Oriental Health Aesthetics: The Time of Professor Qiu Zhenglun’s Explanation of the Book of Changes(50）

I believe all of us here are familiar with the opening lines of the Analects, which contain three famous sayings: “Is it not a joy to learn and practice what is learned in due time? Is it not a delight to have friends visiting from afar? Is it not the mark of a noble person to remain unresentful when unrecognized?”

These words are deeply ingrained in our cultural memory. While we may not claim mastery over the entire Analects, I wish to highlight a paradox: the very concepts we assume to understand best often become the source of our greatest misunderstandings. Let us examine three crucial words from the first sentence:

1.  What does “learn” (学) truly mean in “learn and practice” (学而)?

2.  How should we interpret “time” (时) in “learn and practice in due time” (学而时习之)?

3.  What is the essence of “practice” (习)?

I’ll begin with “time” (时). [Addressing a student] “The woman wearing glasses—how would you interpret ‘时’ in this context?”

“Frequently, regularly.”

“Thank you. Next?”

“It means learning every moment of all 24 hours.”

“Even more demanding! Sit down—learning nonstop sounds terrifying.”

“Others?”

“It implies ‘consistently’ or ‘in real-time.’”

“Different views?”

“Perhaps ‘at the appointed time’ or ‘punctually’?”

Honestly, these answers reveal the very challenge we must confront in our study. Let us rethink this—not through modern interpretations, and certainly not through Yu Dan’s simplified explanation. She once analyzed “时” by deconstructing its simplified form (日 + 寸), claiming it represented “cherishing every inch of time.” This is precisely the superficial approach we must reject.

Consider this phrase: “Is it not a joy to learn and practice in due time?” Now reflect: children today—and especially in recent decades under China’s one-child policy—how did they experience learning? Imagine a young mother in her thirties urging her son: “The Sage Confucius said constant, tireless learning brings joy!” Notice how she adds “tireless”—yet the child is already weary. Isn’t this our reality? Merely repeating a lesson once more often drains their spirit.

This raises profound questions: Was Confucius misleading us? Does this defy human nature? “Study diligently, and you’ll be happy”—where does this logic originate? Does it align with lived experience? No. For decades, this misinterpretation—equating “时” with “incessantly”—has plagued China’s basic education, embedded as the “standard answer” in our textbooks.