BOOK XXIII.
PART III. SECTION I.
Käng-sang Khû[1].

---

I. Among the disciples[2] of Lâo Tan there was a Käng-sang Khû, who had got a greater knowledge than the others of his doctrines, and took up his residence with it in the north at the hill of Wei-lêi.[3] His servants who were pretentious and knowing he sent away, and his concubines who were officious and kindly he kept at a distance; living (only) with those who were boorish and rude, and employing (only) the bustling and ill-mannered[4]. After three years there was great prosperity[5] in Wei-lêi, and the people said to one another, ‘When Mr. Käng-sang first came here, he alarmed us, and we thought him strange; our estimate of him after a short acquaintance was that he could not do us much good; but now that we have known him for years, we find him a more than ordinary benefit. Must he not be near being a sage? Why should you not

[1. See vol. xxxix. p. 153.

2. The term in the text commonly denotes ‘servants.’ It would seem here simply to mean ‘disciples.’

3. Assigned variously. Probably the mount Yû in the ‘Tribute of Yû,’-a hill in the present department of Tang-kâu, Shan-tung.

4. The same phraseology occurs in Bk. XI, par. 5; and also in the Shih, II, vi, i, q. v.

5. That is, abundant harvests. The ### of the common text should, probably, be ###.]

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unite in blessing him as the representative of our departed (whom we worship), and raise an altar to him as we do to the spirit of the grain[1]?’ Käng-sang heard of it, kept his face indeed to the south[2] but was dissatisfied.

His disciples thought it strange in him, but he said to them, ‘Why, my disciples, should you think this strange in me? When the airs of spring come forth, all vegetation grows; and, when the autumn arrives, all the previous fruits of the earth are matured. Do spring and autumn have these effects without any adequate cause? The processes of the Great Tâo have been in operation. I have heard that the Perfect man dwells idly in his apartment within its surrounding walls[3], and the people get wild and crazy, not knowing how they should repair to him. Now these small people of Wei-lêi in their opinionative way want to present their offerings to me, and place me among such men of ability and virtue. But am I a man to be set up as such a model? It is on this account that I am dissatisfied when I think of the words of Lâo Tan[4].’

2. His disciples said, ‘Not so. In ditches eight cubits wide, or even twice as much, big fishes cannot turn their bodies about, but minnows and eels find them sufficient for them[5]; on hillocks six or

[1. I find it difficult to tell what these people wanted to make of Khû, further than what he says himself immediately to his disciples. I cannot think that they wished to make him their ruler.

2. This is the proper position for the sovereign in his court, and for the sage as the teacher of the world. Khû accepts it in the latter capacity, but with dissatisfaction.

3. Compare the Lî Kî, Bk. XXXVIII, par. 10, et al.

4. As if he were one with the Tâo.

5. I do not see the appropriateness here of the ### in the text.]

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seven cubits high, large beasts cannot conceal themselves, but foxes of evil omen find it a good place for them. And moreover, honour should be paid to the wise, offices given to the able, and preference shown to the good and the beneficial. From of old Yâo and Shun acted thus;–how much more may the people of Wei-lêi do so! O Master, let them have their way!’

Käng-sang replied, ‘Come nearer, my little children. If a beast that could hold a carriage in its mouth leave its hill by itself, it will not escape the danger that awaits it from the net; or if a fish that could swallow a boat be left dry by the flowing away of the water, then (even) the ants are able to trouble it. Thus it is that birds and beasts seek to be as high as possible, and fishes and turtles seek to lie as deep as possible. In the same way men who wish to preserve their bodies and lives keep their persons concealed, and they do so in the deepest retirement possible. And moreover, what was there in those sovereigns to entitle them to your laudatory mention? Their sophistical reasonings (resembled) the reckless breaking down of walls and enclosures and planting the wild rub us and wormwood in their place; or making the hair thin before they combed it; or counting the grains of rice before they cooked them[1]. They would do such things with careful discrimination; but what was there in them to benefit the world? If you raise the men of talent to office, you will create disorder; making the people strive with one

[1. All these condemnatory descriptions of Yâo and Shun are eminently Tâoistic, but so metaphorical that it is not easy to appreciate them.]

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another for promotion; if you employ men for their wisdom, the people will rob one another (of their reputation)[1]. These various things are insufficient to make the people good and honest. They are very eager for gain;–a son will kill his father, and a minister his ruler (for it). In broad daylight men will rob, and at midday break through walls. I tell you that the root of the greatest disorder was planted in the times of Yâo and Shun. The branches of it will remain for a thousand ages; and after a thousand ages men will be found eating one another[2].)

3. (On this) Nan-yung Khû[3] abruptly sat right up and said, ‘What method can an old man like me adopt to become (the Perfect man) that you have described?’ Käng-sang Dze said, ‘Maintain your body complete; hold your life in close embrace; and do not let your thoughts keep working anxiously:–do this for three years, and you may become the man of whom I have spoken.’ The other rejoined, ‘Eyes are all of the same form, I do not know any difference between them:–yet the blind have no power of vision. Ears are all of the same form; I do not know any difference between them:–yet the deaf have no power of hearing. Minds are all of the same nature, I do not know any difference between them;–yet the mad cannot make the minds of other men their own. (My) personality is indeed like (yours), but things seem to separate

[1. Compare the Tâo Teh King, ch. 3.

2. Khû is in all this too violent.

3. A disciple of Kang-sang Khû;–‘a sincere seeker of the Tâo, very much to be pitied,’ says Lin Hsî-kung.]

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between us[1]. I wish to find in myself what there is in you, but I am not able to do so’. You have now said to me, “Maintain your body complete; hold your life in close embrace; and do not let your thoughts keep working anxiously.” With all my efforts to learn your Way, (your words) reach only my ears.’ Käng-sang replied, ‘I can say nothing more to you,’ and then he added, ‘Small flies cannot transform the bean caterpillar[2]; Yüeh[3] fowls cannot hatch the eggs of geese, but Lû fowls[3] can. It is not that the nature of these fowls is different; the ability in the one case and inability in the other arise from their different capacities as large and small. My ability is small and not sufficient to transform you. Why should you not go south and see Lâo-dze?’

4. Nan-yung Khû hereupon took with him some rations, and after seven days and seven nights arrived at the abode of Lâo-dze, who said to him, ‘Are you come from Khû’s?’ ‘I am,’ was the reply. ‘And why, Sir, have you come with such a multitude of attendants[4]?’ Nan-yung was frightened, and turned his head round to look behind him. Lâo-dze said, ‘Do you not understand my meaning?’ The other held his head down and was ashamed, and then he lifted it up, and sighed, saying, ‘I forgot at the moment what I should reply to your

[1. The ### in the former of these sentences is difficult. I take it in the sense of ###, and read it phî.

2. Compare the Shih, II, v, Ode 2, 3.

3. I believe the fowls of Shan-tung are still larger than those of Kih-kiang or Fû-kien.

4. A good instance of Lao’s metaphorical style.]

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question, and in consequence I have lost what I wished to ask you.’ ‘What do you mean?’ If I have not wisdom, men say that I am stupid[1], while if I have it, it occasions distress to myself. If I have not benevolence, then (I am charged) with doing hurt to others, while if I have it, I distress myself. If I have not righteousness, I (am charged with) injuring others, while if I have it, I distress myself. How can I escape from these dilemmas? These are the three perplexities that trouble me; and I wish at the suggestion of Khû to ask you about them.’ Lao-dze replied, ‘A little time ago, when I saw you and looked right into your eyes[2], I understood you, and now your words confirm the judgment which I formed. You look frightened and amazed. You have lost your parents, and are trying with a pole to find them at the (bottom of) the sea. You have gone astray; you are at your wit’s end. You wish to recover your proper nature, and you know not what step to take first to find it. You are to be pitied!’

5. Nan-yung Khû asked to be allowed to enter (the establishment), and have an apartment assigned to him[3]. (There) he sought to realise the qualities which he loved, and put away those which he hated. For ten days he afflicted himself, and then waited again on Lâo-dze, who said to him, ‘You must purify yourself thoroughly! But from your symptoms of

[1. In the text ###. The ### must be an erroneous addition or probably it is a mistake for the speaker’s name ###.

2 Literally, ‘between the eye-brows and eye-lashes.’

3. Thus we are as it were in the school of Lâo-dze, and can see how he deals with his pupils.]

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distress, and signs of impurity about you, I see there still seem to cling to you things that you dislike. When the fettering influences from without become numerous, and you try to seize them (you will find it a difficult task); the better plan is to bar your inner man against their entrance. And when the similar influences within get intertwined, it is a difficult task to grasp (and hold them in check); the better plan is to bar the outer door against their exit. Even a master of the Tâo and its characteristics will not be able to control these two influences together, and how much less can one who is only a student of the Tâo do so!’ Nan-yung Khû said, ‘A certain villager got an illness, and when his neighbours asked about it, he was able to describe the malady, though it was one from which he had not suffered before. When I ask you about the Grand Tâo, it seems to me like drinking medicine which (only serves to) increase my illness. I should like to hear from you about the regular method of guarding the life;–that will be sufficient for me.’ Lao-dze replied, ‘(You ask me about) the regular method of guarding the life;–can you hold the One thing fast in your embrace? Can you keep from losing it? Can you know the lucky and the unlucky without having recourse to the tortoise-shell or the divining stalks? Can you rest (where you ought to rest)? Can you stop (when you have got enough)? Can you give over thinking of other men, and seek what you want in yourself (alone)? Can you flee (from the allurements of desire)? Can you maintain an entire simplicity? Can you become a little child? The child will cry all the day, without its throat becoming hoarse;–so perfect is the harmony (of

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its physical constitution). It will keep its fingers closed all the day without relaxing their grasp;–such is the concentration of its powers. It will keep its eyes fixed all day, without their moving;–so is it unaffected by what is external to it. It walks it knows not whither; it rests where it is placed, it knows not why; it is calmly indifferent to things, and follows their current. This is the regular method of guarding the life[1].’

