Ritual is the means by which to rectify yourself; the teacher is the means by which ritual is rectified. [...] If you unerringly do as ritual prescribes, it means that your emotions have found rest in ritual.

-Improving Yourself (30)

 

When form and meaning are emphasized and emotional content and practical use slighted, rites [or ritual] are in their most florid state. When form and meaning are slighted and emphasis placed upon emotion and practical use, rites are in their leanest state. When form and meaning, and emotion and practical use, are treated as the inside and outside or the front and back of a single reality and are both looked after, then rites have reached the middle state. Therefore the gentleman understands how to make rites florid and how to make them lean, but he chooses to abide in the middle state, and no matter whether he walks or runs, hurries or hastens, he never abandons it. It is his constant world and dwelling.

-A Discussion of Rites (96)

 

Where does learning begin and where does it end? I say that as to program, learning begins with the recitation of the Classics and ends with the reading of the ritual texts; and as to objective, it begins with learning to be a man of breeding, and ends with learning to be a sage. If you truly pile up effort over a long period of time, you will enter into the highest realm. Learning continues until death and only then does it cease. Therefore we may speak of an end to the program of learning, but the objective of learning must never for instant be given up. To pursue it is to be a man, to give it up is to become a beast.

-Encouraging Learning (19)

 

It is the way of all men that, if they do something only for the sake of winning rewards and benefits, then, the moment they see that the undertaking may end unprofitably or in danger, they will abandon it. [...] Rewards and punishments, force and deception may be the way to deal with hired laborers or tradesmen, but they are no way to unify the population of a great state or bring glory to the nation. Therefore, the men of ancient times were ashamed to resort to such ways.

Lead the people by magnifying the sound of virtue [....]

-Debating Military Affairs (73-74)

(Citations are to page numbers in Burton Watson translation of Hsün Tzu [or Xun Zi])

December 1, 2008 · Literature, Quotations · (No comments)


On non-being (or emptiness — wú 无):

Thirty spokes are united around the hub to make a wheel,

But it is on its non-being that the utility of the carriage depends.

Clay is molded to form a utensil,

But it is on its non-being that the utility of the utensil depends.

Doors and windows are cut to make a room,

But it is on its non-being that the utility of the room depends.

Therefore turn being into advantage, and turn non-being into utility.

(Tao-te ching, 11)

On war:

Weapons are instruments of evil, not the instruments of a good ruler.

When he uses them unavoidably, he regards calm restraint as the best principle.

Even when he is victorious, he does not regard it as praiseworthy,

For to praise victory is to delight in the slaughter of men.

(31)

On executions:

There is always the master executioner (Heaven) who kills.

To undertake executions for the master executioner is like hewing wood for the master carpenter.

Whoever undertakes to hew wood for the master carpenter rarely escapes injuring his own hands.

(74)

(Translated by Wing-Tsit Chan)

December 1, 2008 · Literature, Quotations · (No comments)


I inherited this ring. I know very little about its provenance.

It might have been my grandmother’s. She was Argentine, and if it was hers it probably comes from Argentina.

It might have been my grandfather’s mother’s. She was a Jew who emigrated to Argentina from Eastern Europe in the late 19th or early 20th century. If it was hers, I have no idea where it originally came from. (She was born in Bessarabia; my great-grandfather in Podolia.)

My great-grandmother was a Yiddish speaker, and though I can strain to construe a few of these characters as Hebrew letters, nothing very convincingly.

Can anybody help?

(There are more photos on flickr.)

November 24, 2008 · Genealogy, Language · 3 comments


When I started teaching in 2005, in Sardis, Mississippi, I quickly wrote a few lines or a small paragraph during or after each class period, to keep a record of how things were going with each group. In the hectic pace of teaching, this writing became inconsistent, and eventually became a log of discipline issues. But it started out more like journaling.

