Language, Friendship, and God: Jesuit Appropriation of Classical Legends for Evangelical Use in Late Ming China

1 Definition

Toward the end of the twelfth century, the Egyptian sultan Saladin (re. 1169–1193) was under siege by the Crusaders led by King Richard I (1157–1199). Defeated, he lay dying in what today is Syria. On his deathbed, Saladin sighed at life’s impermanence; in the end, not even a hero could escape from death’s clutches. There were ten Crusades; Saladin’s lament, which took place during the Third Crusade, is a story known to all, not merely the literary or the learned (Lindahl, McNamara, and Lindow 2002, 20 and 86). Within fifty years it had been transformed into an exemplum often heard in European religious circles, and is included in Jacques de Vitry’s (c. 1160–1240) Sermones Vulgares as well as many later collections of exempla (Crane, ed., 54–55; Major 1608, 516). Around 1604, in a scholarly colloquy with Xu Guangqi 徐光啟 (1562–1633), a Ming official of high ranking in Beijing, Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) spoke of Saladin’s lament, citing it as an exemplum of the impermanence of honor and riches, and he asked Xu not to concern with death: “Saladin, as an emperor, ruled over 70 kingdoms in the West”. At death’s door, he chose his shroud and ordered a court minister to place it atop a flagpole, and march through the city, crying, “Saladin, the ruler of 70 kingdoms passed away today, and this garment is all he took with him” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 168).

The Saladin story was not an ancient European legend, and Saladin was not a Christian either. Nevertheless, Ricci treated the tale seriously, talking about it in China as if it were a historical truth of Christianity. Ricci’s description of the unusal event, which is both paradoxical and intriguing, is brilliant, but also so dramatic that it is doubtful how many factual elements it actually contains. In other words, Saladin’s painful realization lies somewhere between history and fiction. Because it has been passed down orally through history, it is similar to folkloric “legends.” In this paper, I will focus on legends, which will be viewed in the same light as the chreia that I addressed elsewhere (Li and Meynard 2014, 11–96).

“Legends” are certainly different from “chreia.” The stories are simple and easy to understand; aside from being somewhat longer, they lack chreia’s question and answer structure, that is, the “someone asked” and “[someone] answered” narrative format (Li and Meynard 2014, 19–20). Analyzing it further, we find that in terms of attributes, beyond their religious significance, legends such as the Saladin story lean toward the mythological, even passing off the fictitious as genuine. Here I must emphasize in terms of “attributes” because the Saladin story ends with a sense of surprise, which does not correspond to the endings of the Western classical legends the Jesuits in late Ming China passed on. Moreover, it also confirms modern scholars’ research on the morphology of ancient legends. The so-called “sense of surprise” derives from a certain kind of realization we have after reading or hearing such stories (Dégh 2001, 23–97; Williams 1982, 216–28). Generally speaking, the definition of “legend” varies from person to person, and the Saladin story gives us a peek at some of the differences. The Jesuits in the late Ming used legends to proselytize after Ricci had come to China. During the transitional period between the late Ming and the early Qing, Martino Martini (1614–1661) enthusiastically told as many as some fifty such stories in his Qiuyou pian 逑友篇 (De Amicitia); as a religious order, the Jesuits included more than 200 in their talks and writings.

Ancient legends were the favorites of the Jesuits, who Christianized them in great number in the late Ming, citing them as doctrinal evidences. The frequency of their appearance in the Chinese writings of the Jesuits is second only to that of chreia, and their importance, on par with beast fables and myths. Since they were “ancient legends,” the stories were much older than ordinary Christian ones, and the legendary flavor that had evolved over time was perforce stronger. But because the stories recounted the deeds of real people, they had a sounder historical basis that fictional tales and people identified with more closely. Some stories even crossed national borders, evolving in the memory of the people, eventually turning into “oral rather than written history.” As long as a legend has a historical pedigree, even if it is not entirely in accordance with history, it still has its own value, turning out to be what Vladimir Propp (1895–1970) called an “ideological phenomenon” (1984, 51). The ancient Western legends the Jesuits put forth in the late Ming had a similar significance and could carry on an in-depth dialogue with the Chinese culture, especially the Confucian tradition, in which the Jesuits preached.

In this paper, I will discuss three European legends that the Jesuits preached: “Aesop and the Tongue,” “Damon and Pythias,” and “The Sword of Damocles.” All three are of Greco-Roman origin, and have been handed down through the ages. Aside from confirming the above definitions, they also serve as a testament to the pervasive power of the genre. Of the three stories, Ricci introduced two in 1608, prior to the publication of his Jiren shipian 畸人十篇 (Ten Chapters of a Strange Person). At the time, the Ming Dynasty was rapidly declining. The third was included in Martini’s Qiuyou pian, written when he was staying in Yuqian in Zhejiang Province in 1647. At the time Martini finished the draft, the Southern Ming Dynasty was imperiled, as Qing forces controlled most of northern and southern China. Ricci and Martini translated the three legends as an echo to their evangelizing strategy. But because the stories also had an inherent ethical connection with one another, they could be expanded from tales of individual cultivation to human connection to God. Moreover, they had an external audience, whose identity and rank revealed their character as signposts, resonating powerfully with traditional Chinese culture, echoing, too, with Propp’s theory of ideological phenomenon. These are all reasons why we should delve into them.

2 The Way of “Tongue”

“Aesop’s Tongue” was the earliest of the three Western legends to be introduced in China, taken from a dialogue in Ricci’s Jiren shipian. Although the chapter “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent,” in which it appears, is not a record of the actual dialogue, the legend is the focus of Ricci’s talk with Cao Yubian 曹于汴 (1558–1634; Luo 1982, 180). Cao was an appointed official in the Ming court, “a morally upright minister.” He was a follower of Gao Panlong 高攀龍 (1562–1626) and Feng Congwu 馮從吾 (1556–1627), both being Neo-Confucian Rationalists (Ji 1983, 665), and thus was thoroughly grounded in Confucian thought. At the time Cao and Ricci exchanged their ideas, Ming rule was in disorder as one disaster followed another. Hence, Cao sought Ricci’s counsel, hoping that the latter’s wisdom could illustrate “a way of speaking” appropriated to an “imperial censor” (Zhu, anno., 2002, 440). Earlier in the Jiren shipian, Ricci had already imparted several Aesopic exempla. Therefore, Ricci took advantage of the opportunity that Cao’s question provided, telling the story “Aesop and the Tongue” for the latter’s edification. Classical exempla are usually short and simple; Ricci’s tale is exceptionally a rare “magnum opus”:

阨瑣伯氏, 上古明士, 不幸本國被伐, 身為俘虜, 鬻于藏德氏, 時之聞人先達也, 其門下弟子以千計。一日, 設席宴其高弟, 命阨瑣伯治具。問何品?曰: 「惟覓最佳物。」阨瑣伯唯而去。之屠家, 市舌數十枚, 烹治之。客坐, 阨瑣伯行炙, 則每客下舌一器。客喜而私念: 「是必師以狀傳教者, 蘊有微旨也。」次後, 每殽異醬異治, 而充席無非舌耳。客異之, 主漸怒, 咤之曰: 「癡僕!乃爾辱主, 市無他殽乎?」對曰: 「主命耳。」藏德滋怒曰: 「我命汝市最佳物, 誰命汝特市舌耶?」 阨瑣伯曰: 「鄙僕之意, 以為莫佳於舌也。」主曰: 「狂人!舌何佳之有?」曰: 「今日幸得高士在席, 可為判此: 天下何物佳於舌乎?百家高論, 無舌孰論之?聖賢達道, 無舌何以傳之?何以振之?天地性理、造化之妙, 無舌孰究之?不論奧微難通,以舌可講而釋之矣。無舌, 商賈不得交易有無;官吏不得審獄訟。辯黑白以舌, 友相友, 男女合配以舌, 神樂成音, 敵國說而和, 大眾聚而營宮室, 立城國, 皆舌之功也。贊聖賢, 誦謝上主重恩, 造化大德, 孰非舌乎?無此舌之言助, 茲世界無美矣!是故鄙僕市之, 以稱嘉會矣!」客聞此理辯, 則躍然喜, 請貰之, 因辭去。厥明日, 其詣師謝, 語昨事, 以為非僕所及, 意師之豫示之也。師曰: 「否, 否!僕近慧, 欲見其聰穎耳。」眾猶未信, 師曰: 「若爾, 請復之。」 隨命阨瑣伯曰: 「速之市, 市殽宴昨客, 不須佳物, 唯須最醜者, 第得鮮足矣!」阨瑣伯唯唯去, 則如昨日市舌耳, 畢無他殽也。席設, 數下饌, 特見舌, 視昨無異。客異之, 主忿怒, 大詈之, 問曰: 「舌既佳, 疇命汝市佳 (醜) 者, 何弗若我, 而惟欲辱我乎?」 對曰: 「僕敢冒主乎?鄙意舌乃最醜物耳。」主曰: 「舌佳矣, 何為醜乎?」曰: 「吾解鄙見, 請諸客加思而審之: 天下何物醜於舌乎?諸家眾流無舌, 孰亂世俗乎?逆主道邪言淫辭, 無舌何以普天之下乎?冒天荒誕妄論, 紛欺下民, 無舌, 孰云之易知易從?大道至理, 以利口可辯而毀矣!無舌, 商賈何得詐偽罔市?細民何得虛誣爭訟, 而官不得別黑白乎?以舌之謗諛, 故友相疏, 夫婦相離。以舌淫樂邪音, 導欲溺心。夫友邦作髓, 而家敗城壞國滅, 皆舌之愆也。侮神訧上主, 背恩違大德, 孰非舌乎?無此舌之流禍, 世世安樂矣。是故鄙僕承命市醜物, 遍簡 (檢) 之, 惟見舌至不祥矣。」客累聞二義, 陳說既正, 音韻祥雅, 俱離席敬謝教。是後, 主視之如學士先生也。Li, comp., (1965, 1: 187–91)

Aesop was renowned as a sage in ancient times. Alas, his country was attacked and he was captured and enslaved. His captor, Xanthus, was a great man of the past, his followers numbering in the thousands. One day, Xanthus hosted a banquet for his acolytes and ordered Aesop to see to the preparations. Aesop asked, “What shall I serve?” Xanthus replied, “Seek out only the finest fare.” Aesop went about his task. At the butcher shop, he purchased dozens of tongues and prepared them for cooking. When the guests were seated, he roasted the tongues and served one to each of the attendees. The diners were pleased and whispered among themselves, “This must be the master’s order; there must be a lesson in it.” Tongues were served as the next course, prepared with a different sauce and method of cooking; indeed, only tongues were served throughout the banquet. The guests found this strange. Xanthus, their host, grew angry, saying to Aesop, “Idiotic slave, you’ve insulted your lord. Was there nothing else for sale at the market?” “I have followed my lord’s command,” Aesop replied. Enraged, Xanthus said, “I ordered you to seek out the finest fare; who told you to buy only tongues?” Aesop replied, “It was your humble servant’s idea, for I reckon there is nothing more exquisite than the tongue.” Xanthus said, “Madman! In what way is the tongue exquisite?” Aesop replied, “Could philosophers discourse without the tongue? When sages are enlightened, can they pass their knowledge to others without the tongue? Can they put their wisdom into practice? How could the beauty and wonders of nature be studied without the tongue? However abstruse or profound nature may be, the tongue can study and explain it. Without the tongue, merchants could not do business and officials could not conduct government affairs. Disputes are settled with the tongue; friendships and marriages are made with the tongue; divine music becomes sound with the tongue. The tongue brings peace to warring kingdoms; it unites people to build palaces and castle walls. All of this is the work of the tongue. Praising the sages, thanking the Providence for its blessings, good fortunes, and great virtues––which of these is not the work of the tongue? Without the tongue to aid us in speaking, this world would not be so beautiful. That is why I, your humble servant, bought tongues to mark this grand occasion.” When the guests heard this argument, they gleefully applauded, then excused themselves and took their leave. The next day, Xanthus’ disciples came to thank him. Talking over the previous day’s banquet, they said that they did not believe the tongues were the slave’s doing but rather thought it was a lesson from the master. “No, no!” Xanthus exclaimed, “The slave is somewhat intelligent. He merely wanted to display his cleverness.” But Xanthus’s disciples were unconvinced. “Well, then,” said the master, “we shall feast again today.” Xanthus ordered Aesop: “Hurry to the market and purchase meat to fete yesterday’s guests. The fare need not be exquisite; rather, it should be the worst of meats; as long as it is fresh, that is sufficient.” Aesop obeyed and went to the market, but again, tongues were all that he bought. At the banquet, several courses were served, and all were tongues, just as the day before. The guests thought it odd and Xanthus flew into a rage, berating Aesop: “Yesterday you said tongues were the finest fare; today, I ordered you to buy the worst of meats. Why did you not obey my command? Did you merely want to insult me?” Aesop replied, “Would I dare disobey you, Master? In my lowly opinion, tongues are the worst of fare.” Xanthus said, “Yesterday tongues were exquisite. How could they be the worst today?” Aesop replied, “Here is how we view it in my humble country; I ask the guests to ponder it carefully: What in the world could be worse than the tongue? If people had no tongues, could they violate customs and norms? Could they rebel or speak vile and evil words? How could they face the world if they had no tongue? Mouthing blasphemous and absurd doctrines, deceiving the people––how could it be done without the tongue? If there were no tongues, how could merchants cheat buyers? How could the people lie and dispute; how could officials obfuscate? Slanderous tongues break up friendships and marriages. The tongue’s obscene music and evil sounds lead to lust and degeneracy. Alliances torn apart, families destroyed, cities in ruins, kingdoms fallen, all are punishments inflicted by the tongue. Insulting gods and kings, renouncing loyalty, violating morals, all are the wrongs of the tongue. If not for the misfortunes of the tongue, generations would live in peace and harmony. Therefore, your humble servant did obey your order to buy the worst meats; and everywhere I went, tongues were the worst.” The dinner guests listened to this second explanation and agreed that it had merit, and the sounds were auspicious and elegant. They rose from their seats and bowed in thanks for the lesson. From then on, Xanthus regarded Aesop as a learned teacher. (Translation mine)

Narratively, Ricci’s story was inspired by the medieval exemplum tradition. The Aesop tale was included in many compilations of exempla, starting with Dominican friar Étienne de Bourbon’s (c.1190-c.1261) Anecdotes historiques: légendes et apologues. According to what I have found, only de Bourbon’s version is as lengthy as Ricci’s, while the majority are brief outlines and synopses (Tubach 1969, 372). However, not even de Bourbon’s retelling is as detailed as Ricci’s in the Jiren shipian; even the names “Aesop” and “Xanthus” are absent from the former. De Bourbon and others identify the protagonist only as a “slave;” therefore, I suspect that, apart from the exemplum tradition, Ricci also consulted Vita Aesopi.

Vita Aesopi is said to have been written in the first century, but the author’s name is lost. In Ricci’s time, the edition most widely circulated in Europe was Maximus Planudes’s (c. 1260-c. 1305) thirteenth-century rewriting, customarily appended to the beginning of Aesop’s Fables (Perry 1952, 1–130). Ricci’s version was first recounted orally, then translated, supplemented, and to a certain degree, readapted, just as the Jesuits of the late Ming had done with the Greek myths. Naturally, “Aesop and the Tongue” was Christianized, the content and form related to religious sermons. The “tongue” in the story has broken away from the Classical tradition, assuming the Christian function of praising and thanking the Lord for His blessings and great benevolence. However, the tongue also resembles humanity after the fall, insulting God, blaspheming the Lord, renouncing grace, and violating morals. Possessing such abilities, the “tongue,” aside from its role as a tool for “speaking,” as in the Book of Job (33:2), is double-edged: in his Storia dell’introduzione del Cristianesimo in Cina, Ricci calls it both the source of all evil and the source of all good (Ricci 1942, 2: 302–4). The double-edged ability of the “tongue” is the logical basis for Christian inferential conception of language, and Ricci’s story relies on the beauty of rhetorical parallelism.

At the outset, neither Ricci nor Aesop in “Aesop and the Tongues” views the tongue or language as inauspicious. In the Jiren shipian, Ricci instead seems to be talking about words (Zhu 2001, 268–81), arguing that language has an inextinguishable function; at least, “the tongue could help save letters when talking with others” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 175). Judging from the context of the entire chapter “A Gentleman Speaks But Wishes to Be Silent,” Ricci is discussing actual circumstances, pointing out that the conversation he is having with Cao Yubian is indeed “saving letters.” Even if we look at it from a broader angle, Ricci seems to agree that language is the spirit of all things because, of all living creatures, only human beings possess intelligence; language is what differentiates humanity from the birds and beasts. Hence, in this chapter Ricci argues, “Without language, whose world would it be? It is the birds’ and beasts’ world. Language is what separates humanity from the birds and beasts” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 186). Still, although the “tongue” and “words” are “benevolent,” Ricci knows that this is a double-edged sword: if people “misuse [the tongue], speaking with impropriety, its benevolence is destroyed.” As far as Ricci’s Christian faith is concerned, from Genesis onward, such speech was doctrinally unacceptable. In Genesis, God is the creator of the universe; Ricci stresses that “God made humans, [giving us] two hands and two ears, but only one tongue,” a sign that we should “speak little.” Furthermore, the Lord “placed the tongue deep in the mouth; the teeth are like a city, the lips the city walls, and the beard the outer defenses, the tongue thrice encircled. One must truly be wary of it, guarding one’s words” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 178).^[1]

The “will of the Lord” that Ricci “cites” is brief but eloquent, much like Augustine’s (354–430) forthrightness in On Christian Doctrine, and the metaphorical language is similar as well.^[2] Judging from what it says, we cannot help but wondering whether there is doctrinal evidence for Aesop’s Christian rhetoric about the “tongue,” and in Ricci’s writings, whether it also has its religious sources. The question is the key to the Christianization of “Aesop and the Tongues.” Pursuing the question, Solomon’s linguistic wisdom in the Book of Proverbs (4: 24, 10: 11–21, 12: 13-13: 6, 14: 15–24, 16: 23–33, 26: 17–22) aside, I think the most important thing we should look at here is the Epistle of James in the New Testament. James is like a Chinese Zen monk. In his letter there is a chapter devoted to the tongue, primarily stressing that being a teacher is not necessarily a blessing. In addition to being cautious, a teacher must speak carefully because people are not perfect and verbal errors are commonplace (James, 3:1-2). Thus, we understand that although the tongue is a small thing, it can spark fires, and kindle a great wood. Like fire, it becomes “a world of iniquity […] placed among our members,” thereby cursing humans, who are created in God’s image. The tongue’s power is such that it can even “curse men, which are made after the likeliness of God.” Conversely, James also understands that the tongue has its good uses, allowing people to “bless God and the Father” and experience the insignificance of the individual. From the same “mouth” and “tongue” come praise and cursing (3:5-10).^[3] Therefore, James felt people should be cautious with and fearful of the tongue. With one eye on the New Testament, Ricci rewrote “Aesop and the Tongues” with details borrowed from the Epistle of James, his spoken and written intentions being evident.

