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THE SAYINGS OF CONFUCIUS

A NEW TRANSLATION OF THE GREATER

PART OF THE CONFUCIAN ANALECTS


WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES



LIONEL GILES, M.A. (Oxon.)


ASSISTANT IN THE DEPARTMENT OF ORIENTAL BOOKS

AND MANUSCRIPTS OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM



THE WISDOM OF THE EAST SERIES

Edited by

L. CRANMER-BYNG

Dr. S. A. KAPADIA.





NEW YORK

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY

1910




CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION
LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL DISCIPLES
GOVERNMENT AND PUBLIC AFFAIRS
INDIVIDUAL VIRTUE
CONFUCIUS' ESTIMATE OF OTHERS
CONFUCIUS ON HIMSELF
MISCELLANEOUS SAYINGS
PERSONALIA
CONFUCIUS AS SEEN BY OTHERS
SAYINGS OF THE DISCIPLES




EDITORIAL NOTE


The object of the Editors of this series is a very definite one.
They desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books
shall be the ambassadors of goodwill and understanding between East
and West--the old world of Thought and the new of Action. In this
endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the
highest example in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge
of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help
to a revival of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor
fears the nations of another creed and colour. Finally, in thanking
press and public for the very cordial reception given to the "Wisdom of
the East" Series, they wish to state that no pains have been spared to
secure the best specialists for the treatment of the various subjects
at hand.

L. CRANMER-BYNG.
S. A. KAPADIA.

NORTHBROOK SOCIETY,
185, PICCADILLY, W.




INTRODUCTION


Confucius is one of the few supremely great figures in the world's
history. A man's greatness must always be measured, in the first
place, by the consensus of opinion in his own country; the judgment of
foreigners can only be allowed to have a secondary value. Especially
is this true when the critics are not only foreigners, but belong to a
totally different order of civilisation from the men whose greatness
they would appraise. For even if they can keep their minds free from
purely national bias of the unreasoning sort, they will naturally look
for such attributes as are highly prized among themselves, and feel
disappointed if these are not much in evidence. They will be apt to see
certain defects too plainly, whereas they may easily overlook or fail
to appreciate to the full those very qualities on which the title to
greatness is mainly based. These errors and prejudices will, doubtless,
tend to disappear as more intimate knowledge is gained and the
essential unity of human nature shows itself beneath the accidents of
custom and environment. But the process will always be slow. The name
of Confucius may be deemed sufficiently familiar in the West to render
unnecessary any revision of the popular verdict which has already been
passed on him. But are his judges equally familiar with the teaching
which his name represents? The name of Shakespeare was well enough
known to Frenchmen in the time of Voltaire. Yet how many generations
had to pass ere they began to recognise his true greatness? The
parallel between dramatist and social reformer may seem strained, but
it is not drawn at random. In both cases, wide differences of language
and the inadequacy of translations to bridge the gap, lie at the root
of the trouble.

No great man has suffered more than Confucius from the stupidity, the
misstatements and the misrepresentations, from the lack of sympathy
and generosity, and, in some points, from the pure ignorance of his
critics. Early travellers arriving from the West, amongst a people
utterly alien to themselves in almost every detail--language,
dress, habits, modes of thought, ethical ideals and general view of
life--would have done well to walk very warily and, in the Confucian
phrase, "to reserve their judgment" on what they saw and heard around
them. But patience and discrimination were the very last virtues
which these inquisitive newcomers had a mind to practise; and,
unluckily, the extraordinary fame of the national sage marked him out
as one of the earliest victims to their thirst for the marvellous.
On the strength of Chinese evidence, readily forthcoming and eagerly
swallowed, the most exaggerated accounts of this new luminary were
poured into the ears of Europe, and it may well be imagined that these
enthusiastic reports suffered no diminution in the telling. Confucius
was the prince of philosophers, the wisest and most consummate of
sages, the loftiest moralist, the most subtle and penetrating intellect
that the world had ever seen. He was a statesman, a bard, an historian
and an antiquary rolled into one. His sagacity put the most illustrious
of ancient and modern philosophers to shame. He was the greatest and
noblest representative of the greatest, happiest, and most highly
civilised people on the face of the earth. Such extravagant eulogy
could only pave the way for disillusionment. When, after the lapse of
a hundred years or so, foreigners had painfully acquired sufficient
knowledge of the language to enable them to begin translating, after
a fashion, parts of the Classics said to have been composed by this
glorious sage, or at least containing the choicest pearls of his
wisdom still extant, it is not altogether surprising that the results
did not come up to the general expectation. Reactionist in, and it
soon became the fashion to decry the once much-lauded philosopher.
His sayings, which had been extolled as the very epitome of wisdom,
were now voted jejune and commonplace. His teaching was found to be
shallow, disjointed, unsatisfying. He was blamed for his materialistic
bias, for his rigid formalism, for his poverty of ideas, for his lack
of spiritual elevation. Comparisons, much in his disfavour, were
drawn between him and the founders of other world-systems of religion
and ethics. All this before the circumstances of his career had been
studied, before the surface of contemporary Chinese history had been so
much as scratched, before the host of native commentators and critics
had been consulted, or their existence even become known; above all,
before the very book which contained his authentic sayings had been
translated with anything approaching to exactness or understanding, or
with a faint realisation of its numerous difficulties and pit-falls.

Such was still the deplorable state of things when Legge set to work
on his translation of the Confucian Canon, which when completed many
years later, with its exhaustive prolegomena, notes and appendices,
formed a truly wonderful monument of research and erudition. With
its publication, Chinese scholarship was carried at once to a higher
plane, and foreign study of Confucian doctrine began in earnest.
The heavy accumulations of ignorance and error were in large part
removed, and the figure of the great Teacher began at last to emerge
from the "obliterating sands of time." His sayings were no longer read
as interesting but desultory fragments of conversation, but studied
in relation to the events of his life. From various Chinese sources,
the chief of which were the Analects themselves and Ssŭ-ma Ch‘ien's
biography, Legge managed to compile a good and coherent account of
the sage's life, work and wanderings, which was an enormous advance
on anything that had been done before, and is not likely, even in the
future, to undergo any considerable addition or amendment. There are
many minor points which may be disputed, and many long blanks which
may never be filled up, but taken as a whole, the chronology and the
leading events of the life of Confucius must now be considered as
finally settled.

If Legge is on firm ground where hard facts are concerned, it is far
otherwise when he comes to draw inferences from these facts, to sum up
the salient principles of Confucian ethics, and to pass judgment on the
character of Confucius himself. His pronouncements on these points,
too hastily accepted as final, need to be carefully re-examined and,
as I shall hope to show, largely modified if not totally reversed. His
opinion, of course, was based chiefly on his own interpretation of the
more important sayings in the Analects, in translating which he had
the oral help of native scholars, besides the benefit of voluminous
standard commentaries. Thus equipped for his task, it cannot but appear
strange that he, admittedly a great sinologue, should have gone so
far astray as to miss the very core and essence of the doctrines to
the elucidation of which he devoted most of his life. The explanation
may lie in the fact that he was a Christian missionary in the first
place, and only secondly a scientific student; he had come to teach
and convert the heathen, not to be taught or converted by them. This
preconceived idea acted as a drag on the free use of his understanding,
and prevented him from entering whole-heartedly into his subject. We
are told that the Master himself had "no foregone conclusions," but
Legge's whole attitude to Confucianism bespoke one comprehensive and
fatal foregone conclusion--the conviction that it must at every point
prove inferior to Christianity. A certain inelasticity of mind showed
itself also in the way in which he approached the work of translation.
He was too apt to look upon a Chinese word as something rigid and
unchanging in its content, which might be uniformly rendered by a
single English equivalent. Delicate shades of meaning he too often
ruthlessly ignored. Now there is a certain number of Chinese terms
which mirror Chinese ideas, but have really no absolute equivalent
in English at all, and must therefore be translated with the aid of
circumlocution, and in such a way as to suit the context and the
general spirit of the passage. It is in such terms, unfortunately,
that the very essence and inner significance of the Confucian teaching
are contained. Obviously, if proper equivalents are not given, the
whole sense of the passages in which they occur will be lost or
violently distorted. Worse still, the judgments laboriously built up
on such rotten foundations will be hopelessly vitiated. Here, indeed,
we have an object-lesson of the importance, clearly recognised by
Confucius himself, of "defining terms" and making "words harmonise
with things." Indispensable as such a process is for any investigation
in which language plays a part, it is doubly so when words have to be
transplanted, as it were, from their native soil to one differing from
it in almost every conceivable quality. Such an operation can only be
successful if carried out with the utmost delicacy and care, and no
amount of erudition can supply the want of that instinctive feeling
for the right word which is the translator's choicest gift. The scope
of the present work forbids my entering into details, but some broad
examples of failure in this respect will be noted later on.

Of the life of Confucius only the barest sketch can be given here,
but stress may be laid on one or two points which it is important to
bear in mind. Confucius was born at a time when the feudal system,
established several centuries earlier by the founder of the Chou
dynasty, was showing unmistakable signs of disruption and decay. It
is almost certain that China had been feudally governed from the very
earliest times, but Wu Wang placed the whole system on a seemingly
firmer basis than ever. He divided his realm into a large number of
vassal states, which he bestowed upon his own kith and kin who had
helped him to the throne. Thus the Empire really came to resemble the
huge united family which Chinese political theorists declare it to be,
and for a short time all seems to have worked smoothly. But as the
bonds of kinship grew looser, the central government gradually lost
all effective control over its unruly children, and the various states
were soon embroiled in perpetual feuds and struggles among themselves,
besides being usually at loggerheads with the parent dynasty. The state
of things that ensued may be likened (though on a far larger scale) to
several Wars of the Roses going on at the same time, or better still,
to the turbulence of the later days of the Holy Roman Empire, when the
fealty of its members had become merely nominal. Matters were further
complicated in many of the states by the upgrowth of large and powerful
families which often attempted either by insidious methods or by open
violence to wrest the supreme authority into their own hands. Thus in
Lu, the comparatively small state to which Confucius belonged, there
were three such families, the Chi, the Mêng, and the Shu; the heads of
these clans, of whom we hear a good deal in the Analects, had already,
by the time of Confucius, reduced their lawful prince (or duke, as
he is generally called) to a condition of virtual dependency. On the
other hand, they themselves were sometimes threatened by the lawless
behaviour of their own officers, such as the ambitious chariot-driver,
Yang Huo,[1] who thought nothing of seizing towns or even the person
of his own chief, in order to hold him to ransom. Thus, though the
period of the "Warring States" is not usually reckoned as beginning
until after the death of Confucius, the date is a purely arbitrary one,
inasmuch as his whole life long disturbances were rife and military
operations well-nigh incessant throughout the length and breadth of
China. In the midst of the prevailing disorder, Confucius comported
himself with an admirable mixture of dignity, tact and outspoken
courage. Wisely opposing the dangerous tendency to decentralisation,
and upholding the supreme authority of the Emperor as against his too
powerful vassals, he heartily disapproved of the illegal usurpations
of the dukes, the great families and the soldiers of fortune that
preyed one upon the other, and did not shrink on occasion from
expressing his disgust in unequivocal terms. But knowing the futility
of protests unbacked by force, he kept himself aloof for the most
part, and devoted himself to a long course of study and teaching,
gathering, it is said, as many as three thousand disciples around him.
This is a palpable exaggeration, but there can be no doubt that he had
become a marked man and gained great fame as a moralist and teacher
many years before he actually took office. In 501 B.C., at the age of
fifty, he at last made his entry on the political stage by accepting
the governorship of a small town in Lu. Here he is said to have been
eminently successful in the work of reform, and he rapidly rose to be
the most trusted adviser of Duke Ting, who on one occasion at least
owed his life to the courage and address of his minister. But it was
not long ere the weak and fickle character of the ruler, carefully
manipulated by rivals to Confucius, brought about a catastrophe. The
neighbouring state of Ch‘i, jealous of the new prosperity of Lu under
the régime of the sage, cunningly sent as a gift to the prince a
band of beautiful women, trained in song and dance, and a number of
magnificent horses, in order to distract his mind from the serious
cares of state. The plotters had evidently taken the measure of their
victim, for the artifice succeeded, and Confucius felt compelled to
resign. Then began the weary years of wandering from state to state, in
which we cannot follow him here, except to note a sagacious prophecy
uttered by a friendly official on the frontier of Wei. Coming out from
an interview with Confucius, he comforted the woebegone disciples by
telling them that their Master's divine mission was now only just
beginning.[2] It may, indeed, be that the ensuing period of homeless
exile, hardships and danger, did more to spread the fame of the great
reformer than either the few brilliant years of office or those spent
as a teacher in the comparative seclusion of Lu. For one thing, it
could not but inspire and fortify his followers to observe that the
lofty principles which a sudden accession to power had failed to
corrupt, were equally capable of standing the test of adversity. His
serene and courageous bearing in many a strange and perilous situation
proved that the conception of a "higher type of man" was for him no
empty ideal, but the worthy object of practical endeavour. It is sad,
however, to reflect that the best years of his life had passed before
the call came which resulted in his return. Had it not been so long
delayed, he would doubtless have thrown himself once more into the
arena of public affairs, and begun rebuilding the fabric of good
government which had been so rudely shattered thirteen years before.
His patience would have been equal to the task; but he was now an old
man, worn out by years of travel, privation and anxiety, at a time of
life when the physical frame begins to demand a certain measure of
quiet and repose. Hence, though he may be said to have returned to his
native state with flying colours, he took no further active part in its
administration, but devoted the rest of his life to literary labours
which have added materially to his fame. Such were the collecting
and editing of certain old national ballads known to us as the Odes,
and the penning of the Spring and Autumn Annals of Lu, which may be
regarded as the first real record of authentic facts, as opposed to the
mere string of speeches and eulogies which we find in the miscalled
Book of History.

To this closing period, too, are to be referred most of the sayings
given in the present volume. These, together with the invaluable
biography by Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien, which is largely built upon them, form the
only really reliable source of information about Confucius and his
doctrines. The Chinese title _Lun Yü_ may be rendered "Conversations"
or "Discussions," but neither is a very apt description of the work,
which contains very little discussion in the ordinary sense. It
consists in fact almost wholly of detached _obiter dicta_, or replies
to questions put by various disciples on subjects chiefly moral or
personal. These sayings were once supposed to have been collected and
committed to writing by the immediate disciples of Confucius, but Legge
has shown sufficient reason to believe that they were transmitted
orally at first, and did not take the form in which we have them
until at least two generations after the Master's death. Nor must it
be imagined that they represent the _ipsissima verba_ of Confucius.
No man could have made offhand remarks in such a crisp, concise and
epigrammatic style. A translation, in which brevity has again and again
to be sacrificed to smoothness and lucidity, hardly allows the European
reader to form any idea of the glittering compactness of these sayings
in the original. So far from having been uttered impromptu, they
appear to have been repeatedly ground and polished, and shorn of every
redundancy, until they shone like diamonds fresh from the hands of the
cutter. At the same time, as expressing the essence of what the Master
thought and the substance of what he said, it is with good reason that
they are to be found inscribed on hundreds of thousands of scrolls
and tablets in every corner of the Empire. These gems, however, are
unsorted. As in most Chinese philosophical works, there is very little
attempt at orderly arrangement; even such a rough classification as
will be found in this volume is absent. This is not necessarily to be
regarded as a defect: jewels jumbled in a heap often have a charm which
they lack when strung symmetrically into a necklace. The only danger
is that unwary readers, looking in vain for a beginning, a middle
and an end, may jump to the conclusion that Confucius himself was
merely a master of casual apophthegms; they may very easily miss the
connecting principles which serve to bind the Confucian teachings into
one rounded system. Even the disciples seem to have been in danger of
overlooking the whole in their admiration of the parts. It needed the
penetration of Tsêng Tzŭ to tell them that the Master's Way was, after
all, simple in its diversity, and might be summed up in two words: duty
to oneself and charity to one's neighbour. Unhappily, owing to the
misinterpretation of these important words, the beautiful simplicity of
the Confucian doctrine has long passed unrecognised.

