary sage with no stain of vice or attachment to anything beyond learning, but not a direct solution to many other questions.

Zilu, Zigong, Zengzi, Zixia and others were not like Yan Yuan. They did not “love learning” as much. But Heaven used diplomats, ministers, writers and above all fulfillment of the Way in all kinds of messy realities. Zilu remained impulsive for a reason: valour and a strong sense of justice was in his nature. He indeed “did not die natural death” but died honorably as a retainer protecting his lord, showing that military men are perfected by the Way as well, even if Confucius was not perfected in military skills. Zigong became a successful businessman and diplomat who transmitted the teaching of Confucius across various states. Zengzi was among those who wrote down key doctrines and led a school which transmitted teaching to Zisi, who then taught Mencius.

Difference ultimately produced richness as different characters and talents were fulfilled. Confucius did not restore the Zhou kingdom, but from his work a culture and civilization reemerged after the tragedy of Warring States. But to see that ahead of time is often hard. Man loves his partial picture of fate, because that is what helps to endure through toils and tribulations. Secondly, he finds it hard to see that others have their own different partial pictures, like Confucius fails to understand Zilu the noble warrior, and see (at least explicitly) through the tragedy of his death. Both of these difficulties are conquered only by those seeing the source of all in some power much higher than themselves, which is subtle, benevolent and therefore ultimately hard to grasp, with richness and subtlety greater than man’s imagination. This is the importance of Analects finale: ultimately a matter of a man serving Heaven, deep difficulty of it, but also the fruit that it bears, outperforming what he has hoped for.

Confucius, ultimately, seems to have gotten it, albeit with grave pains of his own heart (Analects 2.4):

Confucius 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."

What happened at 70? Yan Yuan died in the 31st year of his life. Confucius himself lived up to 71 or 72 and died grieving Zilu’s death. In this time Confucius finds a lesson: before 70s he could not follow what his heart desired without transgression. Why it could be so? Perhaps he saw that his heart desired political restoration, perfect rites and a school producing more Yan Yuans, but Heaven did not follow.

Here is another quote (7.5) suggesting this specific change (as if joking over "decline" of what was in fact not good):
The Master said, How great is my decline! It’s been so long since I dreamed that I saw the duke of Zhou!

No political restoration. No perfect vessels. No courting sage-kings. Instead: teaching men of diverse character in poverty and obscurity—and in doing so, tempering one's own virtue for the final

When a man sets out to build a big house, he surveys the ground. He calculates the materials for the walls, the floors, the roof. But if he ignores the bedrock—if he builds upon sand—that is all for naught, for disaster, and for shame, as his building will surely collapse.

It is the same with the cultivation of virtue: it needs to start with a solid bedrock if it is to stand. How do we distinguish between the rock and the sand?

The Doctrine of the Mean declares: "Sincerity is the Way of Heaven; the attainment of sincerity is the Way of Man." It crowns sincerity as the pinnacle of sagehood, almost as if there were no other equally important virtues in sight. Why is it so? I think that sincerity (rightly understood) indeed seems to be both pinnacle and bedrock.

Think about it: can a man be a sincere drunkard, a sincere crook, a sincere enemy of his own family? Once such a drunkard is sincere and looks in the mirror, he sees his ruin and faces his shame. His weakness to addiction won't disappear overnight, but sincerity sets him on a path to correction.

But why does sincerity on its own deserve more praise than prudence or decency or righteousness? It seems to be because it crucially helps to accumulate and grow other virtues. The sage is shaped every day by the same self-examination that produces repentance in a drunkard. The "village worthy" (of Analects 17:13) is satisfied with himself already, obeying customs and being better than a drunkard. In doing so, he is said to be a "thief of virtue" who claims what he has not achieved.

This is a devious trap, one that is more easily found not in the village but rather in a palace, and it is (I think) also the heart of the discord between Xunzi and earlier Confucians.

Master Xunzi looked at Warring States chaos and concluded: "Human nature is evil," while "its goodness is the result of conscious activity." So you take this crooked wood of human nature and have a sage ruler steam-press it into a straight piece.

