(Also available on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-side-quest-trap-2-16/id1863183266?i=1000778382829 )

Side quests can be the best part of a game, but every hour spent on one is an hour not spent on the thing you set out to do. Confucius watched his own students wander off into farming, medicine, astronomy, and board games, and gave them eight characters about it.

In this episode, we read passage 2.16 — 攻乎異端，斯害也已, "Laboring along the byways—this is harmful indeed" — exploring its meaning as a warning about detours. The byways are what commentators call the 小道 (small ways) and 他技 (other skills): everything that isn't the long road to becoming a so-called "exemplary person". None of them are wrong. The world needs farmers and doctors. They're just incompatible with the goal, in the eyes of Confucius, and you only get one life to spend.

But that's not how the passage has been read for most of its life. Around 500 CE 攻 flipped from "labor" to "attack," 異端 hardened into "perverse doctrines," and by the Ming a humble tone marker was reread as "stop". This transformed a caution about distraction into official license to stamp out Buddhism, Daoism, and anything off-message. Two passages earlier, the Analects says the exemplary person is inclusive, not partisan.

Along the way: why Confucius probably wouldn't have wanted his students to become professional musicians (in the Zhou, court musicianship was reserved for the blind), the ladder from 君子 (exemplary person) to 賢人 (the worthy) to 聖人 (the sage), measured by how many lives you touch. Plus, a copy of the Analects sealed in a cave until 1973 that quietly undercuts the whole "attack" reading.

Episode guide, with the full Chinese text and language notes: https://analects.net/episodes/side-quest-trap/

For most of the last thousand years, Confucian officials had a line from The Analects that they used to justify suspicion of Buddhism and Daoism. It's eight characters long, and three of them probably don't mean what the tradition decided they meant.

>2.16 子曰：「攻乎異端，斯害也已。」

The standard reading has been roughly "To study heterodox doctrines — this is harmful", or, in its strongest form, "Attack heterodox doctrines, and their harm will cease." That second version is a license, and it was used as one.

Three of the eight characters are genuinely of indeterminate meaning, and almost everything turns on them.

攻 (gōng) is usually "attack." But it appears in only two other passages in the Analects and is about literal attacks in neither. At 11.17 Confucius tells his students to sound the drums and 攻 Ran Qiu for enriching the Ji family — public denunciation, not battle. At 12.21 he says to 攻 your own faults rather than other people's. Both are a kind of moral censure. It is also a plausible loan graph for 功 (gōng), to work at.

異端 (yì duān) is literally "different endpoints." 異 is other or divergent; 端 is a terminus or extreme — but not necessarily a final one. Modern 開端 (kāiduān) means a beginning. "Heterodoxy" is a later hardening of the phrase, not something the two characters demand.

已 (yǐ) is normally a sentence-final particle of emphasis. It can also be read as the verb to stop.

Multiply those out. Take 攻 as labour and 異端 as alternative endpoints, and you get a warning about wasted effort: working toward the wrong destination costs you a life you only get once. Take 攻 as attack and 異端 as heterodoxy, and you get polemic. Add 已 as "stop," and the sentence stops describing anything at all and becomes a strongly worded instruction.

The hardening has a timeline

What I find striking is how late the doctrinal reading actually consolidates.

皇侃 (Huáng Kǎn, 488–545), the major Six Dynasties commentator on the Analects, still glosses 攻 as 治 (zhì) — to work at, to apply oneself to. Not attack. What is circulating around 500 is the hardened sense of 異端 as "heterodoxy" among literary writers— so it's a fact about the word before it becomes a fact about this passage.

By the twelfth century 朱熹 (Zhū Xī) had made the heterodoxy reading standard. Even he, tellingly, kept 攻 as "devote effort to", and identified the offending doctrines as Mohism and Yangzhuism. That is almost certainly anachronistic: only the seeds of those schools existed in Confucius's lifetime, and it would be odd for him to denounce them exactly once in the entire text and never again.

As Buddhism and Daoism grew in China, the heterodoxy reading became politically useful. The Ming completed the job by taking 已 as "stop," which turned the line into an imperative. At that point it licensed officials to suppress not only Buddhism and Daoism but any unapproved reading of the classics themselves.

