Chapter XVI: Section I: Confucius.11

The life of the prophet of China is not eventful. It has neither the charm of philosophic placidity and retirement from the world which belongs to that of Laò-tsé, nor the romantic interest of the more varied careers of Sakyamuni, Christ, or Mahomet. For Confucius, though a philosopher, did not object, indeed rather desired, to take some share in the government of his country, but his wishes received very little gratification. Rulers refused to acquiesce in his principles of administration, and he was compelled to rely for their propagation mainly on the oral instruction imparted to his disciples. His life, therefore, bears to some extent the aspect of a failure, though for this appearance he himself is not to blame. Another cause, which somewhat diminishes the interest we might otherwise take in him, is his excessive attention to proprieties, ceremonies, and rites. We cannot but feel that a truly great man, even in China, would have emancipated himself from the bondage of such trifles. Nevertheless, after all deductions are made, enough remains to render the career and character of Confucius deserving of attention, and in many respects of admiration.

Descended from a family which had formerly been powerful and noble, but was now in comparatively modest circumstances, he was born in B.C. 551, his father's name being Shuh-leang Heih, and his mother's Ching-Tsae. The legends related of his nativity I pass over for the present. His father, who was an old man when he was born, died when the child was in his third year; and his mother in B.C. 528. At nineteen, Confucius was married; and at twenty-one he came forward as a teacher. Disciples attached themselves to him, and during his long career as a philosopher, we find him constantly attended by some faithful friends, who receive all he says with unbounded deference, and propose questions for his decision as to an authority against whom there can be no appeal. The maxims of Confucius did not refer solely to ethics or to religion; they bore largely upon the art of government, and he was desirous if possible of putting them in actual practice in the administration of public affairs. China, however, was in a state of great confusion in his days; there were rebellions and wars in progress: and the character of the rulers from whom he might have obtained employment was such, that he could not, consistently with the high standard of honor on which he always acted, accept favors at their hands. One of them proposed to grant him a town with its revenues; but Confucius said: "A superior man will only receive reward for services which he has done. I have given advice to the duke Ting (see below), but he has not obeyed it, and now he would endow me with this place! very far is he from understanding me" (C. C., vol. i., Prolegomena, p. 68). In the year 500 the means were at length put within his reach of carrying his views into practice. He was made "chief magistrate of a town" in the state of Loo; and this first appointment was followed by that of "assistant-superintendent of works," and subsequently by that of "minister of crime." In this office he is said to have put an end to crime altogether; but Dr. Legge rightly warns us against confiding in the "indiscriminating eulogies" of his disciples. A more substantial service attributed to him is that of procuring the dismantlement of two fortified towns which were the refuge of dangerous and warlike chiefs. But his reforming government was brought to an end after a few years by the weakness of his sovereign, duke Ting, who was captivated by a present of eighty beautiful and accomplished girls, and one hundred and twenty horses, from a neighboring State. Engrossed by this present, the duke neglected public affairs, and the philosopher felt bound to resign.

We need not follow him during the long wanderings through various parts of China which followed upon this disappointment. After traveling from State to State for many years, he returned in his sixty-ninth year to Loo, but not to office. In the year 478 his sad and troubled life was closed by death.

Our information respecting the character of Confucius is ample. From the book which Dr. Legge has entitled the "Confucian Analects," a collection of his sayings made (as he believes) by the disciples of his disciples, we obtain the most minute particulars both as to his personal habits and as to the nature of his teaching. The impression derived from these accounts is that of a gentle, virtuous, benevolent, and eminently honorable man; a man who, like Socrates, was indifferent to the reward received for his tuition, though not refusing payment altogether; who would never sacrifice a single principle for the sake of his individual advantage; yet who was anxious, if possible, to benefit the kingdom by the establishment of an administration penetrated with those ethical maxims which he conceived to be all-important. Yet, irreproachable as his moral character was, there is about him a deficiency of that bold originality which has characterized the greatest prophets of other nations. Sakyamuni revolted against the restrictions of caste which dominated all minds in India. Jesus boldly claimed for moral conduct a rank far superior to that of every ceremonial obligation, even those which were held the most sacred by his countrymen. Mahomet, morally far below the Chinese sage, evinced a far more independent genius by his attack on the prevalent idolatry of Mecca. Confucius did nothing of this kind. His was a mind which looked back longingly to antiquity, and imagined that it discovered in the ancient rulers and the ancient modes of action, the models of perfection which all later times should strive to follow. Nor was this all. He was so profoundly under the influence of Chinese ways of thinking, as to attach an almost ludicrous importance to a precise conformity to certain rules of propriety, and to regard the exactitude with which ceremonies were performed as matter of the highest concern. In fact, he could not emancipate himself from the traditions of his country; and his principles would have resulted rather in making his followers perfect Chinamen than perfect men.

