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The Crest Wave of Evolution by Kenneth Morris

K >> Kenneth Morris >> The Crest Wave of Evolution




"When presenting royal gifts his manner was formal; but he was
cheerful at the private audience.--This gentleman was never
arrayed in maroon or scarlet; even at home he would not wear red
or purple. In hot weather he wore unlined linen clothes, but
always over other garments. Over lambskin he wore black; over
fawn he wore white; over fox-skin he wore yellow. At home he
wore a long fur robe with the right sleeve short. He always had
his night-gown half as long again as his body. In the house he
wore fox- or badger-skin for warmth. When out of mourning there
was nothing wanting from his girdle. Except for court-dress, he
was sparing of stuff. He did not wear lamb's wool, or a black
cap, on a visit of condolence. On the first day of the moon he
always went to court in court dress. On fast days he always
donned clothes of pale hue, changed his food, and moved from his
wonted seat. He did not dislike his rice cleaned with care, nor
his hash copped small. He would not eat sour or mouldy rice,
putrid fish, or tainted meat. Aught discolored or high, badly
cooked, or out of season, he would not eat. He would not eat
what was badly cut, or a dish with the wrong sauce. A choice of
meats could not tempt him to eat more than he had a relish for.
To wine alone he set no limit; but he never drunk more than
enough. He did not drink brought wine, or eat ready-dried meat.
He did not eat much. Ginger was never missing at his table.

"After sacrifice at the palace he would not keep the meat
over-night; at home, not more than three days. If kept longer,
it was not eaten. He did not talk at meals, nor in bed. Though
there were but coarse rice and vegetables, he made his offering
with all reverence. If his mat were not straight, he would not
sit down. When drinking with the villagers, when those with
slaves left, he left too. At the village exorcisms he donned
court dress, and stood on the eastern steps.

"When sending inquiries to another land, he bowed twice and saw
his messenger out. On K'ang's making him a present of medicine,
he accepted it with a low bow, saying: 'I do not know; I dare
not taste it.' His stables having been burnt, the Master, on his
return from court, said: 'Is anyone hurt?' He did not ask after
the horses."

Set down in perfect good faith to imply that his concern was for
the sufferings of others, not for his personal loss: and without
perception of the fact that it might imply callousness as to the
suffering of the horses. We are to read the recorder's mind, and
not the Master's, in that omission.--

"When the marquis sent him baked meat, he set his mat straight,
and tasted it first. When the Marquis sent him raw meat, he had
it cooked for sacrifice. When the Marquis sent him a living
beast, he had it reared. When dining in attendance on the
Marquis, the latter made the offering; Confucius ate of things
first. On the Marquis coming to see him in sickness, he turned
his face to the east and had his court dress spread across him,
with the girdle over it. When summoned by the Marquis, he
walked, without waiting for his carriage. On entering the Great
Temple, he asked how each thing was done. When a friend died who
had no home, he said: 'It is for me to bury him.' When a friend
sent a gift, even of a carriage and horses, he did not bow. He
only bowed for sacrificial meat. He would not lie in a bed like
a corpse. At home he unbent.

"On meeting a mourner, were he a friend, his face changed. Even
in every-day clothes, when he met anyone in full dress, or a
blind man, his face grew staid. When he met men in mourning, he
bowed over the cross-bar. Before choice meats he rose with a
changed look. At sharp thunder or fierce wind, his countenance
changed. In mounting his chariot he stood straight and grasped
the cord. When in his chariot, he did not look round, speak
fast, or point."

There you have one side of the outer man; and the most has
been made of it. "Always figuring, always posturing," we
hear. I merely point to the seventy noble generations, the
personality made up of that courtly heredity, whose smallest quite
spontaneous acts and habits seemed to men worth recording, as
showing how the perfect gentleman behaved: a model. Another
side is found in the lover of poetry, the devotee of music, the
man of keen and intense affections. Surely, if a _poseur,_ he
might have posed when bereavement touched him; he might have
assumed a high philosophic calm. But no; he never bothered to;
even though reproached for inconsistency. His mother died when
he was twenty-four; and he broke through all rites and customs
by raising a mound over her grave; that, as he said, he might
have a place to turn to and think of as his home whereever he
might be on his wanderings. He mourned for her the orthodox
twenty-seven months; then for five days longer would not touch
his lute. On the sixth day he took it and began to play; but
when he tried to sing, broke down and wept. One is surprised;
but there is no posing about it. Yen Hui was his saint John, the
Beloved disciple. "When Yen Hui died," we read, "the Master
cried, 'Woe is me! I am undone of Heaven! I am undone of
Heaven!' When Yen Hui died the Master gave way to grief. The
disciples said: 'Sir, you are giving way.'--'Am I giving way?'
said he. 'If for this man I do not give way, for whom shall I
give way?... Hui treated me as a son his father; I have failed
to treat him as a father his son.'" Confucius was old then, and
near his own death... But what I think you will recognise in his
speech, again and again, is the peculiarly spontaneous... indeed
impetuous ... ring of it. He had that way of repeating a
sentence twice that marks a naturally impetuous man.--Of his
sense of humor I shall speak later.