For what has been, and is perhaps even now, the prevailing conception
of Confucius in the West? Does not the name conjure up in most minds
the figure of a highly starched philosopher, dry, formal, pedantic,
almost inhuman in the unimpeachable correctness of his personal
conduct, rigid and precise in his notions of ceremonial, admirable
no doubt in his sentiments, but always more a man of words than of
deeds? He has been constantly accused of laying undue weight on things
external, of undervaluing natural impulses of the heart. "Propriety,"
says Legge, "was a great stumbling-block in the way of Confucius. His
morality was the result of the balancings of his intellect, fettered by
the decisions of men of old, and not the gushings of a loving heart,
responsive to the promptings of Heaven, and in sympathy with erring and
feeble humanity." It is high time that an effective protest was made
against such an amazing piece of misrepresentation. With bitter truth
we may retort that "propriety"--that is, the Chinese word _li_ which
has been cruelly saddled with this absurd rendering--has indeed been
a stumbling-block, but a stumbling-block not so much to Confucius as
to Dr. Legge himself. The whole tenor of the Master's teaching cries
aloud against such wilful and outrageous distortion. Any one who reads
the sayings carefully will soon discover that this accusation is not
only libellous but grotesque in its remoteness from the truth. If there
is one thing more than another which distinguishes Confucius from the
men of his day, it is the supreme importance which he attached to
_jên_, the feeling in the heart, as the source of all right conduct,
the stress which he laid on the internal as opposed to the external,
and even on motives rather than outward acts, except in so far as
these might be taken as an index to character. Over and over again
he gave proof of the highest and noblest moral courage in ignoring
the narrow rules of conventional morality and etiquette when these
conflicted with good feeling and common sense, and setting up in their
stead the grand rule of conscience which, by asserting the right of
each individual to judge such matters for himself, pushed liberty to
a point which was quite beyond the comprehension of his age. So far
from being "fettered by the decisions of men of old," it was his hand
that valiantly essayed to strike the fetters of bigotry and prejudice
from the necks of his countrymen. But whilst declining to be bound by
the ideas and the standards of others, he was not blind to the danger
of liberty degenerating into license. The new fetters, therefore,
that he forged for mankind were those of an iron self-discipline and
self-control, unaccompanied, however, by anything in the shape of
bodily mortification, a practice which he knew to be at once more showy
and less troublesome than the discipline of the mind.

Another charge not infrequently heard is one of a certain repellent
coldness of temperament and stiffness of demeanour. The warrant for
such a statement is not so readily forthcoming, unless indeed it is
to be found in the stiff and repellent style which characterises some
translations of his sayings. In the Analects we are told the exact
opposite of this. The Master, we read there, was uniformly cheerful
in demeanour, and he evidently unbent to quite an unusual extent with
his disciples, considering the respect and deference universally shown
to age and learning in China. Is it at all conceivable that a man of
cold and unlovable temper should have attracted round him hundreds
of disciples, with many of whom he was on terms of most intimate
intercourse, meeting them not only in the lecture-room, as modern
professors meet their classes, but living with them, eating, drinking,
sleeping and conversing with them, until all their idiosyncrasies,
good or bad, were better known to him than to their own parents? Is it
explicable, except on the ground of deep personal affection, that he
should have been followed into exile by a faithful band of disciples,
not one of whom is known ever to have deserted or turned against him?
Is coldness to be predicated of the man who in his old age, for once
losing something of his habitual self-control, wept passionately for
the death of his dearly loved disciple Yen Hui, and would not be
comforted?

But it has been reserved for the latest English translator of the
Analects, the Rev. Mr. Jennings, to level some of the worst charges
at his head. To begin with, he approvingly quotes, as Legge's final
opinion on Confucius, words occurring in the earliest edition of the
Chinese Classics to the effect that he is "unable to regard him as a
great man," quite heedless of the fact that the following stands in
the edition of 1893 (two years before his own translation appeared):
"But I must now leave the sage. I hope I have not done him injustice;
the more I have studied his character and opinions, the more highly
have I come to regard him. _He was a very great man_, and his influence
has been on the whole a great benefit to the Chinese, while his
teachings suggest important lessons to ourselves who profess to belong
to the school of Christ." This summing-up, though certainly unexpected
in view of much that has gone before, does partly atone for the unjust
strictures which Dr. Legge felt it necessary to pass on Confucius
at an earlier period, though it may require many years entirely
to obliterate their effect. What I wish to emphasise at present,
however, is the unfairness of quoting an early and presumably crude
and ill-considered opinion in preference to the latest and maturest
judgment of an authority who at no time can be said to err On the side
of over-partiality for his subject.

But this is not all. For after pointing out, truly enough, that
Confucius cannot well be blamed for "giving no impulse to religion,"
inasmuch as he never pretended to make this his aim, Mr. Jennings goes
on to pick some holes on his own account, and incontinently falls
into exactly the same error that he had previously rebuked in Dr.
Legge. "In his _reserve_ about great and important matters, while
professing to teach men, he is perhaps most to blame, and in his
holding back what was best in the religion of the ancients." What these
great and important matters were, is not made very clear, but if, as
seems probable, the phrase is simply another way of referring to "the
religion of the ancients," it can only be repeated that religion was
a subject which he disliked to discuss and certainly did not profess
to teach, as is plainly indicated in the Analects. And the reason why
he refrained from descanting on such matters was that, knowing nothing
of them himself, he felt that he would have been guilty of hypocrisy
and fraud had he made a show of instructing others therein. Would that
a like candour distinguished some of our own professed teachers of
religion!

The last accusation against Confucius is the most reckless of all.
"There is," according to Mr. Jennings, "a certain _selfishness_ in
his teaching, which had the effect of making those who came under his
influence soon feel themselves great and self-satisfied." As only the
feeblest of evidence is produced to support this wild statement, it
will not be necessary to consider it at any length, though we may ask
in passing whether Yen Hui, the disciple who profited most from his
Master's teaching and best exemplified it, is depicted as exhibiting
this alleged self-satisfaction in a peculiarly noticeable degree. For
an answer to this question the reader may be referred to Tsêng Tzŭ's
remarks on p. 128.

The truth is, though missionaries and other zealots have long attempted
to obscure the fact, that the moral teaching of Confucius is absolutely
the purest and least open to the charge of selfishness of any in
the world. Its principles are neither utilitarian on the one hand
nor religious on the other, that is to say, it is not based on the
expectation of profit or happiness to be gained either in this world or
in the next (though Confucius doubtless believed that well-being would
as a general rule accompany virtuous conduct). "Virtue for virtue's
sake" is the maxim which, if not enunciated by him in so many words,
was evidently the corner-stone of his ethics and the mainspring of
his own career. Not that he would have quite understood the modern
formula, or that the idea of virtue being practised for anything but
its own sake would ever have occurred to his mind. Virtue resting on
anything but its own basis would not have seemed to him virtue in the
true sense at all, but simply another name for prudence, foresight,
or cunning. Yet material advantage, disguised as much as you will,
but still material advantage in one form or another, is what impels
most men to espouse any particular form of religion. Hence it is
nothing less than a standing miracle that Confucianism, which makes
no promise of blessings to be enjoyed in this life or the next, should
have succeeded without the adjunct of other supernatural elements than
that of ancestor-worship. Even this was accepted by Confucius as a
harmless prevailing custom rather than enjoined by him as an essential
part of his doctrine. Unlike Christianity and Mahometanism, the Way
preached by the Chinese sage knows neither the sanction of punishment
nor the stimulus of reward in an after-life. Even Buddhism holds out
the hope of Nirvana to the pure of heart, and preaches the long torment
of successive rebirths to those who fall short of perfect goodness.
No great religion is devoid of elevated precepts, or has ever failed
to mould numbers of beautiful characters to attest the presence of
something good and great within it. But in every case the element
of supernaturalism, which is of course inseparable from a religion
properly so called, introduces a new motive for men's actions and makes
it no longer possible for virtue to be followed purely for its own
sake, without thought of a hereafter. Thus, if we assent to Comte's
famous law of the Three States, Confucianism really represents a more
advanced stage of civilisation than biblical Christianity. Indeed, as
Mr. Carey Hall has recently pointed out in an article on the subject,
Confucius may be regarded as the true fore-runner runner of Comte in
his positivist mode of thought.

His whole system is based on nothing more nor less than the knowledge
of human nature. The instincts of man are social and therefore
fundamentally good, while egoism is at bottom an artificial product and
evil. Hence the insistence on altruism which we find in the sayings
of Confucius, the injunction to "act socially," to live for others in
living for oneself. The most important word in the Confucian vocabulary
is _jên_, which in the following extracts is translated "virtue" only
for want of a better term. Our English word "virtue" has so many
different shades of meaning and is withal so vague, that in using it,
the idea of altruism is often hardly present to our mind. But in _jên_
the implication of "social good" emerges much more distinctly. Its
connotation has no doubt extended gradually until it seems often to be
rather a compendium of all goodness than any one virtue in particular.
But this development only means that the word is following in the track
of the thing itself. For let a man be but thoroughly imbued with the
altruistic spirit, and he may be termed "good" without qualification,
since all other virtues tend to flow from unselfishness.

The Confucian theory of man's social obligations rests first and
foremost on the fact that he forms part of a great social machine--an
aggregation of units, each of which is called a family. The family, in
Chinese eyes, is a microcosm of the Empire, or rather, since the family
is chronologically prior to the State, it is the pattern on which the
greater organism has moulded itself. The feudal system under which
Confucius lived naturally accentuated the likeness. The Emperor had,
in theory at least, paternal authority over his feudal princes, who
in turn, standing to one another in the relation of elder and younger
brothers, were regarded as the fathers of their respective peoples.
Now, the way to ensure that a machine as a whole may run smoothly and
well, is to see that each part shall fulfil its own function in proper
subordination to the rest. How is this result achieved in the family?
Obviously through the controlling will of the father, who has supreme
authority over all the other members. But this authority is not by any
means the mere brute force of a tyrant. It is based firstly on the
natural order of things, whereby the father is clearly intended to be
the protector of his children; and secondly, as a consequence of this,
on the love and respect which will normally spring up in the minds of
the children for their protector. Such is the genesis of filial piety,
which plays so large a part in Chinese ethics. It is quite untrue,
however, to say with Mr. Jennings, that no corresponding parental
duties are recognised by Confucius, as the following anecdote may
serve to show. During the sage's short period of office as Minister
of Crime, a father came to him bringing some serious charge against
his son. Confucius kept them both in prison for three months, without
making any difference in favour of the father, and then let them go.
The Minister Chi Huan remonstrated with him for this, and reminded him
of his saying, that filial duty was the first thing to be insisted on.
"What hinders you now from putting this unfilial son to death as an
example to all the people?" Confucius' reply was, that the father had
never taught his son to be filial, and that therefore the guilt really
rested with him.

For the harmonious working of a family, then, we need respect for
authority on one side, and self-sacrifice on the other. The father's
object must be entirely altruistic--the good of his family. Then
only will he be doing his duty as a father, just as a son is not
doing his duty unless he shows honour and obedience to his parents.
The all-important element which makes possible the working of the
family machine, the lubricating oil that eases the bearings, is not
merely filial piety without any corresponding feeling on the part
of the parent, but rather a certain subtle principle of harmony and
self-control permeating every member of the family group, which
restrains egoistic propensities and promotes the common good. This is
the Chinese term _li_, which in this sense of a quality of the soul
is hardly translatable by any single word or combination of words,
but is certainly not to be rendered by any such atrocious phrase as
"the rules of propriety."[3] Now Confucius saw that the same general
principles which govern the family are applicable also to that greatest
of families, the State. Here we have the Emperor, in whose hands the
supreme authority must lie, exercising functions exactly analogous to
those of the father of a family. But if his is the supreme authority,
his must also be the supreme responsibility. Veneration and respect
are his due, but only because he identifies himself with the good of
the people. In public affairs, just as in the home, there must be
that same principle of harmony to regulate the relations of governor
and governed, otherwise the machine will not work. There must be _li_
here as well, but as it is not possible for the sovereign to maintain
with his subjects the personal intimacy which unites a father and
his sons, it is necessary to fall back upon symbols, and to give
outward and visible expression to the inward sentiments of loyalty and
respect which should animate the breast of each member of the nation.
These symbols are the rites and ceremonies of which Confucius was
considered such a past-master. He saw indeed their full importance
as symbols, but he also knew that, divorced from the inward feeling,
they were meaningless and without value. In this way it is easy to see
how the word _li_, as a human attribute, acquired its various shades
of meaning, from the harmony in the soul which prompts action in
accordance with true natural instincts, down to ordinary politeness and
good manners--also an indispensable lubricant in the lesser dealings of
life between man and man.

It was in the family again that Confucius found a natural force at work
which he thought might be utilised as an immense incentive to virtue.
This was the universal human proneness to imitation. Knowing that
personal example is the most effective way in which a father can teach
his sons what is right, he unhesitatingly attributed the same powerful
influence to the personal conduct of the sovereign, and went so far as
to declare that if the ruler was personally upright, his subjects would
do their duty unbidden; if he was not upright, they would not obey,
whatever his bidding. "The virtue of the prince," he said, "is like
unto wind; that of the people, like unto grass. For it is the nature of
grass to bend when the wind blows upon it." It must be admitted that
Confucius has in this particular somewhat overshot the mark and formed
too sanguine an estimate of the force of example. It would be unfair,
however, to base our argument on the analogy of modern democratic
states, where the controlling power is split up into several branches,
and the conspicuousness of the monarch is much diminished. Not that
even the constitutional sovereign of to-day may not wield a very
decided influence in morals. But this influence was much greater while
the king retained full despotic power, and greatest of all in feudal
times, when the successive gradations of rank and the nice arrangement
of a hierarchy of officials, each accountable to the one above him,
were specially designed to convey and filter it among all classes of
the community. Had Confucius been able to find a prince who would have
acted consistently on Confucian principles, the results might have been
almost as grand as he anticipated. The experiment was tried, we must
remember, on a small scale, when Confucius himself became governor of
a town in the State of Lu. And although one must be chary of accepting
all the extravagant tales which gathered round his brief official
career, it seems indisputable that this political theory, unlike many
others, proved reasonably successful in actual practice.

