Part 7

[11] It is impossible to find an exact equivalent for this negative expression "non-yieldingness," "non-humility." But the dominant idea is one of _selfishness_, and therefore such renderings as "insubordination" (Legge), "frowardnes" (Wade), "excess" (Ku Hung-ming), are rather wide off the mark.

[12] For note on _li_, see p. 60. Here again it is the inner sense of moral proportion and harmony, which prevents any quality from being carried to excess. Not a translator but has come to grief over this word, though Mr. Ku is not so far off with "judgment." That, however, makes of it an intellectual principle rather than what it realty is--a moral sense.

[13] Literally, "learning." See notes on pp. 53 and 91.

[14] The commentators seem right in their explanation, that a man's defects are usually redeemed by certain corresponding qualities; when even these are absent, the case is hopeless.

[15] This is the best I can make of a vexed passage. Legge's translation is poor, but he is right with regard to the lesson intended--"that repeated acquisitions individually small will ultimately amount to much, and that the learner is never to give over."

[16] Men are known in time of adversity.

[17] Because the family was very poor and could ill afford to bear the expense. It is not the least of this great man's titles to fame that he resolutely opposed the tide of popular sentiment in this matter, and could see the iniquity of sacrificing the living to the dead, even when the funeral of his dearly beloved disciple was in question. The moral courage of such an attitude in a country like China, where religion is largely connected with the propitiation of spirits, can hardly be overestimated.

[18] Literally, "reach righteousness."

[19] Before subscribing to the popular judgment. Cf. saying on p. 103.

[20] I.e. mere passivity, as advocated by the Taoists, will not do.

[21] These numerical categories are hardly more than a conventional form into which the Chinese are fond of throwing ethical and other teaching. Needless to say, they are not to be considered as exhaustive.

[22] Confucius, as we have seen (p. 86), puts himself in this second class.

[23] The difference lies in the _set purpose_ of studying virtue in a systematic way, and not merely doing right when occasion offers.

[24] "The will to learn" is a necessarily vague rendering of the equally vague original. It means here a desire for moral culture, which is nothing else than the development of that inner sense of harmony and proportion (_li_) referred to on p. 99. Good instincts, according to Confucius, are not enough to produce virtues, unless they are supplemented by careful cultivation of this moral sense.

[25] A magnificent array of vestments and chalices will no more constitute a true ceremony than a number of musical instruments alone, without the brain of a composer, can produce music. The whole value of a ceremony is determined by the state of mind of the person who performs it.

PERSONALIA

In his moments of leisure, the Master's manner was uniformly cheerful and smiling.

If the Master happened to be dining beside one who was in mourning for his parents, he never ate a full meal. He never sang on any day in the course of which he had been bewailing a death.

The Master would never talk about prodigies, feats of strength, crime, or supernatural beings.[1]

The Master made four things the subject of his teaching: a knowledge of literature and the arts, conduct, conscientiousness and truthfulness.[2]

The Master fished with a line but not with a net. When he went out with bow and arrow, he only shot at birds on the wing.

If the Master happened to be with singers, and they sang a piece well, he would get them to repeat it, when he would also join in the song himself.

The Master was affable, yet grave; stern, but not fierce; attentive in his behaviour, and yet calm.

The Master seldom spoke of money-making, of the laws of Providence, or of moral virtue.[3]

There were four words of which the Master barred the use: he would have no "shall's," no "must's," no "certainly's," no "I's".[4]

Whenever the Master saw a person in mourning, or in official robes, or one who was blind, he would at once rise from his seat, even though the other were his junior; or if he passed them in the street, he would quicken his step.[5]

Once when the Master was lying seriously ill, Tzŭ Lu got the disciples to act the part of Ministers of State.[6] In an interval of his sickness, Confucius said: What a long time Yu has been keeping up this imposture! In pretending to have ministers attendant on me when I have none, whom am I deceiving? Am I deceiving God? But apart from that, is it not better that I should breathe my last in the arms of my disciples, than that I should die in the midst of officials? And after all, though I may not be accorded the honour of a public funeral, I am not dying out on the high road.

The Master wished to settle among the nine eastern tribes. Some one said: How can you? They are savages.--The Master replied: If a higher type of man dwelt in their midst, how could their savage condition last?

Confucius in his native village was simple and unassuming. He gave the impression of being no great speaker. In the ancestral temple and at Court he spoke fluently, but with a certain reserve.

At Court, he spoke to the ministers of lower rank with frankness and affability. To those of higher rank he spoke quietly, but with decision. In the presence of his Sovereign, he seemed full of awe, but at the same time grave and collected.

