To understand the lives of people like Confucius and Laozi, we must try to delve a little into the past of China, the 'land of yellow earth'. At a time when the first advanced civilisations of mankind were emerging in the river lands of the Nile, Euphrates and Tigris, a rich agricultural culture was spreading its influence from the settlement areas of the fertile loess landscapes of the Hoang-Ho in the heart of China far north and west into the steppes of Mongolia, traversed by wild herding peoples. Mighty empires rise and fall under tyrannical rulers, gigantic structures such as the Great Wall of China are built, and the palace cities of the emperors are filled with unimaginable luxury, while millions of hard-working artisans and peasants eke out an agonising existence in poverty and oppression.
Over long periods of history, Chinese civilisation and culture spread beyond the boundaries of political and military power into the boundless vastness of the East Asian region, bringing the light of higher morality, the philosophy of Confucius and Lao-tzu, and eventually, in conjunction with Indian intellectual property, the teachings of Gautama Buddha, the Enlightened, to peoples from the Himalayas of Tibet to the islands of Japan.
The world of the people who emerged in the land of yellow earth and great rivers was a world of farmers in constant struggle with the changing earth, the wilderness, the animals and the untamed waters. They tried to bring order out of chaos and harmony out of the inextricable.
The stories of Chinese posterity are replete with tales of the legendary emperors who tackled and temporarily mastered the greatest of all Chinese creations: the taming of the rivers in the land of flowing loess. The praise of the emperors Yao and Yü, who built dams and canals, echoes through the generations.
Through all the myth-making, one trait shines through: the urge for a higher order, the quest for harmony out of chaos. The original Chinese man was a farmer, struggling with the earth and the wilderness, the sky and the river for his arable land; his existence is an eternal struggle between the elemental, untamed forces and his will for regulation, order and reason.
Even in the late Stone Age, the Chinese were aware of the need not only to regulate their external life through clearing, agriculture and water management, but also to bring man's mind and soul into harmony through education. These basic principles, already apparent in prehistoric times, lead into the future of actual Chinese history and into the clearly emerging centuries of the Yellow Cultures to the present day.
Many centuries before Christ, the mighty Chou Empire was established under King Weng and his son Wu. The Chou thoroughly and systematically destroyed all memory of the previous dynasty, which was no longer able to maintain the great order of the world.
In the mountain town of Feng stands the fortress-like castle of the new emperor, where he summons his loyal followers, generals and ministers after victorious campaigns. From the height of Chou Castle, the arching gongs sound.
There is no hall in the castle large enough to hold the crowds of nobles who want to greet the emperor. So the court officials assigned seats in the large courtyard, whose wooden arcades form a square around the cistern. A throne was set up and covered with tiger and leopard skins.
The arched gongs sound again, a band of musicians beats skin drums and strikes sound stones, flutes sound and bronze cymbals ring as the bamboo gate opens and Emperor Wu appears with his male relatives.
Emperor Wu is still young. His face is mask-like and opaque. His energetic chin and the fire in his dark eyes, flashing from narrow lids, speak of drive and power. His speech is calm and of natural dignity.
He speaks of the years of war, of the victories and conquests that gave the Chou a vast empire that stretched from the Dragon Gate Mountains to the sea and even to the distant peninsula of Korea. More than fifty new provinces fell under the Chou armies.
“Conquest is nothing”, said the Emperor, “order is everything”.
Now that the fighting was over, it was the Chou's first duty to restore harmony to the world. The ruling house must never forget that the fall of the Yin Emperors was caused by internal chaos, that the dynasties of the Hsia and the Yin perished because of the disturbed order.
“Therefore, it is our duty,” cries Wu in a raised voice, “to restore order to our own house and to all the houses of the land forever.”
He solemnly proclaims the new laws of succession and rank.
“I have won great victories and conquered a vast empire,” the Emperor says, a smile lightening his rigid features. You, my loyal subjects, have helped me to do so. Now you shall help me to rule it. But rule means order and harmony. The lowly shall obey the high, and the Emperor shall stand above all. It is my intention to divide the Chou Empire into districts, and each of you will administer a part of the land and report to me from time to time. Therefore, I will appoint a Kung or a Duke as the ruler of the provinces. Step forward, my 'little honourable one', brother T'an, I appoint you Duke of Chou! Rule the Chou heartland in the Dragon Mountains!”
The wide silk robes flutter again, and applause echoes from the palace walls as the young Duke bows to the Emperor and receives a purple cap as a sign of his dignity. Afterwards, generals, ministers and notables of the land are summoned to receive the title of Duke from the Emperor himself.
Once again, Emperor Wu takes the floor.
“The Empire has been founded, the order of the world restored,” he proclaims, “but never forget that any order is only as good as the hearts of the men in whose hands it lies. As long as the duke is a friend, father and protector to his nobles and peasants, as long as the knight is a good neighbour and a well-meaning champion to his peasants, there will be harmony between throne and people and peace between heaven and earth.”
