The Writings of Kwang-dze Translated by James Legge
BOOK XIII.
PART II. SECTION VI.
Thien Tâo, or ‘The Way of Heaven[1].’
1. The Way of Heaven operates (unceasingly), and leaves no accumulation[1] (of its influence) in any particular place, so that all things are brought to perfection by it; so does the Way of the Tîs operate, and all under the sky turn to them (as their directors); so also does the Way of the Sages operate, and all within the seas submit to them. Those who clearly understand (the Way of) Heaven, who are in sympathy with (that of) the sages, and familiar through the universe and in the four quarters (of the earth) with the work of the Tîs and the kings, yet act spontaneously from themselves:–with the appearance of being ignorant they are yet entirely still.
The stillness of the sages does not belong to them as a consequence of their skilful ability[3]; all things are not able to disturb their minds;–it is on this account that they are still. When water is still, its clearness shows the beard and eyebrows (of him
[1. See pp. 144, 145.
2. That is, its operation is universal. The Chinese critics generally explain ‘accumulation’ here by ‘rest,’ which is not quite the idea.
3. Such is the meaning here of the ### as in the Tâo Teh King, chaps. 2, 8, and often.]
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who looks into it). It is a perfect Level[1], and the greatest artificer takes his rule from it. Such is the clearness of still water, and how much greater is that of the human Spirit! The still mind of the sage is the mirror of heaven and earth, the glass of all things.
Vacancy, stillness, placidity, tastelessness, quietude, silence, and non-action;–this is the Level of heaven and earth, and the perfection of the Tâo and its characteristics[2]. Therefore the Tîs, Kings, and Sages found in this their resting-place[3]. Resting here, they were vacant; from their vacancy came fullness; from their fullness came the nice distinctions (of things). From their vacancy came stillness; that stillness was followed by movement; their movements were successful. From their stillness came their non-action. Doing-nothing, they devolved the cares of office on their employés. Doing-nothing was accompanied by the feeling of satisfaction. Where there is that feeling of satisfaction, anxieties and troubles find no place; and the years of life are many.
Vacancy, stillness, placidity, tastelessness, quietude, silence, and doing-nothing are the root of all things. When this is understood, we find such a ruler on the throne as Yâo, and such a minister as Shun. When with this a high position is occupied, we find the attributes of the Tîs and kings,–the sons of Heaven; with this in a low position, we find the mysterious
[1. ### here, is contracted in many editions into ### which some have mistaken for ###.
2. Such are the natural characteristics of the Tâoistic mind.
3. Implying cessation from all thought and purpose.]
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sages, the uncrowned kings, with their ways. With this retiring (from public life), and enjoying themselves at leisure, we find the scholars who dwell by the rivers and seas, among the hills and forests, all submissive to it; with this coming forward to active life and comforting their age, their merit is great, and their fame is distinguished;–and all the world becomes united in one.
2. (Such men) by their stillness become sages and by their movement, kings. Doing-nothing, they are honoured; in their plain simplicity, no one in the world can strive with them (for the palm of) excellence. The clear understanding of the virtue of Heaven and Earth is what is called ‘The Great Root,’ and ‘The Great Origin;’–they who have it are in harmony with Heaven, and so they produce all equable arrangements in the world;–they are those who are in harmony with men. Being in harmony with men is called the joy of men; being in harmony with Heaven is called the joy of Heaven. Kwang-dze said, ‘My Master! my Master! He shall hash and blend all things in mass without being cruel; he shall dispense his favours to all ages without being benevolent. He is older than the highest antiquity, and yet is not old. He overspreads the heavens and sustains the earth; from him is the carving of all forms without any artful skill[1]! This is what is called the Joy of Heaven. Hence it is said, “Those who know the Joy of Heaven during their life, act like Heaven, and at death undergo transformation like (other) things[3]; in their stillness
[1. Compare in Bk. VI, pars. 13 and 7.
2. They do not cease to be, but only become transformed or changed.]
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they possess the quality of the Yin, and in their movement they flow abroad as the Yang. Therefore he who knows the joy of Heaven has no murmuring against Heaven, nor any fault-finding with men; and suffers no embarrassment from things, nor any reproof from ghosts. Hence it is said, His movements are those of Heaven; his stillness is that of Earth; his whole mind is fixed, and he rules over the world. The spirits of his dead do not come to scare him; he is not worn out by their souls. His words proceeding from his vacancy and stillness, yet reach to heaven and earth, and show a communication with all things:–this is what is called the joy of Heaven. This joy of Heaven forms the mind of the sage whereby he nurtures all under the sky[1].'”‘
3. It was the Way[2] of the Tîs and Kings to regard Heaven and Earth as their Author, the Tâo and its characteristics as their Lord, and Doing-nothing as their constant rule. Doing-nothing, they could use the whole world in their service and might have done more; acting, they were not sufficient for the service required of them by the world. Hence the men of old held non-inaction in honour. When superiors do nothing and their inferiors also do nothing, inferiors and superiors possess the same virtue; and when inferiors and superiors possess the same virtue, there are none to act as ministers. When inferiors act, and their superiors also act, then superiors and inferiors possess the same Tâo; and when superiors and inferiors possess the same
[1. I suppose that from ‘It is said’ to this is all quotation, but from what book we do not know.
2. ‘The virtue,’ or attribute; = the way.]
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Tâo, there is none to preside as Lord. But that the superiors do nothing and yet thereby use the world in their service, and that the inferiors, while acting, be employed in the service of the world, is an unchangeable principle. Therefore the ancient kings who presided over the world, though their knowledge embraced (all the operations of) Heaven and Earth, took no thought of their own about them; though their nice discrimination appreciated the fine fashioning of all things, they said not a word about it; though their power comprehended all within the seas, they did nothing themselves. Heaven produces nothing, yet all things experience their transformations; Earth effects no growth, yet all things receive their nurture; the Tîs and Kings did nothing, yet all the world testified their effective services. Hence it is said, ‘There is nothing more spirit-like than Heaven; there is nothing richer than Earth; there are none greater than the Tî s and Kings.’ Hence it is said (further), ‘The attributes of the Tîs and kings corresponded to those of Heaven and Earth.’ It was thus that they availed themselves of (the operations of) Heaven and Earth, carried all things on unceasingly (in their courses), and employed the various classes of men in their service.
4. Originating belongs to those in the higher position; details (of work) to those who are in the lower. The compendious decision belongs to the lord; the minutiae of execution, to his ministers. The direction of the three hosts[1] and their men with the five weapons[2] is but a trifling quality; rewards
[1. ‘Three hosts’ constituted the military force of one of the largest states.
2. The bow, the club, the spear, the lance, the javelin. Other {footnote p. 335} enumerations of them are given. See the ‘Officers of Kâu,’ Bk. XXXII.]
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and penalties with their advantages and sufferings, and the inflictions of the five punishments[1] are but trivial elements of instruction; ceremonies, laws, measures, and numbers, with all the minutiae of jurisprudence[2], are small matters in government; the notes of bells and drums, and the display of plumes and flags are the slightest things in music, and the various grades of the mourning garments are the most unimportant manifestations of grief. These five unimportant adjuncts required the operation of the excited spirit and the employment of the arts of the mind, to bring them into use. The men of old had them indeed, but they did not give them the first place.
The ruler precedes, and the minister follows; the father precedes, and the son follows; the elder brother precedes, and the younger follows; the senior precedes, and the junior follows; the male precedes, and the female follows; the husband precedes, and the wife follows.
This precedence of the more honourable and sequence of the meaner is seen in the (relative) action of heaven and earth, and hence the sages took them as their pattern. The more honourable position of heaven and the lower one of earth are equivalent to a designation of their spirit-like and intelligent qualities. The precedence of spring and summer and the sequence of autumn and winter mark the
[1. Branding, cutting off the nose, cutting off the feet, castration, death.
2. I read here ### (not ###) ###.]
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order of the four seasons. In the transformations and growth of all things, every bud and feature has its proper form; and in this we have their gradual maturing and decay, the constant flow of transformation and change. Thus since Heaven and Earth, which are most spirit-like, are distinguished as more honourable and less, and by precedence and sequence, how much more must we look for this in the ways of men! In the ancestral temple it is to kinship that honour is given; in court, to rank; in the neighbourhoods and districts, to age; in the conduct of affairs, to wisdom; such is the order in those great ways. If we speak of the course (to be pursued in them), and do not observe their order, we violate their course. If we speak of the course, and do not observe it, why do we apply that name to it?
5. Therefore the ancients who clearly understood the great Tâo first sought to apprehend what was meant by Heaven[1], and the Tâo and its characteristics came next. When this was apprehended, then came Benevolence and Righteousness. When these were apprehended, then came the Distinction of duties and the observance of them. This accomplished, there came objects and their names. After objects and their names, came the employment of men according to their qualities: on this there followed the examination of the men and of their work. This led to the approval or disapproval of them, which again was succeeded by the apportioning of rewards and penalties. After this the stupid and the intelligent understood what was required of them, and the honourable and the mean occupied their several positions.
[1. The meaning, probably, is ‘spontaneity.’]
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The good and the able, and those inferior to them, sincerely did their best. Their ability was distributed; the duties implied in their official names were fulfilled. In this way did they serve their superiors, nourish their inferiors, regulate things, and cultivate their persons. They did not call their knowledge and schemes into requisition; they were required to fall back upon (the method of) Heaven:–this was what is called the Perfection of the Rule of Great Peace. Hence it is said in the Book[1], ‘There are objects and there are their names.’ Objects and their names the ancients had; but they did not put them in the foremost place.
When the ancients spoke of the Great Tâo, it was only after four other steps that they gave a place to ‘Objects and their Names,’ and after eight steps that they gave a place to ‘Rewards and Penalties.’ If they had all at once spoken of ‘Objects and their Names,’ they would have shown an ignorance of what is the Root (of government); if they had all at once spoken of ‘Rewards and Penalties,’ they would have shown an ignorance of the first steps of it. Those whose words are thus an inversion of the (proper) course, or in opposition to it, are (only fit to be) ruled by others;-how can they rule others? To speak all at once of ‘Objects and their Names,’ and of ‘Rewards and Penalties,’ only shows that the speaker knows the instruments of government, but does not know the method of it, is fit to be used as an instrument in the world, but not fit to use others as his instruments:–he is what we call a mere sophist, a man of one small idea.
[1. We cannot tell what book or books.]
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Ceremonies, laws, numbers, measures, with all the minutiae of jurisprudence, the ancients had; but it is by these that inferiors serve their superiors; it is not by them that those superiors nourish the world.
