Culture

Win One For Confucians

by

Win One For Confucians

Last column I talked about how Taoists irritated with detail-obsessed Confucians reminded me of how people got annoyed with conspiracy theorists. It was a strange revelation, and one I’ll probably analyze for awhile to understand underlying human behavior. But let’s talk about something I learned from my (limited) reading of Confucian thought.

First, I want to be open about my opinions – and limits on my knowledge – of Confucianism. I took an interest in it due to A) Taoists arguing with them and B) an interest Chinese history, usually communications. I’ve read a few texts, a few historical documents, and a larger amount of Taoist mockery or fellow-feeling depending on when said texts were written. I’m no expert.

I would sum it up as “anal-retentive humanism about cultivating morality.” Confucius himself seems to have been a thoughtful, witty, pleasant, but at times anxious or neurotic person who didn’t seem to really intend to found a religion. In practice it has often served power and patriarchal culture, but through it run elements of counter-culturalism and principle. My limited experience have been more “WTF” than I expected.

But in my limited readings, a story stood out – one that, years later, taught me a lesson. So let’s give the Confucians a win.

In my readings there are often stories about the importance of mourning one’s parents when they pass. It’s important to recognize their sacrifice, the duration of mourning, and so on. There’s enough dead parents in a casual reading Confucian literature to make you worry you stepped into a Disney film. Yes I get filial piety and all that, but still.

Once or twice I’d encounter a story of an king who’s father (who had stepped down) passed away. This meant big public ceremonies and so on because, hey, dead king. What stood out to me is people being impressed at how sad the living king was, how he wept and mourned so aggressively. At first I thought the stories were annoying, performative – I mean, you know, let’s not make a show of it, be honest.

Years later, as I contemplated politics in America in the 2020s I thought about all the transgressive politicians. The ones that were basically online Influencers, the ones acting like they were Shock Jocks. The ones who were supposedly both the best of us and hideous assholes and in no way role models.

They were being performatively against what we supposedly valued.

. . . and suddenly I got the king and his Big Mourning.

I don’t want leaders who violate our principles, I want them to embody them. I want the continuity and stability of society, not its fracturing. Wanting leaders that violate everything you say you care about means you’re both an asshole and destructive – and stupid. Even if a leader is, dare I say it, a bit performative, it’s saying there’s an agreement on what matters, even if things might get a tad fuzzy around things in the “best face forward” way.

Moral performances of certain kinds – what people might call “virtue signaling” – are ways of communicating and reinforcing values. They are reflections of the agreement that hold society together. It may be a janky agreement, it may have edge cases that aren’t on the edge, but unless a society is totally screwed, it matters.

Then I got it. These kings were virtue signaling, but about stuff important to the community, the love of parents, the proper activities. King and peasant were bonded together in “when we lose our parents, we respect those that created us.” A weeping king was, at that moment no different than a farmer who lost his mother and father.

So know what? Chalk one up for the early Confucian writers. Some moral and ethical continuity, via ritual, is important. Yeah it might not be 100% true or honest all the time, but if it’s enough for society to grow and function, then it’s important. It might not seem like a ritual, but there is a time to say “we are on the same side” and act on it.

Because we’ve damn well seen what happens when destroying everything is lauded, and violating what actually works is worshiped.

-Xenofact

Room For The Mystic

by

I have a book on my reading pile that I really need to get to, Alchemists, Mediums, and Magicians: Stories of Taoist Mystics by Thomas Cleary. It a catalog of assorted Taoist eccentrics, mystics, artists, and so on. It’s strange that I haven’t rushed to read what is basically “character study of characters” but there you go.

I have poked around in it, delighting at some of the stories. It also made me think about other Taoist figures, from the legendary immortals to 18th century doctor and mystic Liu Yiming (who apparently predicted his own death). Taoism has a legion of artists, mystics, sorcerers and other impressive weirdos throughout its history.

I suppose it’s no surprise I feel at home among this cast.