Every five years, Emperor Wu travels across his vast empire. Pulled by fiery stallions, his carriage races along the dusty roads of the provinces, followed by spearmen. During the years of inspection, the emperor travels to the sacred mountain in the east in the second month of spring, to the sacred mountain in the south in the summer, to the sacred mountain in the west in the eighth month, and to the sanctuary on the mountain in the north in the eleventh month, when the snow is falling.
The dukes send their knights to meet him from afar and escort the Lord of the Yellow Empire to the towns and marketplaces. Emperor Wu himself fits into the great harmony of life. Wherever he goes, he asks for the elders and invites them to join him so that they can report on the state of the country. He never relies on the reports of his vassals alone. If a man over eighty lives somewhere, the ruler will spare him the journey to court and visit him himself, such is his respect for age and wisdom.
He often mingles with the crowds at the market, examining the goods on display, brought in by caravan from the far south or west. When folk singers perform somewhere, he has them brought to his tent camp and listens to their ballads and songs with delight.
For all his kindness and gentleness, Wu never forgets that he came to power through military might and struggle. He crushes resistance with a firm hand and crushes the rebellion of insurgents.
The Emperor has given the Yellow Empire the highest possible order and harmony between heaven, earth and mankind. Fate deems his task fulfilled and releases him. He dies young, leaving the empire to his underage son, a disciple of the Duke of Chou.
But Lord T'an, the 'Little Honourable', is himself a part of harmony, far from personal ambition and the pursuit of power. He faithfully administers the people and the state for his growing heir. Even centuries later, the reign of the Duke of Chou is praised as a golden age of peace and justice. A peasant poet writes a quatrain:
Under the mild and just rule of the Duke and his successor, the pressure of the belief in ghosts and demons on the people's souls also eases. Since people no longer live in fear of the unknown and the untamed, there is no need for explanations from ghosts and devils from a world of terror. Slave sacrifices to the gods are abolished and punished.
The great Duke, who loved music and saw in it a means of moderating the libidinous and unbridled in man, created a mighty orchestra in which everyone had a part to play, graded according to importance, efficiency and rank. But even he was powerless against the future, for in the bosom of the future lurked the dangers that would come upon the Chou people from all sides if an emperor did not master the fine art of conducting this mighty state orchestra.
The system of feudalism that he and his elder brother Wu had introduced as a new order was as good as it was bad, as were the bearers of the various power groups. As long as strong rulers and dukes, counts and barons convinced of their patriarchal role were the representatives of this noble order, everything went well. But woe betide the state of the Chou when it was ruled by weak emperors, and when the shepherds who were supposed to lead and protect the people themselves became robbers and wolves!
The Duke's spirit continued to work long after his death. The fifth emperor of the Chou dynasty still held the reins of the empire firmly in his hands, although the tax burden on the peasants had increased and the corrupting wealth of the feudal class had grown. The treasures accumulated over five generations of peaceful development and the undisputed power of Emperor Mu had already led to unnecessary and hopeless military expeditions into the far west, which, with its mountains and deserts, still lurked like a mysterious, dark gateway to adventure.
After the death of Emperor Mu, the decline began.
Arbitrary land grants to dukes and barons, and repeated elevations of the high nobility, increased the power of the feudal lords throughout the empire. The original fiefdoms developed into almost independent kingdoms under the weak Chou emperors; the earls felt like dukes and insisted on their unlimited power; the barons, as lords of life, death and property, sat at the head of the peasants and realised that it was up to them alone to squeeze even more out of the peasants, thus becoming even more powerful and richer.
The time of truth seekers like Confucius and Laozi was approaching.
In what is now Shantung Province, near the city of Dsou, lies the sacred mountain of Mu. Here, on the mountainside, in a cave, in 551 BC, a pilgrim praying to the mountain gods was surprised by her difficult hour. She gives birth to a boy and names him Confucius.
At the same time, in the far west, the great king Cyrus conquers Babylon and leads the people of Israel out of Babylonian captivity. In Greece, the great philosophers of the Ionian school were leading Western thought in new directions; in Olympia, the youth of Hellas were meeting for national sports competitions; in India, the enlightened Buddha was gathering his disciples and teaching world renunciation and self-redemption.
Kungfutse's father is a descendant of the old Yin imperial dynasty. However, the family has long since lost all influence, although it counts important soldiers, politicians and high officials among its ancestors. Kungfutse had been preceded by nine sisters, he was the tenth child, and his birth was a sensational event. That is why the mother had undertaken a pilgrimage to the spirits of the mountains, as the holy mountain Mu had been described by astrologers as the most auspicious place for the future of the still unborn child.
The small feudal state of Lu, to which Confucius's hometown belonged, was ruled by tyrannical dukes. The old families were highly respected but had no influence on the political leadership of the country.
His father was already seventy years old when Confucius was born, and died when Confucius was still an infant. Free from fear of demons and superstition, his mother taught the boy the ancient legends and traditional wisdom. After years of domestic preparation, she sent the inquisitive youth to the school of the wise Mandarin Yen.