6. Anciently, Shun asked Yâo, saying, ‘In what way does your Majesty by the Grace of Heaven’ exercise your mind?’ The reply was, ‘I simply show no arrogance towards the helpless; I do not neglect the poor people; I grieve for those who die; I love their infant children; and I compassionate their widows.’ Shun rejoined, ‘Admirable, as far as it goes; but it is not what is Great.’ How then,’ asked Yâo, ‘do you think I should do?’ Shun replied, ‘When (a sovereign) possesses the virtue of Heaven, then when he shows himself in action, it is in stillness. The sun and moon (simply) shine, and the four seasons pursue their courses. So it is with the regular phenomena of day and night, and with the movement of the clouds by which the rain is distributed.’ Yâo said, ‘Then I have only been persistently troubling myself! What you wish is to be in harmony with Heaven, while I wish to be in harmony with men.’ Now (the Way of) Heaven and Earth was much thought of of old, and Hwang-Tî, Yâo, and Shun united in admiring it. Hence the kings of the world of old did nothing, but tried to imitate that Way.
7. Confucius went to the west to deposit (some) writings in the library of Kâu[1], when Dze-lû counselled
[1. So, in the ‘Spring and Autumn’ Chronicle, the rightful reigning sovereign is ordinarily designated, ‘Heaven’s King.’ It is not a Tâoistic mode of speaking of him.
2. It is supposed that Confucius, disappointed by his want of {footnote p. 339} success, wished to deposit the writings or books which he prized so much in the Royal Library, that they might not be lost, and be available for some future teacher, more fortunate than himself.]
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him, saying, ‘I have heard that the officer in charge of this Käng[1] Repository of Kâu was one Lâo Tan, who has given up his office, and is living in his own house. As you, Master, wish to deposit these writings here, why not go to him, and obtain his help (to accomplish your object)[2].’ Confucius said, ‘Good;’ and he went and saw Lâo Tan, who refused his assistance. On this he proceeded to give an abstract of the Twelve Classics[3] to bring the other over to his views[4]. Lâo Tan, however, interrupted him while he was speaking, and said, ‘This is too vague; let me hear the substance of them in brief’. Confucius said, ‘The substance of them is occupied with Benevolence and Righteousness.’ The other said, ‘Let me ask whether you consider Benevolence and Righteousness to constitute the nature of man?’ ‘I do,’ was the answer. ‘If the superior man be not benevolent, he will not fulfil his character; if he be not righteous, he might as well not have been born. Benevolence and Righteousness are truly the nature of man.’ Lâo Tan continued, ‘Let me ask you what you mean by Benevolence and Righteousness.’ Confucius said, ‘To be in one’s inmost heart in kindly sympathy
[1. The name of the Royal Library (###); meaning, perhaps, ‘Approved.’
2. That is, help him to get his books deposited in the Library.
3. Meaning, perhaps, the ‘Spring and Autumn,’ containing a chronicle of twelve marquises of Lû. We know of no collection in the time of Confucius which could be styled the ‘Twelve Classics.’
4. ### is to be read shui.]
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with all things; to love all men; and to allow no selfish thoughts;–this is the nature of Benevolence and Righteousness.’ Lâo Tan exclaimed, ‘Ah! you almost show your inferiority by such words! “To love all men!” is not that vague and extravagant? “To be seeking to allow no selfish thoughts!”–that is selfishness[1]! If you, Master, wish men not to be without their (proper) shepherding, think of Heaven and Earth, which certainly pursue their invariable course; think of the sun and moon, which surely maintain their brightness; think of the stars in the zodiac, which preserve their order and courses; think of birds and beasts, which do not fail to collect together in their flocks and herds; and think of the trees, which do not fail to stand up (in their places). Do you, Master, imitate this way and carry it into practice; hurry on, following this course, and you will reach your end. Why must you further be vehement in putting forward your Benevolence and Righteousness, as if you were beating a drum, and seeking a fugitive son, (only making him run away the more)? Ah! Master, you are introducing disorder into the nature of man!’
8. Shih-khäng Khî[2], having an interview with Lâo-dze, asked him, saying, ‘I heard, Master, that you were a sage, and I came here, wishing to see you, without grudging the length of the journey. During the stages of the hundred days, the soles of my feet became quite callous, but I did not dare to stop and rest. Now I perceive that you are not
[1. The unselfishness was not spontaneous.
2. We know nothing of this personage, but what is related here; nor does the whole paragraph serve to advance the argument of the Book.]
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a sage. Because there was some rice left about the holes of the rats, you sent away your younger sister, which was unkind; when your food, whether raw or cooked, remains before you not all consumed, you keep on hoarding it up to any extent[1].’ Lâo-dze looked indifferent, and gave him no answer.
Next day Khî again saw Lao-dze, and said, ‘Yesterday I taunted you; but to-day I have gone back to a better mood of mind. What is the cause (of the change)[2]?’ Lâo-dze replied, ‘I consider that I have freed myself from the trammels of claiming to be artfully knowing, spirit-like, and sage. Yesterday if you had called me an ox, you might have done so; or if you had called me a horse, you might have done so[3]. If there be a reality (corresponding to men’s ideas), and men give it a name, which another will not receive, he will in the sequel suffer the more. My manner was what I constantly observe;–I did not put it on for the occasion.’
Shih-khäng Khî sidled away out of Lâo’s shadow; then he retraced his steps, advanced forward, and asked how he should cultivate himself. The reply was, ‘Your demeanour is repelling; you stare with your eyes; your forehead is broad and yet tapering; you bark and growl with your mouth; your appearance is severe and pretentious; you are like a horse held by its tether, you would move, but are restrained, and (if let go) would start off like an
[1. These seem strange charges to bring against Lâo-dze, and no light is thrown on them from other sources.
2. The change had been produced by the demeanour of Lâo-dze; the other could not tell how. Other explanations of the question are given by some of the critics.
3. Compare in the first paragraph of Book VII.]
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arrow from a bow; you examine all the minutiae of a thing; your wisdom is artful, and yet you try to look at ease. All these are to be considered proofs of your want of sincerity. If on the borders one were to be found with them, he would be named a Thief.’
9. The Master[1] said, ‘The Tâo does not exhaust itself in what is greatest, nor is it ever absent from what is least; and therefore it is to be found complete and diffused in all things. How wide is its universal comprehension! How deep is its unfathomableness! The embodiment of its attributes in benevolence and righteousness is but a small result of its spirit-like (working); but it is only the perfect man who can determine this. The perfect man has (the charge of) the world;–is not the charge great? and yet it is not sufficient to embarrass him. He wields the handle of power over the whole world, and yet it is nothing to him. His discrimination detects everything false, and no consideration of gain moves him. He penetrates to the truth of things, and can guard that which is fundamental. So it is that heaven and earth are external to him, and he views all things with indifference, and his spirit is never straitened by them. He has comprehended the Tho, and is in harmony with its characteristics; he pushes back benevolence and righteousness (into their proper place), and deals with ceremonies and music as (simply) guests:–yes, the mind of the perfect man determines all things aright.’
[1. No doubt, Lao-dze. In the ‘Complete Works of the Ten Philosophers,’ the text is ### and not ###.]
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10. What the world thinks the most valuable exhibition of the Tâo is to be found in books. But books are only a collection of words. Words have what is valuable in them;–what is valuable in words is the ideas they convey. But those ideas are a sequence of something else;–and what that something else is cannot be conveyed by words. When the world, because of the value which it attaches to words, commits them to books, that for which it so values them may not deserve to be valued;–because that which it values is not what is really valuable.
Thus it is that what we look at and can see is (only) the outward form and colour, and what we listen to and can hear is (only) names and sounds. Alas! that men of the world should think that form and colour, name and sound, should be sufficient to give them the real nature of the Tâo. The form and colour, the name and sound, are certainly not sufficient to convey its real nature; and so it is that ‘the wise do not speak and those who do speak are not wise.’ How should the world know that real nature?
Duke Hwan[1], seated above in his hall, was (once) reading a book, and the wheelwright Phien was making a wheel below it[2]. Laying aside his hammer and chisel, Phien went up the steps, and said, ‘I venture to ask your Grace what words you are reading?’ The duke said, ‘The words of the sages.’ ‘Are those sages alive?’ Phien continued.
[1. No doubt, duke Hwan of Khî, the first of the five presiding chiefs of the Kâu dynasty.
2. See in Mencius I, i, vii, 4 a similar reference to the hall and the courtyard below it.]
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‘They are dead,’ was the reply. ‘Then,’ said the other, ‘what you, my Ruler, are reading are only the dregs and sediments of those old men.’ The duke said, ‘How should you, a wheelwright, have anything to say about the book which I am reading? If you can explain yourself, very well; if you cannot, you shall die!’ The wheelwright said, ‘Your servant will look at the thing from the point of view of his own art. In making a wheel, if I proceed gently, that is pleasant enough, but the workmanship is not strong; if I proceed violently, that is toilsome and the joinings do not fit. If the movements of my hand are neither (too) gentle nor (too) violent, the idea in my mind is realised. But I cannot tell (how to do this) by word of mouth; there is a knack in it. I cannot teach the knack to my son, nor can my son learn it from me. Thus it is that I am in my seventieth year, and am (still) making wheels in my old age[1]. But these ancients, and what it was not possible for them to Convey, are dead and gone:–so then what you, my Ruler, are reading is but their dregs and sediments!’
[1. Compare the story in Book III about the ruler Wän-hui and his butcher; and other passages.]
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BOOK XIV.
PART II. SECTION VII.
Thien Yün, or ‘The Revolution of Heaven[1].’
1. How (ceaselessly) heaven revolves! Flow (constantly) earth abides at rest! And do the sun and moon contend about their (respective) places? Who presides over and directs these (things)? Who binds and connects them together? Who is it that, without trouble or exertion on his part, causes and maintains them? Is it, perhaps, that there is some secret spring, in consequence of which they cannot be but as they are? Or is it, perhaps, that they move and turn as they do, and cannot stop of themselves?
(Then) how the clouds become rain! And how the rain again forms the clouds! Who diffuses them so abundantly? Who is it that, without trouble or exertion on his part, produces this elemental enjoyment, and seems to stimulate it?
The winds rise in the north; one blows to the west, and another to the east; while some rise upwards, uncertain in their direction. By whose breathing are they produced? Who is it that, without any trouble and exertion of his own, effects all their undulations? I venture to ask their cause[2].
[1. See pp. 145, 146.