When employed by the Prince in the reception of distinguished visitors, his expression would change, and his legs seemed to bend under him. Standing in the presence of the visitors, he saluted them with clasped hands, turning about from right to left, and keeping the skirt of his robe properly adjusted, back and front. He then hastened forward with arms extended like the wings of a bird. When a visitor departed, he would report in that sense to the Prince, saying: "The visitor is not looking back."[7]

When he entered the gate of the palace, he seemed to bend his body as though the gate were not large enough to let him pass. He did not stand in the middle of the doorway, nor in passing through did he set foot on the threshold. When he passed the Prince's throne, his expression seemed to change, his legs seemed to bend under him, and words seemed to fail him. Holding up his robe with both hands, he ascended the dais, his body slightly bent, and holding his breath as though he dared not breathe. When he came out from his audience and had descended the first step, his countenance lost its anxious expression, and he looked serene and happy. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he hastened away with his arms outstretched like wings; but when he got back to his place, he still seemed full of awe.

He carried the Prince's regalia with body slightly bent, as though he could hardly support its weight; he raised it to the height of his head, and lowered it again to the height of his chest. His countenance indicated nervousness, and he dragged his feet as though something held them to the ground.

In offering presents as an ambassador, his appearance was sedate.

At a private audience, he wore a pleased look.

He would not eat meat that was clumsily cut, or served without its proper sauce. Although there might be an abundance of meat, he never let it exceed in quantity the vegetable food. In wine alone he laid down for himself no particular limit, but he never reached the stage of intoxication. He took ginger at every meal. He did not eat much. When eating, he did not converse; when in bed, he did not speak. Even though he had nothing but coarse rice and vegetable soup, he would always reverently offer some to the ancestral spirits.

He would not sit on a mat[8] that was placed awry.

On one occasion, Chi K‘ang Tzŭ having sent him some medicine, he bowed as he received it, saying: Not being familiar with this drug, I would not venture to try it.

His stables having been burnt down, the Master on his return from the Court said: Has any one been hurt?--He did not ask about the horses.[9]

If the Prince sent him a present of cooked meat, he would sit down to taste it on a properly placed mat. If the Prince sent him a present of raw meat, he would have it cooked and offer it in sacrifice. If the Prince sent him a live animal, he would keep it alive.

When the Prince summoned him to his presence, he would go on foot without waiting for his carriage.

If any of his friends died who was without a home or relations, he would say: I will see to the funeral.

In bed, he did not lie like a corpse. In his home life, his manner was not too formal.

At the sight of a person in mourning, though it might be an intimate acquaintance, he would always look grave. On meeting an official in uniform, or a blind man, however ragged, he would always show him some mark of respect.

When a rich banquet was set before him, he would show his appreciation in his looks, and rise to return thanks.

He would change countenance at a thunderclap or a sudden squall of wind.

When in his carriage, he would not look behind him, talk rapidly, or point with his finger.[10]

Duke Ling of Wei asked Confucius about the disposition of troops in warfare. Confucius answered: I know something about the arts of peace,[11] but I have never studied the art of war. And on the morrow he departed. But when he came to the State of Ch‘ên, he was cut off from supplies,[12] and his followers were so enfeebled that they could hardly stand. Tzŭ Lu indignantly sought the Master's presence, saying: Is it for the princely man to feel the pinch of privation?--The Master replied: Assuredly privation may come his way, but it is only the baser type of man who under it grows demoralised and reckless.

Mien, a blind musician,[13] having called on Confucius, the Master said to him when he came to a flight of steps: "Here are the steps"; and when he came to the mat which was spread for him: "Here is your mat." When all the visitors were seated, the Master told him who they were, saying: So-and-so is sitting here, so-and-so is sitting there. After Mien had gone, Tzŭ Chang asked, saying: Is it the proper thing to speak thus to a musician?--The Master replied: Assuredly it is right to give this help to a blind man.

The people of Ch‘i sent a band of singing-girls as a present to the Duke of Lu, and Chi Huan Tzŭ accepted the gift. For three days after that no Court was held, and Confucius departed.[14]

[1] Under these circumstances, it is easy to imagine how edified he would be by the modern daily press, which subsists almost entirely on these very topics.

[2] I am unable to improve on this rendering, which is borrowed from Mr. Ku Hung-ming.

[3] This statement--at least as regards moral virtue (jên)-- seems hopelessly at variance with the evidence of the Analects. Perhaps no more is meant than that he was unwilling to dogmatise on such a delicate subject. On p. 72, for instance, he refuses to judge whether certain disciples have true moral virtue or not.

[4] This is Mr. Jennings's interpretation, and it seems to me the simplest and best.

[5] Thus showing, says a commentator, his sympathy with sorrow, his respect for rank, his tenderness for the afflicted. Quickening his pace was also a mark of respect.

[6] Just as though Confucius had his own Court and entourage, like a feudal prince. This probably happened during his exile in some foreign state, where the chance of his obtaining a public funeral would doubtless be proportionate to the display made by his followers.