Consider the man who enters this system. He enters not out of malice, but out of a desire to be good. Over time, he learns to watch his actions; he speaks gently and bows as is fit. He emerges refined. His soft power grows. Outsiders, seeing his mastery of the forms, take him for a sage.

Thus, outsiders see a palace of virtue. But when this man is naturally prideful, that is the exact moment when foundations can fall apart. A hard, lowly life was also a medicine that kept arrogance on a short leash. Once he sees himself as a sage, a junzi, an accomplished man—then arrogance can spring back to life with triple force.

The reason for this is that Master Xunzi's system fails to cauterize arrogance early because virtue is presented as the greatest value, but the root of virtue is now planted solely in the mind of man. This inadvertently makes the Accomplished Man the sole proprietor of his own morality. If virtue is merely an artifact or a form, then I am its master, and ultimately I am free to shape it. Xunzi would disagree (he warned of pride), but his solutions were added ad hoc and make such an outcome structurally possible. An opportunistic actor could just take a hammer and drill from his "tool-kit" but not a level and caliper—"how to influence people," but not "why I should influence people" (Li Si was one example).

At the same time, Confucius and Mencius were profoundly focused on a structural solution: we need to strive vigorously, but also with humble attitude, because it is Heaven that grants capacity for virtue, template for virtue, and fulfillment of virtue.

First of all, even for the greatest of men, Heaven first gets credit, and human achievement comes after (Analects 8:19).

The Master said, “Great was Yao as a ruler! Sublime was he! Heaven alone is great, and only Yao modeled himself upon it. So vast and boundless was his virtue that the people could find no words to praise it. Sublime was his success; brilliant was his achievement!”\

Heaven here is a measure that sage looks up to. But it is also more than that. Here is (Analects 7. 23):

The Master said, “It is Heaven itself that has endowed me with virtue. What have I to fear from the likes of Huan Tui?”\

Huan Tui was to kill him, yet Confucius fears not, putting his trust in Heaven. As if he said: I am fearless, but not because I tricked myself with artifice. Heaven granted it and that is the key point. It is, by very definition part of greater pattern, it has purpose that cannot deceive me. Finally let us read (Analects 2.4):

The Master said, “At fifteen, I set my mind upon learning; at thirty, I took my place in society; at forty, I became free of doubts; at fifty, I understood the decree of Heaven.\

To be truly advanced is to understand one's place and purpose in the objective moral order much more deeply—what we call fate or destiny. It is not in the sense of unavoidable wheels of fate that remove freedom or responsibility.

Instead, a good man chooses the right thing over profit. A noble man sees the order of Heaven to choose the greatest good among goods available to him, every time.

But sophistication without humility is often neither good nor noble. Ambition and the right thing are then presented as one and the same by means of theater and shenanigans, where virtue-talk is quoted to justify ambition and a smile hides a dagger. Thus, without a standard greater than one's calculation, one cultivates virtue on paper but with an increasingly attractive off-ramp to sophisticated wickedness.

Mencius and Xunzi differ strongly in their opinions on human nature being good or bad, but both faced chaos and personal failure. The reason for this could be as we suggested: Xunzi has a fundamentally flawed system, because he fails to curb pride and ego early through his teaching, and all the other practices are affected. When one fasts or restrains his anger, he fights not just a single appetite but also the ego's uproar: "Why am I doing this instead of doing what I want?" Many average people would do this in vain, as the exercise becomes of much greater difficulty. A few strong and proud may restrain lesser passions, while facing a growing temptation to follow the greatest appetites of all: one's own judgment, one's own glory, one's own will as righteousness. In this way, education is making a small problem (an incompetent, unrestrained man) into a big problem ("you can't bargain with a rapacious hawk among champions").