6. Nan-yung Khû said, ‘And are these all the characteristics of the Perfect man?’ Lao-dze replied, ‘No. These are what we call the breaking up of the ice, and the dissolving of the cold. The Perfect man, along with other men, gets his food from the earth, and derives his joy from his Heaven (-conferred nature). But he does not like them allow himself to be troubled by the consideration of advantage or injury coming from men and things; he does not like them do strange things, or form plans, or enter on undertakings; he flees from the allurements of desire, and pursues his way with an entire simplicity. Such is the way by which he guards his life.’ ‘And is this what constitutes his perfection?’ ‘Not quite. I asked you whether you could become a little child. The little child moves unconscious of what it is doing, and walks unconscious of whither it is going. Its body is like the branch of a rotten tree, and its mind is like slaked lime[2]. Being such, misery does not come to it, nor happiness. It has

[1. In this long reply there are many evident recognitions of passages in the Tâo Teh King;–compare chapters 9, 10, 55, 58.

2. See the description of Dze-khi’s Tâoistic trance at the beginning of the second Book.]

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neither misery nor happiness;–how can it suffer from the calamities incident to men[1]?’

7. [2] He whose mind[3] is thus grandly fixed emits a Heavenly light. In him who emits this heavenly light men see the (True) man. When a man has cultivated himself (up to this point), thenceforth he remains constant in himself. When he is thus constant in himself, (what is merely) the human element will leave him’, but Heaven will help him. Those whom their human element has left we call the people of Heaven[4]. Those whom Heaven helps we call the Sons of Heaven. Those who would by learning attain to this[5] seek for what they cannot

[1. Nan-yung Khû disappears here. His first master, Käng-sang Khû, disappeared in paragraph 4. The different way in which his name is written by Sze-mâ Khien is mentioned in the brief introductory note on p. 153. It should have been further stated there that in the Fourth Book of Lieh-dze (IV, 2b-3b) some account of him is given with his name as written by Khien. A great officer of Khän is introduced as boasting of him that he was a sage, and, through his mastery of the principles of Lâo Tan, could hear with his eyes and see with his ears. Hereupon Khang-zhang is brought to the court of the marquis of Lû to whom he says that the report of him which he had heard was false, adding that he could dispense with the use of his senses altogether, but could not alter their several functions. This being reported to Confucius, he simply laughs at it, but makes no remark.

2. I suppose that from this to the end of the Book we have the sentiments of Kwang-dze himself. Whether we consider them his, or the teachings of Lao-dze to his visitor, they are among the depths of Tâoism, which I will not attempt to elucidate in the notes here.

3. The character which I have translated ‘mind’ here is ###, meaning ‘the side walls of a house,’ and metaphorically used for ‘the breast,’ as the house of the mind. Hû explains it by ###.

4. He is emancipated from the human as contrary to the heavenly.

5. The Tâo.]

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learn. Those who would by effort attain to this, attempt what effort can never effect. Those who aim by reasoning to reach it reason where reasoning has no place. To know to stop where they cannot arrive by means of knowledge is the highest attainment. Those who cannot do this will be destroyed on the lathe of Heaven.

8. Where things are all adjusted to maintain the body; where a provision against unforeseen dangers is kept up to maintain the life of the mind; where an inward reverence is cherished to be exhibited (in all intercourse) with others;–where this is done, and yet all evils arrive, they are from Heaven, and not from the men themselves. They will not be sufficient to confound the established (virtue of the character), or be admitted into the Tower of Intelligence. That Tower has its Guardian, who acts unconsciously, and whose care will not be effective, if there be any conscious purpose in it[1]. If one who has not this entire sincerity in himself make any outward demonstration, every such demonstration will be incorrect. The thing will enter into him, and not let go its hold. Then with every fresh demonstration there will be still greater failure. If he do what is not good in the light of open day, men will have the opportunity of punishing him; if he do it in darkness and secrecy, spirits[2] Will inflict the punishment. Let a man understand this–his relation both to men and spirits, and then he will do what is good in the solitude of himself.

[1. This Guardian of the Mind or Tower of Intelligence is the Tâo.

2. One of the rare introductions of spiritual agency in the early Tâoism.]

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He whose rule of life is in himself does not act for the sake of a name. He whose rule is outside himself has his will set on extensive acquisition. He who does not act for the sake of a name emits a light even in his ordinary conduct; he whose will is set on extensive acquisition is but a trafficker. Men see how he stands on tiptoe, while he thinks that he is overtopping others. Things enter (and take possession of) him who (tries to) make himself exhaustively (acquainted with them), while when one is indifferent to them, they do not find any lodgment in his person. And how can other men find such lodgment? But when one denies lodgment to men, there are none who feel attachment to him. In this condition he is cut off from other men. There is no weapon more deadly than the will[1];–even Mû-yê[2] was inferior to it. There is no robber greater than the Yin and Yang, from whom nothing can escape of all between heaven and earth. But it is not the Yin and Yang that play the robber;–it is the mind that causes them to do so.

9. The Tâo is to be found in the subdivisions (of its subject); (it is to be found) in that when complete, and when broken up. What I dislike in considering it as subdivided, is that the division leads to the multiplication of it;–and what I dislike in that multiplication is that it leads to the (thought of) effort to secure it. Therefore when (a man)

[1. That is, the will, man’s own human element, in opposition to the Heavenly element of the Tâo.

2. One of the two famous swords made for Ho-lü, the king of Wû. See the account of their making in the seventy-fourth chapter of the ‘History of the Various States;’ very marvellous, but evidently, and acknowledged to be, fabulous.]

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comes forth (and is born), if he did not return (to his previous non-existence), we should have (only) seen his ghost; when he comes forth and gets this (return), he dies (as we say). He is extinguished, and yet has a real existence:–this is another way of saying that in life we have) only man’s ghost. By taking the material as an emblem of the immaterial do we arrive at a settlement of the case of man. He comes forth, but from no root; he reenters, but by no aperture. He has a real existence. but it has nothing to do with place; he has continuance, but it has nothing to do with beginning or end. He has a real existence, but it has nothing to do with place, such is his relation to space; he has continuance, but it has nothing to do with beginning or end, such is his relation to time; he has life; he has death; he comes forth; he enters; but we do not see his form;–all this is what is called the door of Heaven. The door of Heaven is Non-Existence. All things come from non-existence. The (first) existences could not bring themselves into existence; they must have come from non-existence. And non-existence is just the same as non-existing. Herein is the secret of the sages.

10. Among the ancients there were those whose knowledge reached the extreme point. And what was that point? There were some who thought that in the beginning there was nothing. This was the extreme point, the completest reach of their knowledge, to which nothing could be added. Again, there were those who supposed that (in the beginning) there were existences, proceeding to consider life to be a (gradual) perishing, and death a returning (to the original state). And there they stopped,

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making, (however), a distinction between life and death. Once again there were those who said, ‘In the beginning there was nothing; by and by there was life; and then in a little time life was succeeded by death. We hold that non-existence was the head, life the body, and death the os coccygis. But of those who acknowledge that existence and nonexistence, death and life, are all under the One Keeper, we are the friends.’ Though those who maintained these three views were different, they were so as the different branches of the same ruling Family (of Khû)[1],–the Kâos and the Kings, bearing the surname of the lord whom they honoured as the author of their branch, and the Kiâs named from their appanage;–(all one, yet seeming) not to be one.

The possession of life is like the soot that collects under a boiler. When that is differently distributed, the life is spoken of as different. But to say that life is different in different lives, and better in one than in another, is an improper mode of speech. And yet there may be something here which we do not know. (As for instance), at the lâ sacrifice the paunch and the divided hoofs may be set forth on separate dishes, but they should not be considered as parts of different victims; (and again), when one is inspecting a house, he goes over it all, even the adytum for the shrines of the temple, and visits also the most private apartments; doing this, and setting a different estimate on the different parts.

Let me try and speak of this method of apportioning

[1. Both Lâo and Kwang belonged to Khû, and this illustration was natural to them.]

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one’s approval:–life is the fundamental consideration in it; knowledge is the instructor. From this they multiply their approvals and disapprovals, determining what is merely nominal and what is real. They go on to conclude that to themselves must the appeal be made in everything, and to try to make others adopt them as their model; prepared even to die to make good their views on every point. In this way they consider being employed in office as a mark of wisdom, and not being so employed as a mark of stupidity, success as entitling to fame, and the want of it as disgraceful. The men of the present day who follow this differentiating method are like the cicada and the little dove[1];–there is no difference between them.

11. When one treads on the foot of another in the market-place, he apologises on the ground of the bustle. If an elder tread on his younger brother, he proceeds to comfort him; if a parent tread on a child, he says and does nothing. Hence it is said, ‘The greatest politeness is to show no special respect to others; the greatest righteousness is to take no account of things; the greatest wisdom is to lay no plans; the greatest benevolence is to make no demonstration of affection; the greatest good faith is to give no pledge of sincerity.’

Repress the impulses of the will; unravel the errors of the mind; put away the entanglements to virtue; and clear away all that obstructs the free course of the Tâo. Honours and riches, distinctions and austerity, fame and profit; these six things produce the impulses of the will. Personal appearance

[1. See in Bk. I, par. 2.]

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and deportment, the desire of beauty and subtle reasonings, excitement of the breath and cherished thoughts; these six things produce errors of the mind. Hatred and longings, joy and anger, grief and delight; these six things are the entanglements to virtue. Refusals and approachments, receiving and giving, knowledge and ability; these six things obstruct the course of the Tâo. When these four conditions, with the six causes of each, do not agitate the breast, the mind is correct. Being correct, it is still; being still, it is pellucid; being pellucid, it is free from pre-occupation; being free from pre-occupation, it is in the state of inaction, in which it accomplishes everything.

