The Writings of Kwang-dze Translated by James Legge (2)

The Writings of Kwang-dze Translated by James Legge

BOOK XXI.
PART II. SECTION XIV.
Thien Dze-fang[1].

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1. Thien Dze-fang, sitting in attendance on the marquis Wän of Wei[2], often quoted (with approbation) the words of Khî Kung[3]. The marquis said, ‘Is Khî Kung your preceptor?’ Dze-fang replied, ‘No. He only belongs to the same neighbourhood. In speaking about the Tâo, his views are often correct, and therefore I quote them as I do.’ The marquis went on, ‘Then have you no preceptor?’ ‘I have.’ And who is he? He is Tung-kwo Shun-dze[4].’ ‘And why, my Master, have I never heard you quote his words?’ Dze-fang replied, ‘He is a man who satisfies the true (ideal of humanity)[5]; a man in appearance, but (having the mind of) Heaven. Void of any thought of himself, he accommodates himself to others, and nourishes the true ideal that belongs to him. With all his purity, he is forbearing to others. Where they are without the Tâo, he rectifies his demeanour, so that they understand it, and in consequence their own ideas melt

[1. See vol. xxxix, pp. 151, 152.

2. B.C. 424-387.

3. Some well-known worthy of Wei.

4. A greater worthy still. He must have lived near the outside suburban wall of the capital, and his residence became a sort of surname.

5. The Human and the Heavenly were blended in his personality.]

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away and disappear. How should one like me be fit to quote his words?’

When Dze-fang went out, the marquis Wän continued in a state of dumb amazement all the day. He then called Lung Lî-khin, and said to him, ‘How far removed from us is the superior man of complete virtue! Formerly I thought the words of the sages and wise men, and the practice of benevolence and righteousness, to be the utmost we could reach to. Since I have heard about the preceptor of Dze-fang, my body is all unstrung, and I do not wish to move, and my mouth is closed up, and I do not wish to speak;–what I have learned has been only a counterfeit of the truth[1]. Yes, (the possession of Wei) has been an entanglement to me.’

2. Wän-po Hsüeh-dze[2], on his way to Khï, stayed some time in Lû, where some persons of the state begged to have an interview with him. He refused them, saying, ‘I have heard that the superior men of these Middle States[3] understand the (subjects of) ceremony and righteousness, but are deplorably ignorant of the minds of men. I do not wish to see them.’ He went on to Khî; and on his way back (to the south), he again stayed in Lû, when the same persons begged as before for an interview. He then said, ‘Formerly they asked to see me, and now again they seek an interview. They will afford me

[1. So the Khang-hsî dictionary defines the phrase;–‘a wooden image made of earth,’ says Lû Shû-kih.

2. A Tâoist of note from some region in the south, perhaps from Khû, having his own share of the Tâoistic contempt for knowledge and culture.

3. Probably Lû and the northern states grouped closely round the royal domain.]

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some opportunity of bringing out my sentiments.’ He went out accordingly and saw the visitors, and came in again with a sigh. Next day the same thing occurred, and his servant said to him, ‘How is it that whenever you see those visitors, you are sure to come in again sighing?’ ‘I told you before,’ was the reply, ‘that the people of these Middle States understand (the subjects of) ceremony and righteousness, but are deplorably ignorant of the minds of men. Those men who have just seen me, as they came in and went out would describe, one a circle and another a square, and in their easy carriage would be like, one a dragon and another a tiger. They remonstrated with me as sons (with their fathers), and laid down the way for me as fathers (for their sons). It was this which made me sigh.’

Kung-nî saw the man, but did not speak a word to him. Dze-lû said, ‘You have wished, Sir, to see this Wän-po Hsüeh-dze for a long time; what is the reason that when you have seen him, you have not spoken a word?’ Kung-nî replied, ‘As soon as my eyes lighted on that man, the Tâo in him was apparent. The situation did not admit of a word being spoken.’

3. Yen Yüan asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘Master, when you pace quietly along, I also pace along; when you go more quickly, I also do the same; when you gallop, I also gallop; but when you race along and spurn the dust, then I can only stand and look, and keep behind you’.’ The Master said, ‘Hui, what do you mean?’ The reply was, ‘In saying that when you, Master, pace quietly along, I also pace

[1. They are both supposed to be on horseback.]

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along,” I mean[1] that when you speak, I also speak. By saying, “When you go more quickly, I also do the same,” I mean I that when you reason, I also reason. By saying, “When you gallop, I also gallop,” I mean[1] that when you speak of the Way, I also speak of the Way; but by saying, “When you race along and spurn the dust, then I can only stare, and keep behind you,” I am thinking how though you do not speak, yet all men believe you; though you are no partisan, yet all parties approve your catholicity; and though you sound no instrument, yet people all move on harmoniously before you, while (all the while) I do not know how all this comes about; and this is all which my words are intended to express[2].’

Kung-nî said, ‘But you must try and search the matter out. Of all causes for sorrow there is none so great as the death of the mind;–the death of man’s (body) is only next to it. The sun comes forth in the east, and sets in the extreme West;–all things have their position determined by these two points. All that have eyes and feet wait for this (sun), and then proceed to do what they have to do. When this comes forth, they appear in their places; when it sets, they disappear. It is so with all things. They have that for which they wait, and (on its arrival) they die; they have that for which they wait, and then (again) they live. When once I receive my frame thus completed, I remain unchanged, awaiting the consummation of my course.

[1. In these three cases the ### of the text should be ###.

