He wailed wildly with grief at Yan Hui’s passing, and although his students thought his strong emotional outburst unfitting, Confucius insisted that such grief was appropriate for such a great man. Perhaps too, he was mourning the end of his teachings.36
His other students, perhaps in an attempt to honour Yan Hui in a way that befitted his rank among Confucius’ students, decided to give him a grand burial. Confucius forbade them, saying that this was not the right protocol for a student. The students ignored their Master’s objections and organised an ostentatious funeral. Confucius was furious, saying, ‘Yan Hui treated me as his father, and yet I was not given the chance to treat him as my son. This is not my fault, but yours, my friends.’37 Treating him like his son would have meant giving him a modest funeral in accordance with his status, just like the one he had given his real son, Boyu. Confucius was angry that his students had deprived him of this honour for his beloved student.
Yan Hui’s death was surely a difficult time, not only for Confucius but for his other students too. To hear him lament that now there would be no one to carry on his teachings to the next generation was probably painful for the most devoted of his disciples, who had worked hard to understand and follow their Master’s doctrines. It seems that Confucius underestimated his other students’ ability to absorb, apply and advocate his Way, since many of them did go on to be scholars and teachers of his philosophy. It was their followers in turn who were successful in having his teachings recognised by the rulers of the land and ultimately incorporated into the government and educational systems. Indeed, his own grandson, Zisi, became a well respected teacher; and one of his students was Mencius, a great proponent of Confucius’ beliefs and an outstanding philosopher in his own right.
Nonetheless, after Yan Hui’s death Confucius felt that he now had very little to live for. He was in his seventies, he believed that he had lost his potential successor, and he had not succeeded in convincing his own lord of the importance and virtue of his Way. Although he had cried out that Heaven was destroying him, he may well also have felt that he had failed Heaven in his mission to spread the true, virtuous Way among the people of his land. In the spring of 479 BC, Confucius fell ill again. The nature of his illness is not clear, but he was apparently feisty and challenging to his students even in his last days. Zigong, who remained devoted to Confucius, may have become his attendant in his final years. One day, when he went to see him, his Master was pacing by the door with a stick and demanded, ‘Why have you come so late?’ After he had calmed down, he quoted a poem to Zigong:
Mount Tai crumbles,
The great beam breaks,
The wise man withers away.38
He tearfully told Zigong that he had dreamed that he was sitting before offerings between two pillars, a vision that Zigong, who had learned much about ritual from Confucius, recognised. Members of the Shang dynasty, from which Confucius supposedly descended, laid out the corpses of their dead between two pillars. Confucius was dreaming about his own imminent death. Then, with Zigong by his side, he uttered his final words, which were filled with regret and disappointment: ‘No intelligent monarch arises; there is not one in the kingdom that will make me his master. My time has come to die.39 He took to his bed and, within seven days, Confucius was dead. He was seventy-three years old.
On hearing of his death, Duke Ai is said to have lamented, ‘Kind Heaven had no pity on me and would not spare this grand old man. I am left alone in the world, full of grief and sorrow. Oh, Master, to whom shall I look for guidance now?’ Such an outburst of emotion was too little too late for Confucius’ followers. Zigong, who had witnessed Confucius’ final lament that he had not been used well by his lord, was wary of the Duke’s supposed remorse, and commented cynically, ‘Not to employ the master during his lifetime but to mourn him after his death runs counter to true ceremony, while the description “alone in the world” does not befit a duke.’40
Confucius was buried by a river north of the capital of Lu. Many of his followers mourned him for the customary three-year period. Zigong, loyal even after his Master’s death, built a hut next to the grave and continued to mourn for another three years. Other students left the area, but it is said that more than a hundred of his former pupils settled near their Master’s grave, and so the locals named the district Confucius Village. Having learned well from their Master about performing the correct rituals for the dead, his followers, and many other locals, continued to sacrifice at his grave. For hundreds of years his grave and his home, which was soon turned into a temple, have been sites of pilgrimage for those who wish to honour the man who has been known for centuries in China as the ‘Supreme Sage.’