When Kung has outgrown the Mandarin's teachings, his family's poverty forces him into the hard school of life. He becomes a granary manager and tax official. As he fulfilled all his duties with great conscientiousness, the State Ministry of Lu promoted him to supervise the herds in his home district. It was in this job that he gradually became familiar with the problems of administration and economics, and he realised that the old order had also been broken in these areas, that it was no longer in harmony with the mighty spirits of the mountains from which China's destiny sprang.
At the age of twenty, Confucius gave up his post as herdsman of Lu and, despite his youth, gathered disciples around him to teach a new order. In a country where age is everything, opening a school at such a young age is an outrageous undertaking. But in the years that followed, the young scholar's reputation spread far beyond the city of Dsou. Young, ambitious people sought out the scholar to learn from him. One of them is Dsi-Gung, who holds a modest court post in the imperial city of Loyang and is only temporarily in the land of Lu.
On his return to the imperial city, a high-ranking mandarin and minister of the emperor asks him:
“Is your master a saint? What abilities does he possess?”
Dsi-Gung replied, “If Heaven allows it, young Kung will be a saint one day. He has many wonderful abilities.”
During one of Dsi-Gung's later visits, Master Kung hears of the Mandarin's interest and asks Dsi-Gung: “How does the Minister know me, a poor man? My youth was poor, I do not belong to the rich and powerful, the only thing I have acquired is knowledge. But I no longer seek knowledge - today I seek wisdom.”
The student said in awe: “Who knows, as you do, the way of the ancient rulers, the traditional books of the ancients?”
Confucius modestly lowered his eyes.
“O Dsi-Gung, I search down here to penetrate up. When I see a worthy man, I strive to be his equal. But when I see an unworthy person, I first examine myself inwardly. I am not yet wise, but I stand firmly on the ground of truthfulness. At thirty a man must stand firm.”
“What is it, O Master, that you are striving for?”
“I try to become noble myself before I teach it to others.”
“What, O honourable one, do you call being noble?”
“The noble man understands the law, the inferior man understands profit. The noble man demands much of himself, the inferior man of others. The noble man seeks inner value, the inferior man seeks possessions. There may be a noble man who is not kind, but there is no inferior man who is kind. The superior man is not judged by trivial matters, but he can take upon himself great responsibilities. The inferior man cannot take great responsibility, but he can be judged by trivial things.”
Tseng-Tze, one of the other students, speaks up when Confucius remains silent.
“Remember, O Dsi-Gung, there are two words in which Master Kung's wisdom is contained: Kung, which means to fulfil one's duties as a human being to the utmost, and fu, which means to act towards others as one would act towards oneself, or to love one's neighbour as oneself. But four things are completely absent from the nature of the Master. He has no prejudices, no selfish desire for recognition, no stubbornness, and no sense of selfishness.”
At the age of thirty, Master Kung is appointed the tutor of the imperial prince Ching-wang at the court of Loyang. This trip to the capital is of great importance to Confucius, for everywhere he goes he encounters evidence of the empire's great past.
He walks through the palace district as if in a dream, seeing the mighty mythical creatures carved in stone that stand guard on the paths to the imperial tombs; he sees the high carved gates in front of the ancestral temples, the gilded tiles and the boldly curved roof ridges with bronze dragons. Once, this ancient world of emperors was orderly and powerful, filled with benevolence, justice and truthfulness, radiating culture, education and knowledge.
The library of the Loyang Palace is immensely rich. Its lacquered shelves hold thousands of works of all kinds. Most of the books are stacked bamboo tablets marked with red strips of cloth. Some newer editions are painted on delicate linen cloths, rolled up and stored in precious book boxes, from which the purple title strips also hang.
The scholar of Dsou spends many hours and days in the 'Hall of Light' studying the wisdom of the past. On one of these days of peace and happiness, the silence of the Hall of Light is suddenly disturbed. The friends and disciples Dsi-Gung, Tseng-Tze, Chin and Tze-Kung burst through the great silk-covered bamboo door and report, full of excitement and whispering in reverence, that Laozi, the great Laozi, has been a guest of the Duke in the palace for a few minutes.
Confucius' eyes light up. Silently, he puts down his quill and stands up. “This day is a sign from heaven,” he says solemnly.
At 85, Laozi is almost a living legend. The old man once ran the library at the court of the Chou emperors. But when he saw the inexorable decline of the court, he left. Far in the western mountains, at the border pass of Hanku, the pass guard Yin-Hi is said to have stopped him.
The guard said to the old man: “I see, my lord, that you wish to go into solitude. I beg you, for the sake of humanity, write down your insights in a book and don't let the wisdom of your old age be lost.”
