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]