If the Epistle of James is indeed the biblical basis for Christianizing “Aesop and the Tongues,” the message Jiren shipian intended to convey with the long quotation may go beyond Cao Yubian’s original intention in posing the question. The “earthly” wisdom in the scripture is transformed into “Heavenly” wisdom (3:15-17). What “Aesop and the Tongues” called “the tongue’s transgressions,” whether “vile words” or “blasphemous and absurd doctrines,” are all stridently condemned in the Epistle of James as “earthly wisdom,” the evil consequence of human envy and selfishness. In the orthodox theology of the Western church, human beings cannot control the arising of such consequences; only “supernatural wisdom” can put an end to slander and flattery, saving “friendships and marriages.” All told, there are seven of what the Epistle of James calls the fruits of this “supernatural wisdom.” They range from purity to impartiality and sincerity (3:17), all encompassed within “the tongue’s merits” in the Aesop story.

In recounting “Aesop and the Tongues,” Ricci seems to emphasize “the tongue’s evils” rather than “the tongue’s merits.” As earlier noted, the legend is a rare “long story” among medieval exempla. Although that is indicative of the importance Ricci attached to it, “long tongue” (changshe 長舌) is also a colloquial Chinese idiom for loquacity, of which he was surely aware. Thus, near the end of “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent,” Ricci mocks himself for talking too much (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 196). Therefore, after telling the Aesop’s story, Ricci pointed out that he was using speech as a metaphor for “logology” (Burke 1970, 1.) In fact, he hoped to “be silent, to teach with few words, to fulfill the creator’s original purpose” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 191). The phrase “to teach with few words” is a twist on the Daodejing’s 道德經 (Classic of the power of Dao) discourse that one should abstain from speech, “marking him who is obeying the spontaneity of his nature” (xi yan ziran 希言自然), and “instructing without the use of speech (buyan zhijiao 不言之教)” (Legge, trans., 1995, 2 and 7). Lao Tzu advocated “the natural qualities of language, its natural expression with a few well-chosen words,” also urging people to use the Daoist “great argument with almost no words” or “wordless singularity” which are the Daoist concepts of simplicity in speech (Chen 2000, 49–50, 164–65, and 227). Ricci borrowed those passages from the Daodejing but obviously had a different intention in enlisting them because he added the phrase “to fulfill the original purpose of the creator” at the end. The meaning of Christian “creator” is self-evident; moreover, in the context of Jiren shipian, its “original purpose” can be regarded as the doctrines of “one-tongue” or “few-words.” Furthermore, at a deeper level it implies the supernatural wisdom spoken of in the Epistle of James. In the context of “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent,” this last point conforms closely to the religious truth of Ricci’s, which is a compromise between “not speaking” and “speaking.”

In a certain sense, Ricci’s dialectic of “silence” and “speech” runs contrary to the Old Testament phonocentrism in Genesis and the “logocentrism” in Western philosophy that originated with Plato (Derrida 1974, Chapter 3), contradicting Paul and other New Testament writers as well. Furthermore, Ricci’s views on speech actually involved an epistemological question, and what he primarily emphasized in answering Cao Yubian, of course, was the essence of language. “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent” opens by stating that “language is not for the speakers themselves. It allows others to understand their thoughts; if people’s hearts are connected, what is for language?” In other words, there is no further need for language once it has served its purpose. In Ricci’s view, language is not substantia; it provides accidens with a necessary structure (Li comp., 1965, 1: 384); if the need for language disappears, then language itself can be dispensed with. He felt that “sages,” among all humans, understood this best, and therefore were the most cautious in using language: They “speak to instruct people” but once “people understand, […] the sage need speak no more.” Should he have no choice but to speak, the sage must thoroughly understand that the words of learned people are few but the results of them are many. Hence, Ricci concludes: “The sage speaks little and wishes to be silent” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 175). Cao Yubian was a Confucianist, by all means. After listening to Ricci’s argument, he was able to make inferences, drawing parallels with the statement from the Analects that “those of few and simple words are near to virtue” (mune jinren 木訥近仁; Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 274).^[4] Moreover, he expressed a willingness to study the Western “way of silence” with Ricci in order to confirm “the sage’s purpose” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 175–76). Although Ricci’s concepts of “no words” or “few words” are borrowed from Daoism, the “sage” in his writings is not necessarily the sage of the Daodejing who “manages affairs without doing anything” (Legge, trans., 1995, 2). Neither is it “the Confucian ideal, that is, one ‘whose acts stem from a desire to act.’” Furthermore, it is not Yao 堯 (dates unknown) or Shun 舜 (dates unknown), whom were the “sage kings” of ancient legend (Chen 2000, 165). As the Jesuits of the late Ming used the term, “sage” referred to either righteous figures in the Bible or Jesus’ apostles and Catholic saints. Hence, those who, in Ricci’s words, “do not speak” are Christians like James.^[5] Nevertheless, Cao’s cultural background was very different from Ricci’s; his “sages” are none other than Confucius, Mencius, and other “sages of the past.” If Ricci’s and Cao’s views in this regard were to diverge even further, it would mark the point where, in essence, Christian “few words” and Confucian “few and simple words” (mune) go their separate ways. Putting Confucianism aside for the time being, Ricci’s Christian concept of “few words” in the Jiren shipian is even more clearly expressed in his answer to Cao’s question about the sage: “Silence draws people nearer to supernatural beings; that is, ‘people study speaking to teach others; they learn silence to emulate God.’”

Ricci’s artfulness raises suspicions that he is dodging Cao’s question. For Ricci, the Confucian sages of the past are not on equal footing with “supernatural beings” (guishen 鬼神), and it would be unlikely he would see them as equal to Christian apostles or saints at the spiritual level (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 175). The deeper meaning of Ricci’s talk lies in the difference between mortal and divine concepts and practices of language. Comparing the material cited above with the implications of “Aesop and the Tongues,” it seems that Ricci is hinting that “speaking” is a human characteristic and the “unspoken,” a divine attribute. If we wish to ascend to Heaven and “draw near to supernatural beings,” then we must speak less or even adopt “silence” as a way of conducting ourselves in the world. Cao Yubian’s question about language aimed to draw Ricci out on the way of the “imperial censor.” At least we know that at the superficial level of the dialogue, Cao wanted to investigate the reason why “sages of the past” used “few words.” What he sought was a worldly truth. Unexpectedly, the “way of silence” in the world turned into the “way to ascend to Heaven” in Ricci’s exposition and is no longer what Cao thought of as the Western “way of speech restriction.” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 175–76) Nevertheless, if we pair it with the legend of “Aesop and the tongues,” we will no doubt want to ask an even more interesting core question in the chapter on “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent”: What shaped Ricci’s logic?

Before answering this question, we have to understand one thing: In Italy, Ricci’s country of birth, “silence” or “speechlessness” was itself the heart of Christian life and one of the central motifs of Christian literature. Apart from Biblical scriptures, the strongest and most forceful theoretical basis for that idea can be traced back to Pope Gregory the Great (540–604), who deemed all human language brief and abrupt. Thus, in his Homiliae in Evangelia, we find his famous remark that words cannot be called speech until they are spoken; after they are spoken, words are no longer speech, because only at the moment that the voice has faded away can the words be deemed finished. At that instant, we can no longer hear a “voice”; that is, we can no longer hear any words or language (Evans 1986, 36). Gregory’s assertion is reasonable but somewhat sophistic, because in speaking, even though the utterances of a moment are no longer audible, the intended meaning (sententiae) has been branded in the listener’s mind. Gregory was likely stressing meaning rather than the brief and abrupt sounds of speech. In other words, meaning is the “master” and sound the “follower,” and Christians therefore should not, must not, confuse the means with the end. Again, according to Gregory, even grasping the meaning is not within the mortals’ capability because its noumenon is seen only in the “Word” or “Way” at the beginning of the Gospel of John (1:1-2). Since the Word created all things, how could people hear it? How could it be known intellectually? The Sacred Word created worldly language and thus need not to rely on language to manifest. The relationship between the two therefore is the juxtaposition of Ricci’s substantia and accidens, the difference between sense and sound. Since speech is not the point of language, then “lengthy discourse,” though it can indeed embellish language, makes no difference than “regulated speech” or “pure speech.” Because of this proportional equalness, the intent of meaning can conversely be revealed even more clearly. This is what Ricci meant by “few words but many uses” (yanyue er yongguang 言約而用廣). Hence, I believe the theological basis of Ricci’s view of language is Gregorian.

The inferential argument above is intended to highlight the true meaning of Ricci’s “silence (wuyan 無言) as human return to God.” “Silence” is actually close to “language” (yan 言); it is the noumenon of the Holy Word or the Way. In Logos Christology, it is also what the Book of Wisdom 7:22-27 and Proverbs 8:22-36 record as “all-powerful language” or “wisdom.” In this kind of rhetoric, the “supernatural being” actually becomes the supernatural Holy Ghost. I also believe that it is only in light of these implications that Ricci’s argument of using “silence to emulate the Lord” gains power. “Aesop and the Tongues” was intended to convey the virtues of “cautious speech” or “prudent silence,” and it foreshadowed Ricci’s theory mentioned above.

In “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent,” the textual and social foundations of Ricci’s argument also include “Catholic classics and Western sages,” hence he does not “speak profusely, and hope that scholars be silent” (Li, comp., 1965, 1:175). Here, the “sages” Ricci refers to, apart from wise Athenians such as Socrates (469-399 BCE) and Solon (630-c. 560 BC), also include ancient notables like Aesop. Nevertheless, to understand the exact meaning of what Ricci calls “Catholic classics,” we have to look to his Italian contemporary Giacomo Affinati d’Acuto’s (d. 1615) The Dumbe divine speaker. Like Jiren shipian, d’Acuto’s book is a dialogue in which the main speaker extols the power of silence. D’Acuto’s reason for taking this position is almost the same as Ricci’s “Aesop and the Tongues”; that is, he is detailing the “benefits” (diginitie) and “defects” of the “tongue” and human language. D’Acuto’s main speaker sums up his argument as follows: The negative uses of language outweigh its positive uses. Therefore, ordinary mortals should practice speaking little or not at all.

“Silence” is the most emphatic point in The Dumbe Divine Speaker and it alludes to the “fact” of the God’s “abstinence of His words.” D’Acuto cites David’s words in Psalms 62:11: “One thing God has spoken; two things I have heard.” The sentence was originally a “poetic idiom” in the Old Testament, ^[6] but d’Acuto has turned it into proof that God’s “words are measured.” In the Book of Job, Elihu speaks to Job about “the ways that God admonishes humans” (33:68), which d’Acuto’s dialogue touches on, stressing it all the more, and seeing it as further evidence of God’s silence (1605, 43). Elihu says that God does not “reply” to human questions, and therefore we need not attempt to communicate with God through speech. Instead, God’s “instruction” relies on dreams and night visions, allowing sight and hearing to appear simultaneously. Although this kind of religious expression is not the “pure language” that Walter Benjamin (1892–1940) celebrated (1997, 1: 62–74), it is vastly different from human language after the fall of the Tower of Babel. Moreover, d’Acuto states that if human beings wish to approach God, they need not rely on everyday speech. Since God “does not speak human language,” “not speaking” or “silence” is closer to His true form of expression.

Some believe that such “tacit communication” is also present in Confucius (551-479 BCE) and Mencius (372-289 BCE) because in the Analects Confucius asks, “[…] does Heaven say anything?” and emphatically states, “I would prefer not speaking” (Legge, trans. 1985, 1: 326). When asked if Heaven had given Emperor Shun “specific injunctions,” Mencius replied, “Heaven does not speak. It simply showed its will by its personal conduct and its conduct of affairs” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 355). In this regard, those who advocated tacit communication not only included anti-Catholic scholars in the Ming and the Qing, but also Chinese Catholics like Zhang Geng 張賡 (1570–1646) (1984, 1: 365–66).

If we look at it from Confucian hatred of “those who with their sharp mouths overthrow kingdoms and families” in the Analects (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 326), then tacit communication is indeed a reasonable view to hold, because “Aesop and the Tongues” stated that “alliances torn apart, families destroyed, cities in ruins, kingdoms fallen, all are the wrongs of the tongue.” Nevertheless, neither Christians nor anti-Christians saw the whole picture, ignoring the vast difference between what Confucius and Mencius intended and the gist of the Aesop story. For Elihu dreams and “night visions” are one of God’s revelations or “silent teachings”; thus God’s “silence” is a metaphysical phenomenon (Brown, Fitsmyer, and Murphy, eds., 1990, 484–85). As for Confucius’ “silence” and his question about heavenly speechlessness in the relevant chapters of the Analects, they are noted above or as Zhang Longxi showed in The Dao and Logos: one is ethical, touching on the morals of excessive speech, while the other has to do with natural phenomena (1992, 12–17), because in the Analects, heavenly speechlessness is directly preceded by the sentences that “the four seasons pursue their courses, and all things are continually being produced.” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 326). The latter is a rhetorical question, indicating that Confucius knew that he was talking about an actual phenomenon: “Heaven does not enlighten humans of its own accord” (Pan 2002, 147). This is the very principle Ouyang Jian 歐陽建 (268–300) delineated: “Heaven is silent and the four seasons pursue their courses; the sage is silent and there is wisdom in his silence” (1909, 348.) Zhu Xi’s 朱熹 (1130–1200) commentary on Confucius’s statement is also illustrative: “The four seasons pursue their courses, and all things are produced; could it be that Heaven’s truth is self-evident?” Zhu Xi’s question remains rhetorical; he understood that Confucius was referring to “the ways of nature” and therefore maintained a “silent,” or even a negative, attitude toward the supernatural (1997, 183). If we want to find a parallel among Chinese and Western thinkers, Benjamin’s “contemplation” perhaps comes closest to the Book of Job’s “silence”; that is, unspoken communication comes from God or is a revelation conferred by God (1997, 1: 170). The main theme of “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent” is founded on nothing more than a mysterious experience, which is divinely bestowed. Even if Ricci’s views were not taken from d’Acuto, they almost certainly developed from or were transformed by the tradition that The Dumbe divine speaker followed.

The Imitation of Christ or Contemptus mundi was the catalyst. The importance of silence is stated in the chapter entitled “Avoiding Idle Talk.” Thomas à Kempis (c. 1380–1471) not only urges people to abstain from gossip and discussions of worldly affairs but also asks that they refrain from idle chatter, lest they hinder their moral and spiritual development. In Emmanuel Diaz’s (1574–1659) Chinese translation of Contemptus mundi (Qingshi jinshu 輕世金書), à Kempis counsels a Christian believer, “Is it not better to abide quietly?” By “abide quietly,” à Kempis is referring to “silence” (1952, 37), namely, the “silence” Ricci advocated in “Aesop and the Tongues.” Like Aesop, à Kempis is keenly aware of the dual nature of language. The following statement from The Imitation of Christ and Diaz’s translation is akin to Ricci: “Is idle or false talk permissible? Speaking to benefit oneself and others is permissible. Nevertheless, I am slow to do good and speech is hard to restrain” (1848, 7a). If it is not good, just as in the Aesop story, the “tongue” will “speak vile and evil words or even trigger rebellions.” “Aesop and the Tongues” and The Imitation of Christ share still another connection. We need only look back at the meaning at Ricci’s injunction to “practice silence to emulate God,” and the association is apparent. The Imitation of Christ (Zun Zhu shengfan 遵主聖範) is also translated as Emulating the Lord (Shi Zhu pian 師主篇) in Chinese; with both titles sharing the character 主 (denoting “Christ” in the former and “Lord” in the latter), which of course refers to Jesus, as does “God” in Ricci’s statement. Each term—“Christ,” “Lord,” or “God”—is a persona for the divine. The above-noted “quiet abiding,” whether inner- or outer-directed, is one of the virtues Jesus in the New Testament urges people to put into practice in their lives. In Christian Holy Trinity, Jesus is “God incarnate,” precisely what d’Acuto called “God’s inner-directed language” (1605, 44–45). Therefore, Christians must not only propagate Christ’s teachings but also emulate his experience to achieve a life of goodness and beauty, à Kempis’s aim in writing Imitation of Christ. To highlight that point, Diaz’s translation begins by stressing Jesus’ word in the scriptures, “Those who follow me shall never walk alone and eternally enjoy the true light of God.” Diaz further states, “God’s precepts show people how to cleanse hearts, revere the one who is light, emulate God and practice it always” (1848, 1a). “Followers of Jesus” can enjoy “the true light,” which comes from “God” and is “God’s example,” encompassing the virtues of both “God’s word” and “silence.” If “God” is a collective term for the “Holy Son Jesus” and “God the Father,” is Ricci’s advice to Cao Yubian in the Jiren shipian—“practice silence to emulate God”—not an enactment of the theme of “cautious silence” that Imitation of Christ and “Avoiding Idle Talk” strove to convey? After this trope of meaning, for the Jesuits in China, “Aesop and the Tongues” underwent a significant transmutation, turned into an ancient revelation urging people to “follow God’s example,” a lesson for the ages.