2. So Hui is made to represent the master as a mental Thaumathurgist, and Confucius is made to try to explain the whole thing to him;–but not to my mind successfully. Still a distinction is maintained between the mind and the body.]

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I move as acted on by things, day and night without cessation, and I do not know when I will come to an end. Clearly I am here a completed frame, and even one who (fancies that he) knows what is appointed cannot determine it beforehand. I am in this way daily passing on, but all day long I am communicating my views to you; and now, as we are shoulder to shoulder you fail (to understand me);–is it not matter for lamentation? You are able in a measure to set forth what I more clearly set forth; but that is passed away, and you look for it, as if it were still existing, just as if you were looking for a horse in the now empty place where it was formerly exhibited for sale. You have very much forgotten my service to you, and I have very much forgotten wherein I served you. But nevertheless why should you account this such an evil? What you forget is but my old self; that which cannot be forgotten remains with me.’

4. Confucius went to see Lâo Tan, and arrived just as he had completed the bathing of his head, and was letting his dishevelled hair get dry. There be was, motionless, and as if there were not another man in the world[1]. Confucius waited quietly; and, when in a little time he was introduced, he said, ‘Were my eyes dazed? Is it really you? Just now, your body, Sir, was like the stump of a rotten tree. You looked as if you had no thought of anything, as if you had left the society of men, and were standing in the solitude (of yourself).’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘I was enjoying myself in thinking about the commencement

[1. He was in the Tâoistic trance, like Nan-kwo Dze-khî, at the beginning of the second Book.]

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of things[1].’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘My mind is so cramped, that I hardly know it; my tongue is so tied that I cannot tell it; but I will try to describe it to you as nearly as I can. When the state of Yin was perfect, all was cold and severe; when the state of Yang was perfect, all was turbulent and agitated. The coldness and severity came forth from Heaven; the turbulence and agitation issued from Earth. The two states communicating together, a harmony ensued and things were produced. Some one regulated and controlled this, but no one has seen his form. Decay and growth; fulness and emptiness; darkness and light; the changes of the sun and the transformations of the moon:–these are brought about from day to day; but no one sees the process of production. Life has its origin from which it springs, and death has its place from which it returns. Beginning and ending go on in mutual contrariety without any determinable commencement, and no one knows bow either comes to an end. If we disallow all this, who originates and presides over all these phenomena?’

Confucius said, ‘I beg to ask about your enjoyment in these thoughts.’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘The

[1. This ‘commencement of things’ was not the equivalent of ‘our creation out of nothing,’ for Mo Tan immediately supposes the existence of the primary ether in its twofold state, as Yin and Y an g; and also of Heaven and Earth, as a twofold Power working, under some regulation and control, yet invisible; that is, under the Tâo. In the same way the process of beginning and ending, growth and decay, life and death go on, no one knows how, or how long. And the contemplation of all this is the cause of unceasing delight to the Perfect man, the possessor of the Tâo. Death is a small matter, merely as a change of feature; and Confucius acknowledges his immeasurable inferiority to Lâo-dze.]

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comprehension of this is the most admirable and the most enjoyable (of all acquisitions). The getting of the most admirable and the exercise of the thoughts in what is the most enjoyable, constitutes what we call the Perfect man.’ Confucius said, ‘I should like to hear the method of attaining to it.’ The reply was, ‘Grass-eating animals do not dislike to change their pastures; creatures born in the water do not dislike to change their waters. They make a small change, but do not lose what is the great and regular requirement (of their nature); joy, anger, sadness, and delight do not enter into their breasts (in connexion with such events). Now the space under the sky is occupied by all things in their unity. When they possess that unity and equally share it, then the four limbs and hundred members of their body are but so much dust and dirt, while death and life, their ending and beginning, are but as the succession of day and night, which cannot disturb their enjoyment; and how much less will they be troubled by gains and losses, by calamity and happiness! Those who renounce the paraphernalia of rank do it as if they were casting away so much mud; they know that they are themselves more honourable than those paraphernalia. The honour belonging to one’s self is not lost by any change (of condition). Moreover, a myriad transformations may take place before the end of them is reached. What is there in all this sufficient to trouble the mind? Those who have attained to the Tâo understand the subject.’

Confucius said, ‘O Master, your virtue is equal to that of Heaven and Earth, and still I must borrow

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(some of your) perfect words (to aid me) in the cultivation of my mind. Who among the superior men of antiquity could give such expression to them?’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘Not so. Look at the spring, the water of which rises and overflows; it does nothing, but it naturally acts so. So with the perfect man and his virtue;–he does not cultivate it, and nothing evades its influence. He is like heaven which is high of itself, like earth which is solid of itself, like the sun and moon which shine of themselves;–what need is there to cultivate it?’

Confucius went out and reported the conversation to Yen Hui, saying, ‘In the (knowledge of the) Tâo am I any better than an animalcule in vinegar? But for the Master’s lifting the veil from me, I should not have known the grand perfection of Heaven and Earth.’

5. At an interview of Kwang-dze with duke Âi[1] of Lû, the duke said, ‘There are many of the Learned class in Lû; but few of them can be compared with you, Sir.’ Kwang-dze replied, ‘There are few Learned men in Lû.’ ‘Everywhere in Lû,’ rejoined the duke, ‘you see men wearing the dress of the Learned[2];–how can you say that they are few?’ ‘I have heard,’ said Kwang-dze, ‘that those of them who wear round caps know the times of heaven; that those who wear square shoes know the contour of the ground; and that those who saunter about with semicircular stones at their

[1. Duke Âi of Lû died in B.C. 468, a century and more before the birth of Kwang-dze. On that, as well as on other grounds, the paragraph cannot be genuine.