A far more serious charge is indeed brought against him by Dr. Legge—that of insincerity (C. C., vol. i.—Prolegomena— p. 101). I hesitate to impugn the opinion of so competent a scholar; yet the evidence he has produced does not seem to me sufficient to sustain the indictment. Granting that he gave an unwelcome visitor the excuse of sickness, which was untrue, still, as we are ignorant of the reasons which led him to decline seeing the person in question, we cannot estimate the force of the motives that induced him to put forward a plea in conformity with the polite customs of his country. It does not appear, moreover, that he practiced an intentional deceit. And though on one occasion he may have violated an oath extorted by rebels who had him in their power, therein acting wrongly (as I think), it is always an open question how far promises made under such circumstances are binding on the conscience. Whatever failings, however, it may be necessary to admit, there can be no question of the preëminent purity alike of his life and doctrine. His is a character which, be its imperfections what they may, we cannot help loving; and there have been few, indeed, who would not have been benefited by the attempt to reach even that standard of virtue which he held up to the admiration of his disciples.

A few quotations from the works in which his words and actions are preserved, will illustrate these remarks. In the tenth Book of the Analects (C. C., vol. i. p. 91-100), his manners, his garments, his mode of behavior under various circumstances, are elaborately described. There are not many personages in history of whom we have so minute a knowledge. We learn that "in his village" he "looked simple and sincere, and as if he were not able to speak." His reverence for his superiors seems to have been profound. "When the prince was present, his manner displayed respectful uneasiness; it was grave, but self-possessed." When going to an audience of the prince, "he ascended the dais, holding up his robe with both his hands, and his body bent; holding in his breath also, as if he dared not breathe. When he came out _from the audience_ (the italics, here and elsewhere, are in Legge), as soon as he had descended one step, he began to relax his countenance, and had a satisfied look. When he had got to the bottom of the steps, he advanced rapidly to his place, _with his arms_ like wings, and on occupying it, his manner _still_ showed respectful uneasiness." He was rather particular about his food, rejecting meat unless "cut properly," and with "its proper sauce."

Whatever he might be eating, however, "he would offer a little of it in sacrifice." "When any of his friends died, if the deceased had no relations who could be depended on for the necessary offices, he would say, 'I will bury him.'" "In bed, he did not lie like a corpse." And it is satisfactory to learn of one who was such a respecter of formalities, that "at home he did not put on any formal deportment." Notwithstanding this, he does not appear to have been on very intimate terms with his son, to whom he is reported to have said that unless he learned "the odes" he would not be fit to converse with; and that unless he learned "the rules of propriety" his character could not be established. The disciple, who was informed by the son himself that he had never heard from his father any other special doctrine, was probably right in concluding that "the superior man maintains a distant reserve towards his son" (Lun Yu, xvi. 13).

But with his beloved disciples Confucius was on terms of affectionate intimacy which does not seem to have been marred by "the rules of propriety." For the death of one of them at least he mourned so bitterly as to draw down upon himself the expostulation of those who remained (Ibid., xi. 9). The picture of the Master, accompanied at all times by his faithful friends, who hang upon his lips, and eagerly gather up his every utterance, is on the whole a pleasant one. "Do you think, my disciples," he asks, "that I have any concealments? I conceal nothing from you. There is nothing that I do which is not shown to you, my disciples;—that is my way" (Ibid., vii. 23). And with all the homage he is constantly receiving, Confucius is never arrogant. He never speaks like a man who wishes to enforce his views in an authoritative style on others; never threatens punishment either here or hereafter to those who dissent from him.

"There were four things," his disciples tell us, "from which the Master was entirely free. He had no foregone conclusions, no arbitrary predeterminations, no obstinacy, and no egoism" (Lun Yu, ix. 4). And his conduct is entirely in harmony with this statement. It is as a learner, rather than a teacher, that he regards himself. "The Master said, 'When I walk along with two others, they may serve me as my teachers. I will select their good qualities, and follow them; their bad qualities, and avoid them'" (Ibid., vii. 21). Or again: "The sage and the man of perfect virtue, how dare I _rank myself with them_? It may simply be said of me, that I strive to become such without satiety, and teach others without weariness" (Ibid., vii. 33). "In letters I am perhaps equal to other men, but _the character_ of the superior man, carrying out in his conduct what he professes, is what I have not yet attained to" (Ibid., vii. 32).