Cao Yubian authored Yangjietang ji 仰節堂集 (Collection of Essays from the Yangjie Hall). Apart from the Jiren shipian, however, we have no way of knowing how he reacted to “Aesop and the Tongues.” Most Ming literati who echoed the Jiren shipian emphasized its rich ethical philosophy, which, they felt, could fit with the Confucian tradition. Li Zhi’s 李贄 (1527–1602) disciple Zhang Xuan 張萱 (dates unkown) compiled Xiyuan wenjianlu 西園聞見錄 (1627; Records of Western Garden), which is a broad-sweeping record of the words and deeds of renowned individuals of the past, and which included “Aesop and the Tongues” (1991, 117:818-20). From it, we get a glimpse of how Confucians respond to the story. Zhang’s work does not call itself a “factual record;” in practice, however, Zhang ordered it “as he saw fit” and classified it as a record of “words and deed,” obviously regarding it as a work of historical biography (1991, 116: 27–29). Nevertheless, Zhang’s compilation includes no explanatory notes but rather shows that he edited according to his own ideas, leaving it to readers to deduce the order from context. Zhang classified “Aesop and the Tongues” as “Deeds of the Past Sages” (wangxing 往行), showing that he viewed it as historical biography, or at least a historical legend from the West.

Xiyuan wenjianlu includes the Aesop doings under the general heading of “Cautious Silence” (shenmo 慎默), with “Aesop and the Tongues” serving as one example of the titular theme. The two entries preceding it record the moral conduct of Hu Yan 胡儼 (1361–1443), who lived during the reign of the Ming Emperor Chengzu 成祖, and Song Lian 宋濂 (1310–1381), from an earlier period. The Hu Yan story relates that Hu “had to observe and judge all right and wrong and advantages and disadvantages to seek what was most appropriate.” This kind of “right and wrong and advantages and disadvantages” is closely related to groups of people, because Hu “only feared bringing on calamity; in talking with people if there is disagreement, he retired from the scene, and did not engage in debate.” If viewed together with the Song Lian story, the “group” herewith refers to “officialdom”: “Song Lian excelled at offering counsel to the emperor, taking care not to divulge what was said at court. After submitting a memorial, he would burn the draft. If asked about court affairs, he would not reply” (Zhang 1991, 117–818). Taking the two stories together, the diligent “cautious silence” that Zhang Xuan describes in the two biographies obviously implies “cautious speech” in official settings. Hu and Song were cautious in their speech: If people did not understand their intentions, they would not reveal them; if people did not know their thoughts, they remained silent.

But Hu Yan and Song Lian’s silence does not mean they spoke badly. According to Xiyuan wenjianlu, they were gifted speakers, as eloquent as Aesop, and nimble in their use of language. Hu Yan “discoursed” with others and Song Lian excelled at “offering counsels;” thus, theirs was not a refusal to speak but a fear of speaking in error or gossiping, causing harm both publically and privatelly. Placed in this context, the significance of “Aesop and the Tongues” changes dramatically: Ricci’s spiritual discourse is reduced to a wise and prudent strategy for officialdom, which, conversely, is in line with Cao Yubian’s intention in posing his question to Ricci in the first place. Speech can “discourse” and “offer criticism,” but excessive speech might divulge “what was said at court,” thereby causing misfortune or “bringing on calamity.” In his Mingxin baojian 明心寶鑒 (Precious Mirror for Clear Mind), Fan Liben 范立本 (fl. 1393) advises to “close your mouth, hide your tongue, and you will rest easy wherever you are” (1393, 61b). Fan’s injunction echoes Hu and Song. Mingxin baojian was popular during the Ming and the Qing dynasties, and was the Chinese religious work most familiar to all members of Catholic orders and societies (Fang 1969, 2:1518-24). Aesop in European antiquity had earlier stated the harms of the tongue that are suggested in Fan Liben’s work. The tongue makes it possible for “philosophers to discourse” and “sages to achieve enlightenment”; conversely, the tongue’s ills can cause people to “violate customs and norms” and “merchants to cheat buyers.” Both Aesop and Fan Liben are largely in accord, so why not Zhang Xuan? The difference among them is that Fan and Zhang focus on worldly affairs, while Ricci highlighted religious matters. Zhang’s chapter on “Cautious Silence” includes “Modoujian zhen 磨兜堅箴” (Maxim on Cautious Speeches) and “Shoukou ru ping zhen 守口如瓶箴” (Maxims on Speaking Cautiously), two prominent maxims among Ming texts (1981, 117: 808–9). Such works urged people to regard language as the door to both misfortune and good fortune, advising that when in the company of others, one should be vigilant and keep his mouth shut.

This notwithstanding, I think Zhang Xuan understood to a certain degree the spiritual purpose of Ricci’s interpretation of “Aesop and the Tongues.” I suspect that the edition of Jiren shipian that Zhang consulted had an indirect connection to Li Zhizao’s 李之藻 (1571–1630) Tianxue chuhan 天學初函 (The First Collection of Western Learnings). Indeed, even if Zhang Xuan did not believe in Christian spiritual doctrines, he was likely familiar with some of them. Perhaps because language easily degenerates into impropriety and quarrels often stem from speech, Zhang Xuan quoted an admonition from his contemporary Xue Wenqing 薛文清 (1389–1464) in his preface to “Shenmo pian” (Chapter on Cautious Silence). The exhortation urges people to follow the way of Yijing 易經 (Book of Changes) to maintain propriety in speech. Ricci’s view of language is thus further confirmed by the Confucian school, because the linguistic stress of the Yijing is placed on the modern sense of its discourse on “rhetorical attending to one’s words with sincerity” (Zhu 1986, 13). Using Zhang Xuan’s quotation again, people “should not speak rashly; this can be called learning, heedlessly believing nonsense and laughing and bantering stray far from the Way.” What Zhang calls “rash” (wang 妄) is diametrically opposed to “proper” (zheng 正); if people speak without impropriety, they are “attending to their words with sincerity” (Zhang 1984, 117: 812–813). Did not Ricci say in Jiren shipian that “the sage wishes to be silent because he wants everyone to conduct himself properly?” (Li, comp. 1965, 1: 187) Whether it be “proper behavior” (zhengxing 正行) or “proper speech” (zhengyan 正言), “sincerity” (cheng 誠) is the key to achieving it.^[7] Since “proper speech” is akin to “not speaking” (buyan 不言), both Ricci and Zhang emphasize “silence” (mo 默). Nevertheless, Ricci is certainly aware that “without words, how could the court of Shun venerate proper speaking; how could Mencius speak so eloquently?” Since “silence” is impractical in real life, we should speak as little as possible, which is one of the ways Western sages “save the world.” (Li, comp. 1965, 1:186) Zhang Xuan takes a similar view. In Xiyuan wenjianlu he even suggests that “proper speech” consists of “few words.” Moreover, in the preface to Shenmo pian he quotes a certain Wang Da 王達, who stated that “proper speech” is by necessity “pure” language (Zhang 1984, 117: 810). As I see it, this definition seems to echo Ricci’s “pure words” (cuiyan 粹言) in “The Gentleman Speaks Little and Wishes to Be Silent.” Ricci placed great weight on this, going so far as to say that it is “harder than gold” (Li, comp. 1965, 1:175). Words must come from “sincerity” and thus must be expressed with purity; this of course is “silence.”

Not until Zhang Xuan quotes Xu Xuemo’s 徐學謨 (1522–1598) “Yanyu zhen 言語箴” (Maxim on Language) does the “silence” stressed in the Xiyuan wenjianlu slightly overlap with the spiritual philosophy Ricci meant to express in “Aesop and the Tongues.” Xu says that the merit of language lies in its “emptiness,” and loquacity is not a blessing, because “excessive speech leads to failure by one’s own doing, which only silence can guard against.” To explain the quote, Xu cites the Buddhist doctrine of “emptiness” (Zhang 1984, 117: 815): if one is lax in speaking, how could he not be ignorant of the world? “Silence” and “emptiness” therefore correspond with each other, forming a certain kind of trans-religious doctrine of language. Of course, the Buddhist concept of emptiness is not Christian view of revelation, but in light of the “emptiness” in the Book of Job—“God rarely speaks” or “God does not speak”—the Christian and the Buddhist ideas of “cautious speech” echo each other in a roundabout way. A product of the imperial examination system, Zhang Xuan was steeped in Confucianism and was said to have little regard for Buddhism (Goodrich and Fang, eds. 1976, 1: 78–79). Ironically, when compiling Xiyuan wenjianlu, it was only with the help of Buddhist thought that Zhang was able to get a glimpse of the Christian ideas in “Aesop and the Tongues.” Had he adhered to his Confucian training, Zhang would have never penetrated the religious profundities of the Aesop story.

Silence is the beginning of self-cultivation in the Christian tradition. After Ricci had come to China, Jesuits and others in the Church stressed the importance of “not speaking.” In the twelfth year at the reign of Emperor Chongzhen 崇禎 (1639), Li Jiugong 李九功 compiled Lixiu yijian 勵修一鑑 (A Mirror for Self-Cultivation). He cites in this book the Christian title Zhaike 齋克 (To Conquer by Vegetarianism) and comes across therein the phrase “the way to guard the tongue” (shou she zhi xue 守舌之學; Li 1678, 1: 476), which indicated a possible link to “Aesop and the Tongues,” and even the phrase was taken from the Chinese version of Contemptus mundi. “Jinyan 謹言” (“careful speech”), a separately published chapter from Lixiu yijian, included legends and histories of the “few words” of Aquinas and others (Wu 1984, 1: 475–78), showing how much celebrated figures in the history of the Church had accomplished by relying on the principle. Li Jiugong later edited Wenxing cuichao 文行粹鈔 (Collection of Writings and Deeds of Previous Scholars), which included the chapter “Silence” (“Biko 畢口”), a collection of sayings of prominent individuals of the time as well as sages of the past. The text stressed a laconic philosophy: The “gentleman wishes to be slow in his speech” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 172), and “the words of a good man are few” (Li 1678, 2:39a). Diego de Pantoja’s (1571–1618) and Li Jiugong’s views of language were virtually the same as Ricci’s; to cite again Li Jiugong’s compilation, that is, “Thinking should precede speech, and so thought will be the master and words the servant.” The relationship between self-reliance and dependence is evident, and if people realize this, they will naturally speak less (Li 1678, 2:39a). Therefore, “silence” (zhimo 致默) is of foremost importance in personal cultivation. Alfonso Vagnone (Gao Yizhi 高一志, 1566–1640) thus has every reason to begin the second volume of his Tongyou jiaoyu 童幼教育 (On the Education of Children) with the following title: “On Reticence” (Falato, 2020, 210–15).

3 The Way of Friendship

Individuals need to practice self-cultivation because we cannot live in isolation, and we have to give heed to the way of getting along with one another. Whenever two or more people are together, the way of friendship manifests. In Christian circles in the late Ming, discussions of friendship were especially prevalent. Among the Jesuits in China alone, for example, at least four translated or written texts deal with friendship. These were Ricci’s Jiaoyou lun 交友論 (Maxims on Friendship, Li, comp., 1965, 1: 291–320), Vagnone’s Dadao jiyan 達道記言 (Illustrations of the Grand Dao; Gao, 2: 657–754) and two chapters in his Tongyou jiaoyu (Gao, 2: 723–54), as well as Martino Martini’s (1614–1661) Qiuyou pian 逑友篇 (Wei, 1: 1–87), which I have penned earlier. Jiaoyou lun was the first of the above texts, and owing to Ricci’s high profile, it is the most widely discussed and, therefore, influential one (McDermott 1992, 73–74).^[8] Next to Ricci’s text is Qiuyou pian, which has been addressed greatly for years ago (Bao 1997, 1: 38–53; Bai, 1: 54–68; Bertuccioli 1992, 79–142; 1993, 331–79). Vagnone’s book was reprinted later and has received further treatment recently. That said, from the perspective of exempla based on classical legends, none of the stories about friendship in the works of the above three writers is as highly regarded as the legend of “Damon and Pythias,” which Martini orally recounted in his Qiuyou pian:

昔有虐王氐阿尼, 詔繫一臣, 名大漫, 將殺之。大漫之友比帝亞謀救大漫, 自質于王, 求暫釋友數日, 得處置家事。王許之曰: 「限至不至, 代死。」因錮之。大漫急返家, 竣事而至。大漫之來也甚遲, 乃限時已盡, 王命殺比帝亞。將刑, 大漫至, 大呼「我至, 我至。」王駭異, 輟怒, 並釋大漫, 且求與二人交, 為三密友焉。Wu, ed., (1984, 1:50-51)

In days of old, Dionysius, an oppressive king, arrested Damon, a court minister, and ordered him to be killed. Damon’s friend Pythias sought to save Damon, offering himself as hostage to the king. He requested that the king free Damon for several days so that he could return home and put his family affairs in order. The king granted the request, telling Pythias: “If he [Damon] does not return by the date set, you shall die in his place.” Pythias was then placed under arrest. When the day of execution arrived, Damon hurried home and saw to his affairs. However, he was slow in returning. Time had run out and the king ordered Pythias to be put to death. Damon arrived very late, just as the execution was about to take place, crying out, “I am here! I am here!” Astonished, the king ceased to be angry and pardoned Damon. Moreover, he asked Damon and Pythias to accept him as a friend, and the three formed a fast friendship. (Translation mine)

Anyone familiar with Western classicism knows that “Damon and Pythias” was originally not a Christian story but an unofficial one of the Pythagorean School. Pythagoras (c. 570-c. 500 BCE) was the ancient Greek philosopher most concerned with friendship, as well as the most proficient at formulating a philosophy of the same, and his followers were famed for their mutual bonding. Among the Pythagoreans, only the friendship between Cleinias and Prorus is better known than that of Damon and Pythias, whose story is the most profound expression of ideal friendship of this school (Thom 1997, 91). In the classical world, not even the story of Orestes and Pylades in Aeschylus’ (c. 525-456 BCE) Oresteia is as well known.^[9] In the medieval period, possibly because of its inclusion in Valerius Maximus’s (1st century) Factorum et dictorum memorabilium libri IX, the legend about Damon and Pythias circulated widely in a different form, becoming a story that the friendship sections of collections of exempla could not do without. It can be found in An Alphabet of Tales, Scala celi, Gesta Romanorum, and other works (Maximus 1684, 4.7, 240; Banks 1904 , 37; Carter 1928, 30; and Swan, trans. 1891, 187–88).^[10]

The “oppressive king” (nüewang 虐王) called “Diani” 氐阿尼 in Martino Martini’s Chinese version of the story refers to Dionysius of Syracuse (c. 432-367 BCE). Because he ruled despotically and refused to sympathize with his subjects, he has been vilified as a “tyrant” since classical antiquity (Caven 1990, 223–53). Prior to the publication of Iamblichus’s (c. 250–c.325) On the Pythagorean Way of Life, the legend of Damon and Pythias had been included and discussed in Cicero’s (106-43 BCE) De Officiis and Tusculan Disputations (Cicero 1990, iii.10; Cicero 1996, v.22). Iamblichus’ work, however, is a monograph, relating the story in detail, and was likely the model for later retellings. The content of Martini’s oral verions is the same overall as that of Iamblichus: Damon leaves to “put family affairs in order,” a detail probably inspired by Iamblichus (Caven 1990, 223–53), differently worded but similar in implication to the phrase “make arrangements for his wife and children” that later appeared in collections of exempla. The reason for Damon’s tardy return is absent in Martini. Nevertheless, Dionysius is deeply moved when he does come back. The king realizes the importance of friendship and asks to befriend Damon and Pythias. Thus, the three become “fast friends,” and what began as a tragedy in Martini’s telling ends on a happy note.

