CONFUCIUS.

This greatest of Chinese philosophers was born in the petty kingdom of Lú, now the province of Shántung, in the year 549 B. C.—the same year that Cyrus became king of the Medes and Persians. The Chinese, in their embellishments of his history, tell us that his birth was attended with heavenly music, filling the air; that two dragons were seen winding over the roof; that five old men appeared at the door, and after consulting together, suddenly vanished; and that a unicorn brought to his mother a tablet in his mouth. It is also related that when he was born, five characters were seen on his breast, declaring him to be “the maker of a rule for settling the world.” These and other marvels are a part of the established biography of the philosopher, as received by the Chinese.

The father of Confucius, who was a magistrate of the district where he lived, died when the son was but three years old. The latter was poor and unknown during his youth—though his gravity and attention to study attracted the attention of his townsmen. When he approached manhood, he was esteemed remarkable for his wisdom, and equal to the learned men of the country in his knowledge of antiquity.

At the age of seventeen he received an appointment as clerk in the grain department of the government; and so attentive was he in his trust, as, two years after, to be advanced to the general supervision of the fields and parks, and the breeding of cattle. About this time he was married, and two years after, his only son was born. Upon this occasion, Lord Cháu the governor of Lú, sent him two carp as a present, and accordingly Confucius named his son Lí or Carp. His humor went even farther, and he gave the boy the additional title of Piyü, or Uncle Fish.

At the age of twenty-four, Confucius lost his mother, whom he buried in the same grave with his father, who had been dead some time. He then resigned his office, that he might mourn three years for his mother, according to the ancient custom of the country. This practice had fallen into neglect, and, consequently, the example of Confucius, in following the holy custom of the fathers of the country, gained him great renown for his piety. His reputation was thus extended, and his example began to be followed.

The three years of his mourning were not lost—for he then devoted himself to study. He diligently examined the books of the old authors, seeking to discover the means by which the ancient kings and sages sought to attain the perfection of morals. The result was, a conviction that the social virtues were best cultivated by an observance of the ancient usages of the country; and accordingly he resolved to devote his life to them, and to their permanent establishment in China. This great work he accomplished; and if we consider the effect he has produced on the most populous nation of the globe, and during a space of nearly two thousand years, we shall perceive the mighty consequence of his labors. The actual amount of influence he has exercised, perhaps exceeds that of any other human being, save Aristotle alone.

Appearing to have a clear view of his great work, Confucius entered upon it with systematic diligence. He resolved to establish schools where his philosophy should be taught to pupils who would go forth and spread his doctrines through the empire. He also proposed to write a series of books, setting forth his views. All these things he lived to accomplish.

The greater part of the life of Confucius was passed in travelling, visiting the courts of the petty princes, whose states then constituted the empire under the sovereign of the Chán dynasty. This course was, as might be expected, fruitless in reforming these states, but it diffused a general knowledge of himself and his doctrines, and procured him scholars. The prince of Tsí was the first who invited him to his court, and received him with distinction. This potentate heard him with pleasure, and applauded his maxims; but, to the chagrin of Confucius, he continued to live in luxury, and to allow his ministers to oppress his subjects and abuse their power. He, however, offered him for his maintenance the revenue of a considerable city, which the philosopher thought proper to decline, alleging that he had done nothing to merit such a recompense. After sojourning a year in Tsí, and seeing that his discourse produced no effect to reform the abuses and evils of the country, he left it, and visited some of the principal cities of China.

On the road between Tsí and Chin, he fell into a difficulty. The prince of Wú having attacked Chin, the lord of Tsú came to his relief, and sent an invitation to Confucius to join him; but the other party, fearing that he would do them a disservice, sent people to intercept him. They surrounded him in the wilderness, and would have starved him to death, had not a friend come to his relief, after a detention of seven days. After this narrow escape, he returned home and the prince of Lú gave him a carriage, two horses and a servant, with which he set off for King-yang, the capital of the empire. Here he passed his time in observing the forms of government, the condition of the people and their manners, and how the rites and ceremonies of the ancient kings were regarded. He held several interviews with the ministers of the court, was permitted to visit the emperor’s ancestral hall, and other sacred places, and had access to the archives of the kingdom, from which he was allowed to take extracts.