2. Down to this we have a description of the phenomena of heaven and earth and of nature generally as proceeding regularly {footnote p. 346} and noiselessly, without any apparent cause; which is the chief subject of the Book. As the description is not assigned to any one, we must suppose it to be from Kwang-dze himself; and that it is he who asks the question in the last three characters.]
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Wû-hsien Thiâo[1] said, ‘Come, and I will tell you. To heaven there belong the six Extreme Points, and the five Elements[2]. When the Tîs and Kings acted in accordance with them, there was good government; when they acted contrary to them, there was evil. Observing the things (described) in the nine divisions (of the writing) of Lo[3], their government was perfected and their virtue was complete. They inspected and enlightened the kingdom beneath them, and all under the sky acknowledged and sustained them. Such was the condition under the august (sovereigns[4] ) and those before them.’
2. Tang[5], the chief administrator of Shang[5], asked Kwang-dze about Benevolence[6], and the answer was, ‘Wolves and tigers are benevolent.’ ‘What do you mean?’ said Tang. Kwang-dze replied, ‘Father and son (among them) are affectionate to one another. Why should they be considered as not benevolent?’
[1. This is said by the critics to have been a minister of the Shang dynasty, under Thâi-mâu in the seventeenth century B. C.; but even Kwang-dze would hardly so violate the unity of time.
2. Generally means ‘the Five Regular Virtues;’ supposed to mean here ‘the Five Elements.’
3. Probably the ‘Nine Divisions of the Great Plan,’ in the Shû King, V, iv, fancied to be derived from the writing, which a tortoise from the Lo river exhibited to the great Yü.
4. Possibly Fû-hsî, Shän Näng, and Hwang-Tî.
5. ‘Shang’ must be taken as the duchy of Sung, assigned by king Wû to the representative of the kings of the dynasty of Shang. ‘Tang’ would be a principal minister of it in the time of Kwang-dze.
6. The chief of all the virtues according to Confucianism.]
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‘Allow me to ask about perfect benevolence,’ pursued the other. Kwang-dze said, ‘Perfect benevolence[1] does not admit (the feeling) of affection.’ The minister said, ‘I have heard that, without (the feeling of) affection there is no love, and without love there is not filial duty;–is it permissible to say that the perfectly benevolent are not filial?’ Kwang-dze rejoined, ‘That is not the way to put the case. Perfect Benevolence is the very highest thing;–filial duty is by no means sufficient to describe it. The saying which you quote is not to the effect that (such benevolence) transcends filial duty;–it does not refer to such duty at all. One, travelling to the south, comes (at last) to Ying[2], and there, standing with his face to the north, he does not see mount Ming[3]. Why does he not see it? Because he is so far from it. Hence it is said, “Filial duty as a part of reverence is easy, but filial duty as a part of love is difficult. If it be easy as a part of love, yet it is difficult to forget[4] one’s parents. It may be easy for me to forget my parents, but it is difficult to make my parents forget me. If it were easy to make my parents forget me, it is difficult for me to forget all men in the world. If it were easy to forget all men in the world, it is difficult to make them all forget me.”
‘This virtue might make one think light of Yâo and Shun, and not wish to be they[5]. The profit
[1. A denomination here for the Tâo, employed by Kwang-dze for the purpose of his argument.
2. The capital of the state of Khû in the south.
3. Name of a hill in the extreme north.
4. The Tâo requires such forgetfulness on the part of both giver and receiver; it is a part of its ‘doing-nothing.’
5. I think this is the meaning.]
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and beneficial influences of it extend to a myriad ages, and no one in the world knows whence they come. How can you simply heave a great sigh, and speak (as you do) of benevolence and filial duty? Filial duty, fraternal respect, benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, sincerity, firmness, and purity;–all these may be pressed into the service of this virtue, but they are far from sufficient to come up to it. Therefore it is said, “To him who has what is most noble[1], all the dignities of a state are as nothing[2]; to him who has what is the greatest riches, all the wealth of a state is as nothing; to him who has all that he could wish, fame and praise are as nothing.” It is thus that the Tâo admits of no substitute.’
3. Pei-män Khäng[3] asked Hwang-Tî, saying, ‘You were celebrating, O Tî, a performance of the music of the Hsien-khih[4], in the open country near the Thung-thing lake. When I heard the first part of it, I was afraid; the next made me weary; and the last perplexed me. I became agitated and unable to speak, and lost my self-possession.’ The Tî said, ‘It was likely that it should so affect you! It was performed with (the instruments of) men, and all attuned according to (the influences of) Heaven. It
[1. The Tâo.
2. This free version takes ### as = ###. So the Khang-list dictionary explains it.
3. Only heard of, so far as I know, in this passage.
4. The name of Hwang-Tî’s music; I do not venture to translate it. In his elaborate description of it, our author intended to give an idea of the Tâo, and the effect which the study of it was calculated to produce on the mind; as appears from the concluding sentence of the paragraph.]
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proceeded according to (the principles of) propriety and righteousness, and was pervaded by (the idea of) the Grand Purity.
‘The Perfect Music first had its response in the affairs of men, and was conformed to the principles of Heaven; it indicated the action of the five virtues, and corresponded to the spontaneity (apparent in nature). After this it showed the blended distinctions of the four seasons, and the grand harmony of all things;–the succession of those seasons one after another, and the production of things in their proper order. Now it swelled, and now it died away, its peaceful and military strains clearly distinguished and given forth. Now it was clear, and now rough, as if the contracting and expanding of the elemental processes blended harmoniously (in its notes). Those notes then flowed away in waves of light, till, as when the hibernating insects first begin to move, I commanded the terrifying crash of thunder. Its end was marked by no formal conclusion, and it began again without any prelude. It seemed to die away, and then it burst into life; it came to a close, and then it rose again. So it went on regularly and inexhaustibly, and without the intervention of any pause:–it was this which made you afraid.
‘In the second part (of the performance), I made it describe the harmony of the Yin and Yang, and threw round it the brilliance of the sun and moon. Its notes were now short and now long, now soft and now hard. Their changes, however, were marked by an unbroken unity, though not dominated by a fixed regularity. They filled every valley and ravine; you might shut up every crevice, and guard your spirit (against their entrance), yet
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there was nothing but gave admission to them. Yea, those notes resounded slowly, and might have been pronounced high and clear. Hence the shades of the dead kept in their obscurity; the sun and moon, and all the stars of the zodiac, pursued their several courses. I made (my instruments) leave off, when (the performance) came to an end, and their (echoes) flowed on without stopping. You thought anxiously about it, and were not able to understand it; you looked for it, and were not able to see it; you pursued it, and were not able to reach it. All amazed, you stood in the way all open around you, and then you leant against an old rotten dryandra tree and hummed. The power of your eyes was exhausted by what you wished to see; your strength failed in your desire to pursue it, while I myself could not reach it. Your body was but so much empty vacancy while you endeavoured to retain your self-possession[1]:–it was that endeavour which made you weary.
‘In the last part (of the performance), I employed notes which did not have that wearying effect. I blended them together as at the command of spontaneity. Hence they came as if following one another in confusion, like a clump of plants springing from one root, or like the music of a forest produced by no visible form. They spread themselves all around without leaving a trace (of their cause); and seemed to issue from deep obscurity where there was no sound. Their movements came from nowhere; their home was in the deep darkness;–
[1. See the usage of the two characters ### in the Shih King, I, ii, Ode 3.]
{p. 351}
conditions which some would call death, and some life; some, the fruit, and some, (merely) the flower. Those notes, moving and flowing on, separating and shifting, and not following any regular sounds, the world might well have doubts about them, and refer them to the judgment of a sage, for the sages understand the nature of this music, and judge in accordance with the prescribed (spontaneity). While the spring of that spontaneity has not been touched, and yet the regulators of the five notes are all prepared;–this is what is called the music of Heaven, delighting the mind without the use of words. Hence it is said in the eulogy of the Lord of Piâo[1], “You listen for it, and do not hear its sound; you look for it, and do not perceive its form; it fills heaven and earth; it envelopes all within the universe.” You wished to hear it, but could not take it in; and therefore you were perplexed.
‘I performed first the music calculated to awe; and you were frightened as if by a ghostly visitation, I followed it with that calculated to weary; and in your weariness you would have withdrawn. I concluded with that calculated to perplex; and in your perplexity you felt your stupidity. But that stupidity is akin to the Tâo; you may with it convey the Tâo in your person, and have it (ever) with you.’
4. When Confucius was travelling in the west in Wei, Yen Yüan asked the music-master Kin[2], saying,
[1. Some sovereign of antiquity, of whom it is difficult to find any other mention but this. Even in the Lû Shih I have not discovered him. The name is said to be pronounced Piâo; in which case it should consist of three ###, and not of three ###.
2. Only heard of here.]
{p. 352}
‘How is it, do you think, with the course of the Master?’ The music-master replied, ‘Alas! it is all over with your Master!’ ‘How so?’ asked Yen Yüan; and the other said, ‘Before the grass-dogs[1] are set forth (at the sacrifice), they are deposited in a box or basket, and wrapt up with elegantly embroidered cloths, while the representative of the dead and the officer of prayer prepare themselves by fasting to present them. After they have been set forth, however, passers-by trample on their heads and backs, and the grass-cutters take and burn them in cooking. That is all they are good for. If one should again take them, replace them in the box or basket, wrap them up with embroidered cloths, and then in rambling, or abiding at the spot, should go to sleep under them, if he do not get (evil) dreams, he is sure to be often troubled with the nightmare. Now here is your Master in the same way taking the grass-dogs, presented by the ancient kings, and leading his disciples to wander or abide and sleep under them. Owing to this, the tree (beneath which they were practising ceremonies) in Sung was cut down[2]; he was obliged to leave Wei[3]; he was reduced to extremities in Shang[3] and Kâu[4]:–were not those experiences like having (evil) dreams? He was kept in a state of siege between Khän and Zhâi[5], so that for seven days he had no cooked food to eat, and was in a situation between life and death:–were not those experiences like the nightmare?
[1. See the Tâo Teh King, ch. 5.
2. Analects III, xxii.
3. In consequence of the dissoluteness of the court; Analects VI, xxvi; IX, 17.
4. Meaning Sung and Wei.
5. Analects XI, ii, i.]
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‘If you are travelling by water, your best plan is to use a boat; if by land, a carriage. Take a boat, which will go (easily) along on the water, and try to push it along on the land, and all your lifetime it will not go so much as a fathom or two:–are not ancient time and the present time like the water and the dry land? and are not Kâu and Lû like the boat and the carriage? To seek now to practise (the old ways of) Kâu in Lû is like pushing along a boat on the dry land. It is only a toilsome labour, and has no success; he who does so is sure to meet with calamity. He has not learned that in handing down the arts (of one time) he is sure to be reduced to extremity in endeavouring to adapt them to the conditions (of another).