Most versions of Pythias and Damon legend conclude with the two declining Dionysius’s request for friendship. Hence, it is apparent that friendship in the Pythagorean school was closed, limited to Pythagoras’s followers, with loyalty and sincerity extended only to those who belonged to the same group (Konstan 1997, 114–15). Nevertheless, Martini touched on several of the fundamental concerns of Pythagorean friendship, the foremost of which was equality among friends. Cicero tells us that Dionysius, a tyrant, was suspicious by nature, mistrustful of friends and, ironically, because of this, he desperately needed friends (Cicero 1996, V. xxii. 63). Setting aside the question of whether the premise of Cicero’s comments is accurate, Martini’s version makes the point that the “oppressive king” is willing to lower himself to become “fast friends” with Damon and Pythias. Is this not the best illustration of the Pythagoras’s belief that friendship disregards rank or social position? Secondarily, Pythagoras focused on the spirit of friends to share weal and woe, a corollary to his doctrine that friends are of the same stripe. Furthermore, the fundamentals of Pythagoras’s theory also include “unswerving” friendship: peers should be able to withstand various trials and tribulation. Upon further consideration, all the above elements of friendship are present in Pythias’s willingness to serve as “hostage.” His loyalty and courage in risking death for his friend are legendary. People cannot do such without “virtue” (de 德). In Pythagoras’s philosophy of friendship, virtue is an essential basic (Thom 1997, 77–103), linked to, and mutually complementary with, the other three. Although the Damon and Pythias story is short, it encapsulates the Pythagorean ideal of friendship; thus, it was no accident that the bond between the two was famed throughout Europe in the Middle Ages. From the above characteristics, particularly from the concept of equality, Pythagoras ultimately developed the most significant tenet of his doctrine of friendship; that is, as Porphyry (c. 234–c. 305) quoted in his biography of Pythagoras, “a friend is my alter ego” (des Places, ed., and trans. 1982, 33). Since this sentence was first uttered in the sixth century BCE, it has been extolled from generation to generation, quoted in similar forms from Aristotle (384-322 BCE; 1984, 1166a, 1069b, and 1170b) through Horace (65-8 BCE; Kramer Jr., trans., 1936, I, 3:8) to St. Augustine of Hippo (1985, 4.6.). From a practical perspective, Pythagoras’s famous aphorism says that friends can spend beautiful days together when they are in good health, serve soups and medicines to one another when sickness strikes, and when depressed, they should lift each other’s spirits. It would not be overstating it to say that this concept of friendship is the heart of the Damon and Pythias legend. Having said that, however, the keynote of this kind of friendship is equality, because it is based on the premise that I aid my friends and my friends aid me; therefore, in a discussion of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, Paul Ricœur (1913–2005) thought it was better to call it “mutuality” or “reciprocity” (1992, 184). What we can restate is that if this mutual relationship is to be transformed into the concept of equality, if adopting the Chinese perspective, there is only the “trust” (xin 信) that Zengzi 曾子 (505-432 BCE) and Zixia 子夏 (507-?BCE) spoke of in the Analects (Zhu, anno., 1997, 62–63). That is, the relationship must be transformed from one of physical interaction into one of spiritual inter-communication. When Damon was in trouble, Pythias came to his aid, and Damon gladly accepted his friend’s help without a trace of uneasiness. Thus, we see a further implication of the concept of “trust,” namely, “[to] love a friend as oneself,” or as Ricci put it in Jiren shipian, “[to] regard others as myself” (Li, comp., 1965, 1:237).

Ricci introduced Pythagoras’s famous saying on friendship in a different form when translating Jiaoyou lun in 1595, also touching on the above-quoted “loving friends as oneself”: “My friend is not an other; but half of myself, and thus, my alter ego. I must therefore regard my friend as myself” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 300).^[11] Ostensibly, Ricci held this view because his translation is based on André de Resende’s (1498–1573) Sententiae et exempla, so he had to be “faithful to the original,” but looking back from the legend of Damon and Pythias, the truth is more apparent. The “other” and “I” are different entities, a point with which Ricci was well familiar; therefore, his phrase “[my friend] is half of myself” is rhetorical, describing and emphasizing that he is both one and the others. In the meantime, if a certain degree of dialectical unity is to be achieved, it will require another rhetorical aid, that is, the notion of “loving friends as oneself” (shi you ru ji 視友如己). The phrase is a common Chinese usage; however, in Jiaoyou lun, the second paragraph contains a European-style argument: “Although a friend and I may be of two bodies, within those two bodies there is but one heart between us.” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 300).^[12] The latter phrase carries the same intimation as tongxin 同心 in Chinese. Friends can trust each other because they are of “the same mind”: They can trust each other, and if there are difficulties, they are unafraid, and one will not abandon the other.

The drama played out by Damon and Pythias transforms the idea of “trust between friends” into a narrative or legend. We see this first in Martini’s opening in a legendary narrative style with “in days of old” (xi 昔), and second, in Damon’s dramatic return just as Pythias is about to be killed. Damon’s anxious cry, “I am here! I am here!” is the climax of the story, a legendary tale of a friendship based on trust. From a Chinese perspective, one could even say that that is the ultimate meaning of friendship, which was why Dionysius was “astonished.” When Martini retold the legend, over forty years had elapsed since Ricci’s Jiaoyou lun saw its first appearance. But their philosophies of friendship are not merely similar; they also transform and reflect each other, merging spiritually. There was a reason for this merging. Here, however, I want to diverge and discuss first the largely positive reception of the Jiaoyou lun in the cultural enviroment of the late Ming. In Yugangzhai bizhu 鬱岡齋筆麈 (Writings from Studio Yugang), Wang Kentang 王肯堂 (1549–1613) wrote as he was reading Jiaoyou lun: “There is medicine in its words; they alleviate illness; it is far better than Mei Cheng’s 枚乘 (?-140 BCE) Qifa 七發 (Seven advices).”^[13] Ricci’s “[my friend] is half of myself” or “my alter ego” is unique, resonating with his contemporary, the eminent Confucian scholar Jiao Hong 焦竑 (1540–1620). Jiao lavished praise on Jiaoyou lun, describing it “marvelous and appropriate” (Wang 2002, 1130: 86.)^[14] In the Confucian tradition, headed by Confucius and his disciples, apart from “trust” (xin 信), the concept of friendship can be seen in “sharing,” which was also a tenet of the Pythagorean school. In the Analects, in the chapter opening with “Gong Ye Chang 公冶長,” Confucius asks disciples what they wish for. What Zi Lu 子路 (542–480) “wants” is “to share with friends his chariots, horses, and fur clothes” (Zhu, anno., 92). When Confucius later reveals his ideal of friendship, I believe he does so most concisely and comprehensively in the Analects, in the chapter begins with Ji Shi 季氏: “There are three friendships which are advantageous. […] Friendship with the upright; friendship with the sincere; and friendship with the man of much observation” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 311). Apart from “friendship with the sincere,” which refers to heart-to-heart correspondence, Confucius hopes that a friend be a wise companion, one who encourages us to strive for the good, corrects our errors, and who will bluntly admonish us. Therefore, in Zhu Xi’s annotations to Chapter “Li Lou 離婁” of Mencius, he writes: “Mutual admonishment and encouragement are the way of friendship” (1997, 310). Confucius’ “[a friend] of much observation” can remedy our shortcomings and be conducive to cultivating morality. Hence, “choice” is of the utmost importance in the Confucian concept of friendship, and what a friend teaches should benefit us, in accord with Confucius’ words in Chapter Xue Er of the Analects: “[You should h]ave no friends not equal to yourself” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 141). Pythagoras would not oppose this “utilitarian philosophy”—I do not use the term pejoratively—and Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics marked it as one of the three types of friendship. He does not oppose a friendship simply made of benefits or profits (Aristotle, 1156a-1157b). In the Roman tradition of exemplum, Valerius used the story of Damon and Pythias as a hermeneutic foundation, calling it a salient example of “Pythagorean prudence,” hoping that later generations would follow it (Valerius, 4.7.F1).

The Yangming 陽明 school of the late Ming Dynasty was holding lectures, and so “gathering friends” was a necessary activity. Choosing “beneficial friends” (yiyou 益友) was one of its ways of friendship. Apart from spiritual understanding, friends had to be mutually encouraging and supportive, which included assisting one another financially and socially. Those views and practices differed significantly from the friendship theories of traditional Chinese religions. Rather, as Fan Liben’s Mingxin baojian advises, “Benevolence and righteousness do not involve monetary exchange. Monetary exchange is the end of benevolence and righteousness” (Fan, ed., 1393, 62b). Jiao Hong hailed from the Taizhou 泰州 school, but his theory of friendship was unlike those of Buddhism or Daoism, being closer to those the left wing of the Wang Yangming school. While lecturing in Xin’an 新安, Jiao extolled the idea of “a friend as alter ego” in reply to a question from his student Jin Boxiang 金伯祥 (dates unknown). He promoted Ricci’s philosophy of friendship as being “marvelous,” perhaps because few could attain the Confucian ideal of a close friendship that is “neither jealous nor greedy.” Nevertheless, I feel that what is of paramount concern is the context of the Xin’an gathering. At the time, Jin queried: “While we are meeting here, unwarranted thoughts do not arise, but after we disperse, they unavoidably return. Why is that?” Jiao Hong’s reply went to the heart of the question. He said that when the assembly dispersed, the attendees also dispersed because they had not yet taken responsibility of offering advice to one another. Lastly, he posed a rhetorical question to Jin Boxiang, “Who ordered you to leave?” Perhaps Zhu Xi’s statement—“lecture to gather friends together, and the Way will become even clearer”—reminded Jiao Hong of what was of utmost importance in Zengzi’s discussion of friendship in the chapter “Yan Yuan 顏淵” of the Analects: “a friend helps one’s virtue” (Zhu, anno., 1997, 146). Interestingly, the allusion Jiao Hong later used was not from Zhu Xi’s annotations but a passage from the 5th year of Duke Xi 僖 in the Zuo Zhuan 左傳 (The Commentary of Zuo): “The carriage and its wheel-aids depend on one another (Legge, trans., 1985, 5: 145); should they part, the carriage would be unable to move forward even a single inch.” (Jiao 1999, 2: 735; Ruan, anno., 1983, 2: 1795.) Jiao Hong is saying that if friends quickly part, each would be negligent in pointing out the other’s errors and encouraging good behavior, and therefore “unwarranted thoughts” will again arise. Since friends cannot be “an inch” apart, they are as inseparable as form and shadow: metaphorically, is not this what Ricci meant by “[a friend] is my alter ego”?

As noted earlier, the Damon and Pythias legend echoes the concept of friendship in Ricci’s Jiaoyou lun: “[a friend] is my alter ego.” That being the case, Jiao Hong’s statement that “a friend helps one’s virtue” (yi you fu ren 以友輔 仁) contains an even deeper layer of meaning, embodying Kong Yingda’s 孔穎達 (574–648) annotation to the Analects: “Mutual learning is the way of friendship, assisting the growth of one’s benevolent integrity” (Ruan, anno., 1983, 2: 2505) The character ren 仁 is the most important connection between Jiao and Kong. Compared with the traditional Chinese concept noted above, the character is the key to the Confucian concept of friendship, and the philosophy’s utmost concern in dealing with people and the world. Formally, ren is composed of the characters ren 人 (person, human) and er 二 (two); traditionally, “one should love all equally, and thus it becomes as if they are neighbours” (Xu 1963, 161). The traditional explanation is rich in revelatory connotations because when combined, the characters ai 愛 and lin 鄰 are conceptually also significant. What I feel especially meaningful, however, is that explications of the character ren and Ricci’s analysis of the character peng 朋 (friend) often “take different routes but arrive at the same destination”: “two people become one (er ren he yi 二人合一).” This is precisely what David L. Hall and Roger T. Ames called a sociological rather than a psychological phenomenon (1994, 83). Hall and Ames’s modern explication also seems to echo a kind of Western Classical view; that is, both Pythagoras and Aristotle were concerned with the demarcation between self and other. Since the character ren denotes “two persons” (er ren 二人) coexisting in “one character” (yi zi 一字) or “one body” (yi shen 一身), the “self and other” in the eyes of the Pythagoreans, on the rhetorical level, obviously can also “combine into one.” Pythagoras advocated that “friends are another self,” but is not this the connotation of friendship implied by the character ren? In the cultural environment of the late Ming, is not the character ren the Chinese counterpart of Ricci’s “my other half” or “my alter ego” in Jiaoyou lun?

“Benevolence” (ren) is the core of Confucian thought, and early on, Confucius has advocated “love to all” (Zhu, anno., 1997, 63). However, in light of the above discussion, after reducing it in scope, “benevolence” is more of an interpersonal relationship, being both the “way of friendship” and the goal that the “way” is pursuing. Confucian benevolence is thus an ideal of friendship. Once the concept of “half of me” (wo zhi ban 我之半) or “my alter ego” (di er wo ye 第二我也) is transformed from metaphors to social practices—that is, when it has an actual object of “discourse”—then it is likely to turn back into a psychology activity, again requiring us to “love our friends as ourselves.” This double expression universally shows that if people love their friends as themselves, then society will inevitably be in a state of harmony crowned by “benevolence,” allowing the self and the other to become one body, an integrated whole. In discussing Aristotle, Ricœur suggested that if the “I” of “the other and I” possesses self-esteem, then “friendship” can be upgraded to a social habitus, something human society cannot do without. Ricœur’s idea is interesting. Shen Guangyu 沈光裕 (fl. 1640) took a similar view after reading Martini’s Qiuyou pian, though Shen’s reasoning was based on Christian doctrine: Although the other is half of me, we must “be clear that, even he is my second self, I must take myself to be my proper self. If I falsely do this and look to my friends’s truth, my friend will not allow it. No, it is not that my friends do not allow it; it is that Lord does not allow it” (Shen 1700, 162, 6.6A). Hence, the social concept conveyed by Zengzi’s statement that “friendship helps virtue” is that one attains benevolence with the help of a friend, allowing the friend to aid one’s self-cultivation. At the same time, however, one must examine oneself, allowing the difference between self and other to disappear, to become formless, whereby one metaphorically discovers the self. If “helping the growth of one’s own benevolence and virtue” is read in this way, it seems it will turn into another theory of friendship within the friendship doctrine itself. By citing two sentences at the Xin’an gathering —“friendship helps virture” and “[a friend] is my alter ego”—Jiao Hong merged Confucian ideals with Western Classical discourse on friendship. This was likely Jiao’s intent in quoting the passages, although he may not have anticipated their profounder implications. After the illumination and impact at the Xin’an conference, the relationship between “Damon and Pythias” and “my alter ego” needs no explanation. For all this, so far as friendship and the order of ethical relationship is concerned, there are still vast differences in Christian overlap with Confucianism. When “friends come from distant quarters,” the Analects views it as “delightful” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 137); Zengzi and later Confucianists saw meeting with friends “on grounds of culture” as one of life’s pleasures (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 262). Nevertheless, when it comes to the question of “ethical relationships,” friendship is the lowest in the hierarchy in Confucian philosophy, because, as Zhongyong 中庸 puts it, “the great exercise of benevolence is in loving relatives.”^[15] Confucius spoke of the ethical relationships between “sovereign and minister” and “father and son” (Zhu, anno., 1997, 142) before Mencius added to them the three relationships of “husband and wife,” “elder brother and younger brother,” and “friends” (Zhu, anno., 1997, 278). In the time of Han emperor Wu 漢武帝 and later at the Baihu Guan conference 白虎觀之會, Confucian Five Relationships (wulun 五倫) and Five Virtues (wuchang 五常) ulitmately set the tone, becoming the main force in Chinese social philosophy. Guided by Legalist (Fajia 法家) thought, the first three ethical relationships became the “Three Guiding Principles” (sangang 三綱) of the country (Zhang 1989, 178–80; Chen 1987, 16b–21a.). The result of those three principles overriding all others was the injunction not to travel far from home while one’s parents were alive. As for the Book of Rites (Liji 禮記) and other books, the norms were stricter: if the father and the elder brother were living, sons and younger brothers were not permitted to make friends or travel (Lai 1996, 216). Therefore, it was hard for the values of self and other that Zixia and Zengzi stressed—“trust” (xin 信) and “sharing” (gon 共)—to stand up against blood ties, nor were they a match for political relations.

By “political relationship,” I am of course referring to that between “ruler and subjects.” In this relationship, each party is a separate self. But Confucian rhetoric makes it that because “family” (jia 家) and “kingdom” (guo 國) are as inter-dependent as lips and teeth, so, too, “a ruler” (jun 君) and “a father” (fu 父) can also be juxtaposed. Following this logic, not only are heaven and earth or king and relative (tiandi junqin 天地君親) turn out to be analogous to each other, but the relationship between a “ruler and subjects” is like that of a father and a son, surpassing all others to head the Five Relationships (Gao 1997, 70–71; Yu 2009, 312–50). Anyone overstepping those bounds would either be “guilty of ethical disorder” (luanlun 亂倫) or seen as a barbarian.^[16] On the contrary, this phenomenon is rare in Western antiquity. In the Damon and Pythias story, Dionysius “lowers himself” to seek friendship. In a certain sense, to defenders of Confucian values, this violates the ruler and subjects relationship. Pythias saw Damon as himself and was willing to die for his friend. If that could not be placed within the context of “understanding between friends” (youliang 友諒), the “heart-to-heart exchange” (yi xin xiangjiao 以心相交) of Confucian ideals, traditional scholars who upheld the “father and the son” ethos would have been unlikely to accept it. In returning home to see to family affairs, Damon discharged his ethical obligations to the fullest, which would be in accord with Confucian ideals. How could Pythias freely offer himself as hostage if he had a family of his own? If Damon had had an accident and not returned, could Pythias have endured the traditional accusation that in dying for a friend, he would be abandoning his wife and children? The Book of Rites and other Confucian classics would answer those questions negatively since Damon’s behavior shattered the ancient doctrine, dating from the Analects, that blood ties are paramount. Nor would move have been tolerated under the auspices of Confucianism’s “ruler and subjects” relationship.