Laozi had sought the silence of the wilderness and found refuge in a mountain cave, where he wrote his book on the world principle of Tao and the concepts of the highest virtue. For Laozi, virtue meant being at one with the spirit of Tao, the harmony of reason and life in the world. Tao is a cosmic principle, the great secret current of being that only the wise know. Since life, happiness and pain, as well as death, love and greatness, are only changing phases of the ceaselessly flowing stream of existence, only a fool would try to resist his destiny.
“Knowledge is useless, action unnecessary. Desires are harmful, wealth, honour and all the pleasures and pains that our senses offer us are as vain as dreams.”
Having completed his great work, Laozi returns from solitude to the world of men, and one of his first stops is the palace of Loyang.
The entire royal household, including the emperor and the crown prince, have gathered around Laozi in the 'Hall of Enlightenment'. In the middle of the large room, the old man, wrapped in long, simple robes, is huddled. With narrow eyes that reveal no human emotion, he looks inquiringly at the young scholar who approaches him humbly and with many bows. Nothing changed in the old man's face, which was marked by pain, disappointment and loneliness and had reached a state of ultimate spiritualisation.
The courtyard is silent and the eyes of all present are fixed on the two sages, whose names are known and respected far and wide.
At first, Laozi's voice is barely audible, as if he were talking to himself.
“It is useless to work for earthly things. The masses are lethargic and always fall back into dullness. It is unworthy of a wise man to resist them; it is better for him to withdraw into the solitude of his soul, to try to fathom the secrets of his soul, to explore the secrets of creation, and to fight his way to self-redemption. In this way, at the end of his life, he can rise from the dust into the crystalline purity of the mind and enter the Tao”.
“Venerable one,” Kung replied, “allow your unworthy admirer to have some very different thoughts. The scholar should not shut himself away, but use his wisdom to help the ignorant. But how can he help if he retreats into the seclusion of the Tao? I believe that a nation is always what you create within it. Everything is in man at the same time, the good and the bad, the noble and the base, it depends on what we invoke and touch. It is the duty of every government to bring out the noble. That is why I am looking for the best basic rules for living together, for principles that can reorganise moral relations between people. They may be old and simple, but everyone understands them: Do not hide grain when others lack it! Do not deprive a legal heir of his rights! Do not dig up your neighbour's water! Be kind in earnest and strict without cruelty, be zealous without arrogance! These are laws that make sense to everyone and benefit the community. They are already found in the teachings of the ancient emperors!”
There is a long silence in the hall before the quiet voice of the old man Laozi is heard again.
“The old emperors are dead, their bones are dust, their deeds have been blown away. If a man lives in favourable times, he may rise. But when the times are against him, as they are in our lifetime, his feet walk as if they were bound. I have heard that in times of general scarcity, the wise merchant who has amassed treasure creates the appearance of poverty in order to escape envy. In the same way, a man who has accumulated knowledge must pretend to be stupid in difficult times to avoid ill-will. Turn aside from your path, Confucius, for you too will not pass through the flood of mud of the lowly!”
“Wise and great scholar! Confucius replied reverently, "Forgive me my great folly. But in my youthful inexperience I believe there is a way to make the world a better place: one must lead the way, encourage others and never tire of it!”
“The people will not follow your example, Master Confucius!”
“You must lower yourself to them with dignity, so that they will learn reverence. You must teach your neighbours filial piety and mercy so that they will be loyal. You must elevate the good and teach the incompetent, so that everyone will strive for the best!”
Laozi's eyes closed, as if from excessive fatigue. “O Confucius!” he says. “What do you want to achieve, you who have no authority? He who is another's son has nothing of his own, for he owes everything to his father; he who is another's official has nothing of his own, for he owes everything to another. Anyone who, like you, exposes the world's shortcomings by his behaviour and preaching is putting himself in danger! Look around you, Master Kung! Look around this hall and see how many who are less learned than you wear gold, crystal and emerald buttons on their caps, while you wear only the badge of the lowest rank!”
“Of course you are right,” Kung replied, smiling, as an indignant murmur went through the ranks of the mandarins. “We often seem powerless, and we often preach to a deserted mountain. When we speak to people, we often reap hatred. And yet I hope relentlessly. It is written in the books: The truth will prevail in the end...”.
Laozi's face is as impassive as it was at the beginning of the conversation. He silently points to the window made of transparent silk gauze. In the square in front of the 'Hall of Enlightenment' stands a bronze statue of a statesman famous for his farsighted prudence. The statue's lips are sealed with three bolts.
“Have you read the inscription?” asks the old man. “Be careful what you say! Don't say too much, for words lead to disaster!”
Laozi struggles to his feet and two servants jump to his aid. The white-haired man put his hand on the boy's shoulder with a kind and loving gesture.
“Great is the solitary man, and he is holy,” he murmured. “All earthly things come from the Tao, and all return to it. The highest human goal is to be one with the world, the ultimate moral goal is not doing but being.”
“But how,” says Confucius, “can the evils of the times disappear, can humanity improve and rise, without our doing anything? Isn't an idle government more to be feared than a ferocious tiger?”
Something like a smile flits across the old man's wrinkled features.
