Zhuangzi — The Complete Works

file was produced from images generously made available

by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

CHUANG TZŬ

[Illustration]

_Mystic, Moralist, and Social Reformer_

TRANSLATED FROM THE CHINESE

BY

HERBERT A. GILES

_H. B. M.'s Consul at Tamsui_

[Illustration]

LONDON

BERNARD QUARITCH

1889

_CONTENTS._

_Page_

INTRODUCTION v

NOTE ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF CHUANG TZŬ, _by Canon Moore_ xviii

CHAPTER I--TRANSCENDENTAL BLISS 1

" II--THE IDENTITY OF CONTRARIES 12

" III--NOURISHMENT OF THE SOUL 33

" IV--MAN AMONG MEN 38

" V--THE EVIDENCE OF VIRTUE COMPLETE 56

" VI--THE GREAT SUPREME 68

" VII--HOW TO GOVERN 91

" VIII--JOINED TOES 99

" IX--HORSES' HOOFS 106

" X--OPENING TRUNKS 110

" XI--ON LETTING ALONE 119

" XII--THE UNIVERSE 135

" XIII--THE TAO OF GOD 157

" XIV--THE CIRCLING SKY 173

" XV--SELF-CONCEIT 190

" XVI--EXERCISE OF FACULTIES 195

" XVII--AUTUMN FLOODS 200

" XVIII--PERFECT HAPPINESS 220

" XIX--THE SECRET OF LIFE 229

" XX--MOUNTAIN TREES 245

" XXI--T'IEN TZŬ FANG 261

" XXII--KNOWLEDGE TRAVELS NORTH 276

" XXIII--KÊNG SANG CH'U 294

" XXIV--HSÜ WU KUEI 311

" XXV--TSÊ YANG 335

" XXVI--CONTINGENCIES 352

" XXVII--LANGUAGE 363

" XXVIII--ON DECLINING POWER 370

" XXIX--ROBBER CHÊ 387

" XXX--ON SWORDS 407

" XXXI--THE OLD FISHERMAN 413

" XXXII--LIEH TZŬ 423

" XXXIII--THE EMPIRE 437

INDEX 455

ERRATA AND ADDENDA 466

_Introduction._

Chuang Tzŭ[1] belongs to the third and fourth centuries before Christ.

He lived in the feudal age, when China was split up into a number of

States owning a nominal allegiance to the royal, and weakly, House of

Chou.

He is noticed by the historian Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien, who flourished at the

close of the second century B.C., as follows:--

Chuang Tzŭ was a native of Mêng.[2] His personal name was Chou.

He held a petty official post at Ch'i-yüan in Mêng.[3] He lived

contemporaneously with Prince Hui of the Liang State and Prince Hsüan

of the Ch'i State. His erudition was most varied; but his chief

doctrines are based upon the sayings of Lao Tzŭ.[4] Consequently,

his writings, which extend to over 100,000 words, are mostly

allegorical.[5]

teachings of his master.

He wrote _The Old Fisherman_, _Robber Chê_, and _Opening Trunks_, with

a view to asperse the Confucian school and to glorify the mysteries of

Lao Tzŭ.[6] _Wei Lei Hsü_, _Kêng Saṅg Tzŭ_, and the like, are probably

unsubstantial figments of his imagination.[7] Nevertheless, his

literary and dialectic skill was such that the best scholars of the

age proved unable to refute his destructive criticism of the Confucian

and Mihist schools.[8]

[6] See chs. xxxi, xxix, and x, respectively.

[7] The second of these personages is doubtless identical, though the

name is differently written, with the Kêng Sang Ch'u of ch. xxiii. The

identity of the first name has not been satisfactorily settled.

[8] See p. 17.

His teachings were like an overwhelming flood, which spreads at its

own sweet will. Consequently, from rulers and ministers downwards,

none could apply them to any definite use.[9]

[9] This last clause is based upon a famous passage in the _Lun

Yü:--The perfect man is not a mere thing; i.e._, his functions are

not limited. The idea conveyed is that Chuang Tzŭ's system was too

far-reaching to be practical.

Prince Wei of the Ch'u State, hearing of Chuang Tzŭ's good report,

sent messengers to him, bearing costly gifts, and inviting him to

become Prime Minister. At this Chuang Tzŭ smiled and said to the

messengers, "You offer me great wealth and a proud position indeed;

but have you never seen a sacrificial ox?--When after being fattened

up for several years, it is decked with embroidered trappings and led

to the altar, would it not willingly then change places with some

uncared-for pigling?... Begone! Defile me not! I would rather disport

myself to my own enjoyment in the mire than be slave to the ruler of

a State. I will never take office. Thus I shall remain free to follow

my own inclinations."[10]

To enable the reader to understand more fully the writings of Chuang

Tzŭ, and to appreciate his aim and object, it will be necessary to go

back a few more hundred years.

In the seventh century B.C., lived a man, now commonly spoken of as Lao

Tzŭ. He was the great Prophet of his age. He taught men to return good

for evil, and to look forward to a higher life. He professed to have

found the clue to all things human and divine.

He seems to have insisted that his system could not be reduced to

words. At any rate, he declared that those who spoke did not know,

while those who knew did not speak.

But to accommodate himself to conditions of mortality, he called this

clue TAO, or THE WAY, explaining that the word was to be understood

metaphorically, and not in a literal sense as the way or road upon

which men walk.

The following are sentences selected from the indisputably genuine

remains of Lao Tzŭ, to be found scattered here and there in early

Chinese literature:--

All the world knows that the goodness of doing good is not real

goodness.

When merit has been achieved, do not take it to yourself. On the other

hand, if you do not take it to yourself, it shall never be taken from

you.

By many words wit is exhausted. It is better to preserve a mean.

Keep behind, and you shall be put in front. Keep out, and you shall be

kept in.

What the world reverences may not be treated with irreverence.

Good words shall gain you honour in the market-place. Good deeds shall

gain you friends among men.

He who, conscious of being strong, is content to be weak,--he shall be

a cynosure of men.

The Empire is a divine trust, and may not be ruled. He who rules,

ruins. He who holds by force, loses.

Mighty is he who conquers himself.

He who is content, has enough.

To the good I would be good. To the not-good I would also be good, in

order to make them good.

If the government is tolerant, the people will be without guile. If

the government is meddling, there will be constant infraction of the

law.

Recompense injury with kindness.

The wise man's freedom from grievance is because he will not regard

grievances as such.

Of such were the pure and simple teachings of Lao Tzŭ. But it is upon

the wondrous doctrine of _Inaction_ that his claim to immortality is

founded:--

Do nothing, and all things will be done.

I do nothing, and my people become good of their own accord.

Abandon wisdom and discard knowledge, and the people will be benefited

an hundredfold.

The weak overcomes the strong, the soft overcomes the hard. All the

world knows this; yet none can act up to it.

The softest things in the world override the hardest. That which has

no substance enters where there is no fissure. And so I know that

there is advantage in _Inaction_.

Such doctrines as these were, however, not likely to appeal with force

to the sympathies of a practical people. In the sixth century B.C.,

before Lao Tzŭ's death, another Prophet arose. He taught his countrymen

that _duty to one's neighbour_ comprises the whole duty of man.

Charitableness of heart, justice, sincerity, and fortitude,--sum up the

ethics of Confucius. He knew nothing of a God, of a soul, of an unseen

world. And he declared that the unknowable had better remain untouched.

Against these hard and worldly utterances, Chuang Tzŭ raised a powerful

cry. The idealism of Lao Tzŭ had seized upon his poetic soul, and he

determined to stem the tide of materialism in which men were being fast

rolled to perdition.

He failed, of course. It was, indeed, too great a task to persuade the

calculating Chinese nation that by doing nothing, all things would be

done. But Chuang Tzŭ bequeathed to posterity a work which, by reason

of its marvellous literary beauty, has always held a foremost place.

It is also a work of much originality of thought. The writer, it is

true, appears chiefly as a disciple insisting upon the principles of

a Master. But he has contrived to extend the field, and carry his own

speculations into regions never dreamt of by Lao Tzŭ.

* * * * *

It may here be mentioned that the historian Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien, already

quoted, states in his notice of Lao Tzŭ that the latter left behind

him a small volume in 5,000 and odd characters. Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien does

not say, nor does he give the reader to understand, that he himself

had ever seen the book in question. Nor does he even hint (see p. v.)

that Chuang Tzŭ drew his inspiration from a book, but only from the

"sayings" of Lao Tzŭ.

Confucius never mentions this book. Neither does Mencius, China's

"Second Sage," who was born about one hundred years after the death of

the First.

But all this is a trifle compared with the fact that Chuang Tzŭ himself

never once alludes to such a book; although now, in this nineteenth

century, there are some, happily few in number, who believe that we

possess the actual work of Lao Tzŭ's pen. It is, perhaps, happier still

that this small number cannot be said to include within it the name

of a single native scholar of eminence. In fact, as far as I know,

the whole range of Chinese literature yields but the name of one such

individual who has ever believed in the genuineness of the so-called

_Tao-Tê-Ching_.[11] Even he would probably have remained unknown to

fame, had he not been brother to Su Tung-p'o.[12]

125. I have discussed the claims of this work at some length in _The

Remains of Lao Tzŭ_: Hong Kong, 1886.

dynasty (A.D. 1036-1101).

Chuang Tzŭ, indeed, puts into the mouth of Lao Tzŭ sayings which are

now found in the _Tao-Tê-Ching_, mixed up with a great many other

similar sayings which are not to be found there. But he also puts

sayings, which now appear in the Tao-Tê-Ching, into the mouth of

Confucius (p. 275)! And even into the mouth of the Yellow Emperor (pp.

277-278), whose date is some twenty centuries earlier than that of Lao

Tzŭ himself!!

Two centuries before the Christian era, an attempt was made to destroy,

with some exceptions, the whole of Chinese literature, in order that

history might begin anew from the reign of the First Emperor of united

China. The extent of the actual mischief done by this "Burning of the

Books" has been greatly exaggerated. Still, the mere attempt at such a

holocaust gave a fine chance to the scholars of the later Han dynasty

(A.D. 25-221), who seem to have enjoyed nothing so much as forging, if

not the whole, at any rate portions, of the works of ancient authors.

Some one even produced a treatise under the name of Lieh Tzŭ, a

philosopher mentioned by Chuang Tzŭ, not seeing that the individual in

question was a creation of Chuang Tzŭ's brain!

And the _Tao-Tê-Ching_ was undoubtedly pieced together somewhere about

this period, from recorded sayings and conversations of Lao Tzŭ.[13]

vol. i, p. 460:--

"No period in the history of the world ever produced so many spurious

works as the first two or three centuries of our era. The name of every

Apostle, or Christian teacher, not excepting that of the great Master,

was freely attached to every description of religious forgery."

Chuang Tzŭ's work has suffered in like manner. Several chapters are

clearly spurious, and many episodes have been interpolated by feeble

imitators of an inimitable style.

The text, as it now stands, consists of thirty-three chapters. These

are a reduction from fifty-three, which appear to have been in

existence in the fourth century A.D.[14] The following is the account

given in the Imperial Catalogue of the first known edition:--

Chuang Tzŭ, with Commentary, in 10 books. By Kuo Hsiang of the Chin

dynasty (A.D. 265-420).

The _Shih-shuo-hsin-yü_[15] states that Kuo Hsiang stole his work from

Hsiang Hsiu.[16] Subsequently, Hsiang Hsiu's edition was issued, and

the two were in circulation together. Hsiang Hsiu's edition is now

lost, while Kuo Hsiang's remains.

[15] A work of the fifth century A.D.

[16] Of the Han dynasty. Mayers puts him a little later, viz., A.D.

275.

Comparison with quotations from Hsiang Hsiu's work, as given in

_Chuang Tzŭ Explained_, by Lu Tê-ming, shows conclusive evidence of

plagiarism. Nevertheless, Kuo Hsiang contributed a certain amount of

independent revision, making it impossible for us to regard the whole

as from the hand of Hsiang Hsiu. Consequently, it now passes under the

name of Kuo Hsiang.

Since Kuo Hsiang's time, numberless editions with ever-varying

interpretations have been produced to delight and to confuse the

student. Of these, I have chosen six, representative as nearly as

possible of different schools of thought. Their editors are:--

1.--KUO HSIANG of the Chin dynasty. (_a_) As given in the _Shih Tzŭ

Ch'üan Shu_, or Complete Works of the Ten Philosophers. (_b_) As

edited by Tan Yüan-ch'un, of the Ming dynasty, with his own valuable

notes.

2.--LÜ HUI-CH'ING of the Sung dynasty.

3.--LIN HSI-YI of the Sung dynasty.

4.--WANG YÜ of the Sung dynasty. Son of the famous Wang An-shih.

5.--HSING TUNG, a Taoist priest of the Ming dynasty.

6.--LIN HSI-CHUNG, of the Ming and Ch'ing dynasties.

Where there is a consensus of opinion, I have followed such

interpretation without demur. But where opinions differ, I have not

hesitated to accept that interpretation which seemed to me to be most

in harmony with the general tenor of Chuang Tzŭ's philosophy. And

where all commentators fail equally, as they sometimes do, to yield

anything at all intelligible, I have then ventured to fall back upon

what Chuang Tzŭ himself would have called the "light of nature." Always

keeping steadily in view the grand precept of Lin Hsi-chung, that we

should attempt to interpret Chuang Tzŭ neither according to Lao Tzŭ,

nor according to Confucius, nor according to Buddha, but according to

Chuang Tzŭ himself.

* * * * *

Of the thirty-three existing chapters, the first seven are called

"inside" chapters, the next fifteen "outside," and the remaining eleven

"miscellaneous."

The meaning of "inside" and "outside" is a matter of dispute. Some

Chinese critics have understood these terms in the obvious sense of

esoteric and exoteric. But it is simpler to believe with others that

the titles of the first seven chapters are taken from the inside or

subject-matter, while the outside chapters are so named because their

titles are derived casually from words which happen to stand at the

beginning or outside of each.

Compared with the "miscellaneous," these latter seem to have been

classed together as elucidating a single principle in terms more easy

of apprehension; while the "miscellaneous" chapters embrace several

distinct trains of thought, and are altogether more abstruse. The

arrangement is unscientific, and it was probably this which caused

Su Tung-p'o to decide that division into chapters belongs to a later

age. He regards chaps. xxix-xxxii as spurious, although Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien

alludes to two of these as Chuang Tzŭ's work. It has indeed been held

that the inside chapters alone (i-vii) are from Chuang Tzŭ's own pen.

But most of the other chapters, exclusive of xxix-xxxii, contain

unmistakable traces of a master hand. Ch. xvii, by virtue of an

exquisite imagery, has earned for its author the affectionate sobriquet

of "Chou of the Autumn Floods."

* * * * *

Chuang Tzŭ, it must be remembered, has been for centuries classed as

a heterodox writer. His work was an effort of reaction against the

materialism of Confucian teachings. And in the course of it he was

anything but sparing of terms. Confucius is dealt with in language

which no modern literate can approve. But the beauty and vigour of the

language are facts admitted by all. He is constantly quoted in the

great standard lexicon which passes under the name of K'ang Hsi.

But no acquaintance with the philosophy of Chuang Tzŭ would assist

the candidate for honours at the competitive examinations which are

the portals to official place and power. Consequently, Chuang Tzŭ is

studied chiefly by older men, who have retired from office, or who have

been disappointed in their career. Those too who are dominated by a

religious craving for something better than mortality, find in his

pages much agreeable solace against the troubles of this world, with an

implied promise of another and a better world to come.

* * * * *

It has been publicly announced that translations of Lao Tzŭ and Chuang

Tzŭ are to appear among the _Sacred Books of the East_.[17]

Now to include the _Tao-Tê-Ching_ in such a series would be already a

doubtful step. Apart from spuriousness, it can only by a severe stretch

of courtesy be termed a "sacred book." It undoubtedly contains many of

Lao Tzŭ's sayings, but it also undoubtedly contains much that Lao Tzŭ

never said and never could have said. It illustrates rather that period

when the pure TAO of Lao Tzŭ began to be corrupted by alchemistic

research and gropings after the elixir of life. It was probably

written up in self-defence against the encroachments of Buddhism, in

those early days of religious struggle when China was first flooded

with the "sacred books" of the West. It is not seriously recognised

as the Canon of ancient Taoism. Among the Taoists of to-day, not one

in ten thousand has more than heard its name. For modern Taoism is

but a hybrid superstition,--a mixture of ancient nature-worship and

Buddhistic ceremonial, with TAO as the style of the firm. Its teachings

are farther removed from the TAO of Lao Tzŭ than Ritualism from the

Christianity of Christ.

As to Chuang Tzŭ, his work can in no sense be called "sacred." Unless

indeed we modify somewhat the accepted value of terms, and reckon the

works of Aristotle among the "sacred" books of the Greeks. Chuang Tzŭ

was scarcely the founder of a school. He was not a Prophet, as Lao Tzŭ

was, nor can he fairly be said ever to have been regarded by genuine

Taoists as such.

When, many centuries later, the light of Lao Tzŭ's real teachings had

long since been obscured, then a foolish Emperor conferred upon Chuang

Tzŭ's work the title of _Holy Canon of Nan-hua_.[18] But this was done

solely to secure for the follies of the age the sanction of a great

name. Not to mention that Lieh Tzŭ's alleged work, and many other

similar forgeries have also been equally honoured. So that if works

like these are to be included among the _Sacred Books of the East_,

then China alone will be able to supply matter for translation for the

next few centuries to come.

* * * * *

Partly of necessity, and partly to spare the general reader, I have

relegated to a supplement all textual and critical notes involving the

use of Chinese characters. This supplement will be issued as soon as

possible after my return to China. It will not form an integral part

of the present work, being intended merely to assist students of the

language in verifying the renderings I have here seen fit to adopt. As

a compromise I have supplied a kind of running commentary, introduced,

in accordance with the Chinese system, into the body of the text. It is

hoped that this will enable any one to understand the drift of Chuang

Tzŭ's allusions, and to follow arguments which are usually subtle and

oft-times obscure.

Only one previous attempt has been made to place Chuang Tzŭ in the

hands of English readers.[19] In that case, the knowledge of the

Chinese language possessed by the translator was altogether too

elementary to justify such an attempt.[20]

F.R.G.S., Shanghai and London, 1881.

a short sentence which means, "A one-legged man discards ornament, his

exterior not being open to commendation."

Mr. Balfour translated this as follows:--"Servants will tear up a

portrait, not liking to be confronted with its beauties and its

defects."

HERBERT A. GILES.

_Note on the Philosophy of Chaps._ i-vii.

_By the_ REV. AUBREY MOORE,

Tutor of Keble and Magdalen Colleges, Oxford; Hon. Canon of Christ

Church, &c.

[Illustration]

The translator of Chuang Tzŭ has asked me to append a note on the

philosophy of chs. i-vii. It is difficult to see how one who writes

not only in ignorance of Chinese modes of thought, but with the

preconceptions of Western philosophy, can really help much towards

the understanding of an admittedly obscure system, involving terms

and expressions on which Chinese scholars are not yet agreed. But an

attempt to point out parallelisms of thought and reasoning between

East and West may be of use in two ways. It may stimulate those who

are really competent to understand both terms in the comparison to

tell us where the parallelism is real and where it is only apparent;

and it may help to accustom ordinary readers to look for and expect

resemblances in systems in which an earlier age would have seen nothing

but contrasts.

There was a time when historians of Greek philosophy used to point out

what were considered to be the characteristics of Greek thought, and

then to put down to "Oriental influence" anything which did not at once

agree with these characteristics. How and through what channels this

"Oriental influence" was exercised, it was never easy to determine,

nor was it always thought worthy of much discussion. In recent times,

however, a greater knowledge of Eastern systems has familiarised us

with much which, on the same principle, ought to be attributed to

"Greek influence." And the result has been that we have learned to put

aside theories of derivation, and to content ourselves with tracing

the evolution of reason and of rational problems, and to expect

parallelisms even where the circumstances are widely different.

One instance may be worth quoting in illustration. We used to be told

that the Greek mind, in its speculation and its art, was characterised

by its love of order, harmony, and symmetry, in contrast with the

monstrous creations of the Oriental imagination, and the "colossal

ugliness of the Pyramids"; and it was said with reason that the

Aristotelian doctrine of "the mean" was the ripe fruit of the

practical inquiries of the Greeks, and was the ethical counterpart

of their artistic development. But in 1861 we were introduced by Dr.

Legge to a Confucianist work, attributed to Tzŭ Tzŭ, grandson of

Confucius and a contemporary of Socrates, and entitled _The Doctrine

of the Mean_,[21] which is there represented as the true moral way in

which the perfect man walks, while all else go beyond or fall short of

it. Yet even those who discovered the doctrine of the Trinity in the

Tâo-Tê-Ching have not, we believe, suggested that Aristotle had private

access to the _Li Chi_.

as Bk. xxviii of the _Lî Kî_ of _Li Chi_ (Sacred Books of the East,

vols. xxvii, xxviii), with a new title _The State of Equilibrium and

Harmony_. But the parallelism with the Aristotelian doctrine is as

obvious as ever.

We may then, without bringing any charge of piracy or plagiarism

against either, point out some parallels between Chuang Tzŭ and a great

Greek thinker.

* * * * *

Chuang Tzŭ's first chapter is mainly critical and destructive, pointing

out the worthlessness of ordinary judgments, and the unreality of sense

knowledge. The gigantic Rukh, at the height of 90,000 _li_, is a mere

mote in the sunbeam. For size is relative. The cicada, which can just

fly from tree to tree, laughs with the dove at the Rukh's high flight.

For space also is relative. Compared with the mushroom of a day, P'êng

Tsu is as old as Methuselah; but what is his age to that of the fabled

tree, whose spring and autumn make up 16,000 years? Time, then, is

relative too. And though men wonder at him who could "ride upon the

wind and travel for many days," he is but a child to one who "roams

through the realms of For-Ever."

This doctrine of "relativity," which is a commonplace in Greek as it

is in modern philosophy, is made the basis, both in ancient and modern

times, of two opposite conclusions. Either it is argued that all sense

knowledge is relative, and sense is the only organ of knowledge,

therefore real knowledge is impossible; or else the relativity of sense

knowledge leads men to draw a sharp contrast between sense and reason

and to turn away from the outward in order to listen to the inward

voice. The one alternative is scepticism, the other idealism. In Greek

thought the earliest representatives of the former are the Sophists, of

the latter Heracleitus.

There is no doubt to which side of the antithesis Chuang Tzŭ belongs.

His exposure of false and superficial thinking looks at first like the

destruction of knowledge. Even Socrates was called a Sophist because

of his destructive criticism and his restless challenging of popular

views. But Chuang Tzŭ has nothing of the sceptic in him. He is an

idealist and a mystic, with all the idealist's hatred of a utilitarian

system, and the mystic's contempt for a life of mere external activity.

"The perfect man ignores _self_; the divine man ignores _action_;

the true sage ignores _reputation_" (p. 5). The Emperor Yao would

have abdicated in favour of a hermit, but the hermit replies that

"reputation is but the shadow of reality," and will not exchange the

real for the seeming. But greater than Yao and the hermit is the

divine being who dwells on the mysterious mountain in a state of pure,

passionless inaction.

For the sage, then, life means death to all that men think life, the

life of _seeming_ or reputation, of _doing_ or action, of _being_ or

individual selfhood. This leads on to the "budget of paradoxes" in

chap. II. As in the moral and active region we escape from the world

and self, and are able to reverse and look down upon the world's

judgments, so in the speculative region we get behind and beyond the

contradictions of ordinary thinking, and of speech which stereotypes

abstractions. The sage knows nothing of the distinction between

subjective and objective. It exists only _ex analogiâ hominis_.

"From the standpoint of Tao" all things are one. People "guided by

the criteria of their own mind," see only the contradiction, the

manifoldness, the difference; the sage sees the many disappearing in

the One, in which subjective and objective, positive and negative, here

and there, somewhere and nowhere, meet and blend. For him, "a beam

and a pillar are identical. So are ugliness and beauty, greatness,

wickedness, perverseness, and strangeness. Separation is the same as

construction: construction is the same as destruction" (pp. 19-20).

The sage "blends everything into one harmonious whole, rejecting the

comparison of this and that. Rank and precedence, which the vulgar

prize, the sage stolidly ignores. The universe itself may pass away,

but he will flourish still" (p. 29). "Were the ocean itself scorched

up, he would not feel hot. Were the milky way frozen hard he would not

feel cold. Were the mountains to be riven with thunder, and the great

deep to be thrown up by storm, he would not tremble" (pp. 27-28).

Si fractus illabatur orbis,

Impavidum ferient ruinæ.

He is "embraced in the obliterating unity of God," and passing into the

realm of the Infinite finds rest therein (p. 31).

It is impossible in reading this chapter on "The Identity of

Contraries" not to be reminded of Heracleitus. The disparagement of

sense knowledge, and the contempt for common views is indeed equally

marked in Eleaticism, and there is much in Chuang Tzŭ which recalls

Parmenides,[22] so far as the contrast between the way of truth and the

way of error, the true belief in the One and the popular belief in the

Many, is concerned. But it seems to me that the "One" of Chuang Tzŭ

is not the dead Unit of Eleaticism, which resulted from the thinking

away of differences, but the living Unity of Heracleitus, in which

contraries co-exist. Heracleitus, indeed, seems to have been a man

after Chuang Tzŭ's own heart, not only in his obscurity, which won

for him the title of ὁ σκοτεινὸς, but in his indifference to worldly

position, shown in the fact that, like the Emperor Yao, he abdicates in

his brother's favour (_Diog. Laert._ ix. 1), and in his supercilious

disregard for the learned like Hesiod and Pythagoras and Xenophanes and

Hecataeus,[23] no less than for the common people[24] of his day.

and § 94 A. B. Seventh edition.

"Listen," says Heracleitus, "not to me, but to reason, and confess the

true wisdom that 'All things are ONE.'"[25] "All is One, the divided

and the undivided, the begotten and the unbegotten, the mortal and the

immortal, reason and eternity, father and son, God and justice."[26]

"Cold is hot, heat is cold, that which is moist is parched, that which

is dried up is wet."[27] "Good and evil are the same."[28] "Gods

are mortal, men immortal: our life is their death, our death their

life."[29] "Upward and downward are the same."[30] "The beginning and

the end are one."[31] "Life and death, sleeping and waking, youth and

age are identical."[32]

εἶναι. _Heracl. Eph. Rell._ i.

This is what reason tells the philosopher. "All is ONE." The world is a

unity of opposing forces (παλίντροπος ἁρμονίη κόσμου ὅκωσπερ λύρας καὶ

τόξου).[33] "Join together whole and not whole, agreeing and different,

harmonious and discordant. Out of all comes one: out of one all."[34]

"God is day-night, winter-summer, war-peace, repletion-want."[35]

The very rhythm of nature is strife. War, which men hate and the

poets would banish, "is the father and lord of all."[36] But "men are

without understanding, they hear and hear not,"[37] or "they hear and

understand not."[38] For they trust to their senses, which are "false

witnesses."[39] They see the contradictions, but know not that "the

different is at unity with itself."[40] They cannot see the "hidden

harmony, which is greater than the harmony which is seen."[41] For

they live in the external, the commonplace, the relative, and never

rise above the life of the senses. "The sow loves the mire."[42]

"The ass prefers fodder to gold."[43] And men love their "private

conceits" instead of clinging to the universal reason which orders all

things,[44] and which even the sun obeys.[45]

Of the fragments which remain to us of Heracleitus, the greater number

belong to the region of logic and metaphysics, while Chuang Tzŭ devotes

much space to the more practical side of the question. He not only

ridicules those who trust their senses, or measure by utilitarian

standards, or judge by the outward appearance;--he teaches them how

to pass from the seeming to the true. The wonderful carver, who could

cut where the natural joints are,[46] is one who sees not with the

eye of sense but with his mind. When he is in doubt he "falls back

upon eternal principles"; for he is "devoted to TAO" (chap. iii).

There is something of humour, as well as much of truth, in the rebuke

which Confucius, speaking _pro hâc vice_ as a disciple of Lao Tzŭ,

administers to his self-confident follower who wanted to "be of use."

"Cultivate _fasting_;--not bodily fasting, but the fasting of the

heart." TAO can only abide in the life which has got rid of self.

So the Duke of Shê is reminded that there is something higher than

duty,[47] viz., _destiny_, the state, that is, in which conscious

obedience has given way to that which is instinctive and automatic. The

parable of the trees (pp. 50-53), with its result in the survival of

the good-for-nothing, is again a reversal of popular outside judgments.

For as the first part of the chapter had taught the uselessness of

trying to be useful, so the last part teaches the usefulness of being

useless. And the same thought is carried on in the next chapter, which

deals with the reversal of common opinion as to persons. Its motto

is:--Judge not by the appearance. Virtue must prevail and outward form

be forgotten. The loathsome leper Ai T'ai To is made Prime Minister by

the wise Duke Ai. The mutilated criminal is judged by Lao Tzŭ to be a

greater man than Confucius. For the criminal is mutilated in body by

man, while Confucius, though men know it not, by the judgment of God is

πεπηρωμένος πρὸς ἀρετήν.

καταγνύναι μέρος μηδὲν κακοῦ μαγείρου τρόπῳ χρώμενος.

or moral obligation is transitory, and will diminish as fast as

moralisation increases."--_Data of Ethics_, p. 127.

This protest of Chuang Tzŭ against externality, and judging only by

the outward appearance, might easily be translated into Christian

language. For Christianity also teaches _inwardness_, and, in common

with all idealism, resents the delimitation of human life and knowledge

to "the things which are seen." In its opposition to a mere practical

system like Confucianism, Taoism must have appealed to those deeper

instincts of humanity to which Buddhism appealed some centuries later.

In practice, Confucianism was limited to the finite. Action, effort,

benevolence, unselfishness,--all these have a place in it, and their

theatre is the world as we know it. Its last word is worldly wisdom;

not selfishness, but an enlarged prudentialism. To the Taoist such a

system savours of "the rudiments of the world." Its "charity and duty,"

its "ceremonies and music," are the "Touch not, taste not, handle not,"

of an ephemeral state of being, and perish in the using. And the sage

seeks for the Absolute, the Infinite, the Eternal. He seeks to attain

to TAO.

It is here that we reach (in chaps. vi, vii) what properly constitutes

the _mysticism_ of Chuang Tzŭ. Heracleitus is not a mystic, though

he is the founder of a long line, which through Plato, and Dionysius

the Areopagite and John the Scot in the ninth century, and Meister

Eckhart in the thirteenth, and Jacob Böhme in the sixteenth, reaches

down to Hegel. Heracleitus despises the world and shuns it; but he

has not yet made flight from the world a dogma. Even Plato, when in

a well-known passage in the Theaetetus,[48] he counsels flight from

the present state of things, explains that he means only "flee from

evil and become like God." Still less has Heracleitus got so far as

to aim at self-absorption in God. In Greek thought the attempt to

get rid of consciousness, and to become the unconscious vehicle of a

higher illumination, is unknown till the time of Philo. Yet this is the

teaching of Chuang Tzŭ. "The true sage takes his refuge in God, and

learns that there is no distinction between subject and object. This is

the very axis of TAO" (p. 18). Abstraction from self, then, is the road

which leads to TAO (chap. vi). The pure of old did not love life and

hate death. They were content to be passive vehicles of TAO. They had

reached the state of sublime indifference, they had become "oblivious

of their own existence." Everything in them was spontaneous; nothing

the result of effort. "They made no plans; therefore failing, they had

no cause for regret; succeeding, no cause for congratulation" (p. 69).

"They cheerfully played their allotted parts, waiting patiently for the

end." They were free, for they were in perfect harmony with creation

(p. 71). For them One and not One are One; God and Man. For they had

attained to TAO, and TAO is greater than God. "Before heaven and earth

were, TAO was. It has existed without change from all time. Spiritual

beings draw their spirituality therefrom; while the universe became

what we see it now. To TAO the zenith is not high, nor the nadir low;

no point of time is long ago, nor by lapse of ages has it grown old"

(p. 76). The great legislators obtained TAO, and laid down eternal

principles. The sun and moon, and the Great Bear are kept in their

courses by TAO.

τι τάχιστα. φυγὴ δὲ ὁμοίωσις Θεῷ κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν. ὁμοίωσις δὲ δίκαιον

καὶ ὅσιον μετὰ φρονήσεως γενέσθαι.

"Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong."

He who would attain to TAO must get rid of the thought of "charity and

duty," of "music and ceremonies," of body and mind. The flowers and the

birds do not toil, they simply live. That is TAO. And for man a state

of indifference and calm, the ἀταραξία not of the sceptic but of the

mystic, a passive reflecting of the Eternal, is the ideal end. "The

perfect man employs his mind as a mirror. It grasps nothing, it refuses

nothing. It receives but does not keep. And thus he can triumph over

matter without injury to himself." (See p. 98.)

It would of course be presumption to attempt to assign a meaning to

TAO, and still more to discover an equivalent in Western thought.

But it may be lawful to say that Heracleitus often speaks of Λόγος

as Chuang Tzŭ speaks of TAO. It is Necessity (ἀνάγκη), or Fate

(εἱμαρμένη), or Mind (γνώμη), or Justice (Δική). In nature it appears

as balance and equipoise; in the State as Law; in man as the universal

Reason, which is _in_ him but not _of_ him. Sometimes it is identified

with the mysterious name of Zeus, which may not be uttered;[49]

sometimes like the Ἀνάγκη of the Greek poets, it is supreme over gods

and men. If it is hard to say what is the relation of TAO to God, it

is not less hard to define the relation of Λόγος to Zeus. To speak of

Chuang Tzŭ and Heracleitus as pantheists is only to say that, so far

as we can translate their language into ours, that name seems less

inappropriate than Theist or Deist. But it is doubtful whether the

distinction between Pantheism and Theism would have been intelligible

to either philosopher, and certain that if they could have understood

it, they would have denied to it reality. Both held the immanence of

the Eternal Principle in all that is. Both taught that the soul is an

emanation from the Divine, and both, though in very different degrees,

seem to teach that a life is perfect in proportion as it becomes one

with that from which it came, and loses what is individual in it.

In Chuang Tzŭ, as in all mystics, there is an element of antinomianism.

That "good and evil are the same," may contain a deep truth for the

sage, but "take no heed of time, nor of right and wrong" (p. 31) is,

to say the least, dangerous teaching for the masses. The mystic's

utterances will not bear translation into the language of the world,

and to take them _au pied de la lettre_ can hardly fail to produce

disastrous results. This is why antinomianism always dogs the heels of

mysticism. And this may perhaps help to explain the debased Taoism of

to-day. But of this I know nothing.

It would be interesting to know whether in the undisputed utterances

of Lao Tzŭ (_i. e._ putting on one side the _Tâo-Tê-Ching_), Quietism

and the glorification of Inaction are as prominent as they are in

_Chuang Tzŭ_. One would be prepared _à priori_ to find that they

are not. Lao Tzŭ was born at the end of the seventh century B.C.,

and was, therefore, some fifty years older than Confucius, with

whom in 517 B.C., he is said to have had an interview.[50] By the

time of Chuang Tzŭ, who was possibly contemporary with Mencius, and

therefore some two or three centuries after Lao Tzŭ, Confucianism

had become to some extent the established religion of China, and

Taoism, like Republicanism in the days of the Roman Empire, became a

mere _opposition de salon_. Under such circumstances any elements of

mysticism latent in Lao Tzŭ's system would develop rapidly. And the

antagonism between the representatives of Lao Tzŭ and Confucius would

proportionately increase. But philosophy does not become mystical and

take refuge in flight until it abandons all hope of converting the

world. When effort is useless, the mind idealises Inaction, and seeks a

metaphysical basis for it. For mysticism and scepticism flourish in the

same atmosphere though in different soils, both, though in different

ways, implying the abandonment of the rational problem. The Sceptic,

the Agnostic or Positivist of to-day, declares it insoluble, and

settles down content to take things as they are; the mystic retires

into himself, and dreams of a state of being which is the obverse of

the world of fact.

