The Passages

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15.36

15.37

Informal interpretation: If the game you're playing is winner-takes-all, it's time to play a different game.

Today's episode tackles two passages about when it's appropriate to break the rules. Confucius believed that if the rules of the game mean you can only get ahead by ignoring the humanity of others, then you might want to think twice about playing by the rules.

Philosophical Discussion

When Rules Conflict with Humanity

When a game is winner-takes-all, people will do anything to win. Friends might end up acting viciously toward one another just to secure an advantage when they realize one person's loss is another's gain. In these passages, Confucius explains that when it comes to matters of 仁 (human-heartedness), a student should not hesitate to do what is right, even if that means going against their teacher's rules. Then he generalizes the point: doing what is right is more important than doing what you promised or what others expect of you.

The Siege of 宋

As discussed in Episode 9, the Spring and Autumn period was a time of chaos and frequent armed conflict. About 40 years before Confucius was born, the state of 楚 was laying siege to the capital of the state of 宋. The 左傳 records that the 楚 general held a conference with the 宋 general and asked about conditions in the city. The 宋 general explained the tragedy occurring inside: citizens were so hungry that they had no choice but to exchange family members to be eaten.

The 楚 general was so distressed by this news that he returned to his king and begged him to end the siege. After some back and forth, the king called it off.

This story is a powerful example of someone recognizing humanity and thinking with their heart, rather than following the rules. The 楚 general had been given a command by his king to lay siege. He also had the rules of war—you don't fight a war to lose. A siege is a pretty winner-takes-all scenario. But when he met the 宋 general face to face, he was confronted with the humanity of the situation. People were in that city, and his own actions had caused them to act like animals toward one another. That's when he knew it wasn't worth it to follow the rules.

Early 20th century commentator 程樹德 mentions this story as historical context for passage 15.36. It's more than likely Confucius was highly familiar with this episode since it happened when his parents and grandparents were alive.

Understanding 讓

Most translators render 讓 as "give deference" or "yield." In Confucianism, 讓 is frequently paired with 禮 (ritual propriety). Together, 禮讓 means deferring to someone else in accordance with the requirements of their status—like giving up your seat on the bus to an elderly person.

But 讓 isn't just about physically yielding. It can also mean yielding to others on decisions and priorities. If a teacher gives you an assignment and a due date, you're going to remember that due date and get it done. It doesn't matter if you'd rather play video games or go on vacation. The same goes for any authority: parents, boss, or military superior.

One of the major points of these passages is that it doesn't matter who has written the rules—king or queen, parent or boss—and it doesn't matter what the situation seems to dictate. If what you're supposed to be doing causes you to fail to recognize the humanity of others, then it's not the right thing to do.

Disobeying Even Your Teacher

The passage says you may disobey EVEN YOUR TEACHER. In Confucius's time, education was not compulsory or even common. Finding a teacher and having them accept you was serious business. That seriousness is reflected in the fact that the Analects calls Confucius "the Master" and his students "disciples."

So disobeying your teacher was not something to be done on a whim. This passage makes it clear that there are certain very serious situations where the right thing to do is tell your teacher that they're wrong.

Kant's Axe

Confucius believed one of the greatest hallmarks of a petty person was being honest to a fault. Consider the famous scenario proposed by philosopher Immanuel Kant: You're at home with a friend when there's a knock at the door. A man with an axe tells you he wants to kill your friend and asks where he is. According to Kant, you should never lie, so you should tell the truth.

Confucius is on the opposite end of the spectrum. Yes, an upstanding person tells the truth whenever they can. But when it comes to the greater good, they don't rigidly stick to these rules. According to Confucius, you should absolutely lie to the axe murderer.

In passage 13.18, the Duke of She tells Confucius that a father was reported by his "righteous" son for stealing a sheep. Confucius replies that where he's from, justice is different—a father should protect his son, and a son should protect his father.