“Go your way, Kung! You can't help it, it's your Tao. But I tell you, it will be useless toil and in the end disappointment!”
The years go by and Confucius is still a student. His position as a teacher in Loyang exists only in name and brings him little money. He lives in poverty, eating dried meat and fruit that his students bring him as tuition fees. He often tells them about the life of a scholar:
“A man who seeks the truth and is ashamed of his poor clothes and shabby food is not worthy of being spoken to.”
He will not tolerate stupidity or laziness.
“I cannot carve rotten wood, nor whiten a wall of dirty earth. I will not reveal the truth to those who lack enthusiasm, and I cannot help those who cannot express their thoughts. If, after I have explained one side of a problem, you are unable to explain three others, I will no longer teach you.”
During these years, when he had access to the great imperial library at Loyang, Confucius began to compile the 'Book of Laws' from accounts of ancient times, the 'Book of Rites' from the traditions of the Duke of Chou, and the 'Book of Music and Songs' from collections of ancient folk songs.
Whenever he worked on these works, he thought of his life's mission: to improve the state and society and to tame chaos. Among the creative spiritual forces he hopes to use to refine the human soul, music plays an important role.
Time blows away like the loess dust of the hills, it flows like the rain that washes the earth from the mountains into the bed of the Hoang-Ho. Weeks, months and years pass and with them Master Kung's life. He writes sad verses:
Confucius decides to leave the court of Loyang. The city of powerless emperors has no place for a reformer. Intrigue, envy and hatred rule the court, the people do not listen to him - Laozi was right!
When spring brings sun and warmth, Master Kung takes up his walking stick and, with a selection of his disciples, travels from royal court to royal court in search of a ruler willing to join him in creating the ideal state of the future, where everyone is happy and content.
But everywhere he goes, he encounters the same decline in state life and social morality.
At Prince Dsi's court the dancers run the show, while at other ducal courts the nobles squander the taxes of the peasants and citizens. Master Kung desperately complains to his students: “If this can be tolerated, what can't?”
His students are also outraged. They call for revolution and rebellion: “For the wise, there are neither nobles nor commoners, only people! All class distinctions must be abolished!”
“That is not wise at all, my friend!” Master Kung reprimands him. “There are noble and common people, just as there are birds of paradise and sparrows. But I make a distinction between those who are born noble without any merit of their own and those who become noble through their own merit. The thoughts of the true nobleman are directed only to the noble, and those of the other to the lowly. In a well-ordered state, social differences are not eliminated, but distributed according to true merit. Everyone must fill the place that belongs to him; a state is good when the prince is a prince, the minister is a minister, the father is a father, and the son is a son.”
When the pilgrims arrive at Prince Yang-ho's residence, they find that all the rumours of corruption and immorality are true. The court celebrates lavish parties every day, while the people starve and are harassed by corrupt officials. In silent protest, Confucius takes up residence in the poor quarter. Even when Prince Yang-ho sends him gifts to lure the famous scholar to his court, the sage stays away from the palace.
A few days later, Confucius is standing at one of the city gates, known as the Rose Gate, when Mongolian slaves carry Yang-ho's litter past, soldiers with bamboo lances accompany the prince, and dancers behind the camp beat cymbals and drums.
Yang-ho beckons the lord over and asks him reproachfully:
“They tell me you pride yourself on being kind? To lock up your treasure in your heart and let the country go astray, can that be called kind?”
“No!” replies Confucius.
“The days and months go by, Master, waiting for you!”
Kungfutse hesitates for a moment.
“Very well,” he says, “I am ready to accept an office...”
Satisfied, the prince waves to his slaves, and to the stamping rhythm of the drums, the colourful procession sets off again.
At home, in the miserable quarters they have rented, the students ask the master why he has followed the call of the notorious tyrant. “Didn't we hear the master speak earlier? A person of inferior character should be shunned by the superior?”
“That is what I have taught,” replied Confucius, “but it is also true that solid material cannot be ground, only polished. Therefore, I will try to improve Yang-ho.”
The attempt failed, and after only a few weeks the end came. The prince was furious when the sage rebuked him for his dissolute lifestyle. He had expected a collaborator, not a critic. Disappointed, he chased the inconvenient man away, and Master Kung left town to the derisive laughter of the court.
“Oh,” he said, “that was not important! If I had been granted a few more years, I would have immersed myself in the Book of Changes, which I still do not know well enough. With its help, I would certainly avoid such big mistakes in the future”.
He learns, reflects, works on himself and waits for the hour that calls him. In the fiftieth year of his life, fate gave him a chance.
A former pupil had risen to the high position of mandarin in the Duchy of Lu and recommended to the ruling prince that Confucius should be recalled to his homeland.
An honourable invitation was extended to the master, and he joyfully set out on his journey. But while he was travelling, he heard that the Duchy of Lu was in a desperate situation due to internal and external turmoil.