The triumph of Confucianism in the centuries which intervened between

Lao Tzŭ and Chuang Tzŭ would account for the antagonism between Taoism

and Confucianism as we find it. But it fails to account for the way in

which Confucius is sometimes represented as playing into the hands of

Taoism. On p. 85 f. n. the translator explains it as a literary _coup

de main_. Dr. Chalmers, quoted by Dr. Legge,[51] says that both Chuang

Tzŭ and Lieh Tzŭ introduced Confucius into their writings "as the lords

of the Philistines did the captive Samson on their festive occasions,

'to make sport for them.'" But there is not a hint of this given

in the text, though throughout one long chapter (chap. iv) we find

Confucius giving a Taoist refutation of Confucianist doctrines when

defended by his own pupil Yen Hui. It might seem like an attempt to

draw a distinction between Confucius and Confucianism, though elsewhere

Confucius is ridiculed as wanting in sense.

May not the explanation be as follows?--

(i.) Lao Tzŭ and Confucius were probably much nearer to one another

philosophically than the Taoism of Chuang Tzŭ and the Confucianism of

Mencius. The passages in which Confucius talks Taoism would, on this

hypothesis, represent a traditional survival of their real relations to

one another. The episode of Confucius' visit to Lao Tzŭ "to ask about

the TAO," would, whether it records a fact or not, tend in the same

direction.

(ii.) From the first we may assume that the one took an ideal, the

other a practical and utilitarian view of TAO "the Way"; Confucius

finding it in social duties and the work of practical life, Lao Tzŭ in

the hidden and the _inward_, the "interior life," as Christian mystics

would call it. Thus the historian Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien[52] says, "Lao Tzŭ

cultivated the TAO and virtue, his chief aim in his studies being how

to keep himself concealed and unknown. Seeing the decay of the dynasty

he withdrew himself out of sight, and no one knows where he died."

(iii.) The divergence between the two views, the ideal and the actual,

the mystical and the practical, would increase with time, each

intensifying the other by opposition and reaction, until the practical

won its way to security, and the mystical got left out in the cold,

perhaps persecuted, certainly suspected, and treated as heterodox,

and naturally retaliating by scornful criticism of the dominant view.

When this stage is reached, Mencius regards Lao Tzŭ as a heresiarch,

while Chuang Tzŭ often treats Confucius with contempt and ridicule.

For "the Way that is walked upon is not the Way," and "the TAO which

shines forth is not TAO" (p. 25). But Confucianism being "established,"

the Taoists are now "dissenters," and not being strong enough to

disestablish Confucianism become more and more mystical, and content

themselves with a policy of protest.

If there is little direct evidence for this theory as to the relations

of Taoism and Confucianism, there is a curious parallel in Western

thought. When Plato was known only in a neo-Platonic disguise, and

Aristotle judged by the _Organon_, it was possible for partisans to

represent the two philosophers as typical opposites, and to assume

that "every one is born a Platonist or an Aristotelian," forgetting

that Aristotle was Plato's pupil, and both were followers of Socrates.

Later on, when Aristotelianism became "established" as the Christian

philosophy, Platonism, which survived in the more mystical schoolmen,

fell under suspicion, and not unfrequently justified the suspicion

by developing in the direction of Pantheism. It was not till the

thirteenth century that the world appealed from Platonists and

Aristotelians to Plato and Aristotle, and discovered that the divergent

streams flowed from neighbouring springs. Such an appeal, it is to

be feared, is hardly possible in the case of Lao Tzŭ and Confucius,

especially as the authenticity of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_ is still in

controversy among Sinologues.

My object, however, in this note, which has grown out of all

proportion, was not to suggest a theory as to the possible relations of

Lao Tzŭ and Confucius, but to point out what seemed to be a remarkable

parallel between the teaching of Chuang Tzŭ and Heracleitus. In doing

this I have accepted Mr. Giles's translation as an ultimate fact, for

the simple reason that I do not know a single Chinese character. So

far, therefore, as the translation prejudices or prejudges questions of

Chinese scholarship, I must leave the defence to the translator. It is

also possible, and more than possible, that my Western preconceptions

may have biassed my judgment of Chuang Tzŭ's philosophical teaching.

Recent attempts[53] to draw a parallel between the life of Gautama and

the life of Christ have shown how easy it is unconsciously to read

between the lines, and find parallelisms where they do not exist. If I

have been guilty in the same way, then, with Socrates in the Republic,

I say, "I can but suffer the penalty of ignorance; and that penalty is,

to be taught by those who know."

Professor Seydel's _Das Evangelium von Jesu in seinen Verhältnissen zu

Buddha-Sage and Buddha-Lehre_. On the other side of the question, _cf._

Dr. Kellogg's _The Light of Asia and The Light of the World_. London,

1885. And an article in the _Nineteenth Century_ for July, 1888, on

Buddhism, by the Bishop of Colombo.

A. L. M.

[Illustration]

_Chuang Tzŭ._

[Illustration]

TRANSCENDENTAL BLISS.

_Argument_:--Space infinite--Time infinite--Relativity of magnitudes,

physical and moral--The magnitude absolute--Usefulness as a test of

value--The usefulness of the useless.

In the northern ocean there is a fish, called the Leviathan, many

thousand _li_ in size. This leviathan changes into a bird, called the

Rukh, whose back is many thousand _li_ in breadth. With a mighty effort

it rises, and its wings obscure the sky like clouds.

At the equinox, this bird prepares to start for the southern ocean,

the Celestial Lake. And in the _Record of Marvels_ we read that when

the rukh flies southwards, the water is smitten for a space of three

thousand _li_ around, while the bird itself mounts upon a typhoon to a

height of ninety thousand _li_, for a flight of six months' duration.

Just so are the motes in a sunbeam blown aloft by God. For whether the

blue of the sky is its real colour, or only the result of distance

without end, the effect to the bird looking down would be just the

same as to the motes.

Distance being relative. The rukh at an altitude of 90,000 _li_ (three

_li_ to a mile) is no more than a mote in a sunbeam a few feet from

the ground.

If there is not sufficient depth, water will not float large ships.

Upset a cupful into a small hole, and a mustard-seed will be your boat.

Try to float the cup, and it will stick, from the disproportion between

water and vessel.

So with air. If there is not a sufficient depth, it cannot support

large birds. And for this bird a depth of ninety thousand _li_ is

necessary; and then, with nothing save the clear sky above, and no

obstacle in the way, it starts upon its journey to the south.

A cicada laughed, and said to a young dove, "Now, when I fly with

all my might, 'tis as much as I can do to get from tree to tree. And

sometimes I do not reach, but fall to the ground midway. What then can

be the use of going up ninety thousand _li_ in order to start for the

south?"

He who goes to Mang-ts'ang,

A short distance into the country.

taking three meals with him, comes back with his stomach as full as

when he started. But he who travels a hundred _li_ must grind flour

enough for a night's halt. And he who travels a thousand _li_ must

supply himself with provisions for three months. Those two little

creatures,--what should they know? Small knowledge has not the compass

of great knowledge any more than a short year has the length of a long

year.

How can we tell that this is so? The mushroom of a morning knows

not the alternation of day and night. The chrysalis knows not the

alternation of spring and autumn. Theirs are short years.

But in the State of Ch'u there is a tortoise whose spring and autumn

are each of five hundred years' duration. And in former days there

was a large tree which had a spring and autumn each of eight thousand

years' duration. Yet, P'êng Tsu

The Methusaleh of China. His age has not been agreed upon by Chinese

writers, but the lowest computation gives him a life of eight hundred

years.

is still, alas! an object of envy to all.

It was on this very subject that the Emperor T'ang

B.C. 1766.

spoke to Chi, as follows:--"At the barren north there is a great sea,

the Celestial Lake. In it there is a fish, several thousand _li_ in

breadth, and I know not how many in length. It is called the Leviathan.

There is also a bird, called the Rukh, with a back like Mount T'ai,

China's most famous mountain, situated in the province of Shantung.

and wings like clouds across the sky. Upon a typhoon it soars up to a

height of ninety thousand _li_, beyond the clouds and atmosphere, with

only the clear sky above it. And then it directs its flight towards the

south pole.

"A quail laughed, and said: Pray, what may that creature be going to

do? I rise but a few yards in the air, and settle again after flying

around among the reeds. That is the most I can manage. Now, where ever

can this creature be going to?"

The repetition of this story, coupled with its quotation from the

_Record of Marvels_, is considered to give an air of authenticity to

Chuang Tzŭ's illustration, which the reader might otherwise suppose to

be of his own invention.

Such, indeed, is the difference between small and great. Take, for

instance, a man who creditably fills some small office, or who is a

pattern of virtue in his neighbourhood, or who influences his prince to

right government of the State,--his opinion of himself will be much the

same as that quail's. The philosopher Yung laughs at such a one. He, if

the whole world flattered him, would not be affected thereby, nor if

the whole world blamed him would he lose his faith in himself. For Yung

can distinguish between the intrinsic and the extrinsic, between honour

and shame,--and such men are rare in their generation. But even he has

not established himself.

Beyond the limits of an external world. His achievements are after all

only of the earth, earthy.

There was Lieh Tzŭ again.

A personage of whom nothing is really known. He is considered by the

best authorities to have been of Chuang Tzŭ's own creation. This,

however, did not prevent some enterprising scholar, probably of the

Han dynasty, from discovering a treatise which still passes under Lieh

Tzŭ's name.

He could ride upon the wind, and travel whithersoever he wished,

staying away as long as fifteen days. Among mortals who attain

happiness, such a man is rare. Yet although Lieh Tzŭ was able to

dispense with walking, he was still dependent upon something.

_Sc._ the wind.

But had he been charioted upon the eternal fitness of Heaven and Earth,

driving before him the elements as his team while roaming through the

realms of For-Ever,--upon what, then, would he have had to depend?

That is, nourished upon the doctrines of inaction, the continuity of

life and death, etc., which will be dealt with in later chapters.

Thus it has been said, "The perfect man ignores _self_; the divine man

ignores _action_; the true Sage ignores _reputation_."

His--for the three are one--is a bliss "beyond all that the minstrel

has told." Material existences melt into thin air; worldly joys and

sorrows cease for him who passes thus into the everlasting enjoyment

of a transcendental peace.

The Emperor Yao

B.C. 2356. His reign, coupled with that of Shun who succeeded him,

may be regarded as the Golden Age of China's history. See p. 8.

wished to abdicate in favour of Hsü Yu,

A worthy hermit.

saying, "If, when the sun and moon are shining, you persist in lighting

a torch, is not that a misapplication of fire? If, when the rainy

season is at its height, you still continue to water the ground, is

not this a waste of labour? Now, sir, do you assume the reins of

government, and the empire will be at peace. I am but a dead body,

conscious of my own deficiency. I beg you will ascend the throne."

"Ever since you, sire, have directed the administration," replied Hsü

Yu, "the empire has enjoyed tranquillity. Supposing, therefore, that

I were to take your place now, should I gain any reputation thereby?

Besides, reputation is but the shadow of reality; and should I trouble

myself about the shadow? The tit, building its nest in the mighty

forest, occupies but a single twig. The tapir slakes its thirst from

the river, but drinks enough only to fill its belly. To you, sire,

belongs the reputation: the empire has no need for me. If a cook is

unable to dress his funeral sacrifices, the boy who impersonates the

corpse may not step over the wines and meats and do it for him."

This illustrates rejection of reputation by the true Sage. See ch. vii.

Chien Wu said to Lien Shu,

Both fictitious personages.

"I heard Chieh Yü utter something unjustifiably extravagant and without

either rhyme or reason.

This was an individual, named Lu T'ung, who feigned madness in order

to escape an official career. For his interview with Confucius, see

ch. iv, _ad fin._

I was greatly startled at what he said, for it seemed to me boundless

as the Milky Way, though very improbable and removed from the

experiences of mortals."

"What was it?" asked Lien Shu.

"He declared," replied Chien Wu, "that on the Miao-ku-shê mountain

Which is as fabulous as the story.

there lives a divine man whose flesh is like ice or snow, whose

demeanour is that of a virgin, who eats no fruit of the earth, but

lives on air and dew, and who, riding on clouds with flying dragons

for his team, roams beyond the limits of mortality. This being is

absolutely inert. Yet he wards off corruption from all things, and

causes the crops to thrive. Now I call that nonsense, and do not

believe it."

"Well," answered Lien Shu, "you don't ask a blind man's opinion of a

picture, nor do you invite a deaf man to a concert. And blindness and

deafness are not physical only. There is blindness and deafness of

the mind, diseases from which I fear you yourself are suffering. The

good influence of that man fills all creation. Yet because a paltry

generation cries for reform, you would have him condescend to the

details of an empire!

Not seeing that the greater contains the less.

"Objective existences cannot harm him. In a flood which reached to the

sky, he would not be drowned. In a drought, though metals ran liquid

and mountains were scorched up, he would not be hot. Out of his very

dust and siftings you might fashion two such men as Yao and Shun. And

you would have him occupy himself with objectives!"

Illustrating the inaction of the divine man.

A man of the Sung State carried some sacrificial caps into the Yüeh

State, for sale. But the men of Yüeh used to cut off their hair and

paint their bodies, so that they had no use for such things. And so,

when the Emperor Yao, the ruler of all under heaven and pacificator

of all within the shores of ocean, paid a visit to the four sages of

the Miao-ku-shê mountain, on returning to his capital at Fên-yang, the

empire existed for him no more.

This illustrates the rejection of self by the perfect man. Yao had

his eyes opened to the hollowness and uselessness of all mortal

possessions. He ceased, therefore, to think any more of himself, and

_per consequens_ of the empire.

Hui Tzŭ

A celebrated schoolman, contemporary with and antagonistic to Chuang

Tzŭ. For an account of his theories, see ch. xxxiii.

said to Chuang Tzŭ, "The Prince of Wei gave me a seed of a large-sized

kind of gourd. I planted it, and it bore a fruit as big as a

five-bushel measure. Now had I used this for holding liquids, it would

have been too heavy to lift; and had I cut it in half for ladles, the

ladles would have been ill adapted for such purpose. It was uselessly

large, so I broke it up."

"Sir," replied Chuang Tzŭ, "it was rather you who did not know how to

use large things. There was a man of Sung who had a recipe for salve

for chapped hands, his family having been silk-washers for generations.

Well, a stranger who had heard of it, came and offered him 100 _oz._ of

silver for this recipe; whereupon he called together his clansmen and

said, 'We have never made much money by silk-washing. Now, we can make

100 _oz._ in a single day. Let the stranger have the recipe.'

"So the stranger got it, and went and informed the Prince of Wu who

was just then at war with the Yüeh State. Accordingly, the Prince used

it in a naval battle fought at the beginning of winter with the Yüeh

State, the result being that the latter was totally defeated.

They suffered from chapped hands, while their rivals of the Wu State

were protected by their patent salve.

The stranger was rewarded with territory and a title. Thus, while the

efficacy of the salve to cure chapped hands was in both cases the

same, its application was different. Here, it secured a title; there, a

capacity for washing silk.

"Now as to your five-bushel gourd, why did you not make a boat of it,

and float about over river and lake? You could not then have complained

of its not holding anything! But I fear you are rather woolly inside."

Like it. This, of course, is a sneer. Hui Tzŭ could not see that the

greatness of a thing depends upon the greatness of its application.

Hui Tzŭ said to Chuang Tzŭ, "Sir, I have a large tree, of a worthless

kind. Its trunk is so irregular and knotty that it cannot be measured

out for planks; while its branches are so twisted as to admit of no

geometrical subdivision whatever. It stands by the roadside, but

no carpenter will look at it. And your words, sir, are like that

tree;--big and useless, not wanted by anybody."

"Sir," rejoined Chuang Tzŭ, "have you never seen a wild cat, crouching

down in wait for its prey? Right and left it springs from bough to

bough, high and low alike,--until perchance it gets caught in a trap

or dies in a snare. On the other hand, there is the yak with its great

huge body. It is big enough in all conscience, but it cannot catch mice.

The adaptability of a thing is oft-times its bane. The inability of

the yak to catch mice saves it from the snare which is fatal to the

wild cat.

"Now if you have a big tree and are at a loss what to do with it, why

not plant it in the domain of non-existence,

Beyond the limits of our external world. Referring to the conditions

of mental abstraction in which alone true happiness is to be found.

whither you might betake yourself to inaction by its side, to blissful

repose beneath its shade?

"Why does the horizon hold me fast, with my joy and grief in this

centre?"--_Emerson._

There it would be safe from the axe and from all other injury; for

being of no use to others, itself would be free from harm."

Illustrating the advantage of being useless. That which is small and

useful is thus shown to be inferior to that which is large and useless.

THE IDENTITY OF CONTRARIES.

_Argument_:--Contraries spring from our subjective

individuality--Identity of subjective and objective--The centre where

all distinctions are merged in ONE--How to reach this point--Speech an

obstacle--The negative state--Light out of darkness--Illustrations.

Tzŭ Ch'i of Nan-kuo sat leaning on a table. Looking up to heaven, he

sighed and became absent, as though soul and body had parted.

Yen Ch'êng Tzŭ Yu, who was standing by him, exclaimed, "What are you

thinking about that your body should become thus like dry wood, your

mind like dead ashes? Surely the man now leaning on the table is not he

who was here just now."

"My friend," replied Tzŭ Ch'i, "your question is apposite. _To-day I

have buried myself_.... Do you understand?... Ah! perhaps you only know

the music of Man, and not that of Earth. Or even if you have heard the

music of Earth, you have not heard the music of Heaven."

"Pray explain," said Tzŭ Yu.

"The breath of the universe," continued Tzŭ Ch'i, "is called wind. At

times, it is inactive. But when active, every aperture resounds to the

blast. Have you never listened to its growing roar?

"Caves and dells of hill and forest, hollows in huge trees of many a

span in girth;--these are like nostrils, like mouths, like ears, like

beam-sockets, like goblets, like mortars, like ditches, like bogs.

And the wind goes rushing through them, sniffing, snoring, singing,

soughing, puffing, purling, whistling, whirring, now shrilly treble,

now deeply bass, now soft, now loud; until, with a lull, silence reigns

supreme. Have you never witnessed among the trees such a disturbance as

this?"

"Well, then," enquired Tzŭ Yu, "since the music of earth consists of

nothing more than holes, and the music of man of pipes and flutes,--of

what consists the music of Heaven?"

"The effect of the wind upon these various apertures," replied

Tzŭ Ch'i, "is not uniform. But what is it that gives to each the

individuality, to all the potentiality, of sound?

"Great knowledge embraces the whole:

Sees both "the upper and under side of the medal of Jove" at once.

small knowledge, a part only. Great speech is universal:

Speech, according to Chuang Tzŭ's ideal, always covers the whole

ground in question, leaving no room for positive and negative to

appear in antagonism.

small speech is particular.

"For whether when the mind is locked in sleep or whether when in

waking hours the body is released, we are subject to daily mental

perturbations,--indecision, want of penetration, concealment, fretting

fear, and trembling terror. Now like a javelin the mind flies forth,

the arbiter of right and wrong.

Thus recognising contraries.

Now like a solemn covenanter it remains firm, the guardian of rights

secured.

Adhering to an opinion formed.

Then, as under autumn and winter's blight, comes gradual decay, a

passing away, like the flow of water, never to return. Finally, the

block when all is choked up like an old drain,--the failing mind which

shall not see light again.

"Joy and anger, sorrow and happiness, caution and remorse, come upon

us by turns, with ever-changing mood. They come like music from

hollowness, like mushrooms from damp. Daily and nightly they alternate

within us, but we cannot tell whence they spring. Can we then hope in a

moment to lay our finger upon their very Cause?

"But for these emotions _I_ should not be. But for _me_, they would

have no scope. So far we can go; but we do not know what it is that

brings them into play. 'Twould seem to be a _soul_; but the clue to its

existence is wanting. That such a Power operates, is credible enough,

though we cannot see its form. It has functions without form.

As will be gathered later on, Chuang Tzŭ conceives of the soul as an

emanation from God, passing to and from this earth through the portals

of Life and Death.

"Take the human body with all its manifold divisions. Which part of

it does a man love best? Does he not cherish all equally, or has he a

preference? Do not all equally serve him? And do these servitors then

govern themselves, or are they subdivided into rulers and subjects?

Surely there is some soul which sways them all.

"But whether or not we ascertain what are the functions of this soul,

it matters but little to the soul itself. For coming into existence

with this mortal coil of mine, with the exhaustion of this mortal coil

its mandate will also be exhausted. To be harassed by the wear and

tear of life, and to pass rapidly through it without possibility of

arresting one's course,--is not this pitiful indeed? To labour without

ceasing, and then, without living to enjoy the fruit, worn out, to

depart, suddenly, one knows not whither,--is not that a just cause for

grief?

"What advantage is there in what men call not dying? The body

decomposes, and the mind goes with it. This is our real cause for

sorrow. Can the world be so dull as not to see this? Or is it I alone

who am dull, and others not so?

"If we are to be guided by the criteria of our own minds, who shall be

without a guide?

The mind should be a _tabula rasa_, free from all judgments or

opinions of its own as to the external world, and ready only to accept

things as they are, not as they appear to be.

What need to know of the alternations of passion,

As above described.

when the mind thus affords scope to itself?--verily even the minds of

fools! Whereas, for a mind without criteria

As it should be.

to admit the idea of contraries, is like saying, _I went to Yüeh

to-day, and got there yesterday_.

One of Hui Tzŭ's paradoxes. See ch. xxxiii.

Or, like placing nowhere somewhere,--topography which even the Great Yü

The famous engineer of antiquity (B.C. 2205), who drained the empire

of a vast body of water and arranged its subdivision into nine

provinces.

would fail to understand; how much more I?

"Speech is not mere breath. It is differentiated by meaning. Take away

that, and you cannot say whether it is speech or not. Can you even

distinguish it from the chirping of young birds?

"But how can TAO be so obscured that we speak of it as true and

false? And how can speech be so obscured that it admits the idea of

contraries? How can TAO go away and yet not remain?

Being omnipresent.

How can speech exist and yet be impossible?

See p. 13.

"TAO is obscured by our want of grasp. Speech is obscured by the gloss

of this world.

_I.e._ by the one-sided meanings attached to words and phrases.

Hence the affirmatives and negatives of the Confucian and Mihist

schools,

Mih Tzŭ was a philosopher of the fourth century B.C., who propounded

various theories which were vigorously attacked by the Confucianists

under Mencius. We shall hear more of him by-and-by.

each denying what the other affirmed and affirming what the other

denied. But he who would reconcile affirmative with negative and

negative with affirmative,

The "union of impossibilities," which Emerson credits to Plato alone.

must do so by the light of nature.

_I.e._ Have no established mental criteria, and thus see all things as

ONE.

"There is nothing which is not objective: there is nothing which is

not subjective. But it is impossible to start from the objective. Only

from subjective knowledge is it possible to proceed to objective

knowledge. Hence it has been said,

By Hui Tzŭ.

'The objective emanates from the subjective; the subjective is

consequent upon the objective. This is the _Alternation Theory_.'

Nevertheless, when one is born, the other dies. When one is possible,

the other is impossible. When one is affirmative the other is negative.

Which being the case, the true sage rejects all distinctions of this

and that. He takes his refuge in GOD, and places himself in subjective

relation with all things.

It was to this end that Tzŭ Ch'i "buried himself."

"And inasmuch as the subjective is also objective, and the objective

also subjective, and as the contraries under each are indistinguishably

blended, does it not become impossible for us to say whether subjective

and objective really exist at all?

What is positive under the one will be negative under the other.

Yet as subjective and objective are really one and the same, their

positives and negatives must also be one and the same.

It is as though we were to view them through a kind of mental

Pseudoscope, by which means each would appear to be the other.

"When subjective and objective are both without their correlates, that

is the very axis of TAO. And when that axis passes through the centre

at which all Infinities converge, positive and negative alike blend

into an infinite ONE. Hence it has been said that there is nothing

like the light of nature.

Probably an allusion to Lao Tzŭ's "Use the light that is within you

to revert to your natural clearness of sight." We should then be able

to view things in their true light. See _Tao-Tê-Ching_, ch. lii., and

_The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 34.

"To take a finger in illustration of a finger not being a finger is not

so good as to take something which is not a finger. To take a horse in

illustration of a horse not being a horse is not so good as to take

something which is not a horse.

"So with the universe and all that in it is. These things are but

fingers and horses in this sense. The possible is possible: the

impossible is impossible. TAO operates, and given results follow.

Things receive names and are what they are. They achieve this by their

natural affinity for what they are and their natural antagonism to what

they are not. For all things have their own particular constitutions

and potentialities. Nothing can exist without these.

These last few sentences are repeated in ch. xxvii. _ad init._

"We can never know anything but phenomena. Things are what they are,

and their consequences will be what they will be."--_J. S. Mill._

"Therefore it is that, viewed from the standpoint of TAO, a beam and a

pillar are identical.

The horizontal with the vertical.

So are ugliness and beauty, greatness, wickedness, perverseness, and

strangeness. Separation is the same as construction: construction is

the same as destruction. Nothing is subject either to construction or

to destruction, for these conditions are brought together into ONE.

"Only the truly intelligent understand this principle of the identity

of all things. They do not view things as apprehended by themselves,

subjectively; but transfer themselves into the position of the things

viewed.

Avoiding the fallacious channels of the senses.

And viewing them thus they are able to comprehend them, nay, to master

them;--and he who can master them is near. So it is that to place

oneself in subjective relation with externals, without consciousness of

their objectivity,--this is TAO. But to wear out one's intellect in an

obstinate adherence to the individuality of things, not recognising the

fact that all things are ONE,--this is called _Three in the Morning_."

"What is _Three in the Morning_?" asked Tzŭ Yu.

"A keeper of monkeys," replied Tzŭ Ch'i, "said with regard to their

rations of chestnuts that each monkey was to have three in the morning

and four at night. But at this the monkeys were very angry, so the

keeper said they might have four in the morning and three at night,

with which arrangement they were all well pleased. The actual number

of the chestnuts remained the same, but there was an adaptation to

the likes and dislikes of those concerned. Such is the principle of

putting oneself into subjective relation with externals.

"Wherefore the true Sage, while regarding contraries as identical,

adapts himself to the laws of Heaven. This is called following two

courses at once.

He is thus prevented from trying to walk through walls, etc., as later

Taoists have professed themselves able to do, of course with a view

to gull the public and enrich themselves. "GOD," says Locke, "when he

makes the prophet, does not unmake the man."

So Carlyle in his essay on Novalis:--"To a Transcendentalist, matter

has an existence but only as a Phenomenon.... It is a mere relation,

or rather the result of a relation between our living souls and the

great First Cause."

"The knowledge of the men of old had a limit. It extended back to a

period when matter did not exist. That was the extreme point to which

their knowledge reached.

"The second period was that of matter, but of matter unconditioned.

By time or space. "Being, in itself," says Herbert Spencer, "out of

relation, is itself unthinkable." _Principles of Psychology_, iii. p.

258.

"The third epoch saw matter conditioned, but contraries were still

unknown. When these appeared, TAO began to decline. And with the

decline of TAO, individual bias arose.

"Have then these states of falling and rising real existences? Surely

they are but as the falling and rising of Chao Wên's music,--the

consequences of his playing.

Chao Wên played the guitar. Shih K'uang wielded the _bâton_.

To keep time.

Hui Tzŭ argued. Herein these three men excelled, and in the practice of

such arts they passed their lives.

"Hui Tzŭ's particular views being very different from those of the

world in general, he was correspondingly anxious to enlighten people.

But he did not enlighten them as he should have done,

By the cultivation and passive manifestation of his own inward light.

and consequently ended in the obscurity of the 'hard and white.'

Hui Tzŭ regarded such abstractions as hardness and whiteness as

separate existences, of which the mind could only be conscious

separately, one at a time.

Subsequently, his son searched his works for some clue, but never

succeeded in establishing the principle. And indeed if such were

possible to be established, then even I am established; but if not,

then neither I nor anything in the universe is established!

"Therefore what the true Sage aims at is the light which comes out

of darkness. He does not view things as apprehended by himself,

subjectively, but transfers himself into the position of the things

viewed. This is called using the light.

"There remains, however, Speech. Is that to be enrolled under either

category of contraries, or not? Whether it is so enrolled or not, it

will in any case belong to one or the other, and thus be as though it

had an objective existence. At any rate, I should like to hear some

speech which belongs to neither category.

Contraries being disposed of, there remains the vehicle _Speech_,

_i.e._ the actual terms in which it is stated that contraries have

ceased to be.

"If there was a beginning, then there was a time before that beginning.

And a time before the time which was before the time of that beginning.

"If there is existence, there must have been non-existence. And if

there was a time when nothing existed, then there must have been a time

before that--when even nothing did not exist. Suddenly, when nothing

came into existence, could one really say whether it belonged to the

category of existence or of non-existence? Even the very words I have

just now uttered,--I cannot say whether they have really been uttered

or not.

_I.e._ The words in the text, denying the existence of contraries.

"There is nothing under the canopy of heaven greater than the tip of an

autumn spikelet. A vast mountain is a small thing. Neither is there any

age greater than that of a child cut off in infancy. P'êng Tsu himself

died young. The universe and I came into being together; and I, and

everything therein, are ONE.

"If then all things are ONE, what room is there for Speech? On the

other hand, since I can utter these words, how can Speech not exist?

"If it does exist, we have ONE and Speech = two; and two and one =

three. From which point onwards even the best mathematicians will fail

to reach:

TAO.

how much more then will ordinary people fail?

"Hence, if from nothing you can proceed to something, and subsequently

reach three, it follows that it would be still more easy if you were to

start from something. To avoid such progression, you must put yourself

into subjective relation with the external.

"Before conditions existed, TAO was. Before definitions existed, Speech

was. Subjectively, we are conscious of certain delimitations which

are,--

Right and Left

Relationship and Obligation

Division and Discrimination

Emulation and Contention

These are called the _Eight Predicables_.

Not, of course, in the strict logical sense.

For the true Sage, beyond the limits of an external world, they exist,

but are not recognised. By the true Sage, within the limits of an

external world, they are recognised, but are not assigned. And so,

with regard to the wisdom of the ancients, as embodied in the canon of

_Spring and Autumn_,

Confucius' history of his native State. Now one of the canonical books

of China.

the true Sage assigns, but does not justify by argument. And thus,

classifying he does not classify; arguing, he does not argue."

"How can that be?" asked Tzŭ Yu.

"The true Sage," answered Tzŭ Ch'i, "keeps his knowledge within him,

while men in general set forth theirs in argument, in order to convince

each other. And therefore it is said that in argument he does not

manifest himself.

Others try to establish their own subjective view. The true Sage

remains passive, aiming only at the annihilation of contraries.

"Perfect TAO does not declare itself. Nor does perfect argument express

itself in words. Nor does perfect charity show itself in act. Nor

is perfect honesty absolutely incorruptible. Nor is perfect courage

absolutely unyielding.

"For the TAO which shines forth is not TAO. Speech which argues falls

short of its aim. Charity which has fixed points loses its scope.

Honesty which is absolute is wanting in credit. Courage which is

absolute misses its object. These five are, as it were, round, with a

strong bias towards squareness. Therefore that knowledge which stops at

what it does not know, is the highest knowledge.

"Who knows the argument which can be argued without words?--the TAO

which does not declare itself as TAO? He who knows this may be said

to be of GOD. To be able to pour in without making full, and pour out

without making empty, in ignorance of the power by which such results

are accomplished,--this is accounted _Light_."

Of old, the Emperor Yao said to Shun, "I would smite the Tsungs, and

the Kueis, and the Hsü-aos. Ever since I have been on the throne I have

had this desire. What do you think?"

"These three States," replied Shun, "are paltry out-of-the-way places.

Why can you not shake off this desire? Once upon a time, ten suns came

out together, and all things were illuminated thereby. How much more

then should virtue excel suns?"

Illustrating the use of "light." Instead of active force, substitute

the passive but irresistible influence of virtue complete. The sun

caused the traveller to lay aside his cloak when the north wind

succeeded only in making him draw it tighter around him.

Yeh Ch'üeh asked Wang I,

A disciple and tutor of remote antiquity. Said to have been two of the

four Sages on the Miao-ku-shê mountain mentioned in ch. i.

saying, "Do you know for certain that all things are subjectively the

same?"

"How can I know?" answered Wang I. "Do you know what you do not know?"

"How can I know?" replied Yeh Ch'üeh. "But can then nothing be known?"

"How can I know?" said Wang I. "Nevertheless, I will try to tell you.

How can it be known that what I call knowing is not really not knowing,

and that what I call not knowing is not really knowing? Now I would

ask you this. If a man sleeps in a damp place, he gets lumbago and

dies. But how about an eel? And living up in a tree is precarious and

trying to the nerves;--but how about monkeys? Of the man, the eel, and

the monkey, whose habitat is the right one, absolutely? Human beings

feed on flesh, deer on grass, centipedes on snakes, owls and crows on

mice. Of these four, whose is the right taste, absolutely? Monkey mates

with monkey, the buck with the doe; eels consort with fishes, while men

admire Mao Ch'iang and Li Chi,

Beauties of the fifth and seventh centuries B.C., respectively. The

commentators do not seem to have noted the very obvious anachronism

here involved.

at the sight of whom fishes plunge deep down in the water, birds soar

high in the air, and deer hurry away.

For shame at their own inferiority.

Yet who shall say which is the correct standard of beauty? In my

opinion, the standard of human virtue, and of positive and negative, is

so obscured that it is impossible to actually know it as such."

"If you then," asked Yeh Ch'üeh, "do not know what is bad for you, is

the Perfect Man equally without this knowledge?"

"The Perfect Man," answered Wang I, "is a spiritual being. Were the

ocean itself scorched up, he would not feel hot. Were the Milky Way

frozen hard, he would not feel cold. Were the mountains to be riven

with thunder, and the great deep to be thrown up by storm, he would not

tremble. In such case, he would mount upon the clouds of heaven, and

driving the sun and the moon before him, would pass beyond the limits

of this external world, where death and life have no more victory over

man;--how much less what is bad for him?"

* * * * *

Chü Ch'iao addressed Chang Wu Tzŭ

A disciple and tutor of antiquity.

as follows:--"I heard Confucius say, 'The true sage pays no heed to

mundane affairs. He neither seeks gain nor avoids injury. He asks

nothing at the hands of man. He adheres, without questioning, to TAO.

Without speaking, he can speak; and he can speak and yet say nothing.

And so he roams beyond the limits of this dusty world. These,' added

Confucius, 'are wild words.'

Han Fei Tzŭ tells us that Lao Tzŭ, whose doctrines Confucius seems to

be here deriding, said exactly the opposite of this; viz: "The true

Sage is beforehand in his attention to mundane affairs," _i.e._ "takes

time by the forelock." Neither utterance, however, appears in the

_Tao-Tê-Ching_. See _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 44.

Now to me they are the skilful embodiment of TAO. What, Sir, is your

opinion?"

"Points upon which the Yellow Emperor doubted," replied Chang Wu Tzŭ,

"how should Confucius know?

Lao Tzŭ and the Yellow Emperor have always been mixed up in the heads

of Taoist writers, albeit separated by a chasm of some two thousand

years. Confucius is here evidently dealing with the actual doctrines

of Lao Tzŭ.

You are going too fast. You see your egg, and expect to hear it crow.

You look at your cross-bow, and expect to have broiled duck before you.

I will say a few words to you at random, and do you listen at random.

"How does the Sage seat himself by the sun and moon, and hold the

universe in his grasp? He blends everything into one harmonious whole,

rejecting the confusion of this and that. Rank and precedence, which

the vulgar prize, the Sage stolidly ignores. The revolutions of ten

thousand years leave his Unity unscathed. The universe itself may pass

away, but he will flourish still.