The tomb manuscript

There is physical evidence against the attack reading.

In 1973 excavators opened Han tomb no. 40 at Bajiaolang, in Dingzhou — the burial of 劉脩 (Liú Xiū), King Huai of Zhongshan, who died in 55 BCE. Among the bamboo slips was a copy of the Analects, now known as the 定州論語 (Dingzhou Analects).

At 2.16 it does not read 攻. It reads 功 — to work, to achieve.

That doesn't settle what the "different endpoints" were. But it's a first-century-BCE reader who evidently wasn't being told to attack anything.

The irony sits two passages earlier

2.14:

>子曰：「君子周而不比，小人比而不周。」

>"The exemplary person is inclusive and not partisan; the petty person is partisan and not inclusive."

Two lines later, the text was made into an instrument of exactly that partisanship.

And the vocabulary that supports the mild reading is in the Analects itself. 19.4, 子夏 (Zǐxià):

>雖小道，必有可觀者焉；致遠恐泥，是以君子不為也

>"Even in the small ways there is surely something worth seeing; but pursued far they bog you down, and so the exemplary person does not take them up."

That's 2.16's argument stated plainly by a disciple, with the concession built in: the byways are worth something. The objection is to distance, not to value.

What I'd actually like to discuss

I should be upfront that the distraction reading is a minority one. The orthodox reading for most of the last thousand years was the other, and it was written into imperial policy. I'm not claiming the tradition simply got it wrong for a millennium; I'm claiming the text underdetermines it and the resolution went the way power needed it to go.

What I'm curious about, for this sub specifically: does the same drift show up in the other traditions?

Chinese Buddhism has the 外道 (wàidào) "outside paths" for non-Buddhist teachings, which is structurally almost identical to 異端, "different endpoints." Both start as spatial metaphors about routes rather than verdicts about error. And if I understand correctly, 邪見 / micchā-diṭṭhi, "wrong view," is a category with real teeth in the Pali material.

So: is there a general tendency for "wrong path" language to harden into "heresy" language once a tradition acquires state backing? And did 外道 or 邪見 undergo anything like the same shift? Or did Buddhist institutional history push those terms in a different direction? I know the Confucian side of this much better than the Buddhist side and would genuinely like to be corrected.

My translation of Passage 2.16 along with related analysis is available at https://www.analects.net/episodes/22 if you want to check my work.

It's part of a series that goes through the Analects passage by passage — this one is episode 22 — but the argument above stands on its own and I'd rather talk about the passage than the show.

Reading the Mengzi 2B8 last night, I wondered why Mencius dared to answer Shen Tong when he asked about attacking Yan. As I read it:

1. Shen Tong of Qi personally asks Mencius if it would be permissible to attack Yan, to which he replies it may be permissible since Yan's leadership was usurped.
2. Qi then captures Yan and a disastrous occupation ensues, leading people to wonder why Mencius advised Qi to attack Yan.
3. Mencius replies that he was not asked who could attack, only if an attack would be permissible; Qi's occupation failed because its leadership is unjust just like Yan's.

I am reminded of two admonitions from The Analects that may have prevented him from answering Shen Tong:

1. Passage 15.1: "Duke Ling of Wei asked Confucius about [military] formations (zhen 陈). Confucius replied, “I have heard things about sacrificial vessels, but I have not studied military matters.” The next day, he took his departure." (Peimin Ni)
2. Passage 11.22, when asked why he answered the same question differently for two different people: "Ran Qiu is overly cautious, and so I wished to urge him on. Zilu, on the other hand, is too impetuous, and so I sought to hold him back." (Slingerland)

Passage 15.1 shows Confucius's unwillingness to comment on military matters in an unjust state. Given, he is advising a Duke– not a minister, and likely not in a personal capacity– so there is understandably more at stake in giving an answer leading to a bad decision.