Cleaning the office today I came across the oldest ones. This is the most amusing highlight from the first day of school, August 8, 2005:

This was my best class. A little chattiness from a few, but good overall. Female athlete (whose name I don’t remember) seemed studious and generally wonderful, and said early that, “this seems like it will be a fun class.” It was before the strictness of rules and consequences, but still. She also had to “think of a book” for the information sheet [which asked for favorite book], while no other student mentioned the question and almost all left it blank. She and another girl (special ed? kept spitting into container) wondered where I’m from, the other girl saying I looked like I’m not from this country, the athlete saying I looked like a magician, and a male student saying I look like “a straight P-I-M-P, pimp.” There was some agreement that I must be from Paris (strangely, just like somebody said at Lafayette High during summer school) and a suggestion of England. They were very good w/ row-by-row dismissal, several even staying after to write the homework assignment.

November 23, 2008 · Teachering, The South · 2 comments


–Adapted from Pañcatantra; Hitopadeśa. (Killingley: Lesson 17, page 124)

(Killingley: “This story, like other Pañcatantra stories, became known in Europe through an eighth-century Arabic version. The well-known version about the Welsh prince Llewellyn and his dog dates from the end of the eighteenth century.”)

 

Once a Brahmin lived in a village. The Brahmin’s wife and son and mongoose* lived in the house. The Brahmin’s wife nurtured the mongoose like a son with food and milk. And the Brahmin was fond of the mongoose as of a son. Now once, the Brahmin’s wife said: “Āryaḥ,** in the morning I am going to the lake to bathe.” The Brahmin said: “Then I will stay in the house and watch our son.” So in the morning the wife went to the lake for a bath. Now, later on, the king’s messenger approached the house. And the messenger said to the Brahmin: “Āryaḥ, today the king offers gifts. So if Āryaḥ goes to the palace then the king will offer gifts to Āryaḥ.” So the Brahmin thought: “If I go, then who will watch the boy? But if I don’t go, then how will I get gifts? What do I do?” So he said to the mongoose: “If you stay here and watch the boy, then I will go to the palace.” The Brahmin thus left the boy in the house and from greed went with the messenger. And the mongoose stayed in the house and watched the boy.

Now, in the Brahmin’s house is a hole, and in the hole lives a snake. And when the brahmin left the house, the snake left the hole and approached the boy. But when the mongoose saw the snake, he thought: “If he touches the boy with his teeth, the snake will kill the boy.” And so for a long time the mongoose fought with the snake. Then the mongoose defeated the snake in the fight and killed it with his teeth. The mongoose thus protected*** the boy from the snake. Now, when the Brahmin’s wife again came from the lake, she saw the snake’s blood on the mongoose’s mouth****. So from folly she thought: “Surely the mongoose ate the boy.” So from anger she killed the mongoose with a stick.

 

* There is something of a translating frustration here, similar to the one I alluded to in a note to an earlier translation: this Sanskrit word refers to a specific animal, and we know that animal, and have an English name for it, but whether for the sound of the word itself or from cultural associations with the creature, it sounds stupid or comical or inelegant in English, and not in the original. The haṃsaḥ (हंसः) is a beautiful bird with mystical connotations in India; in English it’s a goose. The nakulaḥ (नकुलः) is an intelligent mammal that can be kept as a pet, taught tricks, and keeps away pests; in English it’s a mongoose (with no etymological link to goose, incidentally). A translator might just change them into swans and dogs, privileging cultural and emotional connotations over biology, but what can I say? It’s a mongoose. We’re all adults here.

** Āryaḥ is a term of respect, especially for a Brahmin, sometimes translated as sir or your honor. Its root has a wide range of meanings, mostly having to do with goodness or nobility. It or a related form is (strangely) the origin of the English word aryan, and is probably related etymologically to the Greek aristos, arete, ortho-, etc.

*** The verb, literally to guard or to protect (rakṣati / रक्षति), is the same one translated several times above as watch (as in, to watch the boy). Here he is thus performing exactly the duty he was given.

**** Or face. (mukham / मुखम्)

November 22, 2008 · Literature, Quotations, Sanskrit · (No comments)