Confucius

 Confucius

Janpha Thadphoothon     Living in Tianjin, I am constantly reminded of how much of China I have yet to fully understand. I looked for a statue of Confucius here, the great sage of Chinese thought, but found none. Yet, thousands of miles away in Thailand, a statue of Confucius greets me almost every day on my walk between Building 3 and Building 1, where my faculty office sits.

    I have always felt a quiet connection to him, knowing he walked the earth during the same profound era as the Buddha. In my mind, Chinese philosophy balances on two pillars: Taoism and Confucianism. While I see Taoism as a gentle retreat into nature and a detachment from worldly ambitions, Confucianism demands our presence in the here and now, calling on us to fulfill our duties and honor the structures prescribed by society.
I do not pretend to be an expert on his teachings. In Thailand, we know him as Khong Chue (ขงจื่อ), but here in China, he is primarily known as Kǒng zǐ (孔子), which translates literally to "Master Kong." He is also formally referred to as Kǒng fū zǐ (孔夫子)—"Great Master Kong." At DPU, we have the Confucius Institute (สถาบันขงจื่อ). It is a non-profit organization established through collaborations between Chinese universities and educational institutions worldwide. Its main purpose is to promote Chinese language learning, showcase Chinese arts and culture, and administer official Chinese proficiency tests.

I once read a translation of The Analects to understand a few of his core ideas. What stayed with me most from those pages was his pragmatic warning about speech: a reminder to be cautious when criticizing others, especially those who hold power. This particular teaching seems to run directly counter to the Western tradition of critical thinking, which encourages us to question authority and challenge established power. Yet, as I have said, I am not truly qualified to offer a definitive commentary on the vast depths of Confucian thought. I can only observe how these philosophies shape our differing approaches to the world. 

Beyond his advice on speech and authority, another teaching from The Analects has stayed with me over the years: the emphasis on humility and filial piety. Confucius placed immense value on expressing deep gratitude to our parents and to anyone who has aided us on our journey. It strikes me that while Western frameworks often celebrate the self-made individual, Eastern philosophy reminds us of our interconnectedness. To be humble is to recognize that our successes belong to a collective effort—rooted first in our families and extended through our mentors and guides.                   For one thing, I must admit I know very little about Taoism. My exposure is limited to the Tao Te Ching, a foundational text I have browsed but never read completely from cover to cover. I later learned from scholars that Lao Tzu, the legendary founder, did not actually write down his teachings. What we know of Taoism today was preserved and recorded by his disciples.         This historical detail immediately struck a chord with me, reminding me deeply of the Buddha. The Buddha, too, never committed his wisdom to ink; he taught purely through the spoken word, adapting his lessons to the people before him. It was only long after his passing that his students compiled his discourses into text. There is a profound beauty in this shared heritage—knowing that some of humanity’s most enduring wisdom began not as dogmatic scripts, but as living, breathing conversations.  

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