Passage 11.22 shows that in answering questions, Confucius would clearly weigh the strengths and weaknesses of the individual inquiring. We can't say Mencius strictly did not weigh Shen Tong's strengths and weaknesses– we don't know how he accounted for them in his answer– but if he suspected the answer would be used to justify an attack on Yan, it seems a glaring omission to fail to mention only a just leader should invade.

This portion of the Mengzi then explains the proper way to respond to mistakes; we should acknowledge them and grow from them rather than becoming recalcitrant.

But with passages 15.1 and 11.22 of The Analects in mind, and assuming Mencius was aware of these or similar stories about Confucius:

1. What led him to dare to answer this question?
2. What led him to answer it without also advising that Qi should clearly consider its own ability to govern justly?

I’ve been reading commentaries, English translations, and related secondary literature recently trying to come to a firm opinion. Would love to hear how you interpret the passage, along with what it means to you personally.

Places I’ve landed personally (though I understand these are far from the only answers):

攻 is either a homophone for 功 or close enough in meaning to be read as such

端 is easiest to understand in the context of 道 metaphors, so if the “end” of the normal 道 is being a 君子, 賢人 or 聖人, heading far down 小道 toward 異端 is to go off on a tangent, assuming your goal is to become an exemplary person. This reading aligns it well with 19.4 about 小道.

也已 is probably grammatical and adding tone or emphasis to the statement, rather than meaning to stop.

I still don’t really know how to square the idea that it’s harmful to spend time on “lesser” ways with the modern world. I suppose even if you suspect your occupation is a 小道, you can still aim to be an exemplary person by “engaging in government” in the 2.22 sense of acting 弟 and 孝 and toward friends 信.

I haven't even cracked open the commentaries on this one yet, and I honestly remember practically nothing about what any of the English translations say about it.

So... offhand, here's a surface reading:

If your way of life has diverged dramatically from that of another, no matter how much you'd like to cooperate with them, you'll find doing so terribly difficult.

I'll also venture a guess about the direction commentaries take it:

Maintain common practices with others if you wish your 道 to converge with their 道, i.e. if we all "約於禮"–stay in bounds via ritual propriety –we remain on the same path, so our plans will naturally align.

巧言令色鮮矣人類: an expression for when you see something and think "That's AI."

Been thinking about this one a bit since I'm preparing a podcast episode on it. My translation:

>The states of Lu and Wei are brothers in their style of government.

Seems pretty straightforward given the grant of 魯 to 周公's son and the grant of 衛 to another brother of 周武王. Commentators mention this.

Some commentators mention the gnarly political situations in the two states at the time, i.e. the Kuaikui debacle in Wei and the Sanhuan in Lu. Commentators mention this as well, I believe. But this seems less relevant; I imagine there was nasty politics in nearly every state on and off at the time, so would this make them "brothers"?

Other things to take into account? They probably had a fair amount of shared cultural heritage, being neighbors and of common lineage.

Here's my translation:

>The Master did not discuss strange occurrences, feats of strength, rebellion, and spirits.

My conclusion is that he wouldn't give these four topics airtime because they all threaten to pull our minds away from the comparatively boring work of doing what needs to be done in everyday life.

For 怪 and 神, "未知生焉知死" seems to apply. And for 力 and 亂, I think the idea is "邦分崩離析而不能守也而謀動干戈於邦內": focusing on force and chaos won't resolve those things because those are symptoms of the disease, not the disease itself.

Also worth noting the exemplarism angle: if the compliers of the Analects felt it worth recording that he avoided these topics, does that mean they saw him as a role model worth emulating in this respect? Would he have wanted others to do the same in their own conduct, or was it just specific to his position, values, or role as a teacher?

Would love to hear your take!

Listen: here

Confucian philosophers often suggest that having good and bad examples plays a critical role in moral education and motivation. How do good examples figure into our ethical education, and how do bad examples help us discover vices or shortcomings in our selves? In this episode, we discuss this wide-ranging issue in connection with the Analects of Confucius, beginning with Confucius’s famous remark that he can find a teacher in just about any social setting (even when out walking with at least two other people chosen at random).

The Analects names dozens of disciples, but a lot of them just come off as set pieces. 子路 (Zǐlù), on the other hand, reads like an actual person — loud, brave, allergic to sitting still, and constantly getting under his teacher's skin in a way that's pretty clearly affection.