2. Compare the thirty-eighth Book of the Lî Kî, where Confucius denies that there was any dress peculiar to the scholar.]

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girdle-pendents settle matters in dispute as they come before them. But superior men who are possessed of such knowledge will not be found wearing the dress, and it does not follow that those who wear the dress possess the knowledge. If your Grace think otherwise, why not issue a notification through the state, that it shall be a capital offence to wear the dress without possessing the knowledge.’ On this the duke issued such a notification, and in five days, throughout all Lû, there was no one who dared to wear the dress of the Learned. There was only one old man who came and stood in it at the duke’s gate. The duke instantly called him in, and questioned him about the affairs of the state, when he talked about a thousand points and ten thousand divergences from them. Kwang-dze said, ‘When the state of Lû can thus produce but one man of the Learned class, can he be said to be many?’

6. The ideas of rank and emolument did not enter the mind of Pâi-lî Hsî[1], and so he became a cattle-feeder, and his cattle were all in fine condition. This made duke Mû of Khin forget the meanness of his position, and put the government (of his state) into his hands. Neither life nor death entered into the mind of (Shun), the Lord of Yü, and therefore he was able to influence others[2].

7. The ruler Yüan[3] of Sung wishing to have a map

[1. Pâi-lî Hsî, a remarkable character of the seventh century B.C., who rose to be chief minister to Mû, the earl (or duke) of Khin, the last of the five Leading Princes of the kingdom. Mû died in B.C. 621. Mencius has much to say of Pâi-lî Hsî.

2. Shun’s parents wished to kill him; but that did not trouble his mind; his filial piety even affected them.

3. His first year as duke of Sung was B.C. 530. The point of the story is not clear.]

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drawn, the masters of the pencil all came (to undertake the task). Having received his instructions and made their bows, they stood, licking their pencils and preparing their ink. Half their number, however, remained outside. There was one who came late, with an air of indifference, and did not hurry forward. When he had received his instructions and made his bow, he did not keep standing, but proceeded to his shed. The duke sent a man to see him, and there he was, with his upper garment off, sitting cross-legged, and nearly naked. The ruler said, ‘He is the man; he is a true draughtsman.’

8. King Wän was (once) looking about him at Zang[1], when he saw an old man fishing[2]. But his fishing was no fishing. It was not the fishing of one whose business is fishing. He was always fishing (as if he had no object in the occupation). The king wished to raise him to office, and put the government into his hands, but was afraid that such a step would give dissatisfaction to his great ministers, his uncles, and cousins. He then wished to dismiss the man altogether from his mind, but he could not bear the thought that his people should be without (such a) Heaven (as their Protector). On this, (next) morning, he called together his great officers, and said to them, ‘Last night, I dreamt that I saw a good man, with a dark complexion and a

[1. Where Zang was cannot be told.

2. The old fisherman here was, no doubt, the first marquis of Khî, after the establishment of the dynasty of Kâu, known by various names, as Lü Shang, Thâi-kung Wang, and Kiang Dze-yâ. He did much for the new rule, but his connexion with kings Wän and Wû is a mass of fables. The fishing as if he were not fishing betokened in him the aimlessness of the Tâo.]

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beard, riding on a piebald horse, one half of whose hoofs were red, who commanded me, saying, “Lodge your government in the hands of the old man of Zang; and perhaps the evils of your people will be cured.”‘ The great officers said eagerly, ‘It was the king, your father.’ King Wän said, ‘Let us then submit the proposal to the tortoise-shell.’ They replied, ‘It is the order of your father. Let not your majesty think of any other. Why divine about it?’ (The king) then met the old man of, Zang, and committed the government to him. The statutes and laws were not changed by him; not a one-sided order (of his own) was issued; but when the king made a survey of the kingdom after three years, he found that the officers had destroyed the plantations (which harboured banditti), and dispersed their occupiers, that the superintendents of the official departments did not plume themselves on their successes, and that no unusual grain measures were allowed within the different states[1]. When the officers had destroyed the dangerous plantations and dispersed their occupants, the highest value was set on the common interests; when the chiefs of departments did not plume themselves on their successes, the highest value was set on the common business; when unusual grain measures did not enter the different states, the different princes had no jealousies. On this king Min made the old man his Grand Preceptor, and asked him, with his own face to the north, whether his government might be extended to all the kingdom. The old

[1. That is, that all combinations formed to resist and warp the course of justice had been put an end to.]

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man looked perplexed and gave no reply, but with aimless look took his leave. In the morning he had issued his orders, and at night he had gone his way; nor was he heard of again all his life. Yen Yüan questioned Confucius, saying, ‘Was even king Wän unequal to determine his course? What had he to do with resorting to a dream?’ Kung-nî replied, ‘Be silent and do not say a word! King Win was complete in everything. What have you to do with criticising him? He only had recourse (to the dream) to meet a moment’s difficulty.’

9. Lieh Yü-khâu was exhibiting his archery’ to Po-hwän Wû-zän[2]. Having drawn the bow to its full extent, with a cup of water placed on his elbow, he let fly. As the arrow was discharged, another was put in its place; and as that was sent off, a third was ready on the string. All the while he stood like a statue. Po-hwän Wû-zän said, ‘That is the shooting of an archer, but not of one who shoots without thinking about his shooting. Let me go up with you to the top of a high mountain, treading with you among the tottering rocks, till we arrive at the brink of a precipice, 800 cubits deep, and (I will then see) if you can shoot.’ On this they went up a high mountain, making their way among the tottering rocks, till they came to the brink of a precipice 800 cubits deep. Then Wû-zän turned round and walked backwards, till his feet were two-thirds

[1. This must be the meaning of the ### ‘for.’ The whole story is found in Lieh-dze, II, p. 5. From Lieh’s Book VIII, p. 2, we learn that Lieh-dze’s teacher in archery was Yin Hsî, the warden of the pass famous in the history of Lâo-dze.