Notwithstanding this modesty, there are traces—few indeed, but not obscure—of that conviction of a peculiar mission which all great prophets have entertained, and without which even Confucius would scarcely have been ranked among them. The most distinct of these is the following passage:—"The Master was put in fear in K'wang. He said, 'After the death of king Wan, was not the cause of truth lodged here _in me_? If Heaven had wished to let this cause of truth perish, then I, a future mortal, should not have got such a relation to that cause. While Heaven does not let the cause of truth perish, what can the people of K'wang do to me?'" (Lun Yu, ix. 5). These remarkable words would be conclusive, if they stood alone. But they do not stand alone. In another place we find him thus lamenting the pain of being generally misunderstood, which is apt to be so keenly felt by exalted and sensitive natures. "The Master said, 'Alas! there is no one that knows me.' Tse-kung said, 'What do you mean by thus saying—that no one knows you?' The Master replied, 'I do not murmur against Heaven. I do not grumble against men. My studies lie low, and my penetration rises high. But there is Heaven;—that knows me!'" (Ibid., xiv. 37). Men might reject his labors and despise his teaching, but he would complain neither against Heaven nor against them. If he was not known by men, he was known by Heaven, and that was enough. On another occasion, "the Master said, 'Heaven produced the virtue that is in me, Hwan T'uy—what can he do to me?'"[12]

These passages are the more remarkable, because Confucius was not in the ordinary sense a believer in God. That is, he never, throughout his instructions, says a single word implying acknowledgment of a personal Deity; a Creator of the world; a Being whom we are bound to worship as the author of our lives and the ruler of our destinies. He has even been suspected of omitting from his edition of the Shoo-king and the She-king everything that could support the comparatively theistic doctrine of his contemporary, Laò-tsé (By V. von Strauss, T. T. K., p. xxxviii). That his high respect for antiquity would have permitted such a procedure is, to say the least, very improbable; and Dr. Legge is no doubt right in acquitting him of any willful suppression of, or addition to, the ancient articles of Chinese faith (C. C., vol. i. Prolegomena, p. 99). For our present purpose it is enough to note that he avoided all discussion on the higher problems of religion; and contented himself with speaking, and that but rarely, of a vague, and hardly personal Being which he called Heaven. Thus, in a book attributed (perhaps erroneously) to his grandson, he is reported as saying, "Sincerity is the very way of Heaven" (Chung Yung, xx. 18). Of king Woo and the duke of Chow, two ancient worthies, he says: "By the ceremonies of the sacrifices to Heaven and Earth they served God" (where he seems to distinguish between Heaven and God, whom I believe he never mentions but here); "and by the ceremonies of the ancestral temple they sacrificed to their ancestors. He who understands the ceremonies of the sacrifices to Heaven and Earth, and the meaning of the several sacrifices to ancestors, would find the government of a kingdom as easy as to look into his palm" (Ibid., xix. 6). Elsewhere, he remarks that "he who is greatly virtuous will be sure to receive the appointment of heaven" (Ibid., xvii. 5). Again: "Heaven, in the production of things, is surely bountiful to them, according to their qualities" (Ibid., xvii. 3). Nothing very definite can be gathered from these passages, as to his opinions concerning the nature of the power of which he spoke thus obscurely. Yet it would be rash to find fault with him on that account. His language may have been, and in all probability was, the correct expression of his feelings. His mind was not of the dogmatic type; and if he does not teach his disciples any very intelligible principles concerning spiritual matters, it is simply because he is honestly conscious of having none to teach.

There are, indeed, indications which might be taken to imply the existence of an esoteric doctrine. "To those," he says, "whose talents are above mediocrity, the highest subjects may be announced. To those who are below mediocrity, the highest subjects may not be announced" (Lun Yu, vi. 19). We are further told that Tsze-kung said, "the Master's _personal_ displays _of his principles_, and _ordinary_ descriptions of them may be heard. His discourses about _man's_ nature, and the way of Heaven, cannot be heard" (Ibid., v. 12). This last passage appears to mean that they were not open to the indiscriminate multitude, nor perhaps to all of the disciples. But we may reasonably suppose that the intimate friends who recorded his sayings were considered by him to be above mediocrity, and were the depositaries of all he had to tell them on religious matters.