[7] "The ways of China, it appears, were much the same anciently as now. A guest turns round and bows repeatedly in leaving, and the host cannot return to his place till these salutations are ended."--LEGGE.

[8] The Chinese of that date dispensed with chairs, as the Japanese have done up to the present time.

[9] The point is, that in his solicitude for others Confucius never thought of his own loss, not that he was indifferent to the suffering of animals.

[10] Some of the minute details given above cannot but strike us as rather ridiculous. Two points, however, must be borne in mind: (1) that the customs and ceremonial belonging to any one age or country will always at first sight appear strange and laughable to the men of any other age and country; (2) that Confucius himself cannot be held responsible for the excessive zeal which prompted admiring disciples to portray his personal habits with such embarrassing fidelity. How many philosophers would come equally well through such an ordeal?

[11] Literally, "dish and platter business," i.e. things pertaining to sacrificial worship.

[12] By order of the Duke.

[13] Blind men and musicians were almost convertible terms in ancient China: that is to say, all musicians were blind, and the majority of blind men took to music for a profession.

[14] The famous episode hero briefly related was the turning-point of the sage's career. Through the weakness of his prince and the jealousy of the rival minister Chi Huan Tzŭ, he was suddenly dislodged from the pinnacle of his fame and condemned to thirteen years of homeless wandering.

CONFUCIUS AS SEEN BY OTHERS

Tzŭ Ch‘in asked Tzŭ Kung, saying: Whenever our Master comes to any new country, he is sure to find out all about its method of government. Does he seek this information himself, or is it voluntarily proffered?--Tzŭ Kung replied: Our Master gains his information because he is so genial and good, so full of deference, modesty and regard for others. In seeking information, how differently does he behave from ordinary men!

The Master having gone up into the Grand Temple, asked questions about everything. Some one remarked: Who says that the son of the citizen of Tsou has any knowledge of ceremonial observances? He comes to the Temple and asks about everything he sees.--Hearing the remark, the Master said: This in itself is a ceremonial observance.

The prefect of the frontier in the town of I[1] asked to be introduced to Confucius, saying: I have never failed to obtain an audience of any sage who has visited these parts.--He was thereupon introduced by the Master's followers, and on coming out he said: My sons, why grieve at your Master's fall from power? The Empire has long been lying in evil ways, but now God is going to make Confucius his herald to rouse the land.[2]

The Master said: Shên, a single principle runs through all my teaching.[3]--Tsêng Tzŭ answered, Yes.--When the Master had gone out, the disciples asked, saying: What principle does he mean?--Tsêng Tzŭ said: Our Master's teaching simply amounts to this: loyalty to oneself and charity to one's neighbour.[4]

Yen Yüan heaved a deep sigh and said: The more I look at our Master's teaching, the higher it seems. The more I test it, the more reliable it appears. I am gazing at it in front of me, when lo! it is suddenly behind me. Our Master knows how to draw men after him by regular steps. He broadens our outlook by means of polite learning, and restrains our impulses by means of inward self-control. Even if I wished to stop, I could not do so; yet after I have exhausted all my efforts in pursuit of the goal, there still remains something inaccessible rising up beyond; and though I would fain make towards it, I cannot find the way.

Tzŭ Lu once passed the night in Shih-men, where the gate-keeper said to him: Where do you come from?--Tzŭ Lu replied: From the school of Confucius.--Oh, is he not the man, said the other, who is trying to do what he knows to be impossible?[5]

Ch‘ên K‘ang asked Po Yu,[6] saying: Have you ever received any secret teaching from your father?--He replied: No. But once, when I was passing hurriedly through our hall, I met my father standing alone, and he said: Have you studied the Odes?--I replied, Not yet.--He said: If you do not study the Odes, you will have no conversation.--Thereupon I withdrew and studied the Odes. Another day I met him again standing alone as I hastened through the hall, and he said: Have you studied the Book of Rites?[7]--I replied: Not yet.--He said: If you do not study the Book of Rites, you will have no stability of character.--I withdrew and studied the Book of Rites. These are the two pieces of instruction I have received.--Ch‘ên K‘ang went away rejoicing and said: I asked about one thing and have learned three--something thing about the Odes, something about the Rites, and also that the higher type of man has no secrets even with his own son.

