The lexicology of an 安

Do not say to one who gives you a greeting in peace, “You are not a believer.” (Qur’ān 4:94)

Let’s do a little thought-experiment. Imagine that you are a rural woman in the Bronze Age tribe of Tiw-ni. You tend a small herd of swine and keep a couple fields of millet and beans together with your husband, your younger brother-in-law and sister-in-law, your two sons and nephew, your three daughters and your elderly mother-in-law. Because the spring is coming on your herd is getting a bit spirited, and you’re putting them out to pasture while your husband is in the fields tending to the sprouting beans. But that day you hear a mounted scout on the road, and he’s crying that the Nung have been spotted in a raised army to the west. They’re burning and pillaging everything in sight!

You aren’t wealthy, that’s for sure. But the herd and the stock of millet in your house would still make you a tempting target, not to mention your family. The Nung would think nothing of taking a few Tiw-ni captives and keeping (or, more likely, selling) them as slaves. You take counsel with your husband, and decide to take the herd and valuables from the house in your old cart, and take shelter with his cousin in the walled settlement at Prǝn.

The journey to Prǝn thankfully doesn’t take the whole day, though you’re not the only family making the same decision. There’s a great mishmash of people of all ages together with their livestock—pigs, sheep, goats—and their belongings on carts being ushered in through Prǝn’s outer gate. As your turn comes, you wonder if the stockade is actually safe, of if the Nung will reach this far. You look up to the earthen ramparts and retaining wall and you see the archers and spearmen, fully geared and looking warily westward for signs of the marauding Nung. But more importantly to your eye, the people moving around inside the grounds don’t seem frightened. They’re not cowering. There are children playing in the streets, and the elderly folks and other women you see, though worried, aren’t huddled together or in visible fear of their lives. The women who came in before you, in fact, are talking among themselves rather calmly. It seems they trust the stockade and the defensive arrangements.

‘We’re safe!’ you breathe. But because you’re an ancient Sinite, what you actually say is: ‘Tl‘aj tsǝ’ ‘ān!’ 「多子安！」

Fast-forward 3,200 years or so, and across an ocean, in a lecture hall in a small Boston liberal arts college. There is an academic talk in which the character an 安 is being discussed. A young graduate is arguing that this character’s graphical components, which show a ‘woman’ underneath a ‘roof’, demonstrate the sexism which is conveyed and constructed in the Chinese language. That the character which means ‘safe’ or ‘peaceful’ is composed in such a way, indicates the patriarchal expectations that a woman’s place is in the home.

Now, the Bronze Age Tiw-ni farm-wife wouldn’t have known how to write an 安. Only shamans and priests with their ox-bones and tortoise-shells understood the mysteries of the graven word. If it were put to her, she might even sympathise with the view that her life and lot weren’t easy in comparison with a man’s. But if the components and the theory of how an 安 was written were explained to her, she might take exception to such a reading. For her, the immediate thought would be how Prǝn and its earthen walls provided women like her with security in a time of crisis.

Of course, words evolve. Functions expand or diverge. The character an 安 denoted conditions of physical and social safety in 1200 BC. But as philosophers and political thinkers put their own ‘spin’ on it, particularly Zhu Xi and the thinkers of the rationalistic lixue 理学 turn in Ritual School thought, the same character indeed did take on added ideological and sociological baggage by 1200 AD, and come to signify the ‘proper’ confinement of a wife to her husband’s house.

Already in the Han Dynasty, though, Xu Shen was busy reinterpreting the derivation of this character. He does, to his credit, define it thus: an, jing ye 安，靜也. He links an 安 ‘to be safe, safety, peace, calm, satisfied’ with jing 靜 ‘to be still, quiet, to relax’, or, in the eternal wisdom of Masood Boomgaard a.k.a. Self-Help Singh, ‘jhast fhaking chil’. However, by the Eastern Han Dynasty, Xu Shen was already interpreting the mianbu 宀部 as ‘roof’, and thus the syssemantograph as nü zai mianxia 女在宀下 ‘woman under a roof’. This Han-era reading reflects China’s changing architectural norms. Fired clay tiles would have replaced straw or reed thatching on most urban homes by the Han Dynasty, and the roofed house would thus have been the relevant reference point for shelter and safety, rather than the earthen rampart of the town wall. The moral weight of ‘woman under a roof’ as a Confucian ideal, though, would emerge centuries later still.