The Tâo is the object of reverence to all the virtues. Life is what gives opportunity for the display of the virtues. The nature is the substantive character of the life. The movement of the nature is called action. When action becomes hypocritical, we say that it has lost (its proper attribute).

The wise communicate with what is external to them and are always laying plans. This is what with all their wisdom they are not aware of;–they look at things askance. When the action (of the nature) is from external constraint, we have what is called virtue; when it is all one’s own, we have what is called government. These two names seem to be opposite to each other, but in reality they are in mutual accord.

12. Î[1] was skilful in hitting the minutest mark, but stupid in wishing men to go on praising him without end. The sage is skilful Heavenwards, but stupid

[1. See on V, par. 2.]

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manwards. It is only the complete man who can be both skilful Heavenwards and good manwards.

Only an insect can play the insect, only an insect show the insect nature. Even the complete man hates the attempt to exemplify the nature of Heaven. He hates the manner in which men do so, and how much more would he hate the doing so by himself before men!

When a bird came in the way of Î, he was sure to obtain it;–such was his mastery with his bow. If all the world were to be made a cage, birds would have nowhere to escape to. Thus it was that Thang caged Î Yin by making him his cook[1], and that duke Mû of Khin caged Pâi-lî Hsî by giving the skins of five rams for him[2]. But if you try to cage men by anything but what they like, you will never succeed.

A man, one of whose feet has been cut off, discards ornamental (clothes);–his outward appearance will not admit of admiration. A criminal under sentence of death will ascend to any height without fear;–he has ceased to think of life or death.

When one persists in not reciprocating the gifts (of friendship), he forgets all others. Having forgotten all others, he may be considered as a Heaven-like man. Therefore when respect is shown to a man, and it awakens in him no joy, and when contempt awakens no anger, it is only one who shares in the Heaven-like harmony that can be thus. When he would display anger and yet is not angry, the anger comes out in that repression of it. When he would put forth action, and yet does not do so,

[1. See Mencius V, i, 7.

2. Mencius V, i, 9.]

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the action is in that not-acting. Desiring to be quiescent, he must pacify all his emotions; desiring to be spirit-like, he must act in conformity with his mind. When action is required of him, he wishes that it may be right; and it then is under an inevitable constraint. Those who act according to that inevitable constraint pursue the way of the sage.

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BOOK XXIV.
PART III. SECTION II.
Hsü Wû-kwei[1].

1. Hsü Wû-kwei having obtained through Nü Shang[2] an introduction to the marquis Wû of Wei[3], the marquis, speaking to him with kindly sympathy[4], said, ‘You are ill, Sir; you have suffered from your hard and laborious toils[4] in the forests, and still you have been willing to come and see poor me[5].’ Hsü Wû-kwei replied, ‘It is I who have to comfort your lordship; what occasion have you to comfort me? If your lordship go on to fill up the measure of your sensual desires, and to prolong your likes and dislikes, then the condition of your mental nature will be diseased, and if you discourage and repress those desires, and deny your likings and dislikings, that will be an affliction to your ears and eyes

[1. See vol. xxxix, pp. 153, 154.

2. A favourite and minister of the marquis Wû.

3 This was the second marquis of Wei, one of the three principalities into which the great state of Zin had been broken up, and which he ruled as the marquis Kî for sixteen years, B.C. 386-371. His son usurped the title of king, and was the ‘king Hui of Liang,’ whom Mencius had interviews with. Wû, or ‘martial,’ was Kî’s honorary, posthumous epithet.

4 The character (###) which I thus translate, has two tones, the second and fourth. Here and elsewhere in this paragraph and the next, it is with one exception in the fourth tone, meaning ‘to comfort or reward for toils endured.’ The one exception is its next occurrence,–‘hard and laborious toils.’

5. The appropriate and humble designation of himself by the ruler of a state.]

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(deprived of their accustomed pleasures);–it is for me to comfort your lordship, what occasion have you to comfort me?’ The marquis looked contemptuous, and made no reply.

After a little time, Hsü Wû-kwei said, ‘Let me tell your lordship something:–I look at dogs and judge of them by their appearance[1]. One of the lowest quality seizes his food, satiates himself, and stops;–he has the attributes of a fox. One of a medium quality seems to be looking at the sun. One of the highest quality seems to have forgotten the one thing,–himself. But I judge still better of horses than I do of dogs. When I do so, I find that one goes straightforward, as if following a line; that another turns off, so as to describe a hook; that a third describes a square as if following the measure so called; and that a fourth describes a circle as exactly as a compass would make it. These are all horses of a state; but they are not equal to a horse of the kingdom. His qualities are complete. Now he looks anxious; now to be losing the way; now to be forgetting himself. Such a horse prances along, or rushes on, spurning the dust and not knowing where he is.’ The marquis was greatly pleased and laughed.

When Hsü Wû-kwei came out, Nü Shang said to him, ‘How was it, Sir, that you by your counsels produced such an effect on our ruler? In my counsellings of him, now indirectly, taking my subjects from the Books of Poetry, History, Rites, and Music; now directly, from the Metal Tablets[2], and the six Bow-cases[2], all calculated for the service (of the

[1. Literally, ‘I physiognomise dogs.’

2. The names of two Books, or Collections of Tablets, the former {footnote p. 93} containing Registers of the Population, the latter treating of military subjects.]

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state), and to be of great benefit;–in these counsellings, repeated times without number, I have never seen the ruler show his teeth in a smile:–by what counsels have you made him so pleased to-day?’ Hsü Wû-kwei replied, ‘I only told him how I judged of dogs and horses by looking at their appearance.’ ‘So?’ said Nü Shang, and the other rejoined, ‘Have you not heard of the wanderer[1] from Yüeh? when he had been gone from the state several days, he was glad when he saw any one whom he had seen in it; when he had been gone a month, he was glad when he saw any one whom he had known in it; and when he had been gone a round year, he was glad when he saw any one who looked like a native of it. The longer he was gone, the more longingly did he think of the people;–was it not so? The men who withdraw to empty valleys, where the hellebore bushes stop up the little paths made by the weasels, as they push their way or stand amid the waste, are glad when they seem to hear the sounds of human footsteps; and how much more would they be so, if it were their brothers and relatives talking and laughing by their side! How long it is since the words of a True[2] man were heard as he talked and laughed by our ruler’s side!’

2. At (another) interview of Hsü Wû-kwei with the marquis Wû, the latter said, ‘You, Sir, have been dwelling in the forests for a long time, living

[1. Kwo Hsiang makes this ‘a banished criminal.’ This is not necessary.

2. Wû-kwei then had a high opinion of his own attainments in Tâoism, and a low opinion of Nü Shang and the other courtiers.]

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on acorns and chestnuts, and satiating yourself with onions and chives, without thinking of poor me. Now (that you are here), is it because you are old? or because you wish to try again the taste of wine and meat? or because (you wish that) I may enjoy the happiness derived from the spirits of the altars of the Land and Grain?’ Hsü Wû-kwei replied, ‘I was born in a poor and mean condition, and have never presumed to drink of your lordship’s wine, or eat of your meat. My object in coming was to comfort your lordship under your troubles.’ ‘What? comfort me under my troubles?’ ‘Yes, to comfort both your lordship’s spirit and body.’ The marquis said, ‘What do you mean?’ His visitor replied, ‘Heaven and Earth have one and the same purpose in the production (of all men). However high one man be exalted, he should not think that he is favourably dealt with; and however low may be the position of another, he should not think that he is unfavourably dealt with. You are indeed the one and only lord of the 10,000 chariots (of your state), but you use your dignity to embitter (the lives of) all the people, and to pamper your cars, eyes, nose, and mouth. But your spirit does not acquiesce in this. The spirit (of man) loves to be in harmony with others and hates selfish indulgence[1]. This selfish indulgence is a disease, and therefore I would comfort you under it. How is it that your lordship more than others brings this disease on yourself?’ The marquis said, ‘I have wished to see you, Sir, for a long time. I want to love my people, and by the exercise of righteous-

[1. Wü-kwei had a high idea of the constitution of human nature.]

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ness to make an end of war;–will that be sufficient?’ Hsü Wû-kwei replied, ‘By no means. To love the people is the first step to injure them’. By the exercise of righteousness to make an end of war is the root from which war is produced’. If your lordship try to accomplish your object in this way, you are not likely to succeed. All attempts to accomplish what we think good (with an ulterior end) is a bad contrivance. Although your lordship practise benevolence and righteousness (as you propose), it will be no better than hypocrisy. You may indeed assume the (outward) form, but successful accomplishment will lead to (inward) contention, and the change thence arising will produce outward fighting. Your lordship also must not mass files of soldiers in the passages of your galleries and towers, nor have footmen and horsemen in the apartments about your altars[2]. Do not let thoughts contrary to your success lie hidden in your mind; do not think of conquering men by artifice, or by (skilful) plans, or by fighting. If I kill the officers and people of another state, and annex its territory, to satisfy my selfish desires, while in my spirit I do not know whether the fighting be good, where is the victory that I gain? Your lordship’s best plan is to abandon (your purpose). If you will cultivate in your breast the sincere purpose (to love the people), and so respond to the feeling of Heaven and Earth, and not (further) vex yourself, then your people will already have- escaped death;–what

[1. Tâoistic teaching, but questionable.

2. We need more information about the customs of the feudal princes fully to understand the language of this sentence.]

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occasion will your lordship have to make an end of war?’