"How do I know that love of life is not a delusion after all? How do I

know but that he who dreads to die is not as a child who has lost the

way and cannot find his home?

"The lady Li Chi was the daughter of Ai Fêng.

A border chieftain.

When the Duke of Chin first got her, she wept until the bosom of

her dress was drenched with tears. But when she came to the royal

residence, and lived with the Duke, and ate rich food, she repented

of having wept. How then do I know but that the dead repent of having

previously clung to life?

"Those who dream of the banquet, wake to lamentation and sorrow. Those

who dream of lamentation and sorrow wake to join the hunt. While they

dream, they do not know that they dream. Some will even interpret the

very dream they are dreaming; and only when they awake do they know

it was a dream. By and by comes the Great Awakening, and then we find

out that this life is really a great dream. Fools think they are awake

now, and flatter themselves they know if they are really princes or

peasants. Confucius and you are both dreams; and I who say you are

dreams,--I am but a dream myself. This is a paradox. Tomorrow a sage

may arise to explain it; but that tomorrow will not be until ten

thousand generations have gone by.

"Granting that you and I argue. If you beat me, and not I you, are you

necessarily right and I wrong? Or if I beat you and not you me, am I

necessarily right and you wrong? Or are we both partly right and partly

wrong? Or are we both wholly right and wholly wrong? You and I cannot

know this, and consequently the world will be in ignorance of the truth.

"Who shall I employ as arbiter between us? If I employ some one who

takes your view, he will side with you. How can such a one arbitrate

between us? If I employ some one who takes my view, he will side with

me. How can such a one arbitrate between us? And if I employ some one

who either differs from, or agrees with, both of us, he will be equally

unable to decide between us. Since then you, and I, and man, cannot

decide, must we not depend upon Another?

Upon God, in whose infinity all contraries blend indistinguishably

into ONE.

Such dependence is as though it were not dependence. We are embraced in

the obliterating unity of God. There is perfect adaptation to whatever

may eventuate; and so we complete our allotted span.

"But what is it to be embraced in the obliterating unity of God? It

is this. With reference to positive and negative, to that which is

so and that which is not so,--if the positive is really positive, it

must necessarily be different from its negative: there is no room for

argument. And if that which is so really is so, it must necessarily be

different from that which is not so: there is no room for argument.

"Take no heed of time, nor of right and wrong. But passing into the

realm of the Infinite, take your final rest therein."

Our refuge is in God alone, the Infinite Absolute. Contraries cannot

but exist, but they should exist independently of each other without

antagonism. Such a condition is found only in the all-embracing unity

of God, wherein all distinctions of positive and negative, of right

and wrong, of this and of that, are obliterated and merged in ONE.

Herbert Spencer says, "The antithesis of subject and object, never

to be transcended while consciousness lasts, renders impossible all

knowledge of the Ultimate Reality in which subject and object are

united." _Principles of Psychology_, i. p. 272.

The Penumbra said to the Umbra, "At one moment you move: at another

you are at rest. At one moment you sit down: at another you get up.

Why this instability of purpose?" "I depend," replied the Umbra, "upon

something which causes me to do as I do; and that something depends

in turn upon something else which causes it to do as it does. My

dependence is like that of a snake's scales or of a cicada's wings.

Which do not move of their own accord.

How can I tell why I do one thing, or why I do not do another?"

Showing how two or more may be the phenomena of one.

Once upon a time, I, Chuang Tzŭ, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering

hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was

conscious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and was

unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly, I awaked, and

there I lay, myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man

dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I

am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a barrier.

The transition is called _Metempsychosis_.

Showing how one may appear to be either of two.

NOURISHMENT OF THE SOUL.

_Argument_:--Life too short--Wisdom unattainable--Accommodation to

circumstances--Liberty paramount--Death a release--The soul immortal.

My life has a limit, but my knowledge is without limit. To drive the

limited in search of the limitless, is fatal; and the knowledge of

those who do this is fatally lost.

In striving for others, avoid fame. In striving for self, avoid

disgrace. Pursue a middle course. Thus you will keep a sound body, and

a sound mind, fulfil your duties, and work out your allotted span.

Prince Hui's cook was cutting up a bullock. Every blow of his hand,

every heave of his shoulders, every tread of his foot, every thrust of

his knee, every _whshh_ of rent flesh, every _chhk_ of the chopper, was

in perfect harmony,--rhythmical like the dance of the Mulberry Grove,

simultaneous like the chords of the Ching Shou.

Commentators are divided in their identifications of these ancient

_morceaux_.

"Well done!" cried the Prince. "Yours is skill indeed."

"Sire," replied the cook; "I have always devoted myself to TAO. It is

better than skill. When I first began to cut up bullocks, I saw before

me simply _whole_ bullocks. After three years' practice, I saw no more

whole animals.

Meaning that he saw them, so to speak, in sections.

And now I work with my mind and not with my eye. When my senses bid me

stop, but my mind urges me on, I fall back upon eternal principles.

I follow such openings or cavities as there may be, according to the

natural constitution of the animal. I do not attempt to cut through

joints: still less through large bones.

For a curious parallelism, see Plato's _Phædrus_, 265.

"A good cook changes his chopper once a year,--because he cuts. An

ordinary cook, once a month,--because he hacks. But I have had this

chopper nineteen years, and although I have cut up many thousand

bullocks, its edge is as if fresh from the whetstone. For at the joints

there are always interstices, and the edge of a chopper being without

thickness, it remains only to insert that which is without thickness

into such an interstice.

These words help to elucidate a much-vexed passage in ch. xliii of the

_Tao-Tê-Ching_. See _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 30.

By these means the interstice will be enlarged, and the blade will find

plenty of room. It is thus that I have kept my chopper for nineteen

years as though fresh from the whetstone.

"Nevertheless, when I come upon a hard part where the blade meets with

a difficulty, I am all caution. I fix my eye on it. I stay my hand, and

gently apply my blade, until with a _hwah_ the part yields like earth

crumbling to the ground. Then I take out my chopper, and stand up, and

look around, and pause, until with an air of triumph I wipe my chopper

and put it carefully away."

"Bravo!" cried the Prince. "From the words of this cook I have learnt

how to take care of my life."

Meaning that which informs life, _sc._ the soul.

When Hsien, of the Kung-wên family, beheld a certain official, he was

horrified, and said, "Who is that man? How came he to lose a foot? Is

this the work of God, or of man?

"Why, of course," continued Hsien, "it is the work of God, and not of

man. When God brought this man into the world, he wanted him to be

unlike other men. Men always have two feet. From this it is clear that

God and not man made him as he is.

It was by God's will that he took office with a view to personal

aggrandisement. That he got into trouble and suffered the common

punishment of loss of feet, cannot therefore be charged to man.

"Now, wild fowl get a peck once in ten steps, a drink once in a

hundred. Yet they do not want to be fed in a cage. For although they

would thus be able to command food, they would not be free."

And had our friend above kept out of the official cage he would still

have been independent as the fowls of the air.

When Lao Tzŭ died, Ch'in Shih went to mourn. He uttered three yells and

departed.

A disciple asked him saying, "Were you not our Master's friend?"

"I was," replied Ch'in Shih.

"And if so, do you consider that a sufficient expression of grief at

his loss?" added the disciple.

"I do," said Ch'in Shih. "I had believed him to be the man of all men,

but now I know that he was not. When I went in to mourn, I found old

persons weeping as if for their children, young ones wailing as if

for their mothers. And for him to have gained the attachment of those

people in this way, he too must have uttered words which should not

have been spoken, and dropped tears which should not have been shed,

thus violating eternal principles, increasing the sum of human emotion,

and forgetting the source from which his own life was received. The

ancients called such emotions the trammels of mortality. The Master

came, because it was his time to be born; he went, because it was his

time to die. For those who accept the phenomenon of birth and death in

this sense, lamentation and sorrow have no place. The ancients spoke

of death as of God cutting down a man suspended in the air. The fuel

is consumed, but the fire may be transmitted, and we know not that it

comes to an end."

The soul, according to Chuang Tzŭ, if duly nourished and not allowed

to wear itself out with the body in the pursuits of mortality, may

become immortal and return beatified to the Great Unknown whence it

came.

MAN AMONG MEN.

_Argument_:--Man must fall in with his mortal environment--His virtue

should be passive, not active--He should be rather than do--Talents a

hindrance--But of petty uselessness great usefulness is achieved.

Yen Hui went to take leave of Confucius.

A disciple of the Sage. Also known as Tzŭ Yüan.

"Whither are you bound?" asked the Master.

"I am going to the State of Wei," was the reply.

"And what do you propose to do there?" continued Confucius.

"I hear," answered Yen Hui, "that the Prince of Wei is of mature age,

but of an unmanageable disposition. He behaves as if the State were of

no account, and will not see his own faults. Consequently, the people

perish; and their corpses lie about like so much undergrowth in a

marsh. They are at extremities. And I have heard you, Sir, say that if

a State is well governed it may be neglected; but that if it is badly

governed, then we should visit it.

In the _Lun Yü_, Confucius says exactly the opposite of this.

The science of medicine embraces many various diseases. I would test

my knowledge in this sense, that perchance I may do some good to that

State."

"Alas!" cried Confucius, "you will only succeed in bringing evil upon

yourself. For TAO must not be distributed. If it is, it will lose its

unity. If it loses its unity, it will be uncertain; and so cause mental

disturbance,--from which there is no escape.

"The sages of old first got TAO for themselves, and then got it for

others. Before you possess this yourself, what leisure have you to

attend to the doings of wicked men? Besides, do you know what Virtue

results in and where Wisdom ends? Virtue results in a desire for

fame; Wisdom ends in contentions. In the struggle for fame men crush

each other, while their wisdom but provokes rivalry. Both are baleful

instruments, and may not be incautiously used.

"Besides, those who, before influencing by their own solid virtue and

unimpeachable sincerity, and before reaching the heart by the example

of their own disregard for name and fame, go and preach charity and

duty to one's neighbour to wicked men,--only make these men hate them

for their very goodness' sake. Such persons are called _evil speakers_.

And those who speak evil of others are apt to be evil spoken of

themselves. That, alas! will be your end.

"On the other hand, if the Prince loves the good and hates the bad,

what object will you have in inviting him to change his ways? Before

you have opened your mouth to preach, the Prince himself will have

seized the opportunity to wrest the victory from you. Your eye will

fall, your expression fade, your words will stick, your face will

change, and your heart will die within you. It will be as though you

took fire to quell fire, water to quell water, which is popularly known

as 'pouring oil on the flames.' And if you begin with concessions,

there will be no end to them. Neglect this sound advice, and you will

be the victim of that violent man.

"Of old, Chieh murdered Kuan Lung Fêng, and Chou slew Prince Pi Kan.

Their victims were both men who cultivated virtue themselves in

order to secure the welfare of the people. But in doing this they

offended their superiors; and therefore, because of that very moral

culture, their superiors got rid of them, in order to guard their own

reputations.

Chieh and Chou are the two typical tyrants of Chinese history.

"Of old, Yao attacked the Ts'ung-chih and Hsü-ao countries, and Yü

attacked the Yu-hu country. Homes were desolated and families destroyed

by the slaughter of the inhabitants. Yet they fought without ceasing,

and strove for victory to the last. These are instances known to all.

Now if the Sages of old failed in their efforts against this love of

fame, this desire for victory,--are you likely to succeed? But of

course you have a scheme. Tell it to me."

"Gravity of demeanour," replied Yen Hui, "and dispassionateness; energy

and singleness of purpose,--will this do?"

"Alas!" said Confucius, "that will not do. If you make a show of being

perfect and obtrude yourself, the Prince's mood will be doubtful.

Ordinarily, he is not opposed, and so he has come to take actual

pleasure in trampling upon the feelings of others. And if he has thus

failed in the practice of routine virtues, do you expect that he will

take readily to higher ones? You may insist, but without result.

Outwardly you will be right, but inwardly wrong. How then will you make

him mend his ways?"

"Just so," replied Yen Hui. "I am inwardly straight, and outwardly

crooked, completed after the models of antiquity.

"He who is inwardly straight is a servant of God. And he who is a

servant of God knows that the Son of Heaven

The Emperor.

and himself are equally the children of God. Shall then such a one

trouble whether man visits him with evil or with good? Man indeed

regards him as a child; and this is to be a servant of God.

(1) Children are everywhere exempt.--This is the first limb of a

threefold argument.

"He who is outwardly crooked is a servant of man. He bows, he kneels,

he folds his hands;--such is the ceremonial of a minister. What all men

do, shall I dare not to do? What all men do, none will blame me for

doing. This is to be a servant of man.

(2) The individual is not punished for the faults of the community.

"He who is completed after the models of antiquity is a servant of the

Sages of old. Although I utter the words of warning and take him to

task, it is the Sages of old who speak, and not I. Thus my uprightness

will not bring me into trouble, the servant of the Sages of old.--Will

this do?"

(3) The responsibility rests, not with the mouthpiece, but with the

authors of the doctrines enunciated.

"Alas!" replied Confucius, "No. Your plans are too many, and are

lacking in prudence. However, your firmness will secure you from harm;

but that is all. You will not influence him to such an extent that he

shall seem to follow the dictates of his own heart."

"Then," said Yen Hui, "I am without resource, and venture to ask for a

method."

Confucius said, "_FAST_.... Let me explain. You have a method, but it

is difficult to practise. Those which are easy are not from God."

"Well," replied Yen Hui, "my family is poor, and for many months we

have tasted neither wine nor flesh. Is not that fasting?"

"The fasting of religious observance it is," answered Confucius, "but

not the fasting of the heart."

"And may I ask," said Yen Hui, "in what consists the fasting of the

heart?"

"Cultivate unity," replied Confucius.

Make of the mind as it were an undivided indivisible ONE.

"You hear not with the ears, but with the mind; not with the mind, but

with your soul.

The vital fluid which informs your whole being; in fact, "with your

whole self."

But let hearing stop with the ears. Let the working of the mind stop

with itself. Then the soul will be a negative existence, passively

responsive to externals. In such a negative existence, only TAO can

abide. And that negative state is the fasting of the heart."

"Then," said Yen Hui, "the reason I could not get the use of this

method is my own individuality. If I could get the use of it, my

individuality would have gone. Is this what you mean by the negative

state?"

"Exactly so," replied the Master. "Let me tell you. If you can enter

this man's domain without offending his _amour propre_, cheerful if he

hears you, passive if he does not; without science, without drugs,

simply living there in a state of complete indifference,--you will

be near success. It is easy to stop walking: the trouble is to walk

without touching the ground. As an agent of man, it is easy to deceive;

but not as an agent of God. You have heard of winged creatures flying.

You have never heard of flying without wings. You have heard of men

being wise with wisdom. You have never heard of men wise without wisdom.

Wise of God, without the wisdom of man.

"Look at that window. Through it an empty room becomes bright with

scenery; but the landscape stops outside. Were this not so, we should

have an exemplification of sitting still and running away at one and

the same time.

An empty room would contain something,--a paradox like that in the

text.

"In this sense, you may use your ears and eyes to communicate within,

but shut out all wisdom from the mind.

Let the channels of your senses be to your mind what a window is to an

empty room.

And there where the supernatural

Something which is and yet is not, like the landscape seen in, and yet

not in, a room.

can find shelter, shall not man find shelter too? This is the method

for regenerating all creation.

By passive, not by active, virtue.

It was the instrument which Yü and Shun employed. It was the secret

of the success of Fu Hsi and Chi Chü. Shall it not then be adopted by

mankind in general?"

Who stand much more in need of regeneration than such worthies as were

these ancient Emperors.

Tzŭ Kao, Duke of Shê,

A district of the Ch'u State.

being about to go on a mission to the Ch'i State, asked Confucius,

saying, "The mission my sovereign is sending me on is a most important

one. Of course, I shall be received with all due respect, but they

will not take the same interest in the matter that I shall. And as an

ordinary person cannot be pushed, still less a Prince, I am in a state

of great alarm.

"Now you, Sir, have told me that in all undertakings great and small,

TAO alone leads to a happy issue. Otherwise that, failing success,

there is to be feared punishment from without, and with success,

punishment from within; while exemption in case either of success or

non-success falls only to the share of those who possess the virtue

required.

_I.e._ those to whom the issue, as regards their own reward or

punishment, is a matter of the completest indifference.

The term _virtue_, here as elsewhere unless specially notified, should

be understood in the sense of exemplification of TAO.

"Well, I am not dainty with my food; neither am I always wanting to

cool myself when hot. However, this morning I received my orders, and

this evening I have been drinking iced water. I am so hot inside.

Before I have put my hand to the business I am suffering punishment

from within; and if I do not succeed I am sure to suffer punishment

from without. Thus I get both punishments, which is really more than I

can bear. Kindly tell me what there is to be done."

"There exist two sources of safety," Confucius replied. "One is

_Destiny_: the other is _Duty_. A child's love for its parents

is destiny. It is inseparable from the child's life. A subject's

allegiance to his sovereign is duty. Beneath the canopy of heaven there

is no place to which he can escape from it. These two sources of safety

may be explained as follows. To serve one's parents without reference

to _place_ but only to the service, is the acme of filial piety. To

serve one's prince without reference to the _act_ but only to the

service, is the perfection of a subject's loyalty. To serve one's own

heart so as to permit neither joy nor sorrow within, but to cultivate

resignation to the inevitable,--this is the climax of Virtue.

"Now a minister often finds himself in circumstances over which he

has no control. But if he simply confines himself to his work, and

is utterly oblivious of self, what leisure has he for loving life or

hating death? And so you may safely go.

"But I have yet more to tell you. All intercourse, if personal, should

be characterised by sincerity. If from a distance, it should be carried

on in loyal terms. These terms will have to be transmitted by some one.

Now the transmission of messages of good- or ill-will is the hardest

thing possible. Messages of good-will are sure to be overdone with fine

phrases; messages of ill-will with harsh ones. In each case the result

is exaggeration, and a consequent failure to carry conviction, for

which the envoy suffers. Therefore it was said in the _Fa-yen_,

Name of an ancient book.

'Confine yourself to simple statements of fact, shorn of all

superfluous expression of feeling, and your risk will be small.'

"In trials of skill, at first all is friendliness; but at last it is

all antagonism. Skill is pushed too far. So on festive occasions, the

drinking which is in the beginning orderly enough, degenerates into

riot and disorder. Festivity is pushed too far. It is in fact the same

with all things: they begin with good faith and end with contempt. From

small beginnings come great endings.

"Speech is like wind to wave. Action is liable to divergence from its

true goal. By wind, waves are easily excited. Divergence from the

true goal is fraught with danger. Thus angry feelings rise up without

a cause. Specious words and dishonest arguments follow, as the wild

random cries of an animal at the point of death. Both sides give

way to passion. For where one party drives the other too much into a

corner, resistance will always be provoked without apparent cause. And

if the cause is not apparent, how much less will the ultimate effect be

so?

"Therefore it is said in the _Fa-yen_, 'Neither deviate from nor travel

beyond your instructions.

"Travel beyond your instructions," is literally, "urge a settlement."

To pass the limit is to go to excess.'

"To deviate from, or to travel beyond instructions, may imperil the

negotiation. A settlement to be successful must be lasting. It is too

late to change an evil settlement once made.

"Therefore let yourself be carried along without fear, taking refuge in

_no alternative_ to preserve you from harm on either side. This is the

utmost you can do. What need for considering your obligations? Better

leave all to Destiny, difficult as this may be."

It is passing strange that this exposition of the _laissez-aller_

inaction doctrine of TAO should be placed in the mouth of Confucius,

who is thus made in some measure to discredit his own teachings. The

commentators, however, see nothing anomalous in the position here

assigned to the Sage.

Yen Ho

A philosopher from the Lu State.

was about to become tutor to the eldest son of Prince Ling of the Wei

State. Accordingly he observed to Chü Poh Yü,

Prime Minister of the Wei State.

"Here is a man whose disposition is naturally of a low order. To let

him take his own unprincipled way is to endanger the State. To try

to restrain him is to endanger one's personal safety. He has just

wit enough to see faults in others, but not to see his own. I am

consequently at a loss what to do."

"A good question indeed," replied Chü Poh Yü, "You must be careful,

and begin by self-reformation. Outwardly you may adapt yourself, but

inwardly you must keep up to your own standard. In this there are two

points to be guarded against. You must not let the outward adaptation

penetrate within, nor the inward standard manifest itself without.

In the former case, you will fall, you will be obliterated, you will

collapse, you will lie prostrate. In the latter case, you will be a

sound, a name, a bogie, an uncanny thing. If he would play the child,

do you play the child too. If he cast aside all sense of decorum, do

you do so too. As far as he goes, do you go also. Thus you will reach

him without offending him.

"Don't you know the story of the praying mantis? In its rage it

stretched out its arms to prevent a chariot from passing, unaware

that this was beyond its strength, so admirable was its energy! Be

cautious. If you are always offending others by your superiority, you

will probably come to grief.

"Do you not know that those who keep tigers do not venture to give them

live animals as food, for fear of exciting their fury when killing the

prey? Also, that whole animals are not given, for fear of exciting the

tigers' fury when rending them? The periods of hunger and repletion are

carefully watched in order to prevent such outbursts. The tiger is

of a different species from man; but the latter too is manageable if

properly managed, unmanageable if excited to fury.

"Those who are fond of horses surround them with various conveniences.

Sometimes mosquitoes or flies trouble them; and then, unexpectedly to

the animal, a groom will brush them off, the result being that the

horse breaks his bridle, and hurts his head and chest. The intention is

good, but there is a want of real care for the horse. Against this you

must be on your guard."

* * * * *

A certain artisan was travelling to the Ch'i State. On reaching

Ch'ü-yüan, he saw a sacred _li_ tree,

A worthless species of oak.

large enough to hide an ox behind it, a hundred spans in girth,

towering up ten cubits over the hill top, and carrying behind it

branches, many tens of the smallest of which were of a size for boats.

Crowds stood gazing at it, but our artisan took no notice, and went on

his way without even casting a look behind. His apprentice however

gazed his fill, and when he caught up his master, said, "Ever since I

have handled an adze in your service, I have never seen such a splendid

piece of timber as that. How was it that you, sir, did not care to stop

and look at it?"

"It's not worth talking about," replied his master. "It's good for

nothing. Make a boat of it,--'twould sink. A coffin,--'twould rot.

Furniture,--'twould soon break down. A door,--'twould sweat. A

pillar,--'twould be worm-eaten. It is wood of no quality, and of no

use. That is why it has attained its present age."

When the artisan reached home, he dreamt that the tree appeared to

him in a dream and spoke as follows:--"What is it that you compare me

with? Is it with the more elegant trees?--The cherry-apple, the pear,

the orange, the pumelo, and other fruit-bearers, as soon as their

fruit ripens are stripped and treated with indignity. The great boughs

are snapped off, the small ones scattered abroad. Thus do these trees

by their own value injure their own lives. They cannot fulfil their

allotted span of years, but perish prematurely in mid-career from

their entanglement with the world around them. Thus it is with all

things. For a long period my aim was to be useless. Many times I was in

danger, but at length I succeeded, and so became useful as I am to-day.

But had I then been of use, I should not now be of the great use I

am. Moreover, you and I belong both to the same category of things.

Have done then with this criticism of others. Is a good-for-nothing

fellow whose dangers are not yet passed a fit person to talk of a

good-for-nothing tree?"

When our artisan awaked and told his dream, his apprentice said, "If

the tree aimed at uselessness, how was it that it became a sacred tree?"

Which of course may be said to be of use.

"What you don't understand," replied his master, "don't talk about.

That was merely to escape from the attacks of its enemies. Had it not

become sacred, how many would have wanted to cut it down! The means of

safety adopted were different from ordinary means,

In order to reach the somewhat extraordinary goal of uselessness.

and to test these by ordinary canons leaves one far wide of the mark."

* * * * *

Tzŭ Ch'i of Nan-poh

Said to be identical with the individual mentioned at the beginning of

ch. ii.

was travelling on the Shang mountain when he saw a large tree which

astonished him very much. A thousand chariot teams could have found

shelter under its shade.

"What tree is this?" cried Tzŭ Ch'i. "Surely it must have unusually

fine timber." Then looking up, he saw that its branches were too

crooked for rafters; while as to the trunk he saw that its irregular

grain made it valueless for coffins. He tasted a leaf, but it took the

skin off his lips; and its odour was so strong that it would make a man

as it were drunk for three days together.

"Ah!" said Tzŭ Ch'i. "This tree is good for nothing, and that is how it

has attained this size. A wise man might well follow its example."

And so escape danger from his surroundings.

In the State of Sung there is a place called Ching-shih, where thrive

the beech, the cedar, and the mulberry. Such as are of a one-handed

span or so in girth are cut down for monkey-cages. Those of two or

three two-handed spans are cut down for the beams of fine houses. Those

of seven or eight such spans are cut down for the solid sides of rich

men's coffins.

To this day, the very best kinds of wood are still reserved for the

"planks of old age."

Thus they do not fulfil their allotted span of years, but perish in

mid-career beneath the axe. Such is the misfortune which overtakes

worth.

For the sacrifices to the River God, neither bulls with white cheeks,

nor pigs with large snouts, nor men suffering from piles, were allowed

to be used. This had been revealed to the soothsayers, and these

characteristics were consequently regarded as inauspicious. The wise,

however, would regard them as extremely auspicious.

Readers of _Don Juan_ will recollect how the master's mate had reason

to share his view.

There was a hunchback named Su. His jaws touched his navel. His

shoulders were higher than his head. His hair knot looked up to the

sky. His viscera were upside down. His buttocks were where his ribs

should have been. By tailoring, or washing, he was easily able to earn

his living. By sifting rice he could make enough to support a family of

ten.

In all of which occupations a man would necessarily stoop.

When orders came down for a conscription, the hunchback stood

unconcerned among the crowd. And similarly, in matters of public works,

his deformity shielded him from being employed.

On the other hand, when it came to donations of grain, the hunchback

received as much as three _chung_,

An ancient measure of uncertain capacity.

and of firewood, ten faggots. And if physical deformity was thus enough

to preserve his body until its allotted end, how much more would not

moral and mental deformity avail!

A moral and mental deviation would be still more likely to condemn a

man to that neglect from his fellows which is so conducive to our real

welfare.

When Confucius was in the Ch'u State, the eccentric Chieh Yü passed his

door, saying, "O phœnix, O phœnix, how has thy virtue fallen!--

By thus issuing forth out of due season.

unable to wait for the coming years or to go back into the past.

When you might be, or might have been, of use. The idea conveyed is

that Confucianism was unsuited to its age. See _Lun-yü_, ch. xviii.

If TAO prevails on earth, prophets will fulfil their mission. If TAO

does not prevail, they will but preserve themselves. At the present day

they will but just escape.

"The honours of this world are light as feathers, yet none estimate

them at their true value. The misfortunes of this life are weighty as

the earth itself, yet none can keep out of their reach. No more, no

more, seek to influence by virtue. Beware, beware, move cautiously on!

O ferns, O ferns, wound not my steps! Through my tortuous journey wound

not my feet! Hills suffer from the trees they produce. Fat burns by its

own combustibility. Cinnamon trees furnish food: therefore they are

cut down. The lacquer tree is felled for use. All men know the use of

useful things; but they do not know the use of useless things."

THE EVIDENCE OF VIRTUE COMPLETE.

_Argument_:--Correspondence between inward virtue and outward

influence--The virtuous man disregards externals--The possession

of virtue causes oblivion of outward form--Neglect of the

human--Cultivation of the divine.

In the State of Lu there was a man, named Wang T'ai, who had had his

toes cut off. His disciples were as numerous as those of Confucius.

Ch'ang Chi

One of the latter.

asked Confucius, saying, "This Wang T'ai has been mutilated, yet

he divides with you, Sir, the teaching of the Lu State. He neither

preaches nor discusses; yet those who go to him empty, depart full. He

must teach _the doctrine which does not find expression in words_;

The doctrine of TAO. These words occur in chs. ii and xliii of the

_Tao-Tê-Ching_. See _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 7.

and although his shape is imperfect, his mind is perhaps complete. What

manner of man is this?"

"He is a prophet," replied Confucius, "whose instruction I have been

late in seeking. I will go and learn from him. And if I,--why not those

who are not equal to me? And I will take with me, not the State of Lu

only, but the whole world."

"The fellow has been mutilated," said Ch'ang Chi, "and yet people call

him _Master_. He must be very different from the ordinary run. But how

does he use his mind in this sense?"

"Life and Death are all powerful," answered Confucius, "but they cannot

affect _it_.

The mind, or soul, which is immortal. See ch. iii.

Heaven and earth may collapse, but _that_ will remain. If _this_ is

found to be without flaw, it will not share the fate of all things. It

can cause other things to change, while preserving its own constitution

intact."

"How so?" asked Ch'ang Chi.

"From the point of view of difference," replied Confucius, "we

distinguish between the liver and the gall, between the Ch'u State and

the Yüeh State. From the point of view of sameness, all things are

ONE. Such is the position of Wang T'ai. He does not trouble about what

reaches him through the senses of hearing and sight, but directs his

whole mind towards the very climax of virtue. He beholds all things

as though ONE, without observing their discrepancies. And thus the

discrepancy of his toes is to him as would be the loss of so much mud."

"He devotes himself in fact to himself," said Ch'ang Chi, "and uses his

wisdom to perfect his mind, until it becomes perfect. But how then is

it that people make so much of him?"

His virtue being wholly, as it were, of a selfish order.

"A man," replied Confucius, "does not seek to see himself in running

water, but in still water. For only what is itself still can instil

stillness into others.

"The grace of earth has reached only to pines and cedars;--winter and

summer alike they are green. The grace of God has reached to Yao and to

Shun alone;--the first and foremost of all creation. Happily they were

able to regulate their own lives and thus regulate the lives of all

mankind.

"By nourishment of physical courage, the sense of fear may be so

eliminated that a man will, single-handed, brave a whole army. And if

such a result can be achieved in search of fame, how much more by one

who extends his sway over heaven and earth and influences all things;

and who, lodging within the confines of a body with its channels of

sight and sound, brings his knowledge to know that all things are ONE,

and that his soul endures for ever! Besides, he awaits his appointed

hour, and men flock to him of their own accord. He makes no effort to

attract them."

That men thus gather around him is the outward sign or evidence of his

inward virtue complete.

Shên T'u Chia had had his toes cut off. Subsequently, he studied under

Poh Hun Wu Jen at the same time as Tzŭ Ch'an of the Chêng State. The

latter said to him, "When I leave first, do you remain awhile. When you

leave first, I will remain behind."

Tzŭ Ch'an was a model minister of the sixth century B.C. Under his

guidance the people of the Chêng State became so virtuous that doors

were not locked at night, nor would any one pick up lost articles left

lying in the road. He was hardly likely to be ashamed of walking out

with a mutilated criminal.

Next day, when they were again together in the lecture-room, Tzŭ Ch'an

said, "When I leave first, do you remain awhile. When you leave first,

I will remain. I am now about to go. Will you remain or not? I notice

you show no respect to a Minister of State. Perhaps you think yourself

my equal?"

"Dear me!" replied Shên T'u Chia, "I didn't know we had a Minister of

State in the class. Perhaps you think that because you are one you

should take precedence over the rest. Now I have heard that if a mirror

is perfectly bright, dust and dirt will not collect on it. That if they

do, it is because the mirror was not bright. He who associates for

long with the wise will be without fault. Now you have been improving

yourself at the feet of our Master, yet you can utter words like these.

Is not the fault in you?"

"You are a fine fellow, certainly," retorted Tzŭ Ch'an, "you will be

emulating the virtue of Yao next. To look at you, I should say you had

enough to do to attend to your own shortcomings!"

A sneer at his want of toes.

"Those who disguise their faults," said Shên T'u Chia, "so as not to

lose their toes, are many in number. Those who do not disguise their

faults, and so fail to keep them, are few. To recognise the inevitable

and to quietly acquiesce in Destiny, is the achievement of the virtuous

man alone. He who should put himself in front of the bull's-eye when

Hou I

A Chinese Tell.

was shooting, would be hit. If he was not hit, it would be destiny.

Those with toes who laugh at me for having no toes are many. This

used to make me angry. But since I have studied under our Master, I

have ceased to trouble about it. It may be that our Master has so far

succeeded in purifying me. At any rate I have been with him nineteen

years without being aware of the loss of my toes. Now you and I are

engaged in studying the internal. Do you not then commit a fault by

thus dragging me back to the external?"

At this Tzŭ Ch'an began to fidget, and changing countenance, begged

Shên T'u Chia to say no more.

* * * * *

There was a man of the Lu State who had been mutilated,--Shu Shan

_No-toes_. He came walking on his heels to see Confucius; but Confucius

said, "You did not take care, and so brought this misfortune upon

yourself. What is the use of coming to me now?"

"In my ignorance," replied No-toes, "I made free with my body and lost

my toes. But I come with something more precious than toes which I

now seek to keep. There is no man, but Heaven covers him: there is no

man, but Earth supports him;--and I thought that you, sir, would be as

Heaven and Earth. I little expected to hear these words from you."

"I must apologise," said Confucius. "Pray walk in and let us discuss."

But No-toes walked out.

"There!" said Confucius to his disciples. "There is a criminal without

toes who seeks to learn in order to make atonement for his previous

misdeeds. And if he, how much more those who have no misdeeds for which

to atone?"

No-toes went off to Lao Tzŭ and said, "Is Confucius a sage, or is he

not? How is it he has so many disciples? He aims at being a subtle

dialectician, not knowing that such a reputation is regarded by real

sages as the fetters of a criminal."

"Why do you not meet him with the continuity of life and death, the

identity of _can_ and _can not_," answered Lao Tzŭ, "and so release him

from these fetters?"

"He has been thus punished by God," replied No-toes. "It would be

impossible to release him."

A sneer at Confucius. No-toes himself had only been punished by man.

Duke Ai of the Lu State said to Confucius, "In the Wei State there is a

leper, named Ai T'ai T'o. The men who live with him like him and make

no effort to get rid of him. Of the women who have seen him, many have

said to their parents, Rather than be another man's wife, I would be

his concubine.

"He never preaches at people, but puts himself into sympathy with

them. He wields no power by which he may protect men's bodies. He has

at his disposal no appointments by which to gratify their hearts. He

is loathsome to a degree. He sympathises, but does not instruct. His

knowledge is limited to his own State. Yet males and females alike all

congregate around him.

"So thinking that he must be different from ordinary men, I sent for

him, and saw that he was indeed loathsome to a degree. Yet we had not

been many months together ere my attention was fixed upon his conduct.

A year had not elapsed ere I trusted him thoroughly; and as my State

wanted a Prime Minister, I offered the post to him. He accepted it

sullenly, as if he would much rather have declined. Perhaps he didn't

think me good enough for him! At any rate, he took it; but in a very

short time he left me and went away. I grieved for him as for a lost

friend, and as though there were none left with whom I could rejoice.

What manner of man is this?

"When I was on a mission to the Ch'u State," replied Confucius, "I saw

a litter of young pigs sucking their dead mother. After a while they

looked at her, and then they all left the body and went off. For their

mother did not look at them any more, nor did she any more seem to be

of their kind. What they loved was their mother; not the body which

contained her, but that which made the body what it was.

"When a man is killed in battle, his arms are not buried with him.

He has no further use for weapons.

A man whose toes have been cut off does not value a present of boots.

In each case the function of such things is gone.

"The concubines of the Son of Heaven do not cut their nails or pierce

their ears.

For fear of injuring their persons.

He who has a marriageable daughter keeps her away from menial work. To

preserve her beauty is quite enough occupation for her. How much more

so for a man of perfect virtue?

Who should trouble himself only about the internal.

"Now Ai T'ai T'o says nothing, and is trusted. He does nothing, and is

sought after. He causes a man to offer him the government of his own

State, and the only fear is lest he should decline. Truly his talents

are perfect and his virtue without outward form!"

"What do you mean by his talents being perfect?" asked the Duke.