2. Mentioned in Book V, par. 2.]

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of their length outside the edge, and beckoned Yü-khâu to come forward. He, however, had fallen prostrate on the ground, with the sweat pouring down to his heels. Then the other said, ‘The Perfect man looks up to the azure sky above, or dives down to the yellow springs beneath, or soars away to the eight ends of the universe, without any change coming over his spirit or his breath. But now the trepidation of your mind appears in your dazed eyes; your inward feeling of peril is extreme!’

10. Kien Wû asked Sun-shû Âo, saying, ‘You, Sir, were thrice chief minister, and did not feel elated; you were thrice dismissed from that position, without manifesting any sorrow. At first I was in doubt about you, (but I am not now, since) I see how regularly and quietly the breath comes through your nostrils. How is it that you exercise your mind?’ Sun-shû Âo replied, ‘In what do I surpass other men? When the position came to me, I thought it should not be rejected; when it was taken away, I thought it could not be retained. I considered that the getting or losing it did not make me what I was, and was no occasion for any manifestation of sorrow;–that was all. In what did I surpass other men? And moreover, I did not know whether the honour of it belonged to the dignity, or to myself. If it belonged to the dignity, it was nothing to me; if it belonged to me, it had nothing

[1. Sun-shû Âo;–see Mencius VI, ii, 15. He was, no doubt, a good and able man, chief minister to king Kwang of Khû. The legends or edifying stories about him are many; but Kwang-dze, I think, is the author of his being thrice raised and thrice dismissed from office.]

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to do with the dignity. While occupied with these uncertainties, and looking round in all directions, what leisure had I to take knowledge of whether men honoured me or thought me mean?’

Kung-nî heard of all this, and said, ‘The True men of old could not be fully described by the wisest, nor be led into excess by the most beautiful, nor be forced by the most violent robber. Neither Fû-hsî nor Hwang-Tî could compel them to be their friends. Death and life are indeed great considerations, but they could make no change in their (true) self; and how much less could rank and emolument do so? Being such, their spirits might pass over the Thâi mountain and find it no obstacle to them[1]; they might enter the greatest gulphs, and not be wet by them; they might occupy the lowest and smallest positions without being distressed by them. Theirs was the fulness of heaven and earth; the more that they gave to others, the more they had.’

The king of Khû and the ruler of Fan[2] were sitting together. After a little while, the attendants of the king said, ‘Fan has been destroyed three times.’ The ruler of Fan rejoined, ‘The destruction of Fan has not been sufficient to destroy what we had that was most deserving to be preserved.’ Now,

[1. It is difficult to see why this should be predicated of the ‘spirits’ of the True men.

2. Fan was a small state, held at one time by descendants of the famous duke of Kâu;–see the Zo Khwan, I, vii, 6; V, xxiv, 2. But we do not know what had been the relations between the powerful Khû and the feeble Fan, which gave rise to and could explain the remarks made at the entertainment, more honourable to Fan than to Khû.]

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if the destruction of Fan had not been sufficient to destroy that which it had most deserving to be preserved, the preservation of Khû had not been sufficient to preserve that in it most deserving to be preserved. Looking at the matter from this point of view, Fan had not begun to be destroyed, and Khû had not begun to be preserved.

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BOOK XXII.
PART II. SECTION XV.
Kih Pei Yû, or ‘Knowledge Rambling in the North[I].’

1. Knowledge[2] had rambled northwards to the region of the Dark Water[3], where he ascended the height of Imperceptible Slope[3], when it happened that he met with Dumb Inaction[2] . Knowledge addressed him, saying, ‘I wish to ask you some questions:–By what process of thought and anxious consideration do we get to know the Tâo? Where should we dwell and what should we do to find our rest in the Tâo? From what point should we start and what path should we pursue to make the Tâo our own?’ He asked these three questions, but Dumb Inaction[2] gave him no reply. Not only did he not answer, but he did not know how to answer.

Knowledge[2], disappointed by the fruitlessness of his questions, returned to the south of the Bright

[1. See vol. xxxix, p. 152.

2. All these names are metaphorical, having more or less to do with the qualities of the Tâo, and are used as the names of personages, devoted to the pursuit of it. It is difficult to translate the name Khwang Khü (###). An old reading is ###, which Medhurst explains by ‘Bent or Crooked Discourse.’ ‘Blurter,’ though not an elegant English term, seems to express the idea our author would convey by it. Hwang-Tî is different from the other names, but we cannot regard him as here a real personage.

3. These names of places are also metaphorical and Tâoistic.]

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Water[1], and ascended the height of the End of Doubt[1] where he saw Heedless Blurter, to whom he put the same questions, and who replied, ‘Ah! I know, and will tell you.’ But while he was about to speak, he forgot what he wanted to say.

Knowledge, (again) receiving no answer to his questions, returned to the palace of the Tî[2], where he saw Hwang-Tî[3], and put the questions to him. Hwang-Tî said, ‘To exercise no thought and no anxious consideration is the first step towards knowing the Tâo; to dwell nowhere and do nothing is the first step towards resting in the Tâo; to start from nowhere and pursue no path is the first step towards making the Tâo your own.’