3. Hwang-Tî was going to see Tâ-kwei[1] at the hill of Kü-zhze. Fang Ming was acting as charioteer, and Khang Yü was occupying the third place in the carriage. Kang Zo and Hsî Phäng went before the horses; and Khwän Hwun and Kû Khî followed the carriage. When they arrived at the wild of Hsiang-khäng, the seven sages were all perplexed, and could find no place at which to ask the way. just then they met with a boy tending some horses, and asked the way of him. ‘Do you know,’ they said, ‘the hill of Kü-zhze?’ and he replied that he did. He also said that he knew where Tâ-kwei was living. ‘A strange boy is this!’ said Hwang-Tî. ‘He not only knows the hill of Kü-zhze, but he also knows where Tâ-kwei is living. Let me ask him about the government of mankind.’ The boy said, ‘The administration of the kingdom is like this (which I am doing);–what difficulty should there be in it? When I was young, I enjoyed myself roaming over all within the six confines of the world of space, and then I began to suffer from indistinct sight. A wise elder taught me, saying, “Ride in the chariot of the

[1. Tâ (or Thâi)-kwei (or wei) appears here as the name of a person. It cannot be the name of a hill, as it is said by some to be. The whole paragraph is parabolic or allegorical; and Tâ-kwei is probably a personification of the Great Tâo itself, though no meaning of the character kwei can be adduced to justify this interpretation. The horseherd boy is further supposed to be a personification of the ‘Great Simplicity,’ which is characteristic of the Tâo, the spontaneity of it, unvexed by the wisdom of man. The lesson of the paragraph is that taught in the eleventh Book, and many other places.]

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sun, and roam in the wild of Hsiang-Khäng.” Now the trouble in my eyes is a little better, and I am again enjoying myself roaming outside the six confines of the world of space. As to the government of the kingdom, it is like this (which I am doing);what difficulty should there be in it?’ Hwang-Tî said, ‘The administration of the world is indeed not your business, my son; nevertheless, I beg to ask you about it.’ The little lad declined to answer, but on Hwang-Tî putting the question again, he said, ‘In what does the governor of the kingdom differ from him who has the tending of horses, and who has only to put away whatever in him would injure the horses?’

Hwang-Tî bowed to him twice with his head to the ground, called him his ‘Heavenly Master[1],’ and withdrew.

4. If officers of wisdom do not see the changes which their anxious thinking has suggested, they have no joy; if debaters are not able to set forth their views in orderly style, they have no joy; if critical examiners find no subjects on which to exercise their powers of vituperation, they have no joy:–they are all hampered by external restrictions.

Those who try to attract the attention of their age (wish to) rise at court; those who try to win the regard of the people[2] count holding office a glory; those who possess muscular strength boast of doing what is difficult; those who are bold and daring exert themselves in times of calamity; those who are able

[1. This is the title borne to the present day by the chief or pope of Tâoism, the representative of Mang Tâo-ling of our first century.

2. Taking the initial kung in the third tone. If we take it in the first tone, the meaning is different.]

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swordmen and spearmen delight in fighting; those whose powers are decayed seek to rest in the name (they have gained); those who are skilled in the laws seek to enlarge the scope of government; those who are proficient in ceremonies and music pay careful attention to their deportment; and those who profess benevolence and righteousness value opportunities (for displaying them).

The husbandmen who do not keep their fields well weeded are not equal to their business, nor are traders who do not thrive in the markets. When the common people have their appropriate employment morning and evening, they stimulate one another to diligence; the mechanics who are masters of their implements feel strong for their work. If their wealth does not increase, the greedy are distressed; if their power and influence is not growing, the ambitious are sad.

Such creatures of circumstance and things delight in changes, and if they meet with a time when they can show what they can do, they cannot keep themselves from taking advantage of it. They all pursue their own way like (the seasons of) the year, and do not change as things do. They give the reins to their bodies and natures, and allow themselves to sink beneath (the pressure of) things, and all their lifetime do not come back (to their proper selves):–is it not sad[1]?

5. Kwang-dze said, ‘An archer, without taking aim beforehand, yet may hit the mark. If we say that he is a good archer, and that all the world may

[1. All the parties in this paragraph disallow the great principle of Tâoism, which does everything by doing nothing.]

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be is Îs[1], is this allowable?’ Hui-dze replied, ‘It is.’ Kwang-dze continued, ‘All men do not agree in counting the same thing to be right, but every one maintains his own view to be right; (if we say) that all men may be Yâos, is this allowable?’ Hui-dze (again) replied, ‘It is;’ and Kwang-dze went on, ‘Very well; there are the literati, the followers of Mo (Tî), of Yang (Kû), and of Ping[2];–making four (different schools). Including yourself, Master, there are five. Which of your views is really right? Or will you take the position of La Kü[3]? One of his disciples said to him, “Master, I have got hold of your method. I can in winter heat the furnace under my tripod, and in summer can produce ice.” Lû Kü said, “That is only with the Yang element to call out the same, and with the Yin to call out the yin;–that is not my method. I will show you what my method is.” On this he tuned two citherns, placing one of them in the hall, and the other in one of the inner apartments. Striking the note Kung[4] in the one, the same note vibrated in the other, and so it was with the note Kio[4]; the two instruments being tuned in the same way. But if he had differently tuned them on other strings different

[1. The famous archer of the Hsiâ dynasty, in the twenty-second century B.C.

2. The name of Kung-sun Lung, the Lung Li-khän of Bk. XXI. par. 1.

3. Only mentioned here. The statement of his disciple and his remark on it are equally obscure, though the latter is partially illustrated from the twenty-third, twenty-fourth, and other hexagrams of the Yih King.

4. The sounds of the first and third notes of the Chinese musical scale, corresponding to our A and E. I know too little of music myself to pronounce further on Lû Kü’s illustration.]

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from the normal arrangement of the five notes, the five-and-twenty strings would all have vibrated, without any difference of their notes, the note to which he had tuned them ruling and guiding all the others. Is your maintaining your view to be right just like this?’

Hui-dze replied, ‘Here now are the literati, and the followers of Mo, Yang, and Ping. Suppose that they have come to dispute with me. They put forth their conflicting statements; they try vociferously to put me down; but none of them have ever proved me wrong –what do you say to this?’ Kwang-dze said, ‘There was a man of Khî who cast away his son in Sung to be a gatekeeper there, and thinking nothing of the mutilation lie would incur; the same man, to secure one of his sacrificial vessels or bells, would have it strapped and secured, while to find his son who was lost, he would not go out of the territory of his own state:–so forgetful was he of the relative importance of things. If a man of Khû, going to another state as a lame gate-keeper, at midnight, at a time when no one was nigh, were to fight with his boatman, he would not be able to reach the shore, and he would have done what he could to provoke the boatman’s animosity,.’

6. As Kwang-dze was accompanying a funeral, when passing by the grave of Hui-dze[2], he looked

[1. The illustrations in this last member of the paragraph are also obscure. Lin Hsî-kung says that all the old explanations of them are defective; his own explanation has failed to make itself clear to me.

2. The expression in the last sentence of the paragraph, ‘the Master,’ makes it certain that this was the grave of Kwang-dze’s friend with whom he had had so many conversations and arguments.]

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round, and said to his attendants, ‘On the top of the nose of that man of Ying[1] there is a (little) bit of mud like a fly’s wing,’ He sent for the artisan Shih to cut it away. Shih whirled his axe so as to produce a wind, which immediately carried off the mud entirely, leaving the nose uninjured, and the (statue of) the man of Ying’ standing undisturbed. The ruler Yüan of Sung[2] heard of the feat, called the artisan Shih, and said to him, ‘Try and do the same thing on me.’ The artisan said, ‘Your servant has been able to trim things in that way, but the material on which I have worked has been dead for a long time.’ Kwang-dze said, ‘Since the death of the Master, I have had no material to work upon. I have had no one with whom to talk.’

7. Kwan Kung being ill, duke Hwan went to ask for him, and said, ‘Your illness, father Kung, is very severe; should you not speak out your mind to me? Should this prove the great illness, to whom will it be best for me to entrust my State?’ Kwan Kung said, ‘To whom does your grace wish to entrust it?’ ‘To Pâo Shû-yâ[3],’ was the reply. ‘He will not do. He is an admirable officer, pure and incorruptible, but with others who are not like himself he will not associate. And when he once hears

[1. Ying was the capital of Khû. I have seen in China about the graves of wealthy and distinguished men many life-sized statues of men somehow connected with them.

2. Yüan is called the ‘ruler’ of Sung. That duchy was by this time a mere dependency of Khî. The sacrifices of its old ruling House were finally extinguished by Khî in B.C. 206.

3 Pâo Shû-yâ had been the life-long friend of the dying premier, and to him in the first place had been owing the elevation of Hwan to the marquisate.]

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of another man’s faults, he never forgets them. If you employ him to administer the state, above, he will take the leading of your Grace, and, below, he will come into collision with the people;–in no long time you will be holding him as an offender.’ The duke said, ‘Who, then, is the man?’ The reply was, ‘If I must speak, there is Hsî Phäng[1];–he will do. He is a man who forgets his own high position, and against whom those below him will not revolt. He is ashamed that he is not equal to Hwang-Tî, and pities those who are not equal to himself. Him who imparts of his virtue to others we call a sage; him who imparts of his wealth to others we call a man of worth. He who by his worth would preside over others, never succeeds in winning them; he who with his worth condescends to others, never but succeeds in winning them. Hsî Phäng has not been (much) heard of in the state; he has not been (much) distinguished in his own clan. But as I must speak, he is the man for you.’