"Life and Death," replied Confucius, "existence and non-existence,

success and non-success, poverty and wealth, virtue and vice, good and

evil report, hunger and thirst, warmth and cold,--these all revolve

upon the changing wheel of Destiny. Day and night they follow one

upon the other, and no man can say where each one begins. Therefore

they cannot be allowed to disturb the harmony of the organism, nor

enter into the soul's domain. Swim however with the tide, so as not to

offend others. Do this day by day without break, and live in peace with

mankind. Thus you will be ready for all contingencies, and may be said

to have your talents perfect."

"And virtue without outward form; what is that?"

"In a water-level," said Confucius, "the water is in a most perfect

state of repose. Let that be your model. The water remains quietly

within, and does not overflow. It is from the cultivation of such

harmony that virtue results. And if virtue takes no outward form, man

will not be able to keep aloof from it."

Mankind will be regenerated thereby, in the same way that evenness is

imparted by the aid of water to surfaces, although the water is all

the time closed up and does not overflow.

Some days afterwards Duke Ai told Min Tzŭ,

One of Confucius' disciples.

saying, "When first I took the reins of government in hand, I thought

that in caring for my people's lives I had done all my duty as a ruler.

But now that I have heard what a perfect man is, I fear that I have not

been succeeding, but foolishly using my body and working destruction

to my State. Confucius and I are not prince and minister, but merely

friends with a care for each other's moral welfare."

A certain hunchback, named Wu Ch'un, whose heels did not touch the

ground, had the ear of Duke Ling of Wei. The Duke took a great fancy to

him; and as for well-formed men, he thought their necks were too short.

Another man, with a goitre as big as a large jar, had the ear of

Duke Huan of Ch'i. The Duke took a great fancy to him; and as for

well-formed men, he thought their necks were too thin.

Thus it is that virtue should prevail and outward form be forgotten.

But mankind forgets not that which is to be forgotten, forgetting that

which is not to be forgotten. This is forgetfulness indeed! And thus

with the truly wise, wisdom is a curse, sincerity like glue, virtue

only a means to acquire, and skill nothing more than a commercial

capacity. For the truly wise make no plans, and therefore require no

wisdom. They do not separate, and therefore require no glue. They

want nothing, and therefore need no virtue. They sell nothing,

and therefore are not in want of a commercial capacity. These four

qualifications are bestowed upon them by God and serve as heavenly food

to them. And those who thus feed upon the divine have little need for

the human. They wear the forms of men, without human passions. Because

they wear the forms of men, they associate with men. Because they have

not human passions, positives and negatives find in them no place.

Infinitesimal indeed is that which makes them man: infinitely great is

that which makes them divine!

Hui Tzŭ said to Chuang Tzŭ, "Are there then men who have no passions?"

Chuang Tzŭ replied, "Certainly."

"But if a man has no passions," argued Hui Tzŭ, "what is it that makes

him a man?"

"TAO," replied Chuang Tzŭ, "gives him his expression, and God gives him

his form. How should he not be a man?"

"If then he is a man," said Hui Tzŭ, "how can he be without passions?"

"What you mean by passions," answered Chuang Tzŭ, "is not what I mean.

By a man without passions I mean one who does not permit good and evil

to disturb his internal economy, but rather falls in with whatever

happens, as a matter of course, and does not add to the sum of his

mortality."

The play of passion would tend to create conditions which otherwise

would not exist.

"But whence is man to get his body," asked Hui Tzŭ, "if there is to be

no adding to the sum of mortality?"

This is of course a gibe. Hui Tzŭ purposely takes Chuang Tzŭ's words

_à double entente_.

"TAO gives him his expression," said Chuang Tzŭ, "and God gives him his

form. He does not permit good and evil to disturb his internal economy.

But now you are devoting your intelligence to externals, and wearing

out your mental powers. You prop yourself against a tree and mutter, or

lean over a table with half-closed eyes.

God has made you a shapely sight,

Yet your only thought is the _hard and white_."

Chang Tzŭ puts his last sentence into doggerel, the more effectively

to turn the tables against Hui Tzŭ, whose paradoxical theories he is

never tired of ridiculing. See ch. ii.

THE GREAT SUPREME.

_Argument_:--The human and the divine--The pure men of old--Their

qualifications--Their self-abstraction--All things as ONE--The known

and the unknown--Life a boon--Death a transition--Life eternal open to

all--The way thither--Illustrations.

He who knows what God is, and who knows what Man is, has attained.

Knowing what God is, he knows that he himself proceeded therefrom.

Knowing what Man is, he rests in the knowledge of the known, waiting

for the knowledge of the unknown. Working out one's allotted span, and

not perishing in mid career,--this is the fulness of knowledge.

God is a principle which exists by virtue of its own intrinsicality,

and operates spontaneously, without self-manifestation.

It is in the human that the divine finds expression. Man emanates from

God, and should therefore be on earth, in this brief life of ours,

what God is for all eternity in the universe.

Herein, however, there is a flaw. Knowledge is dependent upon

fulfilment. And as this fulfilment is uncertain, how can it be known

that my divine is not really human, my human really divine?

Not until death lifts the veil can we truly know that this life

is bounded at each end by an immortality to which the soul finally

reverts.

"Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate,

All but the page prescribed, their present state."

We must have _pure men_, and then only can we have _pure knowledge_.

"Pure" must be understood in the sense of transcendent.

But what is a pure man?--The pure men of old acted without calculation,

not seeking to secure results. They laid no plans. Therefore, failing,

they had no cause for regret; succeeding, no cause for congratulation.

And thus they could scale heights without fear; enter water without

becoming wet; fire, without feeling hot. So far had their wisdom

advanced towards TAO.

"The world-spirit is a good swimmer, and storms and waves cannot drown

him."--_Emerson._

The pure men of old slept without dreams, and waked without anxiety.

They ate without discrimination, breathing deep breaths. For pure men

draw breath from their uttermost depths; the vulgar only from their

throats.

"Uttermost depths" is literally "heels," but all the best commentators

take the sentence to mean that pure men breathe with their whole

being, and not as it were superficially, from the throat only.

This passage is probably responsible for the trick of taking deep

inhalations of morning air, practised (not without scientific

foundation) by the followers of the debased Taoism of modern times.

Other tricks for prolonging life, such as swallowing the saliva three

times in every two hours, etc., are more open to adverse criticism.

See the _T'ai-Hsi-Ching_.

Out of the crooked, words are retched up like vomit. If men's passions

are deep, their divinity is shallow.

The pure men of old did not know what it was to love life or to

hate death. They did not rejoice in birth, nor strive to put off

dissolution. Quickly come, and quickly go;--no more. They did not

forget whence it was they had sprung, neither did they seek to hasten

their return thither. Cheerfully they played their allotted parts,

waiting patiently for the end. This is what is called not to lead the

heart astray from TAO,

By admitting play of passion in the sense condemned in ch. v. which

would hinder the mind from resting quietly in the knowledge of the

known.

nor to let the human seek to supplement the divine.

But to wait patiently for the knowledge of the unknown.

And this is what is meant by a pure man.

Such men are in mind absolutely free; in demeanour, grave; in

expression, cheerful. If it is freezing cold, it seems to them like

autumn; if blazing hot, like spring. Their passions occur like the four

seasons.

Each at its appointed time.

They are in harmony with all creation, and none know the limit thereof.

These last few words occur in the _Tao-Tê-Ching_, ch. lviii. See _The

Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 40. Also, with a variation, in ch. xxii of

this work.

And so it is that a perfect man can destroy a kingdom and yet not lose

the hearts of the people, while the benefits he hands down to ten

thousand generations do not proceed from love of his fellow-man.

Whatever he does is spontaneous, and therefore natural, and therefore

in accordance with right.

He who delights in man, is himself not a perfect man. His affection is

not true charity.

Charity is the universal love of all creation which admits of no

particular manifestations.

Depending upon opportunity, he has not true worth.

True worth is independent of circumstances. It is a quality which is

always unconsciously operating for good, and needs no opportunity to

call it into existence.

He who is not conversant with both good and evil is not a superior man.

The good, to practise; the evil, to avoid.

He who disregards his reputation is not what a man should be.

As a mere social unit.

He who is not absolutely oblivious of his own existence can never be a

ruler of men.

Thus Hu Pu Hsieh, Wu Kuang, Poh I, Shu Ch'i, Chi Tzŭ Hsü Yü, Chi T'o,

and Shên T'u Ti, were the servants of rulers, and did the behests of

others, not their own.

A list of ancient worthies whose careers had been more or less

unsuccessful. Of the first and second little is known, except that the

ears of the latter were seven inches long.

The third and fourth were brothers and are types of moral purity.

Each refused the throne of their State, because each considered his

brother more entitled thereto. Finally, they died of starvation on the

mountains rather than submit to a change of the Imperial dynasty. More

will be heard of these two later on.

The fifth smeared his body all over with lacquer, so that no one

should come near him. Of the sixth, nothing is recorded; and of the

seventh, only that he tied a stone around his neck and jumped into a

river. See the _Fragmenta_ at the end of the works of Shih Tzŭ.

The pure men of old did their duty to their neighbours, but did not

associate with them.

Among them, but not of them.

They behaved as though wanting in themselves, but without flattering

others. Naturally rectangular, they were not uncompromisingly hard.

They manifested their independence without going to extremes. They

appeared to smile as if pleased, when the expression was only a natural

response.

As required by the exigencies of society.

Their outward semblance derived its fascination from the store of

goodness within. They seemed to be of the world around them, while

proudly treading beyond its limits. They seemed to desire silence,

while in truth they had dispensed with language.

See ch. v.

They saw in penal laws a trunk;

A natural basis of government.

in social ceremonies, wings;

To aid man's progress through life.

in wisdom, a useful accessory; in morality, a guide. For them penal

laws meant a merciful administration; social ceremonies, a passport

through the world; wisdom, an excuse for doing what they could not

help; and morality, walking like others upon the path.

Instead of at random across country. At such an early date was

uniformity a characteristic of the Chinese people.

And thus all men praised them for the worthy lives they led.

For what they cared for could be reduced to ONE, and what they did not

care for to ONE also. That which was ONE was ONE, and that which was

not ONE was likewise ONE. In that which was ONE, they were of God; in

that which was not ONE, they were of Man. And so between the human and

the divine no conflict ensued. This was to be a pure man.

Life and Death belong to Destiny. Their sequence, like day and night,

is of God, beyond the interference of man, an inevitable law.

A man looks upon God as upon his father, and loves him in like measure.

Shall he then not love that which is greater than God?

_Sc._ TAO.

A man looks upon a ruler of men as upon some one better than himself,

for whom he would sacrifice his life. Shall he not then do so for the

Supreme Ruler of Creation?

_Sc._ TAO, the omnipresent, omnipotent Principle which invests even

God himself with the power and attributes of divinity.

The careful student of pure Taoism will find however that the

distinction between TAO and God is sometimes so subtle as altogether

to elude his intelligence.

When the pond dries up, and the fishes are left upon dry ground, to

moisten them with the breath or to damp them with spittle is not to be

compared with leaving them in the first instance in their native rivers

and lakes. And better than praising Yao and blaming Chieh would be

leaving them both and attending to the development of TAO.

TAO gives me this form, this toil in manhood, this repose in old age,

this rest in death. And surely that which is such a kind arbiter of my

life is the best arbiter of my death.

A boat may be hidden in a creek, or in a bog, safe enough.

The text has "or a mountain in a bog," which taken with the context

seems to me to be nonsense. Yet all the commentators labour to

explain away the difficulty, instead of making the obvious change of

"mountain" into "boat," to which change the forms of the two Chinese

characters readily lend themselves. In over two thousand years of

literary activity, it seems but rarely to have occurred to the Chinese

that a _textus receptus_ could contain a copyist's slip.

But at midnight a strong man may come and carry away the boat on his

back. The dull of vision do not perceive that however you conceal

things, small ones in larger ones, there will always be a chance of

losing them.

The boat is figurative of our mortal coil which cannot be hidden from

decay.

But if you conceal the whole universe in the whole universe, there will

be no place left wherein it may be lost. The laws of matter make this

to be so.

To have attained to the human form must be always a source of joy. And

then, to undergo countless transitions, with only the infinite to look

forward to,--what incomparable bliss is that! Therefore it is that the

truly wise rejoice in that which can never be lost, but endures alway.

The soul which as TAO, is commensurate only with time and space.

For if we can accept early death, old age, a beginning, and an end,

As inseparable from Destiny,--already a step in the right direction.

why not that which informs all creation and is of all phenomena the

Ultimate Cause?

The long chain of proximate causes reaches finality in TAO. Here we

have the complete answer to such queries as that propounded to the

Umbra by the Penumbra at the close of ch. ii.

TAO has its laws, and its evidences. It is devoid both of action and of

form. It may be transmitted, but cannot be received.

So that the receiver can say he has it.

It may be obtained, but cannot be seen. Before heaven and earth were,

TAO was. It has existed without change from all time. Spiritual beings

drew their spirituality therefrom, while the universe became what we

can see it now. To TAO, the zenith is not high, nor the nadir low; no

point in time is long ago, nor by lapse of ages has it grown old.

To the infinite all terms and conditions are relative.

Hsi Wei obtained TAO, and so set the universe in order.

A legendary ruler of remote antiquity. In what sense he set the

universe in order has not been authentically handed down.

Fu Hsi obtained it, and was able to establish eternal principles.

The first in the received list of Chinese sovereigns (B.C. 2852). This

monarch is said to have invented the art of writing and to have taught

his people to cook.

The Great Bear obtained it, and has never erred from its course. The

sun and moon obtained it, and have never ceased to revolve. K'an P'i

obtained it, and established the K'un-lun mountains.

The divinity of the sacred mountains here mentioned.

P'ing I obtained it, and rules over the streams. Chien Wu obtained it,

and dwells on Mount T'ai.

See ch. i.

The Yellow Emperor obtained it, and soared upon the clouds to heaven.

The most famous of China's legendary rulers (B.C. 2697). He is said

among other things to have invented wheeled vehicles, and generally

to have given a start to the civilisation of his people. Some of Lao

Tzŭ's sayings have been attributed to him; and by some he has been

regarded as the first promulgator of TAO.

Chuan Hsü obtained it, and dwells in the Dark Palace.

A legendary ruler (B.C. 2513), of whose Dark Palace nothing is known.

Yü Ch'iang obtained it, and fixed himself at the North Pole.

As its presiding genius.

Hsi Wang Mu obtained it, and settled at Shao Kuang; since when, no one

knows; until when, no one knows either.

A lady,--or a place, for accounts vary,--around whose name innumerable

legends have gathered.

P'êng Tsu obtained it, and lived from the time of Shun until the time

of the Five Princes.

From 2255 to the 7th century B.C. See ch. i.

Fu Yüeh obtained it, and as the Minister of Wu Ting

A monarch of the Yin dynasty, B.C. 1324.

got the empire under his control. And now, charioted upon one

constellation and drawn by another, he has been enrolled among the

stars of heaven.

* * * * *

Nan Po Tzŭ K'uei

Probably the individual mentioned in chs. ii. and iv.

said to Nü Yü,

By one authority said to be a woman.

"You are old, Sir, and yet your countenance is like that of a child.

How is this?"

Nü Yü replied, "I have learnt TAO."

"Could I get TAO by studying it?" asked the other.

"I fear not," said Nü Yü. "You are not the sort of man. There was Pu

Liang I. He had all the qualifications of a sage, but not TAO. Now I

had Tao, though none of the qualifications. But do you imagine that

much as I wished it I was able to teach TAO to him so that he should be

a perfect sage? Had it been so, then to teach TAO to one who has the

qualifications of a sage would be an easy matter. No, Sir. I imparted

as though withholding; and in three days, for him, this sublunary state

had ceased to exist.

With all its paltry distinctions of sovereign and subject, high and

low, good and bad, etc.

When he had attained to this, I withheld again; and in seven days more,

for him, the external world had ceased to be. And so again for another

nine days, when he became unconscious of his own existence. He became

first etherealised, next possessed of perfect wisdom, then without past

or present, and finally able to enter there where life and death are no

more,--where killing does not take away life, nor does prolongation of

life add to the duration of existence.

In TAO life and death are ONE.

In that state, he is ever in accord with the exigencies of his

environment;

Literally, there is no sense in which he is not accompanying or

meeting, destroying or constructing. That is, in spite of his

spiritual condition as above described, he can still adapt himself

naturally to life among his fellow-men. The retirement of a hermit is

by no means necessary to the perfection of the pure man.

and this is to be _Battered but not Bruised_. And he who can be thus

battered but not bruised is on the way to perfection."

"And how did you manage to get hold of all this?" asked Nan Po Tzŭ

K'uei.

"I got it from books," replied Nü Yü; "and the books got it from

learning, and learning from investigation, and investigation from

cö-ordination,

Of eye and mind.

and cö-ordination from application, and application from desire to

know, and desire to know from the unknown, and the unknown from the

great void, and the great void from infinity!"

* * * * *

Four men were conversing together, when the following resolution was

suggested:--"Whosoever can make Inaction the head, Life the backbone,

and Death the tail, of his existence,--that man shall be admitted to

friendship with us." The four looked at each other and smiled; and

tacitly accepting the conditions, became friends forthwith.

By-and-by, one of them, named Tzŭ Yü, fell ill, and another, Tzŭ Ssŭ,

went to see him. "Verily God is great!" said the sick man. "See how he

has doubled me up. My back is so hunched that my viscera are at the top

of my body. My cheeks are level with my navel. My shoulders are higher

than my neck. My hair grows up towards the sky. The whole economy of

my organism is deranged. Nevertheless, my mental equilibrium is not

disturbed." So saying, he dragged himself painfully to a well, where he

could see himself, and continued, "Alas, that God should have doubled

me up like this!"

"Are you afraid?" asked Tzŭ Ssŭ.

"I am not," replied Tzŭ Yü. "What have I to fear? Ere long I shall be

decomposed. My left shoulder will become a cock, and I shall herald

the approach of morn. My right shoulder will become a cross-bow, and I

shall be able to get broiled duck. My buttocks will become wheels; and

with my soul for a horse, I shall be able to ride in my own chariot.

I obtained life because it was my time: I am now parting with it in

accordance with the same law. Content with the natural sequence of

these states, joy and sorrow touch me not. I am simply, as the ancients

expressed it, hanging in the air, unable to cut myself down, bound with

the trammels of material existence. But man has ever given way before

God: why, then, should I be afraid?"

"What comes from God to us, returns from us to God."--_Plato._

By-and-by, another of the four, named Tzŭ Lai, fell ill, and lay

gasping for breath, while his family stood weeping around. The fourth

friend, Tzŭ Li, went to see him. "Chut!" cried he to the wife and

children; "begone! you balk his decomposition." Then, leaning against

the door, he said, "Verily, God is great! I wonder what he will make

of you now. I wonder whither you will be sent. Do you think he will

make you into a rat's liver

The Chinese believe that a rat has no liver.

or into the shoulders of a snake?"

"A son," answered Tzŭ Lai, "must go whithersoever his parents bid him.

Nature is no other than a man's parents.

The term "Nature" stands here as a rendering of _Yin_ and _Yang_, the

Positive and Negative Principles of Chinese cosmogony, from whose

interaction the visible universe results.

If she bid me die quickly, and I demur, then I am an unfilial son. She

can do me no wrong. TAO gives me this form, this toil in manhood, this

repose in old age, this rest in death. And surely that which is such a

kind arbiter of my life is the best arbiter of my death.

"Suppose that the boiling metal in a smelting-pot were to bubble up

and say, 'Make of me an Excalibur;' I think the caster would reject

that metal as uncanny. And if a sinner like myself were to say to God,

'Make of me a man, make of me a man;' I think he too would reject me

as uncanny. The universe is the smelting-pot, and God is the caster. I

shall go whithersoever I am sent, to wake unconscious of the past, as a

man wakes from a dreamless sleep."

Tzŭ Sang Hu, Mêng Tzŭ Fan, and Tzŭ Ch'in Chang, were conversing

together, when it was asked, "Who can be, and yet not be?

Implying the absence of all consciousness.

Who can do, and yet not do?

By virtue of inaction.

Who can mount to heaven, and roaming through the clouds, pass beyond

the limits of space, oblivious of existence, for ever and ever without

end?"

The three looked at each other and smiled; and as neither had any

misgivings, they became friends accordingly.

Shortly afterwards Tzŭ Sang Hu died; whereupon Confucius sent Tzŭ Kung

One of his chief disciples.

to take part in the mourning. But Tzŭ Kung found that one had composed

a song which the other was accompanying on the lute,

Strictly speaking, a kind of zitha, played with two hammers.

as follows:--

Ah! Wilt thou come back to us, Sang Hu?

Ah! Wilt thou come back to us, Sang Hu?

Thou hast already returned to thy God,

While we still remain here as men,--alas!

Tzŭ Kung hurried in and said, "How can you sing alongside of a corpse?

Is this decorum?"

The two men looked at each other and laughed, saying, "What should

this man know of decorum indeed?"

Not the outward decorum of the body, but the inward decorum of the

heart.

Tzŭ Kung went back and told Confucius, asking him, "What manner of men

are these? Their object is nothingness and a separation from their

corporeal frames.

Various commentators give various renderings of this sentence,--mostly

forced.

They can sit near a corpse and yet sing, unmoved. There is no class for

such. What are they?"

"These men," replied Confucius, "travel beyond the rule of life. I

travel within it. Consequently, our paths do not meet; and I was wrong

in sending you to mourn. They consider themselves as one

with God, recognising no distinctions between human and divine. They

look on life as a huge tumour from which death sets them free. All the

same they know not where they were before birth, nor where they will be

after death. Though admitting different elements, they take their stand

upon the unity of all things. They ignore their passions. They take

no count of their ears and eyes. Backwards and forwards through all

eternity, they do not admit a beginning or end. They stroll beyond the

dust and dirt of mortality, to wander in the realms of inaction. How

should such men trouble themselves with the conventionalities of this

world, or care what people may think of them?"

"But if such is the case," said Tzŭ Kung, "why should we stick to the

rule?"

"Heaven has condemned me to this," replied Confucius. "Nevertheless,

you and I may perhaps escape from it."

"By what method?" asked Tzŭ Kung.

"Fishes," replied Confucius, "are born in water. Man is born in TAO. If

fishes get ponds to live in, they thrive. If man gets TAO to live in,

he may live his life in peace.

Without reference to the outward ceremonial of this world.

Hence the saying, 'All that a fish wants is water; all that a man wants

is TAO.'"

It is of course by a literary _coup de main_ that Confucius is here

and elsewhere made to stand sponsor to the TAO of the rival school.

"May I ask," said Tzŭ Kung, "about divine men?"

"Divine men," replied Confucius, "are divine to man, but ordinary to

God. Hence the saying that the meanest being in heaven would be the

best on earth; and the best on earth, the meanest in heaven."

"Man is a kind of very minute heaven. God is the grand

man."--_Swedenborg._

Yen Hui said to Confucius, "When Mêng Sun Ts'ai's mother died, he wept,

but without snivelling;

Which the Chinese regard as the test of real sorrow.

he grieved but his grief was not heartfelt; he wore mourning but

without howling. Yet although wanting in these three points, he is

considered the best mourner in the State of Lu. Surely this is the name

and not the reality. I am astonished at it."

"Mêng Sun," said Confucius, "did all that was required. He has made an

advance towards wisdom.

Towards TAO, wherein there is no weeping nor gnashing of teeth.

He could not do less;

Than mourn outwardly, for fear of committing a breach of social

etiquette, in harmony if not in accordance with which the true Sage

passes his life.

while all the time actually doing less.

As seen from the absence of those signs which prove inward grief.

"Mêng Sun knows not whence we come nor whither we go. He knows not

whether the end will come early or late. Passing into life as a man, he

quietly awaits his passage into the unknown. What should the dead know

of the living, or the living know of the dead? Even you and I may be in

a dream from which we have not yet awaked.

"Then again, he adapts himself physically,

To the ceremonial of the body.

while avoiding injury to his higher self.

Keeping his soul free from the disturbance of passion.

He regards a dying man simply as one who is going home. He sees others

weep, and he naturally weeps too.

"Besides, a man's personality is something of which he is subjectively

conscious. It is impossible for him to say if he is really that which

he is conscious of being. You dream you are a bird, and soar to heaven.

You dream you are a fish, and dive into the ocean's depths. And you

cannot tell whether the man now speaking is awake or in a dream.

"A pleasurable sensation precedes the smile it evokes. The smile itself

is not dependent upon a reminding nudge.

And just so was Mêng Sun's outward expression of grief,--spontaneous,

as being in harmony with his surroundings.

Resign yourself,

To your mortal environment.

unconscious of all changes,

Of life into death, etc.

and you shall enter into the pure, the divine, the ONE."

* * * * *

I Erh Tzŭ went to see Hsü Yu. The latter asked him, saying, "How has

Yao benefited you?"

"He bade me," replied the former, "practise charity and do my duty, and

distinguish clearly between right and wrong."

"Then what do you want here?" said Hsü Yu. "If Yao has already branded

you with charity and duty, and cut off your nose with right and wrong,

what do you do in this free-and-easy, care-for-nobody, topsy-turvy

neighbourhood?"

Of TAO.

"Nevertheless," replied I Erh Tzŭ, "I should like to be on its

confines."

"If a man has lost his eyes," retorted Hsü Yu, "it is impossible for

him to join in the appreciation of beauty. A man with a film over his

eyes cannot tell a blue sacrificial robe from a yellow one."

"Wu Chuang's disregard of her beauty," answered I Erh Tzŭ, "Chü

Liang's disregard of his strength, the Yellow Emperor's abandonment

of wisdom,--all these were brought about by a process of filing and

hammering. And how do you know but that God would rid me of my brands,

and give me a new nose, and make me fit to become a disciple of

yourself?"

"Ah!" replied Hsü Yu, "that cannot be known. But I will just give

you an outline. The Master I serve succours all things, and does

not account it _duty_. He continues his blessings through countless

generations, and does not account it _charity_. Dating back to the

remotest antiquity, he does not account himself old. Covering heaven,

supporting earth, and fashioning the various forms of things, he does

not account himself skilled. He it is whom you should seek."

And he is TAO.

"I am getting on," observed Yen Hui to Confucius.

The most famous of all the disciples of Confucius, admitted by the

latter to have been as near perfection as possible.

"How so?" asked the latter.

"I have got rid of charity and duty," replied the former.

"Very good," replied Confucius, "but not perfect."

Another day Yen Hui met Confucius and said, "I am getting on."

"How so?" asked Confucius.

"I have got rid of ceremonial and music," answered Yen Hui.

"Very good," said Confucius, "but not perfect."

On a third occasion Yen Hui met Confucius and said, "I am getting on."

"How so?" asked the Sage.

"I have got rid of everything," replied Yen Hui.

"Got rid of everything!" said Confucius eagerly. "What do you mean by

that?"

"I have freed myself from my body," answered Yen Hui. "I have discarded

my reasoning powers. And by thus getting rid of body and mind, I have

become ONE with the Infinite. This is what I mean by getting rid of

everything."

"If you have become ONE," cried Confucius, "there can be no room for

bias. If you have passed into space, you are indeed without beginning

or end. And if you have really attained to this, I trust to be allowed

to follow in your steps."

* * * * *

Tzŭ Yü and Tzŭ Sang were friends. Once when it had rained for ten days,

Tzŭ Yü said, "Tzŭ Sang is dangerously ill." So he packed up some food

and went to see him.

In accordance with the exigencies of mortality. How Tzŭ Yü knew that

his friend was ill is not clear. An attempt has been made by one

commentator on the basis of animal magnetism, in which the Chinese

have believed for centuries.

Arriving at the door, he heard something between singing and

lamentation, accompanied with the sound of music, as follows:--

"O father! O mother! O Heaven! O Man!"

These words seemed to be uttered with a great effort; whereupon Tzŭ Yü

went in and asked what it all meant.

"I was trying to think who could have brought me to this extreme,"

replied Tzŭ Sang, "but I could not guess. My father and mother would

hardly wish me to be poor. Heaven covers all equally. Earth supports

all equally. How can they make me in particular poor? I was seeking to

know who it was, but without success. Surely then I am brought to this

extreme by _Destiny_."

"The word Fate, or Destiny, expresses the sense of mankind in all

ages--that the laws of the world do not always befriend, but often

hurt and crush us."--_Emerson._

HOW TO GOVERN.

_Argument_:--Princes should reign, not rule--Rulers find their

standards of right in themselves--They thus coerce their people into

obeying artificial laws, instead of leaving them to obey natural

laws--By action they accomplish nothing--By inaction there is nothing

which they would not accomplish--Individuals think they know what

the empire wants--In reality it is the empire itself which know

best--Illustrations.

Yeh Ch'üeh asked Wang I

See ch. ii.

four questions, none of which he could answer. Thereat the former was

greatly delighted,

For now he discovered that ignorance is true knowledge:--an

explanation which I adopt only for want of a better.

and went off and told P'u I Tzŭ.

Of whom nothing definite is known.

"Have you only just found that out?" said P'u I Tzŭ. "The Emperor Shun

was not equal to T'ai Huang.

A legendary ruler. For Shun, see ch. i.

Shun was all for charity in his zeal for mankind; but although he

succeeded in government, he himself never rose above the level of

artificiality. Now T'ai Huang was peaceful when asleep and inactive

when awake. At one time he would think himself a horse; at another, an

ox.

So effectually had he closed all channels leading to consciousness of

self.

His wisdom was substantial and above suspicion. His virtue was genuine

indeed. And yet he never sank to the level of artificiality."

He was a monarch after the pattern of TAO.

* * * * *

Chien Wu meeting the eccentric Chieh Yü, the latter enquired, saying,

"What did Jih Chung Shih teach you?"

Of the last nothing is known. The first two have been already

mentioned in chs. i. and vi.

"He taught me," replied Chien Wu, "about the laws and regulations which

princes evolve, and which he said none would venture not to hear and

obey."

"That is a false teaching indeed," replied Chieh Yü. "To attempt to

govern mankind thus,--as well try to wade through the sea, to hew a

passage through a river, or make a mosquito fly away with a mountain!

"The government of the truly wise man has no concern with externals.

He first perfects himself, and then by virtue thereof he is enabled to

accomplish what he wants.

Passively, without effort of any kind.

"The bird flies high to avoid snare and dart. The mouse burrows down

below the hill to avoid being smoked or cut out of its nest. Is your

wit below that of these two creatures?"

That you should be unable to devise means of avoiding the artificial

restraints of princes. Better than coercing into goodness is letting

men be good of their own accord.

T'ien Kên

Of whom nothing is known.

was travelling on the south of the Yin mountain. He had reached the

river Liao when he met a certain Sage to whom he said, "I beg to ask

about the government of the empire."

"Begone!" cried the Sage. "You are a low fellow, and your question is

ill timed. God has just turned me out a man. That is enough for me.

Borne on light pinions I can soar beyond the cardinal points, to the

land of nowhere, in the domain of nothingness. And you come to worry me

with government of the empire!"

But T'ien Kên enquired a second time, and the Sage replied, "Resolve

your mental energy into abstraction, your physical energy into

inaction. Allow yourself to fall in with the natural order of

phenomena, without admitting the element of self,--and the empire will

be governed."

By virtue of natural laws which lead, without man's interference, to

the end desired.

Yang Tzŭ Chü went to see Lao Tzŭ, and said, "Suppose a man were ardent

and courageous, acquainted with the order and principles of things,

and untiring in the pursuit of TAO--would he be accounted a wise ruler?"

"From the point of view of a truly wise man," replied Lao Tzŭ, "such a

one would be a mere handicraftsman, wearing out body and mind alike.

The tiger and the pard suffer from the beauty of their skins. The

cleverness of the monkey, the tractability of the ox, bring them both

to the tether. It is not on such grounds that a ruler may be accounted

wise."

"But in what, then," cried Yang Tzŭ Chü, "does the government of a wise

man consist?"

"The goodness of a wise ruler," answered Lao Tzŭ, "covers the whole

empire, yet he himself seems to know it not. It influences all

creation, yet none is conscious thereof. It appears under countless

forms, bringing joy to all things. It is based upon the baseless, and

travels through the realms of Nowhere."

The operation of true government is invisible to the eye of man.

* * * * *

In the State of Chêng there was a wonderful magician, named Chi Han.

He knew all about birth and death, gain and loss, misfortune and

happiness, long life and short life,--predicting events to a day

with supernatural accuracy. The people of Chêng used to flee at his

approach; but Lieh Tzŭ

See ch. i.

went to see him, and became so infatuated that on his return he said to

Hu Tzŭ,

Who appears to have been his tutor.

"I used to look upon your TAO as perfect. Now I know something more

perfect still."

"So far," replied Hu Tzŭ, "I have only taught you the ornamentals,

not the essentials, of TAO; and yet you think you know all about it.

Without cocks in your poultry-yard, what sort of eggs do the hens lay?

If you go about trying to force TAO down people's throats, you will be

simply exposing yourself. Bring your friend with you, and let me show

myself to him."

So next day Lieh Tzŭ went with Chi Han to see Hu Tzŭ, and when they

came out Chi Han said, "Alas! your teacher is doomed. He cannot live. I

hardly give him ten days. I am astonished at him. He is but wet ashes."

And cannot burn much longer.

Lieh Tzŭ went in and wept bitterly, and told Hu Tzŭ; but the latter

said, "I showed myself to him just now as the earth shows us its

outward form, motionless and still, while production is all the time

going on. I merely prevented him from seeing my pent-up energy

Of TAO.

within. Bring him again."

Next day the interview took place as before; but as they were leaving

Chi Han said to Lieh Tzŭ, "It is lucky for your teacher that he met me.

He is better. He will recover. I saw he had recuperative power."

Lieh Tzŭ went in and told Hu Tzŭ; whereupon the latter replied, "I

showed myself to him just now as heaven shows itself in all its

dispassionate grandeur, letting a little energy run out of my heels. He

was thus able to detect that I had some. Bring him here again."

Next day a third interview took place, and as they were leaving, Chi

Han said to Lieh Tzŭ, "Your teacher is never one day like another. I

can tell nothing from his physiognomy. Get him to be regular, and I

will then examine him again."

This being repeated to Hu Tzŭ as before, the latter said, "I showed

myself to him just now in a state of harmonious equilibrium. Where the

whale disports itself,--is the abyss. Where water is at rest,--is the

abyss. Where water is in motion,--is the abyss. The abyss has nine

names. These are three of them."

Alluding to three phases of TAO as manifested at the three interviews

above described, TAO being the abyss.

Next day the two went once more to see Hu Tzŭ; but Chi Han was unable

to stand still, and in his confusion turned and fled.

"Pursue him!" cried Hu Tzŭ; whereupon Lieh Tzŭ ran after him, but could

not overtake him, so he returned and told Hu Tzŭ that the fugitive had

disappeared.

"I showed myself to him just now," said Hu Tzŭ, "as TAO appeared

before time was. I was to him as a great blank, existing of itself. He

knew not who I was. His face fell. He became confused. And so he fled."

Upon this Lieh Tzŭ stood convinced that he had not yet acquired any

real knowledge, and at once set to work in earnest, passing three

years without leaving the house. He helped his wife to cook the family

dinner, and fed his pigs just like human beings. He discarded the

artificial and reverted to the natural. He became merely a shape.

Amidst confusion,

Of this material world.

he was unconfounded. And so he continued to the end.

By Inaction, fame comes as the spirits of the dead come to the boy who

impersonates the corpse.

See ch. i. In the old funeral rites of China, a boy was made to sit

speechless and motionless as a corpse, for the reason assigned in the

text.

By Inaction, one can become the centre of thought, the focus of

responsibility, the arbiter of wisdom. Full allowance must be made

for others, while remaining unmoved oneself. There must be a thorough

compliance with divine principles, without any manifestation thereof.

Non mihi res, sed me rebus, subjungere conar.

All of which may be summed up in the one word _passivity_. For the

perfect man employs his mind as a mirror. It grasps nothing: it refuses

nothing. It receives, but does not keep. And thus he can triumph over

matter, without injury to himself.

