HY2206: China's Imperial Past

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Story

Confucius was resting peacefully in the afterlife, dozing serenely under a blossoming peach tree to the sound of chirping robins. He was surrounded endlessly by lush, radiant greenery, in a garden where the honourable, brave, and bold were granted their eternal rest. Animals roamed freely, without fear of predators, threat, or violence. A doe wandered over to where he sat and approached him out of an innocent curiosity. Confucius smiled. “Come here, little one,” he murmured, gently extending his palm towards her as he spoke. The doe sniffed his hand, and finding nothing interesting about it, drew her attention elsewhere. Confucius chuckled and gave her a farewell pat as she trotted off gaily without a care in the world. He reclined once more into the tree’s welcoming trunk, and letting out a contented sigh, closed his eyes. 

He awoke at the sound of approaching footsteps as they crunched on the crisp, fallen leaves. Opening a sleepy eye, he saw a handsome, young man striding towards him with an air of respectful confidence. Confucius eased himself up slowly and smiled welcomingly at him. 

“How may I help you, young man?” he asked. 

The young man smiled charmingly and began by apologising profusely, “Sir, I’m terribly sorry for disturbing your rest. You are Master Confucius, am I right?” 

Confucius replied graciously, “Do not worry, I get plenty of rest.” 

“Nothing much else to fill the time here, is there?” the young man quipped. 

Confucius laughed gamely before continuing, “Indeed I am Confucius. Were you an apprentice of mine? I do not believe I have met you before.” 

The young man grinned from ear to ear. “No, Master, we have never met before, but I have been searching high and low for you ever since coming here. I was a firm believer in your teachings during my time on earth,” he said, “and I believe they truly prospered myself and the society I lived in.”  

“Well,” Confucius beamed, “it is wonderful to hear that. Please,” Confucius said, beckoning at the soft grass surrounding him, “have a seat if you will.”  

The young man obliged and settled himself on a protruding tree root. Proffering his hand to Confucius, he fervently continued, “Master Confucius, even while I was on earth, I’ve always wanted to be able to sit and have a conversation with you…” he tailed off for a second, “I can’t express how much of an honour it is for me to finally meet you.” 

Confucius clasped his hand firmly. “Well, today your desire is fulfilled. Please, tell me more about yourself. Have you been enjoying this paradise?” Confucius waved his hand at the vibrant nature surrounding them. “It’s beautiful, is it not?”  

The young man’s eyes followed Confucius’s hand as he gestured at the magnificent forest of trees. He nodded, “I have definitely never seen anything like it. Where I’ve made my home, there is a gorgeous little lake, teeming with all kinds of fish and wildlife. You must visit me there one day,” he entreated Confucius. 

“Most definitely, young man,” Confucius accepted, “Most definitely.” 

“To be honest with you, I’ve never ever felt so…” for a moment, the young man was at a loss for words, before continuing softly, “so peaceful… To tell you the truth,” he said quietly, “I never really believed that a place like this existed. When I was alive, I always thought that death was the final end of all life, and I never believed in any idea of heaven and hell or the afterlife.” 

Confucius smiled knowingly, “you are not alone in thinking so. Many of those whom I have met here expressed the same surprise as you; they lived without expectation or belief in what was to come after their lives.” He paused, “ultimately, whether or not this place existed is irrelevant. What matters most is that one lives an honorable and virtuous life to the best of his ability.”  

The young man fell silent and the two of them sat wordlessly for a while, absorbing the tranquility of their environment. Confucius noticed the young man’s pensive state and sensing that he had more to say, offered, “Would you like some warm tea, young man? And you can tell me more about yourself then.” 

The young man’s eyes lit up brightly at the offer. “That would be really fantastic,” he replied. “Thank you.”  

“Very well,” Confucius said, “let us adjourn to my home, and I will brew us some chrysanthemum tea.”  