‘And have you not seen the working of a shadoof? When (the rope of) it is pulled, it bends down; and when it is let go, it rises up. It is pulled by a man, and does not pull the man; and so, whether it bends down or rises up, it commits no offence against the man. In the same way the rules of propriety, righteousness, laws, and measures of the three Hwangs[1] and five Tîs[1] derived their excellence, not from their being the same as those of the present day, but from their (aptitude for) government. We may compare them to haws[2], pears, oranges,
[1. It is impossible to speak definitely of who these three Hwangs (Augustuses) and five Tîs were, or whom the speaker intended by them. The former would seem to lead us to the purely fabulous ages, when twelve (or thirteen) Heavenly Hwangs, eleven Earthly, and nine Human ruled over the young world, for a period of 576,000 years. There is a general agreement of opinion that the five Tîs ended with Yâo and Shun.
2. See Williams’s Dictionary, sub voc. He says it is the Crataegus {footnote p. 354} cuneata and pinnatifida, common in China, and much esteemed for its acidity.]
{p. 354}
and pummeloes, which are different in flavour, but all suitable to be eaten. Just so it is that the rules of propriety, righteousness, laws, and measures, change according to the time.
‘If now you take a monkey, and dress it in the robes of the duke of Kâu, it will bite and tear them, and will not be satisfied till it has got rid of them altogether. And if you look at the difference between antiquity and the present time it is as great as that between the monkey and the duke of Kâu. In the same way, when Hsî Shih[1] was troubled in mind, she would knit her brows and frown on all in her neighbourhood. An ugly woman of the neighbourhood, seeing and admiring her beauty, went home, and also laying her hands on her heart proceeded to stare and frown on all around her. When the rich people of the village saw her, they shut fast their doors and would not go out; when the poor people saw her, they took their wives and children and ran away from her. The woman knew how to admire the frowning beauty, but she did not know how it was that she, though frowning, was beautiful. Alas! it is indeed all over with your Master[2]!’
5. When Confucius was in his fifty-first year[3], he had not heard of the Tâo, and went south to Phei[4] [1. A famous beauty,–the concubine of king Fû-khâi of Wû.
2. The comparisons in this paragraph are not complimentary to Confucius. Of course the conversation never took place, and must have been made up to ridicule the views of the sage.
3. This would be in B. C. 503 or 502, and Lâo-dze would be more than a hundred years old.
4. Probably in what is now the district of Phei, department of Hsü-kâu, Kiang-sû.]
{p. 355}
to see Lâo Tan, who said to him, ‘You have come, Sir; have you? I have heard that you are the wisest man of the North; have you also got the Tâo?’ ‘Not yet,’ was the reply; and the other went on, ‘How have you sought it?’ Confucius said, ‘I sought it in measures and numbers, and after five years I had not got it.’ ‘And how then did you seek it?’ ‘I sought it in the Yin and Yang, and after twelve years I have not found it.’ Lâo-dze said, ‘Just so! If the Tâo could be presented (to another), men would all present it to their rulers; if it could be served up (to others), men would all serve it up to their parents; if it could be told (to others), men would all tell it to their brothers; if it could be given to others, men would all give it to their sons and grandsons. The reason why it cannot be transmitted is no other but this,–that if, within, there be not the presiding principle, it will not remain there, and if, outwardly, there be not the correct obedience, it will not be carried out. When that which is given out from the mind (in possession of it) is not received by the mind without, the sage will not give it out; and when, entering in from without, there is no power in the receiving mind to entertain it, the sage will not permit it to lie hid there[1]. Fame is a possession common to all; we should not seek to have much of it. Benevolence and righteousness were as the lodging-houses of the former kings; we should only rest in them for a night, and not occupy them for
[1. That is, the sage will not deposit it, where it will lie hidden;–compare Analects XVI, vi.]
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long. If men see us doing so, they will have much to say against us.
‘The perfect men of old trod the path of benevolence as a path which they borrowed for the occasion, and dwelt in Righteousness as in a lodging which they used for a night. Thus they rambled in the vacancy of Untroubled Ease, found their food in the fields of Indifference, and stood in the gardens which they had not borrowed. Untroubled Ease requires the doing of nothing; Indifference is easily supplied with nourishment; not borrowing needs no outlay. The ancients called this the Enjoyment that Collects the True.
‘Those who think that wealth is the proper thing for them cannot give up their revenues; those who seek distinction cannot give up the thought of fame; those who cleave to power cannot give the handle of it to others. While they hold their grasp of those things, they are afraid (of losing them). When they let them go, they are grieved; and they will not look at a single example, from which they might perceive the (folly) of their restless pursuits:-such men are under the doom of Heaven[1].
‘Hatred and kindness; taking and giving; reproof and instruction; death and life:–these eight things are instruments of rectification, but only those are able to use them who do not obstinately refuse to comply with their great changes. Hence it is said, “Correction is Rectification.” When the minds of
[1. See the same expression used in Book VI, par. 11, used by Confucius of himself. Comparing the two passages together, I must doubt the correctness of my note there (2, p. 252), that ‘Heaven’ is used in the Confucian sense of Tî, or God. The men here pursued and toiled after the pleasures of the world, rather than the quiet satisfactions of the Tâo.]
{p. 357}
some do not acknowledge this, it is because the gate of Heaven[1] (in them) has not been opened.’
6. At an interview with Lâo Tan, Confucius spoke to him of benevolence and righteousness. Lâo Tan said, ‘If you winnow chaff, and the dust gets into your eyes, then the places of heaven and earth and of the four cardinal points are all changed to you. If musquitoes or gadflies puncture your skin, it will keep you all the night[2] from sleeping. But this painful iteration of benevolence and righteousness excites my mind and produces in it the greatest confusion. If you, Sir, would cause men not to lose their natural simplicity, and if you would also imitate the wind in its (unconstrained) movements, and stand forth in all the natural attributes belonging to you!–why must you use so much energy, and carry a great drum to seek for the son whom you have lost[3]? The snow-goose does not bathe every day to make itself white, nor the crow blacken itself every day to make itself black. The natural simplicity of their black and white does not afford any ground for controversy; and the fame and praise which men like to contemplate do not make them greater than they naturally are. When the springs (supplying the pools) are dried up, the fishes huddle together on the dry land. Than that they should moisten one another there by their gasping, and keep one another wet by their milt, it would be better for them to forget one another in the rivers and lakes[4].’
[1. See Book XXIII, par. 9. The phrase = ###.
2. The common reading ### is a mistake for ###.
3. Compare the same illustration in the preceding Book, par. 7.
4. This illustration is from Book V1, par. 5.]
{p. 358}
From this interview with Lâo Tan, Confucius returned home, and for three days did not speak. His disciples (then) asked him, saying, ‘Master, you have seen Lâo Tan; in what way might you admonish and correct him?’ Confucius said, ‘In him (I may say) that I have now seen the dragon. The dragon coils itself up, and there is its body; it unfolds itself and becomes the dragon complete. It rides on the cloudy air, and is nourished by the Yin and Yang. I kept my mouth open, and was unable to shut it;–how could I admonish and correct Lâo Tan?’
7. Dze-kung[1] said, ‘So then, can (this) man indeed sit still as a representative of the dead, and then appear as the dragon? Can his voice resound as thunder, when he is profoundly still? Can he exhibit himself in his movements like heaven and earth? May I, Zhze, also get to see him?’ Accordingly with a message from Confucius he went to see Lâo Tan.
Lâo Tan was then about to answer (his salutation) haughtily in the hall, but he said in a low voice, ‘My years have rolled on and are passing away, what do you, Sir, wish to admonish me about?’ Dze-kung replied, ‘The Three Kings and Five Tîs[2] ruled
[1. Dze-kung would seem to have undertaken this expedition to maintain the reputation of the Master and his school;–only to be defeated by Lâo-dze more signally than Confucius had been.
2 These are different probably, though the text is not quite certain, from the three Hwangs and five Tîs of par. 3. The Hwangs (or August Sovereigns) preceded the Tîs; the Kings (Wangs) came after them. The Three Kings are the three lines of kings commencing with the dynasty of Hsü, and following Shun. From the names mentioned by Dze-kung, we ought certainly so to understand the designation here.]
{p. 359}
the world not in the same way, but the fame that has accrued to them is the same. How is it that you alone consider that they were not sages?’ ‘Come forward a little, my son. Why do you say that (their government) was not the same?’ ‘Yâo,’ was the reply, ‘gave the kingdom to Shun, and Shun gave it to Yü. Yü had recourse to his strength, and Thang to the force of arms. King Wän was obedient to Kâu (-hsin), and did not dare to rebel; king Wû rebelled against Kâu, and would not submit to him. And I say that their methods were not the same.’ Lâo Tan said, ‘Come a little more forward, my son, and I will tell you how the Three Hwangs and the Five Tîs[1] ruled the world. Hwang-Tî ruled it, so as to make the minds of the people all conformed to the One (simplicity). If the parents of one of them died, and he did not wail, no one blamed him. Yâo ruled it so as to cause the hearts of the people to cherish relative affection. If any, however, made the observances on the death of other members of their kindred less than those for their parents, no one blamed them[2]. Shun ruled it, so as to produce a feeling of rivalry in the minds of the people. Their wives gave birth to their children in the tenth month of their pregnancy, but those children could speak at five months; and before they were three years old, they began to call people by their surnames and names. Then it was that men began to die prematurely. Yü ruled it, so as to cause the minds of the people to become changed. Men’s minds became scheming, and they
[1. See note 2, preceding page.
2. Referring to some abuses, contrary to the doctrine of relationship.]
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used their weapons as if they might legitimately do so, (saying that they were) killing thieves and not killing other men. The people formed themselves into different combinations;–so it was throughout the kingdom. Everywhere there was great consternation, and then arose the Literati and (the followers of) Mo (Tî). From them came first the doctrine of the relationships (of society); and what can be said of the now prevailing customs (in the marrying of) wives and daughters? I tell you that the rule of the Three Kings and Five Tîs may be called by that name, but nothing can be greater than the disorder which it produced. The wisdom of the Three Kings was opposed to the brightness of the sun and moon above, contrary to the exquisite purity of the hills and streams below, and subversive of the beneficent gifts of the four seasons between. Their wisdom has been more fatal than the sting of a scorpion or the bite of a dangerous beast[1]. Unable to rest in the true attributes of their nature and constitution, they still regarded themselves as sages:–was it not a thing to be ashamed of? But they were shameless.’ Dze-kung stood quite disconcerted and ill at ease.
