BOOK XXVI.
PART III. SECTION IV.
Wâi Wû, or ‘What comes from Without[1].’

---

1. What comes from without cannot be determined beforehand. So it was that Lung-fäng[2] was killed; Pî-kan immolated; and the count of Kî (made to feign himself) mad, (while) O-lâi died[3], and Kieh and Kâu both perished. Rulers all wish their ministers to be faithful, but that faithfulness may not secure their confidence; hence Wû Yün became a wanderer along the Kiang[4], and Khang Hung died in Shû, where (the people) preserved his blood for three years, when it became changed into green jade[5]. Parents all wish their sons to be filial, but that filial duty may not secure their love; hence

[1. See Vol. xxxix, p. 155.

2. The name of Kwan Lung-fang, a great officer of Kieh, the tyrant of Hsü;–see Bk. IV, par. 1, et al.

3. A scion of the line of Khin whose fortunes culminated in Shih Hwang-Tî. O-lâi assisted the tyrant of Shang, and was put to death by king Wû of Kâu.

4. The famous Wû Dze-hsü, the hero of Revenge, who made his escape along the Kiang, in about B.C. 512, to Wû, after the murder of his father and elder brother by the king of Khû.

5. See Bk. X, par. 2. In the Zo-kwan, under the third year of duke Âi, it is related that the people of Kâu killed Khang Hung; but nothing is said of this being done in Shû, or of his blood turning to green jade! This we owe to the Khun Khiû of Lü.]

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I

Hsiâo-kî had to endure his sorrow, and Zäng Shän his grief[2].

When wood is rubbed against wood, it begins to burn; when metal is subjected to fire, it (melts and) flows. When the Yin and Yang act awry, heaven and earth are greatly perturbed; and on this comes the crash of thunder, and from the rain comes fire, which consumes great locust trees[3]. (The case of men) is still worse. They are troubled between two pitfalls[4], from which they cannot escape. Chrysalis-like, they can accomplish nothing. Their minds are as if hung up between heaven and earth. Now comforted, now pitied, they are plunged in difficulties. The ideas of profit and of injury rub against each other, and produce in them a very great fire. The harmony (of the mind) is consumed in the mass of men. Their moonlike intelligence cannot overcome the (inward) fire. They thereupon fall away more and more, and the Course (which they should pursue) is altogether lost.

2. The family of Kwang Kâu being poor, he went to ask the loan of some rice from the Marquis Superintendent of the Ho[5], who said, ‘Yes, I shall be

[1. Said to have been the eldest son of king Wû Ting or Kâo Zung of the Yin dynasty. I do not know the events in his experience to which our author must be referring.

2. The well-known disciple of Confucius, famous for his filial piety.

3. The lightning accompanying a thunderstorm.

4. The ideas of profit and injury immediately mentioned.

5. In another version of this story, in Liû Hsiang’s Shwo Yüan, XI, art. 13, the party applied to is ‘duke Wän of Wei;’ but this does not necessarily conflict with the text. The genuineness of the paragraph is denied by Lin Hsî-kung and others; but I seem to see the hand of Kwang-dze in it.]

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getting the (tax-) money from the people (soon), and I will then lend you three hundred ounces of silver;–will that do?’ Kwang Kâu flushed with anger, and said, ‘On the road yesterday, as I was coming here, I heard some one calling out. On looking round, I saw a goby in the carriage rut, and said to it, “Goby fish, what has brought you here?” The goby said, “I am Minister of Waves in the Eastern Sea. Have you, Sir, a gallon or a pint of water to keep me alive?” I replied, “Yes, I am going south to see the kings of Wû and Yüeh, and I will then lead a stream from the Western Kiang to meet you;–will that do?” The goby flushed with anger, and said, “I have lost my proper element, and I can here do nothing for myself; but if I could get a gallon or a pint of water, I should keep alive. Than do what you propose, you had better soon look for me in a stall of dry fish.”‘

3. A son of the duke of Zän[1], having provided himself with a great hook, a powerful black line, and fifty steers to be used as bait, squatted down on (mount) Kwâi Khî, and threw the line into the Eastern Sea. Morning after morning he angled thus, and for a whole year caught nothing. At the end of that time, a great fish swallowed the bait, and dived down, dragging the great hook with him.