8. The king of Wû, floating about on the Kiang, (landed and) ascended the Hill of monkeys, which all, when they saw him, scampered off in terror, and hid themselves among the thick hazels. There was one, however, which, in an unconcerned way, swung about on the branches, displaying its cleverness to the king, who thereon discharged an arrow at it. With a nimble motion it caught the swift arrow, and the king ordered his attendants to hurry forward and shoot it; and thus the monkey was seized and killed. The king then, looking round, said to his friend Yen

[1. For a long time a great officer of Khî, but he died in the same year as Kwan Kung himself.]

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Pû-î[1], ‘This monkey made a display of its artfulness, and trusted in its agility, to show me its arrogance;–this it was which brought it to this fate. Take warning from it. Ah! do not by your looks give yourself haughty airs!’ Yen Pû-î[1], when he returned home, put himself under the teaching of Tung Wû[1], to root up[2] his pride. He put away what he delighted in and abjured distinction. In three years the people of the kingdom spoke of him with admiration.

9. Nan-po Dze-khî[3] was seated, leaning forward on his stool, and sighing gently as he looked up to heaven. (just then) Yen Khäng-dze[3] came in, and said, when he saw him, ‘Master, you surpass all others. Is it right to make your body thus like a mass of withered bones, and your mind like so much slaked lime?’ The other said, ‘I formerly lived in a grotto on a hill. At that time Thien Ho[4] once came to see me, and all the multitudes of Khî congratulated him thrice (on his having found the proper man). I must first have shown myself, and so it was that he knew me; I must first have been selling (what I had), and so it was that he came to buy. If I had not shown what I possessed, how should he have known it; if I had not been selling (myself), how should he have come to buy me? I pity

[1. We know these names only from their occurrence here. Tung Wû must have been a professor of Tâoism.

2. The text here is ###, to help;’ but it is explained as = ###, ‘a hoe.’ The Khang-hsî dictionary does not give this meaning of the character, but we find it in that of Yen Yüan.

3. See the first paragraph of Bk. II.

4. ### must be the ### of Sze-mâ Khien, who became marquis of Khî in B.C. 389.]

{p. 104}

the men who lose themselves[1]; I also pity the men who pity others (for not being known); and I also pity the men who pity the men who pity those that pity others. But since then the time is long cone by; (and so I am in the state in which you have found me)[2].

10. Kung-nî, having gone to Khû, the king ordered wine to be presented to him. Sun Shû-âo[3] stood, holding the goblet in his hand. Î-liâo of Shih-nan[3], having received (a cup), poured its contents out as a sacrificial libation, and said, ‘The men of old, on such an occasion as this, made some speech.’ Kung-nî said, ‘I have heard of speech without words; but I have never spoken it; I will do so now. Î-liâo of Shih-nan kept (quietly) handling his little spheres,

[1. In seeking for worldly honours.

2. That is, I have abjured all desire for worldly honour, and desire attainment in the Tho alone.

3. See Mencius VI, ii, 15. Sun Shû-âo was chief minister to king Khwang who died in B.C. 591, and died, probably, before Confucius was born, and Î-liâo (p. 28, n. 3) appears in public life only after the death of the sage. The three men could not have appeared together at any time. This account of their doing so was devised by our author as a peg on which to hang his own lessons in the rest of the paragraph. The two historical events referred to I have found it difficult to discover. They are instances of doing nothing, and yet thereby accomplishing what is very great. The action of Î-liâo in ‘quietly handling his balls’ recalls my seeing the same thing done by a gentleman at Khü-fâu, the city of Confucius, in 1873. Being left there with a companion, and not knowing how to get to the Grand Canal, many gentlemen came to advise with us how we should proceed. Among them was one who, while tendering his advice, kept rolling about two brass balls in one palm with the fingers of the other hand. When I asked the meaning of his action, I was told, ‘To show how he is at his ease and master of the situation.’ I mention the circumstance because I have nowhere found the phrase in the text adequately explained.]

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and the difficulties between the two Houses were resolved; Sun Shû-âo slept undisturbed on his couch, with his (dancer’s) feather in his hand, and the men of Ying enrolled themselves for the war. I wish I had a beak three cubits long[1].’

In the case of those two (ministers) we have what is called ‘The Way that cannot be trodden[2];’ in (the case of Kung-nî) we have what is called ‘the Argument without words[2].’ Therefore when all attributes are comprehended in the unity of the Tâo, and speech stops at the point to which knowledge does not reach, the conduct is complete. But where there is (not)[3] the unity of the Tâo, the attributes cannot (always) be the same, and that which is beyond the reach of knowledge cannot be exhibited by any reasoning. There may be as many names as those employed by the Literati and the Mohists, but (the result is) evil. Thus when the sea does not reject the streams that flow into it in their eastward course, we have the perfection of greatness. The sage embraces in his regard both Heaven and Earth; his beneficent influence extends to all under the sky; and we do not know from whom it comes. Therefore though when living one may have no rank, and when dead no honorary epithet; though the reality (of what he is) may not be acknowledged and his name not established; we have in him what is called ‘The Great Man.’

A dog is not reckoned good because it barks well; and a man is not reckoned wise because he speaks

[1. This strange wish concludes the speech of Confucius. What follows is from Kwang-dze.

2. Compare the opening chapters of the Tâo Teh King.

3. The Tâo is greater than any and all of its attributes.]

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skilfully;–how much less can he be deemed Great! If one thinks he is Great, he is not fit to be accounted Great;–how much less is he so from the practice of the attributes (of the Tâo)[1]! Now none are so grandly complete as Heaven and Earth; but do they seek for anything to make them so grandly complete? He who knows this grand completion does not seek for it; he loses nothing and abandons nothing; he does not change himself from regard to (external) things; he turns in on himself, and finds there an inexhaustible store; he follows antiquity and does not feel about (for its lessons);–such is the perfect sincerity of the Great Man.

11. Dze-khî[2] had eight sons. Having arranged them before him, he called Kiû-fang Yän[3], and said to him, ‘Look at the physiognomy of my sons for me;–which will be the fortunate one?’ Yän said, ‘Khwän is the fortunate one.’ .Dze-khî looked startled, and joyfully said, ‘In what way?’ Yän replied, ‘Khwän will share the meals of the ruler of a state to the end of his life.’ The father looked uneasy, burst into tears, and said, ‘What has my son done that he should come to such a fate?’ Yin replied, ‘When one shares the meals of the ruler of a state, blessings reach to all within the three branches of his kindred[4], and how much more to his father and mother! But you, Master, weep when you hear this;–you oppose (the idea of) such happiness. It is the good fortune of your son, and

[1. See note 3 on previous page.

2. This can hardly be any other but Nan-kwo Dze-khî.

3. A famous physiognomist; some say, of horses. Hwâi-nan Dze calls him Kiû-fang Kâo (###).

4. See Mayers’s Manual, p. 303.]

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you count it his misfortune.’ Dze-khî said, ‘O Yän, what sufficient ground have you for knowing that this will be Khwän’s good fortune? (The fortune) that is summed up in wine and flesh affects only the nose and the mouth, but you are not able to know how it will come about. I have never been a shepherd, and yet a ewe lambed in the south-west corner of my house. I have never been fond of hunting, and yet a quail hatched her young in the south-east corner. If these were not prodigies, what can be accounted such? Where I wish to occupy my mind with my son is in (the wide sphere of) heaven and earth; I wish to seek his enjoyment and mine in (the idea of) Heaven, and our support from the Earth. I do not mix myself up with him in the affairs (of the world); nor in forming plans (for his advantage); nor in the practice of what is strange. I pursue with him the perfect virtue of Heaven and Earth, and do not allow ourselves to be troubled by outward things. I seek to be with him in a state of undisturbed indifference, and not to practise what affairs might indicate as likely to be advantageous. And now there is to come to us this vulgar recompense. Whenever there is a strange realisation, there must have been strange conduct. Danger threatens;–not through any sin of me or of my son, but as brought about, I apprehend, by Heaven. It is this which makes me weep!’

Not long after this, .Dze-khî sent off Khwän to go to Yen[1], when he was made prisoner by some robbers on the way. It would have been difficult to sell him if he were whole and entire, and they thought

[1. The state so called.]

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their easiest plan was to cut off (one of his) feet first. They did so, and sold him in Khî, where he became Inspector of roads for a Mr. Khü[1]. Nevertheless he had flesh to eat till he died.

12. Nieh Khüeh met Hsü Yû (on the way), and said to him, ‘Where, Sir, are you going to?’ ‘I am fleeing from Yâo,’ was the reply. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Yâo has become so bent on his benevolence that I am afraid the world will laugh at him, and that in future ages men will be found eating one another[2]. Now the people are collected together without difficulty. Love them, and they respond with affection; benefit them, and they come to you; praise them, and they are stimulated (to please you); make them to experience what they dislike, and they disperse. When the loving and benefiting proceed from benevolence and righteousness, those who forget the benevolence and righteousness, and those who make a profit of them, are the many. In this way the practice of benevolence and righteousness comes to be without sincerity and is like a borrowing of the instruments with which men catch birds[3]. In all this the one man’s seeking to benefit the world by his decisions and enactments (of such a nature) is as if he were to cut through (the nature of all) by one operation;–Yâo knows how wise and superior men can benefit the world, but he does not

[1. One expert supposes the text here to mean ‘duke Khü;’ but there was no such duke of Khî. The best explanation seems to be that Khü was a rich gentleman, inspector of the roads of Khî, or of the streets of its capital, who bought Khwän to take his duties for him.

2. Compare in Bk. XXIII, par. 2.

3. A scheming for one’s own advantage.]

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also know how they injure it. It is only those who stand outside such men that know this[1].’