Petty Fidelity vs. Discretion

There is no single correct answer to whether it's okay to lie, break a promise, or disobey a rule. But Confucius takes a dim view of those who can't adapt their behavior to suit the circumstances. Confucian commentators call this 小信 (petty fidelity).

The opposite of this rigid behavior is called 權 (discretion), which the 公羊傳 defines as "goodness resulting from transgressing well-established canons." The idea is that if you have a well-developed sense of morality, you can appropriately decide when to stick to convention and when to ignore simplistic "correct" behavior.

Context and Connections

Leaders Who Accept Challenge

In passage 13.15, Confucius tells Duke Ding of Lu that if no minister dares to contradict a bad ruler, then a state is well on its way to failure. If nobody is there to check their questionable decisions, the only thing that will stop them is the eventual disasters those decisions cause.

The 韓非子 brings this idea to life several centuries later. Slingerland writes:

Duke Ping of Jin was drinking wine with his assembled ministers. Drinking to his heart's content, the Duke loudly sighed, "I find no joy in being a ruler, except that no one dares to oppose what I say." The blind Music Master Guang was in attendance. Taking hold of his zither, he threw it at the Duke. The Duke dodged and it hit the wall, creating a hole. The Duke said, "At whom did the Music Master throw his zither?" The Music Master said, "Just now, some petty person was sounding off at my side; I was aiming at him." The Duke replied, "That person was I." "Alas!" the Music Master sighed, "Those are not the words of a gentleman." The attendants asked permission to repair the wall, but the Duke said, "Leave it. It will serve as a constant admonition to me."

Related Passages

• 13.15 — If no one dares contradict a ruler, the state is doomed
• 13.18 — A son should protect his father, and vice versa

Language Notes

當 (dāng)

One modern usage of 當 is "when," as in 當你回家的時候 ("when you get home"). Here it means "when it comes to" or "as for." A more direct rendering of the first two characters of 15.36, 當仁, would be "when it comes to human-heartedness."

仁 (rén)

Human-heartedness, benevolence, or compassion. This is one of the most important concepts in Confucian philosophy—the quality of treating others with genuine care and recognizing their humanity.

讓 (ràng)

To yield, act deferentially, or give preference to someone other than oneself. This is the character you'll see on yield signs throughout China. In the translation, 讓 is rendered as "following the rules," which stretches things a bit, but the idea is that when you follow such rules, you're deferring to the wishes of your teacher or leader.

於 (yú)

This 虛詞 (classical grammatical particle) is a general prepositional word. Here it means "to." So 不讓於師 simply means "do not yield to your teacher."

師 (shī)

Teacher or master. If you've seen Kung Fu Panda, you know 師父 (shīfu). The 父 means "father," and it's a term frequently used by martial arts practitioners and monks. There's also 師傅, usually used to address professionals like taxi drivers or chefs. And of course 老師, the most common word for teacher in modern Chinese.

貞 (zhēn)

A truly ancient character whose meaning has shifted significantly. The 易經 (Book of Changes) uses 貞 over 100 times. The original meaning was to verify a conjecture with the heavens through divination.

The character first appears in 甲骨文 (Oracle Bone Script) between the 14th and 11th centuries BCE. The top part 卜 represents a crack in a bone used for divination. The bottom was originally 鼎, a ritual cauldron. From divination, the character became associated with truth and correctness—hence "staying true to what is right."

In modern Chinese, 貞 is associated with loyalty, steadfastness, and chastity, as in 忠貞. It's also found in the name 白素貞, the white snake spirit from 白蛇傳 (Legend of the White Snake).

諒 (liàng)

If you know 原諒 (to forgive), you might think this means forgiveness. But it's actually the opposite—staying true to one's word. Through the centuries, truthfulness turned into presumption, and presumption being associated with innocence worked its way into forgiveness and tolerance.

而 (ér)

A connecting word often rendered as "and." In 15.37, it's paired with 不, so you could write "and not" or more emphatically "but not." The translation uses "rather than" to highlight the contrast between 貞 and 諒.