The Art of Showing Respect — The Analects

Confucius looks simple and reluctant to speak in his village, but in temple and court he is careful and precise. With lower officers he is frank; with higher officers bland and exact. Before the ruler his manner is grave and respectfully tense. Called to receive a guest, his body changes: he adjusts his robe, moves like a bird in flight, and reports when the visitor is truly gone. Entering the palace he avoids the threshold, bends at the prince's empty seat, and holds his breath on the hall steps. Carrying the ruler's scepter he looks weighed down; in private audience he looks pleased. Daily discipline and human priority come next. Fasting changes clothes, food, and seat. He eats cleanly, in season, in proportion, without spoiled food or careless talk at meals and in bed. A crooked mat will not be sat on. In village drinking he leaves when elders with staffs leave; for pest rituals he wears court dress on the eastern steps. He bows twice when sending a messenger, and refuses unknown medicine from Chi K'ang. When the stable burns, he asks first whether any person was hurt, not about the horses. Gifts from the prince are tasted, cooked for ancestors, or kept alive according to form. Respect in friendship and instinct close the book. In the state temple he asks about everything. If a friend dies without kin, he says he will bury him; he bows only for sacrificial meat. At home he relaxes formal bearing but changes face for mourners, the formally dressed, and the blind. Thunder or wind alters his expression. In the carriage he does not point or talk rashly. Book X ends oddly and vividly: Confucius notices a hen-pheasant on a bridge, sighs that its season has come, and Tsze-lu moves toward it until the bird smells him three times and flies away. Even meticulous propriety meets the limit of forcing what nature withholds.