Chapter 620: Five Men

"I wish to rename the Confucian Temple the 'Temple of Culture,' to be built in the five capitals, so that the world may be touched by the example of past sages. Among them, five shall be enshrined in accompaniment. But since Confucius, the later scholars of the Confucian school have been as numerous as the stars. Who is truly qualified to guard the 'North Star' at close hand? Opinions differ from person to person. Today, I have invited the renowned Confucian scholars to gather in Qufu to discuss this matter together!"

With Diwu Lun's edict setting forth the purpose, the Qufu Assembly—an event worthy of comparison with Liu Xiu's "Green Dragon Hall Conference" in the south—formally convened. The Emperor fully exercised a democratic style, letting the assembled scholars "speak their minds freely," while only setting three criteria.

"The ancients said: 'The highest is to establish virtue; the next is to establish merit; the next is to establish words. These are not abandoned with time, and this is called immortality.'"

Diwu Lun, his face wreathed in smiles, addressed the crowd: "In my view, establishing virtue means creating institutions and models that spread far, bestowing aid upon the masses. Establishing merit means rescuing from peril and overcoming hardship, deeds that benefit the age. Establishing words means speech that captures the essential, reasoning sound enough to be passed down. Gentlemen, consider carefully: among the later scholars of Confucius, who fulfills these three points?"

For a long moment, no one made a sound. After all, the Confucian scholars with real backbone had already fled during Wang Mang's time. Those clever and bold enough had long since toyed with apocryphal prophecies and risen to high office, only to die in the chaos when the edifice collapsed, buried alongside Wang Mang. Those who remained were all aged and decrepit, sunk in lethargy, still frightened by Diwu Lun's "Edict Prohibiting Apocryphal Texts"—who would dare stick their neck out?

What's more, anyone still even slightly perceptive knew exactly what the Emperor was after with this "Five Accompaniments" scheme... Even if they wanted to push their own school's founding master, they'd have to wait in line.

Seeing the hall as silent as a crow, Diwu Lun, who had been hoping for a hundred flowers to bloom, shook his head. "In that case, I shall begin and nominate one person..."

Here it comes! The assembled scholars all muttered inwardly, certain it could only be that one person. To their surprise, Diwu Lun instead said: "It is the Second Sage, Yan Yuan!"

For a moment, the civil officials and Confucian scholars throughout the hall were secretly stunned. They had to know that just recently, the head of the Yan clan had been severely punished by Diwu Lun for recklessly discoursing on apocryphal prophecies.

In this age, the laurel of "Second Sage" did not belong to Mencius but was instead worn by Yan Hui. In the Lu region, whenever sacrifices were made to Confucius, the sole accompanying recipient was Yan Yuan. This was actually rather strange. Of course, Yan Hui was Confucius's favorite student. With his brilliance, had he lived a few more decades, he might truly have founded his own school. But he died at twenty-nine, leaving behind hardly any deeds.

Confucius evaluated his students by three subjects—virtue, speech, and literature—and placed Yan Hui first in virtue. But that was merely private, personal virtue, unrelated to Diwu Lun's requirement of "creating institutions and models that spread far, bestowing aid upon the masses." As for merit and words, Yan Yuan never held office and left no writings, so he met neither criterion. And while the "Yan School of Confucianism" of the Warring States period had some connection to Yan Hui, it had long since died out.

So everyone assumed Diwu Lun would surely find fault and formally strip Yan Yuan of his "Second Sage" status, clearing a spot in the accompaniment for his own teacher, Master Yang Ziyun!

But they never imagined the Emperor would be so "magnanimous."

For a moment, the assembled scholars were silent. Those few honest souls who had prepared to fight for Yan Yuan were left utterly speechless.

Wang Long, however, understood why Diwu Lun would not move against the seemingly easy target of Yan Yuan.

Years ago, when he was studying under Yang Xiong, he too had wondered why Yan Yuan was so highly esteemed and had asked Yang Xiong about it—Diwu Lun had been right there beside him at the time.

He remembered Yang Xiong answering like this: "Confucius heard a child singing the Canglang Song and, moved, said: 'Listen to this, my disciples! When the water is clear, it washes my hat-strings; when muddy, it washes my feet. The water itself determines how it is used.'"

"Ordinary Confucians must all choose between clear water and muddy water. But Yan Hui had no such need. A single bamboo dish of food, a single gourd of drink, living in a mean alley—others could not bear the misery, yet Hui never let it alter his joy. Yan Hui himself was a clear spring! The Jiang and Han rivers wash it clean, the autumn sun bleaches it pure—so dazzlingly bright, nothing can surpass it!"

Wang Long still remembered his teacher's expression at that moment. Stroking his lame leg, Yang Xiong lifted his head, his face showing a look of reverence.

These words pierced straight to the reason Yan Yuan was so esteemed. Born human, stepping into a murky world, who does not pick up a few stains? Even Confucius spent his life rushing about in exile, and for the sake of getting things done, answered Yang Hu's summons and visited Nanzi. By the time the Han-Xin transition came, Wang Mang and Liu Xin, who had once embraced the ideal, gradually stank beyond redemption. Yang Xiong too was dragged in. Even Huan Tan, who wished to stand apart, after serving three dynasties, could not escape the mockery of being a "retainer to three houses."

