Following the Path of the Great Sage
QUFU, CHINA — Ever since my father began traveling to China several years ago, he had wanted to visit Qufu, a small, dusty town in the north of the country where Confucius was born. So when his most recent trip to China came just before the Great Sage’s 2560th birthday on Sept. 28, I assumed the role of a good Confucian daughter and accompanied him on a pilgrimage to honor the philosopher.
Within easy reach of Beijing or Shanghai via new high-speed trains, Qufu has a laid-back vibe and its well-preserved culture stands in contrast to the frenetic pace and Western commercialism of China’s modern cities.
During the Cultural Revolution, a period of political upheaval carried out by Chairman Mao Zedong between 1966 and 1976, the Great Sage’s ideas were denounced and his temples were destroyed. But those years are quickly fading from China’s collective memory. The sage’s descendents recently completed a new family tree — it hadn’t been updated since the 1930s — that identifies more than two million people as Confucius’s relatives, in places as far-flung as Britain and South Korea. Next spring, a Chinese film studio is releasing a biopic of Confucius starring the young actress Zhou Xun and the martial arts star Chow Yun-Fat as the philosopher.
As a Chinese-American growing up in California, my introduction to Confucius was mostly through media caricatures and kitschy sayings embedded in fortune cookies. My father, on the other hand, was raised in Taiwan, where locals revered Confucius as a messiah-like figure. On our trip to Qufu, I hoped to gain a better understanding of the man who had loomed so large in my father’s mind.
The trip from Beijing to Qufu can take as little as three hours by train, but I’d booked an overnight train that arrived early in the morning, so my parents, my husband and I could take a full day to explore the town’s three main sites: Confucius Temple, Confucius Mansion and the Confucius Forest, where the sage and many of his relatives were buried.
Though I had visited temples dedicated to Confucius in Beijing, Taipei and Hanoi — there are about 2,000 Confucian temples around the world — I wasn’t prepared for the grandeur of the fortress. At more than one kilometer, or two-thirds of a mile, in length, Qufu’s Confucius Temple resembles Beijing’s Forbidden City in size and layout and is considered one of the best examples of historic Chinese architecture.
Though built in 478 B.C. from three rooms of Confucius’s original home, the temple was renovated numerous times over the next centuries as each imperial dynasty tried to leave a lasting mark on the complex. The structure that stands today echoes the architecture of China’s final two dynasties, the Ming and Qing. As in the Forbidden City, there are faded red walls, yellowish-orange glazed roofs and animal gargoyles that rank the importance of each hall.
We strolled past the temple’s sprawling courtyards, filled with large stone tablets recording the visits of past emperors — a dozen in total made the trip — and century-old cypress trees. A group of teenagers stopped to marvel at a thin trunk jutting from the ground. “Rumor has it that it was planted by Confucius himself,” a sign read. Though the original tree from two millennia ago no longer stood, according to legend, it miraculously sprouted again in 1732.
As we toured the temple, my father, who is a physics professor in Taiwan, talked about Confucius’s teachings. The philosopher believed in filial piety and respect for elders. He advocated a benevolent government and society based on the family structure. (To this day in China, strangers call each other brother and sister.) At the same time, he argued for a hierarchical and patriarchal order, qualities still ingrained among some older Chinese.
Though my father acknowledges that Confucian ideas run counter to Western ideas like democracy and women’s rights, he is deeply fond of the sage. “I think he must have been a loveable kind of guy,” my father said. “He was a musician. He enjoyed archery. He constantly read books.” In short, Confucius was a Renaissance man — long before there was a Renaissance.
My father added that he and many of his academic colleagues consider public education Confucius’s greatest contribution to Chinese society. Confucian thought influenced imperial authorities to create an exam system where students were judged on merit rather than social standing and connections. In fact, the sage’s legacy is so tied to education that even today, high school students across China visit Confucian temples to pray for luck before exams.
We saw evidence of Confucius, the educator, at the small Apricot Altar pavilion in the center of one courtyard, a site where he once lectured to his disciples. More impressive was the Hall of Great Achievements. The largest hall in the temple, it features a double-eaved roof held up by 10 pillars decorated with engravings of dragons, pearls and clouds. Inside the hall, an elaborate altar contains statues of Confucius and four of his leading pupils.
Confucius, known as Kong Zi in Mandarin, was so venerated in Chinese society that his direct descendents lived like royalty, as we learned on our visit to Confucius Mansion next door. The family functioned like a patriarchal monarchy. China’s emperors granted each new leader, who assumed the title of “Duke of Yansheng,” the power to make laws and tax citizens.
Since the family fled to Taiwan after the Communists seized China, parts of the mansion have fallen into disrepair. Even so, its two-story chambers, gray-tiled roofs, and muted walls in green and red give the palace an intimate feel.
After taking a break for lunch, we continued to Confucius Forest, where the great sage and more than 10,000 of his relatives are buried. That number continues to rise since plenty of plots remain in the 2,000-hectare, or 5,000-acre, cemetery. But not every family member is permitted burial; the rules bar a rather eclectic group, including criminals, children, Buddhists and married women.
We paused to read tombstones, some marked with recent dates and bright red Communist stars, others engraved with faded calligraphy of the imperial era. Then we followed a stone path to a 4.5-meter-, or 15-foot-, tall tombstone marked with yellow characters that read: “Tomb of the Prince of Literary Excellence and Sagely Achievements.”
My father kneeled in front of it and bowed deeply before the sage. When he rose, a content smile spread over his face.
Jen Lin-Liu is the author of “Serve the People: A Stir-Fried Journey Through China.”
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