Confucius defines himself as a transmitter, not an inventor, who loves the ancients and compares himself to old P'ang. He lists learning without satiety and teaching without weariness, then asks which quality is truly his. He worries more about uncultivated virtue, shallow study, failure to act on righteousness, and inability to change what is bad. When free of business he is easy and pleased; when he stops dreaming of the Duke of Zhou, he calls it decay. He sets four aims: duty, holding good, perfect virtue, and joy in the polite arts. He teaches anyone who brings even dried meat as payment, but only opens truth to the eager. Show one corner; if a student cannot find the other three, he does not repeat the lesson. He restrains appetite beside mourners and will not sing on a day of weeping. With Yen Yuan he shares the ideal of serving when called and resting when not; he wants partners marked by solicitude and planning, not reckless bravado. If riches came only through sure means he would pursue them; since they do not, he follows what he loves. Fasting, war, and sickness draw his greatest caution. The portrait widens into daily life and public test. The Shao music keeps him from meat for months. Tsze-kung learns through Po-i and Shu-ch'i that Confucius will not serve a ruler unworthy of trust. Confucius finds joy in coarse rice and water and treats unrighteous wealth like a floating cloud. He would give years to the Yi and returns constantly to the Odes, History, and propriety. He tells the Duke of Sheh's envoy that he pursues learning until he forgets food and sorrows until he forgets age. He claims no inborn knowledge, only love of antiquity. He avoids talk of wonders, strength, disorder, and spirits. Walking with two others, he learns from their good and bad. Heaven's virtue protects him from Hwan T'ui. He hides nothing from his disciples and teaches letters, ethics, devotion, and truthfulness. The final movement mixes standards with self-confession. He longs to see constancy, not pretenders who affect what they lack. He fishes and hunts without excess. Virtue is near if wished. He receives a purified visitor without vouching for the past. When accused of misjudging the Duke of Chao's propriety, he calls himself fortunate to be corrected. He admits his letters may match others, but carrying virtue in conduct does not. He strives and teaches without weariness, yet disclaims sagehood. When Tsze-lu offers prayer in illness, Confucius says his life has long been prayer. Extravagance breeds insubordination; parsimony is the lesser harm. The superior man is composed; the mean man distressed. Book VII ends with temperament itself: mild yet dignified, majestic yet not fierce, respectful yet easy.
