Does your boss talk with his mouth full, then fall asleep mid-sentence? Does he wake up standing at attention like he's receiving a medal, then march past everyone without saying good morning? Somebody needs a vacation—or maybe they just need to read Book 10 of the Analects.

In this seventh episode, host Elliott Bernstein tackles three passages at once—10.10, 10.21, and 10.24—all six-character snapshots of how an exemplary person (or maybe Confucius himself?) should behave. But why does ancient wisdom care whether you talk while eating or lie stiff as a corpse in bed? What's the difference between asking questions as a nosy tourist versus asking questions as a ritual act? And how do you know when to be formal and when to chill out if the Analects never gives you a straight answer?

Along the way: why Book 10 is the weirdest chapter in the entire Analects (no "Confucius said" anywhere—scholars think it might be culled from a lost ritual manual), the difference between etiquette guides and ritual propriety instructions, why asking "what's this? what's that?" at the Grand Temple would get you side-eye but asking about everything happening there might be the point, the Duke of Zhou's ancestral temple where this all went down, the impossibly paradoxical standard of being "gentle yet firm" and "composed yet fully at ease" (there's no word for that perfect middle ground), the concept of 天人合一 or achieving full unity with the way of heaven, and why 中庸—constantly hitting the mark—is going to be a recurring theme.

Plus: three different classical Chinese words for different types of speech (conversation, talking, questioning), why 寝 survives in modern Japanese but not Chinese, and the scribal mix-up between "formal deportment" and "guest" that fortunately doesn't change the meaning much.

Could someone from a "nobody" family really deserve the corner office? In 6th-century BCE China, the answer was supposed to be no—but Confucius had other ideas.

In this sixth episode, host Elliott Bernstein unpacks passage 6.1 of the Analects—just six characters praising a student named Yong Rang who "might occupy the place of a prince." But why does Confucius think a commoner's son could sit in the ruler's seat? What's so special about facing south, and why would your compass direction indicate your authority? And how do you piece together someone's biography when it's scattered across seven different passages written 2,500 years ago?

Along the way: why this episode uses a dusty 1893 translation instead of modern scholarship (hint: "facing south" doesn't exactly speak for itself), the detective work of tracking one disciple through the Analects using multiple names (personal name, surname, courtesy name—what?), the "red ox with horns" metaphor that says talent shouldn't be wasted just because someone's parents are nobodies, how 雍 yōng's story connects to 1,300 years of civil service exams, why Zhou dynasty seating arrangements were absolutely crucial to understanding power dynamics, and the surprisingly recent archaeological discovery of bamboo strips that confirmed what kind of minister Yong actually became.

Plus: what 也 means in Classical Chinese (spoiler: not "also"), and why Confucius's egalitarian views about hiring might be exactly what we need to hear in an age of increasing wealth disparity and résumé gatekeeping.

Won't you be my neighbor? It's a simple question from a children's TV show—but Confucius asked something similar 2,500 years earlier, and he meant it as a test of your character. In this fifth episode, host Elliott Bernstein tackles passage 4.25—just six characters about why virtue can never exist in isolation. What makes someone so magnetic that friends travel from distant lands just to be near them? How do you translate a concept so rich it encompasses moral rectitude AND the power to win friends and influence people? And why would a pragmatic philosopher like Confucius care about the same "spiritual gift" that ancient Greeks sacrificed to their gods for? Along the way: the evolution of charisma from Greek kharis through Hebrew charism to Max Weber's sociology, why translating 德 as just "virtue" misses half the point (enter: moral charisma), Confucius's not-so-subtle dig at Laozi the hermit, the North Star metaphor that explains how great leaders create their own gravity, and why choosing the right neighborhood—literal or metaphorical—is the first step to becoming your best self. Plus: what an orphan and a melon have to do with being solitary, and the surprising debate over whether virtue can ever be one-sided or if it must radiate both inward and outward.

When your toddler throws a tantrum, you tell them to "use your words." Turns out Confucius said something similar 2,500 years ago—but he was worried about the opposite problem. In this fourth episode, host Elliott Bernstein unpacks passage 15.41—just five characters about the purpose of language. Why does Confucius care if someone brags about their new Bentley? What's the difference between words that "convey their point" and words that manipulate or deceive? And when was it actually okay for Confucius to sound totally self-righteous? Along the way: speech act theory meets ancient China (locutionary, illocutionary, perlocutionary—what?), the 质/文 dichotomy that explains why you can't polish a turd but plenty of people will try anyway, why 达 means so much more than "accomplished" (hint: it's about being unblocked), and the surprising reason Confucius repeatedly warned his students about people with too much education and too little character. Plus: what 虚词 are and why they do all the heavy lifting in Classical Chinese.

Would you take the "Employee of the Year" parking spot if no one was looking? In this third episode, host Elliott Bernstein explores passage 10.12—just five characters about where Confucius would and wouldn't sit. But why does a book of profound philosophy bother recording someone's seating preferences? What do layered mats and compass directions have to do with social hierarchy in Zhou-dynasty China? And how does a chapter full of apparent minutiae—clothing choices, food preferences, walking styles—reveal something deeper about ritual and harmony? Along the way: why Book 10 reads so differently from the rest of the Analects, the connection between 席 and Chairman Mao's title, and why the character 正 carries meanings of both "straight" and "correct" that matter for interpretation. Plus: an honest admission that with five ancient ideograms and no punctuation, nobody alive today knows for certain what this passage means—and why that's actually the point.

In 6th-century BCE China, education was a privilege of the elite. Confucius had other ideas. In this second episode, host Elliott Bernstein digs into passage 15.39—just four characters that upended who got to learn and who got left behind. Why would a renowned teacher accept anyone who could scrape together "a bundle of dried meat"? What made his classroom a mix of beggars, politicians, and students fifty years his junior? And how did he become the patron saint of education without even writing his own book? Along the way: the 有/无 pairing that Chinese learners encounter early but rarely see explained, the surprising connection between "teaching" and "filial piety" hidden inside a single character, and why 教 changes tone depending on how you use it.

What did Confucius mean when he said a good person shouldn't be a "vessel"? In this first episode, host Elliott Bernstein unpacks passage 2.12—just four characters that carry 2,500 years of meaning. We explore how the ancient term for "noble's son" became shorthand for moral excellence, why ritual vessels mattered so much in Zhou-dynasty China, and what any of this has to do with being intentional about how you use your talents. Plus: language notes for Chinese learners at every level.