CONCLUSION
The Legacy of Confucius
and His Teachings
‘A gentleman worries lest he might disappear from this world without having made a name for himself.’1
For most of his long life, Confucius managed to retain an unshake-able faith in his political destiny. In his final years, however, he began to realise that he would not be given the chance to use his philosophy to heal the troubles of the land, and he began to contemplate the possibility that his life’s work might have been in vain. It seems likely that the above words about the plight of a gentleman referred to his own predicament as a man who strove to put morality and virtue before all else but could not convince rulers of its importance. At his death, he had not succeeded in making a name for himself in government; instead, his confidence in his beliefs had probably alienated him from those in power in Lu and abroad. Consequently, his supposed final poem to his student Zigong, which refers to mountains crumbling and a wise man withering away, reflects his feelings of failure and desolation. He seemed certain that his philosophy might die with him. Apparently, although he had long believed in his own Heavenly mission, he did not trust in the strength of his teachings to endure without him or in the ability of his own followers, whom he had spent a lifetime training, to transmit his teachings for him. He underestimated both.
After his death, many of his students continued to practise and pass on the Way of Confucius. Some attained government positions and gradually incorporated aspects of his teachings into government. Others became scholars and taught his philosophy to younger students who, like themselves years before, yearned to study culture, history and rites and to cultivate their moral characters. It is likely that the early generations of followers of Confucius simply referred to his philosophy as ‘the Way’, as Confucius had, but eventually it was given the name Rujia (literally, ‘the School of the Scholars’), Ruxue (‘the Study of the Scholars’), or Rujiao (‘the Teachings of the Scholars’). None of these terms included his name, but occasionally his philosophy is referred to as Kongjiao, or ‘the Teaching of Confucius’. These terms have different connotations in Chinese, some more secular, some more religious. The ending jia, meaning family or house, denotes a school of thought and appears in other philosophies, such as fajia, or Legalism. The ending xue, meaning study, is used similarly to the English ending ‘-ology’ to refer to sciences, such as jingjixue, meaning ‘economics’, and sheng-wuxue, meaning ‘biology.’ The term jiao means teach or educate, but forms the names of religions such as Huijiao for Islam and Jidujiao for Christianity. In the West the philosophy is typically named after Confucius, and the English name ‘Confucianism,’ for example, has certainly fuelled the belief that his teachings are a religion similar to Buddhism, Hinduism or Judaism.
Not surprisingly, there is much debate in China about whether Confucianism is a philosophy, an ideology or a religion. There is not enough space here to tackle such a complex and provocative question.2 It is probably safe to say, though, that his teachings, as they have evolved over the centuries, contain elements of all of the above categories. It is also worth noting that in East Asia the lines between religions and philosophies have traditionally, been more blurred, perhaps, than in the Western world. The question ‘Is Confucianism a religion?’ has not traditionally been as
ked there. Generally, followers of Confucius’ teachings have considered Confucianism to be a moral code that provides guidance on both a social and a political level, and many followers of his teachings are also Buddhists or Christians. Yet, at times, the same people might also have prayed at Confucian temples and made offerings to statues of Confucius, for example for success in examinations. Whatever we choose to call the teachings of Confucius,3 his early followers believed them to contain the key to social and political harmony and they endeavoured to pass them on to successive generations, despite significant resistance and opposition. Their determination certainly bore fruit. Over the centuries, Confucianism flourished within China and eventually evolved into a more complex philosophy that included metaphysical and mystical aspects. It then spread throughout East Asia and to parts of South-east Asia, and accompanied Chinese communities as they settled in other parts of the world. This chapter will examine the legacy and impact of Confucius and Confucianism in these areas and beyond.
Confucianism in China
The later part of the Eastern Zhou period, known as the Warring States period (476–221 BC), was even more unstable and violent than the early Zhou period when Confucius had lived. Six or seven of the larger states had swallowed up their smaller neighbours and were at war with each other for supremacy in the region. Probably because of this unrest, this was also a time of remarkable intellectual and philosophical activity. Philosophers from the so-called ‘Hundred Schools of Thought’ – including Confucianism, Daoism and Legalism – laid out their theories about human nature, presented ideas for restoring harmony and competed passionately with each other for the attention and patronage of rulers. Some thinkers developed new philosophies to tackle life’s big questions, while others interpreted or elaborated upon the teachings of early thinkers, including Confucius. Two in particular, Mencius and Xunzi, were critical in propagating and revitalising Confucius’ teachings during this turbulent age.