Of course the weak point is that every king cannot be a Confucius,
and unless some practical method can be devised of electing rulers
on the ground of merit alone, it is impossible to ensure that their
conduct shall serve as a pattern to their people. "Rotten wood cannot
be carved," the Master himself once remarked, and he found bitter
confirmation of his saying in Duke Ting of Lu. Nothing could ever have
been made out of such utterly weak and worthless material. And he
afterwards spent thirteen years of his life in the fruitless search
for a sovereign who would correspond even faintly to his ideal. Such
unswerving devotion to the abstract cause of right and justice and
good government cannot but puzzle those who have been taught to regard
Confucius as the very type and embodiment of materialistic wisdom and
practical utilitarianism. But in truth, strange though it may sound,
he was a great idealist who gained his hold on his countrymen by
virtue rather of his noble imaginings and lofty aspirations than of
any immediate results or tangible achievements. By the men of his own
day he was more often than not considered a charlatan and an impostor.
It is remarkable that even the two Taoist recluses and the eccentric
Chieh Yü (p. 122) should have condemned him as a visionary and a
"crank." Similar was the impression he made on the gate-keeper who
asked a disciple if his Master was the man "who was always trying to
do what he knew to be impossible." This playful sarcasm is really the
best commentary on his career, and one that pays him unintentionally
the greatest honour. Though often disheartened by the long and bitter
struggle against adverse circumstance and the powers of evil, he never
gave over in disgust. Therein lay his greatness. "Wer immer strebend
sich bemüht, Den können wir erlösen," sing the angels in _Faust_, and
no man ever toiled for the good of his fellow-creatures with greater
perseverance or with less apparent prospect of success. In this, the
truest sense, he could say that his whole life had been a prayer (p.
87). He succeeded in that he seemed to fail. He never achieved the
Utopian object of reforming all mankind by means of a wise and good
sovereign. On the contrary, after his death confusion grew worse
confounded, and the din of arms rose to a pitch from which it did not
subside until after the momentous revolution which swept away the
Chou dynasty and established a new order of things in China. In a
radically individualistic and liberty-loving country like China, the
feudal system was bound sooner or later to perish, even as it perished
in a later day among ourselves. But throughout the anarchy of that
terrible period, the light kindled by Confucius burned steadily and
prepared men's minds for better things. His ideal of government was
not forgotten, his sayings were treasured like gold in the minds of
the people. Above all, his own example shone like a glorious beacon,
darting its rays through the night of misery and oppression and
civil strife which in his lifetime he had striven so earnestly to
remove. And so it came about that his belief in the political value of
personal goodness was in some sort justified after all; for the great
and inspiriting pattern which he sought in vain among the princes of
his time was to be afforded in the end by no other than himself--the
"throneless king," who is for ever enshrined in the hearts of his
countrymen. It is absurd, then, to speak of his life as a failure.
Measured by results--the almost incalculably great and far-reaching
consequences which followed tardily but irresistibly after he was
gone--his life was one of the most successful ever lived by man. Three
others, and only three, are comparable to it in world-wide influence:
Gautama's self-sacrificing sojourn among men, the stormy career of
the Arab Prophet, and the "sinless years" which found their close on
Golgotha.



[1] See p. 121.

[2] See p. 118.

[3] See note on p. 60.




LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL DISCIPLES


The proper names occurring in the Analects present some difficulty to
the European reader, as one and the same person is often referred to
in several different ways--by his surname and personal name, by his
"style," or by a combination of the two, while among intimates the
personal name only is employed. Mr. Ku has on this account eliminated
almost all proper names from his translation, using a periphrasis
instead. But by this method one misses much of the characterisation
which is such an attractive feature of the Analects. I have judged
it better to give the names of the principal disciples exactly as
they appear in the Chinese, and to provide a table of their various
appellations for easy reference. An asterisk denotes the name most
frequently used.

   Surname and           Style.        Mixed Appellation.
  Personal Name.

    Yen Hui            Tzŭ Yüan         Yen Yüan.*
    Min Sun  }         Tzŭ Ch‘ien       Min Tzŭ-ch‘ien,*
    (Min Tzŭ)}
    Jan Kêng           Po Niu*          Jan Po-niu.
    Jan Yung           Chung Kung*
    Jan Ch‘iu          Tzŭ Yu           Jan Yu.*
    Chung Yu           Tzŭ Lu*}
                       Chi Lu }
    Tsai Yü            Tzŭ Wo           Tsai Wo.*
    Tuan-mu Tz‘ŭ       Tzŭ Kung*
    Yen Yen            Tzŭ Yŭ*          Yen Yu.
    Pu Shang           Tzŭ Hsia*
    Chuan-sun Shih     Tzŭ Chang*
    Tsêng Shên  }      Tzŭ Yŭ
    (Tsêng Tzŭ*)}
    Fan Hsü            Tzŭ Ch‘ih        Fan Ch‘ih.*
    Ssŭ-ma Kêng        Tzŭ Niu          Ssŭ-ma Niu.*
    Kung-hsi Ch‘ih     Tzŭ Hua          Kung-hsi Hua.*
    Yu Jo    }         Tzŭ Jo
    (Yu Tzŭ*)}




GOVERNMENT AND PUBLIC AFFAIRS


The Master said: In ruling a country of a thousand chariots there
should be scrupulous attention to business, honesty, economy, charity,
and employment of the people at the proper season.

A virtuous ruler is like the Pole-star, which keeps its place, while
all the other stars do homage to it.

People despotically governed and kept in order by punishments may avoid
infraction of the law, but they will lose their moral sense. People
virtuously governed and kept in order by the inner law of self-control
will retain their moral sense, and moreover become good.

Duke Ai[1] asked, saying: What must I do that my people may be
contented?--Confucius replied: Promote the upright and dismiss all
evil-doers, and the people will be contented. Promote the
evil-doers and dismiss the upright, and the people will be discontented.

Chi K‘ang Tzu[2] asked by what means he might cause his people to be
respectful and loyal, and encourage them in the path of virtue. The
Master replied: Conduct yourself towards them with dignity, and you
will earn their respect; be a good son and a kind prince, and you will
find them loyal; promote the deserving and instruct those who fall
short, and they will be encouraged to follow the path of virtue.

Some one, addressing Confucius, said: Why, Sir, do you take no part in
the government?--The Master replied: What does the Book of History say
about filial piety?--Do your duty as a son and as a brother, and these
qualities will make themselves felt in the government. This, then,
really amounts to taking part in the government. Holding office need
not be considered essential.

The people can be made to follow a certain path, but they cannot be
made to know the reason why.

Tzu Kung asked for a definition of good government. The Master replied:
It consists in providing enough food to eat, in keeping enough
soldiers to guard the State, and in winning the confidence of the
people.--And if one of these three things had to be sacrificed, which
should go first?--The Master replied: Sacrifice the soldiers.--And if
of the two remaining things one had to be sacrificed, which should
it be?--The Master said: Let it be the food. From the beginning, men
have always had to die. But without the confidence of the people no
government can stand at all.

Ching, Duke of the Ch‘i State, questioned Confucius on the art of
government. Confucius replied: Let the sovereign do his duty as a
sovereign, the subject his duty as a subject, the father his duty as a
father, and the son his duty as a son.--A good answer! said the Duke;
for unless sovereign and subject, father and son do their respective
duties, however much grain there may be in the land, I could obtain
none to eat.

Tzu Chang put a question about the art of governing. The Master said:
Devote yourself patiently to the theory, and conscientiously to the
practice, of government.

Chi K‘ang Tzŭ asked Confucius for advice on the subject of government.
Confucius replied: To govern is to keep straight.[3] If you, Sir, lead
the people straight, which of your subjects will venture to fall out of
line?

Chi K‘ang Tzŭ, being vexed by robbers, asked Confucius for his advice.
Confucius replied, saying: If you, sir, can check your own cupidity,
there will be no stealing, even though rewards should be offered for
theft.

Chi K‘ang Tzŭ questioned Confucius on a point of government, saying:
Ought not I to cut off the lawless in order to establish law and order?
What do you think?--Confucius replied: Sir, what need is there of the
death penalty in your system of government? If you showed a sincere
desire to be good, your people would likewise be good. The virtue of
the prince is like unto wind; that of the people, like unto grass. For
it is the nature of grass to bend when the wind blows upon it.

Tzŭ Lu asked for a hint on the art of governing. The Master replied:
Take the lead and set the example of diligent toil.--Asked for a
further hint, he said: Be patient and untiring.

Chung Kung, being Prime Minister to the head of the Chi clan, asked for
advice on governing. The Master said: Make a point of employing your
subordinates, overlook trifling mistakes, raise to office worthy and
able men.--But, said Chung Kung, how am I to discover these worthy men
and single them out for promotion?--Promote those that you know, was
the reply. As for those that you do not know, will not their claims be
brought before you by others?

Tzŭ Lu said: The Prince of Wei is waiting, Sir, for you to take up
the reins of government. Pray what is the first reform you would
introduce?--The Master replied: I would begin by defining terms and
making them exact.[4]--Oh, indeed! exclaimed Tzu Lu. But how can
you possibly put tilings straight by such a circuitous route?--The
Master said: How unmannerly you are, Yu! In matters which he does not
understand, the wise man will always reserve his judgment. If terms are
not correctly defined, words will not harmonise with things. If words
do not harmonise with things, public business will remain undone. If
public business remains undone, order and harmony will not flourish.
If order and harmony do not flourish, law and justice will not attain
their ends. If law and justice do not attain their ends, the people
will be unable to move hand or foot. The wise man, therefore, frames
his definitions to regulate his speech, and his speech to regulate his
actions. He is never reckless in his choice of words.

Fan Ch‘ih asked to be taught the art of husbandry. The Master said:
Any farmer can teach you that better than I can. He then asked to be
taught gardening. The Master said: Any gardener will teach you that
better than I can. Fan Ch‘ih having gone out, the Master said: What a
small-minded man is Fan Hsü! If the ruler is addicted to modesty and
self-control, his people will not permit themselves to be irreverent.
If the ruler loves justice and duty, his people will not venture to be
unruly. If the ruler loves sincerity and good faith, the people will
not be slow to respond. Such being his qualities, the people will flock
to him from all quarters, with their babes strapped to their backs.
What need for him to know the art of husbandry?[5]

The Master said: If the ruler is personally upright, his subjects will
do their duty unbidden; if he is not personally upright, they will not
obey, whatever his bidding.

When the Master went to Wei, Jan Yu drove his carriage. The Master
said: What an abundant population!--Jan Yu said: Now that the people
are so abundant, what is the next thing to be done?--Enrich them, said
Confucius.--And having enriched them, what then?--Teach them, was the
reply.

The Master said: If a country had none but good rulers for a hundred
years, crime might be stamped out and the death-penalty abolished. How
true this saying is!

If a kingly sovereign were to appear, by the end of one generation
natural goodness would prevail.

If a man can reform his own heart, what should hinder him from taking
part in government? But if he cannot reform his own heart, what has he
to do with reforming others?

Duke Ting[6] asked if there was a single sentence by which a country
might be made to flourish. Confucius answered: No single sentence can
be expected to have such a virtue as this. But there is the common
saying: "To be a good king is difficult; to be a good minister is not
easy." He who realises the difficulty of being a good king--has he not
almost succeeded in making his country prosper by a single sentence?
--Is there a single sentence, continued the Duke, by which a country
can be ruined?--Confucius answered: No such power can reside in any
single sentence. But there is a saying: "I have no joy in kingly rule,
I rejoice only because none can oppose my will." Now if the king's will
is good, and none opposes it, all may be well; but if it is not good,
and yet none opposes it, has he not almost succeeded in ruining his
country be a single sentence?

The Duke of Shê[7] asked about the conditions of good government. The
Master said: Government is good when it makes happy those who live
under it and attracts those who live far away.

Tzü Hsia, when governor of Chü-fu,[8] asked for advice on government.
The Master said: Do not try to do things in a hurry. Do not be intent
on small gains. What is done quickly is not done thoroughly; and if
small gains are considered, great things remain unaccomplished.

Tzŭ Lu asked about the service due to a prince. The Master said: Use no
deceit, but if you oppose him, oppose him openly.

The Master said: If the ruler cherishes the principle of self-control,
the people will be docile to his commands.[9]

Shun[10] was one who did nothing, yet governed well. For what, in
effect, did he do? Religiously self-observant, he sat gravely on his
throne, and that is all.[11]

In serving your prince, make the actual service your first care, and
only put the emolument second.

The head of the Chi clan was on the point of attacking the small
principality of Chuan-yü. Jan Yu and Chi Lu came to see Confucius,
and said: Our lord is going to have trouble with Chuan-yü.--Confucius
said: Is it not you, Ch‘iu, who are to blame in this? The ancient
kings long ago made Chuan-yü the centre of the worship of the Eastern
Mêng mountain, and moreover it is situated within the territory of
Lu. Its ruler has independent priestly functions.[12] What right have
you to attack it?--Jan Yu replied: It is the will of our master;
we, his ministers, have neither of us any wish to act thus.--Ch‘iu,
said Confucius, Chou Jên[13] had a saying: "If you are capable of
displaying energy, hold office; if not, resign." Of what use is that
minister likely to be, who does not sustain his master in the presence
of danger, or support him when about to fall? Besides, what you say
is wrong. If a tiger or a wild buffalo escapes from its cage, if a
tortoise-shell or jade ornament is smashed in its casket, whose fault
is it, pray?--Jan Yu replied: But Chuan-yü is strongly fortified, and
close to our own town of Pi. If we do not take it now, it will cause
trouble to our descendants in a later generation.--Confucius rejoined:
Ch‘iu, an honest man hates your hypocrite who will not openly avow his
greed, but tries instead to excuse it. I have heard that the ruler of
a state or of a clan is troubled not by the smallness of its numbers
but by the absence of even-handed justice; not by poverty but by the
presence of discontent; for where there is justice there will be no
poverty; where there is harmony there will be no lack in numbers;
where there is content there will be no revolution. This being the
case then, if outlying communities resist your authority, cultivate
the arts of refinement and goodness in order to attract them; and
when you have attracted them, make them happy and contented. Now you
two, Yu and Ch‘iu, are aiding and abetting your master; here is an
outlying community which resists your authority, and you are unable
to attract it. Partition and collapse are imminent in your own State,
and you are unable to preserve it intact. And yet you are planning
military aggression within the borders of your country! Verily I fear
that Chi-sun's [14]troubles will come, not from Chuan-yü, but from the
interior of his own palace.

When the Master came to Wu-ch‘êng, he heard the sound of singing and
stringed instruments. He was pleased, but said with a smile: Is it
necessary to take a pole-axe to kill a fowl?--Tzŭ Yu replied: Some
time ago, Sir, I heard you say that the study of true principles made
the ruler beneficent and men of the lower class easy to govern.--My
children, said the Master, Yen is right. What I said was only in
jest.[15]

Tzŭ Chang asked Confucius, saying: What are the essentials of good
government?--The Master said: Esteem the five excellent, and banish the
four evil things; then you will become fit to govern.--Tzŭ Chang asked:
What are the five excellent things?--The Master replied: The wise and
good ruler is benevolent without expending treasure; he lays burdens
on the people without causing them to grumble; he has desires without
being covetous; he is serene without being proud; he is awe-inspiring
without being ferocious.--He is benevolent without expending treasure:
what does that mean?--The Master replied: He simply follows the course
which naturally brings benefit to the people.[16] Is he not thus
benevolent without expending treasure? In imposing burdens, he chooses
the right time and the right means, and nobody can grumble. His desire
is for goodness, and he achieves it; how should he be covetous? The
wise and good ruler never allows himself to be negligent, whether he is
dealing with many men or with few, with small matters or with great.
Is this not serenity without pride? He has his cap and robe properly
adjusted, and throws a noble dignity into his looks, so that his
gravity inspires onlookers with respect. Is he not thus awe-inspiring
without being ferocious?--Tzŭ Chang then asked: What are the four evil
things?--The Master said: Cruelty:--leaving the people in their native
ignorance, yet punishing their wrong-doing with death. Oppression:--
requiring the immediate completion of tasks imposed without previous
warning. Ruthlessness:--giving vague orders, and then insisting on
punctual fulfilment. Peddling husbandry:--stinginess in conferring the
proper rewards on deserving men.[17]



[1] _Ai_ was the honorary epithet of the Duke of Lu who was reigning
during the last years of Confucius' life.

[2] Chi K‘ang Tzu succeeded to the headship of the great Chi family in
491, when Chi Huan died, by whom he was advised to recall Confucius
from his long wanderings. The sage, however, did not return until eight
years later.

[3] The point of the original lies partly in the fact that the Chinese
words for "govern" and "straight" are similar in form and identical in
sound.