This got me to think about how many of these tales are about people who wrote great treatises, explored mystical states, founded orders, created poetry, and are noteworthy centuries and aeons later. They did this without the internet, without social media, without megachurches – many of them seemed to oddly not care about fame but achieved it anyway.

Even more obscure figures may still appear in historical documents – or in the book like the one I mentioned.

As I write this in 2025 I think about how we’re pushed to monetize everything – and avoid things that don’t make us money. We’ve got example after example of spiritual grifters to tempt us to start monetizing videos. Why can’t we just be religious weirdos?

We also don’t really encourage people to really live their religion. Our own religious pursuits are “fine and good” but you know, don’t take it too far. If you’re gonna be weird at least be religiously obsessive in the right way.

Oh, and to be sure don’t be religious in a way that makes the world better. We’re fine with homophobia and war-mongering, but don’t you dare tell us to care about each other! And be sure you never denounce the system or anything!

We don’t really have place to just be some spiritual weirdo in American culture, and we need those.

We need the eccentrics who contemplate the strange and discuss it, and that’s fine. We need people who produce zines (ahem) to spread their thoughts obsessively. We need to have room culturally for someone dispensing wisdom fro their front porch. We need people who live their spiritual practices.

We need people whose mystical meanderings may lead us to something. Let society have it’s spiritual Skunkworks.

Besides, if we had more people really thinking about the Big Ideas, we’d have less cults and megachurches. If we accepted the idea of a spiritual quest as fine, acceptable, and laudable who knows what we might have. Especially if we don’t encourage people to make a buck first.

I suppose I’m doing my part. It makes me wonder what happens if more and more of we weirdos live sincerely and team up. It also makes me wonder if maybe I’ve got some inhibitions I’m best without . . .

Good for the Spirit, Good for the Mind

by

As I write this there’s a huge, understandable panic that AI is being used by students so much they don’t know how to read and analyze it. If you are reading this in a future years removed from this essay, I hope you live in a world where AI isn’t such a concern, and you’reNOTin some post-apocalyptic disaster.

Anyway, whatever your chronological state, here in 2025 it’s been quite a concern. If you let AI write for you, analyze for you, etc. you are essentially outsourcing your thinking and your humanity. You will not develop skills you need to read books and understand things, and the skills you do have will decay.

This in turn made me think about spiritual and philosophical writing and how it trains you to read, analyze and understand. For the sake of brevity to encompass such things for self-development I shall call them spiritual works here.

When we sit down with a spiritual work we are attempting to contemplate, grow, and understand some very serious issues. We bring to it a desire to understand and grow, to engage with the work. The attitude of becoming involved in the work is there at the start.

In turn, the engagement is needed.

Spiritual works are about deep issues, and you will find yourself pausing to contemplate and analyze. We’ve all experienced moments where a paragraph or a page can hold our attention for a half hour. In spiritual works, you may find yourself going over something word by word just thinking what it means.

Spiritual works often use symbolism and metaphor as that may be easy to communicate complex truths, represent the otherwise indescribable, or lead you around a bit to help you learn. Symbolism also helps you think, how the symbols work together, what they really mean, and so on. Again, you are engaged with the work, connected to it.

Finally, many spiritual works are often grounded in a place, a person, an experience, a lineage, etc. To engage with spiritual work is to engage with much more than a book or a menial or a series of poems – it’s to learn about who produced it and the situation that led to it. One small book can lead you to a world of context – and a greater point of view.

Reading a good spiritual work teaches you to read, analyze, understand. A person with an interest about such issues can, in time, give themselves ersatz literary training. I once read a book called DIY MFA about how a person can read and write and analyze to gain similar experiences to getting an MFA – and that feels very familiar in spiritual writing.

So in a world of AI writing and AI reading, remember our spiritual pursuits. Sitting down with a book on philosophy or meditation or metaphysics isn’t just enriching morally or spiritually – it’s enriching literately. Your wrestling with ethics or breath meditation or divinities also helps you learn to read, analyze, and understand.

Just another reason to do it, I suppose.

-Xenofact