CHAPTER VII.

MENCIUS.

AFTER the death of Confucius the state of the empire grew worse and worse. The undutiful became more undutiful still, and the unruly more violent. The antagonism between the various states became even more pronounced, and the smaller principalities were being gradually swallowed up by their more powerful neighbours. To add still further to the perplexity of the time, men arose who preached new and strange doctrines, upsetting the recognised principles of right and wrong. Already men's minds felt the influence of the tone of thought in India which had given rise to Buddhism. Laou-tsze had taught the vanity of over-striving after earthly objects, and had held out the promise of a return to the Absolute to those who cultivated self-emptiness and humility. Some of his followers perverting his views had even proclaimed the possibility of the apotheosis of man, and the certainty of his acquiring magical powers by the exercise of sustained contemplation. All the old mental and moral landmarks had been overthrown, and the country was seething in agitation and confusion.

Such was the condition of the Empire when in the year 371 B.C. Mencius, on whom the mantle of Con

fucius was destined to fall, was born in the principality of Tsow. On arriving at man's estate he adopted, like his great prototype, the calling of a teacher, and gradually surrounded himself with a body of faithful and admiring disciples whom he educated to assist him in the work of perpetuating the doctrines of the Sage. He had no system of his own to enunciate, but clothing himself in the armour prepared for him by his master he went forth to combat the evils of the day, and just in proportion as these were greater and more complex than in the time of Confucius so was he bolder in attack and more subtle in argument than he. Where Confucius had chastised with whips he chastised with scorpions, and this not only when he was dealing with his equals or inferiors, but also where princes and governors were the objects of his wrath.

"May a subject put a ruler to death ?" asked King Seuen of him. "He who outrages benevolence," answered Mencius, "is called a ruffian; and he who outrages righteousness is called a villain. The ruffian and villain we call a mere fellow. I have heard of the cutting off of the fellow Show [the last Emperor of the Shang Dynasty]; but I have not heard of a ruler having been put to death." The rights of the people were always uppermost in his thoughts. "The people," said he, "are the most important element in the country. . . . and the ruler is the lightest." The welfare of the people therefore should be the great concern of sovereigns, and he denounced with no faltering tongue the conduct of kings who by engaging in needless wars bring ruin and misery on

their subjects. In all his utterances there was a freshness and vigour which are not to be found to the same extent in the works of any other Chinese writer. He had a straightforward and incisive way of going to the root of every matter. Whether he had to contend with visionaries such as Yang Choo and Mih Teihthe first of whom preached the doctrine of "Each one for himself" and the last that of "Universal Love," or with unrighteous sovereigns such as King Hwuy of Leang, or with argumentative disciples such as Kaou-tsze, he at once struck at the source from which their errors sprang. He thrust on one side all the false issues they raised or the excuses they offered, and put his finger straight on the faulty argument, or the guilty motive, which invalidated their theories or vitiated their conduct. As he said himself, "I understand words. . . . When speeches are onesided I know how the mind of the speaker is clouded over; when they are extravagant I know wherein the mind is snared; when they are all depraved, I know how the mind has departed from principle; when they are evasive, I know how the mind is at its wit's end."

...

Like Confucius, Mencius earnestly longed to find some ruler who would follow his counsels, and also like Confucius, though he visited several courts and was hospitably entertained, he failed in his great object. But though fortune refused to smile upon him he found consolation in his retirement in the belief that his want of success was the appointment of Heaven. "Heaven does not wish that the Empire should enjoy tranquillity and good order," he said;

and it was therefore in no discontented spirit that he finally resigned all hope of seeing his principles carried into practice and devoted the fifteen years of life which remained to him to the compilation of his works and the instruction of his disciples.

Mencius was not formed of the stuff that courtiers are made of. During his lifetime his personal character was sufficient to save him from the consequences which might have been expected to follow from some of the views he expressed in conversations with the rulers of the states. But after his death, when his words only remained, and when his disinterested patriotism and commanding independence were forgotten, his merits received but scanty recognition at the hands of succeeding sovereigns. With the revival of learning under the Han Dynasty the attention of scholars was attracted to his writings, but it was not until the reign of Shin-tsung (A.D. 1068-1085), of the Sung Dynasty, that they were included among the Confucian classics, since which time, however, he has held a place, second only to that of Confucius, in the esteem of his countrymen.

CHAPTER VIII.

MODERN CONFUCIANISM.

We have seen that Confucius's sun set under a cloud. The sovereigns of his day refused to listen to his instructions, and his were not doctrines to make their way unaided amongst the people. His system appealed, in the first instance, to the governing class, and had nothing in it to satisfy the spiritual wants of man. It was purely a politico-moral system, which needed patronage from above to enable it to gain currency in the empire. The condition of the country at the time of Confucius, and the strong opinions he held regarding the loyalty due to the falling house of Chow, deprived it of that patronage during his lifetime. But no sooner was he dead, than the Duke Gae, who had always respected him, but who had never submitted himself to his guidance, broke out in lamentations over him. 66 Heaven," said he, "has taken from me the aged man. is no one now to assist me on the throne. me! Alas! O venerable Ne !" There is no reason to suppose that these regrets were insincere. The duke had constantly held long discussions with Confucius on the subject of government, and had no doubt profited by the advice given him. That he

There

Woe is