[4] The hidden meaning of this saying is made clear by the context
to be found in Ssŭ-ma Ch‘ien's biography of Confucius. The Prince of
Wei at this time was the young man mentioned on p. 128 as holding the
throne against his own father. By so doing he had in some sort inverted
the relationship which should have subsisted between them, and each was
in a false position, the father being deprived of his proper parental
dignity, and the son no longer "doing his duty as a son" (see p. 41).
Confucius then is administering a veiled rebuke to the young ruler, for
in saying that the first reform necessary is the correct definition
of names, he implies in effect that the terms "father" and "son,"
among others, should be made to resume their proper significance. An
alternative rendering of _chêng ming_ as "rectification of the written
character," though backed by the great authority of M. Chavannes, can
only be described as feeble and far-fetched, and has been ably confuted
by Herr Franke in the _T'oung Pao_ for July, 1906.

[5] Confucius is of course merely insisting on the principle of
division of labour, and not by any means depreciating the value of
husbandry or other useful arts. It is not the ruler's business to make
himself proficient in these, because the task of governing and setting
an example to the governed will claim all his attention. Compare
Plato's disapproval of πολυπραγμοσύνη, and Confucius' remarks on his
own skill in various arts (p. 88).

[6] The weak ruler of the Lu State (510-494 B.C.), who lost the
services of Confucius by his infatuation in accepting the insidious
gift of eighty beautiful singing-girls from the Ch‘i State. See
Introduction, p. 16.

[7] Shê was a district of the Ch‘u State, which Confucius visited in
488 B.C. The following anecdote, told by T‘an Kung, is a striking
illustration of the above saying. Travelling with his disciples,
the Master came across a woman weeping and wailing beside a grave,
and inquired the cause of her grief. "Alas!" she replied. "My
father-in-law was killed here by a tiger; after that, my husband; and
now my son has perished by the same death."--"But why, then, do you
not go elsewhere?"--"The government here is not harsh," answered the
woman.--"There!" cried the Master, turning to his disciples, "remember
that. Bad government is worse than a tiger."

[8] A small city in Lu.

[9] Legge translates: "When rulers love to observe the rules of
propriety (!), the people respond readily to the calls on them for
service." All the other translators seem likewise to have missed the
point, which is elsewhere insisted on by Confucius--that no man is fit
to govern others who cannot govern himself. On the meaning of _li_, see
Introduction, pp. 30 _seqq._, and note on p. 60.

[10] A legendary Emperor.

[11] This saying might have come straight from the mouth of a Taoist
philosopher. Nor is it the only place where Confucius seems to advocate
quietism. Cf. p. 108.

[12] Literally, "a minister of the altars to the spirits of the land
and grain"; i.e. a direct vassal of the Emperor, and responsible only
to him.

[13] An ancient historiographer, of whom very little is known.

[14] The head of the Chi clan mentioned above.

[15] Wu‘Chêng means "Martial city," so called from its impregnable
position. Tzŭ Yu, when appointed governor, had succeeded in weaning the
people from their warlike propensities, and in introducing the milder
arts of peace. This is what made the Master glad, though he could not
help being amused at the application of the loftiest principles to such
a tiny community. About ancient Chinese music we know unfortunately
next to nothing, but it seems to have played as important a part under
the Chou dynasty as in Plato's ideal State.

[16] That is to say, the ruler will always keep the welfare of his
people in view, but without indulging in indiscriminate largess. The
ever-increasing doles of money and corn with which the Roman Emperors
were obliged to buy the favour of the populace would thus have fallen
under the condemnation of Confucius.

[17] The "four evil things" really turn out to be reducible to two,
namely (1) Cruelty--covering the first three; and (2) Meanness.




INDIVIDUAL VIRTUE


The Master said: Is he not a princely man[1]--he who is never vexed
that others know him not?

True virtue[2] rarely goes with artful speech and insinuating looks.

At home, a young man should show the qualities of a son; abroad, those
of a younger brother. He should be circumspect but truthful. He should
have charity in his heart for all men, but associate only with the
virtuous. After thus regulating his conduct, his surplus energy should
be devoted to literary culture.

In the matter of food and lodging, the nobler type of man does not seek
mere repletion and comfort. He is earnest in his affairs and cautious
in his speech, and frequents virtuous company for his own improvement.
He may be called one truly bent on the study of virtue.[3]

Mêng I Tzŭ[4] asked for a definition of filial piety. The Master said:
It consists in there being no falling off.[5]--Fan Ch‘ih was driving
the Master's carriage some time after, when the latter told him,
saying: Mêng I Tzŭ asked me about filial piety, and I answered that it
consisted in there being no falling off.--Fan Ch'ih said: What did you
mean?--The Master replied: That parents should be served in the proper
spirit while living, buried with the proper rites after death, and
worshipped thereafter with the proper sacrifices.

Mêng Wu Po[6] asked for a definition of filial piety. The Master said:
There is filial piety when parents are spared all anxiety about their
children except when they happen to fall sick.[7]

Tzŭ Yu put a question on the subject of filial piety. The Master said:
The filial piety of to-day reduces itself to the mere question of
maintenance. Yet this is something in which even our dogs and horses
have a share.[8] Without the feeling of reverence, what is there to
distinguish the two cases?

Tzŭ Hsia also asked about filial piety. The Master said: It can hardly
be gauged from mere outward acts.[9] When there is work to be done,
to relieve one's elders of the toil; or when there is wine and food,
to cause them to partake thereof--is _this_ to be reckoned filial
piety?[10]

Tzŭ Kung inquired about the higher type of man. The Master replied: The
higher type of man is one who acts before he speaks, and professes only
what he practises.

The Master said: The higher type of man is catholic in his sympathy
and free from party bias; the lower type of man is biassed and
un-sympathetic.

A man without charity in his heart--what has he to do with ceremonies?
A man without charity in his heart--what has he to do with music?[11]

Lin Fang inquired as to the prime essential in ceremonial observances.
The Master said: Ah, that is a great question indeed! In all rites,
simplicity is better than extravagance; in mourning for the dead,
heartfelt sorrow is better than punctiliousness.

The Master said: The true gentleman is never contentious. If a spirit
of rivalry is anywhere unavoidable, it is at a shooting-match. Yet
even here he courteously salutes his opponents before taking up
his position, and again when, having lost, he retires to drink the
forfeit-cup. So that even when competing he remains a true gentleman.

It is the spirit of charity which makes a locality good to dwell in. He
who selects a neighbourhood without regard to this quality cannot be
considered wise.

Only he who has the spirit of goodness within him is really able either
to love or to hate.

The princely man never for a single instant quits the path of virtue;
in times of storm and stress he remains in it as fast as ever.

The nobler sort of man in his progress through the world has neither
narrow predilections nor obstinate antipathies. What he follows is the
line of duty.

The nobler sort of man is proficient in the knowledge of his duty; the
inferior man is proficient only in money-making.

In serving his father and mother, a son may use gentle remonstrance;
if he sees that they pay no heed, he should not desist, but merely
increase in deference; if his pains are thrown away, he must show no
resentment.

While one's parents are alive, one should not travel to a distance; if
one must travel, it should be in a fixed direction.[12]

The age of one's parents should always be kept in mind--on the one
hand, as a subject for rejoicing; on the other, as a cause for alarm.

The wise man will be slow to speak but quick to act.

Tzŭ Chang asked, saying: The Prime Minister Tzŭ Wên[13] held office
three times, but showed no joy; he lost it three times, but testified
no concern. When he ceased to be Prime Minister, he was careful to
explain the political situation to his successor. What is your opinion
of him?--

The Master said: He was loyal and conscientious.[14]--Had he not the
highest degree of moral virtue?--That I do not know; how can one judge
of his moral virtue?--Tzŭ Chang continued: When Ts‘ui Tzŭ[15] slew
the Prince of Ch‘i, Ch‘ên Wên Tzŭ, though the possessor of ten teams
of war-horses, forsook his wealth and turned his back on the country.
Having come to another state, he said: "Here they are as bad as our own
minister Ts‘ui Tzŭ," and departed. And he repeated this proceeding each
time that he came to a new state.[16] What is your opinion of him?--The
Master said: He was pure and incorruptible.--Had he not the highest
degree of virtue?--I cannot say; how is one to judge?

The Master said: When the solid outweighs the ornamental, we have
boorishness; when the ornamental outweighs the solid, we have
superficial smartness. Only from a proper blending of the two will the
higher type of man emerge. All men are born good. He who loses his
goodness and yet lives is lucky to escape.

Better than one who knows what is right is one who is fond of what is
right; and better than one who is fond of what is right is one who
delights in what is right.

Fan Ch‘ih asked in what wisdom consisted. The Master said: Make
righteousness in human affairs your aim, treat all supernatural beings
with respect, but keep aloof from them--then you may be called wise.
Asked about moral virtue, he replied: The virtuous man thinks of
the difficult thing[17] first, and makes material advantage only a
secondary consideration. This may be said to constitute moral virtue.

The Master said: The man of knowledge finds pleasure in the sea,
the man of virtue finds pleasure in the mountains.[18] For the man
of knowledge is restless and the man of virtue is calm. The man of
knowledge is happy, and the man of virtue is long-lived.

The higher type of man, having gathered wide objective knowledge from
the branches of polite learning, will regulate the whole by the inner
rule of conduct,[19] and will thus avoid overstepping the limit.

That virtue is perfect which adheres to a constant mean. It has long
been rare amongst men.

Tzŭ Kung asked: What would you say of the man who conferred benefits
far and wide on the people and was able to be the salvation of all?
Would you pronounce him a man of moral virtue?--Of moral virtue? said
the Master. Nay, rather, of divine virtue.[20] Even Yao and Shun were
still striving to attain this height.

The man of moral virtue, wishing to stand firm himself, will lend
firmness unto others; wishing himself to be illuminated, he will
illuminate others. To be able to do to others as we would be done
by[21]--this is the true domain of moral virtue.

It has not been my lot to see a divine man; could I see a princely
man, that would satisfy me. It has not been my lot to see a thoroughly
virtuous man; could I see a man possessing honesty of soul, that would
satisfy me. Is it possible there should be honesty of soul in one who
pretends to have what he has not; who, when empty, pretends to be
overflowing; who, when in want, pretends to be in affluence?

The higher type of man is calm and serene; the inferior man is
constantly agitated and worried.

With sincerity and truth unite a desire for self-culture. Lay down
your life rather than quit the path of virtue. Enter not the state
which is tottering to its fall. Abide not in the state where sedition
is rampant. When law obtains in the Empire, let yourself be seen; when
lawlessness reigns, retire into obscurity. In a state governed on right
principles, poverty and low station are things to be ashamed of; in an
ill-governed state, riches and rank are things to be ashamed of.

The man of wisdom does not vacillate; the man of natural goodness does
not fret; the man of valour does not fear.

Yen Yüan inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. The Master said:
The subdual of self, and reversion to the natural laws governing
conduct--this is true goodness. If a man can for the space of one day
subdue his selfishness and revert to natural laws, the whole world will
call him good. True goodness springs from a man's own heart. How can it
depend on other men?--Yen Yüan said: Kindly tell me the practical rule
to be deduced from this.--The Master replied: Do not use your eyes,
your ears, your power of speech or your faculty of movement without
obeying the inner law of self-control.[22]--Yen Yüan said: Though I am
not quick in thought or act, I will make it my business to carry out
this precept.

Chung Kung inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. The Master
said: When out of doors, behave as though you were entertaining a
distinguished guest; in ruling the people, behave as though you were
officiating at a solemn sacrifice; what you would not wish done to
yourself, do not unto others.[23] Then in public as in private life
you will excite no ill-will. Chung Kung said: Though I am not quick in
thought or act, I will make it my business to carry out this precept.

Ssŭ-ma Niu inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. The Master
said: The truly good man is slow of speech.[24]--Slowness of speech!
Is this what goodness consists in?--The Master said: Does not the
difficulty of deciding what it is right to _do_ necessarily imply
slowness to _speak_?

Ssŭ-ma Niu asked for a definition of the princely man. The Master said:
The princely man is one who knows neither grief nor fear.--Absence of
grief and fear! Is this the mark of a princely man?--The Master said:
If on searching his heart he finds no guilt, why should he grieve? of
what should he be afraid?

Tzŭ Chang asked how to attain exalted virtue. ... The Master said: Make
conscientiousness and truth your guiding principles, and thus pass on
to the cultivation of duty to your neighbour. This is exalted virtue.

The Master said: The nobler sort of man emphasises the good qualities
in others, and does not accentuate the bad. The inferior sort does the
reverse.

Tzŭ Chang asked: What must a man do in order to be considered
distinguished?--The Master said: What do you mean by the term
"distinguished"?--Tzŭ Chang replied: I mean one whose fame fills both
his own private circle and the State at large.--The Master said: That
is notoriety, not distinction. The man of true distinction is simple,
honest, and a lover of justice and duty. He weighs men's words, and
observes the expression of their faces.[25] He is anxious to put
himself below others. Such a one is truly distinguished in his private
and his public life. As to the man who is merely much talked about, he
puts on an appearance of charity and benevolence, but his actions belie
it. He is self-satisfied and has no misgivings. Neither in private nor
in public life does he achieve more than notoriety.

Tzŭ Kung asked a question about friendship. The Master said: Be
conscientious in speaking to your friend, but tactful in your efforts
to guide him aright. If these fail, stop. Do not court a personal
rebuff.

The Duke of Shê addressed Confucius, saying: We have an upright man
in our country. His father stole a sheep, and the son bore witness
against him.--In our country, Confucius replied, uprightness is
something different from this. A father hides the guilt of his son, and
a son hides the guilt of his father. It is in such conduct that true
uprightness is to be found.

Fan Ch‘ih asked a question about moral virtue. The Master said: In
private life, show self-respect; in the management of affairs, be
attentive and thorough; in your dealings with others, be honest and
conscientious. Never abandon these principles, even among savages.

The Master said: The nobler sort of man is accommodating but not
obsequious; the inferior sort is obsequious but not accommodating.

The nobler sort of man is easy to serve yet difficult to please. Who
seeks to please him in wrongful ways will not succeed. In exacting
service from others, he takes account of aptitudes and limitations.
The baser sort of man is difficult to serve yet easy to please. Who
seeks to please him in any wrongful way will assuredly succeed. And he
requires absolute perfection in those from whom he exacts service.

The nobler sort of man is dignified but not proud; the inferior man is
proud but not dignified.

Hsien said: To refrain from self-glorification, to subdue feelings of
resentment, to control selfish desire--may this be held to constitute
perfect virtue?--The Master said: These things may certainly be
considered hard to achieve, but I am not so sure that they constitute
perfect virtue.[26]

The Master said: A man of inward virtue[27] will have virtuous words
on his lips, but a man of virtuous words is not always a virtuous man.
The man of perfect goodness[27b] is sure to possess courage, but the
courageous man is not necessarily good.

Can true love be anything but exacting? How can our sense of duty allow
us to abstain from admonition?

The nobler sort of man tends upwards; the baser sort tends downwards.

The princely type of man is modest in his speech, but liberal in his
performance.

The princely man has three great virtues, which I cannot claim for
myself. He is truly benevolent, and is free from care; he is truly
wise, and is free from delusions; he is truly brave, and is free from
fear.--Nay, replied Tzŭ Kung, these virtues are our Master's own.[27]

The Master said: Is not he a sage who neither anticipates deceit nor
suspects bad faith in others, yet is prompt to detect them when they
appear?