8. Confucius said to Lâo Tan, ‘I have occupied myself with the Shih, the Shû, the Lî, the Yo, the Yî, and the Khun Khiû, those six Books, for what I myself consider a long time[2], and am thoroughly
[1. What beast is meant here cannot be ascertained from the characters in the text, ###.
2. But with the preparation of the Khun Khiû Confucius’s life ended;–it is very plain that no conversation such as Kwang-dze has fabricated here could ever have taken place.]
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acquainted with their contents. With seventy-two rulers, all offenders against the right, I have discoursed about the ways of the former kings, and set forth the examples of (the dukes of Kâu and Shâo; and not one of them has adopted (my views) and put them in practice:–how very difficult it is to prevail on such men, and to make clear the path to be pursued!’
Lâo-dze replied, ‘It is fortunate that you have not met with a ruler fitted to rule the age. Those six writings are a description of the vestiges left by the former kings, but do not tell how they made such vestiges; and what you, Sir, speak about are still only the vestiges. But vestiges are the prints left by the shoes;–are they the shoes that produced them? A pair of white herons look at each other with pupils that do not move, and impregnation takes place; the male insect emits its buzzing sound in the air above, and the female responds from the air below, and impregnation takes place; the creatures called lêi are both male and female, and each individual breeds of itself[1]. The nature cannot be altered; the conferred constitution cannot be changed; the march of the seasons cannot be arrested; the Tâo cannot be stopped. If you get the Tâo, there is no effect that cannot be produced; if you miss it, there is no effect that can.’
Confucius (after this) did not go out, till at the end of three months he went again to see Lâo Tan, and said, ‘I have got it. Ravens produce their young by hatching; fishes by the communication of their milt; the small-waisted wasp by
[1. Where had Lâo-dze or his author learned his zoology?]
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transformation[1]; when a younger brother comes, the elder weeps[2]. Long is it that I have not played my part in harmony with these processes of transformation. But as I did not play my part in harmony with such transformation, how could I transform men?’ Lâo-dze said, ‘You will do. Khiû, you have found the Tâo.’
[1. See the Shih King, II, v, Ode II, 3, about the sphex.
2. Because, as we say, ‘his nose is put out.’ But the sentiment, though it is ascribed to Confucius, is rarely according to the fact of the case.]
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BOOK XV.
PART II. SECTION VIII.
Kho Î, or ‘Ingrained Ideas[1].’
1. Ingrained ideas and a high estimate of their own conduct; leaving the world, and pursuing uncommon ways; talking loftily and in resentful disparagement of others;–all this is simply symptomatic of arrogance. This is what scholars who betake themselves to the hills and valleys, who are always blaming the world, and who stand aloof like withered trees, or throw themselves into deep pools[2], are fond of.
Discoursing of benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and good faith; being humble and frugal, self-forgetful and courteous;–all this is simply symptomatic of (self-)cultivation. This is what scholars who wish to tranquillise the world, teachers and instructors, men who pursue their studies at home and abroad, are fond of.
Discoursing of their great merit and making a great name for themselves; insisting on the ceremonies between ruler and minister; and rectifying the relations between high and low;–all this shows their one object to be the promotion of government. This is what officers of the court, men who honour their lord and would strengthen the state and who
[1. See pp. 146, 147.
2. As did Shän-thû Tî. See in Book VI, par. 3.]
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would do their utmost to incorporate other states with their own, are fond of
Resorting to marshes and lakes; dwelling in solitary places; occupying themselves with angling and living at ease;–all this shows their one object to be to do nothing. This is what gentlemen of the rivers and seas, men who avoid the society of the world and desire to live at leisure, are fond of.
Blowing and breathing with open mouth; inhaling and exhaling the breath; expelling the old breath and taking in new; passing their time like the (dormant) bear[1], and stretching and twisting (the neck) like a bird[1];–all this simply shows the desire for longevity. This is what the scholars who manipulate their breath, and the men who nourish the body and wish to live as long as Päng Zû, are fond of.
As to those who have a lofty character without any ingrained ideas; who pursue the path of self-cultivation without benevolence and righteousness; who succeed in government without great services or fame; who enjoy their ease without resorting to the rivers and seas; who attain to longevity without the management (of the breath); who forget all things and yet possess all things; whose placidity is unlimited, while all things to be valued attend them:–such men pursue the way of heaven and earth, and display the characteristics of the sages. Hence it is said[2], ‘Placidity, indifference, silence, quietude,
[1. This is probably the meaning. The text is simply:–‘Bear passing, bird-stretching.’
2. ‘It is said:’–where? and by whom? These questions we cannot answer. We have met indeed already with the same characteristics of the Tâo; but Kwang-Sze is not likely to be quoting {footnote p. 365} himself. On the ‘It is said,’ and the five recurrences of the phrase below, Lû Shû-kih says that Kwang-dze is quoting from sentences current among the adherents of Tâoism,–the sentence-makers often drawn on by Lâo-dze; compare the Tâo Teh King, ch. xli.]
{p. 365}
absolute vacancy, and non-action:–these are the qualities which maintain the level of heaven and earth and are the substance of the Tâo and its characteristics.’
2. In accordance with this it is said, ‘The sage is entirely restful, and so (his mind) is evenly balanced and at ease. This even balance and ease appears in his placidity and indifference. In this state of even balance and ease, of placidity and indifference, anxieties and evils do not find access to him, no depraving influence can take him by surprise; his virtue is complete, and his spirit continues unimpaired.’
Therefore it is (also) said, ‘The life of the sage is (like) the action of Heaven; and his death is the transformation common to (all) things. In his stillness his virtue is the same as that of the Yin, and in movement his diffusiveness is like that of the Yang. He does not take the initiative in producing either happiness or calamity. He responds to the influence acting on him, and moves as he feels the pressure. He rises to act only when he is obliged to do so. He discards wisdom and the memories of the past; he follows the lines of his Heaven (-given nature); and therefore he suffers no calamity from Heaven, no involvement from things, no blame from men, and no reproof from the spirits of the dead[1]. His life seems to float along; his death seems to be a resting. He does not indulge any
[1. See Book XIII, par. 2.]
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anxious doubts; he does not lay plans beforehand. His light is without display; his good faith is without previous arrangement. His sleep is untroubled by dreams; his waking is followed by no sorrows. His spirit is guileless and pure; his soul is not subject to weariness. Vacant and without self-assertion, placid and indifferent, he agrees with the virtue of Heaven.’
Therefore it is said (further), ‘Sadness and pleasure show a depraving element in the virtue (of those who feel them); joy and anger show some error in their course; love and hatred show a failure of their virtue. Hence for the mind to be free from sorrow and pleasure is the perfection of virtue; to be of one mind that does not change is the perfection of quietude; to be conscious of no opposition is the perfection of vacancy; to have no intercourse with (external) things is the perfection of indifference; and to have no rebellious dissatisfactions is the perfection of purity.’
3. Therefore it is said (still further), ‘If the body be toiled, and does not rest, it becomes worn out; if the spirit be used without cessation, it becomes toiled; and when toiled, it becomes exhausted. It is the nature of water, when free from admixture, to be clear, and, when not agitated, to be level; while if obstructed and not allowed to flow, it cannot preserve its clearness;–being an image of the virtue of Heaven.’ Hence it is said (once again), ‘To be guileless and pure, and free from all admixture; to be still and uniform, without undergoing any change; to be indifferent and do nothing; to move and yet to act like Heaven:–this is the way to nourish the spirit. Now he who possesses a
{p. 367}
sword made at Kan-yüeh[1] preserves it carefully in a box, and does not dare to use it;–it is considered the perfection of valuable swords. But the human spirit[2] goes forth in all directions, flowing on without limit, reaching to heaven above, and wreathing round the earth beneath. It transforms and nourishes all things, and cannot be represented by any form. Its name is “the Divinity (in man)[3].” It is only the path of pure simplicity which guards and preserves the Spirit. When this path is preserved and not lost, it becomes one with the Spirit; and in this ethereal amalgamation, it acts in harmony with the orderly operation of Heaven.’
There is the vulgar saying, ‘The multitude of men consider gain to be the most important thing; pure scholars, fame; those who are wise and able value their ambition; the sage prizes essential purity.’ Therefore simplicity is the denomination of that in which there is no admixture; purity of that in which the spirit is not impaired. It is he who can embody simplicity and purity whom we call the True Man[4].
[1. Both of the seaboard states of Wû and Yüeh were famous for the swords produced in them. Kan-yüeh appears to have been the name of a valley or place in Wû, famous for the weapons made in it; unless indeed we should read ###, instead of ### and take ### as equivalent to ###, which is found in the Zo Khwan as the name of Yüeh.
2. Might be translated ‘the subtle spirit.’
3. A very remarkable use of Tî for the human spirit in the sense of God. The subject of the clause, let the reader observe, is that spirit, and not the Tâo. See pp. 146, 147, where I have said something about it.
4. See the full account of ‘the True Man’ in Book VI.]
{p. 368}
BOOK XVI.
PART II. SECTION IX.
Shan Hsing, or ‘Correcting the Nature[1].’
1. Those who would correct their nature by means of the vulgar learning[2], seeking to restore it to its original condition, and those who would regulate[3] their desires, by the vulgar ways of thinking, seeking thereby to carry their intelligence to perfection, must be pronounced to be deluded and ignorant people. The ancients who regulated the Tâo nourished their faculty of knowledge by their placidity, and all through life abstained from employing that faculty in action;–they must be pronounced to have (thus also) nourished their placidity by their knowledge[4].
When the faculty of knowledge and the placidity
[1. See pp. 147, 148.
2 ‘Vulgar’ must mean ‘common,’ and ‘the vulgar learning’ is the teaching popular in the time of our author, and which he regarded as contrary to the principles of Tâoism, of which he was an adherent. The Chinese critics say that ‘vulgar’ here is used as the opposite of ‘true.’
2. ### is generally explained by ###, ‘to confuse,’ but I cannot construe the sentence with that meaning of the term. In the Khang-hsî dictionary which I have followed, the character is defined by ### with special reference to this passage.
4 This sentence is the clue to the author’s aim in the whole Book. The ‘knowledge’ is defined by ###, ‘the faculty of perception and apprehension.’]