Then it rose to the surface in a flurry, and flapped with its fins, till the white waves rose like hills, and the waters were lashed into fury. The noise was like that of imps and spirits, and spread terror

[1. I suppose this was merely a district of Khû, and the duke of it merely the officer in charge of it;–according to the practice of the rulers of Khû’ after they usurped the title of King.]

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for a thousand lî. The prince having got such a fish, cut it in slices and dried them. From the Keh river[1] to the cast, and from Zhang-Wû[2] to the north, there was not one who did not eat his full from that fish; and in subsequent generations, story-tellers of small abilities have all repeated the story to one another with astonishment. (But) if the prince had taken his rod, with a fine line, and gone to pools and ditches, and watched for minnows and gobies, it would have been difficult for him to get a large fish. Those who dress up their small tales to obtain favour with the magistrates are far from being men of great understanding; and therefore one who has not heard the story of this scion of Zän is not fit to take any part in the government of the world;–far is he from being so[3].

4. Some literati, students of the Odes and Ceremonies, were breaking open a mound over a grave[4]. The superior among them spoke down to the others, ‘Day is breaking in the east; how is the thing going on?’ The younger men replied, ‘We have not yet opened his jacket and skirt, but there is a pearl in the mouth. As it is said in the Ode,

[1. The ### of the text = ###, the still giving its name to the province so called.

2. Where Shun was buried.

3. This last sentence is difficult to construe, and to understand.–The genuineness of this paragraph is also questioned, and the style is inferior to that of the preceding.

4. I can conceive of Kwang-dze telling this story of some literati who had been acting as resurrectionists, as a joke against their class; but not of his writing it to form a part of his work.]

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“The bright, green grain
Is growing on the sides of the mound.
While living, he gave nothing away;
Why, when dead, should he hold a pearl in his mouth[1]?”‘

Thereupon they took hold of the whiskers and pulled at the beard, while the superior introduced a piece of fine steel into the chin, and gradually separated the jaws, so as not to injure the pearl in the mouth.

5. A disciple of Lâo Lâi-dze[2], while he was out gathering firewood, met with Kung-nî. On his return, he told (his master), saying, ‘There is a man there, the upper part of whose body is long and the lower part short. He is slightly hump-backed, and his ears are far back. When you look at him, he seems occupied with the cares of all within the four seas I do not know whose son he is.’ Lâo Lâi-dze said, It is Khiû; call him here;’ and when Kung-nî came, he said to him, ‘Khiû, put away your personal conceit, and airs of wisdom, and show yourself to be indeed a superior man.’ Kung-nî bowed and was retiring, when he abruptly changed his manner, and asked, ‘Will the object I am pursuing be thereby advanced?’ Lao Lâi-dze replied, ‘You cannot bear the sufferings of this one age, and are stubbornly regardless of the

[1. This verse is not found, so far as I know, anywhere else.

2. Lâo Lâi-dze appears here as a contemporary of Confucius, and the master of a Tâoistic school, and this also is the view of him which we receive from the accounts in Sze-mâ Khien and Hwan-fû Mi. Sze-mâ says he published a work in fifteen sections on the usefulness of Tâoism. Some have imagined that he was the same as Lâo-dze himself, but there does not appear any ground for that opinion. He is one of the twenty-four examples of Filial Piety so celebrated among the Chinese; but I suspect that the accounts of him as such are fabrications. He certainly lectures Confucius here in a manner worthy of Lâo Tan.]

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evils of a myriad ages:–is it that you purposely make yourself thus unhappy? or is it that you have not the ability to comprehend the case? Your obstinate purpose to make men rejoice in a participation of your joy is your life-long shame, the procedure of a mediocre man. You would lead men by your fame; you would bind them to you by your secret art. Than be praising Yâo and condemning Kieh, you had better forget them both, and shut up your tendency to praise. If you reflect on it, it does nothing but injury; your action in it is entirely wrong. The sage is full of anxiety and indecision in undertaking anything, and so he is always successful. But what shall I say of your conduct? To the end it is all affectation.’

6. The ruler Yüan of Sung[1] (once) dreamt at midnight that a man with dishevelled hair peeped in on him at a side door and said, ‘I was coming from the abyss of commissioned by the Clear Kiang to go to the place of the Earl of the Ho; but the fisherman Yü Zü has caught me.’ When the ruler Yüan awoke, he caused a diviner to divine the meaning (of the dream), and was told, ‘This is a marvellous tortoise.’ The ruler asked if among the fishermen there was one called Yü Zü, and being told by his attendants that there was, he gave orders that he should be summoned to court. Accordingly the man next day appeared at court, and the ruler said, ‘What have you caught (lately) in fishing?’ The reply was, ‘I have caught in my net a white tortoise, sieve-like, and five cubits round.’ ‘Present the prodigy here,’ said the ruler; and, when it came, once and

[1. Compare in Bk. XXI, par. 7.]