This term is ubiquitous in modern Mandarin, though its functionalities have broadened somewhat. It is used in compounds such as anquan 安全 ‘safe’; anpai 安排 ‘to plan, to set up, to schedule’; and anjing 安靜 ‘[to be] calm, [to be] quiet, settle down’. The character an 按 ‘to press down’ is related, as a Han-era graphical clarification of the earlier verbal function of an 安 ‘to pacify, to quell [a disturbance]’.

This character’s importance in the Five Classics is hard to overstate. In the Odes:

民亦勞止、汔可小安。
惠此中國、國無有殘 。
無縱詭隨、以謹繾綣。
式遏寇虐、無俾正反 。
王欲玉女、是用大諫。

The people indeed are heavily burdened,
But perhaps a little tranquillity may be got for them.
Let us cherish this centre of the kingdom,
That it may not everywhere suffer such wounds.
Let us give no indulgence to the wily and obsequious,
In order to make the parasites careful,
And to repress robbers and oppressors,
So that the right shall not be reversed.
The king wishes to hold you as [sceptres of] jade,
And therefore I thus strongly admonish you.

(Book of Odes 《詩經》, Decade of People’s Birth 生民之什, ‘The People are Burdened’ 民勞 5)

Statues of Gao-yao and his mythical headbutting xiezhi 獬豸

As the Documents states in one of its key passages, attributed to the statesman Gao-yao 皋陶, ‘Zai zhi ren, zai an min.’ 「在知人，在安民。」 ‘[Virtue consists] in understanding human beings, and in propitiating the people.’ (Book of Documents 《尚書》, Book of Yu 虞書, ‘Counsels of Gao-yao’ 皋陶謨 1) The Rites also begins, crucially, this way: 《曲禮》曰：「毋不敬，儼若思，安定辭。」安民哉！ ‘The Summary of the Rules of Propriety says: “Always and in everything let there be reverence; with the deportment grave as when one is thinking (deeply), and with speech composed and definite.” This will make the people tranquil.’ (Book of Rites 《禮記》 1.1) And the Changes: 上天下澤，履；君子以辨上下，安民志。 ‘(The trigram representing) the sky above, and below it (that representing the waters of) a marsh, form Lu. The superior man, in accordance with this, discriminates between high and low, and gives settlement to the aims of the people.’ (Book of Changes 《易經》, ‘Lu’ ䷉履 1)

Already here we can see the character an 安 being used in multiple functions. Its basic function is as an adjective: ‘tranquil’ or ‘composed’; but it has an auxiliary verbal function to this: ‘to make tranquil, to propitiate’. The Changes suggests another use: ‘safe, secure’ and thus ‘to settle’ or ‘to stabilise’. These verbal functions were those later clarified in an 按 ‘to pacify, to restrain, to press down’. Another use is found in the Odes:

爾之安行、亦不遑舍。
爾之亟行、遑脂爾車。
壹者之來、云何其盱。

You go along slowly,
And yet you have not leisure to stop!
You go along rapidly,
And yet you have leisure to grease your wheels!
If you would come to me but once—!
Why am I kept in a state of expectation?

(Odes, Decade of Xiao Min 小閔之什, ‘What Man’ 何人斯 5)

Here an 安 is contrasted with ji 亟 ‘urgent, hurried’, rendering a function of ‘leisurely, relaxed, easy’. And then there is the interrogative function: 天之生我、我辰安在。 ‘O Heaven who gave me birth! How was it at such an inauspicious time?’ (Odes, Decade of Xiao Min, ‘Fluttering’ 小弁 3) Here it works as a question word—in this case: ‘how?’, but it can also function as ‘what? who? where?’.