The young man rose nimbly from his seat and helped Confucius to his feet. Confucius then led him up a gentle, winding slope to a cottage where he stayed, knowledgeably pointing out the different types of trees that adorned the path. A strong breeze complemented their amicable stroll and blowed glamorously through the young man’s thick hair. When they reached the cottage, Confucius ushered his guest in, offered him a soft cushion and then sat him by a dainty, wooden table. “Please, make yourself comfortable while I get the tea ready,” he said. The young man eased gratefully into his seat and looked around curiously as Confucius set a pot of water to boil over a roaring fire.  

“It’s a very cosy place you’ve got here, Master,” he noted, taking in the homely, comforting ambience of the cottage. “And the view,” he said, gesturing at the open window which offered a breath-taking panorama of the prairie, “is absolutely wonderful. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.” 

Confucius chuckled, “it’s perfect to host guests such as yourself. May I offer you anything to eat? Some fruit perhaps?” 

The young man accepted his request thankfully, and Confucius placed a small platter of curvaceous, golden pears in front of him. The young man thanked him once again and crunched into one, exclaiming at the sweetness that enveloped his mouth. 

“Make yourself at home,” Confucius continued hospitably, “and please, tell me more about the life you lived.” The young man, his mouth teeming with the pear’s vibrant sweetness, could only grunt agreeably in response. He collected his thoughts silently whilst finishing his fruit. 

Clearing his throat, he finally began. “When I was alive,” he said, “I was privileged to rule over a small group of people. We were not very rich, and neither did we have many allies. However, by adopting and teaching the principles that you taught,” he concluded, “we managed to transform ourselves into a very peaceful and successful society.”  

Confucius nodded thoughtfully as he poured the boiling water into a round teapot. “It fills me with great joy to hear that I have been able to help others in their time of need.” He continued, “how exactly did you do so?”  

Stroking his chin in thoughtful recollection, the young man replied, “well first of all, it was very important to make my people realise the need to work hard and to be diligent and perseverant in order to achieve any kind success.” 

Confucius murmured his staunch accordance as he stirred the teapot slowly, “laziness is truly a most deplorable vice for any society. I’m glad you adopted this attitude.”  

The young man nodded. “We also made sure that our rulers were exemplars of wisdom, morality, and righteousness, so that the people would have a positive model of good behaviour to follow and strive for.” He reached for another pear. “Like the Junzi,” he added. 

“Were you one such ruler?” Confucius asked, as he carried a tray with the teapot and two cups over to where the young man sat. The young man put down his pear and helped Confucius arrange the table. 

“I did my best throughout my entire life,” he responded after Confucius sat down, “To embody these qualities as best as I could.”  

“And I’m sure,” Confucius said, “that your effort was greatly rewarded. Come, have some tea while it is still hot.” Confucius poured the young man a steaming cup, which he gratefully accepted and began sipping gingerly. 

“Another of your teachings that we implemented in our society was filiality,” the young man continued, as the hot tea warmed him slowly, “we made sure that all our young children were taught to respect and obey their parents, and to take care of them in their old age.”  

Confucius blew delicately on his tea. “Indeed,” he said, “devotion to one’s parents and family is the most superior virtue of all virtues, and the highest form of humaneness.”  

“Well of course,” the young man continued, “it is extremely important, but we also had to make sure that our people’s allegiances were to the larger society and to its rulers first and foremost. We didn’t want for our people to become fragmented or disunited.”  

Confucius raised an eyebrow. “Well, would you not agree that only by giving one’s love to his parents and family may one distinguish himself from a beast?” He took a sip from his cup and exhaled a soft, steamy breath. 

The young man shook his head, “you see, my people were very fractured and divided. If we allowed everyone to prioritize their own families first, wouldn’t our whole society have become dysfunctional?” he asked the philosopher. 

Confucius pursed his lips, “that is very interesting. But properly developed relations to one’s family are necessary as the foundations for humane and profitable relations to then be formed with others, are they not?” 

The young man nodded vigorously. “Most definitely,” he agreed, “which is why my fellow rulers and I insisted that families and specifically children ought to take care of their parents in their old age.” He added strongly, “We made sure that families in our society relied on no one but each other.” 