There are the pliable and weak; the easy and hasty; the grasping and crooked. Those who are called the pliable and weak learn the words of some one master, to which they freely yield their assent, being secretly pleased with themselves, and thinking that their knowledge is sufficient, while they do not know that they have not yet begun (to understand) a single thing. It is this which makes them so pliable and weak. The easy and hasty are like lice on a pig. The lice select a place where the bristles are more wide apart, and look on it as a great palace or a large park. The slits between the toes, the overlappings of its skin, about its nipples and its thighs,–all these seem to them safe apartments and advantageous places;–they do not know that the butcher one morning, swinging about his arms, will spread the grass, and kindle the fire, so that they and the pig will be roasted together. So do they appear and disappear with the place where they harboured:–this is why they are called the easy and hasty.

Of the grasping and crooked we have an example in Shun. Mutton has no craving for ants, but ants have a craving for mutton, for it is rank. There was a rankness about the conduct of Shun, and the people were pleased with him. Hence when he thrice changed his residence, every one of them became a capital city[2]. When he came to the wild

[1. I suppose that the words of Hsü Yû stop with this sentence, and that from this to the end of the paragraph we have the sentiments of Kwang-dze himself. The style is his,–graphic but sometimes coarse.

2. See note on Mencius V, i, 2, 3.]

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of Täng[1], he had 100,000 families about him. Yâo having heard of the virtue and ability of Shun, appointed him to a new and uncultivated territory, saying, ‘I look forward to the benefit of his coming here.’ When Shun was appointed to this new territory, his years were advanced, and his intelligence was decayed;–and yet he could not find a place of rest or a home. This is an example of being grasping and wayward.

Therefore (in opposition to such) the spirit-like man dislikes the flocking of the multitudes to him. When the multitudes come, they do not agree; and when they do not agree, no benefit results from their coming. Hence there are none whom he brings very near to himself, and none whom he keeps at a great distance. He keeps his virtue in close embrace, and warmly nourishes (the spirit of) harmony, so as to be in accordance with all men. This is called the True man[2] . Even the knowledge of the ant he puts away; his plans are simply those of the fishes[3]; even the notions of the sheep he discards. His seeing is simply that of the eye; his hearing that of the ear; his mind is governed by its general exercises. Being such, his course is straight and level as if marked out by a line, and its every change is in accordance (with the circumstances of the case).

13. The True men of old waited for the issues of events as the arrangements of Heaven, and did not by their human efforts try to take the place of Heaven. The True men of old (now) looked on

[1. Situation unknown.

2. The spirit-like man and the true man are the same.

3. Fishes forget everything in the water.]

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success as life and on failure as death; and (now) on success as death and on failure as life. The operation of medicines will illustrate this:–there are monk’s-bane, the kieh-käng, the tribulus fruit, and china-root; each of these has the time and case for which it is supremely suitable; and all such plants and their suitabilities cannot be mentioned particularly. Kâu-kien[1] took his station on (the hill of) Kwâi-khî with 3,000 men with their buff-coats and shields:–(his minister) Kung knew how the ruined (Yüeh) might still be preserved, but the same man did not know the sad fate in store for himself[1]. Hence it is said, ‘The eye of the owl has its proper fitness; the leg of the crane has its proper limit, and to cut off any of it would distress (the bird).’ Hence (also) it is (further) said, ‘When the wind passes over it, the volume of the river is diminished, and so it is when the sun passes over it. But let the wind and sun keep a watch together on the river, and it will not begin to feel that they are doing it any injury:–it relies on its springs and flows on.’ Thus, water does its part to the ground with undeviating exactness; and so does the shadow to the substance; and one thing to another. Therefore there is danger from the power of vision in the eyes, of hearing in the ears, and of the inordinate thinking of the mind; yea, there is danger from the exercise of every power of which man’s constitution is the depository.

[1. See the account of the struggle between Kâu-kien of Yüeh and Fû-khâi of Wû in the eightieth and some following chapters of the I History of the various States of the Eastern Kâu (Lieh Kwo Kîh).’ We have sympathy with Kâu-kien, till his ingratitude to his two great ministers, one of whom was Wän Kung (the Kung of the text), shows the baseness of his character.]

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When the danger has come to a head, it cannot be averted, and the calamity is perpetuated, and goes on increasing. The return from this (to a state of security) is the result of (great) effort, and success can be attained only after a long time; and yet men consider (their power of self-determination) as their precious possession:–is it not sad? It is in this way that we have the ruin of states and the slaughtering of the people without end; while no one knows how to ask how it comes about.

14. Therefore, the feet of man on the earth tread but on a small space, but going on to where he has not trod before, he traverses a great distance easily; so his knowledge is but small, but going on to what he does not already know, he comes to know what is meant by Heaven[1]. He knows it as The Great Unity; The Great Mystery; The Great Illuminator; The Great Framer; The Great Boundlessness; The Great Truth; The Great Determiner. This makes his knowledge complete. As The Great Unity, he comprehends it; as The Great Mystery, he unfolds it; as the Great Illuminator, he contemplates it; as the Great Framer, it is to him the Cause of all; as the Great Boundlessness, all is to him its embodiment; as The Great Truth, he examines it; as The Great Determiner, he holds it fast.

Thus Heaven is to him all; accordance with it is the brightest intelligence. Obscurity has in this its pivot; in this is the beginning. Such being the

[1. This paragraph grandly sets forth the culmination of all inquiries into the Tâo as leading to the knowledge of Heaven; and the means by which it may be attained to.]

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case, the explanation of it is as if it were no explanation; the knowledge of it is as if it were no knowledge. (At first) he does not know it, but afterwards he comes to know it. In his inquiries, he must not set to himself any limits, and yet he cannot be without a limit. Now ascending, now descending, then slipping from the grasp, (the Tâo) is yet a reality, unchanged now as in antiquity, and always without defect:–may it not be called what is capable of the greatest display and expansion? Why should we not inquire into it? Why should we be perplexed about it? With what does not perplex let us explain what perplexes, till we cease to be perplexed. So may we arrive at a great freedom from all perplexity!

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BOOK XXV.
PART III. SECTION III.
Zeh-yang[1].

1. Zeh-yang having travelled to Khû, Î Kieh[2] spoke of him to the king, and then, before the king had granted him an interview, (left him, and) returned home. Zeh-yang went to see Wang Kwo[3], and said to him, ‘Master, why do you not mention me to the king?’ Wang Kwo replied, ‘I am not so good a person to do that as Kung-yüeh Hsiû[4].’ ‘What sort of man is he?’ asked the other, and the reply was, ‘In winter he spears turtles in the Kiang, and in summer he rests in shady places on the mountain. When passers-by ask him (what he is doing there), he says, “This is my abode.” Since Î Kieh was not able to induce the king to see you, how much less should I, who am not equal to him, be able to do so! Î Kieh’s character is this:–he has no (real) virtue, but he has knowledge. If you do not freely yield yourself to him, but employ him to carry on his spirit-like influence (with you), you will certainly get upset and benighted in the region of riches and honours. His help will not be of a virtuous character, but will go to make your virtue

[1. See vol. xxxix, pp. 154, 155.

2. A native of Khû, and, probably, a parasite of the court.

3. An officer of Khû, ‘a worthy man.’

4. A recluse of Khû, but not keeping quite aloof from the court.]

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less;–it will be like heaping on clothes in spring as a protection against cold, or bringing back the cold winds of winter as a protection against heat (in summer). Now the king of Khû is of a domineering presence and stern. He has no forgiveness for offenders, but is merciless as a tiger. It is only a man of subtle speech, or one of correct virtue, who can bend him from his purpose[1].

‘But the sagely man[2], when he is left in obscurity, causes the members of his family to forget their poverty; and, when he gets forward to a position of influence, causes kings and dukes to forget their rank and emoluments, and transforms them to be humble. With the inferior creatures, he shares their pleasures, and they enjoy themselves the more; with other men, he rejoices in the fellowship of the Tâo, and preserves it in himself. Therefore though he may not speak, he gives them to drink of the harmony (of his spirit). Standing in association with them, he transforms them till they become in their feeling towards him as sons with a father. His wish is to return to the solitude of his own mind, and this is the effect of his occasional intercourse with them. So far-reaching is his influence on the minds of men; and therefore I said to you. “Wait for Kung-yüeh Hsiû.”’

2. The sage comprehends the connexions between himself and others, and how they all go to constitute him of one body with them, and he does not know how it is so;–he naturally does so. In fulfilling his constitution, as acted on and acting, he

[1. Much of the description of Î Kieh is difficult to construe.

2. Kung-yüeh Hsiû.]

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(Simply) follows the direction of Heaven; and it is in consequence of this that men style him (a sage). If he were troubled about (the insufficiency of) his knowledge, what he did would always be but small, and sometimes would be arrested altogether;–how would he in this case be (the sage)? When (the sage) is born with all his excellence, it is other men who see it for him. If they did not tell him, he would not know that he was more excellent than others. And when he knows it, he is as if he did not know it; when he hears it, he is as if he did not hear it. His source of joy in it has no end, and men’s admiration of him has no end;–all this takes place naturally[1]. The love of the sage for others receives its name from them. If they did not tell him of it, he would not know that he loved them; and when he knows it, he is as if he knew it not; when he hears it, he is as if he heard it not. His love of others never has an end, and their rest in him has also no end:–all this takes place naturally[1].

3. When one sees at a distance his old country and old city, he feels a joyous satisfaction[2]. Though it be full of mounds and an overgrowth of trees and grass, and when he enters it he finds but a tenth part remaining, still he feels that satisfaction. How much more when he sees what he saw, and hears what he heard before! All this is to him like a tower eighty cubits high exhibited in the sight of all men.

[1. That is, ‘he does so in the spontaneity of his nature.’ The ### requires the employment of the term ‘nature’ here, not according to any abstract usage of the term, but meaning the natural constitution. Compare the ### in Mencius VII. i, 30.

