types of civilization in Western Asia--not by elevating the worse,
but by degrading the better--upon the native Persians themselves
they operated as an extraordinary stimulus, provoking alike their
pride, ambition, cupidity, and warlike propensities. Not only did the
territory of Persis proper pay no tribute to Susa or Ekbatana--being
the only district so exempted between the Jaxartes and the
Mediterranean--but the vast tributes received from the remaining empire
were distributed to a great degree among its inhabitants. Empire to them
meant--for the great men, lucrative satrapies or pachalics, with powers
altogether unlimited, pomp inferior only to that of the great king, and
standing armies which they employed at their own discretion sometimes
against each other--for the common soldiers, drawn from their fields or
flocks, constant plunder, abundant maintenance, and an unrestrained
license, either in the suite of one of the satraps, or in the large
permanent troops which moved from Susa to Ekbatana with the Great King.
And if the entire population of Persis proper did not migrate from their
abodes to occupy some of those more inviting spots which the immensity
of the imperial dominion furnished--a dominion extending (to use the
language of Cyrus the younger before the battle of Cunaxa) from the
region of insupportable heat to that of insupportable cold--this was
only because the early kings discouraged such a movement, in order that
the nation might maintain its military hardihood and be in a situation
to furnish undiminished supplies of soldiers. The self-esteem and
arrogance of the Persians were no less remarkable than their avidity for
sensual enjoyment. They were fond of wine to excess; their wives and
their concubines were both numerous; and they adopted eagerly from
foreign nations new fashions of luxury as well as of ornament. Even to
novelties in religion, they were not strongly averse. For though
disciples of Zoroaster, with Magi as their priests and as indispensable
companions of their sacrifices, worshipping sun, moon, earth, fire,
etc., and recognizing neither image, temple, nor altar--yet they had
adopted the voluptuous worship of the goddess Mylitta from the Assyrians
and Arabians. A numerous male offspring was the Persian's boast. His
warlike character and consciousness of force were displayed in the
education of these youths, who were taught, from five years old to
twenty, only three things--to ride, to shoot with the bow, and to speak
the truth. To owe money, or even to buy and sell, was accounted among
the Persians disgraceful--a sentiment which they defended by saying
that both the one and the other imposed the necessity of telling
falsehood. To exact tribute from subjects, to receive pay or presents
from the king, and to give away without forethought whatever was not
immediately wanted, was their mode of dealing with money. Industrial
pursuits were left to the conquered, who were fortunate if by paying a
fixed contribution and sending a military contingent when required, they
could purchase undisturbed immunity for their remaining concerns. They
could not thus purchase safety for the family hearth, since we find
instances of noble Grecian maidens torn from their parents for the harem
of the satrap.
To a people of this character, whose conceptions of political
society went no farther than personal obedience to a chief, a conqueror
like Cyrus would communicate the strongest excitement and enthusiasm
of which they were capable. He had found them slaves, and made them
masters: he was the first and greatest of national benefactors, as well
as the most forward of leaders in the field: they followed him from
one conquest to another, during the thirty years of his reign, their
love of empire growing with the empire itself. And this impulse of
aggrandizement continued unabated during the reigns of his three next
successors--Cambyses, Darius, and Xerxes--until it was at length
violently stifled by the humiliating defeats of Platæa and Salamis;
after which the Persians became content with defending themselves at
home and playing a secondary game.
RISE OF CONFUCIUS, THE CHINESE SAGE
B.C. 550
R.K. DOUGLAS
Confucius is the Latinized name of Kung Futusze, or "Master Kung,"
whose work in China did much to educate the people in social and
civic virtues. He began as a political reformer at a time when the
empire was cut up into a number of petty and discordant
principalities. As a practical statesman and administrator, he
urged the necessity of reform upon the princes whom one after
another he served. His advice was invariably disregarded, and as he
said "no intelligent ruler arose in his time." His great maxims of
submission to the emperor or supreme head of the state he based on
the analogous duty of filial obedience in a household, and his very
spirit of piety prevented him from taking independent measures for
redressing the evils and oppressions of his distracted country.
His moral teachings are not based on any specific religious
foundation, but they have become the settled code of Chinese life,
of which submissiveness to authority, industry, frugality, and fair
dealing as prescribed by Confucian ethics are general
characteristics. The political doctrines of this great reformer
were eventually adopted, and his teaching and example brought about
a peaceful and gradual, but complete revolution, in the Chinese
Empire, whose consolidation into a simple kingdom was the practical
result of this sage's influence.