One object in the visit of Confucius to the capital, was to see Láutsz’, the founder of the Táu sect, or Rationalists, who lived in a retired place, some distance from court. This old philosopher, accustomed to visits from men of all ranks, received Confucius and his disciples with indifference. He was reclining on an elevated platform, and hearing that his visitor had come to hear from his own mouth an exposition of his tenets, and to ask him about propriety, he roused himself to receive him. “I have heard speak of you,” says he, “and I know your reputation. I am told that you talk only of the ancients, and discourse only upon what they taught. Now, of what use is it to endeavor to revive the memory of men of whom no trace remains on the earth? The sage ought to interest himself with the times in which he lives, and regard present circumstances; if they are favorable, he will improve them; but if, on the contrary, they are unfavorable, he will retire and wait tranquilly, without grieving at what others do. He who possesses a treasure, will try to have everybody know it; he will preserve it against the day of need; this you will do if you are a sage. It seems, judging by your conduct, that you have some ostentation in your plans of instruction and that you are proud. Correct these faults, and purify your heart from all love of pleasure; you will, in this way, be much more useful than seeking to know what the ancients said.”

Láutsz’ also observed, “A discreet merchant keeps his affairs to himself as if he knew nothing; an excellent man, although highly intelligent, demeans himself like an ignorant man.” Confucius remarked to his disciples, “I have seen Láutsz’; have I not seen something like a dragon?” On leaving him, Láutsz’ said, “I have heard that the rich dismiss their friends with a present, and the benevolent send away people with a word of advice; whoever is talented, and prying into everything, will run himself into danger, because he loves to satirize and slander men; and he who wishes to thoroughly understand recondite things will jeopard his safety, because he loves to publish the failings of men.” Confucius replied, “I respectfully receive your instructions,” and thus left him. Láutsz’ advice seemed directed against a too inquisitive philosophy, and meddling too much in the affairs of the world; he was rather of the Budhistic school of quietists, while Confucius wished men to endeavor to make each other better.

Confucius, like Aristotle and other masters, used to teach his disciples while walking with them, deriving instruction from what they saw. Once, while walking with them by the bank of a stream, he stopped from time to time to look very intently at the water, until their attention was excited, and they were induced to ask him the reason of his conduct. He replied, “The running of water in its bed is a very simple thing, the reason of which everybody knows. I was, however, rather making a comparison in my own mind between the running of water and doctrine. The water, I reflected, runs unceasingly, by day and by night, until it is lost in the bosom of the mighty deep. Since the days of Yáu and Shun, the pure doctrine has uninterruptedly descended to us: let us in our turn transmit it to those who come after us, that they, from our example, may give it to their descendants to the end of time. Do not imitate those isolated men, (referring to Láutsz’,) who are wise only for themselves. To communicate the knowledge and virtue we possess, to others, will never impoverish ourselves. This is one of the reflections I would make upon the running of water.”

This peripatetic habit, and the aptitude for drawing instruction from whatever would furnish instruction, was usual with the philosopher, and he seldom omitted to improve an occasion. Once, when walking in the fields, he perceived a fowler, who, having drawn in his nets, distributed the birds he had taken into different cages. On coming up to him to ascertain what he had caught, Confucius attentively remarked the vain efforts of the captive birds to regain their liberty, until his disciples gathered round him, when he addressed the fowler,—“I do not see any old birds here; where have you put them?” “The old birds,” said he, “are too wary to be caught; they are on the look-out, and if they see a net or a cage, far from falling into the snare, they escape, and never return. Those young ones which are in company with them, likewise escape, but such only as separate into a flock by themselves, and rashly approach, are the birds I catch. If perchance I catch an old bird, it is because he follows the young ones.”