That said, “Western studies to the East” could perhaps excuse what orthodox Confucianism found intolerable. Reviewing it again in the context of the Christian tradition, friendship can still serve as a model for proper human relations, human morality’s most noble expression. Earlier in this paper, I noted that Aristotle had adopted most of Pythagoras’s views on friendship, which are the basis of the arguments in eighth and ninth chapters of the Nicomachean Ethics. For Aristotle, friendship is not merely a runner-up in his ethics but occupies the highest place. Of course, the Nicomachean Ethics also discusses the relationship of sovereign and minister (ruler and subjects), as well as those of father and son, husband and wife. Nevertheless, Aristotle felt that friendship was the root, and philia, friendship or affection, was the greatest of all worldly love (philos) (Aristotle 1984, 1158b12–14). The relationship between sovereign and minister is unshakeable in the hierarchical concept of Confucianism. The former is superior and the latter lower in rank. Aristotle, instead, characterizes ruler and subjects as friends, interpreting that relationship from the perspective of equality, philia extended into the political sphere. Likewise, the relationship between father and son is a friendship based on bloodline. As for husband and wife, they are inseparable, an equal relationship growing out of marriage. When Neopythagoreanism arose in the first-century, adherents such as Theano (dates unknown) also viewed spouses as friends, further fortifying Aristotle’s ethics of human relations. In the Elizabethan era, Edward Tiney’s (dates unknown) masterpiece The Flower of Friendship (1568) still adhered to the same view, focusing on the equality of husband and wife (Tilney 1992, 108). Perhaps because of this entire tradition, the Jesuits in the late Ming preferred to adopting Confucian discourse about “wife as equal to husband” (qi zhe qi ye 妻者, 齊也), which “looks like” equality, to describe the “philia” between couples, which of course is more in line with Christian doctrine of monogamy (Li, comp., 1965, 2: 1046 and 1051; and Gao 1996, 1: 239–422, 505 and 511. Cf. Zhang 1997, 217).^[17]

As far as I know, the concept of “the wife as equal to the husband,” an example of defining a character or word with a homophone, began with Xu Shen 許慎 (c. 58-c. 147) in the Eastern Han period. The explanation in Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Essays on Characters) is “wife, a woman equal to oneself.” (qi, fu yu ji qi zhe 妻, 婦與己齊者; Xu, 1963 , 259). However, Liu Renpeng 劉人鵬, investigating this and related sources, found that, ironically, the character qi 齊 here does not refer to what people nowadays call “equality.” She holds that to “all women” in the home, only a “wife” could be on par with a “husband.” Thus, the concept of “wife,” as opposed to “concubine,” came into being. In other words, this “equality” is not “equality,” but in fact denotes a wide difference in rank (Liu 2000, 33–49). Meng Guang 孟光 (dates unknown) and her husband Liang Hong’s 梁鴻 (c. 26 – ?) mutual respect is a Chinese legend, passed down through the ages. But even in the late Ming, Liu Zongzhou 劉宗周 (1578–1645) stated that Meng Guang would not raise her eyes in Liang Hong’s presence (Liu 1996, 2: 55).^[18] Therefore, the idea of “wife as equal” does not fit with Du Weiming’s 杜維明 contention that Meng and Liang were “prescient ancients” who were “theoretically” advocating equality between the sexes (Du 1990, 89; Liu 2000, 31n69). The most obvious influence is “woman, one who submits” (fuzhe, fu ye 婦者, 服[伏]也; Ban 1996, vol. 4, part 1, 18b-19a) in Ban Gu’s Baihu tong 白虎通 [Explanations of Ideas from the Baihu Conference], which likely had many more believers among the Confucianists. The Jesuits of the late Ming were no doubt familiar with Xu Shen’s annotation; therefore, their use of “wife” as “equal” was either a misreading or a misappropriation.

Husbands and wives are commonly called “significant others” in the English-speaking world today. In China, however, the “fortunes” of a married couple would be hard to improve, and one can easily imagine the “fate” of a friend unrelated by blood. Aristotle gave special attention to friendship, which was closely related to the politics and the form of government in Athens. At that time, what people were doing was the government of the polis, or city-state, which emphasized community life (politics), and a philosophy advocating harmonious friendship merged to become the foundation of all ethics (cf. Wadell 1989, 46–50; Aristotle 1157a). The Nicomachean Ethics distinguishes three types of friendships: friendships of virtue, friendships of pleasure, and friendships of utility. A friendship of virtue is the paragon of friendship. However, Aristotle saw no harm in making friends for pleasure or for promoting mutual interests. He and Cicero thus developed a theory of political friendship, which was quite close to what Zhou Zhongfu 周中孚 (1768–1821) noted in addressing Jiaoyou lun. Zhou characterized the friendship in Ricci’s text as “chiefly concerned with haggling over advantages and disadvantages, and ask people to do what is difficult” (Zhou 1978, 3: 1057; cf. Schollmeier 1994, 75–96, and Konstan 1997, 128–31.) All in all, the Nicomachean Ethics is conclusive: no matter whether high or low, or whether it is a friendship of virtue or an association of mutual benefit, if people in the polis treat each other as friends, society will “come together as one,” becoming more peaceful and propitious. Hence, Aristotle downplayed the values of loyalty and filial piety. For him, there was only the question of amicable feelings between friends.

The word “friendship” (yi 誼) is based on “righteousness” (yi 義), the concept of equality. When Iamblichus wrote On the Pythagorean Way of Life in the first century, the influence of Aristotelian theory of friendship was hard to avoid. Therefore, allow me to stress again, in the story of Damon and Pythias, after Dionysius realized the value of friendship, to use Martini’s words, he lowered himself from his royal status and “ask Damon and Pythias to accept him as a friend, and the three formed a fast friendship.” Martini’s story ends there, without mentioning that Damon and Pythias actually declined to befriend Dionysius, making it apparent about what was emphasized for Christianity to interpret Classical legends.

Confucianism found that in the Western Classical and Christian notion, friendship is the foremost ethical relationship, and this was highly undermining. Above all, Confucianists stressed political and familial hierarchies, which were the source of all social and ethical philosophy. Thus, friendship was not as important as fraternal relationships, much less those of ruler and subjects or father and son. Not until the Song Dynasty was it possible for that traditional outlook to change. With the rise of academies, scholars gathered in outlying areas to lecture and study, removed from the hustle and bustle of daily life, temporarily abandoning their families. In that situation, fellow students naturally had to discuss ways of getting along. When the Yangming school arose in the late Ming, friendship gained importance. According to Lü Miaofen 呂妙芬, Yangming adherents were keen on studying away from home, stressing that men should travel afar to make their mark and not be burdened by family. Friends were the only ones to rely on, and gathering with friends for learning became a life necessity for intellectuals (1999, 80–125).^[19] From Wang Shouren 王守仁 (1472–1529) onward, Yangming scholars such as Wang Gen 王艮 (1483–1541) and Wang Ji 王畿 (1498–1583) broadened their worldview, holding “the benevolence of all things as one” (wanwu yiti zhi ren 萬物一體之仁) to be the supreme ideal, thus implanting the concept that people were born equal. On that last point, their views were surprisingly close to Aristotle’s, so it is little wonder that later Yangming scholars such as He Xinyin 何心隱 (1517–1579) and Lü Kun 呂坤 (1536–1618) placed friendship above all the other four virtues (Lü 1999, 100; McDermott 1992, 77–95). Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639) is an obvious example. Given his friendship with Dong Qichang 董其昌 (1555–1636; Greenbaum 2007, 8–11), Chen is also a friend of Ricci’s, and he echoed Aristotle in a preface to Jiaoyou lun: “The other four relationships would not hold together without friendship” (Chen 1922, 1: 1a). To put it another way, the order of the Five Relationships had changed at this point, at least in the eyes of the Yangming scholars. Jiao Hong had always circulated among Yangming descendants, so it was not by accident that he gave heed to the notion of “friend as alter ego.” The Jesuits knew well the weight Confucianism placed on the Five Relationships. In Dadao jiyan, Vagnone’s method of analyzing Western chreiai is to situate the stories within the framework of the Confucian Five Relationships, ordering them one by one, as I noted earlier. According to custom, Vagnone placed friendship at the end of the book. Martini was no stranger to the Three Principles and Five Virtues. But because of his profound knowledge of classical theories of friendship, his understanding differed somewhat. Moreover, he was after all a Christian believer and bore the onerous responsibility of evangelization in China. Hence, his examples of friendship, legends such as “Damon and Pythias,” could not ignore the genealogy of Christian discourse. In Aristotle’s view, “love” was the essential quality of friendship. Catholicism is an institutionalized religion. Apart from cloistered ascetic and spiritual practice, congregation was an integral part of believers’ lives. Hence, it was also necessary to talk about love, and even more so to pay heed to the way of friendship. To that end, Martini’s Qiuyou pian brings the concepts of “friend” and “love” together at the outset, stating in an authoritative tone, “Friends, a sea of love” (Wei 1984, 1: 25). This is a metaphor, of course; however, Martini suggests that the sea of friendship is wide and changeable, and that a true friend is hard to find. When the sea is calm, the boat steers easily; but when a tempest is raging, it overturns and its passengers drown, a very real possibility. As stated in each chapter of the Qiuyou pian, it primarily focuses on what the “love” of friendship actually refers to, and how can we judge whether it is true or false, beneficial or harmful? Those questions are the age-old topics of Western theories of friendship. But Martini places them against a Christian background, and the ideas he presents deviate from Aristotelian conventions, imparting a strong religious flavor. The story of Damon and Pythias proves that point and can be enlisted for more illustrations.

As earlier noted, in classical thought, the crux of “Damon and Pythias” is “trust,” or what friendship in general emphasizes. In Qiuyou pian, Martini never denies this, citing St. Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153): “Love a friend as you love yourself; trust a friend as you trust yourself” (Wei 1984, 1: 44). Nevertheless, Martini included the Damon and Pythias story in the chapter titled “Zhenjiao zhi ben 真交之本” (The Basis of True Friendship), within which was the possibility of inverting that traditional interpretation. Pythias was willing to sacrifice himself for friendship, trusting that Damon would return. But after he was freed, if not for his loving Pythias, Damon could have fled and never gone back, allowing his friend to die in his place. The motivation and power of their actions is therefore much stronger than the “trust” of ordinary friendship. To cite Martini’s quotation of St. Bernard again, “true friendship is unselfish, seeking only mutual love” (Wei 1984, 1: 44). Interestingly, when the concept of “unselfishness” appears, in the context of “Damon and Pythias,” Martini also encompasses the “eros” from Plato’s Symposium. That kind of love starts as worldly but transcends the worldly; it begins with the individual but has universal value (cf. Meilaender 1985, 9–13). Hence, the tradition it hearkens back to the main point of Ricci’s Jiaoyou lun, that is, the notion of a friend being my “alter ego” that starts the treatise.

True love must come before genuine friendship; in Qiuyou pian, that is an unchanging truth. But the question of what constitutes “true friendship” bears discussion. Martini’s answer sounds as though he is reinterpreting Ricci’s use of Pythagorean friendship and later Classical tradition, such as that of Cicero’s De Amicitia:

兩友互愛, 無分數之別, 無彼此之殊。見我如見友, 見友亦如見我。以己度友, 以友度己, 同無同, 異無異。是故一之病, 二之痛。一之難, 二之苦。一之憂, 二之慍矣。一笑, 即 二笑。一哭, 即二哭焉。 Wei (1984, 1: 45)

When two people love each other, they are equal; there is no difference between them. See yourself as a friend, and a friend as yourself. Measure yourself as you measure your friend, and measure your friend as do yourself. If one is ill, the other is in pain; if one meets hardships, the other suffers. If one is anxious, the other is unsettled. When one laughs, the other laughs; when one cries, the other cries. (Translation mine)

Cicero is mentioned herewith because, if slightly altered, the above quotation could have been translated from Chapter 7 of De Amicitia (1992, 133). Cicero says that “what one seeks is really his own image” (tamquam exemplar aliquod intuetur sui). Here the use of the word “image” (exemplar) is odd. Derrida explored this, finding that the attitude is self-centered in the extreme, being a kind of narcissism (Derrida 1977, 4–5; cf. Xu 2021, 55–94). To put it bluntly, it might not be altruistic, but rather measuring others against oneself. Therefore, the derivative “seeing a friend as oneself” is actually looking among friends for one’s own desires or behavior. From this point of view, although Ricci’s so-called “half of myself” or an “alter ego” is a metaphor, it is also a metaphorical reality. In Martini’s account, what Damon and Pythias have shared is what is commonly called “a unity of emotion.” But measured against Plato’s otherworldly and mysterious philosophy, it is probably closer to “one body splitting into two.” Such a view is by no means absurd, because Christianity stressed that from the moment of creation, not only did God create man in His image (Genesis 1:27), but Eve split off from Adam, created by splitting from his rib, one body being divided into two (Genesis 2:21-22). In the human world, as far as Catholicism is concerned, Adam and Eve were indeed the beginning of friendship. Thus, the so-called “half of me” or “alter ego” cannot be explained rhetorically. This justifies Catholic appropriation of them, including those of St. Augustine of Hippo and the ancient Church Fathers.

St. Augustine expanded the usage, extending the theory from himself and his friends to the broad mass of humanity. His “philial love” is therefore “universal love” (caritas), following the injunctions in Leviticus (19: 18) and Gospel of Matthew (19: 19) to “love your neighbor as yourself.” The King James Version of the Bible usually employs “neighbor” to translate what is equal to ren 人 (human, person) in the Vulgate. The original Hebrew also implies “friend” (Metzger and Coogan, eds. 1993, 555–56). Hence, the mutual love of two friends can be transformed into the Christian ideal of “befriending all of humanity.” And this is a theological truth, because “God loves the world” (Arendt 1996, 93) Superficially, Martini’s “Damon and Pythias,” and all of Qiuyou pian, is introducing Western theories of friendship. But examining it according to the concept of “befriending all of humanity,” Martini is likely appealing to Chinese to express the spirit of universal love for all human beings, upgrading him from “lowly barbarian from afar” to the honorable “friend from distant quarters” in the Analects. Thus, in the preface to Qiuyou pian, Martini writes, “I hope for nothing but pray piously morning and night that the Chinese people allow me to enter into a state of friendship” (Wei 1984, 1: 15).

Indeed, the Chinese regarded Martini and the other Jesuits in China as friends, opening the possibility that they could develop into each other’s “second selves,” just like Pythias and Damon. During the reign of the Qianlong 乾隆 emperor in the Qing, French Jesuit Joseph-Fransciscus-Maria-Anna de Moriac de Mailla Joseph-Marie-Anne de Moyriac de Mailla (Feng Bingzheng 馮秉正, 1669–1748) published Penglai jishuo 朋來集說 (Collection of Essays of Friends from Afar). Although its content was unrelated to friendship, the title of the book clearly held the same in high esteem, alluding to the Analects. Reexamining the collection, it is clear that de Mailla’s purpose was the same as Martini’s a century earlier: Both Jesuits hoped to use books as media to establish good relations in China. The relationship between the two, as I see it, was integrated and passed down in the same vein. This is especially evident in the preface to Penglai jishuo, in which de Mailla quoted and explained Biblical verses, hoping that the Chinese could “extend their self-love into love for others” (Feng, 1b).

In Martini’s logic, it was possible to regard the Chinese as a “second self.” To elaborate on that point, what is involved in his retelling “Damon and Pythias” is another, and probably the most important, philosophical background to the story. Iamblichus and other Neopythagoreans were heavily influenced by Neoplatonism, advocating the notion that friendship begins with earthly love and ultimately becomes one with the “god” (1991, 234–236). Iamblichus’s “god” is not Christian “God,” but so far as what has been elaborated is concerned, it makes no difference between his discourse on friendship and the tradition that St. Augustine represented. St. Augustine had experienced the death of a close friend. Whenever he discusses friendship in Confessions, he insists that its ultimate aim is to lead people to a love of God, and with God’s grace, to a love of humanity (4.12; cf. Wadell 2002, 77–96). Augustine’s discourse on friendship later evolved into a Christian model. When Shen Guangyu read Qiuyou pian, he also saw “faith, hope, and love,” the Heavenly virtues or theory of friendship that St. Augustine most emphasized (Shen, 162 and 6.6b). In this line of reasoning, friendship in Martini’s “Damon and Pythias” reflects a kind of Christian or divine virtue, a sign of the unity of Heaven and humankind. Therefore, in the latitudinal aspect of the story, love for a close friend can indeed be expanded to a love of all humanity, including the Chinese that Martini associated with at the time. In the longitudinal aspect, people can move that friendship towards God, turning its ultimate concern into an unspoken covenant between humans and God, and then in the light of the three Christian virtues, regarding God as a friend (Crossin 1997, 54–66; cf. Wadell 2002, 121–129).

The above “latitudinal” and “longitudinal” concepts were proposed by contemporary Chinese scholar Bao Limin 包利民.^[20] Bao looked at Qiuyou pian from another angle, finding that Martini stumbled between those two poles, which eventually took shape as a “necessary tension” in seeking friends (1997, 1: 48–50). Bao Limin’s thesis seems reasonable but proves specious when examined in the context of God’s relationship with humanity in the Christian exegetical tradition. As I discussed elsewhere (Li 2005, 45–123), “understanding the whole from a part” and “moving from the human to the divine” have always been the Christian, and especially, the Jesuit, way of disseminating and expounding doctrine. Ricci exemplified it in Tianzhu shiyi 天主實義 (The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven) long before Martini. If we can understand the relationship between the principle and the subordinate therein, we will find that they are not mutually exclusive. The contradiction between “understanding the whole from a part” or the contrast between “small virtue” and “great virtue” can often be harmoniously resolved. In terms of friendship, the legend of Damon and Pythias does not create any tension. What is intimated in the legend is a harmonious view of human relations: love is deep-rooted in the story.