He dearly loved his disciples, and was homesick when away from
them.--"My batch of boys, ambitious and hasty--I must go home to
them! I must go home to them!" said he. Once when he was very
ill, Tse Lu "moved the disciples to act as ministers":--to behave
to him as if he were a king and they his ministers.--"I know, I
know!" said Confucius; "Tse Lu has been making believe. This show
of ministers, when I have none,--whom will it deceive? Will it
deceive Heaven? I had rather die in your arms, my boys, than be
a king and die in the arms of my ministers."--"Seeing the
disciple Min standing at his side in winning strength, Tse Lu
with warlike front, Jan Yu and Tse Kung fresh and strong, the
Master's heart was glad," we read. He considered what he calls
'love' the highest state,--the condition of the Adept or Sage;
but that other thing that goes by the same name,--of that he
would not speak;--nor of crime,--nor of feats of strength,
--nor of doom,--nor of ghosts and spirits. Anything that
implied a forsaking of middle lines, a losing of the balance,
extravagance,--he abhorred.--And now back to that other side of
him again: the Man of Action.

The task that lay before him was to reform the state of Lu.
Something was rotten in it; it needed some reforming.--The
rotten thing, to begin with, was Marquis Ting himself; who was
of such stuff as Confucius referred to when he said: "You cannot
carve rotten wood." But brittle and crumbling as it was, it
would serve his turn for the moment; it would give him the
chance to show twenty-five Chinese centuries the likeness of an
Adept at the head of a state. So it should be proved to them
that Such a One--they call him _Such a One_ generally, I
believe, to avoid the light repetition of a name grown sacred--is
no impractical idealist merely, but a Master of Splendid
Successes here in this world: that the Way of Heaven is the way
that succeeds on earth--if only it be honestly tried.

Ting was by no means master in his own marquisate. As in England
under Stephen, bold bad robber barons had fortified their castles
everywhere, and from these strongholds defied the government.
The mightiest magnate of all was the Chief of Clan Chi, who
ordered things over his royal master's head, and was very much a
power for the new Minister of Crime to reckon with. A clash came
before long. Ex-marquis Chao--he that had been driven into
exile--died in Ts'i; and his body was sent home for burial with
his ancestors. Chi, who had been chief among those responsible
for the dead man's exile, by way of insulting the corpse, gave
orders that it should be buried outside the royal cemetery; and
his orders were carried out. Confucius heard of it, and was
indignant. To have had the corpse exhumed and reburied would
have been a new indignity, I suppose; therefore he gave orders
that the cemetery should be enlarged so as to include the grave;
--and went down and saw it done.--"I have done this on your
behalf," he informed Chi, "to hide the shame of your disloyalty.
To insult the memory of a dead prince is against all decency."
The great man gnashed his teeth; but the Minister of Crime's
action stood.

He turned his attention to the robber-barons, and reduced them.
I do not know how; he was entirely against war; but it is
certain that in a very short time those castles were leveled with
the ground, and the writ of the Marquis ran through Lu. He
hated capital punishment; but signed the death warrant for the
worst of the offenders;--and that despite the protest of some of
his disciples, who would have had him consistent above all
things. But his back was up, and the man was executed. One
makes no excuse for it; except perhaps, to say that such an
action, isolated, and ordained by Such a One, needs no excuse.
He was in the habit of fulfilling his duty; and duty may at times
present itself in strange shapes. It was a startling thing to
do; and Lu straight-way, as they say, sat right up and began to
take concentrated notice of a situation the like of which had not
been seen for centuries.