Mengzi, known in English as Mencius (372–289 BC), played an extremely important role in consolidating Confucius’ doctrines and defending them against the many rival schools of thought. Mencius grew up close to Confucius’ birthplace and is believed to have studied under Confucius’ grandson, Zisi. He has been regarded by many Confucians as the ‘Second Sage’, the most important Confucian thinker after Confucius himself. He embraced Confucius’ pursuit of a moral, virtuous life and elaborated upon Confucius’ beliefs in two significant ways. Most importantly, he devoted much of his teachings to the discussion of human nature, arguing that humans are essentially good. He proposed that, just as the society of their age was a perversion and corruption of an earlier and perfect age (Confucius’ golden age of the Western Zhou), the characters of most people had also been distorted from their original state of goodness. Because all human beings have an essentially kind and moral disposition, they can recover their virtue. Education for Mencius was not about how to get ‘good feelings’, as Confucius taught, but about how to keep the ones already present in people’s characters.4 Mencius believed that by cultivating the four kinds of predispositions that exist in all human hearts or minds – commiseration, a sense of shame, a reverential attitude towards others and a sense of right and wrong – all people have the ability to attain the four most important ethical attributes: ren (benevolence, humanity), li (observance of rites), yi (righteousness), and zhi (wisdom).
A second area in which Mencius expanded on Confucius was the concept of the benevolent ruler. Like Confucius, he taught that a ruler must possess ren, or benevolence, but also insisted that he exercise a strong sense of yi, righteousness or duty, arguing that a ruler who was not righteous towards his people should forfeit his entitlement to rule. ‘A king,’ he claimed, ‘is he who gives expression of his humanity through virtuous conduct.’5 Only if a ruler treats his people with dignity and puts their economic welfare first can he be become a true king. His criteria for kingship are described at several points in the Mencius: ‘When the aged wear silk and eat meat and the common people are free from hunger and cold, never has the lord of such people failed to become king.’6 Like Confucius, Mencius spent much of his life travelling from state to state trying to offer advice to leaders to reform, but he was even less successful than Confucius in persuading the premiers of the day to focus on developing their moral character and taking care of their people. He lived in an even more politically turbulent time than Confucius had, and the rulers of the powerful states of the region were generally less interested in keeping their people fed than in defending or expanding their own territory. They had little time for Mencius. Like his predecessor, he ended his days teaching and writing. His interpretation of Confucius’ teachings has been considered the orthodox version of Confucianism by many later Confucians, especially the Neo-Confucians of the Song dynasty. The Mencius, the book of his teachings that was probably compiled by his students, is one of the core texts of Confucianism.
The third great early thinker of Confucianism was Xunzi (c. 312–230 BC). Little is known about his early life, but in his fifties he became a high official in the state of Qi and later travelled south to occupy a similar position in Chu. A student of Confucius, he opposed many of the superstitions of the day and argued for a more rational view of the universe and of people and, like Confucius and Mencius, he too emphasised the importance of education to cultivate the self. Where his teachings diverge most remarkably from those of Mencius is in his description of the human character. Unlike Mencius, who believed that human nature is essentially good and that evil is caused by abusing or neglecting this innate goodness, Xunzi argued that human nature is essentially evil, and that goodness is the result of education. All that is good in society, he believed, comes from training and restraining the crude animal nature of humans. ‘Crooked wood needs to undergo steaming and bending by the carpenter’s tools. Only then is it straight … Now the original nature of man is evil, so he must submit himself to teachers and laws before he can be just.’7
Regarding government, Xunzi also valued the importance of a good and virtuous ruler, but because of his belief in the essential evil of human nature he also advocated a system of rewards and punishments to help keep the people in order. Here he clearly strayed from the teachings of both Confucius and Mencius, but his approach, which was often considered to be more realistic or pragmatic than those of the two earlier sages, gained him a number of followers. However, two of his most famous students, Li Si and Han Feizi, went on to become staunch anti-Confucianists under Qin Shi Huang, the warlord who finally unified the Warring States in the third century BC. Their participation in the near-eradication of the teachings of Confucius greatly damaged Xunzi’s reputation and legacy as a Confucianist.