Some one asked: How do you regard the principle of returning good for
evil?--The Master said: What, then, is to be the return for good?
Rather should you return justice for injustice, and good for good.[28]

Tzŭ Lu asked about the conduct of the princely man.[29] The Master
said: He cultivates himself so as to gain in self-respect.--Does he
rest content with that?--He cultivates himself, was the reply, so as to
give happiness to others.--And is he content with that?--He cultivates
himself so as to confer peace and prosperity on the whole people.

By self-cultivation to confer peace and prosperity on the whole
people!--was not this the object which Yao and Shun still laboured to
attain?

Tzŭ Kung asked for advice on the practice of moral virtue. The Master
replied: If an artisan wants to do his work well, he must begin by
sharpening his tools. Even so, among the great men of your country, you
should serve the wise and good, and make friends of men who have this
moral virtue.

The Master said: The higher type of man makes a sense of duty the
groundwork of his character, blends with it in action a sense of
harmonious proportion, manifests it in a spirit of unselfishness, and
perfects it by the addition of sincerity and truth. Then indeed is he a
noble character.

The higher type of man seeks all that he wants in himself; the inferior
man seeks all that he wants from others.

The higher type of man is firm but not quarrelsome; sociable, but not
clannish.

The wise man does not esteem a person more highly because of what he
says, neither does he undervalue what is said because of the person who
says it.

Tzŭ Kung asked, saying: Is there any one maxim which ought to be acted
upon throughout one's whole life?--The Master replied: Surely the maxim
of charity[30] is such:--Do not unto others what you would not they
should do unto you.

The nobler sort of man pays special attention to nine points. He is
anxious to see clearly, to hear distinctly, to be kindly in his looks,
respectful in his demeanour, conscientious in his speech, earnest in
his affairs; when in doubt, he is careful to inquire; when in anger, he
thinks of the consequences; when offered an opportunity for gain, he
thinks only of his duty.

Tzŭ Chang asked Confucius a question about moral virtue. Confucius
replied: Moral virtue simply consists in being able, anywhere and
everywhere, to exercise five particular qualities. Asked what these
were, he said: Self-respect, magnanimity, sincerity, earnestness and
benevolence. Show self-respect, and others will respect you;[31]
be magnanimous, and you will win all hearts; be sincere, and men
will trust you; be earnest, and you will achieve great things; be
benevolent, and you will be fit to impose your will on others.

Tzŭ Lu asked: Docs not the princely man[32] value courage?--The Master
said: He puts righteousness first. The man of high station[33] who has
courage without righteousness is a menace to the State; the common man
who has courage without righteousness is nothing more than a brigand.

Tzu Kung asked: Has the nobler sort of man any hatreds?--The Master
replied: He has. He hates those who publish the faults of others; he
hates men of low condition who vilify those above them; he hates those
whose courage is unaccompanied by self-restraint; he hates those who
are audacious but narrow-minded. And you, Tz‘ŭ, he added, have you
also your hatreds?--I hate, replied the disciple, those who think
that wisdom consists in prying and meddling; courage, in showing no
compliance; and honesty, in denouncing other men.



[1] This is the much-discussed _chün tzŭ_, an expression of which the
stereotyped English equivalent is "the superior man." But in this there
is, unhappily, a tinge of blended superciliousness and irony absolutely
foreign to the native phrase, which in my opinion makes it unsuitable.
"Princely man" is as nearly as possible the literal translation, and
sometimes, as we shall see, it actually means "prince." But in the
majority of cases the connotation of rank or authority is certainly
not explicit, and as a general rendering I have preferred "the higher
type of man," "the nobler sort of man," or sometimes more simply, "the
good man." Perhaps the nearest approximation in any European language
is to be found in the Greek ὁ καλὸς κἀγαθός, because that implies high
mental and moral qualities combined with all the outward bearing of a
gentleman. Compare also Aristotle's ὁ σπουδαἲος, who is however rather
more abstract and ideal.

[2] _Jên_, the term here translated "virtue," is perhaps the most
important single word in the Analects, and the real corner-stone
of Confucian ethics. Its primary meaning, in accordance with the
etymology, is "humanity" in the larger sense, i.e. natural goodness
of heart as shown in intercourse with one's fellow-men. Hence it
is sometimes best translated "loving-kindness" or "charity" in the
biblical sense, though in many cases a more convenient, if vaguer,
rendering is "virtue," "moral virtue," or even, as in Legge, "perfect
virtue."

[3] Literally, "he may be called a lover of learning." But "learning"
in the mouth of Confucius is generally to be understood as study of
the rules of right conduct with a view to their practical application.
The object of all learning was to enable a man to develop the natural
goodness within him, so as to lead a life of virtuous culture. It was
not pursued solely for its own sake, nor had it become, as with us,
divorced from all ethical significance.

[4] The chief of the house of Mêng, one of the three great families of
Lu, and (according to Ssŭ-ma Ch‘ien) a disciple of Confucius.

[5] The reply is enigmatical, but it is clear from what follows that
this, and not, as Legge translates, "disobedience," is the true meaning.

[6] The eldest son of Mêng I Tzŭ.

[7] It is astonishing that Chu Hsi should have tried to improve on
the old commentators here, and almost equally astonishing that Legge
should have followed him, with this result: "The Master said, Parents
are anxious lest their children should be sick" (and therefore children
should take care of their persons)!

[8] Here again it is almost incredible that Legge should have adopted
such a ridiculous interpretation as the following--without the
authority, this time, of Chu Hsi: "The filial piety of nowadays means
the support of one's parents. But dogs and horses likewise are able
to do something in the way of support." The image conjured up by this
sentence is grotesque, to say the least.

[9] Literally, "colour difficult." This famous sentence, a
stumbling-block to native and foreigner alike, surely marks the extreme
limit to which conciseness can be carried in Chinese. "The difficulty
is with the countenance" is the lame translation offered by Legge,
and later scholars have mostly followed in his footsteps, even Mr. Ku
Hung-ming failing badly for once. Where all have gone astray is in
taking the "difficulty" to exist in the mind of the would-be filial
son, instead of being that felt by the onlooker who wishes to gauge
the genuineness of the quality in others. Only a few months ago, a new
and ingenious interpretation was suggested by my father, Professor
H. A. Giles, namely: "To define it is difficult"; but after much
consideration I am led to prefer the rendering in the text, inasmuch as
the word _sê_ is quite commonly used to denote the external as opposed
to the internal, form as opposed to essence.

[10] The answer of course is--No; outward acts do not constitute filial
piety, unless prompted by a genuine duteous feeling in the heart.

[11] A notable utterance, which may be commended to those who have been
taught to regard Confucius as a man of ceremonies and outward show.

[12] In order that the parents may know where their son is.

[13] Of the Ch‘u State.

[14] The root idea of this word _chung_ is loyalty to _oneself_,
devotion to principle, or, as Mr. Ku Hung-ming well translates it,
conscientiousness. Loyalty or fidelity to the sovereign is only an
extended sense. Here the two ideas appear to be blended, but in a
famous passage to be noted further on (p. 118) much trouble has
resulted from ignoring the first and fundamental meaning.

[15] A high officer in Ch‘i, the state adjoining Lu.

[16] The fact that Ch‘ên Wên Tzŭ could not reconcile it with his
conscience to settle in any of the states which he visited throws a
lurid light on the disorder prevailing in the Empire at this period
(547 B.C.). Murder and usurpation were evidently the rule rather than
the exception.

[17] That is to say, the virtuous act, which he will perform for its
own sake, regardless of consequences.

[18] Each finds pleasure in that part of Nature which resembles himself.

[19] As may be inferred from its composition, the character _li_
originally had sole reference to religious rites, whence however
it came to be applied to every sort of ceremonial, including the
ordinary rules of politeness, the etiquette of society, the conduct
befitting all stations of life, and moreover to the state of mind
of which such conduct is the outcome. This state of mind is one of
equably adjusted harmony and self-restraint, and it is in this sense
of an inward principle of proportion and self-control that the word
is frequently used in the Analects. Why such a vile phrase as "the
rules of propriety" was ever coined to express this subtle conception,
and retained in every context, however inappropriate, must remain
an insoluble mystery. Is it surprising that one of the greatest
of world-teachers should still be waiting to come into his full
heritage, when his sayings are made to suggest nothing so much as the
headmistress of a young ladies' seminary?

[20] It is interesting to observe that Confucius allows a grade of
heroic and almost divine virtue even above that which constitutes
complete goodness for all practical purposes, just as Aristotle places
his θεῖός τις ἀνήρ above the σώφρων.

[21] It is only fair to mention that the above is not an exact
translation of the words in the Chinese text, though I believe their
import to be what I have set down. The point is too technical and
abstruse to be discussed here.

[22] See note on p. 60. This is the solemn nonsense dished up by Legge:
"Look not at what is contrary to propriety; listen not to what is
contrary to propriety; speak not what is contrary to propriety; make no
movement which is contrary to propriety."

[23] Confucius here, as in general, suits his reply to the questioner.
In answering Yen Yüan, the model disciple, he had gone to the very
root of the matter, making it clear that the essence of true goodness
has little or nothing to do with externals. To Chung Kung, who was
less advanced and doubtless somewhat lacking in grace or dignity
of demeanour, he gives more superficial advice, but winds up by
enunciating the Golden Rule, which is the best practical manner of
manifesting inward goodness of heart.

[24] There seems to be a play on this word which cannot be brought out
in translation.

[25] This probably means that he will not rely on words alone in
judging of character.

[26] Being too purely negative.

[27] It is almost impossible, here and in other passages, to make any
real distinction of meaning between _te_, the manifestation of eternal
principles in the soul of man, and _jên_, natural goodness of heart,
though the former, being more universal and abstract, may be said to
include the latter, which generally implies a certain relation to one's
fellow-men.

[28] The principle of returning good for evil, which is here apparently
represented as a well-known ethical doctrine, was first enunciated, so
far as we know, by Lao Tzŭ. Confucius rejects this vain idealism, and
advocates the much sounder and more practical basis for society given
in the text.

[29] Here chün tzŭ seems almost to denote an actual prince, not merely
a man with princely qualities.

[30] Legge translates _shu_ "reciprocity," apparently for no other
reason than to explain the maxim that follows. But it really stands
for something higher than the strictly utilitarian principle of _do ut
des_. Both here and in another famous passage (see p. 118) it is almost
equivalent to _jên_, goodness of heart, only with the idea of altruism
more explicitly brought out. It connotes sympathetic consideration for
others, and hence the best rendering would seem to be "loving-kindness"
or "charity." The concluding maxim is really nothing more nor less than
the Golden Rule of Christ, though less familiar to us in its negative
form.

[32] The Chinese have a proverb: "A man must insult himself before
others will."

[33] A good example of the fluctuating content of the term _chün tzŭ_,
which in the disciple's question implies morality without reference to
rank, and in the Master's reply rank and authority without definite
moral qualities.




CONFUCIUS' ESTIMATE OF OTHERS


The Master said: I may talk all day to Hui without his putting in
a word of criticism or dissent--just as though he were deficient
in understanding. But after he has left me, I find, on examining
his private conduct, that he knows for all that how to exemplify my
teaching. No! Hui is not deficient in understanding.

Tzŭ Kung asked, saying: What, Sir, is your opinion of me?--I would
liken you, Tz‘ŭ, replied the Master, to a vessel limited in its
function.--What sort of vessel? asked Tzŭ Kung.--A richly ornamented
sacrificial vessel, was the reply.[1]

Some one remarked that Yung had goodness of heart but no cleverness of
speech.--The Master said: Of what use is cleverness of speech? Those
who are always ready to assail others with their tongue are sure to
make themselves disliked. As to Yung's goodness of heart I have no
certain knowledge; but how would he benefit by having cleverness of
speech?

The Master said: My teaching makes no head-way. How and if I were to
board a raft and float away over the sea? My friend Yu would come with
me, I feel sure.--Tzŭ Lu, hearing this, was glad. The Master continued:
Yu surpasses me in his love of daring, but he lacks discretion and
judgment.

Mêng Wu Po asked whether Tzŭ Lu had true moral virtue. The Master
replied: I do not know.--- Asked a second time, the Master said:
Yu might be trusted to organise the military levies of a large and
powerful State, but whether he is possessed of true virtue I cannot
say.--And what is your opinion with regard to Ch‘iu?--The Master said:
Ch‘iu might be entrusted with the government of a district numbering a
thousand households or a hundred war-chariots, but whether he has true
virtue I cannot say.--And Ch‘ih, what of him?--The Master said: Ch‘ih
might be employed to stand in his official dress at a royal levee and
converse with the visitors and guests; whether he has true virtue I
cannot say.[2]

The Master addressing Tzŭ Kung said: Which of the two is the better
man, you or Hui?--Tzŭ Kung replied: How can I venture to compare myself
with Hui? Hui hears one point and promptly masters the whole. I hear
one point and am only able to feel my way to a second.--The Master
agreed: No, you are not equal to Hui; neither of us two[3] is equal to
Hui.

Tsai Yü used to sleep during the day. The Master said: Rotten wood
cannot be carved, walls made of dirt and mud cannot be plastered:
--what is the good of reprimanding Yü? At first, he continued, my way
of dealing with others was to listen to their words and to take their
actions upon trust. Now, my way is to listen to what they say and then
to watch what they do. This change in me is owing to Yü.

The Master said: I have never yet met a really strong character.--Some
one suggested Shên Ch‘êng.--The Master said: Ch‘êng is a slave to his
passions. How can he possess strength of character?

Tzŭ Kung said: I am anxious to avoid doing to others that which I
would not have them do to me. The Master said: Tz‘ŭ, you have not got
as far as that.

The Master said of Tzŭ Ch‘an[4] that he had four of the qualities of
the princely man:--in his personal demeanour he was grave, in serving
those above him he was attentive, in his care for the people he was
kind, in his ordering of the people he was just.

The Master said: Yen P'ing[5] knows the art of associating with his
friends: however old the acquaintance may be, he always treats them
with the same respect.

Ning Wu Tzŭ's[6] behaviour was wise so long as his country was well
governed; when revolution came, his behaviour was stupid. His wisdom
may be equalled by others, but his stupidity is beyond all imitation.

Po I and Shu Ch‘i[7] never remembered old injuries, and therefore
their enemies were few.

Who will say that Wei-sheng Kao[8] was an upright man? When asked by
somebody for some vinegar, he went and begged it of a neighbour, and
gave this to the man who had asked him.

For the space of three months together Hui[9] would not deviate in
spirit from the path of perfect virtue. My other disciples may attain
this height once in a day or in a month, but that is all.

Po Niu[10] lying sick unto death, the Master went to visit him. He
clasped his hand through the window and said: He is dying. Such is
fate. Alas! that such a man should have such an illness, that such a
man should have such an illness!

The Master said: Hui was indeed a philosopher! Other men living as he
did, in a miserable alley, with a single dish of food and a single bowl
of drink, could not have endured the distress. But Hui was invariably
cheerful. He was a philosopher indeed!

Jan Ch‘iu said: It is not that I have no joy in my Master's teaching,
it is my strength that fails me.--The Master replied: Those whose
strength fails them fall fainting by the way. What you do is to set up
bounds which you will not attempt to pass.