Without the wear and tear suffered by those who allow their activities

free play.

* * * * *

The ruler of the southern sea was called Shu. The ruler of the northern

sea was called Hu. The ruler of the central zone was called Hun Tun.

This term is generally used to denote the condition of matter before

separation and subdivision into the phenomena of the visible universe.

Shu and Hu often met on Hun Tun's territory, and being always well

treated by him, determined to repay his kindness.

They said, "All men have seven holes,--for seeing, hearing, eating, and

breathing. Hun Tun alone has none. We will bore some for him."

So every day they bored one hole; but on the seventh day Hun Tun died.

Illustrating the perils of action. "The empire," says Lao Tzŭ, "is a

divine trust, and may not be ruled. He who rules, ruins. He who holds

by force, loses."

"Men's actions," says Emerson, "are too strong for them."

With this chapter Chuang Tzŭ completes the outline of his system. The

remaining chapters are either supplementary to the preceding seven, or

independent essays upon cognate subjects.

JOINED TOES.

_Argument_:--Virtues should be natural, not artificial; passive

not active. [Chs. viii to xiii inclusive are illustrative of, or

supplementary to, ch. vii.]

Joined toes and extra fingers are an addition to nature, though,

functionally speaking, superfluous. Wens and tumours are an addition to

the bodily form, though, as far as nature is concerned, superfluous.

And similarly, to include charity and duty to one's neighbour among the

functions of man's organism, is not true TAO.

The whole of this chapter is a violent tirade against the leading

doctrines of Confucianism.

For just as joined toes are but useless lumps of flesh, and extra

fingers but useless excrescences, so are any artificial additions to

our internal economy but harmful adjuncts to real charity and duty to

one's neighbour,

Which are the outcome of TAO.

and are moreover prejudicial to the right use of intelligence.

People with extra keenness of vision muddle themselves over the five

colours, exaggerate the value of shades, and of distinctions of greens

and yellows for sacrificial robes. Of such was Li Chu.

Who could see a pin's point at a distance of 1,000 _li_. He is

mentioned by Mencius.

People with extra keenness of hearing muddle themselves over the

five notes, exaggerate the tonic differences of the six pitch-pipes,

and the various _timbres_ of metal, stone, silk, and bamboo, of the

_Huang-chung_, and of the _Ta-lü_. Of such was Shih K'uang.

The blind musician mentioned in ch. ii. The _Huang-chung_ and the

_Ta-lü_ were two of the twelve bamboo tubes, or pitch-pipes, on which

ancient Chinese music was based. Six were _male_ or positive, and six

_female_ or negative. Hence they are spoken of collectively as six.

People who graft on charity, force themselves to display this virtue

in order to gain reputation and to enjoy the applause of the world for

that which is of no account. Of such were Tsêng and Shih.

Tsêng Shên, a famous disciple of Confucius, and Shih Yu, both noted

for their high moral characters.

People who refine in argument do but pile up tiles or knot ropes in

their maunderings over the hard and white, the like and the unlike,

wearing themselves out over mere useless terms. Of such were Yang and

Mih.

Yang Chu, a philosopher of the fourth century B.C., whose "selfish"

system was condemned by Mencius; and Mih Tzŭ, already mentioned in ch.

ii.

Therefore every addition to or deviation from nature belongs not to the

ultimate perfection of all.

Which is in TAO.

He who would attain to such perfection never loses sight of the natural

conditions of his existence. With him the joined is not united, nor

the separated apart, nor the long in excess, nor the short wanting.

For just as a duck's legs, though short, cannot be lengthened without

pain to the duck, and a crane's legs, though long, cannot be shortened

without misery to the crane, so that which is long in man's moral

nature cannot be cut off, nor that which is short be lengthened. All

sorrow is thus avoided.

Intentional charity and intentional duty to one's neighbour are surely

not included in our moral nature. Yet what sorrow these have involved.

Divide your joined toes and you will howl: bite off your extra finger

and you will scream. In one case there is too much, in the other too

little; but the sorrow is the same. And the charitable of the age go

about sorrowing over the ills of the age, while the non-charitable cut

through the natural conditions of things in their greed after place and

wealth. Surely then intentional charity and duty to one's neighbour

are not included in our moral nature. Yet from the time of the Three

Dynasties downwards what a fuss has been made about them!

Those who cannot make perfect without arc, line, compasses, and square,

injure the natural constitution of things. Those who require cords

to bind and glue to stick, interfere with the natural functions of

things. And those who seek to satisfy the mind of man by hampering with

ceremonies and music and preaching charity and duty to one's neighbour,

thereby destroy the intrinsicality of things.

For such intrinsicality does exist, in this sense:--Things which

are curved require no arcs; things which are straight require no

lines; things which are round require no compasses; things which are

rectangular require no squares; things which stick require no glue;

things which hold together require no cords. And just as all things are

produced, and none can tell how they are produced, so do all things

possess their own intrinsic qualities and none can tell how they

possess them. From time immemorial this has always been so, without

variation. Why then should charity and duty to one's neighbour be as it

were glued or corded on, and introduced into the domain of TAO, to give

rise to doubt among mankind?

Lesser doubts change the rule of life; greater doubts change man's

nature.

How do we know this? By the fact that ever since the time when Shun bid

for charity and duty to one's neighbour in order to secure the empire,

men have devoted their lives to the pursuit thereof. Is it not then

charity and duty to one's neighbour which change the nature of man?

Therefore I have tried to show that from the time of the Three

Dynasties it has always been the external which has changed the nature

of man. If a mean man, he will die for gain. If a superior man, he will

die for fame. If a man of rank, he will die for his ancestral honours.

If a Sage, he will die for the world. The pursuits and ambitions of

these men differ, but the injury to their natures involved in the

sacrifice of their lives is the same.

Tsang and Ku were shepherds, both of whom lost their flocks. On

inquiry, it appeared that Tsang had been engaged in reading, while Ku

had gone to take part in some trials of strength. Their occupations had

been different, but the result was in each case loss of the sheep.

Poh I died for fame at the foot of Mount Shou-yang.

See ch. vi.

Robber Chê died for gain on Mount T'ai.

Robber Chê has a chapter to himself, from which, though spurious, it

may be gathered that he was a very remarkable personage in his day.

Mount T'ai has been mentioned in ch. i.

Their deaths were not the same, but the injury to their lives and

natures was in each case the same. How then can we applaud the former

and blame the latter?

And so, if a man dies for charity and duty to his neighbour the world

calls him a noble fellow; but if he dies for gain, the world calls him

a low fellow. The dying being the same, one is nevertheless called

noble and the other low. But in point of injury to life and nature, the

robber Chê and Poh I are one. Where then does the distinction of noble

and low come in?

Were a man to apply himself to charity and duty towards his neighbour

until he were the equal of Tsêng or Shih, this would not be what I mean

by perfection. Or to flavours, until he were the equal of Yü Erh.

Probably identical with I Ya, the Soyer of China.

Or to sounds, until he were the equal of Shih K'uang. Or to colours,

until he were the equal of Li Chu. What I mean by perfection is not

what is meant by charity and duty to one's neighbour. It is found in

the cultivation of TAO. And those whom I regard as cultivators of TAO

are not those who cultivate charity and duty to one's neighbour. They

are those who yield to the natural conditions of things. What I call

perfection of hearing is not hearing others but oneself. What I call

perfection of vision is not seeing others but oneself.

A saying attributed by Han Fei Tzŭ to Lao Tzŭ:--"To see oneself is to

be clear of sight." See _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 18.

For a man who sees not himself but others, takes not possession of

himself but of others, thus taking what others should take and not what

he himself should take.

Multi sunt, qui urbes, qui populos habuere in potestate, paucissimi,

qui se.

Instead of being himself, he in fact becomes some one else. And if a

man thus becomes some one else instead of himself, this is a fatal

error of which both the robber Chê and Poh I can be equally guilty.

And so, conscious of my own deficiency in regard to TAO, I do not

venture at my best to practise the principles of charity and duty

to my neighbour, nor at my worst to fall into the fatal error

above-mentioned.

HORSES' HOOFS.

_Argument_:--Superiority of the natural over the

artificial--Application of this principle to government.

Horses have hoofs to carry them over frost and snow; hair, to protect

them from wind and cold. They eat grass and drink water, and fling up

their heels over the champaign. Such is the real nature of horses.

Palatial dwellings are of no use to them.

* * * * *

One day Poh Loh

A Chinese Rarey, of somewhat legendary character.

appeared, saying, "I understand the management of horses."

So he branded them, and clipped them, and pared their hoofs, and put

halters on them, tying them up by the head and shackling them by the

feet, and disposing them in stables, with the result that two or three

in every ten died. Then he kept them hungry and thirsty, trotting them

and galloping them, and grooming, and trimming, with the misery of the

tasselled bridle before and the fear of the knotted whip behind, until

more than half of them were dead.

The potter says, "I can do what I will with clay. If I want it round, I

use compasses; if rectangular, a square."

The carpenter says, "I can do what I will with wood. If I want it

curved, I use an arc; if straight, a line."

But on what grounds can we think that the natures of clay and wood

desire this application of compasses and square, of arc and line?

Nevertheless, every age extols Poh Loh for his skill in managing

horses, and potters and carpenters for their skill with clay and wood.

Those who _govern_ the empire make the same mistake.

Now I regard government of the empire from quite a different point of

view.

The people have certain natural instincts;--to weave and clothe

themselves, to till and feed themselves. These are common to all

humanity, and all are agreed thereon. Such instincts are called

"Heaven-sent."

And so in the days when natural instincts prevailed, men moved quietly

and gazed steadily. At that time, there were no roads over mountains,

nor boats, nor bridges over water. All things were produced, each for

its own proper sphere. Birds and beasts multiplied; trees and shrubs

grew up. The former might be led by the hand; you could climb up and

peep into the raven's nest. For then man dwelt with birds and beasts,

and all creation was one. There were no distinctions of good and bad

men. Being all equally without knowledge, their virtue could not go

astray. Being all equally without evil desires, they were in a state of

natural integrity, the perfection of human existence.

But when Sages appeared, tripping people over charity and fettering

with duty to one's neighbour, doubt found its way into the world. And

then with their gushing over music and fussing over ceremony, the

empire became divided against itself.

Music and ceremonies are important factors in the Confucian system of

government.

Were the natural integrity of things left unharmed, who could make

sacrificial vessels? Were white jade left unbroken, who could make

the regalia of courts? Were Tao not abandoned, who could introduce

charity and duty to one's neighbour? Were man's natural instincts his

guide, what need would there be for music and ceremonies? Were the five

colours not confused, who would practise decoration? Were the five

notes not confused, who would adopt the six pitch-pipes?

See chs. viii and x.

Destruction of the natural integrity of things, in order to produce

articles of various kinds,--this is the fault of the artisan.

Annihilation of TAO in order to practise charity and duty to one's

neighbour,--this is the error of the Sage.

Horses live on dry land, eat grass and drink water. When pleased, they

rub their necks together. When angry, they turn around and kick up

their heels at each other. Thus far only do their natural dispositions

carry them. But bridled and bitted, with a plate of metal on their

foreheads, they learn to cast vicious looks, to turn the head to bite,

to resist, to get the bit out of the mouth or the bridle into it. And

thus their natures become depraved,--the fault of Poh Loh.

* * * * *

In the days of Ho Hsü

A legendary ruler of old.

the people did nothing in particular when at rest, and went nowhere in

particular when they moved. Having food, they rejoiced; having full

bellies, they strolled about. Such were the capacities of the people.

But when the Sages came to worry them with ceremonies and music in

order to rectify the form of government, and dangled charity and duty

to one's neighbour before them in order to satisfy their hearts,--then

the people began to develop a taste for knowledge and to struggle one

with the other in their desire for gain. This was the error of the

Sages.

The simplicity of style, and general intelligibility of this chapter

have raised doubts as to its genuineness. But as Lin Hsi Chung justly

observes, its sympathetic tone in relation to dumb animals, stamps it,

in spite of an undue proportion of word to thought, as beyond reach of

the forger's art.

OPENING TRUNKS.

_Argument_:--All restrictions artificial, and therefore

deceptive--Only by shaking off such fetters, and reverting to the

natural, can man hope to attain.

The precautions taken against thieves who open trunks, search bags, or

ransack tills, consist of securing with cords and fastening with bolts

and locks. This is what the world calls wit.

But a strong thief comes who carries off the till on his shoulders,

with box and bag to boot. And his only fear is that the cords and locks

should not be strong enough!

Therefore, what the world calls wit, simply amounts to assistance given

to the strong thief.

And I venture to state that nothing of that which the world calls wit,

is otherwise than serviceable to strong thieves; and that nothing of

that which the world calls wisdom is other than a protection to strong

thieves.

How can this be shown?--In the State of Ch'i a man used to be able to

see from one town to the next, and hear the barking and crowing of its

dogs and cocks.

So near were they. This sentence has been incorporated in ch. LXXX of

the _Tao-Tê-Ching_. See _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 50.

The area covered by the nets of fishermen and fowlers, and pricked by

the plough, was a square of two thousand and odd _li_.

Of which three go to a mile, roughly. This statement is intended to

convey an idea of prosperity.

And within its four boundaries not a temple or shrine was dedicated,

nor a district or hamlet governed, but in accordance with the rules

laid down by the Sages.

Yet one morning

B.C. 481.

T'ien Ch'êng Tzŭ slew the Prince of Ch'i, and stole his kingdom. And

not his kingdom only, but the wisdom-tricks which he had got from

the Sages as well; so that although T'ien Ch'êng Tzŭ acquired the

reputation of a thief, he lived as comfortably as ever did either Yao

or Shun. The small States did not venture to blame, nor the great

States to punish him; and so for twelve generations his descendants

ruled over Ch'i.

Commentators have failed to explain away this last sentence. On the

strength of an obvious anachronism, some have written off the whole

chapter as a forgery; but the general style of argument is against

this view.

Was not this stealing the State of Ch'i and the wisdom-tricks of the

Sages as well in order to secure himself from the consequences of such

theft?

This amounts to what I have already said, namely that nothing of what

the world esteems great wit is otherwise than serviceable to strong

thieves, and that nothing of what the world calls great wisdom is other

than a protection to strong thieves.

Let us take another example. Of old, Lung Fêng was beheaded, Pi Kan was

disembowelled, Chang Hung was sliced to death, Tzŭ Hsü was chopped to

mince-meat.

The first two have been already mentioned in ch. iv. Chang Hung was

minister to Prince Ling of the Chou dynasty. Tzŭ Hsü was a name of the

famous Wu Yüan, prime minister of the Ch'u State, whose corpse is said

to have been sewn up in a sack and thrown into the river near Soochow.

All these four were Sages, but their wisdom could not preserve them

from death.

In fact, it rather hastened their ends.

An apprentice to Robber Chê asked him saying, "Is there then TAO in

thieving?"

"Pray tell me of something in which there is not TAO," Chê replied.

"There is the _wisdom_ by which booty is located. The _courage_ to

go in first, and the _heroism_ of coming out last. There is the

_shrewdness_ of calculating success, and _justice_ in the equal

division of the spoil. There has never yet been, a great robber who was

not possessed of these five."

Thus the doctrine of the Sages is equally indispensable to good men

and to Chê. But good men are scarce and bad men plentiful, so that the

good the Sages do to the world is little and the evil great.

Therefore it has been said, "If the lips are gone, the teeth will be

cold." It was the thinness of the wine of Lu which caused the siege of

Han Tan.

The prince of Ch'u held an assembly, to which the princes of Lu and

Chao brought presents of wine. That of Lu was poor stuff, while the

wine of Chao was rich and generous. Because, however, the Master of

the Cellar to the prince of Ch'u failed to get a bribe of wine from

the prince of Chao, he maliciously changed the presents; and the

prince of Ch'u, displeased at what he regarded as an insult, shortly

after laid siege to Han Tan, the chief city of Chao.

It was the appearance of Sages which caused the appearance of great

robbers.

Drive out the Sages and leave the robbers alone,--then only will the

empire be governed. As when the stream ceases the gully dries up,

and when the hill is levelled the chasm is filled; so when Sages are

extinct, there will be no more robbers, but the empire will rest in

peace.

On the other hand, unless Sages disappear, neither will great robbers

disappear; nor if you double the number of Sages wherewithal to govern

the empire will you do more than double the profits of Robber Chê.

If pecks and bushels are used for measurement, they will also be stolen.

There will simply be something more to steal.

If scales and steelyards are used for weighing, they will also be

stolen. If tallies and signets are used for good faith, they will

also be stolen. If charity and duty to one's neighbour are used for

rectification, they will also be stolen.

How is this so?--One man steals a purse, and is punished. Another

steals a State, and becomes a Prince. But charity and duty to one's

neighbour are integral parts of princedom. Does he not then steal

charity and duty to one's neighbour together with the wisdom of the

Sages?

So it is that to attempt to drive out great robbers

Who steal States.

is simply to help them to steal principalities, charity, duty to one's

neighbour, together with measures, scales, tallies, and signets. No

reward of official regalia and uniform will dissuade, nor dread of

sharp instruments of punishment will deter such men from their course.

These do but double the profits of robbers like Chê, and make it

impossible to get rid of them,--for which the Sages are responsible.

Therefore it has been said, "Fishes cannot be taken away from water:

the instruments of government cannot be delegated to others."

These words were uttered by Lao Tzŭ. So say Han Fei Tzŭ and Huai Nan

Tzŭ. They have been incorporated in ch. xxxvi of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_.

In the wisdom of Sages the instruments of government are found. This

wisdom is not fit for enlightening the world.

Away then with wisdom and knowledge, and great robbers will disappear!

Discard jade and destroy pearls, and petty thieves will cease to exist.

Burn tallies and break signets, and the people will revert to their

natural integrity. Split measures and smash scales, and the people will

not fight over quantities. Utterly abolish all the restrictions of

Sages, and the people will begin to be fit for the reception of TAO.

Confuse the six pitch-pipes, break up organs and flutes, stuff up the

ears of Shih K'uang,--and each man will keep his own sense of hearing

to himself.

Put an end to decoration, disperse the five categories of colour, glue

up the eyes of Li Chu,--and each man will keep his own sense of sight

to himself.

Destroy arcs and lines, fling away square and compasses, snap off the

fingers of Kung Ch'ui,--

A famous artisan who could draw an exact circle with his unaided hand.

and each man will use his own natural skill.

Wherefore the saying, "Great skill is as clumsiness."

Extremes meet. These words are attributed to Lao Tzŭ by Huai Nan Tzŭ,

and are incorporated in ch. xlv of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_.

Restrain the actions of Tsêng and Shih, stop the mouths of Yang and

Mih, get rid of charity and duty to one's neighbour,--and the virtue of

the people will become one with God.

If each man keeps to himself his own sense of sight, the world will

escape confusion. If each man keeps to himself his own sense of

hearing, the world will escape entanglements. If each man keeps his

knowledge to himself, the world will escape doubt. If each man keeps

his own virtue to himself, the world will avoid deviation from the true

path.

Tsêng, Shih, Yang, Mih, Shih K'uang, Kung Ch'ui, and Li Chu, all set

up their virtue outside themselves and involve the world in such angry

discussions that nothing definite is accomplished.

Have you never heard of the Golden Age,--

This question must be addressed to the reader.

the days of Yung Ch'êng, Ta T'ing, Poh Huang, Chung Yang, Li Lu, Li

Hsü, Hsien Yüan, Hê Hsü, Tsun Lu, Chu Yung, Fu Hsi, and Shên Nung?

Ancient rulers, several of whom have already been mentioned.

Then the people used knotted cords.

As a means of intercommunication. The details of the system have not,

however, come down to us.

They were contented with what food and raiment they could get. They

lived simple and peaceful lives. Neighbouring districts were within

sight, and the cocks and dogs of one could be heard in the other, yet

the people grew old and died without ever interchanging visits.

In those days, government was indeed perfect. But nowadays any one can

excite the people by saying, "In such and such a place there is a Sage."

Immediately they put together a few provisions and hurry off,

neglecting their parents at home and their master's business abroad,

filing in unbroken line through territories of Princes, with a string

of carts and carriages a thousand _li_ in length. Such is the evil

effect of an exaggerated desire for knowledge among our rulers. And if

rulers aim at knowledge and neglect TAO, the empire will be overwhelmed

in confusion.

How can it be shown that this is so?--Bows and cross-bows and hand-nets

and harpoon-arrows, involve much knowledge in their use; but they carry

confusion among the birds of the air. Hooks and bait and nets and

traps, involve much knowledge in their use; but they carry confusion

among the fishes of the deep. Fences and nets and snares, involve much

knowledge in their use; but they carry confusion among the beasts of

the field. In the same way the sophistical fallacies of the hard and

white and the like and the unlike of schoolmen involve much knowledge

of argument; but they overwhelm the world in doubt.

Therefore it is that whenever there is great confusion, love of

knowledge is ever at the bottom of it. For all men strive to grasp

what they do not know, while none strive to grasp what they already

know; and all strive to discredit what they do not excel in, while none

strive to discredit what they do excel in. The result is overwhelming

confusion.

Thus, above, the splendour of the heavenly bodies is dimmed; below,

the energy of land and water is disturbed; while midway the influence

of the four seasons is destroyed. There is not one tiny creature which

moves on earth or flies in air but becomes other than by nature it

should be. So overwhelming is the confusion which desire for knowledge

has brought upon the world ever since the time of the Three Dynasties

downwards! The simple and the guileless have been set aside; the

specious and the false have been exalted. Tranquil inaction has given

place to a love of disputation; and by disputation has confusion come

upon the world.

ON LETTING ALONE.

_Argument_:--The natural conditions of our existence require no

artificial aids--The evils of government--Failure of coercion--TAO the

refuge--Inaction the secret--The action of Inaction--Illustrations.

There has been such a thing as letting mankind alone; there has never

been such a thing as governing mankind.

With success.

Letting alone springs from fear lest men's natural dispositions

be perverted and their virtue laid aside. But if their natural

dispositions be not perverted nor their virtue laid aside, what room is

there left for government?

Of old, when Yao governed the empire, he caused happiness to prevail to

excess in man's nature; and consequently the people were not satisfied.

When Chieh

See p. 40.

governed the empire he caused sorrow to prevail to excess in man's

nature; and consequently the people were not contented. Dissatisfaction

and discontent are subversive of virtue; and without virtue there is no

such thing for an empire as stability.

Virtue, here in its ordinary sense.

When man rejoices greatly he gravitates towards the positive pole. When

he sorrows deeply he gravitates towards the negative pole.

These "poles" are the male and female principles already alluded to

on p. 82. Originally developed from the Great Monad, they became the

progenitors of all creation.

If the equilibrium of positive and negative

In nature.

is disturbed, the four seasons are interrupted, the balance of heat and

cold is destroyed, and man himself suffers physically thereby.

Because men are made to rejoice and to sorrow and to displace their

centre of gravity, they lose their steadiness, and are unsuccessful

in thought and action. And thus it is that the idea of surpassing

others first came into the world, followed by the appearance of such

men as Robber Chê, Tsêng, and Shih, the result being that the whole

world could not furnish enough rewards for the good nor distribute

punishments enough for the evil among mankind. And as this great world

is not equal to the demand for rewards and punishments; and as, ever

since the time of the Three Dynasties

The legendary emperors Fu Hsi, Shên Nung, and Huang Ti, or the Yellow

Emperor, already mentioned.

downwards, men have done nothing but struggle over rewards and

punishments,--what possible leisure can they have had for adapting

themselves to the natural conditions of their existence?

Besides, over-refinement of vision leads to debauchery in

colour; over-refinement of hearing leads to debauchery in sound;

over-refinement of charity leads to confusion in virtue;

Here again the manifestation of TAO. See p. 45.

over-refinement of duty towards one's neighbour leads to perversion of

principle;

The eternal principles which are of TAO and not of man.

over-refinement of ceremonial leads to divergence from the true object;

over-refinement of music leads to lewdness of thought; over-refinement

of wisdom leads to an extension of mechanical art; and over-refinement

of shrewdness leads to an extension of vice.

As shown in the preceding chapter.

If people adapt themselves to the natural conditions of existence, the

above eight

Vision, hearing, charity, duty to one's neighbour, ceremonial, music,

wisdom, and shrewdness.

may be or may not be; it matters not. But if people do not adapt

themselves to the natural conditions of existence, then these eight

become hindrances and spoilers, and throw the world into confusion.

In spite of this, the world reverences and cherishes them, thereby

greatly increasing the sum of human error. And not as a passing

fashion, but with admonitions in words, with humility in prostrations,

and with the stimulus of music and song. What then is left for me?

Therefore, for the perfect man who is unavoidably summoned to power

over his fellows, there is naught like _Inaction_.

It is not according to the spirit of TAO that a man should shirk his

mortal responsibilities. On the contrary, TAO teaches him how to meet

them.

By means of inaction he will be able to adapt himself to the natural

conditions of existence. And so it is that he who respects the State as

his own body is fit to support it, and he who loves the State as his

own body, is fit to govern it.

This last sentence is attributed by Huai Nan Tzŭ to Lao Tzŭ, and has

been incorporated in the _Tao-Tê-Ching_, ch. xiii. It is curious that

Chuang Tzŭ should say nothing about its authorship, and perhaps even

more curious that Kuo Hsiang, his editor and commentator of the fourth

century A.D., should say nothing either about the claims of Lao Tzŭ or

the _Tao-Tê-Ching_.

And if I can refrain from injuring my internal economy, and from

taxing my powers of sight and hearing, sitting like a corpse while

my dragon-power is manifested around, in profound silence while my

thunder-voice resounds, the powers of heaven responding to every phase

of my will, as under the yielding influence of inaction all things are

brought to maturity and thrive,--what leisure then have I to set about

governing the world?

Some of this passage is repeated in ch. xiv.

Ts'ui Chü

A casual personage.

asked Lao Tzŭ, saying, "If the empire is not to be governed, how are

men's hearts to be kept in order?"

"Be careful," replied Lao Tzŭ, "not to interfere with the natural

goodness of the heart of man. Man's heart may be forced down or stirred

up. In each case the issue is fatal.

"By gentleness, the hardest heart may be softened. But try to cut and

polish it,--'twill glow like fire or freeze like ice. In the twinkling

of an eye it will pass beyond the limits of the Four Seas. In repose,

profoundly still; in motion, far away in the sky. No bolt can bar, no

bond can bind,--such is the human heart."

"Of old, the Yellow Emperor first caused charity and duty to one's

neighbour to interfere with the natural goodness of the heart of man.

In consequence of which, Yao and Shun wore the hair off their legs

in endeavouring to feed their people. They disturbed their internal

economy in order to find room for charity and duty to one's neighbour.

They exhausted their energies in framing laws and statutes. Still they

did not succeed.

"Thereupon, Yao confined Huan Tou on Mount Tsung; drove the chief of

San-miao and his people into San-wei, and kept them there; and banished

the Minister of Works to Yu Island.

These words are quoted (with variants) from the _Shu Ching_ or Canon

of History. They refer to individuals who had misconducted themselves

in carrying out the new _régime._

But they were not equal to their task, and through the times of the

Three Princes

The Great Yü, T'ang, and Wên Wang, founder of the Chou dynasty.

the empire was in a state of great unrest. Among the bad men were

Chieh and Chê; among the good were Tsêng and Shih. By and by, the

Confucianists and the Mihists arose; and then came exultation and anger

of rivals, fraud between the simple and the cunning, recrimination

between the virtuous and the evil, slander between the honest and the

dishonest,--until decadence set in, men fell away from their original

virtue, their natures became corrupt, and there was a general rush for

knowledge.

"The next thing was to coerce by all kinds of physical torture, thus

bringing utter confusion into the empire, the blame for which rests

upon those who would interfere with the natural goodness of the heart

of man.

"In consequence, virtuous men sought refuge in mountain caves, while

rulers of States sat trembling in their ancestral halls. Then, when

dead men lay about pillowed on each others' corpses, when cangued

prisoners and condemned criminals jostled each other in crowds,--then

the Confucianists and the Mihists, in the midst of gyves and fetters,

stood forth to preach!

Salvation from the ills of which they and their systems had been the

cause.

Alas, they know not shame, nor what it is to blush!

"Until I can say that the wisdom of Sages is not a fastener of cangues,

and that charity and duty to one's neighbour are not bolts for gyves,

how should I know that Tsêng and Shih are not the forerunners

_Lit._ "sounding arrows," used by bandits as a signal for beginning

the attack.

of Chieh and Chê?

The meaning intended is that _good_ cannot exist without its

correlative _evil_.

"Therefore I said, 'Abandon wisdom and discard knowledge, and the

empire will be at peace.'"

These words have been incorporated in ch. xix of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_.

The present rendering somewhat modifies the view I expressed on p. 16

of _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_.

The Yellow Emperor sat on the throne for nineteen years, and his laws

obtained all over the empire.

Hearing that Kuang Ch'êng Tzŭ

Said by some commentators to be another name for Lao Tzŭ, but if so,

then it must have been Lao Tzŭ as he existed, an incarnation of TAO,

before his appearance in the Confucian age.

was living on Mount K'ung-t'ung, he went thither to see him, and said,

"I am told, Sir, that you are in possession of perfect TAO. May I ask

in what perfect TAO consists? I desire to avail myself of the good

influence of heaven and earth in order to secure harvests and feed my

people. I should also like to control the Two Powers of nature

The _Yin_ and the _Yang_. See pp. 82, 120.

in order to the protection of all living things. How can I accomplish

this?"

"What you desire to avail yourself of," replied Kuang Ch'êng Tzŭ, "is

the primordial integrity of matter. What you wish to control are the

disintegrators thereof. Ever since the empire has been _governed_ by

you, the clouds have rained without waiting to thicken, the foliage

of trees has fallen without waiting to grow yellow, the brightness of

the sun and moon has paled, and the voice of the flatterer is heard on

every side. How then speak of perfect TAO?"

The Yellow Emperor withdrew. He resigned the Throne. He built himself

a solitary hut. He lay upon straw. For three months he remained in

seclusion, and then went again to see Kuang Ch'êng Tzŭ.

The latter was lying down with his face to the south. The Yellow

Emperor approached after the manner of an inferior, upon his knees.

Prostrating himself upon the ground he said, "I am told, Sir, that

you are in possession of perfect TAO. May I ask how my self may be

preserved so as to last?"

Kuang Ch'êng Tzŭ jumped up with a start. "A good question indeed!"

cried he. "Come, and I will speak to you of perfect TAO.

"The essence of perfect TAO is profoundly mysterious; its extent is

lost in obscurity.

"See nothing; hear nothing; let your soul be wrapped in quiet; and your

body will begin to take proper form. Let there be absolute repose and

absolute purity; do not weary your body nor disturb your vitality,--and

you will live for ever. For if the eye sees nothing, and the ear hears

nothing, and the mind

_Lit._ the heart.

thinks nothing, the soul will preserve the body, and the body will live

for ever.

Not in the grosser worldly sense, but as a sublimated unit in eternity.

"Cherish that which is within you, and shut off that which is without;

for much knowledge is a curse. Then I will place you upon that abode

of Great Light which is the source of the positive Power, and escort

you through the gate of Profound Mystery which is the source of the

negative Power. These Powers are the controllers of heaven and earth,

and each contains the other.

Knowledge thereof is knowledge of the great mystery of human existence.

"Cherish and preserve your own self,

In accordance with the above.

and all the rest will prosper of itself.

The welfare of the people, the success of their harvests, etc.

I preserve the original ONE, while resting in harmony with externals.

It is because I have thus cared for my self now for twelve hundred

years that my body has not decayed."

The Yellow Emperor prostrated himself and said, "Kuang Ch'êng Tzŭ is

surely God...."

Whereupon the latter continued, "Come, I will tell you. That self is

eternal; yet all men think it mortal. That self is infinite; yet all

men think it finite. Those who possess TAO are princes in this life and

rulers in the hereafter. Those who do not possess TAO, behold the light

of day in this life and become clods of earth in the hereafter.

"Nowadays, all living things spring from the dust and to the dust

return. But I will lead you through the portals of Eternity into the

domain of Infinity. My light is the light of sun and moon. My life is

the life of heaven and earth. I know not who comes nor who goes. Men

may all die, but I endure for ever."

"A mighty drama, enacted on the theatre of Infinitude, with suns for

lamps, and Eternity as a background; whose author is God, and whose

purport and thousandfold moral lead us up to the 'dark with excess of

light' of the throne of God."--_Carlyle._

The Spirit of the Clouds when passing eastwards through the expanse of

Air

The term here used has also been explained to mean some supernatural

kind of tree, over which we may imagine the Cloud-Spirit to be passing.

happened to fall in with the Vital Principle. The latter was slapping

his ribs and hopping about; whereupon the Spirit of the Clouds said,

"Who are you, old man, and what are you doing here?"

"Strolling!" replied the Vital Principle, without stopping.

Activities ceaseless in their imperceptible operation.

"I want to _know_ something," continued the Spirit of the Clouds.

"Ah!" uttered the Vital Principle, in a tone of disapprobation.

"The relationship of heaven and earth is out of harmony," said the

Spirit of the Clouds; "the six influences do not combine,

The positive and negative principles, wind, rain, darkness, and light.

and the four seasons are no longer regular. I desire to blend the six

influences so as to nourish all living beings. What am I to do?"

"I do not know!" cried the Vital Principle, shaking his head, while

still slapping his ribs and hopping about; "I do not know!"

So the Spirit of the Clouds did not press his question; but three

years later, when passing eastwards through the Yu-sung territory, he

again fell in with the Vital Principle. The former was overjoyed, and

hurrying up, said, "Has your Holiness forgotten me?"

He then prostrated himself, and desired to be allowed to interrogate

the Vital Principle; but the latter said, "I wander on without knowing

what I want. I roam about without knowing where I am going. I stroll in

this ecstatic manner, simply awaiting events. What should I know?"

"I too roam about," answered the Spirit of the Clouds; "but the people

depend upon my movements. I am thus unavoidably summoned to power; and

under these circumstances I would gladly receive some advice."

"That the scheme of empire is in confusion," said the Vital Principle,

"that the conditions of life are violated, that the will of God does

not triumph, that the beasts of the field are disorganised, that the

birds of the air cry at night, that blight reaches the trees and herbs,

that destruction spreads among creeping things,--this, alas! is the

fault of _government_."

"True," replied the Spirit of the Clouds, "but what am I to do?"

"It is here," cried the Vital Principle, "that the poison lurks! Go

back!"

To the root, to that natural state in which by inaction all things are

accomplished.

"It is not often," urged the Spirit of the Clouds, "that I meet with

your Holiness. I would gladly receive some advice."

"Feed then your people," said the Vital Principle, "with your heart.

By the influence of your own perfection.

Rest in inaction, and the world will be good of itself. Cast your

slough. Spit forth intelligence. Ignore all differences. Become one

with the infinite. Release your mind. Free your soul. Be vacuous. Be

Nothing!

"Let all things revert to their original constitution. If they do this,

without knowledge, the result will be a simple purity which they will

never lose; but knowledge will bring with it a divergence therefrom.

Seek not the names nor the relations of things, and all things will

flourish of themselves."

"Knowledge is the knowing that we cannot know." _Emerson._

"Your Holiness," said the Spirit of the Clouds, as he prostrated

himself and took leave, "has informed me with power and filled me with

mysteries. What I had long sought, I have now found."

* * * * *

The men of this world all rejoice in others being like themselves, and

object to others not being like themselves.

"The man, and still more the woman, who can be accused either of doing

'what nobody does,' or of not doing 'what everybody does,' is the

subject of as much depreciatory remark as if he or she had committed

some grave moral delinquency." Mill's _Essay on Liberty_, ch. iii.

Those who make friends with their likes and do not make friends with

their unlikes, are influenced by a desire to differentiate themselves

from others. But those who are thus influenced by a desire to

differentiate themselves from others,--how will they find it possible

to do so?