He had the final decision in all legal cases. A father brought a
charge against his son; relying on the bias of the Minister
whose life had been so largely given to preaching filial piety.
"If you had brought up your son properly," said Confucius, "this
would not have happened"; and astounded plaintiff, defendant,
and the world at large by putting both in prison for three
months. In a year or so he had done for Lu what he had done for
Chung-tu during his magistracy.

By this time Ts'i and Sung and Wei and the whole empire were
taking notice too. There was actually a state where crime was
unknown; where law ruled and the government was strong, and yet,
the people more than contented; a state--and such a state!--
looming ahead as the probable seat of a Bretwalda. Lu with the
hegemony! This old orthodox strict Lu!--this home of lost
causes!--this back number, and quaint _chinoiserie_ to be laughed
at!--As if Morgan Shuster had carried on his work in Persia until
Persia had become of a strength to threaten the world. Lu was
growing strong; and Ts'i--renowned military Ts'i--thought she
ought to be doing something. Thus in our own time, whenever
somnolent obsolete Turkey tried to clean her house, Russia,
land-hungry and looking to a Thanksgiving Dinner presently, felt
a call to send down emissaries, and--see that the cleaning should
not be done.

Duke Ching of Ts'i, at the first attempt, bungled his plans
badly. He would not strike at the root of things, Confucius;
perhaps retained too much respect for him; perhaps simply did
not understand; but at that harmless mutton Marquis Ting who
Confucius had successfully camouflaged up to look like a lion.
To that end he formally sought an alliance with Lu, and the Lu
Minister of Crime concurred. He intended that there should be
more of these alliances.

An altar was raised on the frontier, where the two princes were
to meet and sign the treaty. Duke Ching had laid his plans; but
they did not include the presence of Confucius at the altar as
Master or the Ceremonies on the side of Lu. There he was,
however; and after all, it could hardly make much difference.
The preliminary rites went forward. Suddenly, a roll of drums;
a rush of 'savages' out of ambush;--there were savage tribes in
those parts;--confusion; the Marquis's guard, as the Duke's, is
at some little distance; and clearly it is for the Marquis that
these 'savages' are making. But Confucius is there. He steps
between the kidnappers and his master, "with elbows spread like
wings" hustles the latter off into safety; takes hold of the
situation; issues sharp orders to the savages--who are of course
Ts'i troops in disquise: _Attention! About face!--Double
march!_--snaps out the words of command in right military style,
right in the presence of their own duke, who stands by amazed and
helpless;--and off they go. Then spaciously clears the matter
up. Finds, no doubt, that it is all a mistake; supplies, very
likely, an easy and acceptable explanation to save Ching's face;
shortly has all things peaceably _in status quo._ Then brings
back his marquis, and goes forward with the treaty; but now as
Master of the Ceremonies and something more. There had been a
land question between Lu and Ts'i: Lu territory seized some time
since by her strong neighbor, and the cause of much soreness on
the one hand and exultation on the other. By the time that
treaty had been signed Duke Ching of Ts'i had ceded back the land
to Marquis Ting of Lu,--a thing assuredly he had never dreamed of
doing; and an alliance had been established between the two
states. Since the Duke of Chow's time, Lu had never stood
so high.

Was our man a prig at all? Was he a pedant? have those who have
sedulously spread that report of him in the West told the truth
about him? Or--hath a pleasant little lie or twain served
their turn?

Duke Ching went home and thought things over. He had learned his
lesson: that ting was but a camouflage lion, and by no means the
one to strike at, if business was to be done. He devised a plan,
sweet in it simplicity, marvelous in its knowledge of what we are
pleased to call 'human' nature. He ransacked his realm for
beautiful singing and dancing girls, and sent the best eighty he
could find to his dear friend and ally of Lu. Not to make the
thing too pointed, he added a hundred and twenty fine horses--
with their trappings. What could be more appropriate than
such a gift?

It worked. Ting retired to his harem, and day after day passed
over a Lu unlighted by his countenance. Government was at a
standstill; the great Minister of Crime could get nothing done.
The Annual Sacrifice was at hand; a solemnity Confucius hoped
would remind Ting of realities and bring him to his right mind.
According to the ritual, a portion of the offering should be sent
to each high official of the state: none came to Confucius. Day
after day he waited; but Ting's character was quite gone: the
lion-skin had fallen off, and the native egregious muttonhood or
worse stood revealed.--"Master," said Tse Lu, "it is time you
went." But he was very loath to go. At last he gathered his
disciples, and slowly went out from the city. He lingered much
on the way, looking back often, still hoping for sight of the
messenger who should recall him. But none came. That was
in 497.