Yet this, little as it was, may not always have been rightly understood. Once, for example, he says to a disciple, "Sin, my doctrine is that of an all-pervading unity." This is interpreted by the disciple (in the Master's absence) to mean only that his doctrine is "to be true to the principles of our nature, and the benevolent exercise of them to others" (Ibid., iv. 15). I can hardly believe that Confucius would have taught so simple a lesson under so obscure a figure; and it is possible that the reserve that he habitually practiced with regard to his religious faith may have prevented a fuller explanation. "The subjects on which the Master did not talk were—extraordinary things, feats of strength, disorder, and spiritual beings" (Lun Yu, vii. 20). And although, in the Doctrine of the Mean (a work which is perhaps less authentic than the Analects) we find him discoursing freely on spiritual beings, which, he says, "abundantly display the powers that belong to them" (Chung Yung, 16), there are portions of the Analects which confirm the impression that he did not readily venture into these extra-mundane regions. Heaven itself, he once pointed out to an over-curious disciple, preserves an unbroken silence (Lun Yu, xvii. 19). Interrogated "about serving the spirits of the dead," he gave this striking answer: "While you are not able to serve men, how can you serve their spirits?" And when "Ke Loo added, 'I venture to ask about death?' he was answered, 'While you do not know life, how can you know about death?'" (Ibid., xi. 11). Another instance of a similar reticence is presented by his conduct during an illness. "The Master being very sick, Tsze-Loo asked leave to pray for him. He said, 'May such a thing be done?' Tsze-Loo replied, 'It may. In the prayers it is said, Prayer has been made to the spirits of the upper and lower worlds.' The Master said, 'My praying has been for a long time'" (Ibid., vii. 34). I am unable to see "the satisfaction of Confucius with himself," which Dr. Legge discovers in this reply. To me it appears simply to indicate the devout attitude of his mind, which is evinced by many other passages in his conversation. In short, though we may complain of the indefinite character of the faith he taught, and wish that he had expressed himself more fully, there can scarcely be a doubt that Confucius had a deeply religious mind; and that he looked with awe and reverence upon that power which he called by the name of "Heaven," which controlled the progress of events, and would not suffer the cause of truth to perish altogether.

It is true, however, that he confined himself chiefly, and indeed almost entirely, to moral teaching. His main object undoubtedly was to inculcate upon his friends, and if possible to introduce among the people at large, those great principles of ethics which he thought would restore the virtue and well-being of ancient times. Those principles are aptly summarized in the following verse: "The duties of universal obligation are five, and the virtues wherewith they are practiced are three. The duties are those between sovereign and minister, between father and son, between husband and wife, between elder brother and younger, and those belonging to the intercourse of friends. Those five are the duties of universal obligation. Knowledge, magnanimity, and energy, these three are the virtues universally binding; and the means by which they carry the duties into practice is singleness" (Chung Yung, xx. 7). In the Analects, "Gravity, generosity of soul, sincerity, earnestness, and kindness," are said to constitute perfect virtue (Lun Yu, xvii. 6).

It is as an earnest and devoted teacher, both by example and by precept, of these and other virtues, that Confucius must be judged. And in order to assist the formation of such a judgment, let us take his doctrine of Reciprocity, to which I shall return in another place. "Tsze-kung asked, saying, 'Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?' The Master said, 'Is not Reciprocity such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others'" (Lun Yu, xv. 23). On a kindred topic he thus delivered his opinion: "Some one said, 'What do you say concerning the principle that injury should be recompensed with kindness?' The Master said, 'With what, then, will you recompense kindness? Recompense injury with justice, and recompense kindness with kindness'" (Ibid., xiv. 26).

If in the above sentence he may be thought to fall short of the highest elevation, there are some among his apothegms, the point and excellence of which have, perhaps, never been surpassed. Take for instance these:—"The superior man is catholic and no partizan. The mean man is a partizan and not catholic." "Learning without thought is labor lost; thought without learning is perilous" (Ibid., ii. 14, 15). Or these:—"I will not be afflicted at men's not knowing me; I will be afflicted that I do not know men" (Ibid., i. 16). "A scholar, whose mind is set on truth, and who is ashamed of bad clothes and bad food, is not fit to be discoursed with" (Ibid., iv. 9). "The superior man is affable, but not adulatory; the mean is adulatory, but not affable" (Ibid., xiii. 23). "Where the solid qualities are in excess of accomplishments, we have rusticity; where the accomplishments are in excess of the solid qualities, we have the manners of a clerk. When the accomplishments and solid qualities are equally blended, we then have the man of complete virtue" (Lun Yu, vi. 16). Lastly, I will quote one which, with a slight change of terms, might have emanated from the pen of Thomas Carlyle: "There are three things of which the superior man stands in awe:—He stands in awe of the ordinances of heaven; he stands in awe of great men; he stands in awe of the words of sages. The mean man does not know the ordinances of heaven, and _consequently_ does not stand in awe of them. He is disrespectful to great men. He makes sport of the words of sages" (Ibid., xvi. 8).

These, and various other recorded sayings, go far to explain, if not to justify, the unbounded admiration of his faithful follower, Tsze-kung: "Our Master cannot be attained to, just in the same way as the heavens cannot be gone up to by the steps of a stair. Were our Master in the position of the prince of a State, or the chief of a family, we should find verified the description _which has been given of a sage's rule_:—he would plant the people, and forthwith they would be established; he would lead them on, and forthwith they would follow him; he would make them happy, and forthwith _multitudes_ would resort to _his dominions_; he would stimulate them, and forthwith they would be harmonious. While he lived, he would be glorious. When he died, he would be bitterly lamented. How is it possible for him to be attained to?" (Ibid., xix. 25.)