As all have similar ambitions, they will only be on the same footing

as the rest.

To subordinate oneself to the majority in order to gratify personal

ambition, is not so good as to let that majority look each one after

his own affairs. Those who desire to govern kingdoms, clutch at the

advantages of the Three Princes without seeing the troubles involved.

In fact, they trust to luck. But in thus trusting to luck not to

destroy the kingdom, their chances of preserving it do not amount to

one in ten thousand, while their chances of destroying it are ten

thousand to nothing and even more. Such, alas! is the ignorance of

rulers.

The above somewhat unsatisfactory paragraph condemns those who strive

to distinguish themselves from, and set themselves up as _governors_

of, their fellow-men.

For, given territory, there is the great thing--Man. Given man, he must

not be managed as if he were a mere thing; though by not managing him

at all he may actually be managed as if he were a mere thing. And for

those who understand that the management of man as if he were a mere

thing is not the way to manage him, the issue is not confined to mere

government of the empire. Such men may wander at will between the six

limits of space or travel over the continent of earth, unrestrained in

coming and in going. This is to be distinguished from one's fellows,

and this distinction is the highest attainable by man.

The doctrine of the perfect man is to him as shadow to form, as echo to

sound. Ask and it responds, fulfilling its mission as the help-mate of

humanity. Noiseless in repose, objectless in motion, it guides you to

the goal, free to come and free to go for ever without end. Alone in

its exits and its entrances, it rivals the eternity of the sun.

As for his body, that is in accordance with the usual standard. Being

in accordance with the usual standard it is not distinguished in

any way. But if not distinguished in any way, what becomes of the

distinction by which he is distinguished?

Those who see what is to be seen,--of such were the perfect men of

old. Those who see what is not to be seen,--they are the chosen of the

universe.

Spiritual sight carries them beyond the horizon where natural vision

stops short.

Low in the scale, but still to be allowed for,--matter. Humble, but

still to be followed,--

Rather than guided.

mankind. Of others, but still to be attended to,--affairs. Harsh,

but still necessary to be set forth,--the law. Far off, but still

claiming our presence,--duty to one's neighbour. Near, but still

claiming extension,--charity. Of sparing use, but still to be of

bounteous store,--ceremony. Of middle course, but still to be of

lofty scope,--virtue. One, but not to be without modification,--TAO.

Spiritual, yet not to be devoid of action,--GOD.

In inaction there is action.

Therefore the true Sage looks up to God, but does not offer to aid. He

perfects his virtue, but does not involve himself. He guides himself by

Tao, but makes no plans. He identifies himself with charity, but does

not rely on it. He extends to duty towards his neighbour, but does not

store it up. He responds to ceremony, without tabooing it.

Although really recognising only the ceremony of the heart which

requires no outward sign.

He undertakes affairs without declining them. He metes out law without

confusion. He relies on his fellow-men and does not make light of them.

He accommodates himself to matter and does not ignore it.

Thus the action of the Sage is after all inaction.

While there should be no action, there should be also no inaction.

Of a positive, premeditated character.

He who is not divinely enlightened will not be sublimely pure. He who

has not clear apprehension of TAO will find this beyond his reach. And

he who is not enlightened by TAO,--alas indeed for him!

What then is TAO?--There is the TAO of God, and the TAO of man.

Inaction and compliance make the TAO of God: action and entanglement

the TAO of man. The TAO of God is fundamental: the TAO of man is

accidental. The distance which separates them is great. Let us all take

heed thereto!

THE UNIVERSE.

_Argument_:--The prëeminence of TAO--All things informed thereby--The

true Sage illumined thereby--His attributes--His perfection--Man's

senses his bane--Illustrations.

Vast as is the universe, its phenomena are regular. Countless though

its contents, the laws which govern these are uniform. Many though its

inhabitants, that which dominates them is sovereignty. Sovereignty

begins in virtue and ends in God. Therefore it is called divine.

The term here used has been elsewhere rendered "infinite."

Of old, the empire was under the sovereignty of inaction. There was the

virtue of God,--nothing more.

Meaning, of course, TAO. In other words, all things existed under

their own natural conditions.

Words being in accordance with TAO, the sovereignty of the empire was

correct. Delimitations being in accordance with TAO, the duties of

prince and subject were clear. Abilities being in accordance with TAO,

the officials of the empire governed. The point of view being always

in accordance with TAO, all things responded thereto.

Under the reign of inaction, the natural prevailed over the

artificial. (1) The sovereign could utter no cruel mandate. (2)

Sovereign and subject each played his allotted part. (3) The right men

were in the right place. (4) All things were as they were, and not as

man would have them.

Thus, virtue was the connecting link between God and man, while

TAO spread throughout all creation. Men were controlled by outward

circumstances, applying their in-born skill to the development of

civilised life. This skill was bound up with the circumstances of life,

and these with duty, and duty with virtue, and virtue with TAO, and TAO

with God.

Therefore it has been said, "As for those who nourished the empire of

old, having no desires for themselves, the empire was not in want. They

did nothing, and all things proceeded on their course. They preserved a

dignified repose, and the people rested in peace."

We are not told who said these words. They are not in the

_Tao-Tê-Ching_; and yet if Lao Tzŭ did not utter them, it is difficult

to say who did.

The _Record_ says, "By converging to ONE, all things may be

accomplished. By the virtue which is without intention, even the

supernatural may be subdued."

How much more _man_? Kuo Hsiang says the _Record_ was the name of a

work ascribed to Lao Tzŭ.

The Master said, "TAO covers and supports all things,"--so vast is its

extent. Each man should prepare his heart accordingly.

This "Master" has been identified with both Chuang Tzŭ and Lao Tzŭ.

"To act by means of inaction is God. To speak by means of inaction

is Virtue. To love men and care for things is Charity. To recognise

the unlike as the like is breadth of view. To make no distinctions is

liberal. To possess variety is wealth. And so, to hold fast to virtue

is strength. To complete virtue is establishment. To follow TAO is to

be prepared. And not to run counter to the natural bias of things is to

be perfect.

"He who fully realises these ten points, by storing them within

enlarges his heart, and with this enlargement brings all creation to

himself. Such a man will bury gold on the hillside and cast pearls

into the sea. He will not struggle for wealth, nor strive for fame. He

will not rejoice at old age, nor grieve over early death. He will find

no pleasure in success, no chagrin in failure. He will not account a

throne as his own private gain, nor the empire of the world as glory

personal to himself. His glory is to know that all things are ONE, and

that life and death are but phases of the same existence!"

"Let man learn that he is here, not to work, but to be worked upon;

and that, though abyss open under abyss, and opinion displace opinion,

all are at last contained in the Eternal Cause." _Emerson._

The Master said, "How profound in its repose, how infinite in its

purity, is TAO!

"If metal and stone were without TAO, they would not be capable of

emitting sound. And just as they possess the property of sound but

will not emit sound unless struck, so surely is the same principle

applicable to all creation.

Meaning that all creation is responsive to proper influences, in

accordance with TAO, if we only knew where to seek them.

"The man of complete virtue remains blankly passive as regards what

goes on around him. He is as originally by nature, and his knowledge

extends to the supernatural. Thus, his virtue expands his heart, which

goes forth to all who come to take refuge therein.

His heart does not initiate the movement, but simply responds to an

influence brought to bear.

"Without TAO, form cannot be endued with life. Without virtue, life

cannot be endued with intelligence. To preserve one's form, live out

one's life, establish one's virtue, and realise TAO,--is not this

complete virtue?

"Issuing forth spontaneously, moving without premeditation, all things

following in his wake,--such is the man of complete virtue!

"He can see where all is dark. He can hear where all is still. In the

darkness he alone can see light. In the stillness he alone can detect

harmony. He can sink to the lowest depths of materialism. To the

highest heights of spirituality he can soar. This because he stands in

due relation to all things. Though a mere abstraction, he can minister

to their wants, and ever and anon receive them into rest,--the great,

the small, the long, the short, for ever without end."

He is, as it were, a law of compensation to all things.

The Yellow Emperor travelled to the north of the Red Lake and ascended

the K'un-lun Mountains. Returning south he lost his magic pearl.

His spiritual part, his soul.

He employed Intelligence to find it, but without success. He employed

Sight to find it, but without success. He employed Speech

Also explained as "Strength."

to find it, but without success. Finally, he employed Nothing, and

Nothing got it.

He did not employ Nothing _to find it_. He only employed Nothing.

"Strange indeed," quoth the Emperor, "that Nothing should have been

able to get it!"

Knowledge, sight, and speech, tend to obscure rather than illuminate

the spiritual nature of man. Only in a state of negation can true

spirituality be found.

Yao's tutor was Hsü Yu. The latter's tutor was Yeh Ch'üeh, and Yeh

Ch'üeh's tutor was Wang I, whose tutor was Pei I.

Yao enquired of Hsü Yu, saying, "Would Yeh Ch'üeh do to be emperor? I

am going to get Wang I to ask him."

"Alas!" cried Hsü Yu, "that would be bad indeed for the empire. Yeh

Ch'üeh is a clever and capable man. He is by nature better than most

men, but he seeks by means of the human to reach the divine. He

strives to do no wrong; but he is ignorant of the source from which

wrong springs. Emperor forsooth! He avails himself of the artificial

and neglects the natural. He lacks unity in himself. He worships

intelligence and is always in a state of ferment. He is a slave to

circumstances and to things. Wherever he looks, his surroundings

respond. He himself responds to his surroundings.

He is not yet an abstraction, informed by TAO.

He is always undergoing modifications and is wanting in fixity. How

should such a one be fit for emperor? Still every clan has its elder.

He may be leader of a clan, but not a leader of leaders. A captain who

has been successful in suppressing rebellion, as minister is a bane, as

sovereign, a thief."

Yao went to visit Hua. The border-warden of Hua said "Ha! a Sage. My

best respects to you, Sir. I wish you a long life."

"Don't!" replied Yao.

"I wish you plenty of money," continued the border-warden.

"Don't!" replied Yao.

"And many sons," added he.

"Don't!" replied Yao.

"Long life, plenty of money, and many sons," cried the warden, "these

are what all men desire. How is it you alone do not want them?"

"Many sons," answered Yao, "are many anxieties. Plenty of money means

plenty of trouble. Long life involves much that is not pleasant to put

up with. These three gifts do not advance virtue; therefore I declined

them."

"At first I took you for a Sage," said the warden, "but now I find you

are a mere man. God, in sending man into the world, gives to each his

proper function. If you have many sons and give to each his proper

function, what cause have you for anxiety?

"And similarly, if you have wealth and allow others to share it, what

troubles will you have?"

"The true Sage dwells like the quail

At random.

and feeds like a fledgeling.

Which is dependent on its parents.

He travels like the bird, leaving no trace behind. If there be TAO in

the empire, he and all things are in harmony. If there be not TAO, he

cultivates virtue in retirement. After a thousand years of this weary

world, he mounts aloft, and riding upon the white clouds passes into

the kingdom of God, whither the three evils do not reach, and where he

rests secure in eternity. What is there to put up with in that?"

Thereupon the border-warden went off, and Yao followed him; saying,

"May I ask----," to which the warden only replied "Begone!"

The style of the above episode varies enough from Chuang Tzŭ's

standard to make its authorship doubtful.

* * * * *

When Yao was Emperor, Poh Ch'êng Tzŭ Kao

Lao Tzŭ under a previous incarnation. See the Kuang Ch'êng Tzŭ of p.

125.

was one of his vassals. But when Yao handed over the empire to Shun,

and Shun to the Great Yü, Poh Ch'êng Tzŭ Kao resigned his fief and

betook himself to agriculture.

The Great Yü going to visit him, found him working in the fields;

whereupon he approached humbly, saying, "When Yao was emperor, you,

Sir, were a vassal; but when Yao handed over the empire to Shun, and

Shun to me, you resigned your fief and betook yourself to agriculture.

May I enquire the reason of this?"

"When Yao ruled the empire," said Tzŭ Kao, "the people exerted

themselves without reward and behaved themselves without punishment.

But now you reward and punish them, and yet they are not good. From

this point virtue will decline, the reign of force will begin, and the

troubles of after ages will date their rise. Away with you! Do not

interrupt my work." And he quietly went on ploughing as before.

The above episode is unmistakably spurious.

At the beginning of the beginning, even Nothing did not exist. Then

came the period of the Nameless.

"The Nameless," says the _Tao-Tê-Ching_, ch. i, "was the beginning of

heaven and earth." See also ch. ii, _ante_.

When ONE came into existence, there was ONE, but it was formless. When

things got that by which they came into existence, it was called their

_virtue_.

_Sc._ that, by virtue of which they are what they are. See p. 45.

That which was formless, but divided,

_I.e._ allotted.

though without interstice,

Unbroken in continuity.

was called _destiny_.

Then came the movement which gave life, and things produced in

accordance with the principles of life had what is called _form_. When

form encloses the spiritual part, each with its own characteristics,

that is its _nature_. By cultivating this nature, we are carried back

to virtue; and if this is perfected, we become as all things were in

the beginning. We become unconditioned, and the unconditioned is great.

As birds join their beaks in chirping,

Unconsciously.

and beaks to chirp must be joined,--to be thus joined with the universe

without being more conscious of it than an idiot, this is _divine

virtue_, this is accordance with the eternal fitness of things.

* * * * *

Confucius asked Lao Tzŭ, saying, "There are persons who cultivate TAO

according to fixed rules of possible and impossible, fit and unfit,

just as the schoolmen speak of separating hardness from whiteness as

though these could be hung up on different pegs.

See p. 22.

Could such persons be termed sages?"

"That," replied Lao Tzŭ, "is but the skill of the handicraftsman,

wearing out body and soul alike. The powers of the hunting-dog involve

it in trouble;

It is kept by man instead of being free.

the cleverness of the monkey brings it down from the mountain.

Into the hands of man.

Ch'iu, what I mean you cannot understand, neither can you put it into

words.

Ch'iu was the personal name of Confucius. It is never uttered by the

Confucianist, the term "a certain one" being usually substituted.

Neither is it ever written down, except with the omission of some

stroke, by which its form is changed.

Those who have a head and feet, but no mind nor ears, are many. Those

who have a body without a body or appearance of one, and yet there

they are,--are none. Movement and rest, life and death, rise and fall,

are not at the beck and call of man. Cultivation of self is in his own

hands. To be unconscious of objective existences and of God, this is to

be unconscious of one's own personality. And he who is unconscious of

his own personality, combines in himself the human and the divine."

* * * * *

Chiang Lü Mien went to see Chi Ch'ê,

Two obscure personages.

and said, "The Prince of Lu begged me to instruct him, but I declined.

However, he would take no refusal, so I was obliged to do so. I don't

know if I was correct in my doctrine or not. Please note what I said.

I told him to be decorous and thrifty; to advance the public-spirited

and loyal, and to have no partialities. Then, I said, no one would

venture to oppose him."

Chi Ch'ê sniggered and said, "Your remarks on the virtues of Princes

may be compared with the mantis stretching out its feelers and trying

to stop a carriage,--not likely to effect the object proposed.

See ch. iv, where the same figure is used.

Besides, he would be placing himself in the position of a man who

builds a lofty tower and makes a display of his valuables where all his

neighbours will come and gaze at them."

Attracting people by means not in accordance with TAO.

"Alas! I fear I am but a fool," replied Chiang Lü Mien. "Nevertheless,

I should be glad to be instructed by you in the proper course to

pursue."

"The government of the perfect Sage," explained Chi Ch'ê, "consists in

influencing the hearts of the people so as to cause them to complete

their education, to reform their manners, to subdue the rebel mind, and

to exert themselves one and all for the common good. This influence

operates in accordance with the natural disposition of the people, who

are thus unconscious of its operation. He who can so act has no need

to humble himself before the teachings of Yao and Shun. He makes the

desires of the people coincident with virtue, and their hearts rest

therein."

When Tzŭ Kung

See ch. vi.

went south to the Ch'u State on his way back to the Chin State, he

passed through Han-yin. There he saw an old man engaged in making a

ditch to connect his vegetable garden with a well. He had a pitcher in

his hand, with which he was bringing up water and pouring it into the

ditch,--great labour with very little result.

"If you had a machine here," cried Tzŭ Kung, "in a day you could

irrigate a hundred times your present area. The labour required is

trifling as compared with the work done. Would you not like to have

one?"

"What is it?" asked the gardener.

"It is a contrivance made of wood," replied Tzŭ Kung, "heavy behind and

light in front. It draws up water as you do with your hands, but in a

constantly overflowing stream. It is called a well-sweep."

Still used all over China.

Thereupon the gardener flushed up and said, "I have heard from my

teacher that those who have cunning implements are cunning in their

dealings, and that those who are cunning in their dealings have cunning

in their hearts, and that those who have cunning in their hearts cannot

be pure and incorrupt, and that those who are not pure and incorrupt

are restless in spirit, and that those who are restless in spirit

are not fit vehicles for TAO. It is not that I do not know of these

things. I should be ashamed to use them."

At this Tzŭ Kung was much abashed, and said nothing. Then the gardener

asked him who he was, to which Tzŭ Kung replied that he was a disciple

of Confucius.

"Are you not one who extends his learning with a view to being a Sage;

who talks big in order to put himself above the rest of mankind; who

plays in a key to which no one can sing so as to spread his reputation

abroad? Rather become unconscious of self and shake off the trammels

of the flesh,--and you will be near. But if you cannot govern your own

self, what leisure have you for governing the empire? Begone! Do not

interrupt my work."

Tzŭ Kung changed colour and slunk away, being not at all pleased with

this rebuff; and it was not before he had travelled some thirty _li_

that he recovered his usual appearance.

"What did the man we met do," asked a disciple, "that you should change

colour and not recover for such a long time?"

"I used to think there was only one man in all the world," replied Tzŭ

Kung.

Meaning Confucius.

"I did not know that there was also this man. I have heard the

Master say that the test of a scheme is its practicability, and that

success must be certain. The minimum of effort with the maximum of

success,--such is the way of the Sage.

The absurdity of attributing such doctrines to Confucius will be

apparent to every student of the Sage's remains.

"Not so this manner of man. Aiming at TAO, he perfects his virtue. By

perfecting his virtue he perfects his body, and by perfecting his body

he perfects his spiritual part. And the perfection of the spiritual

part is the TAO of the Sage. Coming into life he is as one of the

people, knowing not whither he is bound. How complete is his purity?

Success, profit, skill,--these have no place in his heart. Such a man,

if he does not will it, he does not stir; if he does not wish it, he

does not act. If all the world praises him, he does not heed. If all

the world blames him, he does not repine.

Reminding us of the philosopher Yung of ch. i.

The praise and the blame of the world neither advantage him nor

otherwise. He may be called a man of perfect virtue. As for me, I am

but a mere creature of impulse."

So he went back to Lu to tell Confucius. But Confucius said, "That

fellow pretends to a knowledge of the science of the ante-mundane.

He knows something, but not much. His government is of the internal,

not of the external. What is there wonderful in a man by clearness of

intelligence becoming pure, by inaction reverting to his original

integrity, and with his nature and his spiritual part wrapped up in a

body, passing through this common world of ours? Besides, to you and to

me the science of the ante-mundane is not worth knowing."

It is only the present which concerns man.

This last is an utterance which might well have fallen from the lips

of Confucius. But the whole episode is clearly an interpolation of

later times.

* * * * *

As Chun Mang was starting eastwards to the ocean, he fell in with Yüan

Fêng on the shore of the eastern sea.

These names are probably allegorical, but it is difficult to say in

exactly what sense.

"Whither bound?" cried the latter.

"I am going to the ocean," replied Chun Mang.

"What are you going to do there?" asked Yüan Fêng.

"The ocean," said Chun Mang, "is a thing you cannot fill by pouring in,

nor empty by taking out. I am simply on a trip."

You cannot _do_ anything to the infinite.

"But surely you have intentions with regard to the straight-browed

people?... Come, tell me how the Sage governs."

The straight-browed, _lit._ horizontal-eyed, people, are said by one

commentator to have been "savages."

"Oh, the government of the Sage," answered Chun Mang. "The officials

confine themselves to their functions. Ability is secure of employment.

The voice of the people is heard, and action is taken accordingly.

Men's words and deeds are their own affairs, and so the empire is at

peace. A beck or a call, and the people flock together from all sides.

This is how the Sage governs."

"Tell me about the man of perfect virtue," said Yüan Fêng.

"The man of perfect virtue," replied Chun Mang, "in repose has no

thoughts, in action no anxiety. He recognises no right, nor wrong,

nor good, nor bad. Within the Four Seas, when all profit--that is his

pleasure; when all share--that is his repose. Men cling to him as

children who have lost their mothers; they rally round him as wayfarers

who have missed their road. He has wealth and to spare, but he knows

not whence it comes. He has food and drink more than sufficient, but

knows not who provides it. Such is a man of virtue."

"And now," said Yüan Fêng, "tell me about the divine man."

"The divine man," replied Chun Mang, "rides upon the glory of the sky

where his form can no longer be discerned. This is called absorption

into light. He fulfils his destiny. He acts in accordance with his

nature. He is at one with God and man. For him all affairs cease to

exist, and all things revert to their original state. This is called

envelopment in darkness."

Mên Wu Kuei and Ch'ih Chang Man Chi were looking at Wu Wang's troops.

The famous founder of the Chou dynasty, B.C. 1169-1116.

"He is not equal to the Great Yü," said the latter; and consequently

"we are involved in all these troubles."

"May I ask," replied Mên Wu Kuei, "if the empire was under proper

government when the Great Yü began to govern it, or had he first to

quell disorder and then to proceed to government?"

"If the empire had all been under proper government," said the other,

"what would there have been for the Great Yü to do? He was as ointment

to a sore. Only bald men use wigs; only sick people want doctors. And

the Sage blushes when a filial son, with anxious look, administers

medicine to cure his loving father.

Because to need drugs, the father must first have been sick; and this,

from a Chinese point of view, is clearly the fault of the son.

"In the Golden Age, good men were not appreciated; ability was not

conspicuous. Rulers were mere beacons, while the people were free as

the wild deer. They were upright without being conscious of duty to

their neighbours. They loved one another without being conscious of

charity. They were true without being conscious of loyalty. They were

honest without being conscious of good faith. They acted freely in all

things without recognising obligations to any one. Thus, their deeds

left no trace; their affairs were not handed down to posterity.

Rousseau, in _Du Contrat Social_, thus describes society as it

would be if every man was a true Christian:--"Chacun remplirait son

devoir; le peuple serait soumis aux lois, les chefs seraient justes

et modérés, les magistrats intègres, incorruptibles, les soldats

mépriseraient la mort, il n'y aurait ni vanité ni luxe."

"A filial son does not humour his parents. A loyal minister does not

flatter his prince. This is the acme of filial piety and loyalty. To

assent to whatever a parent or a prince says, and to praise whatever

a parent or a prince does, this is what the world calls unfilial and

disloyal conduct, though apparently unaware that the principle is of

universal application. For though a man assents to whatever the world

says, and praises whatever the world does, he is not dubbed a toady;

from which one might infer that the world is severer than a father and

more to be respected than a prince!

"If you tell a man he is a wheedler, he will not like it. If you tell

him he is a flatterer, he will be angry. Yet he is everlastingly

both. But all such sham and pretence is what the world likes, and

consequently people do not punish each other for doing what they do

themselves. For a man to arrange his dress, or make a display, or suit

his expression so as to get into the good graces of the world, and yet

not to call himself a flatterer; to identify himself in every way

with the yeas and nays of his fellows, and yet not call himself one of

them;--this is the height of folly.

"A man who knows that he is a fool is not a great fool. A man who

knows his error is not greatly in error. Great error can never be

shaken off; a great fool never becomes clear-headed. If three men are

travelling and one man makes a mistake, they may still arrive at their

destination, error being in the minority. But if two of them make a

mistake, then they will not succeed, error being in the majority. And

now, as all the world is in error, I, though I know the true path, am

alas! unable to guide.

"Grand music does not appeal to vulgar ears. Give them the _Chê-yang_

or the _Huang-hua_,

The "Not for Joseph" and "Sally Come Up" of ancient China.

and they will roar with laughter. And likewise great truths do not

take hold of the hearts of the masses. And great truths not finding

utterance, common-places carry the day. Two earthen instruments will

drown the sound of one metal one; and the result will not be melodious.

"And now, as all the world is in error, I, though I know the true

path,--how shall I guide? If I know that I cannot succeed and yet try

to force success, this would be but another source of error. Better,

then, to desist and strive no more. But if I strive not, who will?

"An ugly man who has a son born to him in the middle of the night will

hurry up with a light, in dread lest the child should be like himself.

"An old tree is cut down to make sacrificial vessels, which are then

ornamented with colour. The stump remains in a ditch. The sacrificial

vessels and the stump in the ditch are very differently treated as

regards honour and dishonour; equally, as far as destruction of the

woods original nature is concerned. Similarly, the acts of Robber Chê

and of Tsêng and Shih are very different; but the loss of original

nature is in each case the same.

"The causes of this loss are five in number; viz.--The five colours

confuse the eye, and the eyes fail to see clearly. The five sounds

confuse the ear, and the ear fails to hear accurately. The five scents

confuse the nose, and obstruct the sense of smell. The five tastes cloy

the palate, and vitiate the sense of taste. Finally, likes and dislikes

cloud the understanding, and cause dispersion of the original nature.

"These five are the banes of life; yet Yang and Mih regarded them as

the _summum bonum_.

As attainment of TAO. For Yang Chu and Mih Tzu, see chs. ii and viii.

They are not my _summum bonum_. For if men who are thus fettered can be

said to have attained the _summum bonum_, then pigeons and owls in a

cage may also be said to have attained the _summum bonum_!

"Besides, to stuff one's inside with likes and dislikes and sounds and

colours; to encompass one's outside with fur caps, feather hats, the

carrying of tablets, or girding of sashes--full of rubbish inside while

swathed in magnificence without--and still to talk of having attained

the _summum bonum_;--then the prisoner with arms tied behind him and

fingers in the squeezer, the tiger or the leopard which has just been

put in a cage, may justly consider that they too have attained the

_summum bonum_!"

"L'homme," says Rousseau (_op. cit._), "est né libre, et partout il

est dans les fers."

This chapter, as it stands, is clearly not from the hand of Chuang

Tzŭ. One critic justly points out the want of logical sequence in

arrangement of argument and illustrations. Another, while admitting

general refinement of style, calls attention to a superficiality of

thought noticeable in certain portions. "Yet only those," he adds,

"who eat and sleep with their Chuang Tzŭs would be able to detect

this."

THE TAO OF GOD.

_Argument_:--TAO is repose--Repose the secret of the

universe--Cultivation of essentials--Neglect of accidentals--The

sequence of TAO--Spontaneity of true virtue--TAO is unconditioned--TAO

cannot be conveyed--Illustrations.

The TAO of GOD operates ceaselessly; and all things are produced. The

TAO of the sovereign operates ceaselessly; and the empire rallies

around him. The TAO of the Sage operates ceaselessly; and all within

the limit of surrounding ocean acknowledge his sway. He who apprehends

God, who is in relation with the Sage, and who recognises the radiating

virtue of the sovereign,--his actions will be to him unconscious, the

actions of repose.

With him all will be inaction, by which all things will be

accomplished.

The repose of the Sage is not what the world calls repose. His repose

is the result of his mental attitude. All creation could not disturb

his equilibrium: hence his repose.

When water is still, it is like a mirror, reflecting the beard and the

eyebrows. It gives the accuracy of the water-level, and the philosopher

makes it his model. And if water thus derives lucidity from stillness,

how much more the faculties of the mind? The mind of the Sage being in

repose becomes the mirror of the universe, the speculum of all creation.

Repose, tranquillity, stillness, inaction,--these were the levels of

the universe, the ultimate perfection of TAO.

In the early days of Time, ere matter had assumed shape, it was by

such levels that the spiritual was adjusted.

Therefore wise rulers and Sages rest therein. Resting therein they

reach the unconditioned, from which springs the conditioned; and with

the conditioned comes order.

Meaning those laws which are inseparable from concrete existences.

Again, from the unconditioned comes repose, and from repose comes

movement,

When once inner repose has been established, outer movement results as

a matter of necessity, without injury to the organism.

and from movement comes attainment. Further, from repose comes

inaction, and from inaction comes potentiality of action.

When inaction has been achieved, action results spontaneously and

unconsciously to the organism.

And inaction is happiness; and where there is happiness no cares can

abide, and life is long.

Repose, tranquillity, stillness, inaction,--these were the source of

all things. Due perception of this was the secret of Yao's success

as a ruler, and of Shun's success as his minister. Due perception of

this constitutes the virtue of sovereigns on the throne, the TAO of

the inspired Sage and of the uncrowned King below. Keep to this in

retirement, and the lettered denizens of sea and dale will recognise

your power. Keep to this when coming forward to pacify a troubled

world, and your merit shall be great and your name illustrious, and

the empire united into one. In your repose you will be wise; in your

movements, powerful. By inaction you will gain honour; and by confining

yourself to the pure and simple, you will hinder the whole world from

struggling with you for show.

To fully apprehend the scheme of the universe,

_Lit._: "the virtue of heaven and earth," meaning their inaction by

which all things are brought to maturity.

this is called the great secret of being in accord with GOD, whereby

the empire is so administered that the result is accord with man. To be

in accord with man is human happiness; to be in accord with God is the

happiness of God.

Chuang Tzŭ said, "O my exemplar! Thou who destroyest all things, and

dost not account it cruelty; thou who benefitest all time, and dost

not account it charity; thou who art older than antiquity and dost not

account it age; thou who supportest the universe, shaping the many

forms therein, and dost not account it skill;--this is the happiness of

God!"

Therefore it has been said, "Those who enjoy the happiness of God, when

born into the world, are but fulfilling their divine functions; when

they die, they do but undergo a physical change. In repose, they exert

the influence of the Negative; in motion, they wield the power of the

Positive."

See _ante_, chs. vi and xi.

Thus, those who enjoy the happiness of God have no grievance against

God, no grudge against man. Nothing material injures them; nothing

spiritual punishes them. Accordingly it has been said, "Their motion is

that of heaven;

One of ceaseless revolution, without beginning or end.

their repose is that of earth. Mental equilibrium gives them the

empire of the world. Evil spirits do not harass them without; demons

do not trouble them within. Mental equilibrium gives them sovereignty

over all creation." Which signifies that in repose to extend to the

whole universe and to be in relation with all creation,--this is the

happiness of God. This enables the mind of the Sage to cherish the

whole empire.

For the virtue of the wise ruler is modelled upon the universe, is

guided by TAO, and is ever occupied in inaction. By inaction, he

administers the empire, and has energy to spare; but by action he finds

his energy inadequate to the administration of the empire. Therefore

the men of old set great store by inaction.

But if rulers practise inaction and the ruled also practise inaction,

the ruled will equal the rulers, and will not be as their subjects. On

the other hand, if the ruled practise action and rulers also practise

action, rulers will assimilate themselves to the ruled, and will not be

as their masters. Rulers must practise inaction in order to administer

the empire. The ruled must practise action in order to subserve the

interests of the empire. This is an unchangeable law.

And one over which the commentators have exhausted not a little wit.

At the end of the chapter, the reader will be able to draw his own

conclusions.

Thus, the men of old, although their knowledge did not extend

throughout the universe, were not troubled in mind. Although their

intellectual powers beautified all creation, they did not rejoice.

Although their abilities exhausted all things within the limits of

ocean, they did not act.

Heaven has no parturitions, yet all things are evolved. Earth knows

no increment, yet all things are nourished. The wise ruler practises

inaction, and the empire applauds him. Therefore it has been said,

"There is nothing more mysterious

In its action.

than heaven, nothing richer than earth, nothing greater than the wise

ruler." Wherefore also it has been said, "The virtue of the wise ruler

makes him the peer of heaven and earth." Charioted upon the universe,

with all creation for his team, he passes along the highway of

mortality.

The essential is in the ruler; the accidental in the ruled.

_Lit._ the "root," and the "tip" of the branch, respectively.

The _ultima ratio_ lies with the prince; representation is the duty of

the minister.

Appeal to arms is the lowest form of virtue. Rewards and punishments

are the lowest form of education. Ceremonies and laws are the lowest

form of government. Music and fine clothes are the lowest form of

happiness. Weeping and mourning are the lowest form of grief. These

five should follow the movements of the mind.

The ancients indeed cultivated the study of accidentals, but they did

not allow it to precede that of essentials. The prince precedes, the

minister follows. The father precedes, the son follows. The elder

brother precedes, the younger follows. Seniors precede, juniors follow.

Men precede, women follow. Husbands precede, wives follow. Distinctions

of rank and precedence are part of the scheme of the universe, and

the Sage adopts them accordingly. In point of spirituality, heaven

is honourable, earth is lowly. Spring and summer precede autumn and

winter: such is the order of the seasons. In the constant production

of all things, there are phases of existence. There are the extremes

of maturity and decay, the perpetual tide of change. And if heaven and

earth, divinest of all, admit of rank and precedence, how much more

man?

In the ancestral temple, parents rank before all; at court, the most

honourable; in the village, the elders; in matters to be accomplished,

the most trustworthy. Such is the order which appertains to TAO. He who

in considering TAO disregards this order, thereby disregards TAO; and

he who in considering TAO disregards TAO,--whence will he secure TAO?

Therefore, those of old who apprehended TAO, first apprehended God.

TAO came next, and then charity and duty to one's neighbour, and

then the functions of public life, and then forms and names, and

then employment according to capacity, and then distinctions of good

and bad, and then discrimination between right and wrong, and then

rewards and punishments. Thus wise men and fools met with their dues;

the exalted and the humble occupied their proper places. And the

virtuous and the worthless being each guided by their own natural

instincts, it was necessary to distinguish capabilities, and to adopt

a corresponding nomenclature, in order to serve the ruler, nourish the

ruled, administer things generally, and elevate self. Where knowledge

and plans are of no avail, one must fall back upon the natural. This

is perfect peace, the acme of good government. Therefore it has been

written, "Wherever there is form, there is also its name." Forms and

names indeed the ancients had, but did not give precedence to them.

Thus, those of old who considered TAO, passed through five phases

before forms and names were reached, and nine before rewards and

punishments could be discussed.

As given in the preceding paragraph.

To rise _per saltum_ to forms and names is to be ignorant of their

source; to rise _per saltum_ to rewards and punishments is to be

ignorant of their beginning. Those who invert the process of discussing

TAO, arguing in a directly contrary sense, are rather to be governed by

others than able to govern others themselves.

To rise _per saltum_ to forms and names and rewards and punishments,

this is to understand the instrumental part of government, but not to

understand the great principle of government.

Which is TAO.

This is to be of use in the administration of the empire, but not to

be able to administer the empire. This is to be a sciolist, a man of

narrow views.

Ceremonies and laws were indeed cultivated by the ancients; but they

were employed in the service of the rulers by the ruled. Rulers did not

employ them as a means of nourishing the ruled.

From the beginning of this chapter, the argument has been eminently

unsatisfactory.

Of old, Shun asked Yao, saying, "How does your Majesty employ your

faculties?"

"I am not arrogant towards the defenceless," replied Yao. "I do not

neglect the poor. I grieve for those who die. I pity the orphan. I

sympathise with the widow. Beyond this, nothing."

"Good indeed!" cried Shun, "but yet not great."

"How so?" inquired Yao.

"Be passive," said Shun, "like the virtue of God. The sun and moon

shine; the four seasons revolve; day and night alternate; clouds come

and rain falls."

"Alas!" cried Yao, "what a muddle I have been making. You are in accord

with God; I am in accord with man."

Of old, heaven and earth were considered great; and the Yellow Emperor

and Yao and Shun all thought them perfection. Consequently, what did

those do who ruled the empire of old? They did what heaven and earth

do; no more.

