In beginning this translation of the Four Books, much consideration has gone into establishing the lexicon to be used. A lexicon is an intricate interconnection of terminology, and in the translation of the classics, it forms a linguistic bridge between cultures. Bridges by their nature must be stable. It is for this reason, along with that of honoring teachers, that we follow and uphold the Chan-Legge lineage while seeking small refinements.

Wing-tsit Chan (d. 1994) perfected the lexicon pioneered a century earlier by James Legge (d. 1897). These two were the most influential transmitters of the Confucian Classics into English, and so this line has significant momentum. Irene Bloom (d. 2010), who considered herself a disciple of Chan, made minor modifications after his passing. Daoxue Academy follows this lineage.

NOTEWORTHY EVOLUTIONS, STABILIZATIONS, AND REVERSIONS

DISCUSSION OF INDIVIDUAL TERMS

Junzi 君子 (“noble person”). The legacy translation “superior man” began with Legge and was continued by Chan. As Chan said, it is literally “son of the ruler” (i.e. a noble) and “in some cases it refers to the ruler,” but “in most cases Confucius used it to denote a morally superior man. In other words, to him nobility was no longer a matter of blood, but of character.” To speak of character is to speak of one’s person—hence “noble person,” which we adopt from Bloom. Another popular translation is “gentleman,” which would seem a perfect fit in English. But this moves what is foreign into a familiar Western concept, whereas we wish to transport the serious student into the foreign concept itself. Furthermore, there is no “gentle” in the character pair. There is “noble” (jun 君), and that is all.

Yi 義 (“rightness”). In this we also follow Bloom. The legacy translation “righteousness” began with Legge and was continued by Chan. It is technically correct, carrying the definition of “the quality of being morally right,” though with some undesirable overtones. But as Chan translated in Chen Chun’s definition of terms, yi is simply “the principle of what is right.” We could not have a more straightforward word in English than “rightness,” which, per the New Oxford American Dictionary, carries a definition identical to that of righteousness.

Ren 仁 (“humanity”). Here we reject Bloom’s update of “humaneness.” Chan’s established standard of “humanity” is already optimal. There is humanity meaning all of mankind, and there is man’s essence and benevolent behavior which is one’s humanity—as in the famous Chinese play on words “ren is ren.” Moreover, in Zhu Xi’s philosophy ren is the character of man himself: both humanity as its substance and humaneness as its function. A translation of “humanity” works as both. Legge’s “benevolence” and Bloom’s “humaneness” are more narrow, and awkward when used so frequently. The pair “humanity and rightness” rolls off the tongue. There should be no changes to these.

Mingde 明德 (“clear character”). This is a technical term. Legge translated it as “illustrious virtue,” and Chan as “clear character.” Actually they are two angles upon the same thing. Zhu Xi spoke of the “clear character” as an eight-windowed pavilion, exquisitely clear and transparent. Using this analogy, if we think about the light moving outward from the glass, that is the “illustrious virtue” reaching our eyes, and if we think about the glass itself, that is the “clear character.” But in a discussion of the Great Learning, which emphasizes the priority of root and branch, the essence of the thing itself must be taken as the root. We therefore continue Chan’s translation. De 德 is the character of man, and ming 明 is its quality: a transparent pass-through for the Principle of Heaven. The problem is thus one of beclouded glass.

Xiao 孝 (“family devotion”). The legacy translation “filial piety” may not be technically wrong, but philosophically it raises a question—how would mere piety be the root of the development of one’s humanity? Bloom updated this to “filial devotion,” which is an improvement by eliminating “piety” altogether. Ames has used the expression “family feeling,” which gets to the heart of it. We use “family devotion,” or in certain passages “family affection,” to restore the warmth that the term carries in East Asia. Admittedly not a perfect solution, but at least family affection makes intuitive sense as the root of one’s humane behavior later in life (see Discourses 1.2). In adjectival usage we still need “filial.”

Xin 信 (“trustworthiness”). This would seem a straightforward alternative to the legacy “faithfulness” without any religious association. But there is a twist. In normal use it is simply “trustworthiness,” as Chen Chun said: “When one speaks according to the reality of a thing, such as saying yes when it is so, and saying no when it is not, that is trustworthiness.” However, as Chen Chun also noted, “With respect to man’s nature, xin simply means the ‘real truth’ of the Four Beginnings.” Therefore we translate it two ways: in the manifested sense, “trustworthiness”; in the metaphysical sense, “faithfulness.”

Shu 恕 (“reciprocity”). Shu is comparable to “the golden rule” and so fairly easy to understand, but the difficulty in translating it in a single word is that it has both an internal and external component. In the common pair “loyalty and reciprocity” (zhongshu 忠恕), the latter is clearly more external, as Chen Chun said: “Loyalty and reciprocity are like form and shadow, for if what is harbored inside is already loyal, when it is expressed externally, it is reciprocity.” But as he also points out, “shu consists of ru 如 (like) and xin 心 (mind or heart); when one extends one’s own mind to others to the point that their desires are like one’s own, that is shu.” Chan translates it as empathy, which captures the internal dimension and reaches the external, but the term often fails to render ancient sentences coherently. Legge’s imperfect solution of “reciprocity” is at least more direct in covering the external component, and to solve the problem when it is used as a possession, we can say that one possesses the “principle of reciprocity.”