Master Kung sailed down the river in a royal galley. The wise man made a triumphal entry into the city. The route led through walled courtyards, past splashing fountains, reflecting ponds and tall stone statues. The guest is carried over curved wooden bridges, through a tiny park, onto a terrace lit by lanterns and into a hall with silk banners hanging from its lacquered beams. Behind coral-red latticework, flat steps lead up to the throne.
Mandarins of all ranks stand on either side. Their hands are hidden in their wide sleeves and their arms are crossed in front of their chests, according to the ritual book said to have been written by the Duke of Chou.
Dressed in yellow silk, Ting, the Duke of Lu, sits in front of the green lion banner.
Master Kung bowed deeply, and all the mandarins bowed back. At that moment, he felt as if he had achieved his life's goal. At last he had been given a field in which to sow and perhaps reap a harvest.
Along with Confucius, the Master's old disciples have come from all parts of the country, most of them employed as officials to carry out the Master's ideas as he intended.
His favourite student is Yen-hui, a young man of genius whom Confucius sees as his spiritual heir. He recruits into his inner circle the courageous, quick-witted and energetic Dsi-Lu, who is devoted to him. He also takes on Dsi-Hao, who comes from a peasant family, and Tseng, the conscientious collector of his words and sayings, and his son Li.
In quick succession, the Master rises from the position of City Prefect to the dignity of Minister of Public Works and Minister of Justice. At his formal inauguration as Minister of Justice, he presents his programme of reform to the assembled royal household of Lu.
“Allow your unworthy servant Confucius,” he respectfully addressed the duke, “to attempt to speak about what is the cause of confusion, disorder and numerous other plagues of this world. The sun, moon and stars, clouds, wind, rain and the scorching heat of summer all have their own spirit... All nature lives in harmony, and its order must continue in a healthy human hierarchy. But this order is affected by two diseases: the constant warfare of men against each other and the bad example of the powerful to their subjects”.
There was a murmur of agreement among the students. The mandarins remain unmoved, their faces as rigid as masks.
Confucius takes a deep breath, his face is flushed. What he is about to propose as a practical measure is so new and so outrageous that it will meet with the strongest opposition.
“The old hereditary enemy of Lu is the Principality of Tsin,” he says resolutely. “Both states are arming themselves out of fear of each other and spending their economic wealth on armaments. Moreover, the constant readiness for war must one day inevitably lead to war itself. Therefore, I propose that we abolish our armaments, demolish the fortifications and ban the carrying of weapons in Lu”.
General Tsong, the commander of the troops, jumps to his feet, his face red with rage, and draws his sword.
“If we commit this madness, we will soon be easy prey for Tsin's men!”
The Duke, also visibly astonished, demands silence and asks Confucius to explain his proposal.
The master raised his voice in protest:
“Killing one person is considered a crime and is punishable by death. According to this principle, killing ten people must be ten times as unjust and punishable by ten times the death penalty; killing a hundred people must be a hundred times as unjust and punishable by a hundred times the death penalty. All enlightened people in the world know this and condemn killing as a crime, and yet, in the case of a war in which thousands of people are killed, they do not condemn this killing, but approve of the war. So little do people know what is right and what is wrong.”
Again there is a murmur among the advisers, but Confucius lets no one speak. Now he addresses the Duke directly.
“Now, honoured prince, I come to the second point, the healing of inner wounds. To rule is to do right! If you, Prince, take the lead, who would dare to do wrong?
Every state is capable of awakening two forces in its subjects, the good and the bad. To establish order is to exalt the good and give it power, for the people obey the good. But if you elevate the bad to oppress the good, if you encourage gambling houses, ruthless tax collectors and informers for the sake of taxes, if you allow the police to beat and imprison for the sake of your rule, then you encourage evil and the state decays; for every state is only as strong as the love of the people who support it.
You see, the human mind has five basic moral instincts, which we call Jen, I, Li, Dschi and Hsin. The Chinese character for 'Jen', which means kindness, is made up of two other characters: the character for 'human' and the number for 'two'. So what is kindness? It is the relationship between me and the other, it is right behaviour towards one's fellow man, charity.
That is why I give advice: At home, be polite; in business, be respectful; when dealing with other people, be loyal, even when dealing with barbarians. All this I call 'Jen', the true kindness.
'I' is righteousness, tolerance and respect for the rights of others. By 'Li' I also mean everything that tradition and ritual prescribe: reverence, courtesy, propriety and the cultivation of the arts. Teach people courtesy, O Prince, and you will see how they will try to repay it. Courtesy is the taming of crudeness.
But what is 'Dschi'? It is the urge for knowledge that leads to wisdom. The true human being will never be self-satisfied and content in his pursuit of knowledge and virtue. To have wisdom from birth would be the ideal. To acquire wisdom through learning is the next best thing. To be foolish and still learn is the next best thing. To be foolish and not learn is the way of the ordinary.
'Hsin', the last of the basic human instincts, means reliability or truthfulness! The character is composed of the symbols for 'man' and 'word'; it is meant to remind us that a man must keep his word...”.