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again he wished to kill it, once and again he wished to keep it alive. Doubting in his mind (what to do), he had recourse to divination, and obtained the answer, ‘To kill the tortoise for use in divining will be fortunate.’ Accordingly they cut the creature open, and perforated its shell in seventy-two places, and there was not a single divining slip which failed[1].

Kung-nî said, ‘The spirit-like tortoise could show itself in a dream to the ruler Yüan, and yet it could not avoid the net of Yü Zü. Its wisdom could respond on seventy-two perforations without failing in a single divination, and yet it could not avoid the agony of having its bowels all scooped out. We see from this that wisdom is not without its perils, and spirit-like intelligence does not reach to everything. A man may have the greatest wisdom, but there are a myriad men scheming against him. Fishes do not fear the net, though they fear the pelican. Put away your small wisdom, and your great wisdom will be bright; discard your skilfulness, and you will become naturally skilful. A child when it is born needs no great master, and yet it becomes able to speak, living (as it does) among those who are able to speak.’

7. Hui-dze said to Kwang-dze, ‘You speak, Sir, of what is of no use.’ The reply was, ‘When a man knows what is not useful, you can then begin to speak to him of what is useful. The earth for instance is certainly spacious and great; but what a

[1. The story of this wonderful tortoise is found at much greater length, and with variations, in Sze-mâ Khien’s Records, Bk. LXVIII, q. v. The moral of it is given in the concluding remarks from Confucius.]

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man uses of it is only sufficient ground for his feet. If, however, a rent were made by the side of his feet, down to the yellow springs, could the man still make use of it?’ Hui-dze said, ‘He could not use it,’ and Kwang-dze rejoined, ‘Then the usefulness of what is of no use is clear[1].’

8. Kwang-dze said, ‘If a man have the power to enjoy himself (in any pursuit), can he be kept from doing so? If he have not the power, can he so enjoy himself? There are those whose aim is bent on concealing themselves, and those who are determined that their doings shall leave no trace. Alas! they both shirk the obligations of perfect knowledge and great virtue. The (latter) fall, and cannot recover themselves; the (former) rush on like fire, and do not consider (what they are doing). Though men may stand to each other in the relation of ruler and minister, that is but for a time. In a changed age, the one of them would not be able to look down on the other. Hence it is said, “The Perfect man leaves no traces of his conduct.”

‘To honour antiquity and despise the present time is the characteristic of learners[2]; but even the disciples of Khih-wei[3] have to look at the present age; and who can avoid being carried along by its course? It is only the Perfect man who is able to enjoy himself in the world, and not be deflected from the right,

[1. See Bk. I, par. 6, and XXIV, par. 14. The conversations between our author and Hui-dze often turned on this subject.

2. Does our author mean by ‘learners’ the literati, the disciples of Confucius?

3. Khih-wei,–see Bk. VI, par. 7. Perhaps ‘the disciples of Khih-wei’ are those who in our author’s time called themselves such, but were not.]

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to accommodate himself to others and not lose himself. He does not learn their lessons; he only takes their ideas into consideration, and does not discard them as different from his own.

9. ‘It is the penetrating eye that gives clear vision, the acute car that gives quick hearing, the discriminating nose that gives discernment of odours, the practised mouth that gives the enjoyment of flavours, the active mind that acquires knowledge, and the far-reaching knowledge that constitutes virtue. In no case does the connexion with what is without like to be obstructed; obstruction produces stoppage; stoppage, continuing without intermission, arrests all progress; and with this all injurious effects spring up.

‘The knowledge of all creatures depends on their breathing[1]. But if their breath be not abundant, it is not the fault of Heaven, which tries to penetrate them with it, day and night without ceasing; but men notwithstanding shut their pores against it. The womb encloses a large and empty space; the heart has its spontaneous and enjoyable movements. If their apartment be not roomy, wife and mother-in-law will be bickering; if the heart have not its spontaneous and enjoyable movements, the six faculties of perception[2] will be in mutual collision. That

[1. There seems to underlie this statement the Tâoist dogma about the regulation of the ‘breath,’ as conducive to long life and mental cultivation.