At the time of which we write the Chinese were still clinging to the
banks of the Yellow River, along which they had first entered the
country, and formed, within the limits of China proper, a few states on
either shore lying between the 33d and 38th parallels of latitude, and
the 106th and 119th of longitude. The royal state of Chow occupied part
of the modern province of Honan. To the north of this was the powerful
state of Tsin, embracing the modern province of Shanse and part of
Chili; to the south was the barbarous state of Ts'oo, which stretched as
far as the Yang-tsze-kiang; to the east, reaching to the coast, were a
number of smaller states, among which those of Ts'e, Loo, Wei, Sung, and
Ching were the chief and to the west of the Yellow River was the state
of Ts'in, which was destined eventually to gain the mastery over the
contending principalities.
On the establishment of the Chow dynasty, King Woo had apportioned these
fiefships among members of his family, his adherents, and the
descendants of some of the ancient virtuous kings. Each prince was
empowered to administer his government as he pleased so long as he
followed the general lines indicated by history; and in the event of any
act of aggression on the part of one state against another, the matter
was to be reported to the king of the sovereign state, who was bound to
punish the offender. It is plain that in such a system the elements of
disorder must lie near the surface; and no sooner was the authority of
the central state lessened by the want of ability shown by the
successors of kings Woo, Ching, and K'ang, than constant strife broke
out between the several chiefs. The hand of every man was against his
neighbor, and the smaller states suffered the usual fate, under like
circumstances, of being encroached upon and absorbed, notwithstanding
their appeals for help to their common sovereign. The House of Chow
having been thus found wanting, the device was resorted to of appointing
one of the most powerful princes as a presiding chief, who should
exercise royal functions, leaving the king only the title and
paraphernalia of sovereignity. In fact, the China of this period was
governed and administered very much as Japan was up till about twenty
years ago. For Mikado, Shogun, and ruling Daimios, read king, presiding
chief, and princes, and the parallel is as nearly as possible complete.
The result of the system, however, in the two countries was different,
for apart from the support received by the Mikado from the belief in his
heavenly origin, the insular position of Japan prevented the possibility
of the advent of elements of disorder from without, whereas the
principalities of China were surrounded by semi-barbarous states, the
chiefs of which were engaged in constant warfare with them.
Confucius' deep spirit of loyalty to the House of Chow forbade his
following in the Book of History the careers of the sovereigns who
reigned between the death of Muh in B.C. 946 and the accession of P'ing
in 770. One after another these kings rose, reigned, and died, leaving
each to his successor an ever-increasing heritage of woe. During the
reign of Seuen (827-781) a gleam of light seems to have shot through the
pervading darkness. Though falling far short of the excellencies of the
founders of the dynasty, he yet strove to follow, though at a long
interval, the examples they had set him; and according to the Chinese
belief, as an acknowledgment from Heaven of his efforts in the direction
of virtue, it was given him to sit upon the throne for nearly half a
century.
His successor, Yew, "the Dark," appears to even less advantage. No
redeeming acts relieve the general disorder of his reign, and at the
instigation of a favorite concubine he is said to have committed acts
which place him on a level with Kee and Show. Earthquakes, storms, and
astrological portents appeared as in the dark days at the close of the
Hea and Shang dynasties. His capital was surrounded by the barbarian
allies of the Prince of Shin, the father of his wife, whom he had
dismissed at the request of his favorite, and in an attempt to escape he
fell a victim to their weapons.
With this event the Western Chow dynasty was brought to a close.
Here, also, the Book of History comes to an end, and the Spring and
Autumn Annals by Confucius takes up the tale of iniquity and disorder
which overspread the land. No more dreadful record of a nation's
struggles can be imagined than that contained in Confucius's history.
The country was torn by discord and desolated by wars. Husbandry was
neglected, the peace of households was destroyed, and plunder and rapine
were the watchwords of the time.
Such was the state of China at the time of the birth of Confucius (B.C.
551). Of the parents of the Sage we know but little, except that his
father, Shuh-leang Heih, was a military officer, eminent for his
commanding stature, his great bravery, and immense strength, and that
his mother's name was Yen Ching-tsai The marriage of this couple took
place when Heih was seventy years old, and the prospect, therefore, of
his having an heir having been but slight, unusual rejoicings
commemorated the birth of the son, who was destined to achieve such
everlasting fame.
Report says that the child was born in a cave on Mount Ne, whither
Ching-tsai went in obedience to a vision to be confined. But this is but
one of the many legends with which Chinese historians love to surround
the birth of Confucius. With the same desire to glorify the Sage, and in
perfect good faith, they narrate how the event was heralded by strange
portents and miraculous appearances, how genii announced to Ching-tsai
the honor that was in store for her, and how fairies attended at his
nativity.
Of the early years of Confucius we have but scanty record. It would seem
that from his childhood he showed ritualistic tendencies, and we are
told that as a boy he delighted to play at the arrangement of vessels
and postures of ceremony. As he advanced in years he became an earnest
student of history, and looked back with love and reverence to the time
when the great and good Yaou and Shun reigned in:
"A golden age, fruitful of golden deeds."