The Master bows deeply to the Prince, who rises without a word and thoughtfully ends the audience.
For five years Master Kung and his disciples work to tame man's evil instincts; for five years they build dams against the destructive forces that keep breaking out of human hearts and minds.
The land of Lu, freed from the burden of armaments and the fear of war, prospers and becomes so rich that it is the envy of its neighbours.
The Duke of Tsin tries to break the power of the clever minister by a means as strange as it is effective. He sends eighty seductively dressed slave girls to the Duke of Lu, his equal in rank, who are as skilled in the arts of dance and song as they are in the arts of love and seduction. As a further sign of honour, the Tsin envoys present an arsenal of war horses, armour and swords.
Master Kung recognises the danger of these gifts, seemingly offered in such neighbourly and peaceful intentions, and begs the Duke to reject them. The dancing girls would seduce the court officials and nobles, who have been converted to modesty and a moderate lifestyle, into ruinous pleasures; the war horses and armour would awaken the martial instincts of the knights, directing their thoughts towards conquest and violence.
But the Duke himself has long been ready to break out of the boredom of a life regulated by order. From now on, the audience hall will remain closed to the uncomfortable admonisher. From the courtyards of the Yamen came the sound of singing, cymbals, shawms, stringed instruments and the noise of boisterous men and women. The drunkards are celebrating their long-awaited liberation from the Virtue Railways. Outside the gates, the duke's former officers try their hand at weapons and taunt the master's students.
For five years Confucius has tried to change human nature, but now he must realise the futility of his attempts.
On the third day, still waiting in vain for an audience with the duke, he resigns his post and leaves the court of Lu. Followed by his most faithful friends, he leaves his homeland and wanders upstream into the boundless land of China. He is now fifty-five years old and without hope.
The rain falls in grey lines from the sky, the clouds drift thickly over the mountain slopes. Sometimes the haze lifts to reveal the cones of distant peaks.
The water rages in the gorges of the Wei-ho. Yellow torrents swirl and foam around the cliffs, plunge over rocky barriers and wash along the narrow towpath that generations of haulers have carved into the mountain walls.
The lord and his retinue walk along this rocky path, barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side. They trudge in silence beneath the waterfalls that cascade from the walls and crevices. The fibrous bast coats, usually worn only by poor coolies, offer inadequate protection from the pelting rain.
At night, the tired pilgrims find only a small, dilapidated hut where they can barely light a smoldering fire. In the semi-darkness, sometimes drowned out by the sound of the rain, the plaintive words of Confucius can be heard:
His favourite pupil Yen-hui tries to console him with the injustice of all human fates: “Oh, how unfair fate is. It rejects a man like you, but the wicked go in silk and gold!”
But Confucius has already regained his composure. He exhorts his disciples to respect the higher powers: “We must not argue with fate. Heaven does not speak.”
However, his fellow travellers, who have become disgruntled by the rain and hunger, disagree. Dsi-Lu speaks for them.
“Master, who would not despair in a situation like ours? The sky has poured water on us, the river is raging against us, the mountains are blowing cold winds in our faces, and far and wide there is no benefactor to satisfy our hunger.”
“The noble man remains steadfast in adversity,” Kung insists, “only the lowly man who comes into adversity becomes unstable.”
He lies down calmly on the cold, damp ground, pulls his woollen cloak over his face and closes his eyes.
Again the years creep by, as slowly as the mud that is pushed up the hills of Hsin-gan. The master is now over sixty, sometimes ill and often tired and exhausted. As there is no place for him in the north of the country, the great migration leads back south, to the valley of the Yangtze Kiang. There, fever overcame the weakened man and he lay seriously ill in a poor farmer's hut. The misery is indescribable, and he complains to Yen-hui:
“Oh, if only someone would use me! In twelve months his country would be better off, and in three years it would be finished!”
Even after his recovery, all of Master Kung's attempts to find a protector remain fruitless. The powerful of the Yellow Empire are not inclined to give up their pleasures, passions and greed for power and bow to the ascetic teachings of a scholar.
After numerous adventures full of hardship, only the wilderness of the western mountains remains for Master Kung. After travelling through almost every landscape and region of China, the pilgrims approach the rugged mountains of Setchuan. The Yangtze Kiang and Jalung rivers thunder and roar past sky-high cliffs. This inhospitable landscape, haunted by wolves, bears and tigers, is sparsely populated.
In remote caves live pious hermits, students and followers of Taoism, lonely brooders, magicians, ascetics and escapists. They call themselves the 'Hidden Sages of Laozi'.
Deep inside the Heavenly Mountains, in a high valley, the disciples of Confucius meet the two most famous of Laozi's hermits, the 'Ever-Resting' and the 'Completely Submerged', as they search for the right path. The ascetics are dressed in furs and pull a wooden plough through the stony ground in pairs.
The 'Completely Submerged', a small, stooped old man with a long beard, asks Dsi-Lu: “Who are you and where are you going?”