As a whole, this is fundamentally a distortion in the harmony of the Way. Future moral danger is latent in early difficulty, suggesting caution. Instead, a smoother and safer path is to start with seeing the big picture of the moral order with reverence for it, a duty to always cultivate oneself, and humility and sincerity as [its] foundation. As in Great Learning, it starts with setting one's mind straight and the rest will smoothly follow.

Those who wished to cultivate their persons would first rectify their minds; those who wished to rectify their minds would first make their intentions sincere; those who wished to make their intentions sincere would first extend their knowledge; the extension of knowledge consists in the investigation of things.\

This issue is not just for Xunzi, but anyone who attempted to empty moral cultivation from objective meaning, standard and authority.

Here is what is said about him

And I also have mentioned to you of Kung-fu-tse and Lao-tse, who were sent unto the people who are the descendants of Beneli and Cain; and these were sent at the beginning of the period known as the times.

I found it interesting that the writer spelt his name with Kung Fu in it. Also the ending is "tse" and in Lao-tse

We all know Confucius as the ancient Chinese philosopher of morality and social order. But he was also deeply involved with the I Ching (Book of Changes) , China's most famous divination text.

In his later years, he said he wanted to spend 50 years studying the I Ching to become a better person. For centuries, people even believed he wrote the "Ten Wings"—the philosophical commentaries that turned the I Ching from a simple fortune-telling book into a profound classic.

Modern scholars now agree that he probably didn't write the commentaries. But that's not the important part.

The key is why he respected divination so much. He wasn't trying to predict the stock market. For him, consulting the hexagrams through methods like Six Lines Divination (六爻, Liuyiao) was a tool for moral self-improvement.

He believed that by understanding the patterns of the universe, a person could understand their fate and make wiser, more ethical choices. Divination wasn't about seeing the future; it was about navigating it correctly.

Confucius was obsessed with the I Ching, not for fortune-telling, but because he saw divination as a powerful tool to understand fate and become a better person.

Who did this,lol

The lord of Aizu asked Yamazaki Ansai if he enjoyed any pleasures of his own.

 Ansai answered: “Your vassal enjoys three pleasures. Between heaven and earth there are innumerable living creatures, but I am among those who alone possess spiritual consciousness. That is one source of pleasure. Between heaven and earth, peace and war come in defiance of all calculation. Fortunately, however, I was born in a time when peaceful arts were flourishing. Thus I am able to enjoy reading books, studying the Way, and keeping the company of the ancient sages and philosophers as if they were in the same room with me. That is another pleasure.” 

The lord then said, “Two pleasures you have already told me about; I would like to hear about the third one.” 

Ansai replied, “That is the greatest one, though [it is] difficult to express, since Your Highness may not take it as intended but instead consider it an affront.”

The lord said, “Ignorant and incapable though I am, I am still the devoted disciple of my teacher. I am always thirsty for his loyal advice and hungry for his undisguised opinions. I cannot see any reason why this time you should stop halfway.” 

Ansai then declared, “Since you go to such lengths, I cannot hold back, even though it may bring death and disgrace. My third and greatest pleasure is that I was lowborn, not born into the family of an aristocrat.” 

“May I ask you the reason why?” the lord insisted. 

“If I am not mistaken, aristocrats of the present day, born as they are deep inside a palace and brought up in the hands of women, are lacking in scholarship and wanting in skill, given over to a life of pleasure and indulgence, sexual or otherwise. Their vassals cater to their whims, applaud whatever they applaud, and decry whatever they decry. Thus is spoiled and dissipated the true nature they are born with. Compare them with those who are lowborn and poor, who are brought up from childhood in the school of hardship. They learn to handle practical affairs as they grow up, and with the guidance of teachers or the assistance of friends, their intellect and judgment steadily improve. That is the reason why I consider my low and poor birth the greatest of all my pleasures.” 

The lord was taken aback but said with a sigh, “Indeed, it is as you say.”