If Bao’s view of “tension” is tenable, it must be based on the “equality” of human friendship or Classical theories of friendship. But we must be aware of one thing: The so-called “human friendship with God” can only be spoken of at the figural level. From the perspective of faith, humans have never existed on equal footing with Christian God, which is especially apparent in the Old Testament. Jesus is flesh made of God’s Word. He urged people to practice filial piety and love and respect their parents; but in view of God, Jesus could not but demean worldly kinship. Thus, a well-known passage in the Gospel of Matthew reads, “For I came to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.” Matthew then states it in an even more forceful tone: “A man’s enemies shall be they of his own household.” Those who love their families more than they love Jesus are “not worthy” of me (10: 35–38). If we change “me” to “humans,” what Jesus values is the mutual sympathy and aid of them. Thus, the Gospel of John exalts the friendship: Greater’s love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (15:13). The sentence is obviously comparative, and its purpose, to emphasize fraternity. In fact, it forced a response from Chinese Christian scholar officials. Like He Xinyin and others, Yang Tingyun 楊廷筠 (1557–1627) addressed in his Daiyi pian 代疑篇 (Answers for non-Christians) that “there are five human relationships; but if the friendship relationship is maintained, the ‘other’ four can be dispensed with” (Yang 1984, 560).^[21]

Jesus celebrates friendship in the Gospel of John, which obviously sounds like an endorsement of Pythias’s righteous act of giving up his life for a friend. But then in the blink of an eye, he tells his followers that his friendship is conditional: “You are my friends if you do the thing that I command you” (John, 15: 14). The quotation is a typical conditional sentence. Of course, there is a constraint, or what Ricœur called a “dissymmetry of injunction” (1992, 189), showing that there is a hierarchical difference between love for Jesus and love for others. Only Jesus or our friend God, who is also Jesus, can sacrifice Himself for the greatest love of humans. Jesus or God can be the “second self” of us, but this is so merely because humans were created in His “image.” The relationship between Jesus and general populace is definitely not built on the Pythagorean basis of equality among friends. The Chinese theory of friendship in the late Ming, “the benevolence of all things as one,” may contradict that of Christianity.

But the two incompatible philosophies do intersect. God is the Creator and is therefore called “Father.” For Latin Church fathers like Tertullian (c. 155-c. 220), friendship is merely a tool; only after people have been validated by it can they love each other like brothers and sisters and then come to realize that God is the father of all humanity (Konstan 1997, 157). By a curious coincidence, this was also one of Martini’s aims in retelling “Damon and Pythias” and other ancient legends in Ming China. To, again, cite his preface to Qiuyou pian, Martini expressed a heartfelt wish to befriend the Chinese, to “enter into a state of friendship” with them. He hoped that they would understand that in Heaven and on earth there is a “supreme being” (zhizun 至尊), the “true Lord” (zhenzhu 真主), and “the Great Father and Mother” (Dafumu 大父母) of us all. If we “serve Him diligently,” then this “supreme true Lord” will “become our ultimate refuge” (Wei 1984, 1: 15). These are the truth! Martini is refashioning a theory of friendship Tertullian put forth a thousand years earlier: Regardless of whether one is a “traveler to the East” or a native of China, all come from the same great father and mother, all are “neighbors,” and all are “brothers” or “friends.” The two latter noun pairs were clearly set forth in the Gospels and the Old Testament. In Martini’s mind, these relationships were not metaphors but rather “our closest relatives.” As for one’s closest relatives, including one’s parents, of course, how could one not treat them sincerely, and how could one not befriend them with supreme love?

Martini’s conception was the traditional Jesuit view. It passed down from the Southern Ming to the Qianjia 乾嘉 era, and it also seeped into the works of some non-Christian Chinese scholars such as Jiang Yong 江永 (1681–1762). Like the later Yangming scholars, Jiang used the paradigm to restructure the ethics of human relationships, emphasizing a philosophy of equality. In addition to his works with rhyme and interpretations of classics, Jiang authored Shanyutang wenji 善餘堂文集 (Collection of Essays from the Sanyu Hall). In the chapter entitled “Ximing lun 西銘論” (On Inscriptions in the West), he wrote: “The Heaven and Earth are the great father and mother. All who are born of Heaven and Earth are brothers. Among them are sovereigns and ministers; old and young, […] all are our companions.” (4ab) Although Jiang Yong’s “supreme father and mother” (dafumu) were derived from Zhang Zai’s 張載 (1020–1077) “Ximing 西銘,” and he quoted from Zhu Xi’s annotations to that piece, the collective terms “Heaven and earth” or “Heaven-father-earth-mother” (qianfu kunmu 乾父坤母) were none other than China’s inherited legacy (Zhang 1981, 1 a–9b; Zhu 1986, 1 and 3). However, that “sovereign” and “minister” were born of the same “supreme father and mother” was not a traditional Chinese concept, wherein respective ranks were clearly demarcated; moreover, the idea of sovereign and minister regarding each other as “brothers” was at odds with the Confucian view of hierarchical relationships.^[22] In “Ximing lun” Jiang Yong further states that “sovereign and minister are our companions,” an idea absolutely foreign to Confucianism, showing that the origins of “Western learning” were not entirely based on Confucianist interpretations. Jiang Yong had mastered the transmitted texts of Jesuit calendrical calculations and unquestioningly believed in the biblical concept of history (9a; Li 2007, 108–9). Thus, his “discourse on equality” came together naturally, and this is a fact that should need no discussion. Jiang Yong’s “Ximing lun” resembles Martini’s Qiuyou pian and is akin to other Jesuit theories of friendship, something that Chinese tradition cannot adequately explain. After putting forth a new view of “equality” in human relationships, Jiang Yong unfortunately never made further use of this theory of friendship. He did not even elaborate it. The “foundation of true friendship” (zhenjiao zhi ben 真交之本) always present in Martini’s mind was a significant omission from “Ximing lun.” Luckily, we still have Qiuyou pian to think about. Legends such as “Damon and Pythias” show that, when it comes to love, the “foundation of true friendship” is more precious than altruistic love.^[23] In Christian theology of friendship, this kind of love closely resembles God’s “love” (agape) as it was revealed in the New Testament, a type of theology or Western teaching that stands apart from “venerating and trusting the Lord.” Those who follow it can unite with God, as in the Pythagorean or Augustinian theories of friendship, and can even consider God a friend. The cultural and theological premises of Martini’s Qiuyou pian are all contained in that concept. Thus, in the major chapters of Qiuyou pian, Martini at last reveals his innermost concerns, counseling readers that “those who know the foundation of true friendship are near to Heaven!” (Wei 1984, 1: 17). Martini’s words sound like Biblical scripture, imparting a certain “mandatory” flavor. If we follow that logic, the pursuit of friends or friendship will eventually lead to the pursuit of the Father or a yearning for God’s favor. Damon and Pythias were legendary figures who existed before the Christian era. But because of their deep, unswerving friendship, their conduct elicited God’s blessings. In the Jesuit tradition of exemplum, at least, they have already ascended to Heaven and become friends with God.

4 The Way of Serving God

“Heaven” (Tian 天) is rarely referred to as “great father and mother” in the Chinese tradition. But the notion of “Heaven” as the “great father” (dafu 大父) began with the Yizhuan 易傳 (Commentary on the Book of Changes;).^[24] Commenting on a line from the “Daya 大雅” (Greater Odes of the Kingdom) section of the Book of Songs— “Heaven gave birth to the multitudes of the people” (Tian sheng zheng ming 天生烝民) (Legge, trans., 4: 541)—Dong Zhongshu’s 董仲舒 (179–104) Chunqiu Fanlu 春秋繁露 (Luxuriant Dew of the Spring and Autumn Annals) stated: “Humanity was created by Heaven” and “Heaven is the great-grandfather of humanity” (1987, 282). But for the Jesuits adept at interpreting Confucian classics, there was little difference between “great father” and “great-grandfather”: with a bit of Figurist sleight of hand, they could make the terms their own, turning “great father” or “great-grandfather” into Christian “God.” Moreover, Chunqiu fanlu followed the lines quoted above with the statement “that is why people are like Heaven.” Simply put, the words reiterate the Genesis story: God made humankind in His own image and likeness. Martini’s “wish to enter into” a “state of friendship” with the Chinese was therefore both modest and restrained.

Friends are a social necessity created by self-cultivation. In his personal practice, Zengzi not only met with friends on “grounds of culture” and by friendship assisted his own virtue, and his moral cultivation included self-examination as to whether he had been sincere in his exchanges with friends (Wei 1984, 1: 62). General Confucian concerns are thus apparent. In that sense, “Aesop and the Tongues” and “Damon and Pythias” are not two entirely unrelated legends from the Classical period of Europe but are closely linked ethically and allegorically, and parallels can be drawn between them. If viewed from the Christian perspective, the relationship is even more obvious. Christianity believes that the relationship between man and the creator is that of master and servant. Therefore, the “relation between Heaven and humans” that Confucians have always pondered is not abstract or elusive in Ricci’s or Martini’s conceptions. Theologically, the relationship is concrete, almost palpable. Martini hinted at it in “Damon and Pythias.” But if we consider the exemplum based on legends as a whole, I think the most profound example is the “The Sword of Damocles,” which Ricci retold in Jiren shipian:

西土古昔有棲濟里亞國, 王名的吾泥削。國豐廣, 爾時有臣極稱其福樂。王謂之曰: 「汝能居王座, 而安食一饌, 則以位遜汝。」 即使著衣冠, 升王座, 設舉盛饌, 百執事以王禮御之, 而寶座之上則以單絲繫利劍, 垂鋒而切其頂。此臣升坐, 初觀王庭左右, 侍人奔走趨命, 即大歡喜。既仰視劍欲墮, 便栗栗危懼, 四體戰動。未及一餐, 遽請下座, 曰: 「臣已不顧此福樂也。」Li, comp. (1965, 1: 218)

In ancient times in the West, there was a country called Sicilia, ruled by King Diwunixiao. The kingdom was large and prosperous. One day, a courtier sang the praises of the king’s happiness and good fortune. The king replied, “If you can sit on this throne and eat a single meal with peace of mind, I shall cede the kingship to you.” The courtier donned the royal robes and crown and ascended to the throne. To his delight, a banquet was arranged, and a hundred attendants turned out to serve him, carrying out his every command with the deference due a king, but above the courtier’s head, a razor-sharp sword hung by a single thread. When the man looked up and saw that the sword could fall at any moment, he trembled in fear, his limbs quaking. Before he had eaten even a bite, he begged permission to descend the throne, saying, “I want no more of this happiness and good fortune!” (Translation mine)

The legend is now known to all and can still be found in popular works such as James Baldwin’s (1841–1925) Fifty Famous Stories Retold.^[25] The term “Damocles Syndrome” is even used in the field of child psychology (Koocher and O’Malley 1981). Nevertheless, the story was new to China in the late Ming, Chinese of that time having yet to hear it.^[26] In Jiren shipian, Ricci relates the tale to Gong Daoli 龔道立 (1554—?), who gains sudden insight from it. Details of Gong’s life are sketchy, but he was obviously an official scholar in the late Ming. Gong served as an Assistant Civilian Secretary in Guangzhou; hence, Ricci addresses him as “Gong Dacan 龔大參.” Their conversation probably took place around 1605, the 33rd year of the Wanli 萬曆 period in the reign of the Shenzong 神宗 emperor. Nor is king “Diwunixiao” unfamiliar. He is none other than the Dionysius who appeared in “Damon and Pythias,” and his kingdom “Sicilia” is today’s Sicily.

Coincidentally, in the Western Classical tradition, “The Sword of Damocles” and “Damon and Pythias” were first juxtaposed in Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations, and are ordered consecutively in that volume (1996, v. xxi. 61–62). The legends had been in circulation well before Cicero’s era, and reappeared slightly later in Horace’s Carmina (iii. 1, 17 seq).^[27] But neither Horace nor Cicero described in detail the kingdom of Sicilia. And in the Tusculan Disputations, Damocles’s dialogue is conveyed in a single sentence of narration, even less than in Horace’s ode. Furthermore, Ricci’s emphasis on time—Damocles renounced the kingship “before he had eaten even a bite”—is absent from Cicero’s “original.” As for story, Ricci added a lot of drama to the Chinese version in Jiren shipian, increasing its power to awaken his audience, which is something Cicero did not do. We can otherwise be sure of one thing: There were versions of Ricci’s tale in both the Classical period and the Medieval period, with major contributions from the storytelling lineage of Jacques de Vitry (Crane, ed., 1890, 3). In de Vitry’s Sermones Vulgares, there are two versions of the Damocles story, one simple and the other complex. The latter telling transcends worldliness, using the legend as plot element in a medieval exemplum, “The Trumpet of Death” (Crane, ed., 1890, 151–52), a precedent for later collections such as Gesta Romanorum. The simpler version is a standalone, similar to the narratives of Cicero and Horace, a reflection of the tales in some anonymously compiled collections of medieval exempla (e.g., Valerius 1684, 650, #34). Ricci was aware of the difference between the simple and the complex because he included “The Trumpet of Death” as a standalone in Jiren Shipian (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 155–57).

“The Trumpet of Death” circulated widely (Tubach 1969, 377–78) in both Europe and Asia, its origins heterogeneous (Li 2012, 61–106). However, “The Sword of Damocles” is found mostly in the Western tradition, and the subject matter is limited to the central theme of the chapter on “The Good and the Evil Shall be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife,” the chapter from which the story was taken. Ricci embellishes the story, giving it a new twist; he intended to use “Damocles” to convey political problems inherent in power, which is what is illustrating for Gong Daoli: “The higher the position, the graver the danger” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 217). Cicero also touched on that, but at the end of his telling, Dionysius seems indifferent to Damocles’s thoughts and does not comment on them. In Ricci’s version, his motive is apparent; he uses the story to awaken people to what the Chinese call “the loneliness of power.” Compared to the indifference at the end of Cicero’s story, it is not hard to understand what Jiren shipian is emphasizing. In Tusculan Disputations, the “Damocles” legend is immediately followed by “Damon and Pythias,” which calls attention to the two Pythagoreans’ refusal to accept Dionysius as a friend, even after the king of “Sicilia” had freed them. In addition to implying that the Pythagoreans rejected the friendship of others, it also hinted at something in Cicero’s De Amicitia and Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (1155a): Even though tyrants may wield great power, they, too, need friends to turn to for support in times of deadly peril (Cicero 1996, V.xxi.63; and 1992, XV. 53).

As we all know, Confucianism often speaks of the “benevolent ruler.” In this tradition of political discourse, occupying a high position should pose no danger, and there need not be a conflict between power and friendship. As Confucius said, “Virtue is not left to stand alone; he who practices it will have neighbors.” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 172) Who would dare face opprobrium by violating the way of the virtuous ruler in Confucian Analects? Just as Jesus urged people to “love” their neighbor, the character lin 鄰 (neighbor) in the “Liren” chapter of the Analects could also be interpreted as “friend” (Ruan, anno., 1983, 2: 2472). If we situate the concept in the context of Tusculan Disputations or the Analects, it is tantamount to saying that Dionysius’s friendship was refused because he was a “cruel king” or a “tyrant” lacking in virtue. Interestingly, this moral interpretation of the Damocles story is only superficial and not the ultimate purpose of Ricci’s analogy in Jiren shipian.

As with “Aesop and the Tongues” or Martini’s “Damon and Pythias,” Ricci’s aim was to Christianize “The Sword of Damocles,” putting it into the service of the most basic doctrines of the Church. Although “the Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife” dealt with a reckoning in the hereafter, what surprised Gong Daoli was that Ricci’s “just retribution” was not built on the Buddhist concept of “karma,” but on Christian notion of Heaven and Hell. Ricci was urging people to do good while alive and to be mindful of a judgment after death. In other words, Ricci, like most of Medieval European literature has shown, was avidly seeking to shift the core of our lives, hoping we will come to see this life as preparation for the next one. Since death and the afterlife were the sole considerations, how could Ricci’s Dionysius regard the “worldly happiness” before his eyes as the purpose or “end” of life? And since Damocles had sung the praises of Dionysius’s alleged “happiness and good fortune,” why did he not descend from the throne and allow the courtier to savor those delightful states? Everyone seeks good fortune and happiness, as the Sermones Vulgares points out, but Christianity and de Vitry do not focus on the “happiness” (felicis) of this world, as Jiren shipian states both explicitly and implicitly. Therefore, when considering “The Sword of Damocles,” unlike Cicero or even Confucianists, we should not linger on superficial moral implications of the story. We also notice that after his delight has passed, Damocles “looked up and saw that the sword could fall at any moment” and “trembled in fear.” This “fear” is a rhetorical exaggeration, emphasizing Damocles’s recognition that power is not a blessing and his realization that worldly happiness does not last forever. That awakening is the most significant turn of the story: Consequently, Ricci pulls strings, allowing Dionysius to offer another response that is even more resonant of religion:

嗟呼!余〔在位〕時時如此 [栗栗危懼], 子以為福樂也。兆民畏君, 君無所畏耶?嚴主在上, 日日刻刻以之懸劍懼我焉。俗人不知居上之苦, 故慕之。倘知之, 則反憐之矣。Li, comp., (1965, 1: 218)

“Alas!” Dionysius sighed, and said, “As king, I constantly ‘tremble in fear,’ and you believe it is good fortune and happiness? People feel the sovereign; is there nothing the sovereign fears? When a stern ruler is on the throne, he lives in constant fear that the awesome hanging sword could fall at any moment. The common folk do not know the troubles of those in power. Therefore, the people envy us. If they knew, they would pity us.” (Translation mine)

The message the story conveys is that, contrary to appearances, the sovereign also has that which he fears. De Vitry’s and most other medieval collections of exempla that included “The Sword of Damocles” do not name “Dionysius,” nor do they mention “Sicilia” or “Sicily.” That is why we cannot rule out the influence of European antiquity on Ricci use of the legend. Of course, Ricci was aware of Dionysius’s reputation as a “tyrant.” And since Ricci knew, there must be a subtle truth contained within his use of Dionysius to speak in the leading role. In the Ming period, Chinese had only a foggy conception of Europe (Zürcher 1996, 333.). Before Martini, they knew nothing of “Diwunixiao’s” infamy; therefore, it would have been impossible to speak of “the populace fearing the sovereign” as Ricci does in his telling of the Damocles story. Nevertheless, from de Vitry onward, medieval European collections of exempla concealed the name “Damocles” while allowing this “king” to mouth religious allegories. That is why elsewhere I argued that Ricci took collections of exempla into consideration in his writings (Li 2005, 189–244). In all these cases, the rhetorical power is not nearly as strong as Ricci’s statement that “the sovereign also has that which he fears.” What a startling surprise! If a king has a reputation for “violence,” it is mostly because he insists on going his own way and has “nothing to fear.”