“I am a disciple of the wise Confucius of Lu!”
The penitent's eyes flamed with passion.
“We have heard of him! Is he not the simple man who tries to tame the river and dam the flowing loess? So you follow a master who tries to teach people. It would be better for you and everyone else to follow a teaching that preaches solitude!”
When Dsi-Lu later tells the master about this encounter, Confucius is deeply moved.
“Alas, Lao-tzu,” he sighed, “once again you meet me in these ascetics. You predicted hardship and disappointment for me, but I still had to teach people, because animals and birds do not understand me. If I did not speak to men, to whom else would I speak? This world needs a voice!”
Even the silence of the mountains repels him. All his searching and wandering was in vain. The Master is sixty-eight years old when he decides to return to his old home in Lu.
The news of his arrival spread like wildfire. Many people flocked to him, including his disciples, to whom he had once taught the way of life. Only the rulers of the land, the prince, the mandarins and the barons remained silent.
The jester at the court of Dsou, however, often wore the robes of a wandering scholar and sang a new song:
Confucius smiles when they tell him about the jester's mocking song. He knows that the years of hardship and wandering have not been in vain. Now more than sixty years old, he has found the measure of things. He now knows that the world cannot be changed by one man, not in one generation. He makes no attempt to intervene in the workings of politics as a minister or statesman, but instead deepens his teaching and seeks to preserve it for the future by instilling it in as many receptive hearts as possible.
Confucius spent the last years of his life in intense activity. His four books, the classic Shih-ching, the 'Book of Songs', the Li-chi, the 'Book of Rites', the collection Shu-ching, the 'Book of Documents', and the history of the state of Lu entitled 'Spring and Autumn Annals' are completed. For some time now, the seventy-year-old has been writing his 'Book of Changes' - the I-Ching, his most mysterious work. It is supposed to explain the origin and meaning of life, but in many passages it remains so obscure that even his best students cannot understand it.
At the age of 73, the same age as his father, Confucius breathed out his soul and returned to his ancestors. Friends buried his body and kept watch over the grave for seven days. Soon loyal followers built a temple over the tomb, where his followers gathered on special occasions to discuss his teachings and play his beloved music. Some of his clothes, hats, lutes and books were kept in this sanctuary for a long time.
The school of Laozi lost itself in romantic and mystical raptures. As the world around them collapsed, the disciples of Tao immersed themselves in dark secrets. They lived as hermits in the mountains, torturing their bodies and trying to become masters of their own destiny through breathing exercises, contemplation, meditation and concentration. People see these Taoist ascetics as magicians, familiar with the powers of heaven and the world of demons. The mountain hermits are feared because they are said to have all sorts of miraculous elixirs and herbal roots that give health and eternal life. It is mainly the rationalists of the classical, practical school, including the spiritual descendants of Master Kung, who oppose this magical myth from which there is no salvation.
One of the best known of these practical philosophers is Master Mo-tzu. He was deeply impressed by Confucius, although he vehemently polemicised against the practical incompetence of the pure Confucianists, and rejected many of Master Kung's teachings, which seemed to him to be enthusiasm and useless idealism. He denies the usefulness of rites, ceremonies and sacrifices, and even attacks the great teacher's love of music.
Mo-tzu's harsh criticism stems from a recurring call for practical charity.
“Of what use are dead rites and rapturous music when the people are suffering from three great evils,” he painfully writes. “The hungry have nothing to eat, the cold have nothing to wear, and the overworked have no rest. Can you give them clothes and food by playing pipes and flutes?”
His appeals to humanity are deeply moving and anticipate ideas that would come much later in the Western world.
“Treat your neighbour as you would like to be treated. If your neighbour is hungry, give him food; if he is cold, give him clothes; if he is sick, take care of him; if he dies, bury him!”
But philosophical systems do not tend to change the world, especially when, like Mo-tzu's teachings, they repel the masses with their dogmatic strictness and offend the deeply rooted Chinese tendency towards formulas and rules.
In these disintegrating times, the philosophy of the southern sage Yang Chu is better received. It calls for a 'total life', undisturbed by ambition or greed, too much activity or rebellion against the inevitable and self-torture.
“One hundred years,” says Master Yang Chu, '”s the outer limit of a long life. That a man should live to be a hundred is not the case in a thousand. Even if it were, the childhood spent in the arms of women and the dull age of old age take up almost half. The time spent unconscious at night and wasting away during the day takes up almost the other half. Should the rest be spent in sickness, pain, grief and sorrow? He may have ten years of happy contentment left, but even then there is hardly an hour of complete freedom from worry. So what is human life? What are its joys?”
He concludes that man has a natural right to enjoy, to dream and to be happy whenever he has the opportunity. True peace of mind and freedom from fear and pain seem to Yang Chu to be the highest fulfilment.
It is a strange coincidence that almost simultaneously in India the Carvakas school and in Greece Epicurus of Samos praised the carefree enjoyment of life as true happiness.