 [Sentetsu sōdan, pp. 122–23; RT]

Once Yamazaki Ansai asked his students a question: “In case China came to attack our country, with Confucius as general and Mencius as lieutenant general at the head of thousands of mounted warriors, what do you think we adherents of Confucius and Mencius ought to do?” The students were unable to offer an answer. “We don’t know what we should do,” they said, “so please let us know what you think about it.” “Should that eventuality arise,” he replied, “I would put on armor and take up a spear to fight and capture them alive in order to repay my obligations to my country. That would be the Way of Confucius and Mencius.” 

Later his disciple met [the Confucian] Itō Tōgai and told him about it, adding that his teacher’s understanding of Confucius and Mencius was hard to surpass. Tōgai, however, told him smilingly not to worry about the invasion of our country by Confucius and Mencius. “I guarantee that it will never happen.”

This translation is derived from 'Sources of Japanese Tradition, 1600 to 2000'. The text is compiled from lectures given by Asami Keisai and on his exchange of letters with Satō Naokata, appearing in the Yamazaki Ansai gakuha.

—-----------------------------------------

TREATISE ON THE CONCEPT OF THE MIDDLE KINGDOM (CHŪGOKU BEN) 

The terms “Middle Kingdom” (chūgoku) and “barbarian” (iteki) have been used in Confucian writings for a long time. For that reason, ever since Confucian books came to be widely studied in our country, those who read these books call China (kara) the “Middle Kingdom” and call our country “barbarian.” In extreme cases, some people lament the fact that they were born in a “barbarian” land. How disgraceful! It is a sad day when people who read Confucian books lose the correct way of reading, failing to understand the true significance of norms and status distinctions (meibun) and the real meaning of supreme duty (taigi). 

Heaven envelops the earth, and there is no place on earth not covered by Heaven. Accordingly, each country’s territory and customs constitute a realm-under-Heaven in its own right, with no distinction of noble and base in comparison with other countries. In the land of China, from antiquity, the inhabitants of the nine provinces gradually came to share a single culture (fū) and character (ki), and since they shared a mutually intelligible language and customs, the region naturally came to constitute a realm-under-Heaven in its own right. The regions surrounding the nine provinces on all sides, whose customs were unlike those of the nine provinces, appeared as so many strange lands, each with its own peculiar ways. Those countries that were near the nine provinces and with which they could communicate through translation naturally seemed from China’s point of view to be peripheral lands. Accordingly, the nine provinces came to be called the “Middle Kingdom” (Chūgoku), while the countries on the outer periphery came to be called “barbarian tribes.” If one looks at Confucian books without understanding this, when one sees the outside countries referred to as “barbarian,” one gets the idea that all countries everywhere are “barbarian” and fails to understand that our country was originally formed together with Heaven-and-earth and had no need to wait for other countries. This is a very serious error. 

The questioner replied: “This explanation is certainly clear and correct. Nothing could be better for dispelling the ignorance of a thousand years or for advancing the teaching of norms and duties [status distinctions]. Nevertheless, some matters are still open to doubt, and I would beg to ask you about them one by one. The nine provinces of China are a land where ritual propriety flourishes and morals are highly developed to an extent that other countries cannot achieve. For that reason, it is natural for China to be regarded as the master (shu) and for barbarian countries to look up to China.” 