“You have heard him,” said Confucius, turning to his disciples; “the words of this fowler afford us matter for instruction. The young birds escape the snare only when they keep with the old ones; the old ones are taken when they follow the young. It is thus with mankind. Presumption, hardihood, want of forethought, and inattention are the principal reasons why young people are led astray. Inflated with their small attainments, they have scarcely made a commencement in learning, before they think they know everything; they have scarcely performed a few virtuous acts, and straight they fancy themselves at the height of wisdom. Under this false impression they doubt nothing; they rashly undertake acts without consulting the aged and experienced, and thus, securely following their own notions, they are misled, and fall into the first snare laid for them. If you see an old man of sober years so badly advised as to be taken with the giddiness of a youth, attached to him, and thinking and acting with him, he is led astray by him, and soon taken in the same snare. Do not forget the answer of the fowler, but reflect on it occasionally.”

Having completed his observations at the capital, Confucius returned, by the way of Tsí, to his native state of Lú, where he remained ten years. His house now became a sort of lyceum, open to every one who wished to receive instruction. His manner of teaching was to allow his disciples or others to come and go when they pleased, asking his opinion on such points, either in morals, politics, history, or literature, as they wished to have explained. He gave them the liberty of choosing their subject, and then he discoursed upon it. From these conversations and detached expressions of the philosopher, treasured up by his disciples, they afterwards composed Lun Yü, now one of the Four Books. Confucius, it is said, numbered upwards of three thousand disciples, or perhaps we ought to call them advocates or hearers of his doctrine. They consisted of men of all ranks and ages, who attended upon him when their duties or inclinations permitted, and who materially assisted in diffusing a knowledge of his tenets over the whole country. There were, however, a select few, who attached themselves to his person, lived with him, and followed him wherever he went; and to whom he entrusted the promulgation of his doctrines.

After several years of retirement, Confucius was called into public life. The prince of Lú died, and his son, entertaining a great respect for the philosopher, and esteem for his instructions, invited him to court, in order to learn his doctrines more fully. After becoming well acquainted with him, and reposing confidence in his integrity, the young ruler committed the entire management of the state to him; and the activity, courage, and disinterested conduct which he exhibited in the exercise of his power, soon had the happiest effect upon the country. By his wise rules and the authority of his example and his maxims he soon reformed many vicious practices, and introduced sobriety and order, in the place of waste and injustice. He occupied himself with agriculture, and regulated the revenue and the manner of receiving it; so that, in consequence of his measures, the productions of the state were increased, the happiness of the people was extended, and the revenue considerably augmented.

He carried his reforms into every department of justice, in which, soon after he entered upon his duties as minister, he had an opportunity of exhibiting his inflexibility. One of the most powerful nobles of the state had screened himself from the just punishment due to his many crimes, under the dread of his power and riches, and the number of his retainers. Confucius caused him to be arrested, and gave order for his trial; and when the overwhelming proofs brought forward had convinced all of his guilt, he condemned him to lose his head, and presided himself at the execution. This wholesome severity struck a dread into other men of rank, and likewise obtained the plaudits of all men of sense, as well as of the people, who saw in the minister a courageous protector, ready to defend them against the tyranny of men in power.

These salutary reforms had not been long in operation, before the neighboring states took alarm at the rising prosperity of Lú; and the prince of Tsí, who had recently usurped the throne by assassinating its occupant, resolved to ruin the plans of Confucius. To this end he appointed an envoy to the young prince, with whose character he was well acquainted, desiring to renew the ancient league of friendship between the two countries. This envoy was charged with thirty-five horses, beautifully caparisoned, a large number of curious rarities, and twenty-four of the most accomplished courtesans he could procure in his dominions. The scheme succeeded; before these seductive damsels, the austere etiquette of the court of Lú soon gave way, and fetes, comedies, dances, and concerts, took the place of propriety and decorum. The presence of the sage soon became irksome to his master, and he at last forbid him to come into his sight, having become quite charmed with the fair enchantresses, and no longer able to endure the remonstrances of his minister.