Knowledge then asked Hwang-Tî, saying, ‘I and you know this; those two did not know it; which of us is right?’ The reply was, ‘Dumb Inaction[3] is truly right; Heedless Blurter has an appearance of being so; I and you are not near being so. (As it is said), “Those who know (the Tâo) do not speak of it; those who speak of it do not know it[4];” and “Hence the sage conveys his instructions without the use of speech[4].” The Tâo cannot be made ours by constraint; its characteristics will not come to us (at our call). Benevolence may be practised; Righteousness may be partially attended to; by Ceremonies men impose on one another. Hence it

[1. See note 3, on preceding page.

Tî might seem to be used here for ‘God,’ but its juxtaposition with Hwang-Tî is against our translating it so.

3. See note 2, on preceding page.

4. See the Tâo Teh King, chaps. 56 and 2. Kwang-dze is quoting, no doubt, these two passages, as he vaguely intimates I think by the ###, with which the sentence commences.]

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is said, “When the Tâo was lost, its Characteristics appeared. When its Characteristics were lost, Benevolence appeared. When Benevolence was lost, Righteousness appeared. When Righteousness was lost, Ceremonies appeared. Ceremonies are but (the unsubstantial) flowers of the Tâo, and the commencement of disorder[l].” Hence (also it is further said), “He who practises the Tâo, daily diminishes his doing. He diminishes it and again diminishes it, till he arrives at doing nothing. Having arrived at this non-inaction, there is nothing that he does not do[1].” Here now there is something, a regularly fashioned utensil;–if you wanted to make it return to the original condition of its materials, would it not be difficult to make it do so? Could any but the Great Man accomplish this easily[2]?

‘Life is the follower of death, and death is the predecessor of life; but who knows the Arranger (of this connexion between them)[3]? The life is due to the collecting of the breath. When that is collected, there is life; when it is dispersed, there is death. Since death and life thus attend on each other, why should I account (either of) them an evil?

‘Therefore all things go through one and the same experience. (Life) is accounted beautiful because it is spirit-like and wonderful, and death is accounted ugly because of its foetor and putridity. But the foetid and putrid is transformed again into the spirit-like and wonderful, and the spirit-like and wonderful is transformed again into the foetid and

[1. See the Tâo Teh King, chaps. 38 and 48.

2. This sentence is metaphorical of the Tâo, whose spell is broken by the intrusion of Knowledge.

3. This ‘Arranger’ is the Tâo.]

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putrid. Hence it is said, “All under the sky there is one breath of life, and therefore the sages prized that unity[1],”‘

Knowledge[2] said to Hwang-Tî[2], ‘I asked Dumb Inaction[2], and he did not answer me. Not only did he not answer me, but he did not know how to answer me. I asked Heedless Blurter, and while he wanted to tell me, he yet did not do so. Not only did he not tell me, but while he wanted to tell me, he forgot all about my questions. Now I have asked you, and you knew (all about them);–why (do you say that) you are not near doing so?’ Hwang-Tî replied, ‘Dumb Inaction[2] was truly right, because he did not know the thing. Heedless Blurter[2] was nearly right, because he forgot it. I and you are not nearly right, because we know it.’ Heedless Blurter[2] heard of (all this), and considered that Hwang-Tî[2] knew how to express himself (on the subject).

2. (The operations of) Heaven and Earth proceed in the most admirable way, but they say nothing about them; the four seasons observe the clearest laws, but they do not discuss them; all things have their complete and distinctive constitutions, but they say nothing about them[3].

The sages trace out the admirable operations of Heaven and Earth, and reach to and understand the distinctive constitutions of all things; and thus it is that the Perfect Man (is said to) do nothing and the Greatest Sage to originate nothing, such language showing that they look to Heaven and Earth as

[1. have not been able to trace this quotation to its source.

2. See note 2, p. 57.

3. Compare Analects XVII, xix, 3.]

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their model[1]. Even they, with their spirit-like and most exquisite intelligence, as well as all the tribes that undergo their transformations, the dead and the living, the square and the round, do not understand their root and origin, but nevertheless they all from the oldest time by it preserve their being.

Vast as is the space included within the six cardinal points, it all (and all that it contains) lies within (this twofold root of Heaven and Earth); small as is an autumn hair, it is indebted to this for the completion of its form. All things beneath the sky, now rising, now descending, ever continue the same through this. The Yin and Yang, and the four seasons revolve and move by it, each in its proper order. Now it seems to be lost in obscurity, but it continues; now it seems to glide away, and have no form, but it is still spirit-like. All things are nourished by it, without their knowing it. This is what is called the Root and Origin; by it we may obtain a view of what we mean by Heaven[2].

3, Nieh Khüeh[3] asked about the Tâo from Phei-î who replied,’ If you keep your body as it should be, and look only at the one thing, the Harmony of Heaven will come to you. Call in your knowledge, and make your measures uniform, and the spiritual (belonging to you) will come and lodge with you; the Attributes (of the Tâo) will be your beauty, and the Tâo (itself) will be your dwelling-place. You will have the simple look of a new-born calf, and

[1. Compare the Tâo Teh King, ch. 25.

2. The binomial ‘Heaven and Earth’ here gives place to the one term ‘Heaven,’ which is often a synonym of Tâo.

3. See his character in Book XII, par. 5, where Phei-î also is mentioned.]

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will not seek to know the cause (of your being what you are).’ Phei-î had not finished these words when the other dozed off into a sleep.