2 Probably what in Buddhist literature are called ‘the Six Entrances (###)’ what Mayers denominates ‘The Six Organs of Admittance, or Bodily Sensations,’ the Shadâyatana, the eye, ear, nose, mouth, body, and mind,–one of the twelve Nidânas in the Buddhist system.]

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the great forests, the heights and hills, are pleasant to men, is because their spirits cannot overcome (those distracting influences). Virtue overflows into (the love of) fame; (the love of) fame overflows into violence; schemes originate in the urgency (of circumstances); (the show of) wisdom comes from rivalry; the fuel (of strife) is produced from the obstinate maintenance (of one’s own views); the business of offices should be apportioned in accordance with the approval of all. In spring, when the rain and the sunshine come seasonably, vegetation grows luxuriantly, and sickles and hoes begin to be prepared. More than half of what had fallen down becomes straight, and we do not know how.

10. ‘Stillness and silence are helpful to those who are ill; rubbing the corners of the eyes is helpful to the aged; rest serves to calm agitation; but they are the toiled and troubled who have recourse to these things. Those who are at ease, and have not had such experiences, do not care to ask about them. The spirit-like man has had no experience of how it is that the sagely man keeps the world in awe, and so he does not inquire about it; the sagely man has had no experience of how it is that the man of ability and virtue keeps his age in awe, and so he does not inquire about it; the man of ability and virtue has had no experience of how it is that the superior man keeps his state in awe, and so he does not inquire about it. The superior man has had no experience of how it is that the small man keeps himself in agreement with his times that he should inquire about it.’

11. The keeper of the Yen Gate[1], on the death of

[1. The name of one of the gates in the wall of the capital of Sung.]

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his father, showed so much skill in emaciating his person[1] that he received the rank of ‘Pattern for Officers.’ Half the people of his neighbourhood (in consequence) carried their emaciation to such a point that they died. When Yâo wished to resign the throne to Hsü Yû, the latter ran away. When Thang offered his to Wû Kwang[2], Wû Kwang became angry. When Kî Thâ[3] heard it, he led his disciples, and withdrew to the river Kho, where the feudal princes came and condoled with him, and after three years, Shän Thû-tî[4] threw himself into the water. Fishing-stakes[5] are employed to catch fish; but when the fish are got, the men forget the stakes. Snares are employed to catch hares, but when the hares are got, men forget the snares. Words are employed to convey ideas; but when the ideas are apprehended, men forget the words. Fain would I talk with such a man who has forgot the words!

[1. The abstinences and privations in mourning were so many that there was a danger of their seriously injuring the health;–which was forbidden.

2. See Bk. VI, par. 3; but in the note there, Wû Kwang is said to have been of the time of Hwang-Tî; which is probably an error.

3. See IV, par. 3; but I do not know who Kî Thâ was, nor can I explain what is said of him here.

4. See again IV, par. 3.

5. According to some, ‘baskets.’ This illustration is quoted in the Inscription on the Nestorian Monument, II, 7.]

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BOOK XXVII.
PART III. SECTION V.
Yü Yen, or ‘Metaphorical Language[1].’

1. Of my sentences nine in ten are metaphorical; of my illustrations seven in ten are from valued writers. The rest of my words are like the water that daily fills the cup, tempered and harmonised by the Heavenly element in our nature[2].

The nine sentences in ten which are metaphorical are borrowed from extraneous things to assist (the comprehension of) my argument. (When it is said, for instance), ‘A father does not act the part of matchmaker for his own son,’ (the meaning is that) ‘it is better for another man to praise the son than for his father to do so.’ The use of such metaphorical language is not my fault, but the fault of men (who would not otherwise readily understand me).

Men assent to views which agree with their own, and oppose those which do not so agree. Those which agree with their own they hold to be right, and those which do not so agree they hold to be wrong. The seven out of ten illustrations taken from valued writers are designed to put an end to disputations. Those writers are the men of hoary eld, my predecessors in time. But such as are unversed

[1. See vol. xxxix, pp. 155, 156.

2. See Bk. II, par. 10.]

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in the warp and woof, the beginning and end of the subject, cannot be set down as of venerable eld, and regarded as the predecessors of others. If men have not that in them which fits them to precede others, they are without the way proper to man, and they who are without the way proper to man can only be pronounced defunct monuments of antiquity.