Only Yan Yuan had none of this, nor could he ever have it, because he departed this life early, leaving behind only a perfect silhouette in the Analects. He had been fixed by fate; no one could ever defile his purity again—except those apocryphal-text makers who fabricated tales about Yan Yuan's deeds.

Thus, Yan Yuan became the spiritual and moral benchmark for generations of Confucians, standing there, and with the added sympathy for his untimely death, had Diwu Lun really touched Yan Yuan because of the Yan clan's offense and kicked him out of the accompaniment, that would have been true folly!

Sure enough, once Diwu Lun had settled on Yan Yuan, the hall was filled with universal satisfaction. The assembled ministers, once they had caught on, said in unison: "Your Majesty is sagaciously wise! The virtue of Master Yan treads the loftiest path; he is fully worthy of accompaniment!"

The stones in their hearts quietly fell to the ground. It seemed Diwu Lun had convened this grand assembly not merely out of private motives; his fairness and authority could be trusted.

With this fine beginning, the discussion gradually got on track.

The second person to receive accompaniment status was likewise a disciple of Confucius, and the one who truly spread and glorified Confucianism: Master Zeng. He was not particularly notable in establishing virtue or merit, but in "establishing words" he was exceptionally prominent. He authored the Great Learning, and the Analects is said to have been compiled with him as chief editor. The Classic of Filial Piety, whose influence on the present age is utterly unmatched, also came from Master Zeng's hand. The Great Wei, after all, "governs the realm through filial piety"—Master Zeng's selection was within reason.

After Yan and Zeng, the crowd still inclined to choose from among the Ten Sages of Confucius's school, or perhaps Confucius's grandson and Master Zeng's disciple, Zisi. But the Grand Minister of Ceremonies, Wang Long, who was presiding over the meeting on Diwu Lun's behalf, skipped right over them and settled on someone no one had expected.

"This minister believes that since the death of Confucius, those who have composed literary works are many. Yet only Mencius, of broad learning and comprehensive knowledge, penetrating past and present, whose words offer benefit to the world, may enter the accompaniment."

The assembled scholars were in an uproar—and they could hardly be blamed, for Diwu Lun too had only discovered after arriving in this era that Mencius, later hailed as the "Second Sage," was in Han times a minor school. His writings, classified as subsidiary philosophy, were not within the scope of the classics examinations, and so were not widely circulated. As for his status, he was neither equal to his teacher, Zisi, who wrote the Doctrine of the Mean, nor to his later counterpart, Xunzi.

It was not until the Great Han was nearly finished that Liu Xin and his son, along with Yang Xiong, suddenly began to take Mencius seriously and esteem him highly.

But this did not represent mainstream opinion, and the opposition was considerable—among the various Confucian schools of the age, there were virtually no direct-line successors to the Mencian school. The Gongyang and Guliang factions, for instance, felt that if that old man Meng Ke could be enshrined, they might as well put up their own founding masters, Gongyang Gao and Guliang Chi!

Wang Long argued strenuously with the crowd: "In the Warring States period, rites collapsed and music decayed. At that time, Qin employed Lord Shang to enrich the state and strengthen its armies; Chu and Wei employed Wu Qi to triumph in battle and weaken their foes; Kings Wei and Xuan of Qi employed Sunzi and Tian Ji and their like, and the feudal lords faced east to pay court to Qi. The realm was wholly devoted to vertical and horizontal alliances, honoring attack and conquest. Yet Mencius, though he knew his words and deeds could not be employed by the feudal lords, still steadfastly upheld the Kingly Way, discoursing on benevolence and righteousness, recounting the virtues of Tang, Yu, and the Three Dynasties—like the single candle-flame in the dark night, keeping Confucianism from extinction. This is establishing virtue."

"Furthermore, at that time, the teachings of Yang Zhu and Mo Di blocked the way, looming as the prominent schools of the age. Only Mencius could do battle with them, refuting and pushing them aside, so that the Way of Confucius shone forth. This is establishing merit."

Finally, establishing words—that was the book Mencius itself.

Though Wang Long had pieced together all three immortalities, it still seemed somewhat forced. The opponents muttered inwardly: "The Grand Minister Wang so esteems Mencius only because his teacher loved Mencian learning. Yang Xiong even once styled himself 'the Mencius of the present age'—that is the reason."

The two sides were deadlocked, and Diwu Lun seemed disinclined to intervene. It was Feng Yan, the Grand Herald, who as an observer had been gauging the Emperor's thoughts, who stepped forward and spoke. With meaningful emphasis, he said: "Many passages in the Mencius are indeed worth careful savoring. Just as in the 'Proclamation Condemning Wang Mang' that this minister drafted by Your Majesty's command, we quoted the line: 'Punish the ruler, comfort the people; it is like the timely rain descending, and the people are overjoyed.'"