Phei-î was greatly pleased, and walked away, singing as he went,

Like stump of rotten tree his frame,

Like lime when slaked his mind became[1]. Real is his wisdom, solid, true,

Nor cares what’s hidden to pursue. O dim and dark his aimless mind! No one from him can counsel find. What sort of man is he?’

4. Shun asked (his attendant) Khäng[2], saying, ‘Can I get the Tâo and hold it as mine?’ The reply was, ‘Your body is not your own to hold; how then can you get and hold the Tâo?’ Shun resumed, ‘If my body be not mine to possess and hold, who holds it?’ Khäng said, ‘It is the bodily form entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Life is not yours to hold. It is the blended harmony (of the Yin and Yang), entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Your nature, constituted as it is, is not yours to hold. It is entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth to act in accordance with it. Your grandsons and sons are not yours to hold. They are the exuviae[3] entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Therefore when we walk, we should not know where we are going; when we stop and rest, we should not know what to occupy ourselves with

[1. See the account of Nan-kwo Dze-khî in Book II, par. 1.

2. Not the name of a man, but an office.

3. The term in the text denotes the cast-off skin or shell of insects, snakes, and crabs. See the account of death and life in par. 1.]

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when we eat, we should not know the taste of our food;–all is done by the strong Yang influence of Heaven and Earth[1]. How then can you get (the Tâo), and hold it as your own?’

5. Confucius asked Lao Tan, saying, ‘Being at leisure to-day, I venture to ask you about the Perfect Tâo.’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘You must, as by fasting and vigil, clear and purge your mind, wash your spirit white as snow, and sternly repress your knowledge. The subject of the Tâo is deep, and difficult to describe;–I will give you an outline of its simplest attributes.

‘The Luminous was produced from the Obscure; the Multiform from the Unembodied; the Spiritual from the Tâo; and the bodily from the seminal essence. After this all things produced one another from their bodily organisations. Thus it is that those which have nine apertures are born from the womb, and those with eight from eggs[2]

But their coming leaves no trace, and their going no monument; they enter by no door; they dwell in no apartment[3]:–they are in a vast arena reaching in all directions. They who search for and find (the Tâo) in this are strong in their limbs, sincere and far-reaching in their thinking, acute in their hearing, and clear in their seeing. They exercise their minds without being toiled; they respond to everything aright without regard to place or circumstance. Without this heaven would not be high, nor earth

[1. It is an abstruse point why only the Yang is mentioned here, and described as ‘strong.’

2. It is not easy to see the pertinence of this illustration.

3. Hû Wän-ying says, ‘With this one word our author sweeps away the teaching of Purgatorial Sufferings.’]

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broad; the sun and moon would not move, and nothing would flourish:–such is the operation of the Tâo.

‘Moreover, the most extensive knowledge does not necessarily know it; reasoning will not make men wise in it;–the sages have decided against both these methods. However you try to add to it, it admits of no increase; however you try to take from it, it admits of no diminution;–this is what the sages maintain about it. How deep it is, like the sea! How grand it is, beginning again when it has come to an end! If it carried along and sustained all things, without being overburdened or weary, that would be like the way of the superior man, merely an external operation; when all things go to it, and find their dependence in it;–this is the true character of the Tâo.

‘Here is a man (born) in one of the middle states[1]. He feels himself independent both of the Yin and Yang[2], and dwells between heaven and earth; only for the present a mere man, but he will return to his original source. Looking at him in his origin, when his life begins, we have (but) a gelatinous substance in which the breath is collecting. Whether his life be long or his death early, how short is the space between them! It is but the name for a moment of time, insufficient to play the part of a good Yâo or a bad Kieh in.

‘The fruits of trees and creeping plants have their distinctive characters, and though the relationships

[1. The commentators suppose that by ‘the man’ here there is intended ‘a sage;’ and they would seem to be correct.

2. Compare the second sentence in the Tâo Teh King, ch. 42.]

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of men, according to which they are classified, are troublesome, the sage, when he meets with them, does not set himself in opposition to them, and when he has passed through them, he does not seek to retain them; he responds to them in their regular harmony according to his virtue; and even when he accidentally comes across any of them, he does so according to the Tâo. It was thus that the Tîs flourished, thus that the kings arose.

‘Men’s life between heaven and earth is like a white[1] colt’s passing a crevice, and suddenly disappearing. As with a plunge and an effort they all come forth; easily and quietly they all enter again. By a transformation they live, and by another transformation they die. Living things are made sad (by death), and mankind grieve for it; but it is (only) the removal of the bow from its sheath, and the emptying the natural satchel of its contents. There may be some confusion amidst the yielding to the change; but the intellectual and animal souls are taking their leave, and the body will follow them:–This is the Great Returning home.

‘That the bodily frame came from incorporeity, and will return to the same, is what all men in common know, and what those who are on their way to (know) it need not strive for. This is what the multitudes of men discuss together. Those whose (knowledge) is complete do not discuss it;–such discussion shows that their (knowledge) is not complete. Even the most clear-sighted do not meet

[1. Why is it the colt here is ‘white?’ Is it to heighten the impression made by his speedy disappearing? or is it merely the adoption of the phrase from the Shih, II, iv, 2?]

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(with the Tâo);–it is better to be silent than to reason about it. The Tâo cannot be heard with the ears;–it is better to shut the ears than to try and hear it. This is what is called the Great Attainment.’