2. So does he rejoice in attaining to the knowledge of his nature.]

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(The sovereign) Zän-hsiang[1] was possessed of that central principle round which all things revolve[2], and by it he could follow them to their completion. His accompanying them had neither ending nor beginning, and was independent of impulse or time. Daily he witnessed their changes, and himself underwent no change; and why should he not have rested in this? If we (try to) adopt Heaven as our Master, we incapacitate ourselves from doing so. Such endeavour brings us under the power of things. If one acts in this way, what is to be said of him? The sage never thinks of Heaven nor of men. He does not think of taking the initiative, nor of anything external to himself. He moves along with his age, and does not vary or fail. Amid all the completeness of his doings, he is never exhausted. For those who wish to be in accord with him, what other course is there to pursue?

When Thang got one to hold for him the reins of government, namely, Män-yin Täng-häng[3], he employed him as his teacher. He followed his master, but did not allow himself to be hampered by him, and so he succeeded in following things to their completion. The master had the name; but that name was a superfluous addition to his laws, and the twofold character of his government was made apparent[4]. Kung-nî’s ‘Task your thoughts to the utmost’ was his expression of the duties of a

[1. A sage sovereign prior to the three Hwang or August ones.

2. See the same phraseology in Book II, par. 3.

3. I have followed Lin Hsî-hung in taking these four characters as the name of one man,

4. There was a human element in it instead of the Heavenly only; but some critics think the text here is erroneous or defective.]

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master. Yung-khäng said, ‘Take the days away and there will be no year; without what is internal there will be nothing external[1].’

4. (King) Yung[2] of Wei made a treaty with the marquis Thien Mâu[3] (of Khî), which the latter violated. The king was enraged, and intended to send a man to assassinate him. When the Minister of War[4] heard of it, he was ashamed, and said (to the king), ‘You are a ruler of 10,000 chariots, and by means of a common man would avenge yourself on your enemy. I beg you to give me, Yen, the command of 200,000 soldiers to attack him for you. I will take captive his people and officers, halter (and lead off) his oxen and horses, kindling a fire within him that shall burn to his backbone. I will then storm his capital; and when he shall run away in terror, I will flog his back and break his spine.’ Kî-dze[5] heard of this advice, and was ashamed of it, and said (to the king), ‘We have been raising the wall (of our capital) to a height of eighty cubits, and the work has been completed. If we now get it thrown down, it will be a painful toil to the convict builders. It is now seven years

[1. Said to have been employed by Hwang-Tî to make the calendar.

2. B.C. 370-317.

3. I do not find the name Mâu as belonging to any of the Thien rulers of Khî. The name of the successor of Thien Ho, who has been before us, was ###, Wû, for which ###, Mâu, may be a mistake; or ‘the marquis Mâu’ may be a creation of our author.

4. Literally, ‘the Rhinoceros’ Head,’ the title of ‘the Minister of War’ in Wei, who was at this time a Kung-sun Yen. See the memoir of him in Sze-mâ Khien, Book IX. of his Biographies.

5. I do not know that anything more can be said of Kî and Hwâ than that they were officers of Wei.]

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since our troops were called out, and this is the foundation of the royal sway. Yen would introduce disorder;–he should not be listened to.’ Hwâ-dze[1] heard of this advice, and, greatly disapproving of it, said (to the king), ‘He who shows his skill in saying “Attack Khî” would produce disorder; and he who shows his skill in saying “Do not attack it” would also produce disorder. And one who should (merely) say, “The counsellors to attack Khî and not to attack it would both produce disorder,” would himself also lead to the same result.’ The king said, ‘Yes, but what am I to do?’ The reply was, ‘You have only to seek for (the rule of) the Tâo (on the subject).’

Hui-dze, having heard of this counsel, introduced to the king Tâi Zin-zän[2], who said, ‘There is the creature called a snail; does your majesty know it?’ ‘I do.’ ‘On the left horn of the snail there is a kingdom which is called Provocation, and on the right horn another which is called Stupidity. These two kingdoms are continually striving about their territories and fighting. The corpses that lie on the ground amount to several myriads. The army of one may be defeated and put to flight, but in fifteen days it will return.’ The king said, ‘Pooh! that is empty talk!’ The other rejoined, ‘Your servant begs to show your majesty its real significance. When your majesty thinks of space–east, west, north, and south, above and beneath–can you set any limit to it?’ ‘It is illimitable,’ said the king; and his visitor went on, ‘Your majesty knows

[1. See note 5 on preceding page.

2. Evidently a man of considerable reach of thought.]

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how to let your mind thus travel through the illimitable, and yet (as compared with this) does it not seem insignificant whether the kingdoms that communicate one with another exist or not?’ The king replies, ‘It does so;’ and Tâi Zin-zän said, finally, ‘Among those kingdoms, stretching one after another, there is this Wei; in Wei there is this (city of) Liang[1]; and in Liang there is your majesty. Can you make any distinction between yourself, and (the king of that kingdom of) Stupidity?’ To this the king answered, ‘There is no distinction,’ and his visitor went out, while the king remained disconcerted and seemed to have lost himself.

When the visitor was gone, Hui-dze came in and saw the king, who said, ‘That stranger is a Great man. An (ordinary) sage is not equal to him.’ Hui-dze replied, ‘If you blow into a flute, there come out its pleasant notes; if you blow into a sword-hilt, there is nothing but a wheezing sound. Yâo and Shun are the subjects of men’s praises, but if you speak of them before Tai Zin-zän, there will be but the wheezing sound.’

5. Confucius, having gone to Khû, was lodging in the house of a seller of Congee at Ant-hill. On the roof of a neighbouring house there appeared the husband and his wife, with their servants, male and female[2]. Dze-lû said, ‘What are those people doing,

[1. Liang, the capital, came to be used also as the name of the state;–as in Mencius.

2. ‘They were on the roof, ‘repairing it’ say some. ‘They had got on the roof, to get out of the way of Confucius,’ say others. The sequel shows that this second interpretation is correct; but we do not see how the taking to the roof facilitated their departure from the house.]

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collected there as we see them?’ Kung-nî replied, ‘The man is a disciple of the sages. He is burying himself among the people, and hiding among the fields. Reputation has become little in his eyes, but there is no bound to his cherished aims. Though he may speak with his mouth, he never tells what is in his mind. Moreover, he is at variance with the age, and his mind disdains to associate with it;–he is one who may be said to lie hid at the bottom of the water on the dry land. Is he not a sort of Î Liâo of Shih-nan?’ Dze-lû asked leave to go and call him, but Confucius said, ‘Stop. He knows that I understand him well. He knows that I am come to Khû, and thinks that I am sure to try and get the king to invite him (to court). He also thinks that I am a man swift to speak. Being such a man, he would feel ashamed to listen to the words of one of voluble and flattering tongue, and how much more to come himself and see his person! And why should we think that he will remain here?’ Dze-lû, however, went to see how it was, but found the house empty.

6. The Border-warden of Khang-wû[1], in questioning Dze-lâo[2], said, ‘Let not a ruler in the exercise of his government be (like the farmer) who leaves the clods unbroken, nor, in regulating his people, (like one) who recklessly plucks up the shoots. Formerly, in ploughing my corn-fields, I left the clods unbroken, and my recompense was in the rough unsatisfactory crops; and in weeding, I destroyed and tore up (many good plants), and my recompense was in the scantiness of my harvests. In subsequent

[1. Probably the same as the Khang-Wû Dze in Book II, par. 9.

2. See Analects IX, vi, 4.]

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years I changed my methods, ploughing deeply and carefully covering up the seed; and my harvests were rich and abundant, so that all the year I had more than I could eat.’ When Kwang-dze heard of his remarks, he said, ‘Now-a-days, most men, in attending to their bodies and regulating their minds, correspond to the description of the Border-warden. They hide from themselves their Heaven(-given being); they leave (all care of) their (proper) nature; they extinguish their (proper) feelings; and they leave their spirit to die:–abandoning themselves to what is the general practice. Thus dealing with their nature like the farmer who is negligent of the clods in his soil, the illegitimate results of their likings and dislikings become their nature. The bushy sedges, reeds, and rushes, which seem at first to spring up to support our bodies, gradually eradicate our nature, and it becomes like a mass of running sores, ever liable to flow out, with scabs and ulcers, discharging in flowing matter from the internal heat. So indeed it is!’

7. Po Kü[1] was studying with Lâo Tan, and asked his leave to go and travel everywhere. Lao Tan said, ‘Nay;–elsewhere it is just as here.’ He repeated his request, and then Lâo Tan said, ‘Where would you go first?’ ‘I would begin with Khî,’ replied the disciple. Having got there, I would go to look at the criminals (who had been executed). With my arms I would raise (one of) them up and set him on his feet, and, taking off my court robes, I would cover him with them, appealing at

[1. We can only say of Po Kü that he was a disciple of Lâo-dze.]

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the same time to Heaven and bewailing his lot, while I said[1], “My son, my son, you have been one of the first to suffer from the great calamities that afflict the world[2].”‘ (Lâo Tan) said[1], ‘(It is said), —Do not rob. Do not kill.” (But) in the setting up of (the ideas of) glory and disgrace, we see the cause of those evils; in the accumulation of property and wealth, we see the causes of strife and contention. If now you set up the things against which men fret; if you accumulate what produces strife and contention among them; if you put their persons in such a state of distress, that they have no rest or ease, although you may wish that they should not come to the end of those (criminals), can your wish be realised?

‘The superior men (and rulers) of old considered that the success (of their government) was to be found in (the state of) the people, and its failure to be sought in themselves; that the right might be with the people, and the wrong in themselves. Thus it was that if but a single person lost his life, they retired and blamed themselves. Now, however, it is not so. (Rulers) conceal what they want done, and hold those who do not know it to be stupid; they require what is very difficult, and condemn those who do not dare to undertake it; they impose heavy burdens, and punish those who are unequal to them; they require men to go far, and put them to death when they cannot accomplish the distance. When the people know that the utmost of their

[1. There are two ### here, and the difficulty in translating is to determine the subject of each.