The Master said: Mêng Chih-fan is no braggart. Once after a defeat,
when he was bringing up the rear, he whipped his horse as he was about
to enter the city gate, and cried: It is not courage that makes me
last, it is my horse that won't gallop fast enough.[11]

The Master addressing Yen Yüan said: It is only you and I who would be
content to accept public employment when it was offered to us, and to
retire into obscurity when we were dismissed.--Tzŭ Lu then said: If
you, Sir, had the conduct of three legions, whom would you associate
with yourself in the command?--I would not, replied the Master, choose
a man who would attack a tiger unarmed, cross a river without a boat,
or sacrifice his life without a moment's regret. Rather should it be
one who would not embark on an enterprise without anxiety, and who was
accustomed to lay his plans well before putting them into execution.[12]

The Master said: T‘ai Po may be said to have reached the summit of
virtue. Having resolutely renounced the Imperial throne, he put it out
of the people's power to glorify his act of renunciation![13]

In the Emperor Yü[14] I find no loophole for censure. His own food
and drink were plain, but his offerings to the ancestral spirits
showed extreme piety. His own garments were poor, but his robes and
cap of state were extremely fine. His own dwelling was humble, but
he spent all his strength on the construction of public canals and
water-courses. I find no loophole for censure in Yü.

After the word had gone forth, Hui was never backward in his deeds.

The Master speaking of Yen Yüan said: Ah, what a loss! I used to see
him ever progressing and never coming to a standstill.

The Master said: Yu, I fancy, is a man who would stand up, dressed in
shabby garments quilted with hemp, among people attired in furs of fox
and badger, and not be ashamed. "Hating none and courting none, how
can he be other than good?"[15]--As Tzŭ Lu kept constantly humming
over this line, the Master said: This rule of conduct is not enough by
itself to constitute goodness.

The Master said: None of those who accompanied me on the journey to the
states of Ch‘ên and Ts‘ai come to learn from me now.[16] Distinguished
for their virtuous conduct were Yen Yüan, Min Tzŭ-ch‘ien, Jan Po-niu
and Chung Kung; for their skill in speaking, Tsai Wo and Tzŭ Kung; for
their administrative powers, Jan Yu and Chi Lu; for their literary
attainments, Tzŭ Yu and Tzŭ Hsia.

Hui does not help me[17]--he takes such delight in everything I say.

What noble piety[18] is that of Min Tzŭ-ch‘ien! Other men speak of him
in exactly the same terms as his own parents and his own brethren.

When Yen Yüan died, the Master wept with passionate grief, so
that those who were with him said: Master, your sorrow is too
passionate.--Is it too passionate? he replied. Whose death should be a
cause for violent grief, if not this man's?

On one occasion there were standing in attendance on the Master Min
Tzŭ, looking gentle and mild; Tzŭ Lu, looking upright and soldierly;
Jan Yu and Tzŭ Kung, looking frank and affable. The Master was pleased.
"A man like Yu," he remarked, "will not come by a natural death."[19]

The Master said: Why is Yu playing his martial music at my door?--The
disciples began to lose their respect for Tzŭ Lu, whereupon the Master
said: Yu has ascended the steps of the temple, though he has not yet
reached the inner sanctuary.

Tzŭ Kung asked which was the man of greater worth, Shih or Shang. The
Master replied: Shih exceeds and Shang falls short.--Then Shih is the
better of the two?--The Master said: To exceed is as bad as to fall
short.

The head of the Chi clan was already richer than Chou Kung, yet Ch‘iu
kept levying taxes for him and adding to his wealth.--He is no disciple
of mine, said the Master. My children, you may beat the drum and attack
him.[20]

The Master said: Hui reaches the verge of perfection, yet he is often
in great want. Tz‘ŭ does not resign himself to the will of Heaven,
yet his worldly goods continue to increase. His judgments, however,
frequently hit the mark.

Tzŭ Lu asked if he should at once put the precepts which he heard into
practice.--The Master said: There are your father and elder brothers
to consult first; why should you be so impatient to act on what you
hear?--Jan Yu asked the same question, and the Master said: Yes, act
at once according to the instruction that is given to you.--Kung-hsi
Hua then said: When Yu asked if he should put the precepts which he
heard into practice, you replied, Sir, that he had his father and elder
brothers to consult first. When Ch‘iu asked the same question, you
said:

"Act at once according to the instruction that is given to you." Now I
am puzzled, and beg for an explanation.--The Master replied: Ch‘iu is
apt to hang back, therefore I press him on. Yu has eagerness enough for
two, therefore I hold him back.

Chi Tzŭ-jan[21] asked if Chung Yu and Jan Ch‘iu could be termed great
ministers. The Master said: I thought you had something extraordinary
to ask about, and now it turns out to be a question about Yu and
Ch‘iu. What men call a great minister is one who serves his prince
according to the principles of truth and virtue, and when that is
impossible, resigns. Yu and Ch‘iu, however, can only be termed ordinary
officials.--Which is as much as to say that they will always obediently
follow their master's will?--The Master replied: They would not follow
him so far as to commit parricide or regicide.

The Master said: Yu is the man to settle a long litigation in a few
words.

Tzŭ Kung was fond of weighing other men's merits and defects. The
Master said: Surely Tz‘u must be a very great sage! Personally, I have
no time for this.





[1] It is said elsewhere in the Analects (see p. 94) that "the higher
type of man is unlike a vessel designed for some special use," which
means that his moral capacity is not narrow and limited. Tzŭ Kung,
then, it seems, had not fully grasped the higher principles of
morality, was wanting in breadth of mind and the larger outlook on
life. His aptitudes, however, were excellent so far as they went, and
the Master compliments him hero on his proficiency in things relating
to religious ceremonial.

[2] Confucius probably wished to impress upon his questioner that
true moral virtue (fen) was deeply implanted in the soul, and not to
be gauged offhand from the presence or absence of certain superficial
signs.

[3] It is passing strange that the clumsy "I grant you" for _wu yü ju_
(I and you) should have found favour with translators. Wade even goes
one better, by translating: "I award you this praise, Hui does not
equal you "!

[4] Prime Minister of the Chêng State in the sixth century B.C. When he
had ruled for three years, so great was the change effected that "doors
were not locked at night, and lost articles were not picked up on the
highway." Confucius wept when he heard of his death.

[5] Minister in the neighbouring state of Ch‘i.

[6] A minister of the Wei State in the seventh century B.C. In the
revolution referred to the prince was driven from his throne, but
afterwards reinstated through the "stupidity," that is to say, the
unwavering loyalty and devotion of Ning.

[7] These were brothers, celebrated for their protest against the
overthrow of the Yin dynasty. Rather than live under the rule of the
new sovereign, the great and virtuous Wu Wang, they wandered away
into the mountains to perish of cold and hunger. This fidelity to the
cause of Chou Hsin, one of the bloodiest and most infamous tyrants in
history, seems a shade more quixotic than the conduct of those who
espoused for so long the fallen fortunes of the house of Stuart.

[8] This was a young man who, if legend may be trusted, died more
heroically than he lived. He agreed to meet a girl under a bridge, but,
woman-like, she failed to keep her appointment. Though the water was
rising rapidly, her lover waited on, unwilling to quit his post, and
finally clung to a pillar until he was drowned.

[9] This is the man whom Confucius, according to Wade (see p. 73),
ranked below Tzŭ Kung!

[10] Po Niu is said to have been suffering from leprosy, and therefore
he would not allow visitors to enter his room.

[11] Few will see anything harmful in this anecdote as told by
Confucius. Yet it is actually made to figure in the general charge
of insincerity and untruthfulness brought against him by Legge. "The
action was gallant," he says, "but the apology for it was weak and
unnecessary. And yet Confucius saw nothing in the whole but matter for
praise." In the first place, Legge entirely ignores the possibility
that Mêng Chih-fan was really speaking the truth. But even if it were
otherwise, Confucius' only comment is that he was "no braggart." Surely
it is an overstrained morality that could be offended by this.

[12] Compare Moltke's motto: "Erst wägen, dann wagen." Tzŭ Lu was noted
for his reckless bravery. Evidently jealous of the praise bestowed
on Yen Yüan, he makes a delightfully artless attempt to secure some
recognition for himself, but only draws down a reproof. The Master's
relations with this vain, impulsive, good-hearted disciple often remind
one of those subsisting between Dr. Johnson and Goldsmith.

[13] T‘ai Po was the direct heir to his father's throne, but knowing
that the latter wished to be succeeded by his youngest son (the father
of the future Wên Wang, the virtual founder of the Chou dynasty), he
went into voluntary exile among the barbarous tribes of the south, but
kept the motives of his conduct to himself, and thus obtained no credit
for his self-sacrifice.

[14] The "Great Yü," who in the reign of the Emperor Yao laboured
incessantly for eight years to control the disastrous inundations of
the Yellow River, himself became Emperor after the death of Yao's
successor Shun, and founded the Hsia dynasty (2205-1766 B.C.).

[15] A quotation from the Book of Poetry, a collection of some 300
ancient ballads said to have been selected and arranged by Confucius
himself, and hence raised to the dignity of a "classic."

[16] This must have been said by Confucius after his return from exile,
when many of his followers were dead or in other parts of the Empire.
Ch'en and Ts'ai are particularly mentioned because it was on the road
between these two small states that he met with the most perilous
adventure of his life, being surrounded by hostile troops and cut off
from all supplies for the space of seven days (see p. 115). It is not
quite clear whether the next sentence should not be taken as a note
added by the compiler, giving the names of those who were with the
Master on this journey.

[17] By criticism or questioning. Cf. p. 71.

[18] On hsiao, occurring in another treatise, Mr. Ku Hung-ming has the
following note: "The word in the text does not mean merely a filial
son, but has the meaning of the Latin 'pius'--pious in its full sense,
reverential to God, dutiful to parents, good, faithful and orderly in
all the relations of life."

[19] "This prediction was verified. When Confucius returned to Lu from
Wei, he left Tzŭ Lu and Tzŭ Kao engaged there in official service.
Troubles arose. News came to Lu, B.C. 479, that a revolution was in
progress in Wei, and when Confucius heard it, he said, 'Ch‘ai will come
here, but Yu will die,' So it turned out. When Tzŭ Kao saw that matters
were desperate he made his escape, but Tzŭ Lu would not forsake the
chief who had treated him well. He threw himself into the mêlée and was
slain."--Legge, _Life of Confucius_.

[20] This was the disciple by whoso agency Confucius was finally
restored to Lu. But Confucius was the last man to let private
considerations stand in the way when public interests were involved
and a crying evil had to be redressed. "Beating the drum" has no
reference, as Legge thinks, to "the practice of executing criminals in
the market-place." It was simply the recognised signal in warfare for
advancing to the attack, gongs being used to sound the retreat.

[21] A member of the ambitious family which was scheming to get the
whole power of the dukedom into its own hands. The two disciples here
mentioned had recently been enlisted in its service, and Chi Tzŭ-jan is
anxious to find out how far they can be relied upon in case of need.
Confucius sees through his nefarious designs.




CONFUCIUS ON HIMSELF

The Master: I will not be grieved that other men do not know me: I will
be grieved that I do not know other men.

At fifteen, my mind was bent on learning. At thirty, I stood firm. At
forty, I was free from delusions. At fifty, I understood the laws of
Providence. At sixty, my ears were attentive to the truth. At seventy,
I could follow the promptings of my heart without overstepping the mean.

Tzŭ Kung was for doing away with the customary sacrifice of a sheep on
the first day of the month. The Master said: Ah, Tz‘ŭ, you grudge the
loss of a sheep, but I grudge the loss of a ceremony.

The Master said: In any hamlet of a dozen houses you will surely find
men as honest and conscientious as myself, though they may not be so
devoted to ethical study.

The Master having gone to visit Nan Tzŭ,[1] Tzŭ Lu was displeased.
Thereupon Confucius swore a solemn oath, saying: In whatsoever I have
sinned, may I be abominable in the sight of God!

The Master said: My function is to indicate rather than to originate.
Regarding antiquity as I do with trust and affection, I would venture
to compare myself with our ancient patriarch P‘êng Tsu.[2]

The unpretentious hiving of wisdom, patient self-cultivation, and
untiring instruction of others--to which of these can I make any claim?

The failure to cultivate virtue, the failure to examine and analyse
what I have learnt, the inability to move towards righteousness after
being shown the way, the inability to correct my faults--these are the
causes of my grief.

Alas! what a falling-off is here! Long is it since I dreamt of Chou
Kung.[3]

There is no one, from the man who brings me dried meat as payment
upwards, to whom I have refused my instruction.

I do not expound my teaching to any who are not eager to learn; I do
not help out any one who is not anxious to explain himself; if, after
being shown one corner of a subject, a man cannot go on to discover the
other three, I do not repeat the lesson.

If the pursuit of riches were a commendable pursuit, I would join in
it, even if I had to become a chariot-driver for the purpose. But
seeing that it is not a commendable pursuit, I engage in those which
are more to my taste.[4]

The Duke of Shê questioned Tzŭ Lu about Confucius. Tzŭ Lu made no
reply. The Master said to him afterwards: Why did you not say: "He
is a man whose zeal for self-improvement is such that he forgets to
eat; whose happiness in this pursuit is so great that he forgets his
troubles and does not perceive old age stealing upon him"?

The Master said: In me, knowledge is not innate. I am but one who loves
antiquity, and is earnest in the study of it.

If I am walking with two other men, each of them will serve as my
teacher. I will pick out the good points of the one and imitate them,
and the bad points of the other and correct them in myself.

My disciples, do you think that I have any secrets? I have no secrets
from you. It is my way to do nothing without communicating it to you,
my disciples.

There are men, I daresay, who act rightly without knowing the reason
why, but I am not one of them. Having heard much, I sift out the good
and practise it; having seen much, I retain it in my memory. This is
the second order of wisdom.[5]

In literary accomplishments I am perhaps equal to other men; but I have
not yet succeeded in exhibiting the conduct of the princely man in my
own person.

To divine wisdom and perfect virtue I can lay no claim. All that can
be said of me is that I never falter in the course which I pursue
and am unwearying in my instruction of others--this and nothing
more.--Kung-hsi Hua said: But those are just the qualities that we,
your disciples, are unable to acquire.

The Master being grievously sick, Tzŭ Lu proposed the offering up of
a prayer.--Is there a precedent for this? asked the Master.--Tzŭ Lu
replied: There is. In the Eulogies[6] it is written: "We pray unto you,
O spirits of Heaven and Earth."--The Master said: My prayers began long
ago.[7]

The Master was passing through a by-street when a man of the district
shouted: Great is Confucius the philosopher! Yet for all his wide
learning, he has nothing which can bring him fame.--On hearing this,
the Master turned to his disciples and said: What shall I take up?
Shall I take up charioteering or shall I take up archery? I will take
up charioteering!

The Master said: The ancient rites prescribe linen as the material for
a ceremonial cap, but nowadays silk is used as being more economical.
In this matter I fall in with the general custom. According to the
ancient rites, the Prince is to be saluted from below the dais, but
nowadays the salutation takes place above. This is presumptuous, and
therefore, though infringing thereby the general custom, I adopt the
humbler position.[8]

A high officer asked Tzŭ Kung, saying: Surely your Master is a divine
Prophet? What a variety of accomplishments he seems to possess!--Tzŭ
Kung replied: Truly he must be a Prophet, so richly has he been endowed
by God. And he has also perfected himself in various arts.--The Master,
being told of this, said: Does His Excellency really know me now for
what I am? Being of low condition as a boy, I did become skilled in
various arts--but these are base accomplishments after all. If asked
whether the higher type of man has many such accomplishments, I should
say, Not many.[9]

The Master said: Am I possessed of true knowledge? Not so. But if an
ignorant fellow from the lower class comes to me with a question, I
will discuss the subject from end to end, and set it fully before him.

Tzŭ Kung said to Confucius: If you had a lovely jewel, would you hide
it away in a casket, or would you try to sell it for a good price?--
The Master replied: Oh, certainly I would sell it, but I would wait
until a price was offered.[10]

The Master said: Out of doors, to tender faithful service to prince and
ministers; at home, to be duteous towards father and elder brothers;
to observe the rites of mourning with the utmost care; to avoid being
overcome with wine:--which of these virtues have I?