{p. 369}
(thus) blend together, and they nourish each other, then from the nature there come forth harmony and orderly method. The attributes (of the Tâo) constitute the harmony; the Tâo (itself) secures the orderly method. When the attributes appear in a universal practice of forbearance, we have Benevolence; when the path is all marked by orderly method, we have Righteousness; when the righteousness is clearly manifested, and (all) things are regarded with affection, we have Leal-heartedness; when the (heart’s) core is thus (pure) and real, and carried back to its (proper) qualities, we have Music; when this sincerity appears in all the range of the capacity, and its demonstrations are in accordance with what is elegant, we have Ceremony. If Ceremonies and Music are carried out in an imperfect and one-sided manner, the world is thrown into confusion. When men would rectify others, and their own virtue is beclouded, it is not sufficient to extend itself to them. If an attempt be made so to extend it, they also will lose their (proper) nature.
2. The men of old, while the chaotic condition was yet undeveloped[1], shared the placid tranquillity which belonged to the whole world. At that time the Yin and Yang were harmonious and still; their resting and movement proceeded without any disturbance; the four seasons had their definite times; not a single thing received any injury, and no living being came to a premature end. Men might be
[1. These ‘men of old’ were what we may call ‘primeval men;’ men in the lowest stage of development; but which our author considered to be the highest or paradisiacal condition of their nature.]
{p. 370}
possessed of (the faculty of) knowledge, but they had no occasion for its use. This was what is called the state of Perfect Unity. At this time, there was no action on the part of any one, but a constant manifestation of spontaneity.
This condition (of excellence) deteriorated and decayed, till Sui-zän and Fû-hsî arose and commenced their administration of the world[1]; on which came a compliance (with their methods), but the state of unity was lost. The condition going on to deteriorate and decay, Shän Näng and Hwang-Tî arose, and took the administration of the world, on which (the people) rested (in their methods), but did not themselves comply with them. Still the deterioration and decay continued till the lords of Thang and Yü[2] began to administer the world. These introduced the method of governing by transformation, resorting to the stream (instead of to the spring)[3], thus vitiating the purity and destroying the simplicity (of the nature). They left the Tâo, and substituted the Good for it, and pursued the course of Haphazard Virtue. After this they forsook their nature and followed (the promptings of) their minds. One mind and another associated their knowledge, but were unable to give rest to the world. Then they added to this knowledge (external
[1. Kwang-dze gives no hint of how long he considered this highest condition to have lasted. Sui-zän, ‘the man of the Burning Speculum,’ ‘the Fire-producer,’ whom Williams calls ‘the Prometheus of China,’ appears before Fû-hsî, as the first in the line of the Rulers of the world, who broke up the Primal Unity.
2. These were Yâo and Shun, named from the principalities over which their fathers ruled.
3. ‘The streams’ were the methods of culture that arose after the simple virtues and spontaneity of the Tâo were lost.]
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and) elegant forms, and went on to make these more and more numerous. The forms extinguished the (primal) simplicity, till the mind was drowned by their multiplicity. After this the people began to be perplexed and disordered, and had no way by which they might return to their true nature, and bring back their original condition.
3. Looking at the subject from this point of view, we see how the world lost[1] the (proper) course, and how the course (which it took) only led it further astray[1]. The world and the Way, when they came together, being (thus) lost to each other, how could the men of the Way make themselves conspicuous in the world? and how could the world rise to an appreciation of the Way? Since the Way had no means to make itself conspicuous in the world, and the world had no means of rising to an appreciation of the Way, though sagely men might not keep among the hills and forests, their virtue was hidden;–hidden, but not because they themselves sought to hide it.
Those whom the ancients called ‘Retired Scholars’ did not conceal their persons, and not allow themselves to be seen; they did not shut up their words, and refuse to give utterance to them; they did not hide away their knowledge, and refuse to bring it forth. The conditions laid on them by the times were very much awry. If the conditions of the times had allowed them to act in the world on a great scale, they would have brought back the state of unity without any trace being perceived (of how
[1. It is the same character in the text which I have been obliged to translate thus differently,–###.]
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they did so), When those conditions shut them up entirely from such action, they struck their roots deeper (in themselves), were perfectly still and waited. It was thus that they preserved (the Way in) their own persons.
4. The ancients who preserved (the Way in) their own persons did not try by sophistical reasonings to gloss over their knowledge; they did not seek to embrace (everything in) the world in their knowledge, nor to comprehend all the virtues in it. Solitary and trembling they remained where they were, and sought the restoration of their nature. What had they to do with any further action? The Way indeed is not to be pursued, nor (all) its characteristics to be known on a small scale. A little knowledge is injurious to those characteristics; small doings are injurious to the Way;–hence it is said, ‘They simply rectified themselves.’ Complete enjoyment is what is meant by ‘the Attainment of the Aim.’
What was anciently called ‘the Attainment of the Aim’ did not mean the getting of carriages and coronets[1]; it simply meant that nothing more was needed for their enjoyment. Now-a-days what is called ‘the Attainment of the Aim’ means the getting of carriages and coronets. But carriages and coronets belong to the body; they do not affect the nature as it is constituted. When such things happen to come, it is but for a time; being but for a time, their coming cannot be obstructed and their going cannot be stopped[2] . Therefore we should not
[1. That is, worldly distinction.
2 Because they depend on others. Compare Mencius VI, i, ch. 17, 2.]
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because of carriages and coronets indulge our aims, nor because of distress and straitness resort to the vulgar (learning and thinking); the one of these conditions and the other may equally conduce to our enjoyment, which is simply to be free from anxiety. If now the departure of what is transient takes away one’s enjoyment, this view shows that what enjoyment it had given was worthless. Hence it is said, ‘They who lose themselves in their pursuit of things, and lose their nature in their study of what is vulgar, must be pronounced people who turn things upside down.’
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BOOK XVII.
PART II. SECTION X.
Khiû Shui, or ‘The Floods of Autumn[1].’
1. The time of the autumnal floods was come, and the hundred streams were all discharging themselves into the Ho. Its current was greatly swollen[2], so that across its channel from bank to bank one could not distinguish an ox from a horse. On this the (Spirit-) earl of the Ho[3] laughed with delight, thinking that all the beauty of the world was to be found in his charge. Along the course of the river he walked east till he came to the North Sea, over which he looked, with his face to the east, without being able to see where its waters began. Then he began to turn his face round, looked across the expanse, (as if he were) confronting Zo[3], and said with a sigh, ‘What the vulgar saying expresses about him who has learned a hundred points (of the Tâo), and thinks that there is no one equal to himself, was surely spoken of me. And moreover, I have heard
[1. See pp. 148, 149.
2. ### here perhaps means ‘turbid.’ It has nothing to do with the river King.
3. See Mayers’s Manual, p. 54. Our author adopts the common beliefs or superstitions of his time, and after his fashion puts his own reasonings into the mouths of these mythological personages. It is more difficult to collect the legends about Zo of the sea, or of the Northern Sea. See the Khang-hsî Thesaurus under ###.]
{p. 375}
parties making little of the knowledge of Kung-nî and the righteousness of Po-î, and at first I did not believe them. Now I behold the all-but-boundless extent (of your realms). If I had not come to your gate, I should have been in danger (of continuing in my ignorance), and been laughed at for long in the schools of our great System[1].’
Zo, (the Spirit-lord) of the Northern Sea, said, ‘A frog in a well cannot be talked with about the sea;–he is confined to the limits of his hole. An insect of the summer cannot be talked with about ice;–it knows nothing beyond its own season. A scholar of limited views cannot be talked with about the Tâo;–he is bound by the teaching (which he has received). Now you have come forth from between your banks, and beheld the great sea. You have come to know your own ignorance and inferiority, and are in the way of being fitted to be talked with about great principles. Of all the waters under heaven there are none so great as the sea. A myriad streams flow into it without ceasing, and yet it is not filled; and afterwards[2] it discharges them (also) without ceasing, and yet it is not emptied. In spring and in autumn it undergoes no change; it takes no notice of floods or of drought. Its superiority over such streams even as the Kiang and the
[1. Thus the Confucian learning and its worthies were to the system of the Tâo only as the waters of the Ho to the great sea.
2. I have translated here as if the reading were ### which is given by Lin Hsî-kung. The correct reading, however, so far as depends on editions and dictionaries, is ###; which is explained in the Khang-hsî dictionary as ‘a great Rock in Fû-sang on the East,’ against which the water of the sea collects, and is all evaporated!]
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Ho cannot be told by measures or numbers; and that I have never, notwithstanding this, made much of myself, is because I compare my own bodily form with (the greatness of) heaven and earth, and (remember that) I have received my breath from the Yin and Yang. Between heaven and earth I am but as a small stone or a small tree on a great hill. So long as I see myself to be thus small, how should I make much of myself? I estimate all within the four seas, compared with the space between heaven and earth, to be not so large as that occupied by a pile of stones in a large marsh! I estimate our Middle States, compared with the space between the four seas, to be smaller than a single little grain of rice in a great granary! When we would set forth the number of things (in existence), we speak of them as myriads; and man is only one of them. Men occupy all the nine provinces; but of all whose life is maintained by grain-food, wherever boats and carriages reach, men form only one portion. Thus, compared with the myriads of things, they are not equal to a single fine hair on the body of a horse. Within this range are comprehended all (the territories) which the five Tîs received in succession from one another; all which the royal founders of the three dynasties contended for; all which excited the anxiety of Benevolent men; and all which men in office have toiled for. Po-î was accounted famous for declining (to share in its government), and Kung-nî was accounted great because of the lessons which he addressed to it. They acted as they did, making much of themselves;–therein like you who a little time ago did so of yourself because of your (volume of) water!’
{p. 377}
2. The earl of the Ho said, ‘Well then, may I consider heaven and earth as (the ideal of) what is great, and the point of a hair as that of what is small?’ Zo of the Northern Sea replied, ‘No. The (different) capacities of things are illimitable; time never stops, (but is always moving on); man’s lot is ever changing; the end and the beginning of things never occur (twice) in the same way. Therefore men of great wisdom, looking at things far off or near at hand, do not think them insignificant for being small, nor much of them for being great:–knowing how capacities differ illimitably. They appeal with intelligence to things of ancient and recent occurrence, without being troubled by the remoteness of the former, or standing on tiptoe to lay hold of the latter:–knowing that time never stops in its course. They examine with discrimination (cases of) fulness and of want, not overjoyed by success, nor disheartened by failure:–knowing the inconstancy of man’s lot. They know the plain and quiet path (in which things proceed), therefore they are not overjoyed to live, nor count it a calamity to die: the end and the beginning of things never occurring (twice) in the same way.