At the age of fifteen "he bent his mind to learning," and when he was
nineteen years old he married a lady from the state of Sung. As has
befallen many other great men, Confucius' married life was not a happy
one, and he finally divorced his wife, not, however, before she had
borne him a son.
Soon after his marriage, at the instigation of poverty, Confucius
accepted the office of keeper of the stores of grain, and in the
following year he was promoted to be guardian of the public fields and
lands. It was while holding this latter office that his son was born,
and so well known and highly esteemed had he already become that the
reigning duke, on hearing of the event, sent him a present of a carp,
from which circumstance the infant derived his name, Le ("a carp"). The
name of this son seldom occurs in the life of his illustrious father,
and the few references we have to him are enough to show that a small
share of paternal affection fell to his lot. "Have you heard any lessons
from your father different from what we have all heard?" asked an
inquisitive disciple of him. "No," replied Le, "he was standing alone
once when I was passing through the court below with hasty steps, and
said to me, 'Have you read the Odes?' On my replying, 'Not yet,' he
added, 'If you do not learn the Odes, you will not be fit to converse
with.' Another day, in the same place and the same way, he said to me,
'Have you read the rules of Propriety?' On my replying, 'Not yet,' he
added, 'If you do not learn the rules of Propriety, your character
cannot be established.'" "I asked one thing," said the enthusiastic
disciple, "and I have learned three things. I have learned about the
Odes; I have learned about the rules of Propriety; and I have learned
that the superior man maintains a distant reserve toward his son."
At the age of twenty-two we find Confucius released from the toils of
office, and devoting his time to the more congenial task of imparting
instruction to a band of admiring and earnest students. With idle or
stupid scholars he would have nothing to do. "I do not open the truth,"
he said, "to one who is not eager after knowledge, nor do I help any one
who is not anxious to explain himself. When I have presented one corner
of a subject, and the listener cannot from it learn the other three, I
do not repeat my lesson."
When twenty-eight years old Confucius studied archery, and in the
following years took lessons in music from the celebrated master, Seang.
At thirty he tells us "he stood firm," and about this time his fame
mightily increased, many noble youths enrolled themselves among his
disciples; and on his expressing a desire to visit the imperial court of
Chow to confer on the subject of ancient ceremonies with Laou Tan, the
founder of the Taouist sect, the reigning duke placed a carriage and
horses at his disposal for the journey.
The extreme veneration which Confucius entertained for the founders of
the Chow dynasty made the visit to Lo, the capital, one of intense
interest to him. With eager delight he wandered through the temple and
audience-chambers, the place of sacrifices and the palace, and having
completed his inspection of the position and shape of the various
sacrificial and ceremonial vessels, he turned to his disciples and said,
"Now I understand the wisdom of the duke of Chow, and how his house
attained to imperial sway." But the principal object of his visit to
Chow was to confer with Laou-tsze; and of the interview between these
two very dissimilar men we have various accounts. The Confucian writers
as a rule merely mention the fact of their having met, but the admirers
of Laou-tsze affirm that Confucius was very roughly handled by his more
ascetic contemporary, who looked down from his somewhat higher
standpoint with contempt on the great apostle of antiquity. It was only
natural that Laou-tsze, who preached that stillness and self-emptiness
were the highest attainable objects, should be ready to assail a man
whose whole being was wrapt up in ceremonial observances and conscious
well-doing. The very measured tones and considered movements of
Confucius, coupled with a certain admixture of that pride which apes
humility, must have been very irritating to the metaphysically-minded
treasurer. And it was eminently characteristic of Confucius, that
notwithstanding the great provocation given him on this occasion, he
abstained from any rejoinder. We nowhere read of his engaging in a
dispute. When an opponent arose, it was in keeping with the doctrine of
Confucius to retire before him. "A sage," he said, "will not enter a
tottering state nor dwell in a disorganized one. When right principles
of government prevail he shows himself, but when they are prostrated he
remains concealed." And carrying out the same principle in private life,
he invariably refused to wrangle.
It was possibly in connection with this incident that Confucius drew the
attention of his disciples to the metal statue of a man with a triple
clasp upon his mouth, which stood in the ancestral temple at Lo. On the
back of the statue were inscribed these words: "The ancients were
guarded in their speech, and like them we should avoid loquacity. Many
words invite many defeats. Avoid also engaging in many businesses, for
many businesses create many difficulties."
"Observe this, my children," said he, pointing to the inscription.
"These words are true, and commend themselves to our reason."