The old century had ended about the time he took office; and
with it, of course, the last quarter in which, as always, the
Doors of the Lodge were open, and the spiritual influx pouring
into the world. So the effort of that age had its consummation
and fine flower in the three years of his official life: to be
considered a triumph. Now, Laotse had long since ridden away
into the West; the Doors were shut; the tides were no longer
flowing; and the God's great Confucius remained in a world that
knew him not. As for holding office and governing states, he had
done all that was necessary.




XI. CONFUCIUS THE HERO


He had done enough in the way of holding office and governing
states. Laotse had taught that of old time, before Tao was lost,
the Yellow Emperor sat on his throne and all the world was
governed without knowing it. Confucius worked out the doctrine
thus: True government is by example; given the true ruler, and
he will have the means of ruling at his disposal, and they will
be altogether different from physical force. 'Example' does not
covey it either: his thought was much deeper. There is a word
_li_--I get all this from Dr. Lionel Giles--which the egregious
have been egregiously translating 'the rules of propriety'; but
which Confucius used primarily for a state of harmony within the
soul, which should enable beneficent forces from the Infinite to
flow through into the outer world;--whereof a result would also
be, on the social plane, perfect courtesy and politeness, these
the most outward expression of it. On these too Confucius
insisted which is the very worst you can say about him.--Now, the
ruler stands between Gods and men; let his _li_ be perfect--let
the forces of heaven flow through him unimpeded,--and the people
are regenerated day by day: the government is by regeneration.
Here lies the secret of all his insistence on loyalty and
filial piety: the regeneration of society is dependent on the
maintenance of the natural relation between the Ruler who rules--
that is, lets the _li_ of heaven flow through him--and his
people. They are to maintain such an attitude towards him as
will enable them to receive the _li._ In the family, he is the
father; in the state, he is the king. In very truth, this is
the Doctrine of the Golden Age, and proof of the profound occult
wisdom of Confucius: even the (comparatively) little of it that
was ever made practical lifted China to the grand height she has
held. It is hinted at in the _Bhagavad-Gita:_--"whatsoever is
practised by the most excellent men"; again, it is the Aryan
doctrine of the Guruparampara Chain. The whole idea is so remote
from modern practice and theory that it must seem to the west
utopian, even absurd; but we have Asoka's reign in India, and
Confucius's Ministry in Lu, to prove its basic truth. During
that Ministry he had flashed the picture of such a ruler
on to the screen of time: and it was enough. China could
never forget.

But if, knowing it to have been enough,--knowing that the hour of
the Open Door had passed, and that he should never see success
again,--he had then and there retired into private life, content
to teach his disciples and leave the stubborn world to save or
damn itself:--enough it would not have been. He had flashed the
picture on to the screen of time, but it would have faded.
Twenty years of wandering, of indomitability, of disappointment
and of ignoring defeat and failure, lay before him: in which to
make his creation, not a momentary picture, but a carving in jade
and granite and adamant. It is not the ever-victorious and
successful that we take into the adyta of our hearts. It is the
poignancy of heroism still heroism in defeat,--

"unchanged, though fallen on evil years,"

--that wins admittance there. Someone sneered at Confucius, in his
latter years, as the man who was always trying to do the
impossible. He was; and the sneerer had no idea what high
tribute he was paying him. It is because he was that: the hero,
the flaming idealist: that his figure shines out so clear and
splendidly. His outer attempts--to make a Man of Marquis This
or Duke That, and a model state of Lu or Wei--these were
but carvings in rotten wood, foredoomed to quick failure.
All the material of the world was rotten wood: he might have
learned that lesson;--only there are lessons that Such a One
never learns. Well; we in turn may learn a lesson from him:
applicable now. The rotten wood crumbled under his hands time
and again: under his bodily hands;--but it made no difference to
him. He went on and on, still hoping to begin his life's work,
and never recognising failure; and by reason and virtue of that,
the hands of his spirit were carving, not in rotten wood, but in
precious jade and adamant spiritual, to endure forever. On those
inner planes he was building up his Raja-Yoga; which time saw to
it should materialize and redeem his race presently. Confucius
in the brief moment of his victory illuminated the world indeed;
but Confucius in the long years of his defeat has bowed the
hearts of twenty-five centuries of the Black-haired People. We
can see this now; I wonder did he see it then? I mean, had that
certain knowledge and clear vision in his conscious mind, that
was possessed in the divinity of his Soul--as it is in every
Soul. I imagine not; for in his last days he--the personality--
could give way and weep over the utter failure of his efforts.
One loves him the more for it: one thinks his grandeur only the
more grand. It is a very human and at last a very pathetic
figure--this Man that did save his people.