2. The ### of the text here is taken as = ###.]

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strength will be insufficient, they follow it up with deceit. When (the rulers) daily exhibit much hypocrisy, how can the officers and people not be hypocritical? Insufficiency of strength produces hypocrisy; insufficiency of knowledge produces deception; insufficiency of means produces robbery. But in this case against whom ought the robbery and theft to be charged?’

8. When Kü Po-yü was in his sixtieth year, his views became changed in the course of it[1]. He had never before done anything but consider the views which he held to be right, but now he came to condemn them as wrong; he did not know that what he now called right was not what for fifty-nine years he had been calling wrong. All things have the life (which we know), but we do not see its root; they have their goings forth, but we do not know the door by which they depart. Men all honour that which lies within the sphere of their knowledge, but they do not know their dependence on what lies without that sphere which would be their (true) knowledge:–may we not call their case one of great perplexity? Ah! Ah! there is no escaping from this dilemma. So it is! So it is!

9. Kung-nî asked the Grand Historiographer[2] Tâ Thâo, (along with) Po Khang-khien and Khih-wei, saying, ‘Duke Ling of Wei was so addicted to

[1. Confucius thought highly of this Kü Po-yü, and they were friends (Analects, XIV, 26; XV, 6). It would seem from this paragraph that, in his sixtieth year, he adopted the principles of Tâoism. Whether he really did so we cannot tell. See also Book IV, par. 5.

2. We must translate here in the singular, for in the historiographer’s department there were only two officers with the title of ‘Grand;’ Po Khang-khien and Khih-wei would be inferior members of it.]

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drink, and abandoned to sensuality, that he did not attend to the government of his state. Occupied in his pursuit of hunting with his nets and bows, he kept aloof from the meetings of the princes. In what was it that he showed his title to the epithet of Ling[1]?’ Tâ Thâo said, ‘It was on account of those very things.’ Po Khang-khien said, ‘Duke Ling had three mistresses with whom he used to bathe in the same tub. (Once, however), when Shih-zhiû came to him with presents from the imperial court, he made his servants support the messenger in bearing the gifts[2]. So dissolute was he in the former case, and when he saw a man of worth, thus reverent was he to him. It was on this account that he was styled “Duke Ling.” Khih-wei said, ‘When duke Ling died, and they divined about burying him in the old tomb of his House, the answer was unfavourable; when they divined about burying him on Shâ-khiû, the answer was favourable. Accordingly they dug there to the depth of several fathoms, and found a stone coffin. Having washed and inspected it, they discovered an inscription, which said,

“This grave will not be available for your posterity;
Duke Ling will appropriate it for himself.”

[1. Ling (###) as a posthumous epithet, has various meanings, none of them very bad, and some of them very good. Confucius ought to have been able to solve his question himself better than any of the historiographers, but he propounded his doubt to them for reasons which he, no doubt, had.

2 We are not to suppose that the royal messenger found him in the tub with his three wives or mistresses. The two incidents mentioned illustrate two different phases of his character, as some of the critics, and even the text itself, clearly indicate.]

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Thus that epithet of Ling had long been settled for the duke[1]. But how should those two be able to know this

10. Shâo Kih[2] asked Thâi-kung Thiâo[2], saying, ‘What do we mean by “The Talk of the Hamlets and Villages?” The reply was, ‘Hamlets and Villages are formed by the union–say of ten surnames and a hundred names, and are considered to be (the source of) manners and customs. The differences between them are united to form their common character, and what is common to them is separately apportioned to form the differences. If you point to the various parts which make up the body of a horse, you do not have the horse; but when the horse is before you, and all its various parts stand forth (as forming the animal), you speak of “the horse.” So it is that the mounds and hills are made to be the elevations that they are by accumulations of earth which individually are but low. (So also rivers like) the Kiang and the Ho obtain their greatness by the union of (other smaller) waters with them. And (in the same way) the Great man exhibits the common sentiment of humanity by the union in himself of all its individualities. Hence when ideas come to him from without, though he

[1. This explanation is, of course, absurd.

2. These two names are both metaphorical, the former meaning ‘Small Knowledge,’ and the latter, ‘The Grand Public and just Harmonizer.’ Small Knowledge would look for the Tâo in the ordinary talk of ordinary men. The other teaches him that it is to be found in ‘the Great man,’ blending in himself what is ‘just’ in the sentiments and practice of all men. And so it is to be found in all the phenomena of nature, but it has itself no name, and does nothing.]

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has his own decided view, he does not hold it with bigotry; and when he gives out his own decisions, which are correct, the views of others do not oppose them. The four seasons have their different elemental characters, but they are not the partial gifts of Heaven, and so the year completes its course. The five official departments have their different duties, but the ruler does not partially employ any one of them, and so the kingdom is governed. (The gifts of) peace and war(are different), but the Great man does not employ the one to the prejudice of the other, and so the character (of his administration) is perfect. All things have their different constitutions and modes of actions, but the Tâo (which directs them) is free from all partiality, and therefore it has no name. Having no name, it therefore does nothing. Doing nothing, there is nothing which it does not do.

‘Each season has its ending and beginning; each age has its changes and transformations; misery and happiness regularly alternate. Here our views are thwarted, and yet the result may afterwards have our approval; there we insist on our own views, and looking at things differently from others, try to correct them, while we are in error ourselves. The case may be compared to that of a great marsh, in which all its various vegetation finds a place, or we may look at it as a great hill, where trees and rocks are found on the same terrace. Such may be a description of what is intended by “The Talk of the Hamlets and Villages.”‘

Shâo Kih said, ‘Well, is it sufficient to call it (an expression of) the Tâo?’ Thâi-kung Thiâo said, ‘It is not so. If we reckon up the number of things,

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they are not 10,000 merely. When we speak of them as “the Myriad Things,” we simply use that large number by way of accommodation to denominate them. In this way Heaven and Earth are the greatest of all things that have form; the Yin and Yang are the greatest of all elemental forces. But the Tâo is common to them. Because of their greatness to use the Tâo or (Course) as a title and call it “the Great Tâo” is allowable. But what comparison can be drawn between it and “the Talk of the Hamlets and Villages?” To argue from this that it is a sufficient expression of the Tâo, is like calling a dog and a horse by the same name, while the difference between them is so great.’

11. Shâo Kih said, ‘Within the limits of the four cardinal points, and the six boundaries of space, how was it that there commenced the production of all things?’ Thâi-kung Thiâo replied, ‘The Yin and Yang reflected light on each other, covered each other, and regulated each the other; the four seasons gave place to one another, produced one another, and brought one another to an end. Likings and dislikings, the avoidings of this and movements towards that, then arose (in the things thus produced), in their definite distinctness; and from this came the separation and union of the male and female. Then were seen now security and now insecurity, in mutual change; misery and happiness produced each other; gentleness and urgency pressed on each other; the movements of collection and dispersion were established:–these names and processes can be examined, and, however minute, can be recorded. The rules determining the order in which they follow one another, their mutual influence

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now acting directly and now revolving, how, when they are exhausted, they revive, and how they end and begin again; these are the properties belonging to things. Words can describe them and knowledge can reach to them; but with this ends all that can be said of things. Men who study the Tâo do not follow on when these operations end, nor try to search out how they began:–with this all discussion of them stops.’

Shâo Kih said, ‘Kî Kän[1] holds that (the Tâo) forbids all action, and Kieh-dze[1] holds that it may perhaps allow of influence. Which of the two is correct in his statements, and which is one-sided in his ruling?’ Thâi-kung Thiâo replied, ‘Cocks crow and dogs bark;–this is what all men know. But men with the greatest wisdom cannot describe in words whence it is that they are formed (with such different voices), nor can they find out by thinking what they wish to do. We may refine on this small point; till it is so minute that there is no point to operate on, or it may become so great that there is no embracing it. “Some one caused it;” “No one did it;” but we are thus debating about things; and the end is that we shall find we are in error. “Some one caused it;”–then there was a real Being. “No one did it;”–then there was mere vacancy. To have a name and a real existence,-that is the condition of a thing. Not to have a name, and not

[1. Two masters of schools of Tâoism. Who the former was I do not know; but Sze-mâ Khien in the seventy-fourth Book of his Records mentions several Tâoist masters, and among them Kieh-dze, a native of Khî, ‘a student of the arts of the Tâo and its Characteristics, as taught by Hwang-Tî and Lâo-dze, and who also published his views on the subject.’]

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to have real being;–that is vacancy and no thing. We may speak and we may think about it, but the more we speak, the wider shall we be of the mark. Birth, before it comes, cannot be prevented; death, when it has happened, cannot be traced farther. Death and life are not far apart; but why they have taken place cannot be seen. That some one has caused them, or that there has been no action in the case are but speculations of doubt. When I look for their origin, it goes back into infinity; when I look for their end, it proceeds without termination. Infinite, unceasing, there is no room for words about (the Tâo). To regard it as in the category of things is the origin of the language that it is caused or that it is the result of doing nothing; but it would end as it began with things. The Tâo cannot have a (real) existence; if it has, it cannot be made to appear as if it had not. The name Tâo is a metaphor, used for the purpose of description[1]. To say that it causes or does nothing is but to speak of one phase of things, and has nothing to do with the Great Subject. If words were sufficient for the purpose, in a day’s time we might exhaust it; since they are not sufficient, we may speak all day, and only exhaust (the subject of) things. The Tâo is the extreme to which things conduct us. Neither speech nor silence is sufficient to convey the notion of it. Neither by speech nor by silence can our thoughts about it have their highest expression.

[1. A very important statement with regard to the meaning of the name Tâo.]

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