In the Annals, the lexeme an 安 occurs only as the first element in a dithematic toponym, Anfu 安甫: 冬，齊侯，衛侯，鄭游速，會于安甫。 ‘In the winter, the Marquis of Qi, the Marquis of Wei, and You Su of the state of Zheng met at Anfu.’ (Spring and Autumn Annals 《春秋》, ‘The Tenth Year of Duke Ding’s Reign’ 定公十年 1) The same toponym appears as An 鞍 ‘saddle’, likely a reference to a nearby geographical feature. But the lack of this character’s occurrence in the Annals might pertain to Confucius’s preferred neutral, historical authorial voice. When Confucius editorialises in the Annals, he generally does so by promoting or demoting certain historical figures in connexion with a righteous or wicked deed. That Confucius avoids an 安, except as a toponym, might suggest that the term was already acquiring moralistic overtones by the Warring States, prompting his avoidance of it out of scholarly caution. Later and less-restrained commentators, such as Mencius, would amplify the moralistic connotations.

A very ready parallel to the term an 安 in the Chinese Classics, are the terms in the Semitic languages that derive from the triliteral root s-l-m ש-ל-ם or س ل م. The oldest extant member of this family of terms, Ugaritic šulmu 𐎌𐎍𐎎, connotes ‘wholeness, completion, peace’. In Ugaritic mythological texts such as The Birth of the Gracious Gods, Šalim is mentioned as the half-brother of Šahar, both being sons of the creator-god El: Šahar is the god of the dawn, while Šalim—the ‘completion’ of the day—is the god of the dusk. Then we have the Phoenician šalōm or šōlūm 𐤔𐤋𐤌 ‘peace’: this term’s early usage in the texts that we have is fairly narrow and constrained to a political sense, as a time of stability or a lack of upheaval.

However, once we get to Aramaic and Classical Syriac šlāmā ܫܠܡܐ, then things start to get even more interesting. The term takes on a much broader range of denotation, just as the connotations of an 安 expanded during the Warring States. Its primary function is as ‘wellbeing, health, soundness (of body)’, a near-synonym for the Hebrew mǝtōm: ܘܠܝܬ ܐܣܘ ܠܒܣܪܝ ܡܢ ܩܘܕܡ ܐܧ̈ܝ ܕܪܓܘܙܟ ܘܠܐ ܫܝܠܡ ܠܓܪܡܝ‏ ‘There is no soundness in my flesh because of thy indignation; there is no health in my bones because of my sin.’ (Psa 37:4) However, it can also denote ‘peace’: נבוּכדנצּר מלכּא לכל־עממיּא אמיּא ולשּׁניּא דּי־דירין בּכל־ארעא שׁלמכון ישׂגּא ‘King Nebuchadnezzar [said] to all nations, tribes, and tongues, who dwell in all the earth; Peace be multiplied to you.’ (Dan 4:1) It is also used as a greeting, in the same way that the English word ‘hail’ (greeting) is derived from the same Germanic root as ‘hale’ (to be well): לדריושׁ מלכּא שׁלמא כלּא ‘All peace to King Darius!’ (Ezra 5:7) It could also be used in the function of ‘agreement, accord, treaty’: ܟܬܒ ܠܗ ܕܝܢ ܫܠܡܐ ‘He wrote him an adjudication of agreement.’ (Acts of Mar Mari 14:21) The multiplicity of function in Syriac points to a degree of semantic abstraction from the Ugaritic ‘completion’ and the Phoenician ‘peace, security’. What is connoted here is harmony, balance and equilibrium.