Having gained all the information he desired in Chow, he returned to
Loo, where pupils flocked to him until, we are told, he was surrounded
by an admiring company of three thousand disciples. His stay in Loo was,
however, of short duration, for the three principal clans of the state,
those of Ke, Shuh, and Mang, after frequent contests between themselves,
engaged in a war with the reigning duke, and overthrew his armies. Upon
this the duke took refuge in the state of T'se, whither Confucius
followed him. As he passed along the road he saw a woman weeping at a
tomb, and having compassion on her, he sent his disciple Tsze-loo to ask
her the cause of her grief. "You weep as if you had experienced sorrow
upon sorrow," said Tsze-loo. "I have," said the woman, "my father-in-law
was killed here by a tiger, and my husband also; and now my son has met
the same fate." "Why, then, do you not remove from the place?" asked
Confucius. "Because here there is no oppressive government," replied the
woman. On hearing this answer, Confucius remarked to his disciples, "My
children remember this, oppressive government is fiercer than a tiger."
Possibly Confucius was attracted to T'se by a knowledge that the music
of the emperor Shun was still preserved at the court. At all events, we
are told that having heard a strain of the much-desired music on his way
to the capital, he hurried on, and was so ravished with the airs he
heard that for three months he never tasted flesh. "I did not think,"
said he, "that music could reach such a pitch of excellence."
Hearing of the arrival of the Sage, the duke of T'se--King, by
name--sent for him, and after some conversation, being minded to act the
part of a patron to so distinguished a visitor, offered to make him a
present of the city of Lin-k'ew with its revenues. But this Confucius
declined, remarking to his disciples, "A superior man will not receive
rewards except for services done. I have given advice to the duke King,
but he has not followed it as yet, and now he would endow me with this
place. Very far is he from understanding me." He still, however,
discussed politics with the duke, and taught him that "There is good
government when the prince is prince, and the minister is minister; when
the father is father, and the son is son." "Good," said the duke; "if,
indeed, the prince be not prince, the minister not minister, and the son
not son, although I have my revenue, can I enjoy it?"
Though Duke King was by no means a satisfactory pupil, many of his
instincts were good, and he once again expressed a desire to pension
Confucius, that he might keep him at hand; but Gan Ying, the Prime
Minister, dissuaded him from his purpose. "These scholars," said the
minister, "are impracticable, and cannot be imitated. They are haughty
and conceited of their own views, so that they will not rest satisfied
in inferior positions. They set a high value on all funeral ceremonies,
give way to their grief, and will waste their property on great
funerals, so that they would only be injurious to the common manners.
This Kung Footsze has a thousand peculiarities. It would take ages to
exhaust all he knows about the ceremonies of going up and going down.
This is not the time to examine into his rules of propriety. If you wish
to employ him to change the customs of T'se, you will not be making the
people your primary consideration." This reasoning had full weight with
the duke, who the next time he was urged to follow the advice of
Confucius, cut short the discussion by the remark, "I am too old to
adopt his doctrines."
Under these circumstances Confucius once more returned to Loo, only
however to find that the condition of the state was still unchanged;
disorder was rife; and the reins of government were in the hands of the
head of the strongest party for the time being. This was no time for
Confucius to take office, and he devoted the leisure thus forced upon
him to the compilation of the "Book of Odes" and the "Book of History."
But in process of time order was once more restored, and he then felt
himself free to accept the post of magistrate of the town of Chung-too,
which was offered him by the duke King.
He now had an opportunity of putting his principles of government to
the test, and the result partly justified his expectations. He framed
rules for the support of the living, and for the observation of rites
for the dead; he arranged appropriate food for the old and the young;
and he provided for the proper separation of men and women. And the
results were, we are told, that, as in the time of King Alfred, a
thing dropped on the road was not picked up; there was no fraudulent
carving of vessels; coffins were made of the ordained thickness; graves
were unmarked by mounds raised over them; and no two prices were charged
in the markets. The duke, surprised at what he saw, asked the sage
whether his rule of government could be applied to the whole state.
"Certainly," replied Confucius, "and not only to the state of Loo,
but to the whole empire." Forthwith, therefore, the duke made him
Assistant-Superintendent of Works, and shortly afterwards appointed him
Minister of Crime. Here, again, his success was complete. From the day
of his appointment crime is said to have disappeared, and the penal laws
remained a dead letter.
Courage was recognized by Confucius as being one of the great virtues,
and about this period we have related two instances in which he showed
that he possessed both moral and physical courage to a high degree. The
chief of the Ke family, being virtual possessor of the state, when the
body of the exiled Duke Chaou was brought from T'se for interment,
directed that it should be buried apart from the graves of his
ancestors. On Confucius becoming aware of his decision, he ordered a
trench to be dug round the burying-ground which should enclose the new
tomb. "Thus to censure a prince and signalize his faults is not
according to etiquette," said he to Ke. "I have caused the grave to be
included in the cemetery, and I have done so to hide your disloyalty."
And his action was allowed to pass unchallenged.