Confucius, thus disgraced in his own country, and now at the age of fifty, left it, and retired to the kingdom of Wei, where he remained more than ten years, without seeking to exercise any public office, but principally occupied with completing his works, and instructing his disciples in his doctrines. During his residence in Wei, he frequently made excursions into other states, taking with him such of his disciples as chose to accompany him. He was at times applauded and esteemed, but quite as often was the object of persecution and contempt. More than once his life was endangered. He compared himself to a dog driven from his home: “I have the fidelity of that animal, and I am treated like it. But what matters the ingratitude of men? They cannot hinder me from doing all the good that is appointed me. If my precepts are disregarded, I have the consolation in my own breast of knowing that I have faithfully performed my duty.” He sometimes spoke in a manner that showed his own impression to be that Heaven had conferred on him a special commission to instruct the world. When an attempt was made on his life, he said, “As Heaven has produced such a degree of virtue in me, what can Hwántúi do to me?” On another occasion of danger, he said, “If Heaven means not to obliterate this doctrine from the earth, the men of Kwáng can do nothing to me.”

At the age of sixty-eight, after an absence of eighteen years, Confucius returned to his native country, where he lived a life of retirement, employed in putting the finishing hand to his works. In his sixty-sixth year, his wife died, and his son, Piyü, mourned for her a whole year; but one day overhearing his father say, “Ah! it is carried too far;” he dried up his tears. Three years after this, this son also died, leaving a son, Tsz’sz’, who afterwards emulated his grandfather’s fame as a teacher, and became the author of the Chung Yung, or True Medium. The next year, Yen Hwui, the favorite disciple of the sage, died, whose loss he bitterly mourned, saying, “Heaven has destroyed me! heaven has destroyed me!” He had great hopes of this pupil, and had depended upon him to perpetuate his doctrines.

An anecdote is related of him about this time of life, which the Chinese regard as highly creditable to their sage. Tsz’kung, one of his disciples, was much surprised one morning to meet his master at the door, dressed with much elegance and nicety. On asking him where he was going, Confucius, with a sigh, replied, “I am going to court, and that too, without being invited. I have not been able to resist a feeling which possesses me to make a last effort to bring a just punishment upon Chin Chen, the usurper of the throne of Tsí. I am prepared by purification and fasting, for this audience, so that if I fail, I shall not have to accuse myself.” On presenting himself, he was received with respect, and immediately admitted to an audience; and the prince of Lú asked him what important affair had called him from his retirement. Confucius, replied: “Sire, that which I have to communicate, alike concerns all kings. The perfidious Chin Chen has imbued his hands in the blood of his legitimate sovereign, Kien. You are a prince; your state borders upon Tsí; Kien was your ally, and originally of the same race as yourself. Any one of these reasons is sufficient to authorize you to declare war against Chin Chen, and all of them combined make it your duty to take up arms. Assemble your forces and march to exterminate a monster whom the earth upholds with regret. This crime is such that it cannot be pardoned, and, in punishing it, you will at once avenge an outrage against heaven, from which every king derives his power; against royalty, which has been profaned by this perfidy; against a parent, to whom you are allied by ties of blood, alliance and friendship.”

The prince, convinced of the criminality of Chin Chen, applauded the just indignation which inspired the heart of Confucius, but suggested that before he entered upon such an enterprise, it would be best to confer with his ministers. “Sire,” said the philosopher, “I have acquitted myself of a duty in laying this case before you; but it will be useless to insist upon it before your ministers, whom I know are disinclined to enter into my views. Reflect, I pray you, as a sovereign, upon what I now propose, and consult only with yourself as to its execution. Your servants are not sovereigns, and have no other than their own ends to gain, to which they sometimes sacrifice the good of their master and the glory of the state. I have no other end in view than to support the cause of justice; and I conjure you, by the sacred names of justice and good order, to go and exterminate this miscreant from the earth, and, by restoring the throne of Tsí to its rightful owner, to exhibit to the world your justice, and strike a salutary terror into the hearts of all who may wish to imitate this successful villany.” On leaving, the prince said to Confucius, “I will think seriously on what you have said, and, if it be possible, will carry it into execution.”