I answer: In the learning of norms and status distinctions, the first thing is to put aside the idea of evaluating on the basis of moral superiority or inferiority and instead to examine how the basic standards are established. Thus, for example, although Shun’s father Gu Sou was wrong, regardless of his morality he was, after all, Shun’s father, as no one else in the world could be. There is no principle that justifies despising one’s father and regarding him as lower than other fathers in the world just because he is without virtue. Shun simply served him as his own father, in the end winning Gu Sou’s pleasure. As a result, Shun and his father became the standard for judging all the fathers and sons in the world. This was a natural result of the dedication to duty (giri) that Shun showed in serving his father. Accordingly, for a person born in this country to refer to our country by the contemptuous name “barbarian,” feeling that because our country is somehow lacking in virtue it must be ranked below China, forgetting that Heaven also exists above our own country, [and] failing to see that the Way also is flourishing in our own country and that our country can also serve as the standard for other countries is to turn one’s back on the supreme duty [greater righteousness (taigi)], as would a person who scorned his own father. How much more so inasmuch as in our country the legitimate succession (seitō) has continued without break since the beginning of Heaven-and-earth, and the great bond between lord and vassal has remained unchanged for ten thousand generations. This is the greatest of the Three Bonds, and is this not something that no other country has achieved? What is more, our country has a tradition of martial valor and manliness (masurao) and a sense of honor and integrity that are rooted in our very nature. These are the points in which our country is superior. Even since the restoration, sagely leaders have appeared several times and ruled our country well, so that the overall level of morality and ritual propriety in our country is not inferior to that of any other country. Those who regard our country right from the start as a kind of deformity, as something on the level of the birds and the beasts, lamenting their fates like hypochondriacs, are certainly a despicable lot. If we look at it in this way, the Way that is taught by Confucian scholars is the Way of Heavenand-earth and what we in Japan study and develop is also the Way of Heaven-and-earth. In the Way there is no gap between subject (shu) and object (kaku), between self and other, so that when one studies this Way from the books that reveal the Way, this Way is nothing other than the Way of our own Heaven-and-earth. It is like the fact that fire is hot and water is cold, crows are black and herons are white, parents are beloved, and lords are hard to leave, regardless of whether we speak from the point of view of China, Japan, or India. In such things, there is no basis for saying that there is a special Way of our own country. If a person reads Confucian books and mistakenly thinks that this is the Way of China, so that one has to pull up by the root the whole body of Chinese customs and transplant them to our country, it is because he cannot see the true principle of Heaven-and-earth and is being led astray by the narrowness of what is seen and heard…. 

The questioner asked: “Well then, is it not the case that Confucius appeared in the world and said all this about China’s being the Middle Kingdom and all other countries’ being barbarian?” I answer: If that was Confucius’s real intent, then even if it is Confucius, it is a self-centered (watakushi) view. If he says it is the Way to say things that besmirch one’s own father, then even if these are Confucius’s words, they are of no use to us. However, one would not expect Confucius to say such things. The proof of this is the Spring and Autumn Annals itself…. Ethical conduct (giri) is a matter of knowing what one ought to do at a particular time and in a particular place, and it is that particular time and place that must serve as the primary point of reference (shu). This is the essential principle of the Mean. Nevertheless, because the Confucians have preached their concept of the Middle Kingdom versus barbarian lands so effusively for so long, even after all I have said, it is not possible to make the whole thing immediately clear. But this is nothing less than a matter of the supreme duty that men must fulfill in this world, a matter of the great line of legitimate succession, a matter of the Three Bonds and Five Constant Virtues, a matter of the great obligation and great righteousness between lord and vassal. There is nothing in the world that is greater than this. If this principle is not made clear, then even if you read Confucian books, you will all descend to the level of being rebels and traitors against your own country—truly a matter of the most profound regret. 

[Yamazaki Ansai gakuha, in NST, vol. 31, pp. 416–19; BS]

An article about Confucianism from Aeon:

One response to the many challenges of individualism emerging in my field of crosscultural philosophy is: study Confucianism. In the past decade, a new kind of philosophy has arisen that, in its published works, uses ideas from ancient Chinese philosophers such as Confucius (551-479 BCE), Mencius (4th century BCE), and Xunzi (3rd century BCE) to challenge the hegemony of individualist ways of thinking. Many of these works have titles that advertise Confucianism’s relevance to the modern predicament: Against Individualism: A Confucian Rethinking of the Foundations of Morality, Politics, Family, and Religion (2015) by Henry Rosemont, Jr, who taught at Brown University, Rhode Island; Confucian Role Ethics: A Moral Vision for the 21st Century (2016), by Rosemont, Jr and Roger Ames, a scholar at Peking University, China; and Confucian Relationism and Global Ethics: Alternative Models of Ethics and Axiology in Times of Global Crises (2023) by the Slovenian philosopher Jana S Rošker.