In matters pertaining to ceremonies and music, the ancients were more
or less uncivilised in comparison with the refinement of a later age.
Nevertheless, in practice I take the earlier period as my guide.[11]

As an arbiter in litigation I am no better than other men. But surely
the grand object to achieve is that there shall be no litigation at
all.[12]

Wei-sheng Mou,[13] addressing Confucius, said: Ch‘iu, why is it you
keep hopping about thus from place to place? Is it not in order to
show off your fine rhetoric?--Confucius replied: I do not allow myself
to indulge in fine rhetoric; no, it is because I consider obstinacy a
fault.[14]

The Master said: There are none who know me for what I am.--Tzŭ Kung
said: How is it, Sir, that none know you?--The Master replied: I make
no complaint against Heaven, neither do I blame my fellow-men. In the
study of virtue I begin at the bottom and tend upwards.[15] Surely
Heaven knows me for what I am.

Tz‘ŭ, do you look upon me as a man who has studied and retained a
mass of various knowledge?--I do, he replied. Am I wrong?--You are
wrong, said the Master. All my knowledge is strung on one connecting
thread.[16]

I used to spend whole days without food and whole nights without sleep,
in order to meditate.

But I made no progress. Study, I found, was better.

Pi Hsi[17] sent an invitation to Confucius, and the Master wished to
go. Tzŭ Lu, however, said: Once upon a time, Sir, I heard you say
that the nobler sort of man would not enter into intimacy with one
who laid himself out to do wrong. Now Pi Hsi has raised the standard
of rebellion in Chung-mou. How can you think of going thither?--True,
replied the Master. Those were my words. But is there not a saying:
"The hard may be rubbed without losing its substance; the white may be
steeped without losing its purity"? Am I then a bitter gourd--fit only
to be hung up and not eaten?




[1] The wife of the Duke of Wei, notorious for her intrigues, and even
accused of incest. Needless to say, Chinese commentators are at great
pains to explain away this incident in the life of the sage.

[2] A grandson of the legendary Emperor Chuan Hsü. He is said to have
been over 800 years old when he disappeared into the west in the
eleventh century B.C. The last words in the text are taken by some to
mean "our patriarchs Lao Tzŭ and P‘êng Tsu"--Lao Tzŭ being the founder
of Taoism, who is also, by the way, alleged to have disappeared at an
advanced age into the west.

[3] One of the most revered names in Chinese history. The younger
brother of Wu Wang, he helped materially by his wise counsels to
establish the dynasty of Chou. He drew up a legal code, purified the
morals of the people, and devoted himself wholly to the welfare of
the State. Confucius in the reforming zeal of his younger days had
an ardent desire to see the principles and institutions of Chou Kung
brought into general practice.

[4] Legge and others (including even Mr. Ku Hung-ming) make the sense
out to be: "If there were any prospect of my being successful in the
search for riches, I would not hesitate to pursue them by any means
in my power." Thus translated, the Master's saying is grotesquely at
variance with the whole trend of his conduct and the essential spirit
of his teaching. Curiously enough, too, there is nothing in the Chinese
itself, so far as I can see, to justify such a startling interpretation.

[5] That is to say, the wisest men are those who act intuitively,
without having to find their way by any conscious mental process.
Confucius disclaims any such intuitive perception of right and wrong
in his own case, and confesses that he is obliged to rely largely on
objective experience, as acted upon by the critical and receptive
powers of his mind. The saying has a distinctly Taoist flavour.

[6] It is not known exactly what these were--a collection of prayers, a
book of rituals for the dead, or panegyrics on the departed.

[7] Confucius speaks of prayer in the sense made familiar to us by
Coleridge's line: "He prayeth best who loveth best." In this higher
sense his whole life had been one long prayer, and he refuses any
mediation between himself and God. Could antagonism to the ritualistic
spirit be carried much farther than this?

[8] This saying well illustrates the Master's attitude in regard to
ceremonies. He was no stickler for mere outward conformity to rule, so
long as the inner meaning of the ceremony was not affected. Now the
salutation of the Prince was simply intended to be a way of expressing
heart-felt loyalty and respect, and it was only because the new
position seemed less respectful that Confucius opposed the change.

[9] See note on p. 44.

[10] Question and answer are of course parabolical. The enthusiastic
young disciple thinks that his Master, in taking no steps to obtain
official employment, is guilty of "hiding his jewel in a casket," or,
as we should say, "his light under a bushel." Confucius, however, had
a great sense of the responsibility of office, and was loth to thrust
himself forward uninvited. His chance came at last after fifteen years
of waiting, when Duke Ting appointed him governor of the town of
Chung-tu.

[11] Another proof, if one were needed, that Confucius' instincts were
all for simplicity and not elaboration in ceremonies.

[12] Said by Confucius when he was Minister of Justice in Lu.

[13] Evidently an older man, from his use of the personal name, not to
speak of his disrespectful tone.

[14] Confucius, like other great men, was not exempt from the usual
fate of seeing his actions derided and his motives misunderstood. Here
we have a gibe thrown at his wandering from state to state, for the
purpose, it is insinuated, of making a living by his wits. The answer
is, that to have remained in Lu or any other state where he was plainly
not wanted, would have been merely stupid persistency.

[15] This accounts for men taking no notice of him. Most so-called
sages start with grandiose ideals and high-flown utterances, in order
to attract attention.

[16] This is rightly considered to be one of the moat important of the
Master s sayings, because it gives the clue to his whole philosophy and
view of life. The "connecting thread," as we learn from another passage
(see p. 118), is simply the moral life, which consists in being true
to oneself and good to one's neighbour. Confucius wished to impress
upon his disciple that he was no mere amasser of knowledge nor lover
of learning for learning's sake. The one thing necessary, in his eyes,
was to be able to lead, in the highest sense of the word, a moral life,
and this was the real object of all learning, the end and aim of all
knowledge. Throughout the Analects, as we have already seen, the usual
word for "learning" always means or implies the study of virtue, the
striving after self-improvement. Like Socrates, Confucius was purely
a moral philosopher, and would certainly have rejected the sharp
distinction we draw nowadays between mental and moral science.

[17] A rebellious official in the Chin State. On more than one occasion
in his career, Confucius made it plain that he declined to be bound
by narrow convention or hampered by the fear of what people might say
of him. To keep clear of bad associates was no doubt an excellent
principle, but Confucius may have seen some justification for Pi Hsi's
course of action, and in any case he was no longer of an age to be
easily corrupted by evil communications. Knowing that rules were never
meant to be so rigid as to admit of no exceptions, he felt it his
primary duty to go where he could do good. Cf. the visit to Nan Tzŭ (p.
83), the mere idea of which would have horrified an ordinary teacher of
morality.




MISCELLANEOUS SAYINGS

The Master said: To learn, and to practise on occasion what one has
learnt--is this not true pleasure? The coming of a friend from a
far-off land--is this not true joy?

Make conscientiousness and sincerity your grand object. Have no friends
not equal to yourself. If you have done wrong, be not ashamed to make
amends.

Observe the bent of a man's will when his father is alive, and his
actions after his father is dead. If during the three years of mourning
he does not swerve from his father's principles, he may be pronounced a
truly filial son.

The Odes[1] are three hundred in number, but their purport may be
summed up in a word:--Have no depraved thoughts.

Observe a man's actions; scrutinise his motives; take note of the
things that give him pleasure. How then can he hide from you what he
really is?

Acquire new knowledge whilst thinking over the old, and you may become
a teacher of others.

The higher type of man is not like a vessel which is designed for some
Special use.[2]

Study without thought is vain; thought without study is perilous.

Absorption in the study of the supernatural is most harmful.

Yu, shall I tell you what true knowledge is? When you know, to know
that you know, and when you do not know, to know that you do not
know--that is true knowledge.

Tzŭ Chang was studying with a view to official preferment. The Master
said to him: Among the various things you hear said, reserve your
judgment on those which seem doubtful, and give cautious utterance
to the rest: then you will seldom fall into error. Among the various
things you see done, set aside those which seem dangerous, and
cautiously put the others into practice: then you will seldom have
occasion for repentance. If you seldom err in your speech, and seldom
have to repent of your actions, official preferment will come of itself.

The Master said: I do not see how a man without sincerity can be good
for anything. How can a cart or carriage be made to go without yoke or
cross-bar?

To sacrifice to a spirit with which you have nothing to do, is mere
servility.

To shirk your duty when you see it before you, shows want of moral
courage.

Some one inquired as to the meaning of the Great Sacrifice. The Master
said: I do not know. He who knew its meaning would find it as easy to
govern the Empire as to look upon this (pointing to his palm).[3]

Wang-sun Chia[4] asked, saying: What means the adage, "Better be civil
to the kitchen-god than to the god of the inner sanctum"?--The Master
replied: The adage is false. He who sins against Heaven can rely on the
intercession of none.

The Master said: He who serves his prince with all the proper ceremony
will be accounted by men a flatterer.

It is bootless to discuss accomplished facts, to protest against things
past remedy, to find fault with things bygone.

How am I to regard one who has rank without liberality, who performs
ceremonies without reverence, who approaches the rites of mourning
without sorrow?

Men's faults are characteristic.[5] It is by observing a man's faults
that one may come to know his virtues.

Having heard the True Way in the morning what matters it if one should
come to die at night?

The scholar who is bent on studying the principles of virtue, yet is
ashamed of bad clothes and coarse food, is not yet fit to receive
instruction.

Instead of being concerned that you have no office, be concerned to
think how you may fit yourself for office. Instead of being concerned
that you are not known, seek to be worthy of being known.

When you see a good man, think of emulating him; when you see a bad
man, examine your own heart.

The ancients hesitated to give their thoughts utterance: they were
afraid that their actions might not be equal to their words.

Few are those who err on the side of self-restraint.[6]

Virtue cannot live in solitude: neighbours are sure to grow up around
it.[7]

Chi Wên Tzŭ[8] used to reflect thrice before he acted. When told of
this, the Master said: Twice would do.

The Master said: Alas! I have never met a man who could see his own
faults and arraign himself at the bar of his own conscience.

Tzŭ Hua having been sent on a mission to the Ch‘i State, Jan Ch‘iu
begged for a gift of grain for his mother. The Master said: Give her a
peck.--The disciple asking for more, he said:

Give her then a bushel.--But Jan Ch‘iu eventually gave her as much as
five hundredweight of grain. Then the Master rebuked him, saying: When
Ch‘ih went to the Ch‘i State, he was conveyed by a team of sleek horses
and was wearing costly fur garments. Now I have heard that the princely
man succours the distressed, but will not add to the opulence of the
wealthy.

Yüan Ssŭ, having been made governor of a district, was presented with
nine hundred measures of grain.[9] He declined them. The Master said:
Do not decline them. May they not be distributed among the villages and
townships of your neighbourhood?

The Master said: Who can go out of a house except by the door? In life,
why not pass likewise through the door of virtue?[10]

You may speak of higher subjects to those who rise above the average
level of mankind, but not to those who fall below it.

With coarse food to eat, water to drink, and the bended arm as a
pillow, happiness may still exist. Wealth and rank unrighteously
obtained seem to me as insubstantial as floating clouds.

The inhabitants of Hu-hsiang were unconversable people, and when
a young man from those parts came to see Confucius, the disciples
hesitated to let him in. But the Master said: When a man comes to me, I
accept him at his best, not at his worst. Why make so much ado? When a
man washes his hands before paying a visit, and you receive him in that
clean state, you do not thereby stand surety for his always having been
clean in the past.

The Master said: Is virtue then so remote? I have only to show a desire
for virtue, and lo! it is here.

The Master said: Prodigality begets arrogance,[11] parsimony begets
niggardliness. But it is better to be niggardly than arrogant.

Without due self-restraint,[12] courtesy becomes oppressive, prudence
degenerates into timidity, valour into violence, and candour into
rudeness.

Love of daring and dread of poverty lead to sedition. The man without
natural virtue, if pursued by the hatred of society, will become a
desperado.

If a man is proud and avaricious, though his other qualities may
embrace all that was fine in the character of Chou Kung, they are not
worth taking into account.

It is not easy to find a man who after three years of
self-cultivation[13] has not reached happiness.

He who is out of office should not meddle in the government.

Hot-headedness without honesty; ignorance without ingenuousness;
simplicity without sincerity:--such characters I do not understand.[14]

Pursue the study of virtue as though you could never reach your goal,
and were afraid of losing the ground already gained.

The Master said: I have not met one whose love of virtue was equal to
his love of sensual beauty.

Though in making a mound I should stop when but one more basketful of
earth would complete it, the fact remains that I _have_ stopped. On the
other hand, if in levelling it to the ground I advance my work by but
one basketful at a time, the fact remains that I _am_ advancing.[15]

Alas! there are sprouting crops which never come into ear. There are
others which, having come into ear, never ripen into grain.

We ought to have a wholesome respect for our juniors. Who knows
but that by-and-by they may prove themselves equal to the men of
to-day? It is only when they reach the age of forty or fifty without
distinguishing themselves that we need no longer be afraid of them.

Words of just admonition cannot fail to command a ready assent. But
practical reformation is the thing that really matters. Words of kindly
advice cannot fail to please the listener. But subsequent meditation on
them is the thing that really matters. I can make nothing of the man
who is pleased with advice but will not meditate on it, who assents to
admonition but does not reform.

A great army may be robbed of its leader, but nothing can rob one poor
man of his will.

It is only when the cold season comes that we know the pine and cypress
to be evergreens.[16] Let a pupil join with you in self-cultivation
before you let him approach the general truths of philosophy, but let
him approach these general truths before he is allowed to form his
character for good. He should have formed his character for good before
he is allowed to make exceptions to a general rule.

When Yen Yüan died, the Master said: Alas! God has forsaken me, God has
forsaken me!

On the death of Yen Yüan, the disciples wanted to give him a sumptuous
funeral, but the Master said, Better not.[17] Nevertheless, the
disciples did give him a sumptuous funeral, whereupon the Master said:
Hui looked upon me as his father, yet I have not been able to treat him
as my son. The fault is not in me, but in you, my disciples.

Chi Lu inquired concerning men's duty to spirits. The Master replied:
Before we are able to do our duty by the living, how can we do it by
the spirits of the dead?--Chi Lu went on to inquire about death. The
Master said: Before we know what life is, how can we know what death
is?

Tzŭ Chang asked a question about clearness of mental vision. The Master
said: He whose mind is proof against the slow-soaking poison of slander
and the sharp stings of calumny, may be called clear-sighted, and
far-seeing as well.

The Master said: A man may know the three hundred odes by heart, but
if he proves himself incapable when given a post in the government, or
cannot make a speech unaided when sent on a foreign mission, of what
use to him is all his learning?

Tzŭ Kung asked, saying: What may be said of a man who is beloved by all
his fellow-townsmen?--The Master replied: That is not enough to go
upon.--What of one who is hated by all his fellow-townsmen?--The Master
replied: Neither is that enough to go upon. It would be otherwise if,
among his fellow-townsmen, the good loved him and the wicked hated him.

The Master said: A good man must have trained the people for seven
years before they are fit to go to war.

To take an untrained multitude into battle is equivalent to throwing
them away.

In a well-governed country, speak boldly and act boldly. In a country
where lawlessness prevails, let your actions be bold but your speech
tactful.

It is harder to be poor without murmuring, than to be rich without
arrogance.

The men of olden times who studied virtue had only their own
improvement in view; those who study it now have an eye to the applause
of others.

Refusal to instruct one who is competent to learn entails the waste of
a man. Instruction of one who is incompetent to learn entails waste of
words. The wise man is he who wastes neither men nor words.

Those whose care extends not far ahead will find their troubles near at
hand.

