Confucianism is part of me, I am Chinese.
Reading this book about the debate of Ancestral Worship (if one would call it that, it's difficult to translate) against the Early Christianity entering into Asia, in this case, Korea.
Pyun Young Tai wrote a chapter in this book, and there are several quotes I want to enter as I read it.
"...but I do know that there is some sense of gross injustice in applying this term to that in this land, unless the word "worship" is used in its obsolete sense of "recognition of merit." Even with this construction of the word, the term is not well chosen or to the point, though it is divested of its slanderous sense by so construing it...I suggest that it ought to be termed "ancestor-commemoration," if there is no better name."
Comment: Agreed.
construe: to analyze as to show its syntactical construction and its meaning. 2. loosely, to translate 3. To deduce the meaning of, or explain [her silence was construed as agreement]
"If one should wish to grasp the origin of the rite...imagine themselves back to a primitive age...the family seems all in all, the only refuge against every manner of attack from outside...the parents of the family, love, toil, and fight for their children, who look up to them not only as mere father and mother but also protectors, warriors and heroes. A kind of hero-worship is mixed with and at the same time strengthens the natural reverence and affection due to their parents...one day death suddenly claims one of them. What a grief! What a fear about the future! The most valiant of the community lies there pallid and dead!...they bury it away, very close to their home. At no meal can they escape the sense of painful vacancy at the table. The spoon, the chopsticks, the largest bowl, used by the deceased when living, are still there; but alas! the man is no more...uncontrollable grief overcomes them. One of them bursts into crying, quickly followed by the others... Grief finding thus free vent, they feel themselves a little soothed. With the return of the calm, in their untutored hearts they feel the tie of affection between the deceased and themselves is not broken and the spirit of the deceased seems to be with them still...in deep sympathy...in some invisible manner, characteristic of a ghost or spirit."
...[goes on about why it is the ancestral rites are made, something to the effect: guilt which the children feel the spirit is there, and they didn't even prepare the food for their parent, who was there just a few days ago.]
Comment: A long quote there. Firstly, a highly touching portion of the essay, and when I hear contrary to otherwise, I cannot help but become a porcupine of conservatism. In this case, I shall use Saint Augustine (as he said in his Confessions). What man (I am a woman, but I use this in the term of "mankind", damn all sexism in language) can still call himself a good human creation if he departs the most natural part of him to grieve? (I will return to this point later) Even in this world, where we no longer fear tigers outside our hut, we have many uncertainties about the future, even in the "bliss" of our first-world institutions. Predators are now our own race, and sometimes, our companions. In this case, who is it that most people can turn to?
I can say for me, definitely, it is my family. Blood cannot be changed, you cannot choose the family you were born to and brought up in. There is a truth to this, which is why some humans cannot truly accept the idea of adoption. I will rile someone up, I'm sure, when there are still many people out there, no matter what they say, in their hearts of hearts, cannot love another child as their own.
That being said, blood ties you to your kin. In my family especially (and I have a guess it's Chinese...or Asia, even, if not the world) we are inescapable. In truth we are what the Christians preach, when slapped across the face (metaphorically, say, by pride) by living together this must be resolved some way or another. We must turn the other. We love each other, we will not abandon each other no matter how far we are in life.
What grief will grasp my heart, enfold it in a black, shadowy sludge, when the day one of my parents die. My protector, my eternal teacher, a source of unconditional and unwavering love. My brother, I feel a kinship, and I know our love, although less profound, is no less real. I have been excavating it lately, and I found it there. For the longest time I thought it was a void, but it was not so. I know too little about it, but even a little to a starving man is a blessing from God.
How can a man strip away this love? How can a man strip away this grief? How can one not cry, wash away the sludge with salty tears, with the taste of salt on the lips, and thickness in the throat due to the mucus sliding down our throats?
Perhaps even my family would say: there is no need for such grief. The wheel of nature turns, and death comes with birth. But understanding this does not mean acceptance. At the time as I type this, this is not my philosophy. I accept a wheel of nature, but I know I can only love through engagement. For what is the study of philosophy, if not only a logical tangle with what we feel naturally? Logic and reason as the pair of hands, searching through our much wider emotions and primal.
I have no desire to delve in this search, for I have already found my truth. Life and death are not so special by their own, only the certainty of what happens in life is clear. Only the primal feelings are clear. It is not to say, a man should not refine himself and experience only in his primal state. How limited is his existence then, when a choice is there for him to expand, to live more?
If only what happens in life is certain, is real to our minds, then perhaps that is what should only matter. I can only take care of what is in my province, the realms of the unknown I leave to explorers to explain to the masses. For me, life is my the love of my family, the home of my heart, where I can lay when I am weary. For me, life is my goals, my ambitions, so that my path is clear, and my heart does not stay with indecision and fear of mistakes and regrets out of future foolishness.
Oh, let human realize mistakes is part of life, and only with mistakes can we learn to move forward. It has been oft repeated, but little listened, especially with our most sheltered era. This will lead somewhere down the path, I fear. A path of degeneration.
But let this not hinder me, for one can only do his best. Do the means for the ends, walk before you fly.
....well that is getting somewhere and nowhere. Off topic for the win.
Maybe I'll go on, maybe not. Either way I'm done my ramble journal-entry for the day.
:) Good luck to me to writing one everyday.
I will do well, for my family. The memory of my ancestors. If, as Pyun suggests, the Chinese have changed the meaning of worship of ancestors to idolatry and superstition, then let me put it in the case which he would accept. Let me respect and worship what my father's parents and what my mother's parents brought up, gave to me. Let this continue upwards, in all the family ancestors connected. A deep thanks.
For them, I do well.
To them, I bow in gratefulness. To them, I promise with solemnity.
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