6. Tung-kwo Dze[1] asked Kwang-dze, saying, ‘Where is what you call the Tâo to be found?’ Kwang-dze replied, ‘Everywhere.’ The other said, ‘Specify an instance of it. That will be more satisfactory.’ ‘It is here in this ant.’ ‘Give a lower instance.’ ‘It is in this panic grass.’ ‘Give me a still lower instance.’ ‘It is in this earthenware tile.’ ‘Surely that is the lowest instance?’ ‘It is in that excrement[2].’ To this Tung-kwo Dze gave no reply.

Kwang-dze said, ‘Your questions, my master, do not touch the fundamental point (of the Tâo). They remind me of the questions ad-dressed by the superintendents of the market to the inspector about examining the value of a pig by treading on it, and testing its weight as the foot descends lower and lower on the body[3]. You should not specify any particular thing. There is not a single thing without (the Tâo). So it is with the Perfect Tâo. And if we call it the Great (Tâo), it is just the same. There are the three terms,–“Complete,” “All-embracing,” “the Whole.” These names are different,

[1. Perhaps the Tung-kwo Shun-dze of Bk. XXI, par. 1.

2. A contemptuous reply, provoked by Tung-kwo’s repeated interrogation as to where the Tâo was to, be found, the only question being as to what it was.

3. We do not know the practices from which our author draws his illustrations here sufficiently to make out his meaning clearly. The signification of the characters ### and ### may be gathered indeed from the Î Lî, Books 7-9; but that is all.]

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but the reality (sought in them) is the same referring to the One thing[1].

‘Suppose we were to try to roam about in the palace of No-where;–when met there, we might discuss (about the subject) without ever coming to an end. Or suppose we were to be together in (the region of) Non-action;–should we say that (the Tâo was) Simplicity and Stillness? or Indifference and Purity? or Harmony and Ease? My will would be aimless. If it went nowhere, I should not know where it had got to; if it went and came again, I should not know where it had stopped; if it went on going and coming, I should not know when the process would end. In vague uncertainty should I be in the vastest waste. Though I entered it with the greatest knowledge, I should not know how inexhaustible it was. That which makes things what they are has not the limit which belongs to things, and when we speak of things being limited, we mean that they are so in themselves. (The Tâo) is the limit of the unlimited, and the boundlessness of the unbounded.

‘We speak of fulness and emptiness; of withering and decay. It produces fulness and emptiness, but is neither fulness nor emptiness; it produces withering and decay, but is neither withering nor decay. It produces the root and branches, but is neither root nor branch; it produces accumulation and dispersion, but is itself neither accumulated nor dispersed.’

7. A-ho Kan[2] and Shän Näng studied together

[1. The meaning of this other illustration is also very obscure to me; and much of what follows to the end of the paragraph.

2. We can hardly be said to know anything more of the first and third of these men than what is mentioned here.]

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under Läo-lung Kî. Shän Näng[1] was leaning forward on his stool, having shut the door and gone to sleep in the day time. At midday A-ho Kan pushed open the door and entered, saying, ‘Lâo-lung is dead.’ Shän Näng leant forward on his stool, laid hold of his staff and rose. Then he laid the staff aside with a clash, laughed and said, ‘That Heaven knew how cramped and mean, how arrogant and assuming I was, and therefore he has cast me off, and is dead. Now that there is no Master to correct my heedless words, it is simply for me to die!’ Yen Kang, (who had come in) to condole, heard these words, and said, ‘It is to him who embodies the Tâo that the superior men everywhere cling. Now you who do not understand so much as the tip of an autumn hair of it, not even the ten-thousandth part of the Tâo, still know how to keep hidden your heedless words about it and die;–how much more might he who embodied the Tâo do so! We look for it, and there is no form; we hearken for it, and there is no sound. When men try to discuss it, we call them dark indeed. When they discuss the Tâo, they misrepresent it.’

Hereupon Grand Purity[2] asked Infinitude[2], saying, ‘Do you know the Tâo?’ ‘I do not know it,’ was the reply. He then asked Do-nothing[2], Who replied, ‘I know it.’ ‘Is your knowledge of it determined

[l. Shän Näng is well known, as coming in the chronological list between Fû-hsî and Hwang-Tî; and we are surprised that a higher place is not given to him among the Tâoist patriarchs than our author assigns to him here.

2. These names, like those in the first paragraph of the Book, are metaphorical, intended, no doubt, to set forth attributes of the Tâo, and to suggest to the reader what it is or what it is not.]

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by various points?’ ‘It is.’ ‘What are they?’ Do-nothing[1] said, ‘I know that the Tâo may be considered noble, and may be considered mean, that it may be bound and compressed, and that it may be dispersed and diffused. These are the marks by which I know it.’ Grand Purity took the words of those two, and asked No-beginning[1], saying, ‘Such were their replies; which was right? and which was wrong? Infinitude’s saying that he did not know it? or Do-nothing’s saying that he knew it?’ No-beginning said, ‘The “I do not know it” was profound, and the “I know it” was shallow. The former had reference to its internal nature; the latter to its external conditions. Grand Purity looked up and sighed, saying, ‘Is “not to know it” then to know it? And is “to know it” not to know it? But who knows that he who does not know it (really) knows it?’ No-beginning replied, ‘The Tâo cannot be heard; what can be heard is not It. The Tâo cannot be seen; what can be seen is not It. The Tâo cannot be expressed in words; what can be expressed in words is not It. Do we know the Formless which gives form to form? In the same way the Tâo does not admit of being named.’

No-beginning (further) said, ‘If one ask about the Tâo and another answer him, neither of them knows it. Even the former who asks has never learned anything about the Tâo. He asks what does not admit of being asked, and the latter answers where answer is impossible. When one asks what does not admit of being asked, his questioning is in (dire)

[1. See note 2 on last page.]