‘We must reckon that what men know is not so much as what they do not know, and that the time since they were born is not so long as that which elapsed before they were born. When they take that which is most small and try to fill with it the dimensions of what is most great, this leads to error and confusion, and they cannot attain their end. Looking at the subject in this way, how can you know that the point of a hair is sufficient to determine the minuteness of what is most small, or that
{p. 378}
heaven and earth are sufficient to complete the dimensions of what is most large?’
3. The earl of the Ho said, ‘The disputers of the world all say, “That which is most minute has no bodily form; and that which is most great cannot be encompassed;”–is this really the truth?’ Zo of the Northern Sea replied, ‘When from the standpoint of what is small we look at what is great, we do not take it all in; when from the standpoint of what is great we look at what is small, we do not see it clearly. Now the subtile essence is smallness in its extreme degree; and the vast mass is greatness in its largest form. Different as they are, each has its suitability,–according to their several conditions. But the subtile and the gross both presuppose that they have a bodily form. Where there is no bodily form, there is no longer a possibility of numerical division; where it is not possible to encompass a mass, there is no longer a possibility of numerical estimate. What can be discoursed about in words is the grossness of things; what can be reached in idea is the subtilty of things. What cannot be discoursed about in words, and what cannot be reached by nice discrimination of thought, has nothing to do either with subtilty or grossness.
‘Therefore while the actions of the Great Man are not directed to injure men, he does not plume himself on his benevolence and kindness; while his movements are not made with a view to gain, he does not consider the menials of a family as mean; while he does not strive after property and wealth, he does not plume himself on declining them; while he does not borrow the help of others to accomplish his affairs, he does not plume himself on supporting
{p. 379}
himself by his own strength, nor does he despise those who in their greed do what is mean; while he differs in his conduct from the vulgar, he does not plume himself on being so different from them; while it is his desire to follow the multitude, he does not despise the glib-tongued flatterers. The rank and emoluments of the world furnish no stimulus to him, nor does he reckon its punishments and shame to be a disgrace. He knows that the right and the wrong can (often) not be distinguished, and that what is small and what is great can (often) not be defined. I have heard it said, “The Man of Tâo does not become distinguished; the greatest virtue is unsuccessful; the Great Man has no thought of self;”–to so great a degree may the lot be restricted.’
4. The earl of the Ho said, ‘Whether the subject be what is external in things, or what is internal, how do we come to make a distinction between them as noble and mean, and as great or small?’ Zo of the Northern Sea replied, ‘When we look at them in the light of the Tâo, they are neither noble nor mean. Looking at them in themselves, each thinks itself noble, and despises others. Looking at them in the light of common opinion, their being noble or mean does not depend on themselves. Looking at them in their differences from one another, if we call those great which are greater than others, there is nothing that is not great, and in the same way there is nothing that is not small. We shall (thus) know that heaven and earth is but (as) a grain of the smallest rice, and that the point of a hair is (as) a mound or a mountain;–such is the view given of them by their relative size. Looking
{p. 380}
at them from the services they render, allowing to everything the service which it does, there is not one which is not serviceable; and, extending the consideration to what it does not do, there is not one which is not unserviceable. We know (for instance) that East and West are opposed to each other, and yet that the one cannot be without (suggesting the idea of) the other;–(thus) their share of mutual service is determined. Looking at them with respect to their tendencies, if we approve of what they approve, then there is no one who may not be approved of; and, if we condemn what they condemn, there is no one who may not be condemned. There are the cases of Yâo and Kieh, each of whom approved of his own course, and condemned the other;–such is the view arising from the consideration of tendency and aim.
‘Formerly Yâo and Shun resigned (their thrones), and yet each continued to be Tî; Kih-khwâi[1] resigned (his marquisate) which led to his ruin. Thang and Wû contended (for the sovereignty), and each became king; the duke of Pâi[2] contended (for Khû), which led to his extinction. Looking at the subject from these examples of striving by force and of resigning, and from the conduct of Yâo (on the one hand) and of Kieh (on the other), we see that there is a time for noble acting, and a time for
[1. See Mencius II, ii, ch. 8, and I, ii, chaps. 10, 11i, with the notes. ### is probably a mistake for ###.
2. See the last narrative but one in the Zo Khwan, under the sixteenth year of duke Âi of Lû,–the year in which Confucius died. ‘The duke of Pâi’ was merely the chief of a district of Khû; but rebelling against the Ruler of the State, he was defeated, and strangled himself.]
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mean;–these characteristics are subject to no regular rule.
5. ‘A battering ram may be used against the wall of a city, but it cannot be employed to stop up a hole;–the uses of implements are different. The (horses) Khih-kî and Hwâ-liû[1] could in one day gallop 1000 lî, but for catching rats they were not equal to a wild dog or a weasel;–the gifts of creatures are different. The white horned owl collects its fleas in the night-time, and can discern the point of a hair, but in bright day it stares with its eyes and cannot see a mound or a hill;–the natures of creatures are different.
‘Hence the sayings, “Shall we not follow and honour the right, and have nothing to do with the wrong? shall we not follow and honour those who secure good government, and have nothing to do with those who produce disorder?” show a want of acquaintance with the principles of Heaven and Earth, and with the different qualities of things. It is like following and honouring Heaven and taking no account of Earth; it is like following and honouring the Yin and taking no account of the Yang. It is clear that such a course cannot be pursued. Yet notwithstanding they go on talking so:–if they are not stupid, they are visionaries. The Tî sovereigns resigned their thrones to others in one way, and the rulers of the three dynasties transmitted their thrones to their successors in another. He who acts differently from the requirements of his time and contrary to its custom is called an usurper; he who complies with the time
[1. Two of king Mu’s team of eight famous steeds.]
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and follows the common practice is said to be righteous. Hold your peace, O earl of the Ho. How should you know what constitutes being noble and being mean, or who are the small and who the great?’
6. The earl of the Ho said, ‘Very well. But what am I to do? and what am I not to do? How am I to be guided after all in regard to what I accept or reject, and what I pursue or put away from me?’ Zo of the Northern Sea replied, ‘From the standpoint of the Tâo, what is noble? and what is mean? These expressions are but the different extremes of the average level. Do not keep pertinaciously to your own ideas, which put you in such opposition to the Tâo. What are few? and what are many? These are denominations which we employ in thanking (donors) and dispensing gifts. Do not study to be uniform in doing so;–it only shows how different you are from the Tâo. Be severe and strict, like the ruler of a state who does not selfishly bestow his favours. Be scrupulous, yet gentle, like the tutelary spirit of the land, when sacrifice is offered to him who does not bestow his blessing selfishly. Be large-minded like space, whose four terminating points are illimitable, and form no particular enclosures. Hold all things in your love, favouring and supporting none specially. This is called being without any local or partial regard; all things are equally regarded; there is no long or short among them.
‘There is no end or beginning to the Tâo. Things indeed die and are born, not reaching a perfect state which can be relied on. Now there is emptiness, and now fulness;–they do not continue in one form. The years cannot be reproduced; time
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cannot be arrested. Decay and growth, fulness and emptiness, when they end, begin again. It is thus that we describe the method of great righteousness, and discourse about the principle pervading all things. The life of things is like the hurrying and galloping along of a horse. With every movement there is a change; with every moment there is an alteration. What should you be doing? what should you not be doing? You have only to be allowing this course of natural transformation to be going on.’
7. The earl of the Ho said, ‘What then is there so valuable in the Tâo?’ Zo of the Northern Sea replied, ‘He who knows the Tâo, is sure to be well acquainted with the principles (that appear in the procedures of things). Acquainted with (those) principles, he is sure to understand how to regulate his conduct in all varying circumstances. Having that understanding, he will not allow things to injure himself. Fire cannot burn him who is (so) perfect in virtue, nor water drown him; neither cold nor heat can affect him injuriously; neither bird nor beast can hurt him. This does not mean that he is indifferent to these things; it means that he discriminates between where he may safely rest and where he will be in peril; that he is tranquil equally in calamity and happiness; that he is careful what he avoids and what he approaches;–so that nothing can injure him. Hence it is said, “What is heavenly is internal; what is human is external.” The virtue (of man) is in what is Heavenly. If you know the operation of what is Heavenly and what is Human, you will have your root in what is Heavenly and your position in Virtue. You will bend or stretch
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(only) after the (necessary) hesitation; you will have returned to the essential, and may be pronounced to have reached perfection.’
‘What do you mean,’ pursued the earl, ‘by the Heavenly, and by the Human?’ Zo replied, ‘Oxen and horses have four feet;–that is what I call their Heavenly (constitution). When horses’ heads are haltered, and the noses of oxen are pierced, that is what I call (the doing of) Man. Hence it is said, “Do not by the Human (doing) extinguish the Heavenly (constitution); do not for your (Human) purpose extinguish the appointment (of Heaven); do not bury your (proper) fame in (such) a pursuit of it; carefully guard (the Way) and do not lose it:–this is what I call reverting to your True (Nature).”‘
8. The khwei[1] desires to be like[2] the millipede[1]; the millipede to be like the serpent; the serpent like the wind; the wind to be like the eye; and the eye to be like the mind[3].
The khwei said to the millipede, ‘With my one leg I hop about, and can hardly manage to go along. Now you have a myriad feet which you can employ; how is it that you are so abundantly furnished?’ The millipede said, ‘It is not so. Have you not seen one ejecting saliva? The largest portion of it is like a pearl, while the smaller portions fall down like a shower of mist in innumerable
[1. The khwei is ‘a sort of dragon (it may be, a worm) with one foot.’ The hsien has many feet; one account calls it ‘a centipede.’
2. Such is the meaning of the lin or lien. The best commentators explain it by hsien (###), ‘to covet and desire.’
3. Compare Book I, par. 3, towards the end.]
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drops. Now I put in motion the springs set in me by Heaven, without knowing how I do so.’
The millipede said to the serpent, ‘I go along by means of my multitude of feet; and yet how is it that I do not go so fast as you who have no feet at all?’ The serpent replied, ‘How can the method of moving by the springs set in us by Heaven be changed? How could I make use of feet?’
The serpent said to the wind, ‘I get along by moving my backbone and ribs, thus appearing to have some (bodily) means of progression. But now you, Sir, rise with a blustering force in the North Sea, and go on in the same way to the South Sea;–seemingly without any such means. How does it take place?’ The wind said, ‘Yes. With such a blustering force I rise in the North Sea and go on to the: South Sea. But you can point to me, and therein are superior to me, as you are also in treading on me. Yet notwithstanding, it is only I who can break great trees, and blow down great houses. Therefore he whom all that are small cannot overcome is a great overcomer. But it is only he who is the sagely man[1] that is the Great Conqueror (of all).’