Towards the end of his days, when he had completed his revision of the Five Classes, he, with great solemnity, dedicated them to Heaven. He assembled all his disciples and led them out of the town to one of the hills where sacrifices had been usually offered for many years. He here erected a table, or altar, upon which he placed the books; and then, turning his face to the north, adored Heaven, and returned thanks upon his knees, in a humble manner, for having had life and strength granted him to enable him to accomplish this laborious undertaking; he implored heaven to grant that the benefit to his countrymen from so arduous a labor might not be small. He had prepared himself for this ceremony by privacy, fasting and prayer. Chinese pictures of this scene represent the sage in the attitude of supplication, and a pencil of light, or a rainbow, descending from the sky upon the books, while his scholars stand around in admiring wonder.

In his seventy-third year, a few days before his death, leaning upon his staff, Confucius tottered about the house, singing out,—

“The great mountain is broken!
The strong beam is thrown down!
The wise man is decayed!”

He then related a dream he had had the night before, to his pupil, Tsz’kung, which he regarded as a presage of his own death; and, after keeping his bed seven days, he died on the 18th day of the second month, and was buried in the same grave with his wife. Tsz’kung mourned for him six years in a shed erected by the side of his grave, and then returned home. His death occurred 479 B. C., the year of the battle of Platæa, in Greece, and about seven years before the birth of Socrates. Many events of great importance happened during his life, in western countries, of which the return of the Jews, and building of the second temple, Xerxes’ invasion of Greece, the expulsion of the kings from Rome, the conquest of Egypt, and establishment of the Persian monarchy in its fullest extent, were the most important.

Posthumous honors in great variety have been conferred upon Confucius. Soon after his death, the prince of Lú entitled him Ní fú, or father Ní; which under the reign of Lintí, of the Hán dynasty, 197 B. C., was changed to Ní kung, or duke Ní, and his portrait was ordered to be hung up in the public school. By the emperors of the Tang dynasty it was made sien shing, the ancient sage. He was next styled the royal preacher, and his effigy clad in king’s robes, and a crown put on its head. The Ming dynasty called him the most holy ancient teacher, Kungtsz’, which title is now continued to him. His descendants have continued to dwell in Shántung province, and the heads of the family have enjoyed the rank of nobility, being almost the only hereditary noblemen in the empire out of the imperial kingdom. They are called Yenshing kung. In the reign of Kánghí, one hundred and twenty years ago, the descendants of the sage numbered eleven thousand males; the present is said to be the seventy-fourth generation. The chief of the family is commonly called the “holy duke,” and enjoys all the honors of a prince. Whenever he visits the court, the emperor receives him with almost the same respect and ceremony as he does ambassadors from foreign countries. P. Amiot relates that he was honored with a call from him, upon one of his visits to court. “He was a pleasant and modest man, whom knowledge had not filled with conceit. He received, when he came to our house, some religious books, which we offered him in exchange for some Chinese books he gave us. His name was Kung Chauhán, and he was of the seventy-first generation in direct descent from the sage,—in all probability the oldest family in the world, of which the regular descent can be traced.” In the Life of Confucius, written by Amiot, which forms one of the volumes of the Mémoires sur les Chinoises, there is a brief account of each of these heads of this family, with notices of other distinguished persons belonging to the house.

In every district in the empire there is a temple dedicated to Confucius, and his name is usually suspended in every school-room in the land, and incense is burned before it morning and evening by the scholars. Adoration is paid to him by all ranks. In 1457, Jentsung, of the Ning dynasty, set up a copper statue of the sage in one of the halls of the palace, and ordered his officers, whenever they came to the palace, to go to this room, and respectfully salute Confucius before speaking of the affairs of state, even if the monarch were present. But this custom was represented to another emperor as tending to the worship of images, like the Budhists; and on that account the memorialist represented that simple tablets, inscribed with the name of him who was worshipped, were much better. This advice was followed; the statues of Confucius and his disciples were suppressed, by order of the emperor Chítsung, in 1530, and simple tablets have since been set up in the temples erected to his name.