The same multiplicity of function was carried into Biblical Hebrew, and its Aramaic-derived cousin in Ge’ez sälam ሰላም. You see šālam שלם serving in the verbal functions of ‘to complete, to finish, to restore (to equilibrium)’: ותּשׁלם כּל־המּלאכה אשׁר עשׂה המּלך שׁלמה בּית יהוה ‘Thus all the work that King Solomon did on the house of the Lord was finished.’ (1 Kgs 7:51). Or: ואת אשׁר חטא מן־הקּדשׁ ישׁלּם ‘He shall also make restitution for what he has done amiss in the holy thing…’ (Lev 5:16) As a verb it can also mean ‘to be pacified, to be resigned to’: ויּראוּ עבדי הדדעזר כּי נגּפוּ לפני ישׂראל ויּשׁלימוּ עם־דּויד ויּעבדהוּ ‘And when the servants of Hadad‘ezer saw that they had been defeated by Israel, they made peace with David, and became subject to him.’ (1 Par 19:19) And also in the nominal functions of ‘peace’, as in bǝrîtî šālôm בּריתי שׁלום ‘covenant of peace’ (Num 25:12), and ‘wellness’ or ‘health’: ויּאמר להם השׁלום לו ויּאמרוּ שׁלום ‘He said to them, “Is it well with him?” They said, “It is well”.’ (Gen 29:6) From this incidence in Genesis we can also see another instance of its use as a greeting. This precisely parallels the use of an 安 in Chinese as a greeting, as zao’an 早安 ‘good morning’ or wan’an 晚安 ‘good night’.

In Qur’ānic Arabic, we can see the further development of the verbal function that began in Biblical Hebrew. The nominal function, as ‘peace, harmony, equilibrium’ is adequately attested in the Qur’ān: ادخلوها بسلم ءامنين ‘Enter in peace and security’ (15:48). It is also used in reference to a greeting: ولا تقولو المن القى اليكم السلم لست مومنا ‘And do not say to one who gives you a greeting in peace, “You are not a believer”.’ (4:94) But its primary usage is as a verb. One sense of this verb is in precise parallel with the šālam שלם of Leviticus, ‘to pay, to restore’: فلا جناح عليكم اذا سلمتم ما ءاتيتم بالمعروف ‘There is no blame on you, if you pay her what you owe in a fair manner.’ (2:233) And the other sense is a logical development on the Hebrew šālam שלם in the sense of ‘to be pacified, to be resigned’: قال له ربه اسلم ‘His Lord said to him, “Submit!”’ (2:131)

And lest any readers delude themselves that this ‘submission’ is an Islāmic innovation at odds with ‘Judeo-Christianity’, let us note that the Syriac Pǝšiṭta has Paul talking in Ephesians about how Christ submitted Himself to judgement and death for the sake of His disciples: ܓܒܪܐ ܐܚܒܘ ܢܫܝܟܘܢ ܐܝܟ ܕܐܦ ܡܫܝܚܐ ܐܚܒ ܠܥܕܬܗ ܘܢܦܫܗ ܐܫܠܡ ܥܠ ܐܦܝܗ ‘Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved his church and gave himself [’ašlem] for it.’ (Eph 5:25)

In the Qur’ān we can see the roundabout way the Semitic s-l-m ש-ל-ם and the Sinitic an 安 in the verbal sense, which became an 按. The (primarily active voice) an 安 of Gao-yao’s advice to Shun indicates ‘to pacify, to propitiate, to quell’, which is the mirror of the (primarily passive voice) ’aslama اسلم ‘to submit, to be resigned, to be pacified’.

The daughters of Yao, who became the consorts of Shun

These parallels expose the methodological risk of projecting modern gender politics back onto ancient texts. It bears acknowledgement that both terms developed within patriarchal social contexts. The Qur’ān was taught to a patriarchal tribal society of Arabic-speaking Badawiyyīn who set a high value on female chastity and submissiveness as part of their traditional honour code. And the Documents, despite the matrilineal transmission of power from Yao to Shun, clearly assume that any given sovereign is going to be male. But the former teaches ’aslama اسلم, submission to God, of male and female alike. And the teaching of an min 安民 is likewise meant to be applied to men and women alike.

The teaching of submission found in the Abrahamic texts, and the teaching of pacification found in the Sinitic Classics, serve parallel purposes. The idea is not to enforce worldly hierarchies or power structures. The idea is in fact to remove the human being as the reference point. For the Chinese texts, the reference point is not ren 人 but Tian 天: 天工人其代之。 ‘The work is Heaven’s; men must act for it!’ (Documents, Book of Yu, ‘Counsels of Gao-yao’ 8) And for the Abrahamic texts, the reference point is clear: there is none but Him.