9. When Confucius was travelling in Khwang[2],
[1. The sagely man is ‘the True man,’ who embodies the Tâo. The Tâo has given to the khwei, the millipede, the serpent, and it may be said also to the wind, their means of progression and action. Nothing is said of the eye and the mind;–it was not necessary to dwell on the Tâo in them.
2. See Confucian Analects, IX, v and XI, xxii. Our author’s account of this event is his own, constructed by him to convey his own Tâoistic lessons.]
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some people of Sung (once) surrounded him (with a hostile intention) several ranks deep; but he kept singing to his lute without stopping. Dze-lû came in, and saw him, and said, ‘How is it, Master, that you are so pleased?’ Confucius said, ‘Come here, and I will tell you. I have tried to avoid being reduced to such a strait for a long time; and that I have not escaped shows that it was so appointed for me. I have sought to find a ruler that would employ me for a long time, and that I have not found one, shows the character of the time. Under Yâo and Shun there was no one in the kingdom reduced to straits like mine; and it was not by their sagacity that men succeeded as they did. Under Kieh and Kâu no (good and able man) in the kingdom found his way to employment; and it was not for (want of) sagacity that they failed to do so. It was simply owing to the times and their character.
2. People that do business on the water do not shrink from meeting iguanodons and dragons;–that is the courage of fishermen. Those who do business on land do not shrink from meeting rhinoceroses and tigers;–that is the courage of hunters. When men see the sharp weapons crossed before them, and look on death as going home;–that is the courage of the determined soldier. When he knows that his strait is determined for him, and that the employment of him by a ruler depends on the character of the time, and then meeting with great distress is yet not afraid;-that is the courage of the sagely man. Wait, my good Yû, and you will see what there is determined for me in my lot.’ A little afterwards, the leader of the armed men approached and took his leave, saying, ‘We thought you were
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Yang Hû[1], and therefore surrounded you. Now we see our mistake.’ (With this) he begged to take his leave, and withdrew.
10. Kung-sun Lung[2] asked Mâu of Wei[3], saying, ‘When I was young, I learned the teachings of the former kings; and when I was grown up, I became proficient in the practice of benevolence and righteousness. I brought together the views that agreed and disagreed; I considered the questions about hardness and whiteness[4]; I set forth what was to be affirmed and what was not, and what was allowable and what was not; I studied painfully the various schools of thought, and made myself master of the reasonings of all their masters. I thought that I had reached a good understanding of every subject; but now that I have heard the words of Kwang-dze, they throw me into a flutter of surprise. I do not know whether it be that I do not come up to him in the power of discussion, or that my knowledge is not equal to his. But now I do not feel able to open my mouth, and venture to ask you what course I should pursue.’ Kung-dze Mâu leant forward on his stool, drew a long breath, looked up to heaven, smiled, and
[1. No doubt the Yang Ho of Analects XVII, i.
2. The grandson (Kung-sun) of one of the rulers of Kâo (one of the three states into which the great state of Zin had been broken up). He has come down to us as a philosophic sophist, whose views it is not easy to define. See Mayers’s Manual, p. 288, and Book XXXIII, par. 7.
3. Wei was another of the divisions of Zin, and Mâu was one of the sons of its ruler at this time, a great admirer, evidently, of Kwang-dze, and more than a match for the sophist Lung.
4, Holding, it is supposed, that ‘the attributes of material objects, such as hardness and colour, are separate existences:’–so Mayers, after Wylie.]
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said, ‘Have you not heard of the frog of the dilapidated well, and how it said to the turtle of the Eastern Sea, “How I enjoy myself? I leap upon the parapet of this well. I enter, and having by means of the projections formed by the fragments of the broken tiles of the lining proceeded to the water, I draw my legs together, keep my chin up, (and strike out). When I have got to the mud, I dive till my feet are lost in it. Then turning round, I see that of the shrimps, crabs, and tadpoles there is not one that can do like me. Moreover, when one has entire command of all the water in the gully, and hesitates to go forward, it is the greatest pleasure to enjoy one’s self here in this dilapidated well[1];–why do not you, Master, often come and enter, and see it for yourself? “The turtle of the Eastern Sea (was then proceeding to go forward), but before he had put in his left foot, he found his right knee caught and held fast. On this he hesitated, drew back, and told (the frog) all about the sea, saying, “A distance of a thousand lî is not sufficient to express its extent, nor would (a line of) eight thousand cubits be equal to sound its depth. In the time of Yü, for nine years out of ten the flooded land (all drained into it), and its water was not sensibly increased; and in the time of Thang for seven years out of eight there was a drought, but the rocks on the shore (saw) no diminution of the water because of it. Thus it is that no change is produced in its waters by any cause operating for a short time or a long, and that they do not advance nor recede for any addition or subtraction, whether great or small; and this is the great pleasure afforded by the Eastern Sea.” When
[1. A passage difficult to construe.]
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the frog of the dilapidated well heard this, he was amazed and terror-struck, and lost himself in surprise.
‘And moreover, when you, who have not wisdom enough to know where the discussions about what is right and what is wrong should end, still desire to see through the words of Kwang-dze, that is like employing a mosquito to carry a mountain on its back, or a millipede[1] to gallop as fast as the Ho runs;–tasks to which both the insects are sure to be unequal. Still further, when you, who have not wisdom enough to know the words employed in discussing very mysterious subjects, yet hasten to show your sharpness of speech on any occasion that may occur, is not this being like the frog of the dilapidated well?
‘And that (Kwang-dze) now plants his foot on the Yellow Springs (below the earth), and anon rises to the height of the Empyrean. Without any regard to south and north, with freedom he launches out in every direction, and is lost in the unfathomable. Without any regard to east and west, starting from what is abysmally obscure, he comes back to what is grandly intelligible. (All the while), you, Sir, in amazement, search for his views to examine them, and grope among them for matter for discussion;–this is just like peeping at the heavens through a tube, or aiming at the earth with an awl; are not both the implements too small for the purpose? Go your ways, Sir.
‘And have you not heard of the young learners of
[1. A different character from that for a millipede in the last paragraph;–a Shang Kü, evidently some small insect, but we cannot tell what.]
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Shâu-ling[1], and how they did in Han-tan? Before they had acquired what they might have done in that capital, they had forgotten what they had learned to do in their old city, and were marched back to it on their hands and knees. If now you do not go away, you will forget your old acquirements, and fail in your profession.’
Kung-sun Lung gaped on the speaker, and could not shut his mouth, and his tongue clave to its roof. He slank away and ran off.
11. Kwang-dze was (once) fishing in the river Phû[2], when the king of Khû[3] sent two great officers to him, with the message, ‘I wish to trouble you with the charge of all within my territories.’ Kwang-dze kept on holding his rod without looking round, and said, ‘I have heard that in Khû there is a spirit-like tortoise-shell, the wearer of which died 3000 years ago[4], and which the king keeps, in his ancestral temple, in a hamper covered with a cloth. Was it better for the tortoise to die, and leave its shell to be thus honoured? Or would it have been better for it to live, and keep on dragging its tail through the mud?’ The two officers said, ‘It would have been better for it to live, and draw its tail after it over the mud[5].’ ‘Go your ways. I will keep on drawing my tail after me through the mud.’
[1. A city of Kâo, as Han-tan was its capital. Of the incident referred to, I have not been able to learn anything. The ‘were marched’ gives my idea of what it may have been.
2. A river, which still gives its name to Phû-kâu, department Khao-kâu, Shan-tung.
3. Probably king Wei, B. C. 339-330.
4. A good antiquity for Khû!
5. ? A species of Testudo Serpentina, such as is often seen on pieces of Japanese lacquer-ware.]
{p. 391}
12. Hui-dze being a minister of state in Liang[1], Kwang-dze went to see him. Some one had told Hui-dze that Kwang-dze was come with a wish to supersede him in his office, on which he was afraid, and instituted a search for the stranger all over the kingdom for three days and three nights. (After this) Kwang-dze went and saw him, and said, ‘There is in the south a bird, called “the Young Phoenix[2];”–do you know it? Starting from the South Sea, it flies to the Northern; never resting but on the bignonia[3], never eating but the fruit of the melia azederach[4], and never drinking but from the purest springs. An owl, which had got a putrid rat, (once), when a phoenix went passing overhead, looked up to it and gave an angry scream. Do you wish now, in your possession of the kingdom of Liang, to frighten me with a similar scream?’
13. Kwang-dze and Hui-dze were walking on the dam over the Hâo[5], when the former said, ‘These thryssas come out, and play about at their ease;–that is the enjoyment of fishes.’ The other said, ‘You are not a fish; how do you know what
[1. Another name for Wei, so called from its capital;–in the present department of Khâi-fäng.
2. So the critics explain the name. Williams thinks the bird may be ‘the argus pheasant,’ or ‘a variety of the peacock.’ But what the bird was does not affect the meaning of our author’s reference to it.
3. One of the Eleococcae, the Dryandra Cordifolia of Thunberg.
4 All the editions I have seen give ### here, which makes no sense. The character should doubtless be ###, with the meaning which I have given; and not ‘bamboo,’ which is found in the critics. It is also called ‘the Pride of India.’
5. A river in the department and district of Fung-yang, An-hui.]
{p. 392}
constitutes the enjoyment of fishes[1]?’ Kwang-dze rejoined, ‘You are not I. How do you know that I do not know what constitutes the enjoyment of fishes?’ Hui-dze said, ‘I am not you; and though indeed I do not fully know you, you certainly are not a fish, and (the argument) is complete against your knowing what constitutes the happiness of fishes.’ Kwang-dze replied, ‘Let us keep to your original question. You said to me, “How do you know what constitutes the enjoyment of fishes?” You knew that I knew it, and yet you put your question to me;–well, I know it (from our enjoying ourselves together) over the Hâo.’
[1. Surely a captious question. We infer the feelings of other creatures from their demonstrations.]
The Sacred Books of the East
translated by various Oriental scholars and edited by
F. Max Müller
Vol. XL
The Texts of Taoism
Translated by James Legge
in two parts Part II
The Writings of Kwang-dze (Chuang Tzu) (XVIII-XXXIII)
The T’ai Shang Tractate of Actions and Their Retributions
Appendices I-VIII
scanned at sacred-texts 3/2001
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