Chapter Seven: Awe

The old man was renowned—he was the thirty-first direct descendant of Confucius, the head of the Kong family in Shandong, and someone whose spirit was honored in the Sacred Temple. Yet, as Kong Yingda lectured, Li Kong found himself drifting into a stupor, barely able to keep his eyes open.

In truth, Li Kong’s knowledge of the Four Books and Five Classics was neither shallow nor profound. He neither loved nor hated the classical phrases and cryptic expressions. What wore him down was the dizzying nature of the material before him—text without punctuation, where one was expected to parse meaning and pause by mere instinct. It was enough to age a man before his time.

Worse still, although Kong Yingda was a descendant of Confucius, his grasp of his ancestor’s teachings was far from deep. Much of what he expounded was inherited from earlier scholars, with little attempt to restore the original intent of the Sage. Such confused teachings only bred pedantry and rigidity. Was Li Kong such a man?

The morning lesson ended swiftly. Li Kong, half-awake, muddled his way through, only roused when Li Fu placed a steaming meal under his nose, the aroma pulling his thoughts back from his daydreams to the pangs of hunger gnawing at his belly.

“Uncle Fu, you needn’t trouble yourself with this in the future. I can bring food myself,” Li Kong said as he ate.

Li Fu smiled and nodded. “It’s no trouble, young master. There’s little for an old servant to do at home. Running errands for you helps pass the time.”

Li Kong felt a mix of gratitude and helplessness. Such was the reality of this era: for a servant, to be denied work by his master was to feel unwanted, perhaps even to despair to the point of tragedy. As absurd as it seemed, Li Kong was powerless to change it—unless he could persuade Li Shimin to establish a constitutional monarchy. But was that possible? He would likely lose his head for merely suggesting it.

And even if he could, with the current state of cultural literacy, it would all be in vain.

...

In the Hall of Sweet Dew, Li Shimin dined with Empress Zhangsun. For the Emperor, an extra meal was not excessive, and the tradition of three imperial meals traced back to the Han dynasty. Li Shimin was hardly breaking with custom.

Before long, Kong Yingda drifted in and, after bowing, reported, “Your Majesty, Li Kong spent the entire morning dozing off…”

He left the sentence unfinished, but his contempt was unmistakable. Clearly, in Kong Yingda’s eyes, Li Kong was already branded as useless.

Li Shimin dabbed his lips, then looked up. “No matter. When you resume the lesson this afternoon, test him. I do not believe his mind is empty.”

“…As you command, Your Majesty,” Kong Yingda replied, though he wished to protest. In his view, no amount of testing would make a difference.

An hour’s rest passed swiftly. Staying true to his withdrawn nature, Li Kong, after his meal, lay down on his desk and slept, ignoring the bustle around him. When he next awoke, his body was sore and aching. He resolved to prioritize the making of proper chairs; otherwise, even the simple luxury of a nap would be denied him.

The students returned to their seats. As in the morning, Kong Yingda strolled in at a measured pace, casting a thoughtful glance at Li Kong before beginning the afternoon lecture. The subject was the eighth chapter of the Analects, “The Chapter of Taibo.” After reading the text, Kong Yingda had the students mark it, then began his explanations.

When he reached the line, “The people may be made to follow, but may not be made to understand,” he paused and said, “Li Kong, do you know the meaning of this phrase?”

Li Kong was startled, stood, and replied, “Master, you have not yet explained this passage.”

Kong Yingda’s beard quivered. “And yet, do you understand its meaning?”

Seeing the contempt in Kong Yingda’s eyes, Li Kong was at a loss, but then he recognized the determination and helplessness there, and suddenly understood. As someone from a later age, he had never looked down on the ancients. His study of Tang history was always interconnected with the flow of the entire feudal era, and he often pondered the minds of those who lived it.

Now, Kong Yingda’s probing must have been ordered by someone. And who could order Kong Yingda, save Li Shimin? Not even Empress Zhangsun could. That was just the kind of man Kong Yingda was.

“A test?” Li Kong thought, a touch resigned but mostly confident. Since Li Shimin wanted to gauge his abilities, he would give this pedant something to think about.

Having made up his mind, he spoke: “That depends, Master, on which interpretation you require.”

Kong Yingda sneered, “Oh? Then tell me, how many meanings does this phrase have?”

“Very well,” Li Kong began. “First, the meaning given by earlier scholars: ‘The people may be made to follow, but may not be made to understand’—it implies that the common folk should simply follow our guidance without needing to know the reasons why. This is the interpretation of those who would keep the populace ignorant.

“Second, it can be read as: ‘If the common people’s conduct aligns with the Way and with propriety, let them act as they will; if not, instruct them, guiding them onto the correct path.’

“Third, it may be parsed as: ‘If the people are willing to work without complaint, let them; if not, explain to them, help them understand the principles.’

“And finally, it can be read as a question: ‘May the people be made to follow? If not, then instruct them…’”

As Li Kong spoke with ease, everyone—including Kong Yingda—was left bewildered. Especially Kong Yingda, whose years of rigid theory had just been overturned, and in such a way that left him with no grounds for rebuttal. Given Confucius’s virtue, it was impossible he had intended the phrase to mean “keep the people ignorant.” Each alternative interpretation matched the Sage’s philosophy.

In that instant, Li Kong had opened a new door, one through which Kong Yingda could gain a fuller understanding of his ancestor.

“So this is the one they called useless? If he is useless, then what am I?” Kong Yingda’s mind was shaken, but above all, he felt ashamed. He, a direct descendant of Confucius, had distorted his ancestor’s teachings and spread these errors—it was unforgivable. He wondered if, upon his death, his forebear would not rise to strike him down a second time.

Only after a long silence did Kong Yingda come to himself. He gazed at Li Kong with an unreadable expression, then, after a while, stepped forward, bowed deeply, and declared, “I am enlightened.”

Li Kong was startled by the gesture and quickly stepped aside. “Master, you will undo me with such respect.”

“Master? In your presence, how dare I use that title?” Kong Yingda replied, his conviction now complete.