But the “cruel king” in “The Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife” is after all not the historical tyrant. “Diwunixiao” is still frightened, though the story never reveals what he fears. After Ricci finishes telling the story, he continues by saying that wealth, nobility, and profit-seeking are merely the reason why the “hanging sword” is “hanging.” The sword frightened Dionysius. To learn the details, we have to await Gesta Romanorum. As noted earlier, the Damocles story in that collection incorporates imagery from “The Trumpet of Death” and other stories, forming a large and complex system of symbolism.^[28] Departing from the plot of the original Greek “Sword of Damocles,” the sword in this story branches off into three different paths, touching on three distinct levels of Christian doctrinal concerns. First, the sword points toward “divine justice,” which bears the responsibility for passing judgment. Second, it is a metaphor for “Death,” from which no one can escape. Finally, it turns in another direction, representing the king’s “sins”; in the future, it will act on God’s behalf and “demand” the king’s life. Therefore, the king is by necessity cautious and fearful, ruling his kingdom as if walking on thin ice, asking, “How can I rejoice?” (Swan 1891, 250) In the king’s words, the conventional interpretation Ricci first presents––“those in power are fearful”—has disappeared, replaced by the purely spiritual message he puts in Diwunixiao’s mouth. However, the Damocles story in Gesta Romanorum goes into greater detail, accounting for what Ricci did not say. It is precisely because of the sword’s implications that the king in Gesta Romanorum reflects on himself and discerns his relationship with God. He then turns to “Damocles,” who is unnamed in this version, and issues straightforwardly the following religious message: “If you to-day fear me, who am mortal, how much more ought I to dread my Creator?” (Swan 1891, 251).

Compared to the story in Gesta Romanorum, the contents of de Vitry’s unexpurgated one are even more jumbled. But in both the unexpurgated and expurgated versions, “divine justice” or “the last judgment” are implied by Damocles’s sword or one of its stand-ins,^[29] a sign of the afterlife’s importance to medieval Europeans. Ricci’s story elucidates that as well, summed up in the words “Diwunixiao” utters: “The awesome hanging sword could fall at any moment. When he poses the question, the populace fears the sovereign; is there nothing the sovereign fears?” The answer is in his words: “the harsh ruler” (yanzhu 嚴主). Jiren shipian seems to have used the piece in de Vitry’s Sermones Vulgares or that in Gesta Romanorum as intertexts. Thus, medieval European spiritual concerns crossed the oceans, and with the Chinese language, planted seeds in the Ming Empire. Ricci turned Martini’s “cruel king” into a devout Christian, earnestly exhorting people to live better lives.

Looking at it from the whole of “The Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished,” the “harsh ruler” fears, and what he fears is the “hanging sword” he holds in his hand. And the “hanging sword” is also feared, because, if the speech and behavior of people go beyond rules and regulations, it will result in bad deeds, bad words, and bad intentions. Should that happen, God would inevitably judge severely, and the sword would fall. The trumpet of death would sound again and the raging flames from the hell would burn even hotter. Immediately thereafter, according to Gesta Romanorum, it says that arrows would be released in unison, piercing the heart a hundred times. Jiren shipian paints a detailed picture of the changing hellscape, as do other of the Jesuits’ works.^[30] When late-Ming Chinese scholars like Zhang Xuan heard this, they were panically stricken and hurried to reinvestigate such older text as the Youyang zazu 酉陽雜俎 (Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang). Zhang Xuan discovered that what Ricci had said was “indeed true” (1984, 69)^[31] Nevertheless, because Hell was created by God’s command and because Christians repeatedly stress that human were God’s creations, Ricci’s “Sword of Damocles” and Martini’s “Damon and Pythias” have a common purpose: the Chinese predilection for pondering “the relationship between humans and Heaven” (tianren zhi ji 天人之際) that I have addressed earlier.

The meaning of “Heaven” in Chinese culture has yet to be clarified. However, the “Heaven” of the Analects, as represented in Confucius’s question, “Does Heaven Speak?”, refers to a “naturalistic” or “doctrinal” Heaven, representative of Confucian ideal law of nature. However, in such religious concepts of heaven as in the Book of Songs onward, Heaven was humanized (Zhang 1991, 20–30). When taken in that light, the relationship between human and divinity reflected in “The Sword of Damocles” is not comparable to Dong Zhongshu’s “interactions between Heaven and humankind” (tianren ganying 天人感應), nor would it harmonize with Confucianist expectations. On a scale, the Christian tradition is always weighted toward God, while humanity forever occupies the lighter end of it. This is a belief that handed down by the Pentateuch. In that paradigm, God’s image is best described by Harold Bloom’s (1930–2019) use of “anthropomorphism” (1994, 5–6): God resembles humans and therefore has emotions, joy and anger; and given His linkage with humans, He is stern to the point of being harsh. For all these, the Jesuits in China would not have approved of the modern view of human similarity to God. Even Chinese Christians would have had a different interpretation. The “Revering Power” (“jingwei 敬威”) section of Lixiu yijan includes “The Sword of Damocles” (1984, 1: 451–56). It shows that God’s divine power to punish the world is timeless and far-reaching. Li therefore urged people to keep God in mind at all times, paying the utmost respect. Though Li’s family members were all Christians, they were deeply imbued with Confucian thought. What Li called “Tianzhu 天主” in Wenxing cuichao 文行粹抄, his other compilation, refers to “Heaven” (Tian) or “God” (Shangdi 上帝), as in the pre-Qin classics. Li’s editorial interpretation of “The Sword of Damocles” is therefore a mix of Christianity and Confucianism. The term “revering power” in Lixiu yijian can be employed to explain this. With late Ming Jesuits and Chinese classics in mind, I think Li’s term comes from the Book of Songs. The “Wojiang 我將” song of the Sacrificial Odes of Zhou 周頌 contains the lines “Do I not, night and day/Revere the majesty of Heaven” (Legge, trans., 1985, 4: 576). The lines echo “the harsh king’s ‘fear’” in “The Sword of Damocles,” but at the same time, “fear” (wei 畏) induces “reverence” (jing 敬), ultimately leading to a Confucianized concept of Christian ideas. From the Han period onward, those lines from the Book of Songs have been transformed and enlisted to interpret calamities brought about by unusual circumstances in Dong Zhongshu’s Chunqiu fanlu. The chapter “Bi ren qie zhi 必仁且智” (The Necessity of Benevolence and Wisdom) states, “Calamities are Heaven’s reprimands; unusual circumstances are Heaven’s power. Since we do not know when reprimands will arrive, be fearful of Heaven’s power” (1987, 236) These words bring to mind de Vitry and Gesta Romanorum, wherein the sword of Damocles is indeed a symbol of God’s power to punish humans.

Since the sword symbolizes both “judgment” and “death,” it therefore is no different from Dong Zhongshu’s “Heaven’s reprimands” or “Heaven’s power”; hence, it is both “calamity” and the “unusual circumstances” that bring calamity about. The two above layers of spiritual implications are present in Ricci’s “Sword of Damocles”: Dionysius fears “the harsh ruler’s” awesome “hanging sword” because it is hard for humans to avoid doing wrong, and calamity follows in wrongdoing’s wake. In Ricci’s story, “calamity” does not imply prognostication but is more likely a dramatization of the concepts “revering Heaven” and “revering power” in Chunqiu fanlu, another of the story’s intertexts. The problem is that Confucian natural or doctrinal Heavens have become an anthropomorphized God in Chunqiu fanlu, Dong’s so-called “ruler of the many gods” or “the most-exalted king” (1987, 347; Zhang 2001, 220–21). Here, Dong characterized wangzhe 王者 (ruler/king) as nature’s ultimate power; however, I think Ricci has gone beyond the scope of the exemplum: he uses the name “Diwunixiao” and borrows it for the “king of Sicilia” to create his own legend.

Seeing it in light of the intimation Li Jiugong found in “The Sword of Damocles” in the “Shitian 事天” chapter of Wenxing cuichao, we can reanalyze it with Li’s quote from Song Confucianist Zhen Dexiu’s 真德秀 (1178–1235) Daxue yanyi 大學衍義 (Elaborations on the Daxue): The “Way of Heaven” (tiandao 天道) can only be known by he who knows “the way of the sovereign” (1678, 1: 2a), and “Heaven is all-knowing and cannot be deceived.” Therefore, “Heaven is greater than any earthly king; there is no greater way to serve Heaven than reverence” (1678, 1: 3a). The first half of Zhen’s quote is the customary organic model of Chinese philosophy; from the perspective of Heaven and earth and sovereign and relatives, it raised the status of the ancient monarchs, amply illustrating the interaction between rhetoric and Confucian thought. Nevertheless, the second half seems to imply that humans and gods share the same form. In a certain sense, that notion could be said to be the source of the title and inspiration for Bouvet’s Gujin jingtian jian 古今敬天鑒 (A Mirror of Historical Reverence to God) in the early Qing period, or, indeed, one of the theoretical foundations of Jesuit Figurism in China at that time. Monarchs are noble, but the Heaven’s law is manifest, and Heaven’s power must not be disobeyed; therefore, Heaven must be “revered” and “feared,” two verbs that, in Lixiu yijian, Li Jiugong represents by using “The Sword of Damocles.”

The reason Li Jiugong looked on Zhen so favorably was due primarily to Ricci’s Tianzhu shiyi because Ricci’s book insisted that the “Heaven” or “God” referred to in the Chinese classics was Christian “God” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 415–16). Also, Wenxing cuichao quotes Zhen again, the words even more pertinent to the present concern of this chapter: “If the monarch is virtuous, Heaven will rejoice, and favorable circumstances will arise. If the monarch is immoral, Heaven will punish him, and calamities and misfortune will come about.” (1678, 1: b). I think that passage also shows the influence of Chunqiu fanlu. As I cited above, Zhen emphasizes the connection between calamities and Heaven’s power. Heaven therefore should be respected and revered. Given this understanding, Zhen’s Confucianism might have to be transformed into Christian doctrine. Hence, the Confucian “Heaven” had to be Christianized, turning “God” into an anthropomorphic deity, whose loves and hatreds are clearly differentiated: When God creates and nurtures, the myriad creatures share his grace and favor; when he rewards good and punishes evil, people “tremble in fear;” and like the God in Gesta Romanorum, he may even “take life” (Swan 1891, 250). Shensi lu 慎思錄 (c. 1681), Li Jiugong’s posthumous publication, therefore states: “It is this God who gives me life and preserves me; it is this God who teaches and admonishes me; and it is this God who rules and punishes me” (1682, 9: 49).

From the standpoint of Confucian ethics, Li Jiugong’s wording here is extremely respectful and humble, nearly raising God’s status to the level of biological parents. Li probably would not have opposed the discourse in Jiang Yong’s “Ximing lun,” which quoted from “Ximing”: “The benevolents serve God, and the filials serve their parents. It makes no difference between them” (5a). God’s status is even higher than that of birth parents, becoming “a parent among parents,” the so-called “great father and mother,” as Martini and others described God. This argument covers the entire ideals of God and parents. Accordingly, Li abandoned the ancient “ruler-subject” paradigm. He not only pulled it off its pedestal but replaced it with the relationship between God and Self (tianwo 天我), a relationship infinitely important and on a higher plane. Consequently, even the distinction between good and evil is determined by God’s joy and anger. The Shensi lu goes on to say, “I cannot recognize the so-called good, but if it is in accord with God’s will, it is good. I also do not know what is so-called evil, but if it goes against God’s will, it is evil.” Scholars have found that Li seldom discussed the “ruler-subject” relationship, and I think this is a view that is not unfounded (1682, 149 and 170). As for “Heaven,” differences between Confucianism and Christianity include the idea that personified God is erroneous. According to Christian theology, humans are not the creators of the world; therefore, they cannot objectify God, nor can God be shaped by those He created. Since Li found “reverence and power” in later Confucian classics, showing that he was intimately familiar with God and God’s power, and thus was willing to bow before God in a master-servant relationship. Going back to the Damocles story, the notion that “those in power are fearful” is the conventional reading. And although that would be the most general interpretation, Li refused to accept it in his Lixiu yijian, probably because he was aware of the capacity of the legend for spiritual interpretation. As to whether the “Heaven” (Tian) or “God” (Shangdi) in the Chinese classics is Christian God, the Figurists were adept at parallel interpretations, and Chinese Christians of the later times would therefore not have viewed it as a problem. Besides, Li believed that there was a real difference between the two, which is apparently due to “grammar” but in actuality is the result of linguistic omissions. As for its implications, Li writes, “the term Shangdi in the Confucian canons clearly refers to the [Christian] God” (1682, 148–49). That being the case, from the Book of Documents and the Book of Songs onwards, the Confucian terms “Heaven” or “Shangdi,” for Li, anyway, all contained the theological implications of “The Sword of Damocles.” The song “Da Ming” 大明 in Greater Odes in the Book of Songs states, “Watchfully and reverently/With entire intelligence serve God/And so secure the great blessing” (Legge, trans., 1985, 4: 433). In this troped reading, those lines are a Chinese metaphor for the Christian connotations of the Damocles story.

Li Jiugong was a pioneering Figurist in the late Ming. His explication of “The Sword of Damocles” in Lixiu yijian is superb. Moreover, Li’s Wenxing cuichao took a passage from Zhang Bangqi’s 張邦奇 (1484–1544) autobiographical Zhaoshi lu 昭事錄 (Record of Diligent Service), in which Zhang quoted the Book of Songs, saying that his family “feared Heaven’s majesty” day and night (1678, 1:b). The quote bolstered the legitimacy of Li’s interpretation of “The Sword of Damocles.” As Li saw it, Zhang had a religious intent in quoting the Book of Songs. That went without saying because Zhang also used history as evidence to account for the necessity of “fearing Heaven’s power.” This amounted to a kind of Figurism, advising people to keep the essential message of the Damocles story among their principles and in their hearts. Li well befriended the aforesaid Zhang Geng. Together, the two compiled and edited Kouduo richao 口鐸日抄 (Daily Records of the Sacerdotes), a volume of talks given by Giulio Aleni 艾儒略 and Andreas Rudomina 盧安德 (c.1596-c.1631). As a Christian, Zhang understood the implication of “The Sword of Damocles.” He had served as zhaoshi sheng 昭事生 (“diligent servant”) in the Church, and had taken that title as a nickname. Although his position had nothing to do with Zhang’s work, it was indeed related to the lines from the “Daya” chapter of the Book of Songs quoted above. In other words, he feared God’s power (Tian wei 天威) and was willing to “serve God” (zhaoshi Shangdi 昭事上帝). For the Jesuits, wasn’t Chunqiu fanlu’s “the king serving Heaven” (wangzhe pei Tian 王者配天)^[32] tantamount to Confucianist relationship of the “kingship” to “God”? If the king did wrong, the sword of Damocles would fall, corresponding to a line in Chapter “Bayi 八佾” of the Analects: “He who offends against Heaven has none to whom he can pray.” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 159).