One sentence woke them as from a dream. Those ministers and scholars who had previously looked down on Mencius suddenly saw the light and hurriedly changed their tune to support.

Of course! Back then, Diwu Lun had brandished the slogan "comfort the people and punish the tyrant" to sidestep the awkwardness—inescapable in that age—of a subject attacking his sovereign.

That was the founding campaign of the Great Wei. Phrases from the Mencius like "punishing the mere fellow" were nothing less than the guiding principles of Diwu Lun's crusade against Wang Mang. He had styled himself as following the revolution of Tang and Wu. Now that the "revolution" had succeeded, how could he not return the favor and lift Mencius high?

Yet some worried: the Mencius contains many statements that, if spoken by an ordinary person, would surely be condemned as high treason—things like "When the ruler regards his ministers as grass and dirt, the ministers regard the ruler as a bandit and foe" and "When the ruler has great faults, remonstrate; if you do so repeatedly and he will not listen, then depose him." This was practically teaching people to rebel. Was the Emperor not afraid of lifting a rock only to drop it on his own foot?

What they did not know was that what Diwu Lun valued was precisely Old Master Meng's temperament—pedantic perhaps, but daring to speak. He detested the apocryphalists' deification of royal authority; a bit more people-centered discourse was nothing bad. After all, what Diwu Lun most wished to see was that, several centuries hence, a group of people could truly storm into Weiyang Palace and push the last reactionary emperor of the Wei dynasty onto the very same chopping block that had killed old Wang Mang...

After Mencius was settled, before the assembled ministers could catch their breath, Wang Long put forward the next candidate: Xunzi.

Although Xunzi revered the ruler and exalted ritual, and even produced two Legalist disciples—making him not a "pure Confucian," certainly less pure than Mencius—the ministers and scholars had little objection to enshrining him in the Confucian Temple and voiced their approval. Why? Because their interests were at stake.

The Confucian world around the turn of the millennium was vastly different from later ages. Among the Thirteen Classics studied at the Imperial Academy, the Lu Odes, Han Odes, and Mao Odes were all transmitted from Xunzi; their founders were either Xun Qing's direct disciples or second-generation students—the founding master still deserved respect. And prominent schools like the Elder Dai Record of Rites and the Younger Dai Record of Rites also inherited heavily from Xunzi's teachings. Even if Diwu Lun were truly democratic, one family one vote, they could muster a full third.

Moreover, the mainstream intellectual current of the time leaned toward Xunzi's theory of evil nature. Having witnessed the failure of Wang Mang's Xin dynasty, which governed purely by the "Kingly Way," everyone had begun to feel that the Han dynasty's "mix of the kingly and the hegemonic" seemed more suitable—and this approach, too, traced its lineage back to Xunzi.

Yet some worried: Mencius and Xunzi—two great Confucians whose views and doctrines were nearly opposite, whose later followers had quarreled for centuries—were to be enshrined together in the Confucian Temple. If they had consciousness in the underworld, given these two's combative temperaments, wouldn't they come to blows? And with their enshrinement, their teachings were bound to blaze back into fashion and might even be listed by the Emperor as part of the civil service examination syllabus. Faced with contradictory viewpoints, how was one to choose?

"Let them contend—that is good," Diwu Lun said with a laugh. "Xun Qing and Meng Ke, bearing the talent of lesser sages, established the laws of their own schools, continuing and illuminating the enterprise of the sage. Each wrote under his own name, and their works survive to this day. In antiquity, a hundred schools contended; now that the hundred schools have returned to one, there should still be debate among the Confucians. There is no need to exalt one alone and discard all others. Let the Xun-Meng debate continue!"

Diwu Lun liked Mencius for his people-centered thought; he had Xunzi enshrined for his practicality, and for that strain of soundly materialist thinking within Xunzi's teachings. He hoped later generations could choose what was good in each and follow it.

By this point in the assembly, four of the five slots were taken; only one remained.

Among those present were masters of the Three Commentaries on the Spring and Autumn, disciples of the Han, Mao, Lu, and Qi Odes, and heirs to the various traditions of the Record of Rites, the Book of Documents, and the Book of Changes. They all wished their own founding masters—men like Zuo Qiuming, Gongyang Gao, and Han Ying—could enter the accompaniment. But at this moment, none of them contended anymore; all fell silent. For everyone knew that this fifth person for the accompaniment had long been decided and was only waiting for someone to propose him.

But Diwu Lun had not yet signaled his intent, and Wang Long, though suppressing his excitement, also said nothing. It was the Libationer of the Imperial Academy, who had been listening all along and rarely speaking, who rose to his feet.

Huan Tan met the gaze of the crowd, walked to the center of the hall, bowed to Diwu Lun, and then, in a great voice, spoke the sincere praise that he had failed to speak to his old friend in years past:

"Master Yang Ziyun's talent and wisdom are open and penetrating; he can enter the path of the sage, preeminent above the multitude. Since the Han began, there has been no one like him. He is fully worthy of accompaniment!"