Quick tell: Confucius addresses him by his personal name, 由 (Yóu). That's significant. In the Analects, using someone's personal name signals intimacy — you're either family or you've known them a long time. His peers would have called him by his courtesy name, 季路. Confucius just barks 由！at him. You can hear the sigh in it.

The Rough and Tumble Stranger

子路 was a fighter who came from the wilderness in a distant quarter of Confucius's home state of 魯 (Lǔ). Sources call him a 野人 (yěrén) — literally "person from the wilds" — as opposed to the 國人 (guórén), the city people who lived within fortified settlements. The 史記 describes him wearing a cap decorated with rooster feathers and a belt wrapped in boar leather. When he first met Confucius, he reportedly tried to mock and intimidate him before accepting him as his teacher.

He was only about nine years younger than Confucius himself — older than most of the other students. He became the loyal muscle, the one who'd follow the Master anywhere.

Which is exactly the problem.

Yoshitoshi 芳年: Reading by Moonlight-- 子路 (Shiro)

The Raft

Here's 5.7:

>子曰：「道不行，乘桴浮于海。從我者其由與？」子路聞之喜。子曰：「由也好勇過我，無所取材。」

>The Master said, "The Way isn't getting anywhere. Maybe I'll just get on a raft and float off to sea. And the one who'd come with me — that'd be You, wouldn't it?"

Zilu was THRILLED.

>The Master said, "Zilu loves bravery more than I do — he's just got nothing to build the raft out of."

That last phrase — 無所取材 — is a pun people still argue about. 取材 could mean "gather timber" or it could be a near-homophone for "judgment." No matter how you read it, there's only message: long on courage, short on sense. That's 子路.

How Uncouth You Are

It's a recurring dynamic. When 子路 tells Confucius that "rectifying names" is a ridiculous first priority for governing a state (13.3), Confucius snaps:

>野哉由也！

>"Rough aren't you, Zilu!"

野 (yě) — the same character from 野人, "person from the wilds." Confucius is essentially saying: you can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy.

And then there's 2.17, one of the most quoted lines in the entire book:

>子曰：「由！誨女知之乎？知之為知之，不知為不知，是知也。」

>"Zilu! Shall I teach you what knowing really is? Know what you know, and know what you don't know — that's real knowledge."

Which is, gently, Confucius telling his bravest student to quit pretending he's got it all figured out.

The Prophecy

Here's the one that aged into something stranger. In 11.13, Confucius is looking around at his disciples, pleased, sizing them up:

>子路，行行如也。子樂。「若由也，不得其死然。」

>Zilu stood bold and unyielding. The Master was pleased, but said: "A man like Zilu won't die a natural death."

And he didn't.

Years later 子路 was serving in the state of 衛 (Wèi) — a soap-opera kind of court that truly never stopped generating chaos — when a succession coup erupted around him. He could probably have gotten out. He went in instead, because of course he did.

In the fighting his cap-strings were cut. And 子路, mid-catastrophe, reportedly stopped to tie them back on:

>君子死，冠不免

>jūnzǐ sǐ, guān bù miǎn

>"A gentleman may die, but his cap does not come off."

That scene's from the 左傳, not the Analects itself. But it's the most 子路 way to go imaginable: brave past the point of sense, loyal to a fault, standing on a point of propriety at the worst possible moment.

Tradition says that when the news reached Confucius, the old man had the pickled meat in his kitchen carried out, and never ate it again.

He called it years early. And of course he also would have given anything to be wrong.

These are all over Reddit and the internet.

Some are clearly jokes, many of which are of the eyebrow-raising “Confucius say” variety. I dislike those but that is not really what I’m talking about here because they don’t imply authenticity of the quote.

But just search Reddit for “Confucius” and you will see AI slop and actual individuals posting quotes attributed to Confucius that have no legit primary source.

Does this happen with Confucius more than with other historical figures? Can we attribute just to some combination of ignorance, Orientalism, lack of ready access to the actual text and/and lack of care regarding authenticity?

Curious about everyone’s take!