Some might ask: Confucius never spoke of life and death, so how can Confucianism explain Heaven (Tian)? The issue relates to the Figurist interpretation of “Heaven” or “Shangdi” and would therefore not have posed a problem for Ricci, Li, or even Zhang Geng. Based on Jiren shipian, we can answer that question by citing Jiao Hong’s reply when his students queried on life and death. According to Jiao, while Confucius refused to discuss supernatural beings, he did talk about life and death: “If a man in the morning hear the right way, he may die in the evening without regret” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 168); “While you do not know life, how can you know about death?” (Legge, trans., 1985, 1: 241); and “[The sage] traces things to their beginning and follows them to their end,” and “thus [the sage] knows what can be said about death and life (Legge, trans., 1963, 353)”. “Confucius” (xianshi 先師) “did speak of it” (weichang buyan 未嘗不言); it is just that “students have not investigated it.” Even Confucius could not avoid talking about life and death, so how could later Confucianists refrain from discussing it? Whenever they cited the Book of Songs or other ancient classics to stress the importance of the monarch’s “offering sacrifices to Heaven” (ji Tian 祭天), they dared not neglect supernatural powers. Chungqiu fanlu even devoted two chapters, Jiaoyi 郊義 and Jiaoji 郊祭, to clarify that issue (Dong 1987, 374–76; Jiao 1999, 2: 731). Jiao Hong’s contemporaries such as Yang Qiyuan 楊起元 (1547–1599) and Liu Zongzhou 劉宗周 believed that the purpose of “enlightenment” (wudao 悟道) was to transcend life and death, taking that as the essence of ancient Confucianism (Lü 1999, 181–201). In the eyes of Neo-Confucianists, “the way” (dao 道) or the “study of Confucianism” (shengxue 聖學) was not the same as Christian “study of God” (Tianxue 天學). However, the Jesuits and Chinese Christians felt that the “study of God” included the “study of the Way” (daoxue 道學) and the “study of Confucianism.” Hence, they saw no contradiction in employing Confucianism to explain Heaven or God, and it was entirely reasonable, too, to borrow Confucianism to interpret “The Sword of Damocles.”^[33]

Damocles initially believed that as king, he would enjoy sumptuous feasts, have servants to attend to him, and a hundred courtiers to pay him tribute. All worldly pleasures would be his, and he would experience great happiness. However, when he realized that a razor-sharp sword hung over him and could end his life at any moment, his joy vanished in a twinkling, his “limbs quaked” in terror, and he begged to come down off the throne. Thus, Dionysus sighed at the anxieties of those in power. When Ricci finished telling the story, he added a few more words, comparing the world to the king’s throne: “This world is like a wilderness, with thorns and briars all about; how could the flesh not be pierced?” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 219). For Ricci, the reason people’s “flesh” would be “pierced,” apart from their “sins,” which Gesta Romanorum had pointed out earlier, was the uncertainty of where they would go after death. Heaven and Hell originally had nothing to do with human affairs. But if there was a distinction between hardships and happiness, then people could not help but think about where they would go in the afterlife; that touches on the question of “good and evil” in Ricci’s “The Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife.” Confucianism holds that human nature is good, so “enlightenment” has always had a bright, effulgent aspect; therefore, the “temptation” the Bible speaks much of from Genesis onward is not a Confucian concern. In the Christian paradigm, however, human nature is inherently sinful, and the world is a slippery path. If people cannot resist temptation, they fall into evil pursuits. Hence, Christianity believes that entering the world is like going into a wilderness, and a single thought could determine whether one would go to Heaven or Hell.

Ricci used the term “wilderness” (kuangye 壙野) in the “Parable of the Empty Well” described in Jiren shipian. Moreover, in the same piece he compared the world to a “prison”; thereby alluding to the fable of dark “jail” (leixie 縲紲) in the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 157–58). “Wilderness” is biblical imagery, often troped into “desert” when in need. In the Gospel of Matthew, after Jesus was baptized on the bank of the Jordan River, he “was led by the Spirit into the desert, to be tempted by the devil” (4:1; italics added). Jesus fasted for forty days and nights, after which the devil took him to a high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor (4:3). Juxtaposing that portrayal with the metaphor of the hanging sword, it is indeed akin to Damocles’s situation. Dionysius allows him to sit on throne, which corresponds to Jesus standing on a high mountain. Damocles’s enjoyment of worldly riches and honor is analogous to the devil’s demonstration before Jesus of the earthly kingdoms in all their grandeur. Are these not temptations? Fortunately, Damocles discovers the sword hanging over him. And while he is not Jesus, he does know that questions of mortality are hard to foretell. Consequently, he sees that a monarch’s kingdom and all its splendors are empty in the end. Ricci’s every analogy and sentence touches on the most allusive texts of the Christian scripture; this is, indeed, a tour de force performance. “The Sword of Damocles” is a mere Western story, but its awe-inspiring force lies exactly in its intertextuality, moving Gong Daoli to admit in Jiren shipian that “the world is a bitter sea” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 220).

Humans hope to transcend worldliness because life is arduous and painful. That gave birth to the ideas of Heaven and Hell. I quoted Confucius earlier: “Virtue is not left to stand alone. He who practices it will have neighbors.” However, Ricci offered a different view in the Damocles story: “Like a wheel, the world is forever turning; what virtue can there be without sin?” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 238; italics added). Thus, “virtue” is not the sole factor in deciding whether one will ascend to Heaven or fall to Hell. Furthermore, Ricci had a hidden motive, which Li Jiugong clarified in the Shensi lu: Humans themselves cannot decide what constitutes “good” (shan 善) or “evil” (e 惡); only God can. “The Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife” seems to indicate this, and that is what Ricci is implying. Indeed, Ricci’s concept herewith “seems” to resemble the “chosen people” of Judaism or the “elect” or “predestination” of Calvinism, all being the doctrine that “the good fortune of going to Heaven is fixed and unchanging” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 220).^[34] People are lackluster, and as the Bible, paraphrased in Jiren shipian, also says, “they do not know if God loves or loathes them.” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 237) They want to know the answer to that question, to understand whether they will experience good fortune or misfortune in their lives. According to Jiren shipian, they will have to wait until “worldly affairs come to an end,” that is, until after they die, and God judges them.

“Judgment” is New Testament theology, whereas the notion of God hovering over humanity like a hanging sword is typical of Old Testament thought. The religious orientation of the Damocles story differs from the Confucian tenet of “benevolence” as “Heaven’s will.” Moreover, it runs counter to Confucian “unity of Heaven and humanity” (Zhang 1991, 801–2), the prevailing view of Confucian philosophers from Zhang Zai 張載 (1020–1077) to Wang Fuzhi 王夫之 (1619–1692). In other words, “harmony” is not the keynote of the relationship between God and humanity in the Damocles story. Instead, it revolves around what Christians call—here I am borrowing from de Pantoja’s Qike 七克 (Seven Conquests; Li, comp., 1965, 2: 775)—the “wrath of God” and the “fear of God” (cf. Lloyd-Jones 1943, 73–93; Ricœur 1967, 63–70). Dionysius calls the sword hanging above his throne a “clear threat” (mingwei 明威), a term that connotes God’s “wrath” because the character wei 威 (power, might) can also mean “anger” (nu 怒). Instances of human sinning and disobedience are found in almost every book of the Old Testament. If the transgressions are minor, God shames and reproves, but if they are major, he strikes the sinners dead. These godly scourges are repeated again and again in the Bible; consequently, God was increasingly seen as a wrathful deity, and the “righteousness” (zhengyi 正義) that is revealed is in a sense what Gong Daoli called “a bitter sea.” Gong’s statement is dead-on because people are born with original sin and thus fated to be willful and disobedient. The problem of original sin aside, human knowledge is limited, and people are likely to commit new sins and shrug off God’s intentions. Therefore, calling the sword a “clear threat” not only embodies Li Jiugongs’s efforts to Confucianize the “fear of Heaven” (jingwei 敬威) but also conveys the typical Old Testament image of God. As far as “retribution” is concerned, the sword can even stand for the “judgment” in the New Testament, echoing the sword metaphor in Gesta Romanorum. In “The Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife,” Ricci says, “If there are no rewards or punishments for doing good or evil while one is still alive, one must await God’s divine judgment in the world to come, and judgment therein does not deviate” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 223). By “God’s divine judgement,” Ricci is suggesting God’s unbridled fury.

Misfortunes are unavoidable in this world. Viewed from Christian perspective, if people want to ease distress, dispel disasters, and avoid going to Hell, wisdom is their only recourse. Therefore, “Goodness and Evil Will Be Rewarded in the Afterlife” repeatedly quotes the words of the “sages” (shengren 聖人) or “wise men.” Interestingly, it does not advise going into seclusion, as was customary among the Chinese, but rather adopting “forbearance” in one’s dealings with the world (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 129). This Stoic thinking derives from the notion that God’s justice is irresistible, a notion which amounts to saying that practicing the wisdom conveyed in “The Sword of Damocles” starts with a “fear of God.” Apart from definitions of the character wei indicated above, I have also suggested that it stands for God’s unchallengeable “authority” (quanwei 權威), too. In the Gospel of Matthew, the devil tried to coax Jesus into testing God’s power, but Jesus was wary. Instead, he borrowed from Deuteronomy 6:16, declaring that God’s authority does not brook challenges: “Begone, Satan! For it is written, ‘The Lord thy God shalt thou adore, and him only shalt thou serve’.” (Matthew, 4:10). Jesus spoke calmly and resolutely, his tone biting as Dionysius’s when the latter spoke of the hanging sword. There is a difference between the scripture and the figures. Damocles dared ascend the throne, “gleefully” agreeing to be tested. If the hanging sword, or God’s wrath, had not terrified him, the courtier would have succumbed to the devil’s temptations. Thus, Damocles’s wisdom was not lost to him. From a Figurist perspective, his acquired understanding was transmuted from the “wrath of God” into the “fear of God.”

The “Fear of God” is a platitude that appears early on in Proverbs of the Bible: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy is prudence” (9:10; cf. Farrar 1975, 534). Similar injunctions appear throughout the book (e.g., 1:7, 1:29, 2:5, 3:7, 31:30), all of which seem to prefigure the Damocles story. Moreover, Li Jiugong in Lixiu yijian used the “fear of God” to interpret the legend, adding another layer of significance to it. Although “revering God” and “fearing God” refer to two different things, they are essentially one. The sole difference lies in active and passive psychological states. In everyday Chinese, the characters jingwei 敬畏 are conjoined in the Chinese translation of “Proverbs.” In Li’s interpretation of “The Sword of Damocles,” the active revering God becomes the passive weiwei 畏威 (fearing God). For Christians, then, the relationship between “Heaven” and the self could never correspond to Confucian principles, much less be based on equality and harmony. Further on in Proverbs, Solomon discusses the proper attitude for a minister to take in the presence of a monarch. For Damocles, this was sacrilege: “Appear not glorious before the king, and stand not in the place of great men.” (Proverbs 25:6) If we interpret “monarch” as “God,” which the Bible often does, then Solomon’s warning, in addition to being a prophecy, also contains even deeper and weightier allegorical and metaphorical elements.

Ricci did emphasize predestination in Jiren shipian. Strictly speaking, however, his philosophy of fate differs from those of Judaism and Calvinism. In discussing this point above, I put quotation marks around “seems” to indicate my reservations. In Christianity, fate is determined by God’s judgment, so Ricci’s views are in line with the Church tradition. Furthermore, Ricci laid out a broad path by which people could attain God’s care and protection. That is to say, we can work hard to atone for our sins in this world, and we can also win God’s favor through perseverance. By embracing modesty and keeping the truth in their hearts, people can forswear comfort and ease. With hardship as their vehicle, they will become what the “Sermon on the Mount” called “the poor in spirit” (Matthew 5:3). Such people will be covered in benevolence and righteousness, coinciding with the last of the eight Beatitudes, which Ricci cites: “Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 254; Matthew 5:10). This shows that for Damocles, or even Dionysius, the hanging sword is not necessarily a bad thing. The New Testament implies that hardship is the “harsh ruler’s” way of testing people, a commonplace of religious discourse. For those who pass the test, the bitter sea turns into an ocean of happiness.

Confucianism preaches contentment in poverty, happiness in following the Way, and simple living. The Confucianist “Way” (dao) and Christianity are similar in some respects and different in others. Gong Daoli’s conversation with Ricci was unprecedented, and Gong often expresses surprise in the text of Jiren shipian. After listening to Ricci’s tale of “The Sword of Damocles,” Gong was shaken, as if he had already grasped the meaning of the eighth Beatitude. In reply to Ricci’s “truth,” he said, “Grant me poverty and hardship, let luxury pass into oblivion; thus, I understand the truth and gladly choose to follow it” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 253). However, the Damocles story has far-reaching implications and endless intertextual possibilities. It can awaken those who study it, prompting self-reflection, and serve as a touchstone for Christians. So how could Gong grasp its full essence immediately upon hearing it? When he finished delivering his discourse on “contentment in poverty” in “the Good and the Evil Shall be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife,” it is small wonder that Gong was astonished, praising completely the beauty of Christian “truth.” He called it “wonderful model” that “is as yet unheard of in China.” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 258).

5 Ideological Phenomena

What Gong said is true. Allegedly, “The Good and the Evil Shall be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife” was the chapter in Jiren shipian that most impressed Ming literati. Interestingly, although Gong and Ricci conversed at length, Gong was never baptized nor did he become a Christian. Had he indeed converted and become a Christian, on the redemptive basis of “worldly suffering,” poverty and hardship, he could have added two more Christian virtues sufficient to win God’s favor: the “cautious silence” and “friendship” advocated respectively in “Aesop and the Tongues” and “Damon and Pythias.” Ricci derived his concept of God from the Book of Job, wherein “silence” is God’s unchanging nature; those who “speak little,” therefore, have a basis for obeying God and a principle of conducting worldly affairs. Martini traces friendship back to the origin of humankind. Because all people are God’s creations, God can thus be called our “great father and mother.” Under God’s care and protection and on a foundation of “true friendship,” people should treat each other kindly and ascend to Heaven as a result of friendship. “The Sword of Damocles” has even more profound implications, touching on the essence of life, and fully manifesting the Christian model of human relation to God. The three legends are closely related. Li Jiugong discerned, illuminated, and explicated the stories when they came out. His Lixiu yijian comprises three volumes. The first volume is subdivided into three categories, treating three Christian virtues: “self-cultivation,” “love,” and “reverence for God” (Li 1984, 1:437). That is one of the reasons for my discussing “Aesop and the Tongues,” “Damon and Pythias,” and “The Sword of Damocles” particularly in this paper.

That being said, although Gong makes a point, he is also somewhat optimistic. After talking about the joys and sufferings of Heaven and Hell, Ricci implores Gong to “have no doubt” in the “Holy text and the pure words of the saints” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 248). By “Holy text,” Ricci is referring to the only sacred canon of Christianity, the Bible, and the “saints” are, of course, the wise and worthy ones who walk within it. In the context of Jiren shipian, that would also include Aesop. In a sense, it could even embrace the “cruel king” Dionysius, with his mouthful of Christian doctrine. As soon as he begins to speak, worldliness has nowhere to hide; his profound observation and experience of God’s law are out of reach for sages like Aesop. As for Martini’s Qiuyou pian, the depth of Damon and Pythias’s friendship grew through adversity, and they can also sidle onto the list of Western sages; or at least Pythagoras, who taught them what friendship was, is deserving of inclusion on the roster. Not all of these saints or sages appear in “The Good and the Evil Shall Be Rewarded or Punished in the Afterlife.” But after listening to Ricci’s elaboration on the truth in Dionysius’s words, Gong exclaimed, “Our Chinese classics” and Western classics “correspond and affirm each other.” Furthermore, he says, “I believe true sages come from East and West, North and South, and are all in accord.” (Li, comp., 1965, 1: 248–49). The Song Confucianist Lu Xiangshan 陸象山 (1139–1192) wrote: “Sages from the East and those from the West are of the same heart and mind” (1981, 36: 3). After his conversation with Ricci, Gong’s thoughts echoed Lu’s sentiments, as though history were repeating itself.

Nevertheless, if we survey my arguments in the previous sections, the truth may not be so simple. For example, in terms of Confucian and Christian concepts in regard to the nature of the world, Gong could not transcend traditionally stereotypical views. In terms of the three central concerns of this paper—the way of speech, the way of friendship, and the way of Heaven—many of Confucian views are close to Christian doctrines. Confucius said, as quoted earlier, that the “simple and modest are near to virtue,” and the Analects begins by discussing the proper way to treat friends. Moreover, “revering Heaven” and “serving Heaven” have been Confucian topics of discussion since it appropriates the Book of Songs and the Book of Documents, canons that, with no shortage of natural theology, could be mutually invented with Christianity. For all these, when Confucianism meets the core of Christian conception of God, particularly its ontology, there is often disagreement, and even discord (Sun and Zhong 2004, 188–93).^[35] For instance, Confucian views on language can never be linked to its theory of friendship, and its friendship theory has nothing to do with its concept of Heaven’s way. Therefore, “the way of speech,” “the way of friendship,” and “the way of Heaven” are all independent discourses which can be discussed individually in different circumstances. However, in the eyes of Christian believers, the above three “ways” are not only interlinked but can also move from personal practice to inter-personal interactions. Finally, Christianity uses a metaphysical method to explore the mysteries of human relationship with God. The three discourses are all facets of the same form, and all involve questions about the nature of God, thereby revealing the fundamental doctrines of Christianity. The way of speech, the way of friendship, and the way of God are therefore a single “Way” (Dao): it is something that no Confucianist would consider.

Whenever Ricci or Martini talked with Chinese about Christianity, either used the ancient Westerners’ “words and action” as examples, mostly drawn from Greco-Roman legends. Hence, at the beginning of this paper, I borrowed Propp, pointing out that “legends” are often “virtuosic performances.” They waver between history and mythology, or fact and fiction. Here I will add a word, again relying on Propp: The purpose of narrative is not to enhance history or stories, but to reflect various cultural phenomena. It carries with itself much historical significance (1984, 51), and therefore should not be regarded as a minor art. Legends are not intentional works such as historical ballads, but in Propp’s view, and here I quote him again, they are closer to “ideological phenomena” than historical ballads are. This paper analyzes and discusses three classical European legends. The structure of each content is more mythological than historical. The Aesop story is probably fictionalized history, and “Damon and Pythias” and “The Sword of Damocles” are dramatized to the point of fabrication. Thus, the tales are very different from general history, and their “purpose” is therefore self-evident. Precisely because these stories are pseudo-historical or unofficial history, their metaphorical power is no less than that of “true” history. Drama is what excites and moves people, not dry factual records. Each of the stories discussed in this paper had its own purpose: Conceptually, they are united by Christian doctrines. Ultimately, the tales served as examples or instruments for Christian dialogue with Confucianism. They all had religious, cultural, and political implications as well. Therefore, one will inevitably think again of Propp’s “ideological phenomena,” and given the implications of the stories of Aesop, Pythias, Damon, Dionysius, and even the sword hanging over Damocles, I cannot help but call out to Propp, “your theory about legend is brilliant, indeed!”