* * * * *

When Confucius was going west to place his works in the Imperial

library of the House of Chou, Tzŭ Lu

The most popular of all the disciples of Confucius. In the striking

words of Mr. Watters, "He was equally ready to argue, fight, be

silent, pray for his master, and die with him. So it is very unfair

in Dr. Legge to call him _a kind of_ Peter, meaning of course Simon

Peter, a man who lacked faith, courage, and fidelity, and who moreover

cursed and swore."--_Guide to the Tablets in a Confucian Temple._

counselled him, saying, "I have heard that a certain librarian of the

Chêng department, by name Lao Tan,

Or, as usually named in this work, Lao Tzŭ. "Chêng" appears to have

been merely a distinctive name.

has resigned and retired into private life. Now as you, Sir, wish to

deposit your works, it would be advisable to go and interview him."

"Certainly," said Confucius; and he thereupon went to see Lao Tzŭ. The

latter would not hear of the proposal; so Confucius began to expound

the doctrines of his twelve canons, in order to convince Lao Tzŭ.

These twelve have been variously enumerated as (1) the _Book of

Changes_, Parts i and ii, with the ten _Wings_. (2) The twelve Dukes

of the _Spring and Autumn_, etc.

"This is all nonsense," cried Lao Tzŭ, interrupting him. "Tell me what

are your criteria."

"Charity," replied Confucius, "and duty towards one's neighbour."

"Tell me, please," asked Lao Tzŭ, "are these part of man's original

nature?"

The question of an innate moral sense early occupied the attention of

Chinese thinkers.

"They are," answered Confucius. "Without charity, the superior man

could not become what he is. Without duty to one's neighbour, he would

be of no effect. These two belong to the original nature of a pure man.

What further would you have?"

"Tell me," said Lao Tzŭ, "in what consist charity and duty to one's

neighbour?"

"They consist," answered Confucius, "in a capacity for rejoicing in all

things; in universal love, without the element of self. These are the

characteristics of charity and duty to one's neighbour."

"What stuff!" cried Lao Tzŭ. "Does not universal love contradict itself?

If every one loves every one, there can be no such thing as love, just

as absolute altruism only achieves the same result as absolute egoism.

Is not your elimination of self a positive manifestation of self?

On the "Don't nail his ear to the pump" principle.

Sir, if you would cause the empire not to lose its source of

nourishment,--there is the universe, its regularity is unceasing; there

are the sun and moon, their brightness is unceasing; there are the

stars, their groupings never change; there are birds and beasts, they

flock together without varying; there are trees and shrubs, they grow

upwards without exception, Be like these; follow TAO; and you will be

perfect. Why then these vain struggles after charity and duty to one's

neighbour, as though beating a drum in search of a fugitive. Alas! Sir,

you have brought much confusion into the mind of man."

The drum similitude occurs again in ch. xiv.

Shih Ch'êng Ch'i

Of whom nothing is known.

visited Lao Tzŭ, and addressed him, saying, "Having heard, Sir, that

you were a Sage, I put aside all thought of distance to come and visit

you. Travelling many stages, the soles of my feet thickened, but I

did not venture to rest. And now I see you are not a Sage. While rats

feasted off your leavings, you turned your sister out of doors. This is

not charity. Though you have no lack of food, raw and cooked, you are

stingy beyond all bounds."

At this Lao Tzŭ was silent and made no reply; and the next day Shih

Ch'êng Ch'i came again and said, "Before, I was rude to you; now, I am

sorry. How is this?"

"I have no pretension," replied Lao Tzŭ, "to be possessed of cunning

knowledge nor of divine wisdom. Had you yesterday called me an ox,

I should have considered myself an ox. Had you called me a horse, I

should have considered myself a horse.

"For if men class you in accordance with truth, and you reject the

classification, you only double the reproach. My humility is natural

humility. It is not humility for humility's sake."

Shih Ch'êng Ch'i moved respectfully away.

Without allowing his shadow to fall on Lao Tzŭ. Bringing one foot up

to the other only. Not venturing to let it pass as in ordinary walking.

Then he advanced again, also respectfully, and said, "May I ask you

about personal cultivation?"

Lao Tzŭ said, "Your countenance is a strange one. Your eyes protrude.

Your jaws are heavy. Your lips are parted. Your demeanour is

self-satisfied. You look like a man on a tethered horse.

His body there, his mind elsewhere.

You are too confident. You are too hasty. You think too much of your

own powers. Such men are not trusted. Those who are found on the wrong

side of a boundary line are called thieves."

* * * * *

Lao Tzŭ said, "TAO is not too small for the greatest, nor too great for

the smallest. Thus all things are embosomed therein; wide indeed its

boundless capacity, unfathomable its depth.

"Form, and virtue, and charity, and duty to one's neighbour, these

are the accidentals of the spiritual. Except he be a perfect man, who

shall determine their place? The world of the perfect man, is not that

vast? And yet it is not able to involve him in trouble. All struggle

for power, but he does not join. Though discovering nothing false, he

is not tempted astray. In spite of the utmost genuineness, he still

confines himself to essentials.

To the root, not to the branch.

"He thus places himself outside the universe, beyond all creation,

where his soul is free from care. Apprehending TAO, he is in accord

with virtue. He leaves charity and duty to one's neighbour alone. He

treats ceremonies and music as adventitious. And so the mind of the

perfect man is at peace.

"Books are what the world values as representing TAO. But books are

only words, and the valuable part of words is the thought therein

contained. That thought has a certain bias which cannot be conveyed in

words, yet the world values words as being the essence of books. But

though the world values them, they are not of value; as that sense in

which the world values them is not the sense in which they are valuable.

"That which can be seen with the eye is form and colour; that which can

be heard with the ear is sound and noise. But alas! the people of this

generation think that form, and colour, and sound, and noise, are means

by which they can come to understand the essence of TAO. This is not

so. And as those who know, do not speak, while those who speak do not

know, whence should the world derive its knowledge?"

The first half of this last sentence has been pitchforked _à propos de

bottes_ into ch. lvi of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_. See _The Remains of Lao

Tzŭ_, pp. 7 and 38.

Duke Huan.

The famous ruler of the Ch'i State. Flourished 7th century B.C.

was one day reading in his hall, when a wheelwright who was working

below,

Below the covered dais, termed "hall," which has an open frontage, in

full view of which such work might be carried on.

flung down his hammer and chisel, and mounting the steps said, "What

words may your Highness be studying?"

"I am studying the words of the Sages," replied the Duke.

"Are the Sages alive?" asked the wheelwright.

"No," answered the Duke; "they are dead."

"Then the words your Highness is studying," rejoined the wheelwright,

"are only the dregs of the ancients."

"What do you mean, sirrah!" cried the Duke, "by interfering with what I

read? Explain yourself, or you shall die."

"Let me take an illustration," said the wheelwright, "from my own

trade. In making a wheel, if you work too slowly, you can't make it

firm; if you work too fast, the spokes won't fit in. You must go

neither too slowly nor too fast. There must be co-ordination of mind

and hand. Words cannot explain what it is, but there is some mysterious

art herein. I cannot teach it to my son; nor can he learn it from me.

Consequently, though seventy years of age, I am still making wheels in

my old age. If the ancients, together with what they could not impart,

are dead and gone, then what your Highness is studying must be the

dregs."

This episode of the wheelwright is to be found in the works of Huai

Nan Tzŭ, of the 2nd century B.C. He used it to illustrate the opening

words of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_; and in _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 6, it

is stated that he stole it from Chuang Tzŭ without acknowledgment.

When that statement was made I had not come to the conclusion, now

forced upon me, that the above chapter is not from the hand of Chuang

Tzŭ. As one critic remarks, the style is generally admirable; but it

is not the style of Chuang Tzŭ.

THE CIRCLING SKY.

_Argument_:--The Ultimate Cause--Integrity of TAO--Music and

TAO--Failure of Confucianism--Confucius and Lao Tzŭ--Confucius attains

to TAO--Illustrations.

[This chapter is supplementary to ch. v.]

"The sky turns round; the earth stands still; sun and moon pursue one

another. Who causes this? Who directs this? Who has leisure enough to

see that such movements continue?

"Some think there is a mechanical arrangement which makes these bodies

move as they do. Others think that they revolve without being able to

stop.

"The clouds cause rain; rain causes clouds. Whose kindly bounty is

this? Who has leisure enough to see that such, result is achieved?

"Wind comes from the north. It blows now east, now west; and now it

whirls aloft. Who puffs it forth? Who has leisure enough to be flapping

it this way or that? I should like to know the cause of all this."

We are not told the name of this questioner.

Wu Han Chao

An ancient worthy.

said, "Come here, and I will tell you. Above there are the Six

Influences

The _Yin_ and _Yang_ principles, wind, rain, darkness, and light; as

in ch. xi.

Some commentators read, the "Six Cardinal Points," _viz._: N., E., S.,

W., above, and below.

and the Five Virtues.

Charity, duty to one's neighbour, order, wisdom, and truth.

If a ruler keeps in harmony with these, his rule is good; if not, it is

bad. By following the nine chapters of the Lo book,

Containing a mystic revelation of knowledge in the form of a diagram,

supposed to have been delivered to one of the legendary rulers of

China more than 2,000 years before the Christian era.

his rule will be a success and his virtue complete; he will watch over

the interests of his people, and all the empire will owe him gratitude.

This is to be an eminent ruler."

"A very round answer," says Lin Hsi Chung, "to a very square question."

* * * * *

Tang, a high official of Sung, asked Chuang Tzŭ about charity. Chuang

Tzŭ said, "Tigers and wolves have it."

"How so?" asked Tang.

"The natural love between parents and offspring," replied Chuang

Tzŭ,--"is not that charity?"

Tang then inquired about perfect charity.

"Perfect charity," said Chuang Tzŭ, "does not admit of love for the

individual."

It embraces all men equally. To love one person would imply at least

the possibility of hating another. See also p. 167, where Lao Tzŭ

refutes the doctrine of universal love.

"Without such love," replied Tang, "it appears to me there would be no

such thing as affection, and without affection no filial piety. Does

perfect charity not admit of filial piety?"

"Not so," said Chuang Tzŭ. "Perfect charity is the more extensive term.

Consequently, it was unnecessary to mention filial piety. It was not

that filial piety was omitted. It was merely not particularised.

"A man who travels southwards to Ying,

Capital of the Ch'u State.

cannot see Mount Ming in the north. Why? Because he is too far off.

"Therefore it has been said that it is easy to be respectfully filial,

but difficult to be affectionately filial.

The artificial is easier than the natural.

But even that is easier than to become unconscious of one's natural

obligations, which is in turn easier than to cause others to be

unconscious of the operations thereof.

_I.e._ to be filial without letting others be conscious of the fact.

Similarly, this is easier than to become altogether unconscious of the

world, which again is easier than to cause the world to be unconscious

of one's influence upon it.

Such is perfect charity, which operates without letting its operation

be known.

"True virtue does nothing, yet it leaves Yao and Shun far behind. Its

good influence extends to ten thousand generations, yet no man knoweth

it to exist. What boots it then to sigh after charity and duty to one's

neighbour?

"Filial piety, fraternal love, charity, duty to one's neighbour,

loyalty, truth, chastity, and honesty,--these are all studied efforts,

designed to aid the development of virtue. They are only parts of a

whole.

"Therefore it has been said, 'Perfect honour includes all the honour a

country can give. Perfect wealth includes all the wealth a country can

give. Perfect ambition includes all the reputation one can desire.' And

by parity of reasoning, TAO does not admit of sub-division."

* * * * *

Pei Mên Ch'êng

Of whom nothing is recorded.

said to the Yellow Emperor, "When your Majesty played the _Han-ch'ih_

Name of a piece of music, the meaning of which is not known.

in the wilds of Tung-t'ing, the first time I heard it I was afraid,

the second time I was amazed, and the last time I was confused,

speechless, overwhelmed."

"You are not far from the truth," replied the Yellow Emperor. "I played

as a man, drawing inspiration from God. The execution was punctilious,

the expression sublime.

"Perfect music first shapes itself according to a human standard; then

it follows the lines of the divine; then it proceeds in harmony with

the five virtues; then it passes into spontaneity. The four seasons are

then blended, and all creation is brought into accord. As the seasons

come forth in turn, so are all things produced. Now fulness, now decay,

now soft and loud in turn, now clear, now muffled, the harmony of _Yin_

and _Yang_. Like a flash was the sound which roused you as the insect

world is roused,

By the warm breath of spring.

followed by a thundering peal, without end and without beginning,

now dying, now living, now sinking, now rising, on and on without a

moment's break. And so you were afraid.

"When I played again, it was the harmony of the _Yin_ and _Yang_,

lighted by the glory of sun and moon; now broken, now prolonged, now

gentle, now severe, in one unbroken, unfathomable volume of sound.

Filling valley and gorge, stopping the ears and dominating the senses,

adapting itself to the capacities of things,--the sound whirled around

on all sides, with shrill note and clear. The spirits of darkness kept

to their domain. Sun, moon, and stars, pursued their appointed course.

When the melody was exhausted I stopped; if the melody did not stop, I

went on.

The music was naturally what it was, independently of the player.

You would have sympathised, but you could not understand. You would

have looked, but you could not see. You would have pursued, but you

could not overtake. You stood dazed in the middle of the wilderness,

leaning against a tree and crooning, your eye conscious of exhausted

vision, your strength failing for the pursuit, and so unable to

overtake me. Your frame was but an empty shell. You were completely at

a loss, and so you were amazed.

"Then I played in sounds which produce no amazement, the melodious

law of spontaneity, springing forth like nature's countless buds, in

manifold but formless joy, as though poured forth to the dregs, in deep

but soundless bass. Beginning nowhere, the melody rested in void; some

would say dead, others alive, others real, others ornamental, as it

scattered itself on all sides in never to be anticipated chords.

"The wondering world enquires of the Sage. He is in relation with its

variations and follows the same eternal law.

"When no machinery is set in motion, and yet the instrumentation is

complete, this is the music of God. The mind awakes to its enjoyment

without waiting to be called. Accordingly, Yu Piao praised it, saying,

'Listening you cannot hear its sound; gazing you cannot see its form.

Yu Piao is said to have been one of the pre-historic rulers of China.

Readers of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_ (ch. xiv) will here find another nail

for the coffin of that egregious fraud. See _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_,

p. 14. Also ch. xxii of this work.

It fills heaven and earth. It embraces the six cardinal points.'

Now you desired to listen to it, but you were not able to grasp its

existence. And so you were confused.

"My music first induced fear; and as a consequence, respect. I then

added amazement, by which you were isolated.

From consciousness of your surroundings.

And lastly, confusion; for confusion means absence of sense, and

absence of sense means TAO, and TAO means absorption therein."

* * * * *

When Confucius travelled west to the Wei State, Yen Yüan

The "John" among the disciples of Confucius. He closed a pure and

gentle life at the early age of 32, to the inexpressible grief of the

Sage.

asked Shih Chin,

Chief musician of the Lu State.

saying, "What think you of my Master?"

"Alas!" replied Shih Chin, "he is not a success."

"How so?" enquired Yen Yüan.

"Before the straw dog has been offered in sacrifice," replied Shih

Chin, "it is kept in a box, wrapped up in an embroidered cloth, and

the augur fasts before using it. But when it has once been offered up,

passers-by trample over its body, and fuel-gatherers pick it up for

burning. Then, if any one should take it, and again putting it in a box

and wrapping it up in an embroidered cloth, watch and sleep alongside,

he would not only dream, but have nightmare into the bargain.

The thing being uncanny. From which it would appear that the use of

the straw dog was to induce dreams of future events.

"Now your Master has been thus treating the ancients, who are like

the dog which has already been offered in sacrifice. He causes his

disciples to watch and sleep alongside of them. Consequently, his tree

Beneath which he used to teach.

has been cut down in Sung; they will have none of him in Wei; in fact,

his chances among the Shangs and the Chous are exhausted. Is not this

the dream? And then to be surrounded by the Ch'êns and the Ts'ais,

seven days without food, death staring him in the face,--is not this

the nightmare?

"For travelling by water there is nothing like a boat. For travelling

by land there is nothing like a cart. This because a boat moves readily

in water; but were you to try to push it on land you would never

succeed in making it go.

Be in harmony with your surroundings.

Now ancient and modern times may be likened unto water and land; Chou

and Lu to the boat and the cart. To try to make the customs of Chou

succeed in Lu, is like pushing a boat on land: great trouble and no

result, except certain injury to oneself. Your Master has not yet

learnt the doctrine of non-angularity, of self-adaptation to externals.

"Have you never seen a well-sweep? You pull it, and down it comes. You

release it, and up it goes. It is the man who pulls the well-sweep, and

not the well-sweep which pulls the man; so that both in coming down and

going up, it does not run counter to the wishes of the man. And so it

was that the ceremonial and obligations and laws of the Three Emperors

and Five Rulers did not aim at uniformity of application but at good

government of the empire. Their ceremonial, obligations, laws, etc.,

were like the cherry-apple, the pear, the orange, and the pumelo,--all

differing in flavour but each palatable. They changed with the changing

season.

"Dress up a monkey in the robes of Chou Kung,

See ch. iv.

and it will not be happy until they are torn to shreds. And the

difference between past and present is much the same as the difference

between Chou Kung and a monkey.

"When Hsi Shih

A famous beauty of old.

was distressed in mind, she knitted her brows. An ugly woman of the

village, seeing how beautiful she looked, went home, and having worked

herself into a fit frame of mind, knitted her brows. The result was

that the rich people of the place barred up their doors and would not

come out, while the poor people took their wives and children and

departed elsewhere. That woman saw the beauty of knitted brows, but she

did not see wherein the beauty of knitted brows lay.

In suitability to the individual.

Alas! your Master is emphatically not a success."

* * * * *

Confucius had lived to the age of fifty-one without hearing TAO, when

he went south to P'ei, to see Lao Tzŭ.

Lao Tzŭ said, "So you have come, Sir, have you? I hear you are

considered a wise man up north. Have you got TAO?"

"Not yet," answered Confucius.

"In what direction," asked Lao Tzŭ, "have you sought for it?"

"I sought it for five years," replied Confucius, "in the science of

numbers, but did not succeed."

"And then?..." continued Lao Tzŭ.

"Then," said Confucius, "I spent twelve years seeking for it in the

doctrine of the _Yin_ and _Yang_, also without success."

"Just so," rejoined Lao Tzŭ. "Were TAO something which could be

presented, there is no man but would present it to his sovereign,

or to his parents. Could it be imparted or given, there is no man

but would impart it to his brother or give it to his child. But this

is impossible, for the following reason. Unless there is a suitable

endowment within, TAO will not abide. Unless there is outward

correctness, TAO will not operate. The external being unfitted for the

impression of the internal, the true Sage does not seek to imprint. The

internal being unfitted for the reception of the external, the true

Sage does not seek to receive.

Attempting neither to teach nor to learn.

"Reputation is public property; you may not appropriate it in excess.

Charity and duty to one's neighbour are as caravanserais established by

wise rulers of old; you may stop there one night, but not for long, or

you will incur reproach.

"The perfect men of old took their road through charity, stopping

a night with duty to their neighbour, on their way to ramble in

transcendental space. Feeding on the produce of non-cultivation, and

establishing themselves in the domain of no obligations, they enjoyed

their transcendental inaction. Their food was ready to hand; and

being under no obligations to others, they did not put any one under

obligation to themselves. The ancients called this the outward visible

sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

"Those who make wealth their all in all, cannot bear loss of money.

Those who make distinction their all in all, cannot bear loss of fame.

Those who affect power will not place authority in the hands of others.

Anxious while holding, distressed if losing, yet never taking warning

from the past and seeing the folly of their pursuit,--such men are the

accursed of God.

"Resentment, gratitude, taking, giving, censure of self, instruction

of others, power of life and death,--these eight are the instruments

of right; but only he who can adapt himself to the vicissitudes of

fortune, without being carried away, is fit to use them. Such a one

is an upright man among the upright. And he whose heart is not so

constituted,--the door of divine intelligence is not yet opened for

him."

* * * * *

Confucius visited Lao Tzŭ, and spoke of charity and duty to one's

neighbour.

Lao Tzŭ said, "The chaff from winnowing will blind a man's eyes so

that he cannot tell the points of the compass. Mosquitoes will keep a

man awake all night with their biting. And just in the same way this

talk of charity and duty to one's neighbour drives me nearly crazy.

Sir! strive to keep the world to its own original simplicity. And as

the wind bloweth where it listeth, so let Virtue establish itself.

Wherefore such undue energy, as though searching for a fugitive with a

big drum?

See p. 167.

"The snow-goose is white without a daily bath. The raven is black

without daily colouring itself. The original simplicity of black and of

white is beyond the reach of argument. The vista of fame and reputation

is not worthy of enlargement. When the pond dries up and the fishes are

left upon dry ground, to moisten them with the breath or to damp them

with a little spittle is not to be compared with leaving them in the

first instance in their native rivers and lakes."

Repeated from ch. vi.

On returning from this visit to Lao Tzŭ, Confucius did not speak for

three days. A disciple asked him, saying, "Master, when you saw Lao

Tzŭ, in what direction did you admonish him?"

"I saw a Dragon," replied Confucius, "--a Dragon which by convergence

showed a body, by radiation became colour, and riding upon the clouds

of heaven, nourished the two Principles of Creation. My mouth was

agape: I could not shut it. How then do you think I was going to

admonish Lao Tzŭ?"

Upon this Tzŭ Kung remarked, "Ha! then a man can sit corpse-like

manifesting his dragon-power around, his thunder-voice heard though

profound silence reigns, his movements like those of the universe? I

too would go and see him."

More repetition, this time from ch. xi.

So on the strength of his connection with Confucius, Tzŭ Kung obtained

an interview. Lao Tzŭ received him distantly and with dignity, saying

in a low voice, "I am old, Sir. What injunctions may you have to give

me?"

"The administration of the Three Kings and of the Five Rulers," replied

Tzŭ Kung, "was not uniform; but their reputation has been identical.

How then, Sir, is it that you do not regard them as Sages?"

"Come nearer, my son," said Lao Tzŭ. "What mean you by _not uniform_?"

"Yao handed over the empire to Shun," replied Tzŭ Kung; "and Shun to

Yü. Yü employed labour, and T'ang employed troops. Wên Wang followed

Chou Hsin and did not venture to oppose him. Wu Wang opposed him and

would not follow. Therefore I said _not uniform_."

"Come nearer, my son," said Lao Tzŭ, "and I will tell you about the

Three Kings and the Five Rulers.

"The Yellow Emperor's administration caused the affections of the

people to be catholic. Nobody wept for the death of his parents, and

nobody found fault.

All loved each other equally.

"The administration of Yao diverted the affections of the people into

particular channels. If a man slew the slayer of his parents, nobody

blamed him.

Filial affection began to predominate.

"The administration of Shun brought a spirit of rivalry among the

people. Children were born after ten months' gestation; when five

months old, they could speak; and ere they were three years of age,

Including gestation.

could already tell one person from another. And so early death came

into the world.

A veritable anti-climax, hopelessly unworthy of either Lao Tzŭ or

Chuang Tzŭ.

"The administration of Yü wrought a change in the hearts of the people.

Individuality prevailed, and force was called into play. Killing

robbers was not accounted murder; and throughout the empire people

became sub-divided into classes. There was great alarm on all sides,

and the Confucianists and the Mihists arose. At first the relationships

were duly observed; but what about the women of to-day?

Meaning that in the olden days men could not marry before thirty,

women before twenty, whereas now the State is cursed with early

marriages. Or, according to Dr. Legge's view of a famous passage in

the Book of Rites, that formerly it was shameful in men and women not

to be married at the age of thirty and twenty, respectively, whereas

now the State is cursed with late marriages.

"Let me tell you. The government of the Three Kings and Five Rulers was

so only in name. In reality, it was utter confusion. The wisdom of the

Three Kings was opposed to the brilliancy of the sun and moon above,

destructive of the energy of land and water below, and subversive of

the influence of the four seasons between.

More repetition. See ch. x. _ad fin._

That wisdom is more harmful than a hornet's tail, preventing the very

animals from putting themselves into due relation with the conditions

of their existence--and yet they call themselves Sages! Is not their

shamelessness shameful indeed?"

At this Tzŭ Kung became ill at ease.

The whole of the above episode may without hesitation be written off

as a feeble forgery.

* * * * *

Confucius said to Lao Tzŭ, "I arranged the Six Canons of Poetry,

History, Rites, Music, Changes, and Spring and Autumn. I spent much

time over them, and I am well acquainted with their purport. I used

them in admonishing seventy-two rulers, by discourses on the wisdom of

ancient sovereigns and illustrations from the lives of Chou and Shao.

Yet not one ruler has in any way adopted my suggestions. Alas that

man should be so difficult to persuade, and wisdom so difficult to

illustrate."

"It is well for you, Sir," replied Lao Tzŭ, "that you did not come

across any real ruler of mankind. Your Six Canons are but the worn-out

foot-prints of ancient Sages. And what are foot-prints? Why, the words

you now utter are as it were foot-prints. Foot-prints are made by the

shoe: they are not the shoe itself.

"Fish-hawks gaze at each other with motionless eyes,--and their young

are produced. The male of a certain insect chirps with the wind while

the female chirps against it,--and their offspring is produced. There

is another animal which, being an hermaphrodite, produces its own

offspring. Nature cannot be changed. Destiny cannot be altered. Time

cannot stop. TAO cannot be obstructed. Once attain to TAO, and there is

nothing which you cannot accomplish. Without it, there is nothing which

you can accomplish."

For three months after this Confucius did not leave his house. Then he

again visited Lao Tzŭ and said, "I have attained. Birds lay eggs, fish

spawn, insects undergo metamorphosis, and mammals suckle their young.

_Lit._ "when a younger brother comes, the elder cries,"--from which

may be inferred the meaning in the translation.

The whole sentence signifies that every development proceeds according

to fixed laws. It is useless to try to _do_ anything. Nature is always

self-similar.

For a long time I have not been enlightened. And he who is not

enlightened himself,--how should he enlighten others?"

Lao Tzŭ said, "Ch'iu, you have attained!"

"The style of this chapter," says Lin Hsi Chung, "gives it a foremost

place among the 'outside' essays of Chuang Tzŭ. But the insertion

of that dialogue between Confucius and Lao Tzŭ on charity and duty

towards one's neighbour is like eking out a sable robe with a dog's

tail."

SELF-CONCEIT.

_Argument_:--Would-be sages--The vanity of effort--Method of the true

Sage--Passivity the key--The soul and mortality--Re-absorption into

the immortal.

Self-conceit and assurance, which lead men to quit society, and be

different from their fellows, to indulge in tall talk and abuse of

others,--these are nothing more than personal over-estimation, the

affectation of recluses and those who have done with the world and have

closed their hearts to mundane influences.

Preaching of charity and duty to one's neighbour, of loyalty and truth,

of respect, of economy, and of humility,--this is but moral culture,

affected by would-be pacificators and teachers of mankind, and by

scholars at home or abroad.

Preaching of meritorious services, of fame, of ceremonial between

sovereign and minister, of due relationship between upper and lower

classes,--this is mere government, affected by courtiers or patriots

who strive to extend the boundaries of their own State and to swallow

up the territory of others.

Living in marshes or in wildernesses, and passing one's days in

fishing--this is mere inaction, affected by wanderers who have turned

their backs upon the world and have nothing better to do.

Exhaling and inhaling,

The "breathing" theory. See ch. vi., _ad init._

getting rid of the old and assimilating the new, stretching like a bear

and craning like a bird,--

As these creatures are supposed to do in order to get good air into

their systems.

--this is but valetudinarianism, affected by professors of hygiene and

those who try to preserve the body to the age of P'êng Tsu.

See ch. i.

But in self-esteem without self-conceit, in moral culture without

charity and duty to one's neighbour, in government without rank and

fame, in retirement without solitude, in health without hygiene,--there

we have oblivion absolute coupled with possession of all things; an

infinite calm which becomes an object to be attained by all.

Such is the TAO of the universe, such is the virtue of the Sage.

Wherefore it has been said, "In tranquillity, in stillness, in the

unconditioned, in inaction, we find the levels of the universe, the

very constitution of TAO."

Almost verbatim from ch. xiii, p. 158, where the passage appears as

part of Chuang Tzŭ's own text, and not as a quotation from any other

author.

Wherefore it has been said, "The Sage is a negative quantity, and is

consequently in a state of passivity. Being passive he is in a state of

repose. And where passivity and repose are, there sorrow and anxiety do

not enter, and foul influences do not collect. And thus his virtue is

complete and his spirituality unimpaired."

Wherefore it has been said, "The birth of the Sage is the will of God;

his death is but a modification of existence. In repose, he shares

the passivity of the _Yin_; in action, the energy of the _Yang_. He

will have nothing to do with happiness, and so has nothing to do with

misfortune.

Each of which proceeds from the other in an endless chain.

He must be influenced ere he will respond. He must be urged ere he will

move. He must be compelled ere he will arise. Ignoring the future and

the past, he resigns himself to the laws of God.

"And therefore no calamity comes upon him, nothing injures him, no man

is against him, no spirit punishes him. He floats through life to rest

in death. He has no anxieties; he makes no plans. His honour does not

make him illustrious. His good faith reflects no credit upon himself.

It is all God's, as part of the great scheme.

His sleep is dreamless, his awaking without pain. His spirituality is

pure,

Without desires.

and his soul vigorous. Thus unconditioned and in repose, he is a

partaker of the virtue of God."

Wherefore it has been said, "Sorrow and happiness are the heresies

Evil influences.

of virtue; joy and anger lead astray from TAO; love and hate cause the

loss of virtue. The heart unconscious of sorrow and happiness,--that is

perfect virtue. ONE, without change,--that is perfect repose. Without

any obstruction,--that is the perfection of the unconditioned. Holding

no relations with the external world,--that is perfection of the

negative state. Without blemish of any kind,--that is the perfection of

purity."

Wherefore it has been said, "If the body toils without rest, it dies.

If the mind is employed without ceasing, it becomes wearied; and being

wearied, its power is gone."

Pure water is by nature clear. If untouched, it is smooth. If dammed,

it will not flow, neither will it be clear. It is an emblem of the

virtue of God. Wherefore it has been said, "Pure, without admixture;

uniform, without change; negative, without action; moved, only at the

will of God;--such would be the spirituality nourished according to

TAO."

Those who possess blades from Kan

The Wu State.

or Yüeh, keep them carefully in their scabbards, and do not venture to

use them. For they are precious in the extreme. The spirit spreads

forth on all sides: there is no point to which it does not reach,

attaining heaven above, embracing earth beneath. Influencing all

creation, its form cannot be portrayed. Its name is then _Of-God_.

Such is man's spiritual existence before he is born into the world of

mortals.

The TAO of the pure and simple consists in preserving spirituality. He

who preserves his spirituality and loses it not, becomes one with that

spirituality. And through that unity the spirit operates freely, and

comes into due relationship with God.

Returning after its brief career on earth, to the eternity whence it

came.

A vulgar saying has it, "The masses value money; honest men, fame;

virtuous men, resolution; and Sages, the soul."

Thus, the pure is that in which there is nothing mixed; the simple is

that which implies no injury to the spirituality. And he who can keep

the pure and simple within himself,--he is a divine man.

It requires but scant acumen to relegate this chapter to the limbo of

forgeries. Lin Hsi Chung thinks it is probably from the hand of the

unknown artist who is responsible for ch. xiii.

EXERCISE OF FACULTIES.

_Argument_:--TAO unattainable by mundane arts--To be reached through

repose--The world's infancy--The reign of peace--Government sets

in--TAO declines--The true Sages of old--Their purity of aim.

Those who exercise their faculties in mere worldly studies, hoping

thereby to revert to their original condition; and those who sink

their aspirations in mundane thoughts, hoping thereby to reach

enlightenment;--these are the dullards of the earth.

The ancients, in cultivating TAO, begat knowledge out of repose. When

born, this knowledge was not applied to any purpose; and so it may be

said that out of knowledge they begat repose. Knowledge and repose thus

mutually producing each other, harmony and order were developed. Virtue

is harmony; TAO is order.

Virtue all-embracing,--hence charity. TAO all-influencing,--hence

duty to one's neighbour. From the establishment of these two springs

loyalty. Then comes music, an expression of inward purity and truth;

followed by ceremonial, or sincerity expressed in ornamental guise. If

music and ceremonial are ill regulated, the empire is plunged into

confusion. And to attempt to correct others while one's own virtue is

clouded, is to set one's own virtue a task for which it is inadequate,

the result being that the natural constitution of the object will

suffer.

Primeval man enjoyed perfect tranquillity throughout life. In his day,

the Positive and Negative principles were peacefully united; spiritual

beings gave no trouble; the four seasons followed in due order; nothing

suffered any injury; death was unknown; men had knowledge, but no

occasion to use it. This may be called perfection of unity.

All things, all conditions, were ONE.

At that period, nothing was ever made so; but everything was so.

By and by, virtue declined. Sui Jen

The Prometheus of China.

and Fu Hsi

See ch. vi.

ruled the empire. There was still natural adaptation,

Of man to his surroundings.

but the unity was gone.

The tide of coercion had set in.

A further decline in virtue. Shên Nung

The inventor of agriculture.

and Huang Ti

The Yellow Emperor. See ch. vi.

ruled the empire. There was peace, but the natural adaptation was gone.

Again virtue declined. Yao and Shun ruled the empire. Systems of

government and moral reform were introduced. Man's original integrity

was scattered. Goodness led him astray from TAO;

But for goodness, evil could not exist.

his actions imperilled his virtue.

As opposed to inaction.

Then he discarded natural instinct and took up with the intellectual.

Mind was pitted against mind, but it was impossible thus to settle

the empire. So art and learning were added. But art obliterated

the original constitution, and learning overwhelmed mind; upon

which confusion set in, and man was unable to revert to his natural

instincts, to the condition in which he at first existed.

Thus it may be said that the world destroys TAO, and that TAO destroys

the world. And the world and TAO thus mutually destroying each other,

how can the men of TAO elevate the world, and how can the world elevate

TAO? TAO cannot elevate the world; neither can the world elevate TAO.

Though the Sages were not to dwell on mountain and in forest, their

virtue would still be hidden;--hidden, but not by themselves.

Those of old who were called retired scholars, were not men who hid

their bodies, or kept back their words, or concealed their wisdom.

It was that the age was not suitable for their mission. If the age

was suitable and their mission a success over the empire, they simply

effaced themselves in the unity which prevailed. If the age was

unsuitable and their mission at failure, they fell back upon their own

resources and waited. Such is the way to preserve oneself.

Those of old who preserved themselves, did not ornament their knowledge

with rhetoric. They did not exhaust the empire with their knowledge.

They did not exhaust virtue. They kept quietly to their own spheres,

and reverted to their natural instincts. What then was left for them to

_do_?

TAO does not deal with detail. Virtue does not take cognizance of

trifles. Trifles injure virtue; detail injures TAO. Wherefore it has

been said, "Self-reformation is enough." He whose happiness is complete

has attained his desire.

Of old, attainment of desire did not mean _office_. It meant that

nothing could be added to the sum of happiness. But now it does mean

office, though office is external and is not a part of oneself. That

which is adventitious, comes. Coming, you cannot prevent it; going, you

cannot arrest it. Therefore, not to look on office as the attainment of

desire, and not because of poverty to become a toady, but to be equally

happy under all conditions,--this is to be without sorrow.

But now-a-days, both having and not having

Office.

are causes of unhappiness. From which we may infer that even happiness

is not exempt from sorrow.

A _reductio ad absurdum_.

Wherefore it has been said, "Those who over-estimate the external and

lose their natural instincts in worldliness,--these are the people of

topsy-turvydom."

We are left in the dark as to the authorship of the numerous

quotations in this and the preceding chapter. It is, however, a point

of minor importance, neither chapter having the slightest claim to be

regarded as the genuine work of Chuang Tzŭ.

AUTUMN FLOODS.

_Argument_:--Greatness and smallness always relative--Time and

space infinite--Abstract dimensions do not exist--Their expression

is concrete--Terms are not absolute--Like causes produce unlike

effects--In the unconditioned alone can the absolute exist--The only

absolute is TAO--Illustrations.