He who requires much from himself and little from others will be secure
from hatred.

If a man is not in the habit of asking, "What do you make of this? what
do you make of that?" I can make nothing of him.

Hopeless indeed is the case of those who can herd together all day long
without once letting their conversation reach a higher plane,[18] but
are content to bandy smart and shallow wit.

When a man is generally detested, or when he is generally beloved,
closer examination is necessary.[19]

It is the man that is able to develop his virtue, not virtue that
develops the man.[20]

The real fault is to have faults and not try to amend them.

Where there is education, there is no distinction of class.

Men who differ in their principles cannot help each other in their
plans.

If language is lucid, that is enough.

There are three errors to be avoided in the presence of a great man.
The first is precipitancy--speaking before it is your turn to speak;
the second is bashfulness--not speaking when your turn comes; and the
third is heedlessness--speaking without observing the countenance of
the listener.

There are three impulses against which the nobler sort of man is on his
guard. In the period of youth, when the heyday in the blood has not yet
subsided, he guards against lustfulness; in the prime of life, when
the physical frame is vigorous and strong, he guards against pugnacity;
in old age, when the vital forces are in their decline, he guards
against the greed of gain.[21]

The highest class of men are they whose knowledge is innate; next to
these are they whose knowledge is acquired by study[22]; after them
come those who are dull-witted, yet strive to learn; while those who
are dull-witted and will make no effort to learn are the lowest of the
people.

"When you see the good, act as though you could never quite come up
with it; when you are brought face to face with evil, act as though you
were trying the heat of boiling water":--I have heard some such saying
as this, and I have seen men live up to it. "Dwell in retirement,
in order to work out your aims; practise righteousness, in order to
apprehend the Truth":--such a saying I have heard, but I have never
seen a man live up to it.[23]

Men's natures are alike; it is their habits that carry them far apart.

Only two classes of men never change: the wisest of the wise and the
dullest of the dull.

Speaking to Tzŭ Lu, the Master said: Have you ever heard, Yu, of the
six shadows which attend six several virtues?--No, he replied.--Sit
down, then, and I will tell you. Love of goodness without the will
to learn[24] casts the shadow called foolishness. Love of knowledge
without the will to learn casts the shadow called instability. Love of
truth without the will to learn casts the shadow called insensibility.
Love of candour without the will to learn casts the shadow called
rudeness. Love of daring without the will to learn casts the shadow
called turbulence. Love of firmness without the will to learn casts the
shadow called eccentricity.

Ceremonies, forsooth! Can ceremonies be reduced to a mere matter
of silken robes and jade ornaments? Music, forsooth! Can music be
reduced to a mere matter of bells and drums?[25] Men who are grave
and stern in appearance, but inwardly weak and unprincipled--are they
not comparable to the lowest class of humanity--sneaking thieves that
break into houses by night?

Your goody-goody people are the thieves of virtue.

The Master said: Would that I could do without speaking!--Tzŭ Kung
said: If our Master never spoke, how could we, his disciples, transmit
his doctrines?--The Master replied: Does God speak? The four seasons
hold on their course, and all things continue to live and grow. Yet,
tell me, does God speak?

Girls and servants are the most difficult people to handle. If you
treat them familiarly, they become disrespectful; if you keep them at a
distance, they resent it.



[1] The rather inappropriate name given by foreigners to the songs or
ballads contained in the _Shih Ching_ or Book of Poetry (see note on p.
78). Confucius is said to have selected these three hundred odd pieces
from a much larger pre-existing mass of material, but his language here
hardly strikes us as that likely to be used by a man speaking of his
own compilation.

[2] That is to say, he is not limited in his functions like a vessel or
implement, not "borné" or a man of one idea. Cf. note on p. 71.

[3] Every ceremonial rite being symbolical of some portion of the
world's harmony, and the Great Sacrifice being the head and fount as it
were of all the rest, it follows that the man who could penetrate its
profound symbolism would have the whole system of morals and government
unrolled before his eyes.

[4] Prime Minister of the Wei State, who suspected Confucius of coming
to seek office, and took this means of hinting that the real power lay
with himself and not with the Duke.

[5] After some hesitation, I have adopted this clever rendering of
Mr. Ku Hung-ming, as being the only one that fits well with the next
sentence.

[6] A few other renderings of this sentence will illustrate at once the
elasticity of the Chinese language, and the difficulty of making it
flow into European moulds.--LEGGE: "The cautious seldom err." WADE: "It
seldom happens that a man errs through excess of moderation." JENNINGS:
"Those who keep within restraints are seldom losers." KU HUNG-MING: "He
who wants little seldom goes wrong."

[7] I.e. virtue begets virtue.

[8] A member of the great Chi family, who held office in Lu.

[9] The proper allowance for an officer in his station.

[10] As being, in the end, the moat natural and least troublesome route
to take.

[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.

[7] _Li_ here is obviously the name of a book, and not "the rules
of propriety" or even "the arts," as Legge and Mr. Ku Hung-ming
respectively take it. At the same time, we must be careful not to
identify it with the now existing _Li Chi_ or Book of Rites, which did
not take shape until a much later period.

[8] Because etiquette would require an acknowledgment of the gift at
the donor's house.

[9] This episode is probably to be referred to the year 502 B.C., when
Yang Huo, the nominal subordinate of Chi Huan Tzu (himself of usurping
tendencies, see Introduction, p. 15), was in open rebellion and seemed
likely to become master of the whole state of Lu. He was anxious to
enlist the prestige of a man like Confucius on his side, but the latter
steadily refused to countenance his schemes. In the following year,
Yang Huo was ejected from the state, and gratitude impelled the Duke to
offer a governorship to Confucius.

[10] Apparently a Taoist, who pinned his faith to Lao Tzŭ's newly
enunciated doctrine of inaction.

[11] Also Taoist recluses.

[12] This is said to be a sneer at the restlessness which kept
Confucius wandering all over the country, so that no place could be
unfamiliar to him.

[13] The idea is, "Every man to his own trade. Why should I not then
busy myself with government--the subject to which I have devoted my
life?" I do not agree with Legge that the compiler of this chapter
could not have been a disciple of the sage. Confucius successfully
refutes the _laisser-faire_ argument of the hermit, who would dissuade
him from reform on the strange and unsatisfactory ground that the
world's affairs were in a thoroughly bad state. To any one but a Taoist
it would be evident that this was the very time for reform.

[14] A leading member of one of the three great families in the Lu
State.

[15] A high official.




SAYINGS OF THE DISCIPLES


Yu Tzŭ said: It is seldom that good sons and brothers are given to
insubordinate conduct. That those who dislike insubordinate conduct
should be ready to foment sedition, is something absolutely unknown.
The wise man attends to the root; for if this be properly set, virtue
will spring from it. And what is the root of all goodness but filial
piety and fraternal love?

Tsêng Tzŭ said: There are three points on which I daily examine
myself:--Have I been conscientious in working for others? Have I been
truthful in my intercourse with my friends? Have I practised what I
preach?

Tzŭ Hsia said: The man who can appreciate moral worth and disengage
his mind from sensual passion; who can put forth his utmost strength
to serve his parents, and lay down his life to serve his prince; who
speaks sincerely in his intercourse with friends:--such a man, though
the world may call him untaught, has in my opinion received the best
and highest education.

Tzŭ Kung said: What do you say of the poor man who refuses to flatter,
and of the rich man who is free from pride?--They are well enough,
replied the Master; but better still is the poor man who is cheerful,
and the rich man who cherishes the inner principle of harmony and
self-control.--Tzŭ Kung said: One must "cut and then carve, chisel and
then polish," as the Odes have it. Does not this passage illustrate
what you say?--The Master exclaimed: Here is somebody at last with whom
I can really discuss the Odes. Refer him to any old verse, and he will
see its application.[1]

Tzŭ Hsia asked, saying: What is the meaning of the passage:

    "What dimples in her witching smile!
    What lovely eyes, clear white and black!
    Simplicity sets off her ornaments"?

The Master replied: You must have a plain background before you can lay
on the colours.--Rules of ceremony then require a background?--Ah!
exclaimed the Master, Shang always seizes my drift. Here at any rate is
some one with whom I can discuss the Odes.[2]

Tzŭ Yu said: Too much fault-finding with princes entails disgrace; with
friends, it brings estrangement.

The Master wanted to employ Ch'i-tiao K'ai in the business of
government, but the latter said: No, I cannot yet sufficiently trust
myself.--The Master was pleased with the reply.

Once when Yen Yüan and Chi Lu were standing by, the Master said: Come,
tell me, each of you, the wish of your hearts.--Tzŭ Lu said: I should
like to have carriages and horses and fine fur garments, and share them
with my friends; nor would I mind if they were worn out in this way.--
Yen Yüan said: My wish is to make no parade of goodness and no display
of toilsome service rendered.[3]--Tzŭ Lu then said: I should like, Sir,
to hear your own wishes. The Master said: To comfort the aged, to win
the confidence of my friends, to love and cherish the young.

The Master said: Yung might well be made a prince.[4] Chung Kung asked
a question about Tzŭ-sang Po-tzŭ. The Master replied: He is a good
man on the whole, though easy-going.--Chung Kung rejoined: Is it not
excusable for a man who is strict in his own habits to be easy-going in
dealing with the people under him? But if he becomes easy-going in his
own habits as well as in his practice abroad, this is surely too much
of a good thing.--The Master said: Yung's words are true.

Jan Yu asked: Is our Master for or against the Prince of Wei?[5]--Oh,
said Tzŭ Kung, I will ask him that.--He went in and said: What sort of
men were Po I and Shu Ch'i?[6]--They were two ancient worthies, was the
reply.--Did they ever repine? he asked.--They made perfect virtue their
aim, and they attained it. Why then should they repine?--Tzŭ Kung went
out again and said: Our Master is not for the Prince.

Tsêng Tzŭ said: Ability asking instruction of incompetence, abundance
sitting at the feet of insufficiency, a man of every virtue who thought
he had none, solid in character yet making himself out a cypher,
trespassed against but never retaliating--such was the humble state of
mind in which my late friend[7] spent his life.

Tsêng Tzŭ said: If a man can safely be entrusted with the care of a
young orphan prince, or with the government of a large province, and if
the approach of a great emergency cannot shake his resolution, is he
not a man of the princely type? Of the princely type he is indeed!

The authorities of Lu were proposing to reconstruct the Long Treasury.
Min Tzŭ-ch‘ien said: Why not restore it, rather, in the ancient style?
Why is it necessary to renovate it altogether?--The Master said: This
man is no talker, but when he does speak, he speaks to the purpose.

Ssŭ-ma Niu lamenting said: All other men have brothers; I alone have
none.--Tzŭ Hsia said to him: I have heard it said that life and death
are divine dispensations, that wealth and rank depend on the will
of God. The higher type of man is unfailingly attentive to his own
conduct, and shows respect and true courtesy to others. Thus all within
the four seas[8] are his brethren. How then should he grieve at having
no brothers?

Chi Tzŭ-ch‘êng[9] said: The higher type of man is possessed of solid
qualities, and that is all. What has he to do with the ornamental?--Tzŭ
Kung replied: I am sorry, Sir, to hear you say such a thing about the
higher type of man; for a four-horse chariot cannot overtake the spoken
word.[10] The value of the ornament and the value of the substance are
closely connected. Stripped of hair, the hide of a tiger or a leopard
is very like the hide of a dog or a sheep.

Duke Ai asked Yu Jo, saying: It has been a year of famine. My exchequer
is Low. What am I to do?--Yu Jo replied: Why not collect tithes?--Why,
said the Duke, with a tax of two-tenths I still have not enough. How am
I to make one-tenth do?--If the people have plenty, was the reply, how
can the Prince alone be in want? But if the people are in want, how can
the Prince alone have plenty?[11]

Tsêng Tzŭ said of the higher type of man that his culture tended to
bring him into communion with friends, and his friendships tended to
heighten his altruism.

The disciples of Tzŭ Hsia asked Tzŭ Chang about the principles
which should govern friendship. Tzŭ Chang said: What is Tzŭ Hsia's
opinion?--They replied: Tzŭ Hsia says, Associate with those who come
up to your standard; reject all those who do not.--This, said Tzŭ
Chang, is different from what I have been taught. The nobler sort of
man honours the virtuous and wise, but he admits to his society all
men without distinction. He admires the good, but he also pities the
weaker brethren. Am I a man of great wisdom and goodness?--then who is
there among my fellow-men that I will not bear with? Or am I neither
wise nor good?--then other men will reject me. How can one justify this
rejection of others?[12]

Tzŭ Hsia said: The inferior type of man always tries to gloss over his
faults.

Tzŭ Hsia said: The wise man will gain the confidence of the people
before laying burdens upon them; otherwise, they will consider it
oppression. He will gain the confidence of his sovereign before
censuring his actions; otherwise, the latter will consider it mere
libel and abuse.

Tzŭ Hsia said: He who does not transgress the larger principles of
virtuous conduct may be excused for disregarding the boundary line in
matters of smaller import.

Tzŭ Yu said: The followers and disciples of Tzŭ Hsia are trained
well enough in sprinkling and sweeping the floor, in responding and
answering questions, in entering and leaving a room. But these are mere
accessories. Of fundamentals they are totally ignorant. How can this be
considered enough?--Tzŭ Hsia, hearing of these remarks, said: Ah! Yen
Yu is mistaken. It is not the way of the wise teacher to distinguish
between subjects of first-class importance, which must be taught, and
subjects of secondary importance, which may be neglected. He cultivates
minds just as he would cultivate plants, each species requiring
separate treatment. It cannot be the wise man's way to produce
confusion and error. He only is inspired who teaches methodically,
having a beginning and an end.

Tzŭ Hsia said: Let the official who has time to spare devote it to
study; let the student who has time to spare devote it to public
affairs.

Tzŭ Yu said: The rites of mourning should not extend beyond the
expression of heartfelt grief.

The chief of the Mêng family having appointed Yang Fu to be Criminal
Judge, the latter went to Tsêng Tzŭ for advice. Tsêng Tzŭ said: Our
rulers have lost their way, and the people have long been scattered and
distracted. When you discover the facts of a crime, be not moved with
joy but rather with pity and grief.

Tzŭ Kung said: The mistakes of a great and good man are like eclipses
of the sun and moon: his failing is seen by all, and when he repairs
it, all look up to him with awe.



[1] Tzŭ Kung, who had passed from poverty to affluence, wished to
draw attention to his own freedom from the vices characteristic of
each state, but his Master recommends the pursuit of virtue in a
more positive form. The quotation from the Odes merely enforces the
necessity of unceasing labour in the matter of self-improvement.
Confucius was always delighted with an apt illustration from his
favourite book.

[2] The Chinese of the above is as usual extremely concise. For several
turns of phrase I am indebted to Mr. Jennings's translation.

[3] Literally, "display toil." The meaning seems to be that of the
Tacitean phrase "exprobrare beneficia."

[4] Literally, "one who faces south"--the customary position for
royalty enthroned.

[5] The reigning duke, who had succeeded his grandfather and was now
opposing his father's attempts to return from exile and secure the
throne. See p. 43.

[6] See note on p. 74.

[7] The disciple Yen Hui.

[8] Believed to constitute the boundaries of the habitable earth, like
Homer's Ocean-river. Hence the phrase is used as a synonym for the
Chinese Empire.

[9] A minister in the Wei State.

[10] A proverb.

[11] A rebuke to the Prince for his greed in a time of distress.

[12] Each pedagogue has seized only one side of the truth. We need not
reject any of our fellow-men, and yet show discrimination in the choice
of our associates. See the first saying on p. 53, where Confucius,
clearer-headed than his disciples, puts the matter in a nutshell.