 “Why then,” Confucius probed gently, “did you cause your people to pledge their loyalty to you above their families?” He held out his hand for the young man’s now empty cup, and filled it to the brim with steaming hot tea before handing it back. 

“I believe,” the young man continued earnestly, “that my people were young, and susceptible to put their own selfish interests above the good of the community’s. As rulers, we had to make decisions that benefitted society as a whole. And so, the people’s loyalty to us was necessary to teach them to place the common good above their own desires. Wouldn’t you agree, Master?” he asked, placing his cup on the table as he petitioned the philosopher animatedly. 

But Confucius shook his head slowly. “For the common man,” he began calmly, “economic life and profit comes first. But for the Junzi,” he emphasized, “ethics and morality are understood to be higher ends. That is the role of education, to cultivate oneself through self-reflection, and to learn for the sake of one’s own character and development. You taught your people to act thoughtlessly and unquestioningly for the sake of the community. Without learning to nurture their morals, your people will indefinitely remain as Xiaoren, forever chasing economic gain.” 

The philosopher took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat before continuing, “Each human ought to engage earnestly in the betterment of his personal morals and relations with others. When this occurs, he benefits the world he lives in, and will in turn,” he concluded firmly, “be edified by it.”  

The young man weighed the words of the philosopher. Had his own rule been the true cause of his people’s individualism and selfishness? He took a deep breath before responding. “Well, Master, I don’t doubt that would be true in an ideal situation, but you must understand what my people went through. We were never meant to be a separate people. We had always been a small part of much larger, more powerful territories. Our people hailed from the ends of the earth, and each one had their own aspirations and goals. We needed to place our community first and foremost to have some form of solidarity, and to survive the threats not only from our neighbours, but also from within our land.” 

“And how did you vanquish these threats?” Confucius asked him. 

“I won’t lie,” the young man admitted regretfully, “my fellow rulers and I were very intrusive into the lives of our people because we had to make sure that they would not make any poor decisions, like allowing undesirable influences to come to power and authority.” The young man said this with a tone of reluctance. He believed that his harsh actions had been necessary to ensure his people’s survival. 

Sensing the young man’s hesitance, Confucius probed him gently, “How would you know that these influences were undesirable and unbeneficial for your people?” he asked, “can you be sure that they were not in fact constructive remonstrations of yourself and your government?” 

The young man replied, “my fellow rulers and I did our best to act and behave as Junzi. And so, I believe that our system of government was the most prosperous way to rule, although it was often very tough and agonizing.” He looked at Confucius with a pained expression. “That’s why we had to silence those who opposed us and who had the potential to unsettle our society. It was to survive.” With that, the room was silent apart from the crackling of the fireplace, as the young man quenched the bitter memories of his past that shrouded his conscience. Confucius waited patiently for him to continue. 

“I know that your golden rule is to not do to others what I do not wish to be done to myself,” the young man said after a while. 

“Indeed,” Confucius responded soberly, “that is most true.” 

“And I most definitely would not have wanted to experience what others did at my hands.” The young man sighed sadly, “But wouldn’t you agree, master,” he continued, “that allowing all of this criticism and condemnation of my government to be said freely would have greatly destabilized our society? What I did was necessary, wasn’t it?” he pleaded. 

“Well young man,” Confucius mused, “in a relationship, those who do not fulfill their duties to the relationship are justifiably criticized. Criticism, when given out of love and out of honesty, ought never to be avoided but to be embraced,” he stressed, “in order to strengthen the mutual bonds between the parties.”  

The young man, desperate to convince not only the wise master, but ultimately, himself as well, rebutted firmly. “Master,” he said, “I believe that for the sake of ensuring peace and harmony, we had no choice but to avoid conflict at all costs, and silence these voices. How could our society be peaceful if those in power were constantly being opposed?” He asked rhetorically, “how can a carriage move forward if the horses pulling it are all moving in different directions?” 