Due west from Lu, and on the road thence to Honanfu the Chow
capital, lay the Duchy of Wei; whither now he turned his steps.
He had no narrow patriotism: if his own Lu rejected him, he
might still save this foreign state, and through it, perhaps, All
the Chinas. He was at this time one of the most famous men
alive; and his first experience in Wei might have been thought
to augur well. On the frontier he was met by messengers from a
local Wei official, begging for their master an interview:--
"Every illustrious stranger has granted me one; let me not ask
it of you, Sir, in vain." Confucius complied; was conducted to
the yamen, and went in, leaving his disciples outside. To these
the magistrate came out, while the Master was still resting
within.--"Sirs," said he, "never grieve for your Teacher's fall
from office. His work is but now to begin. These many years the
empire has been in perilous case; but now Heaven has raised up
Confucius, its tocsin to call the people to awakenment."--A wise
man, that Wei official!

At the capital, Duke Ling received him with all honor, and at
once assigned him a pension equal to the salary he had been paid
as Minister of Crime in Lu. He even consulted him now and again;
but reserved to himself liberty to neglect the advice asked for.
However, the courtiers intrigued; and before the year was out,
Confucius had taken to his wanderings again: he would try the
state of Ch'in now, in the far south-east. "If any prince would
employ me," said he, "within a twelvemonth I should have done
something considerable; in three years the government would
be perfect."

He was to pass through the town of Kwang, in Sung; it had lately
been raided by a robber named Yang Hu, in face and figure
resembling himself. Someone who saw him in the street put it
abroad that Yang Hu was in the town, and followed him to the
house he had taken for the night. Before long a mob had gathered,
intent on vengeance. The situation was dangerous; the mob in no
mood to hear reason;--and as to that, Yang Hu also would have
said that he was not the man they took him for,--very likely
would have claimed to be the renowned Confucius. The disciples,
as well they might be, were alarmed: the prospect was, short
shrift for the whole party.--"Boys," said the Master, "do you
think Heaven entrusted the Cause of Truth to me, to let me be
harmed by the towns-men of Kwang? "--The besiegers looked for
protests, and then for a fight. What they did not look for was
to hear someone inside singing to a lute;--it was that great
musician Confucius. When he sang and played you stopped to
listen; and so did the Kwang mob now. They listened, and
wondered, and enjoyed their free concert; then made reasonable
inquiries, and apologies,--and went their ways in peace.

In those South-eastern states there was no prospect for him,
and after a while he returneci to Wei. He liked Duke Ling
personally, and the liking was mutual; time and again he went
back there, hoping against hope that something might be done,--or
seeing no other horizon so hopeful. Now Ling had a consort of
some irregular kind: Nantse, famed for her beauty and brilliance
and wickedness. Perhaps _ennuyee,_ and hoping for contact with a
mind equal to her own, she was much stirred by the news of
Confucius' return, and sent to him asking an interview. Such a
request was a characteristic flouting of the conventions on her
part; for him to grant it would be much more so on his. But he
did grant it; and they conversed, after the custom of the time,
with a screen between, neither seeing the other. Tse Lu was much
disturbed; considering it all a very dangerous innovation,
inconsistent in Confucius, and improper. So in the eyes of the
world it would have seemed. But Nantse held the Duke, and
Confucius might influence Nantse. He never let conventions stand
in his way, when there was a chance of doing good work by
breaking them.

One suspects that the lady wished to make her vices respectable
by giving them a seeming backing by incarnate virtue; and that
to this end she brought about the sequel. Duke Ling was to make
a Progress through the city; and requested Confucius to follow
his carriage in another. He did so; not knowing that Nantse had
seen to it that she was to be sitting at the Duke's side.
Her position and reputation even in those days needed some
regularizing; and she had chosen this means to do it. But to
the people, the spectacle was highly symbolic; and Confucius
heard their jeers as he passed:--Flaunting Vice in front,
Slighted Virtue in the rear.--"I have met none," said he, "who
loves virtue more than women." It was time for him to go; and
now he would try the south again. In reality, perhaps, it matter
little whither he went or where he stayed: there was no place
for him anywhere. All that was important was, that he should keep
up the effort.

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