The writings of Confucius, as might be expected are held in great veneration, and regarded as the best books in the language. He revised all the ancient books, containing the precepts of the kings and emperors of former times, and left them pretty much as they are at the present day. He explained the Yi King, or Book of Changes, commented upon the Lí Kí, or Book of Rites, and compiled the Shí King, or Book of Odes. He composed the Shú King, or Book of Records, and the Chun Tsaú, or Spring and Autumn Annals,—so called, it is said, because the commendations contained therein are life-giving, like spring, and the reproofs are life-withering, like autumn. The books are collectively called the Wú King, or Five Classics. The Hiáu King, or Memoir on Filial Duty; the Chung yung, or True Medium; the Tái Hióh, or Superior Lessons, and the Lun Yü, or Conversations of Confucius, are all considered, by the Chinese, as containing the doctrines of the sage; the first one is sometimes ascribed to his own pen. The last three, with the work of Mencius, constitute the Sz Shü, or Four Books, and were arranged in their present form by Ching fútsz, about eight hundred years ago.

The leading features of the morality of Confucius are, subordination to superiors, and kind, upright dealing with our fellow-men. From the duty, honor, and obedience owed by a child to his parents, he proceeds to inculcate the obligations of wives to their husbands, of subjects to their prince, and of ministers to their king, while he makes him amenable to Heaven. These principles are perpetually inculcated in the Confucian writings, and are imbodied in solemn ceremonials, and apparently trivial forms of mere etiquette. And, probably, it is this feature of his ethics which has made him such a favorite with all the governments of China for many centuries past, and at this day. These principles, and these forms, are early instilled into young minds, and form their conscience; the elucidation and enforcement of these principles and forms is the business of students who aspire to be magistrates or statesmen; and it is no doubt owing in great part, to the force of these principles on the national mind and habits, that China holds steadfastly together—the largest associated population in the world. Every one is interested in upholding doctrines which give him power over those under him; and as the instruction of his own youthful days has given him the habit of obedience and respect to all his superiors, so now, when he is a superior, he exacts the same obedience from his juniors, and public opinion accords it to him. The observance of such principles has tended to consolidate the national mind of China in that peculiar uniformity which has been remarked by those who have known this people. It has also tended to restrain all independence of thought, and keep even the most powerful intellects under an incubus which, while they were prevented by outward circumstances from getting at the knowledge of other lands was too great for their unassisted energies to throw off. It cannot be doubted that there have been many intellects of commanding power among the Chinese, but ignorance of the literature and condition of other nations has led them to infer that there was nothing worthy of notice out of their own borders, and to rest contented with explaining and enforcing the maxims of their sage.

Confucius must be regarded as a great man, if superiority to the times in which one lives is a criterion of greatness. The immense influence he has exercised over the minds of his countrymen cannot, perhaps, be regarded as conclusive evidence of his superiority; but no mind of weak or ordinary powers could have stamped its own impress upon other minds as he has done. He never rose to those sublime heights of contemplation which Plato attained, nor does his mind seem to have been of a very discursive nature. He was content with telling his disciples how to act, and encouraging them to make themselves and others better, by following the rules he gave; not leading them into those endless disquisitions and speculations, upon which the Greek moralists so acutely reasoned, but which exercised no power over the conscience and life. The leading features of his doctrines have been acknowledged by mankind the world over, and are imbodied in their most common rules of life. “Do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with thy God,” is a direction of inspired Writ; and, so far as he knew these duties, he inculcated them. He said little or nothing about spirits or gods, nor did he give any directions about worshipping them; but the veneration for parents, which he enforced, was, in fact, idolatrous, and has since degenerated into the grossest idolatry.

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