Confucius tilted his head gently. “Harmony, my dear friend, does not entail conformity. True harmony does not consist of silencing all criticism, or sacrificing all individuality. A truly harmonious society is one in which differences and criticism are valued when relayed in a gentle and loving spirit. Relationships between rulers and people need not denigrate into an acquiescent submission to authority. In fact,” he rebuked the young man gently, “the failure of a son to admonish his parents or rulers when they are wrong belies his lack of investment in the relationship. Likewise, harmony in any society is not achieved by enforcing sameness and homogeneity amongst the people, but rather by accommodating and balancing any opposition in a spirit of diversity.” 

The young man stared into his cup, all heat from his tea having since escaped. He had always believed himself to be a pragmatic and utilitarian leader, who acted in the best interests of his people, even when said actions were questionable, even to himself. But now, after conversing with the wise philosopher, he began to ponder. Had there been another way? Another way which would have caused him less pain, made him less enemies, and been much more peaceful? Another way which would have been— more harmonious? 

“Master,” he finally said, “thank you for your wisdom. I —” the young man furrowed his eyebrows in deep introspection. “May I take some time to think about you have said?” he asked. 

Confucius smiled, “As you said before, young man, time is one thing we do not lack here. I look forward to your return.” 

With that, the young man stood up, thanked him again for the tea and bowed, before heading to the door, still thinking about what Confucius had said. A thought came abruptly to Confucius, and he called out to the young man.  

The young man turned around obligingly and responded, “yes, master?”  

Confucius laughed. “Young man,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “do forgive me, but I believe I have not asked you for your name.”  

The young man beamed brightly at the smiling philosopher, “My name, master, is Lee Kuan Yew.”  

Author’s Thoughts

My primary aim for this project was to deepen my knowledge of Confucianism, a philosophy that I have repeatedly encountered since I was young. During my studies, and even at home, for example, I was frequently bombarded with terms like ‘filial piety,’ ‘respect for elders,’ and ‘work ethic.’ I just never had the chance nor the curiosity to pursue a deeper understanding of what these concepts actually meant. Hence, this project represented an opportunity for me to investigate Confucianism as it relates to me, using the purported ‘Confucian values’ in modern Singaporean society as a gateway for my discovery.  

My understanding of Confucius’ teachings is somewhat limited as I exclusively consulted secondary sources when undertaking this project. Nevertheless, this leads me to another learning point that I would urge my audience, as well as myself, to reflect on. The purpose of this project is not to emphatically conclude that there is one correct strand of Confucianism by which all others should be judged. Rather, it is to show that Confucianism is a living tradition that has constantly been adopted to suit particular historical contexts and will likely continue to change and be re-interpreted. I chose to investigate the teachings of Confucius as were found in the Analects given that this project is centred around Imperial China, and I wanted specifically to learn about Confucius’ teachings in their earliest form. However, other interpretations and strands of Confucian thought are equally valid, when situated in the historical context during which they arose. 

I have always been fascinated with the idea of using writings and other cultural media to explore ideas and scenarios. Writers that have embodied this style most admirably are Jose Saramago and Emile Zola, whose works, though fictional, simulate alternative realities in a very believable, realistic manner. As such, the premise underlying the entire story is the question, how would Confucius respond to contemporary Singapore, which claims to be a society grounded on his teachings? I tried to write in such a way as to make both the dialogue and the plotline as plausible as possible.  

To understand how this story relates to me, it may be beneficial for readers to understand the story as follows. The young man in a way represents my personal experiences and understanding of Singaporean society. His arguments are what I have learned and been taught, and his pleadings with Confucius in trying to justify himself are my own frameworks for understanding the society I live in. Confucius, on the other hand, symbolizes the learning and discovery I made while researching into his philosophies, as well as the process of using his teachings to challenge my own worldview. At this point, it is worth re-iterating that I am in absolutely no way qualified to speak on Confucius’ behalf. Hence, notwithstanding the historicity of the Confucian ideologies that I present in the text, this project remains an account of my own personal learning journey into Confucius, his teachings, and the world around me.