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extremity. When one answers where answer is impossible, he has no internal knowledge of the subject. When people without such internal knowledge wait to be questioned by others in dire extremity, they show that externally they see nothing of space and time, and internally know nothing of the Grand Commencement[1]. Therefore they cannot cross over the Khwän-lun[2], nor roam in the Grand Void.’

8. Starlight[3] asked Non-entity[3], saying, ‘Master, do you exist? or do you not exist?’ He got no answer to his question, however, and looked stedfastly to the appearance of the other, which was that of a deep void. All day long he looked to it, but could see nothing; he listened for it, but could hear nothing; he clutched at it, but got hold of nothing[4]. Starlight then said, ‘Perfect! Who can attain to this? I can (conceive the ideas of) existence and non-existence, but I cannot (conceive the ideas of) non-existing non-existence, and still there be a non-existing existence. How is it possible to reach to this?’

9. The forger of swords for the Minister of War had reached the age of eighty, and had not lost a hair’s-breadth of his ability[5]. The Minister said to

[1. The first beginning of all things or of anything.

2. The Khwän-lun may be considered the Sacred Mountain of Tâoism.

3. The characters Kwang Yâo denote the points of light all over the sky, ‘dusted with stars.’ I can think of no better translation for them, as personified here, than ‘starlight.’ ‘Non-entity’ is a personification of the Tâo; as no existing thing, but the idea of the order that pervades and regulates throughout the universe.

4. A quotation from the Tâo Teh King, ch. 14.

5. Compare the case of the butcher in Bk. Ill, and other similar passages.]

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him, ‘You are indeed skilful, Sir. Have you any method that makes you so?’ The man said, ‘Your servant has (always) kept to his work. When I was twenty, I was fond of forging swords. I looked at nothing else. I paid no attention to anything but swords. By my constant practice of it, I came to be able to do the work without any thought of what I was doing. By length of time one acquires ability at any art; and how much more one who is ever at work on it! What is there which does not depend on this, and succeed by it?’

10. Zän Khiû[1] asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘Can it be known how it was before heaven and earth?’ The reply was, ‘It can. It was the same of old as now.’ Zän Khiû asked no more and withdrew. Next day, however, he had another interview, and said, ‘Yesterday I asked whether it could be known how it was before heaven and earth, and you, Master, said, “It can. As it is now, so it was of old.” Yesterday, I seemed to understand you clearly, but to-day it is dark to me. I venture to ask you for an explanation of this.’ Kung-nî said, ‘Yesterday you seemed to understand me clearly, because your own spiritual nature had anticipated my reply. Today it seems dark to you, for you are in an unspiritual mood, and are trying to discover the meaning. (In this matter) there is no old time and no present; no beginning and no ending. Could it be that there were grandchildren and children before there were (other) grandchildren and children[2]?

[1. One of the disciples of Confucius:–Analects VI, 3.

2. Hû Wän-ying says, ‘Before there can be grandsons and sons there -must be grandfathers and fathers to transmit them, so before {footnote p. 72} there were (the present) heaven and earth, there must have been another heaven and earth.’ But I am not sure that he has in this remark exactly caught our author’s meaning.]

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Zän Khiû had not made any reply, when Kung-nî went on, ‘Let us have done. There can be no answering (on your part). We cannot with life give life to death; we cannot with death give death to life. Do death and life wait (for each other)? There is that which contains them both in its one comprehension[1]. Was that which was produced before Heaven and Earth a thing? That which made things and gave to each its character was not itself a thing. Things came forth and could not be before things, as if there had (previously) been things;–as if there had been things (producing one another) without end. The love of the sages for others, and never coming to an end, is an idea taken from this[2].’

11. Yen Yüan asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘Master, I have heard you say, “There should be no demonstration of welcoming; there should be no movement to meet;”–I venture to ask in what way this affection of the mind may be shown.’ The reply was, ‘The ancients, amid (all) external changes, did not change internally; now-a-days men change internally, but take no note of external changes. When one only notes the changes of things, himself continuing one and the same, he does not change. How should there be (a difference between) his changing and not changing? How should he put himself in contact with (and come under the influence of) those external changes? He is sure, however,

[1. Meaning the Tâo.

2. An obscure remark.]

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to keep his points of contact with them from being many. The park of Shih-wei[1], the garden of Hwang-Tî, the palace of the Lord of Yü, and the houses of Thang and Wû;–(these all were places in which this was done). But the superior men (so called, of later days), such as the masters of the Literati and of Mohism, were bold to attack each other with their controversies; and how much more so are the men of the present day! Sages in dealing with others do not wound them; and they who do not wound others cannot be wounded by them. Only he whom others do not injure is able to welcome and meet men.

‘Forests and marshes make me joyful and glad; but before the joy is ended, sadness comes and succeeds to it. When sadness and joy come, I cannot prevent their approach; when they go, I cannot retain them. How sad it is that men should only be as lodging-houses for things, (and the emotions which they excite)! They know what they meet, but they do not know what they do not meet; they use what power they have, but they cannot be strong where they are powerless. Such ignorance and powerlessness is what men cannot avoid. That they should try to avoid what they cannot avoid, is not this also sad? Perfect speech is to put speech away; perfect action is to put action away; to digest all knowledge that is known is a thing to be despised.’

[1. This personage has occurred before in Bk. VI, par. 7,–at the head of the most ancient sovereigns, who were in possession of the Tâo. His ‘park’ as a place for moral and intellectual inquiry is here mentioned;–so early was there a certain quickening of the mental faculties in China.]

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