Yang Huo wished to have an interview with Confucius, but Confucius would not go to see him. He therefore sent Confucius a sucking-pig as a present.[8] Confucius, however, chose a time when the other was out, to go and pay his respects. But he happened to fall in with him on the road. Thereupon Yang Huo addressed Confucius, saying: Come with me. I have something to say to you. Can he be called truly benevolent, who hugs his jewel to his bosom and allows his country to drift into confusion?--He cannot, was the reply.--Can he be called truly wise, who wishes to engage in public affairs, yet loses several opportunities of doing so?--He cannot.--Well, rejoined Yang Huo, the days and months are fleeting by, and the years will not wait for us.--True, replied Confucius; I will presently take office.[9]

The eccentric Chieh Yü[10] of the Ch‘u State passed Confucius' carriage, singing: O phœnix! O phœnix! How has thy virtue fallen! The past need no longer be a subject of reproof, but against the future it is still possible to provide. Desist, desist! Great is the danger of those who now engage in government.--Confucius alighted, wishing to speak with him, but Chieh Yu hastened rapidly away, and he was unable to get speech of him.

Ch‘ang Chü and Chieh Ni[11] were working together in the fields when Confucius passed by and sent Tzŭ Lu to ascertain from them the whereabouts of the ford. Ch‘ang Chü asked: Who is that man holding the reins?--That is Confucius, replied Tzŭ Lu.--Is it Confucius of the Lu State?--Yes.--Then surely _he_ is the man to know where the ford is.[12]--Tzŭ Lu then questioned Chieh Ni. Chieh Ni said: Who are you, Sir?--I am Chung Yu.--Are you a disciple of Confucius of the Lu State?--He replied: I am.--The whole Empire, said Chieh Ni, is rushing head-long to destruction, and who is there that will reform it? As for you, instead of following a man who withdraws from prince after prince in succession, would it not be better to follow a man who has withdrawn from the world altogether?--And he went on hoeing without a pause. Tzŭ Lu went back and reported these remarks, whereupon the Master looked surprised and said: We cannot join the company of birds and beasts. If I am not to associate with these men of the ruling class, with whom am I to associate?[13] If right principles prevailed in the Empire, then indeed there would be no need for me to reform it.

Shu-sun Wu-shu,[14] speaking to the ministers at Court, said: Tzŭ Kung is a greater sage than Confucius.--Tzŭ-fu Ching-po[15] repeated this to Tzŭ Kung, who said: Let me use the simile of a house surrounded by a wall. My wall rises only to the height of a man's shoulders, so that any one can look over and see the excellence of the building within. But my Master's wall is many fathoms in height, so that one who fails to find the gate of entry cannot see the beauties of the temple nor the rich apparel of the officiating priests. It may be that only a few will succeed in finding the gate. Need we, then, be surprised at His Excellency's remark?

Shu-sun Wu-shu was disparaging Confucius. Tzŭ Kung said: It is no good. Confucius is proof against detraction. The wisdom of other men is like hills and mountain-peaks, which however high can still be scaled. But Confucius is like the sun or the moon, which can never be reached by the foot of man. A man may want to cut himself off from their light, but what harm will that do to the sun or the moon? It only shows very plainly that he has no notion of the measurement of capacity.

[1] This was on the borders of the Wei State, whither Confucius, with a small band of disciples, was retiring, heavy of heart, after his discomfiture in Lu.

[2] Literally, "is going to use him as a bell with a wooden clapper"--this being the instrument used in making announcements or to call the people together. The friendly prefect's prophecy was to be fulfilled more wonderfully than ever he could have imagined. Never, perhaps, in the history of the human race has one man exerted such an enormous influence for good on after generations.

[3] Legge's rendering, "My doctrine is that of an all-pervading unity," is quite untenable, and no other translator has followed him here. The logic of the passage obviously requires the meaning given above.

[4] This saying should be compared with those on pp. 91 and 69. It is generally acclaimed as the best epitome of Confucian teaching, yet it was reserved for Mr. Ku Hung-ming, a Chinaman, to give the first correct translation of it in English. The two important words are _chung_ and _shu_, "conscientiousness" and "charity," for which see notes on pp. 58 and 69. Legge's version, "To be true to the principles of our nature and the benevolent exercise of them to others," though ponderous, would seem to have hit the true meaning, had he not spoilt it by a note to the effect that shu is "duty-doing on the principle of reciprocity." It has nothing on earth to do with reciprocity, being in fact that disinterested love of one's neighbour which was preached five hundred years later in Palestine. The other precept, embodied in the word chung, is exactly Shakespeare's "To thine own self be true"--a noble moral conception for which, obscured as it has been by bungling translators, Confucius has never yet received full credit.

[5] The age in which Confucius lived was so given over to the forces of disorder, militarism and intrigue, and the chances of a moral reformer were regarded as so hopeless, that it was a common thing for men of principle to retire from public affairs altogether, and either lead the sequestered life of a hermit or take to some mean employment for a living. The gate-keeper here is said to have been one of this class. Confucius, however, was made of sterner stuff, and it may be claimed that he did ultimately, through sheer force of character, succeed in achieving the "impossible."

[6] The "style" or familiar name of K‘ung Li, the only son of Confucius.