Qi 氣 (“animated force”). Qi is perhaps the most notoriously difficult word to translate in Chinese philosophy. To simply leave it as qi, as some have done in recent years, seems an abdication of our duty as translators. Chan’s “material force” is correct, but these two unconjugated nouns next to each other feel obscure, and if it is “material” then why does the term also include energy? Simply put, qi is the product of the animating forces of yin and yang, hence “animated force.” In the ancient sense it is the animated force of our breathing. In the medieval sense it is the animated “matter and energy” throughout the universe, as opposed to the organizing principle of nature (li 理) which is without animated form. As Kroll’s dictionary says, qi is “the force that animates each living creature and also runs through the inanimate universe.”

Shangxia is 上下 (“superiors and subordinates”). Legge established the general usage “superiors and inferiors” and Chan carried this forward. This works best for prose and has strong parallelism but risks implying inherent inferiority or lack of reciprocal duties. Bloom’s update of “those above and those below” is literal and has a certain poetic quality, but becomes verbose in extended usage and lacks a possessive form. “Superiors and subordinates” continues the familiar Legge-Chan lexicon, and while “subordinates” loses a bit of English parallelism compared to “inferiors,” it fixes the philosophical problem.

Tianming 天命 (“Decree of Heaven”). Chan translated it variously as mandate, decree or order, destiny, and fate, depending on context. In his translation of Chen Chun’s definition of terms, the opening sentence reads: “Ming is like an order, an order from a superior or an official order.” Here Chen Chun is telling us the most basic meaning of ming, which is that of a decree. This is also what Legge pioneered with his translation, the “decree of Heaven.” Chan’s famous usage was “Mandate of Heaven,” but due to the somewhat clichéd and often imprecise use of that term in popular culture, we roll back to the more basic “Decree of Heaven” while capitalizing the word decree. Still needs to be translated variously depending on context.

Tiyong 體用 (“substance and function”). Chan established this pair, and it has a philosophical weight which is suiting of Zhu Xi, however it can also have a slight obscuring effect: “substance” sounds physical yet we are actually talking about essence. Thus “essence and application” might seem more immediately clear. However substance and function is now well established in translation literature, and so we follow Chan.

Lunyu 論語 (“Discourses”). Here we must perform a Confucian rectification of names, for if names are not correct then meaning is not clear. As Legge himself said in his opening sentence on the book, the “title of the work is Lunyu, ‘Discourses and Dialogues,’ that is, the discourses or discussions of Confucius with his disciples and others on various topics, and his replies to their inquiries.” Chan, in his own introduction to the book, named it as “Lunyu (Discourses or Analects).” Bloom, in her introduction, says, “The English word analects (from the Greek analekta) means ‘a selection,’ while the Chinese title Lunyu may be translated as ‘conversations.’ This selection of conversations was compiled by later followers.” Zhu Xi gives us no explanation of the title; therefore, the most conservative course is to translate it literally. As Kroll’s dictionary of ancient Chinese says, lun is to “discuss critically” and yu is to “speak of.” Thus “Discourses Spoken” [by the School of Kong]. We acknowledge this is contentious, but though “Analects” is entrenched in the Anglophone world, it seems time to move on from Legge’s branding, and in truth we are merely following the Legge-Chan lineage’s own literal rendering. Much of the West already translates it essentially as “discourses” (German Gespräche) or “conversations” (French Entretiens). Between these, “discourse” is more accurate—the term covers both a single speaker delivering a philosophical discourse, as well as discourses between the students and their teacher, thus encompassing the full contents of the book.

Kongzi 孔子 (“Master Kong”). Similarly, it seems time to let go of “Confucius” and “Mencius” and use proper Chinese pinyin, which is Kongzi and Mengzi. Yet to give added weight to the founder of the tradition, and to acknowledge that the recorders of the Lunyu refer to him as zi 子 (“master”), we use a standardized naming of “Master Kong” throughout the Four Books. Where repetition of this proves verbose, we also use “the Master.” Related terms such as “Confucianists,” “Confucian School,” and “Confucianism” (孔門, 聖門, 儒) are written literally as per the Chinese: “School of Kong,” “School of the Sage,” and “Ruists.”

This continues an established lexicon suited to Zhu Xi’s Four Books, with the strength of tradition and thus familiarity. Of course, ultimately a translation of a foreign concept merely acts as a proxy. When we see “reciprocity” or “Heaven” in the text, we know this is not the English meaning and instantly reference the meaning of shu and Tian in the mind. It is for this reason that book five, An Explanation of Terms, is provided.

— Daoxue Academy 道學學堂