[This chapter is supplementary to chapter ii. It is the most popular

of all, and has earned for its author the sobriquet of "Autumn

Floods."]

It was the time of autumn floods. Every stream poured into the river,

which swelled in its turbid course. The banks receded so far from one

another that it was impossible to tell a cow from a horse.

Then the Spirit of the River laughed for joy that all the beauty of

the earth was gathered to himself. Down with the stream he journeyed

east, until he reached the ocean. There, looking eastwards and seeing

no limit to its waves, his countenance changed. And as he gazed over

the expanse, he sighed and said to the Spirit of the Ocean, "A vulgar

proverb says that he who has heard but part of the truth thinks no one

equal to himself. And such a one am I.

"When formerly I heard people detracting from the learning of

Confucius or underrating the heroism of Poh I,

See ch. vi.

I did not believe. But now that I have looked upon your

inexhaustibility--alas for me had I not reached your abode, I should

have been for ever a laughing-stock to those of comprehensive

enlightenment!"

The Spirit of a paltry river learns that the ripple of his rustic

stream is scarcely the murmur of the world.

To which the Spirit of the Ocean replied, "You cannot speak of ocean to

a well-frog,--the creature of a narrower sphere. You cannot speak of

ice to a summer insect,--the creature of a season. You cannot speak of

TAO to a pedagogue: his scope is too restricted. But now that you have

emerged from your narrow sphere and have seen the great ocean, you know

your own insignificance, and I can speak to you of great principles.

"There is no body of water beneath the canopy of heaven which is

greater than ocean. All streams pour into it without cease, yet it

does not overflow. It is constantly being drained off, yet it is never

empty. Spring and autumn bring no change; floods and droughts are

equally unknown. And thus it is immeasurably superior to mere rivers

and brooks,--though I would not venture to boast on this account, for

I get my shape from the universe, my vital power from the _Yin_ and

_Yang_. In the universe I am but as a small stone or a small tree on

a vast mountain. And conscious thus of my own insignificance, what is

there of which I can boast?

"The Four Seas,--are they not to the universe but like puddles in a

marsh? The Middle Kingdom,--is it not to the surrounding ocean like a

tare-seed in a granary? Of all the myriad created things, man is but

one. And of all those who inhabit the land, live on the fruit of the

earth, and move about in cart and boat, an individual man is but one.

Is not he, as compared with all creation, but as the tip of a hair upon

a horse's skin?

"The succession of the Five Rulers, the contentions of the Three Kings,

the griefs of the philanthropist, the labours of the administrator, are

but this and nothing more.

_Sc._ ambition.

Poh I refused the throne for fame's sake. Confucius discoursed to get

a reputation for learning. This over-estimation of self on their part,

was it not very much your own in reference to water?"

"Very well," replied the Spirit of the River, "am I then to regard the

universe as great and the tip of a hair as small?"

"Not at all," said the Spirit of the Ocean. "Dimensions are limitless;

time is endless. Conditions are not invariable; terms are not final.

Thus, the wise man looks into space, and does not regard the small as

too little, nor the great as too much; for he knows that there is no

limit to dimension. He looks back into the past, and does not grieve

over what is far off, nor rejoice over what is near; for he knows that

time is without end.

Space infinite has been illustrated by Locke by a centre from which

you can proceed for ever in all directions. Time infinite, by a point

in a line from which you can proceed backwards and forwards for ever.

He investigates fulness and decay, and does not rejoice if he succeeds,

nor lament if he fails; for he knows that conditions are not invariable.

Fulness and decay are the inevitable precursors of each other.

He who clearly apprehends the scheme of existence, does not rejoice

over life, nor repine at death; for he knows that terms are not final.

Life and death are but links in an endless chain.

"What man knows is not to be compared with what he does not know.

The span of his existence is not to be compared with the span of

his non-existence. With the small to strive to exhaust the great,

necessarily lands him in confusion, and he does not attain his object.

How then should one be able to say that the tip of a hair is the _ne

plus ultra_ of smallness, or that the universe is the _ne plus ultra_

of greatness?"

These predicates are abstract terms, which are not names of real

existences but of relations, states, or conditions of existences; not

things, but conditions of things.

"Dialecticians of the day," replied the Spirit of the River, "all

say that the infinitesimally small has no form, and that the

infinitesimally great is beyond all measurement. Is that so?"

"If we regard greatness as compared with that which is small," said

the Spirit of the Ocean, "there is no limit to it; and if we regard

smallness as compared with that which is great, it eludes our sight.

That is, if we proceed from the concrete to the abstract. Given

a large or a small thing, there is no limit to the smallness or

greatness with which each may be respectively compared.

The infinitesimal is a subdivision of the small; the colossal is an

extension of the great. In this sense the two fall into different

categories.

"Both small and great things must equally possess form. The mind

cannot picture to itself a thing without form, nor conceive a form

of unlimited dimensions. The greatness of anything may be a topic of

discussion, or the smallness of anything may be mentally realized.

But that which can be neither a topic of discussion nor be realized

mentally, can be neither great nor small.

"Therefore, the truly great man, although he does not injure others,

does not credit himself with charity and mercy.

These are natural to him.

He seeks not gain, but does not despise his followers who do. He

struggles not for wealth, but does not take credit for letting

it alone. He asks help from no man, but takes no credit for his

self-reliance, neither does he despise those who seek preferment

through friends. He acts differently from the vulgar crowd, but takes

no credit for his exceptionality; nor because others act with the

majority does he despise them as hypocrites. The ranks and emoluments

of the world are to him no cause for joy; its punishments and shame

no cause for disgrace. He knows that positive and negative cannot be

distinguished,

What is positive under certain conditions will be negative under

others. These terms are in fact identical. See ch. ii.

that great and small cannot be defined.

They are infinite.

"I have heard say, the man of TAO has no reputation; perfect virtue

acquires nothing; the truly great man ignores self;--this is the height

of self-discipline."

Clause 2 of the above quotation appears with variations in ch. xxxviii

of the _Tao-Te-Ching_. The variations settle the correctness of the

rendering already given in _The Remains of Lao Tzŭ_, p. 26.

"But how then," asked the Spirit of the River, "are the internal

and external extremes of value and worthlessness, of greatness and

smallness, to be determined?"

With no standard of measurement.

"From the point of view of TAO," replied the Spirit of the Ocean,

"there are no such extremes of value or worthlessness. Men

individually value themselves and hold others cheap. The world

collectively withholds from the individual the right of appraising

himself.

"If we say that a thing is great or small because it is relatively

great or small, then there is nothing in all creation which is not

great, nothing which is not small. To know that the universe is but as

a tare-seed, and that the tip of a hair is a mountain,--this is the

expression of relativity.

"If we say that something exists or does not exist, in deference to the

function it fulfils or does not fulfil, then there is nothing which

does not exist, nothing which does exist. To know that east and west

are convertible and yet necessary terms,--this is the due adjustment of

functions.

Any given point is of course east in relation to west, west in

relation to east. Absolutely, it may be said that its westness does

not exclude its eastness; or, that it is neither east nor west.

"If we say that anything is good or evil because it is either good or

evil in our eyes, then there is nothing which is not good, nothing

which is not evil. To know that Yao and Chieh were both good and both

evil from their opposite points of view,--this is the expression of a

standard.

"Of old Yao abdicated in favour of Shun, and the latter ruled. Kuei

abdicated in favour of Chih, and the latter failed.

Kuei was a prince of the Yen State, who was humbugged into imitating

the glorious example of Yao and abdicating in favour of his minister

Chih. Three short years of power landed the latter in all the horrors

of a general revolution.

T'ang and Wu

See ch. xii.

got the empire by fighting. By fighting, Poh Kung lost it.

A revolutionary leader who, on the failure of his scheme, ended his

life by strangulation. See the _Tso Chuan_, 16th year of Duke Ai.

From which it may be seen that the rationale of abdicating or fighting,

of acting like Yao or like Chieh, must be determined according to the

opportunity, and may not be regarded as a constant quantity.

"A battering-ram can knock down a wall, but it cannot repair the breach.

This sentence has sorely puzzled all commentators.

Different things are differently applied.

"Ch'ih-Chi and Hua Liu could travel 1,000 _li_ in one day, but for

catching rats they were not equal to a wild cat.

Two of the eight famous steeds of Muh Wang, a semi-historical ruler of

old.

Different animals possess different aptitudes.

"An owl can catch fleas at night, and see the tip of a hair, but if

it comes out in the daytime its eyes are so dazzled it cannot see a

mountain. Different creatures are differently constituted.

"Thus, as has been said, those who would have right without its

correlative, wrong; or good government without its correlative,

misrule,--they do not apprehend the great principles of the universe

nor the conditions to which all creation is subject. One might as

well talk of the existence of heaven without that of earth, or of the

negative principle without the positive, which is clearly absurd. Such

people, if they do not yield to argument, must be either fools or

knaves.

"Rulers have abdicated under different conditions, dynasties have been

continued under different conditions. Those who did not hit off a

favourable time and were in opposition to their age,--they were called

usurpers. Those who did hit off the right time and were in harmony

with their age,--they were called patriots. Fair and softly, my River

friend; what should you know of value and worthlessness, of great and

small?"

It is therefore quite unnecessary to teach you where to fix the limits

of that of which you know nothing.

"In this case," replied the Spirit of the River, "what am I to do and

what am I not to do? How am I to arrange my declinings and receivings,

my takings-hold and my lettings-go?"

"From the point of view of TAO," said the Spirit of the Ocean, "value

and worthlessness are like slopes and plains.

A slope to-day may be a plain to-morrow.

To consider either as absolutely such would involve great injury to

TAO. Few and many are like giving and receiving presents. These must

not be regarded from one side, or there will be great confusion to TAO.

It would be unfair only to regard, from the receiver's standpoint, the

amount given. The intention of the giver must also be taken into the

calculation.

Be discriminating, as the ruler of a State whose administration is

impartial. Be dispassionate, as the worshipped deity whose dispensation

is impartial. Be expansive, like the points of the compass, to whose

boundlessness no limit is set. Embrace all creation, and none shall be

more sheltered than another. This is the unconditioned. And where all

things are equal, how can we have the long and the short?

"TAO is without beginning, without end. Other things are born and die.

They are impermanent; and now for better, now for worse, they are

ceaselessly changing form. Past years cannot be recalled: time cannot

be arrested. The succession of states is endless; and every end is

followed by a new beginning. Thus it may be said that man's duty to his

neighbour is embodied in the eternal principles of the universe.

All he has to _do_ is to _be_.

"The life of man passes by like a galloping horse, changing at every

turn, at every hour. What should he do, or what should he not do, other

than let his decomposition go on?"

"If this is the case," retorted the Spirit of the River, "pray what is

the value of TAO?"

"Those who understand TAO," answered the Spirit of the Ocean, "must

necessarily apprehend the eternal principles above mentioned and be

clear as to their application. Consequently, they do not suffer any

injury from without.

They never oppose, but let all things take their course.

"The man of perfect virtue cannot be burnt by fire, nor drowned in

water, nor hurt by frost or sun, nor torn by wild bird or beast. Not

that he makes light of these; but that he discriminates between safety

and danger. Happy under prosperous and adverse circumstances alike,

cautious as to what he discards and what he accepts;--nothing can harm

him.

Plato taught that it was impossible to make a slave of a wise man,

meaning that the latter by virtue of his mental endowment would rise

superior to mere physical thrall. "A wise and just man," said he,

"could be as happy in a state of slavery as in a state of freedom."

"Therefore it has been said that the natural abides within, the

artificial without. Virtue abides in the natural. Knowledge of the

action of the natural and of the artificial has its root in the

natural, its development in virtue. And thus, whether in motion or

at rest, whether in expansion or in contraction, there is always a

reversion to the essential and to the ultimate."

Those eternal principles which embody all human obligations.

"What do you mean," enquired the Spirit of the River, "by the natural

and the artificial?"

"Horses and oxen," answered the Spirit of the Ocean, "have four feet.

That is the natural. Put a halter on a horse's head, a string through a

bullock's nose,--that is the artificial.

"Therefore it has been said, do not let the artificial obliterate the

natural; do not let will obliterate destiny; do not let virtue be

sacrificed to fame. Diligently observe these precepts without fail, and

thus you will revert to the divine."

If man does not set himself in opposition to God, the result will be

TAO.

* * * * *

The walrus envies the centipede;

Its many legs and nimble gait.

the centipede envies the snake;

Which moves without legs.

the snake envies the wind;

Which moves far more quickly even without body.

the Wind envies the eye;

Which travels even without moving.

the eye envies the mind;

Which can comprehend the whole universe, past and present alike.

The walrus said to the centipede, "I hop about on one leg, but not very

successfully. How do you manage all these legs you have?"

"Walrus" is of course an analogue. But for the one leg, the

description given by a commentator of the creature mentioned in the

text applies with significant exactitude.

"I don't manage them," replied the centipede. "Have you never seen

saliva? When it is ejected, the big drops are the size of pearls, the

small ones like mist. They fall promiscuously on the ground and cannot

be counted. And so it is that my mechanism works naturally, without my

being conscious of the fact."

The centipede said to the snake, "With all my legs I do not move as

fast as you with none. How is that?"

"One's natural mechanism," replied the snake, "is not a thing to be

changed. What need have I for legs?"

The snake said to the wind, "I can manage to wriggle along, but I have

a form. Now you come blustering down from the north sea to bluster away

to the south sea, and you seem to be without form. How is that?"

"'Tis true," replied the wind, "that I bluster as you say; but any one

who can point at me or kick at me, excels me.

As I cannot do as much to them.

On the other hand, I can break huge trees and destroy large buildings.

That is my strong point. Out of all the small things in which I do not

excel I make one great one in which I do excel. And to excel in great

things is given only to the Sages."

Everything has its own natural qualifications. What is difficult to

one is easy to another.

No illustration is given of the "eye" and "mind." "'Tis the

half-length portrait," says Lin Hsi Chung, "of a beautiful

girl;"--which is ingenious if not sound.

* * * * *

When Confucius visited K'uang, the men of Sung surrounded him closely.

This is a mistake. "K'uang" was in the Wei State, and it was by the

men of Wei that Confucius was surrounded.

Yet he went on playing and singing to his guitar without ceasing.

"How is it, Sir," enquired Tzŭ Lu, "that you are so cheerful?"

See p. 165. Tzŭ Lu would have been the first to be cheerful himself.

"Come here," replied Confucius, "and I will tell you. For a long time I

have been struggling against failure, but in vain. Fate is against me.

For a long time I have been seeking success, but in vain. The hour has

not come.

"In the days of Yao and Shun, no man throughout the empire was a

failure, though no one was conscious of the gain. In the days of Chieh

and Chou, no man throughout the empire was a success, though no one

was conscious of the loss. The times and circumstances were adapted

accordingly.

"To travel by water and not avoid sea-serpents and dragons,--this is

the courage of the fisherman. To travel by land and not avoid the

rhinoceros and the tiger,--this is the courage of hunters. When bright

blades cross, to look on death as on life,--this is the courage of the

hero. To know that failure is fate and that success is opportunity, and

to remain fearless in great danger,--this is the courage of the Sage.

Yu! rest in this. My destiny is cut out for me."

Shortly afterwards, the captain of the troops came in and apologised,

saying, "We thought you were Yang Hu; consequently we surrounded you.

We find we have made a mistake." Whereupon he again apologised and

retired.

Yang Hu was "wanted" by the people of Wei, and it appears that

Confucius was unfortunately like him in feature. But the whole episode

is clearly the interpolation of a forger.

* * * * *

Kung Sun Lung

A philosopher of the Chao State, whose treatise on the "hard and

white" etc. is said to be still extant. See ch. ii.

said to Mou of Wei, "When young I studied the TAO of the ancient Sages.

When I grew up I knew all about the practice of charity and duty to

one's neighbour, the identification of like and unlike, the separation

of hardness and whiteness, and about making the not-so so, and the

impossible possible. I vanquished the wisdom of all the philosophies.

I exhausted all the arguments that were brought against me. I thought

that I had indeed reached the goal. But now that I have heard Chuang

Tzŭ, I am lost in astonishment at his grandeur. I know not whether it

is in arguing or in knowledge that I am not equal to him. I can no

longer open my mouth. May I ask you to impart to me the secret?"

Kung Tzŭ Mou leant over the table and sighed. Then he looked up to

heaven, and smiling replied, saying, "Have you never heard of the frog

in the old well?--The frog said to the turtle of the eastern sea,

'Happy indeed am I! I hop on to the rail around the well. I rest in the

hollow of some broken brick. Swimming, I gather the water under my arms

and shut my mouth. I plunge into the mud, burying my feet and toes;

and not one of the cockles, crabs, or tadpoles I see around me are my

match. [Fancy pitting the happiness of an old well against all the

water of Ocean!] Why do you not come, Sir, and pay me a visit?'

"Now the turtle of the eastern sea had not got its left leg down ere

its right had already stuck fast, so it shrank back and begged to be

excused. It then described the sea, saying, 'A thousand _li_ would

not measure its breadth, nor a thousand fathoms its depth. In the

days of the Great Yü, there were nine years of flood out of ten; but

this did not add to its bulk. In the days of T'ang, there were seven

years out of eight of drought; but this did not narrow its span. Not

to be affected by duration of time, not to be affected by volume of

water,--such is the great happiness of the eastern sea.'

To be impervious to external influences.

"At this the well-frog was considerably astonished, and knew not

what to say next. And for one whose knowledge does not reach to the

positive-negative domain,

Where contraries are identical.

to attempt to understand Chuang Tzŭ, is like a mosquito trying to carry

a mountain, or an ant to swim a river,--they cannot succeed. And for

one whose knowledge does not reach to the abstrusest of the abstruse,

but is based only upon such victories as you have enumerated,--is not

he like the frog in the well?

"Chuang Tzŭ moves in the realms below while soaring to heaven above.

For him north and south do not exist; the four points are gone; he is

engulphed in the unfathomable. For him east and west do not exist.

Beginning with chaos, he has gone back to TAO; and yet you think you

are going to examine his doctrines and meet them with argument! This is

like looking at the sky through a tube, or pointing at the earth with

an awl,--a small result.

The area covered by an awl's point being infinitesimal.

"Have you never heard how the youth of Shou-ling went to study at

Han-tan? They did not learn what they wanted at Han-tan, and forgot

all they knew before into the bargain, so that they returned home in

disgrace. And you, if you do not go away, you will forget all you know,

and waste your time into the bargain."

Kung Sun Lung's jaw dropped; his tongue clave to his palate; and he

slunk away.

Another spurious episode, as is evident from its general weakness,

not to mention repetitions of figures and allusions taken from other

chapters.

Chuang Tzŭ was fishing in the P'u when the prince of Ch'u sent two high

officials to ask him to take charge of the administration of the Ch'u

State.

Chuang Tzŭ went on fishing, and without turning his head said, "I have

heard that in Ch'u there is a sacred tortoise which has been dead now

some three thousand years. And that the prince keeps this tortoise

carefully enclosed in a chest on the altar of his ancestral temple. Now

would this tortoise rather be dead and have its remains venerated, or

be alive and wagging its tail in the mud?"

"It would rather be alive," replied the two officials, "and wagging its

tail in the mud."

"Begone!" cried Chuang Tzŭ. "I too will wag my tail in the mud."

* * * * *

Hui Tzŭ was prime minister in the Liang State. Chuang Tzŭ went thither

to visit him.

Some one remarked, "Chuang Tzŭ has come. He wants to be minister in

your place."

Thereupon Hui Tzŭ was afraid, and searched all over the State

With warrants.

for three days and three nights to find him.

Then Chuang Tzŭ went to see Hui Tzŭ, and said, "In the south there is a

bird. It is a kind of phœnix. Do you know it? It started from the south

sea to fly to the north sea. Except on the _wu-t'ung_ tree,

_Eleococca verrucosa_. Williams.

it would not alight. It would eat nothing but the fruit of the bamboo,

drink nothing but the purest spring water. An owl which had got the

rotten carcass of a rat, looked up as the phœnix flew by, and screeched.

To warn it off.

Are you not screeching at me over your kingdom of Liang?"

* * * * *

Chuang Tzŭ and Hui Tzŭ had strolled on to the bridge over the Hao, when

the former observed, "See how the minnows are darting about! That is

the pleasure of fishes."

"You not being a fish yourself," said Hui Tzŭ, "how can you possibly

know in what consists the pleasure of fishes?"

"And you not being I," retorted Chuang Tzŭ, "how can you know that I do

not know?"

"If I, not being you, cannot know what you know," urged Hui Tzŭ, "it

follows that you, not being a fish, cannot know in what consists the

pleasure of fishes."

"Let us go back," said Chuang Tzŭ, "to your original question. You

asked me how I knew in what consists the pleasure of fishes. Your very

question shows that you knew I knew.

For you asked me _how_ I _knew_.

I knew it from my own feelings on this bridge."

From my own feelings above the bridge I infer those of the fishes

below.

PERFECT HAPPINESS.

_Argument_:--The uncertainty of human happiness--What the world aims

at is physical well-being--This is not profitable even to the body--In

inaction alone is true happiness to be found--Inaction the rule of

the material universe--Acquiescence in whatever our destiny may bring

forth--Illustrations.

[This chapter is supplementary to chapter vi.]

Is perfect happiness to be found on earth, or not? Are there those who

can enjoy life, or not? If so, what do they do, what do they affect,

what do they avoid, what do they rest in, accept, reject, like, and

dislike?

What the world esteems comprises wealth, rank, old age, and goodness

of heart. What it enjoys comprises comfort, rich food, fine clothes,

beauty, and music. What it does not esteem comprises poverty, want

of position, early death, and evil behaviour. What it does not enjoy

comprises lack of comfort for the body, lack of rich food for the

palate, lack of fine clothes for the back, lack of beauty for the

eye, and lack of music for the ear. If men do not get these, they are

greatly miserable. Yet from the point of view of our physical frame,

this is folly.

Physically we can, and most of us do, get along very well without

these extras.

Wealthy people who toil and moil, putting together more money than they

can possibly use,--from the point of view of our physical frame, is not

this going beyond the mark?

Officials of rank who turn night into day in their endeavours to

compass the best ends;--from the point of view of our physical frame,

is not this a divergence?

Man is born to sorrow, and what misery is theirs whose old age with

dulled faculties only means prolonged sorrow! From the point of view of

our physical frame, this is going far astray.

Patriots are in the world's opinion admittedly good. Yet their goodness

does not enable them to enjoy life;

Patriotism has been illustrated in China by countless heroic deeds,

associated always with the death of the hero concerned.

and so I know not whether theirs is veritable goodness or not. If the

former, it does not enable them to enjoy life; if the latter, it at any

rate enables them to cause others to enjoy theirs.

It has been said, "If your loyal counsels are not attended to, depart

quietly without resistance." Thus, when Tzŭ Hsü

The famous Wu Yüan, 6th century B.C., whose opposition to his

sovereign led to his own disgrace and death.

resisted, his physical frame perished; yet had he not resisted, he

would not have made his name. Is there then really such a thing as this

goodness, or not?

As to what the world does and the way in which people are happy now, I

know not whether such happiness be real happiness or not. The happiness

of ordinary persons seems to me to consist in slavishly following the

majority, as if they could not help it. Yet they all say they are happy.

"The general average of mankind are not only moderate in intellect,

but also in inclinations: they have no tastes or wishes strong enough

to incline them to do anything unusual." Mill's _Essay on Liberty_.

But I cannot say that this is happiness or that it is not happiness. Is

there then, after all, such a thing as happiness?

I make true pleasure to consist in _inaction_, which the world regards

as great pain. Thus it has been said, "Perfect happiness is the absence

of happiness;

The non-existence of any state or condition necessarily includes the

non-existence of its correlate. If we do not have happiness, we are

at once exempt from misery; and such a negative state is a state of

"perfect happiness."

perfect renown is the absence of renown."

Now in this sublunary world of ours it is impossible to assign positive

and negative absolutely. Nevertheless, in inaction they can be so

assigned. Perfect happiness and preservation of life are to be sought

for only in inaction.

Let us consider. Heaven does nothing; yet it is clear. Earth does

nothing; yet it enjoys repose. From the inaction of these two proceed

all the modifications of things. How vast, how infinite is inaction,

yet without source! How infinite, how vast, yet without form!

The endless varieties of things around us all spring from inaction.

Therefore it has been said, "Heaven and earth do nothing, yet there is

nothing which they do not accomplish." But among men, who can attain to

inaction?

Lin Hsi Chung condemns the whole of the above exordium as too closely

reasoned for Chuang Tzŭ, with his rugged, elliptical style.

When Chuang Tzŭ's wife died, Hui Tzŭ went to condole. He found the

widower sitting on the ground, singing, with his legs spread out at a

right angle, and beating time on a bowl.

"To live with your wife," exclaimed Hui Tzŭ, "and see your eldest son

grow up to be a man, and then not to shed a tear over her corpse,--this

would be bad enough. But to drum on a bowl, and sing; surely this is

going too far."

"Not at all," replied Chuang Tzŭ. "When she died, I could not help

being affected by her death. Soon, however, I remembered that she had

already existed in a previous state before birth, without form, or even

substance; that while in that unconditioned condition, substance was

added to spirit; that this substance then assumed form; and that the

next stage was birth. And now, by virtue of a further change, she is

dead, passing from one phase to another like the sequence of spring,

summer, autumn, and winter. And while she is thus lying asleep in

Eternity, for me to go about weeping and wailing would be to proclaim

myself ignorant of these natural laws. Therefore I refrain."

* * * * *

A hunchback and a one-legged man were looking at the tombs of departed

heroes, on the K'un-lun Mountains, where the Yellow Emperor rests.

Suddenly, ulcers broke out upon their left elbows, of a very loathsome

description.

"Do you loathe this?" asked the hunchback.

"Not I," replied the other, "why should I? Life is a loan with which

the borrower does but add more dust and dirt to the sum total of

existence. Life and death are as day and night; and while you and I

stand gazing at the evidences of mortality around us, if the same

mortality overtakes me, why should I loathe it?"

* * * * *

Chuang Tzŭ one day saw an empty skull, bleached, but still preserving

its shape. Striking it with his riding whip, he said, "Wert thou once

some ambitious citizen whose inordinate yearnings brought him to this

pass?--some statesman who plunged his country in ruin and perished in

the fray?--some wretch who left behind him a legacy of shame?--some

beggar who died in the pangs of hunger and cold? Or didst thou reach

this state by the natural course of old age?"

When he had finished speaking, he took the skull, and placing it under

his head as a pillow, went to sleep. In the night, he dreamt that the

skull appeared to him and said, "You speak well, Sir; but all you say

has reference to the life of mortals, and to mortal troubles. In death

there are none of these. Would you like to hear about death?"

Chuang Tzŭ having replied in the affirmative, the skull began:--"In

death, there is no sovereign above, and no subject below. The workings

of the four seasons are unknown. Our existences are bounded only by

eternity. The happiness of a king among men cannot exceed that which we

enjoy."

Chuang Tzŭ, however, was not convinced, and said, "Were I to prevail

upon God to allow your body to be born again, and your bones and flesh

to be renewed, so that you could return to your parents, to your wife,

and to the friends of your youth,--would you be willing?"

At this, the skull opened its eyes wide and knitted its brows and said,

"How should I cast aside happiness greater than that of a king, and

mingle once again in the toils and troubles of mortality?"

Reminding us strangely of _Hamlet_.

When Yen Yüan

See p. 179.

went eastwards to the Ch'i State, Confucius was sad. Tzŭ Kung arose and

said, "Is it, Sir, because Hui

Yen Yüan's personal name.

has gone east to Ch'i that you are sad?"

"A good question," replied Confucius. "There is a saying by Kuan Chung

Prime Minister to Duke Huan of the Ch'i State, 7th century B.C.

of old which I highly esteem: 'Small bags won't hold big things; short

ropes won't reach down deep wells.' Thus, destiny is a pre-arrangement,

just as form has its limitations. From neither, to neither, can you

either take away or add. And I fear lest Hui, on his visit to the

prince of Ch'i, should preach the Tao of Yao and Shun, and dwell on

the words of Sui Jen and Shên Nung. The prince will then search within

himself, but will not find. And not finding, he will doubt. And when a

man doubts, he will kill.

_Lit._ "he will die." But the verb "to die" is often used in the sense

of "to make to die;" and this seems to be the only available sense

here.

"Besides, have you not heard that of old when a sea-bird alighted

outside the capital of Lu, the prince went out to receive it, and gave

it wine in the temple, and had the _Chiu Shao_

Music composed by the legendary Emperor Shun.

played to amuse it, and a bullock slaughtered to feed it? But the bird

was dazed and too timid to eat or drink anything; and in three days it

was dead. This was treating the bird like oneself, and not as a bird

would treat a bird. Had he treated it as a bird would have treated a

bird, he would have put it to roost in a deep forest, to wander over a

plain, to swim in a river or lake, to feed upon fish, to fly in order,

and to settle leisurely. When the bird was already terrified at human

voices, fancy adding music! Play the _Hsien Ch'ih_

Music of the Yellow Emperor.

or the _Chiu Shao_ in the wilds of Tung-t'ing, and birds will fly away,

beasts will take themselves off, and fishes will dive down below. But

men will collect to hear.

See p. 244.

"Water, which is life to fishes, is death to man. Being differently

constituted, their likes and dislikes are different. Therefore the

Sages of the past favoured not uniformity of skill or of occupation.

Reputation was commensurate with reality; means were adapted to the

end. This was called a due relationship with others coupled with

advantage to oneself."

Several sentences of the above are clearly in imitation of parts of

ch. ii. The whole episode is beyond doubt a forgery.

* * * * *

Lieh Tzŭ, being on a journey, was eating by the roadside, when he saw

an old skull. Plucking a blade of grass, he pointed at it and said,

"Only you and I know that there is no such thing as life and no such

thing as death.

_Lit._ "that you have never died nor lived."

Are you really at peace? Or am I really happy?

Who can say whether what we call death may not after all be life, and

life death?

"Certain germs, falling upon water, become duckweed. When they reach

the junction of the land and the water, they become lichen. Spreading

up the bank, they become the dog-tooth violet. Reaching rich soil, they

become _wu-tsu_, the root of which becomes grubs, while the leaves

comes from butterflies, or _hsü_. These are changed into insects,

born in the chimney corner, which look like skeletons. Their name is

_ch'ü-to_. After a thousand days, the _ch'ü-to_ becomes a bird, called

_Kan-yü-ku_, the spittle of which becomes the _ssŭ-mi_. The _ssŭ-mi_

becomes a wine fly, and that comes from an _i-lu_. The _huang-k'uang_

produces the _chiu-yu_ and the _mou-jui_ produces the glow-worm.

The _yang-ch'i_ grafted to an old bamboo which has for a long time

put forth no shoots, produces the _ch'ing-ning_, which produces the

leopard, which produces the horse, which produces man.

"Then man goes back into the great Scheme, from which all things come

and to which all things return."

Such is the eternal round, marked by the stages which we call life and

death.

Many of the names in the above paragraph have not been identified even

by Chinese commentators. On all counts then they may safely be left

where they are.

THE SECRET OF LIFE.

_Argument_:--The soul is from God--Man's body its vehicle--The soul

quickening the body is life--Care of the internal and of the external

must be simultaneous--In due nourishment of both is TAO.

[This chapter is supplementary to chapter iii.]

Those who understand the conditions of life devote no attention

to things which life cannot accomplish. Those who understand the

conditions of destiny devote no attention to things over which

knowledge has no control.

For the due nourishment of our physical frames, certain things are

needful. Yet where such things abound, the physical frame is not always

nourished. For the preservation of life it is necessary that there

should be no abandonment of the physical frame. Yet where the physical

frame is not abandoned, life does not always remain.

Life comes, and cannot be declined. It goes, and cannot be stopped.

But alas! the world thinks that to nourish the frame is enough to keep

life. And if indeed it is not enough, what then is the world to do?

Although not enough, it must still be done. It cannot be neglected. For

if one is to neglect the physical frame, better far to retire at once

from the world. By renouncing the world, one gets rid of the cares

of the world. The result is a natural level, which is equivalent to a

re-birth. And he who is re-born is near.

To TAO.

But what inducement is there to renounce the affairs of men, to become

indifferent to life?--In the first case, the physical body suffers no

wear and tear; in the second, the vitality is left unharmed. And he

whose physical frame is perfect and whose vitality is in its original

purity,--he is one with God.

Mens sana in corpore sano.

Heaven and earth are the father and mother of all things. When they

unite, the result is shape. When they disperse, the original condition

is renewed.

As in the case of ordinary mortals.

But if body and vitality are both perfect, this state is called _fit

for translation_.

In the Biblical sense, as applied to Enoch.

Such perfection of vitality goes back to the minister of God.

"Vitality" is the subtle essence, the immaterial informing principle

which, united with matter, exhibits the phenomenon of life. The term

has already occurred in ch. xi.

* * * * *

Lieh Tzŭ asked Kuan Yin,

A sage who by some is said to have flourished five or six hundred

years before Lieh Tzŭ; by others, to have been an immediate disciple

of Lao Tzŭ, and to have been entrusted by him with the publication of

the _Tao-Tê-Ching_.

saying, "The perfect man can walk through solid bodies without

obstruction. He can pass through fire without being burnt. He can scale

the highest heights without fear. How does he bring himself to this?"

"It is because he is in a condition of absolute purity," replied Kuan

Yin. "It is not cunning which enables him to dare such feats. Be

seated, and I will tell you.

"All that has form, sound, and colour, may be classed under the head

_thing_. Man differs so much from the rest, and stands at the head of

all things, simply because the latter are but what they appear and

nothing more. But man can attain to formlessness and vanquish death.

And with that which is in possession of the eternal, how can mere

things compare?

"Man may rest in the eternal fitness; he may abide in the everlasting;

and roam from the beginning to the end of all creation. He may bring

his nature to a condition of ONE; he may nourish his strength; he may

harmonize his virtue, and so put himself into partnership with God.

Then, when his divinity is thus assured, and his spirit closed in on

all sides, how can anything find a passage within?

He is beyond the reach of objective existences.

"A drunken man who falls out of a cart, though he may suffer, does

not die. His bones are the same as other people's; but he meets his

accident in a different way. His spirit is in a condition of security.

He is not conscious of riding in the cart; neither is he conscious of

falling out of it. Ideas of life, death, fear, etc., cannot penetrate

his breast; and so he does not suffer from contact with objective

existences. And if such security is to be got from wine, how much more

is it to be got from God. It is in God that the Sage seeks his refuge,

and so he is free from harm.

"An avenger does not snap in twain the murderous weapon; neither does

the most spiteful man carry his resentment to a tile which may have hit

him on the head. And by the extension of this principle, the empire

would be at peace; no more confusion of war, no more punishment of

death.

"Do not develop your artificial intelligence, but develop that

intelligence which is from God. From the latter, results virtue; from

the former, cunning. And those who do not shrink from the natural, nor

wallow in the artificial,--they are near to perfection."

* * * * *

When Confucius was on his way to the Ch'u State, he came to a forest

where he saw a hunchback catching cicadas as though with his hand.

It is still the delight of the Chinese _gamin_ to capture the noisy

"scissor-grinder" with the aid of a long bamboo tipped with bird-lime.

"How clever you are!" cried Confucius. "Have you any _way_ of doing

this?"

"Way," _i.e._ road, is the primary meaning of TAO.

"I have a way," replied the hunchback. "In the fifth and sixth moons I

practise balancing two balls one on top of the other.

At the top of his pole.

If they do not fall, I do not miss many cicadas. When I can balance

three balls, I only miss one in ten; and when five, then it is as

though I caught the cicadas with my hand. My body is as motionless as

the stump of a tree; my arms like dead branches. Heaven and earth and

all creation may be around me, but I am conscious only of my cicada's

wings. How should I not succeed?"