The period of the Warring States ended in 221 BC, when the king of Qin conquered the other large states, unified the region and proclaimed himself Qin Shi Huang Di, ‘The First Emperor of Qin’. Confucius had hoped for the restoration of peace and unity, but Qin Shi Huang Di (259–210 BC) was far from Confucius’ ideal gentleman-ruler and his regime is typically described as totalitarian. Although he is responsible for such astounding cultural achievements as the completion of the Great Wall, which protected the country from northern invasions, and the construction of road and canal networks that developed trade and transportation, the human cost was high, as many of these projects were undertaken using slave labour and paid for by high taxes on farmers. He also ordered the standardisation of script, coinage, weights and measures, which improved communication within the vast empire. However, in an attempt to monopolise and control knowledge and prevent opposition to his rule, he destroyed books that he believed to be threatening, including the works of Confucius, and put to death scholars whose teachings he considered dangerous. (He kept copies of the Confucian texts in the Imperial Library for government use, but these were destroyed during the collapse of the Qin dynasty when the library was burned down.)
The philosophy the First Emperor adopted for his rule was known as Legalism,
or the School of Law, a doctrine that one of Xunzi’s students, Han Feizi (c. 280–233 BC), developed from Xunzi’s belief that humans are essentially evil. Whereas Xunzi was optimistic that people could be trained to become good, the Legalist School argued that government, rules and regulations were necessary to keep their behaviour in check. Qin Shi Huang Di used this philosophy to dismantle the old state feudal system and establish absolute central rule with an exhaustive set of laws and severe punishments. The people were expected to be frugal and obedient and to serve the state in times of war and peace. Xunzi’s other famous student, Li Si (c. 280–208 BC), was the Qin emperor’s prime minister, and was central to overseeing the state’s Legalist policies, including the persecution of Confucianism and any other philosophies that opposed Legalism. Although Li Si himself was a scholar and renowned cal-ligrapher, he was the one who suggested the burning of books and execution of scholars and intellectuals deemed to be politically threatening. According to Sima Qian, Li Si recommended that even ‘those who dare to talk to each other about The Book of Songs and The Book of History should be executed and their bodies exposed in the market place’.8 During this period followers of Confucius’ teachings kept a low profile, but despite the ban on Confucian texts some books were hidden away and survived the burnings.
The Qin dynasty was short-lived and collapsed under the reign of its second emperor in 207 BC. It was followed by the Han dynasty (206 BC–AD 220), which inherited the Qin legacy of a huge empire with a centralised state. Fortunately for Confucianism and other philosophical schools, Han rulers did not attempt to stamp out intellectual activity among the people. Instead, this was a period of great scholarly recovery and growth in China, and although Legalism was still prominent, Daoism and eventually Buddhism became increasing prominent. Confucianism in particular flourished and finally, under the seventh Han ruler, Emperor Wudi (156–87 BC, r. 140–87 BC), gained the imperial patronage that Confucius had hoped for. In 135 BC, following the death of Wudi’s grandmother, the Grand Dowager Empress Dou, who was a devoted Daoist and a powerful force at court, Confucianism rose in influence to become the dominant imperial philosophy. Confucian texts (and those associated with him, such as The Book of Songs and The Book of History that had been particularly singled out by Li Si) were required reading for civil service examinations. Now, government positions were not only accessible to those of rank, but to any man who could show in these examinations that he had mastered the classical texts and absorbed Confucius’ ideas about morality and ethical government. Eventually, by the end of the Han dynasty, a class of scholar officials grew to dominate the entire Chinese social system, further bolstering the importance of Confucian studies for centuries to come.
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