Words like the water that daily issues from the cup, and are harmonised by the Heavenly Element (of our nature), may be carried on into the region of the unlimited, and employed to the end of our years. But without words there is an agreement (in principle). That agreement is not effected by words, and an agreement in words is not effected by it. Hence it is said, ‘Let there be no words.’ Speech does not need words. One may speak all his life, and not have spoken a (right) word; and one may not have spoken all his life, and yet all his life been giving utterance to the (right) words. There is that which makes a thing allowable, and that which makes a thing not allowable. There is that which makes a thing right, and that which makes a thing not right. How is a thing right? It is right because it is right. How is a thing wrong? It is wrong because it is wrong. How is a thing allowable? It is allowable because it is so. How is a thing not allowable? It is not allowable because it is not so. Things indeed have what makes them right, and what makes them allowable. There is nothing which has not its condition of right; nothing which has not its condition of allowability. But without the words of the (water-) cup in daily use, and harmonised by the Heavenly Element (in our

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nature), what one can continue long in the possession of these characteristics?

All things are divided into their several classes, and succeed to one another in the same way, though of different bodily forms. They begin and end as in an unbroken ring, though how it is they do so be not apprehended. This is what is called the Lathe of Heaven; and the Lathe of Heaven is the Heavenly Element in our nature.

2. Kwang-dze said to Hui-Sze, ‘When Confucius was in his sixtieth year, in that year his views changed[1]. What he had before held to be right, he now ended by holding to be wrong; and he did not know whether the things which he now pronounced to be right were not those which he had for fifty-nine years held to be wrong.’ Hui-dze replied, ‘Confucius with an earnest will pursued the acquisition of knowledge, and acted accordingly.’ Kwang-dze rejoined, ‘Confucius disowned such a course, and never said that it was his. He said, “Man receives his powers from the Great Source[2] (of his being), and he should restore them to their (original) intelligence in his life. His singing should be in accordance with the musical tubes, and his speech a model for imitation. When profit and righteousness are set before him, and his liking (for the latter) and dislike (of the

[1. Compare this with the same language about Kü Po-yü in Bk. XXV, par. 8. There is no proof to support our author’s assertion that the views of Confucius underwent any change.

2. ‘The Great Source (Root)’ here is generally explained by ‘the Grand Beginning.’ It is not easy to say whether we are to understand an ideal condition of man designed from the first, or the condition of every man as he is born into the world. On the ‘powers’ received by man, see Mencius VI, i, 6.]

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former), his approval and disapproval, are manifested, that only serves to direct the speech of men (about him). To make men in heart submit, and not dare to stand up in opposition to him; to establish the fixed law for all under heaven:–ah! ah! I have not attained to that.”‘

3. Zäng-dze twice took office, and on the two occasions his state of mind was different. He said, ‘While my parents were alive I took office, and though my emolument was only three fû[1] (of grain), my mind was happy. Afterwards when I took office, my emolument was three thousand kung[2]; but I could not share it with my parents, and my mind was sad.’ The other disciples asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘Such an one as Shän may be pronounced free from all entanglement:–is he to be blamed for feeling as he did[3]?’ The reply was, ‘But he was subject to entanglement[4]. If he had been free from it, could he have had that sadness? He would have looked on his three fû and three thousand kung no more than on a heron or a mosquito passing before him.’

4. Yen Khäng Dze-yû said to Tung-kwo, Dze-khî[5], ‘When I (had begun to) hear your instructions, the first year, I continued a simple rustic; the second

[1. A fû = ten tâu and four shing, or sixty-four shing, the shing at present being rather less than an English pint.

2. A hung = sixty-four tâu; but there are various accounts of its size.

3. This sentence is difficult to construe.

4. But Confucius could not count his love for his parents an entanglement.

5. We must suppose this master to be the same as the Nan-kwo Dze-khî of Bk. II.]

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year, I became docile; the third year, I comprehended (your teaching); the fourth year, I was (plastic) as a thing; the fifth year, I made advances; the sixth year, the spirit entered (and dwelt in me); the seventh year, (my nature as designed by) Heaven was perfected; the eighth year, I knew no difference between death and life; the ninth year, I attained to the Great Mystery[1].

‘Life has its work to do, and death ensues, (as if) the common character of each were a thing prescribed. Men consider that their death has its cause; but that life from (the operation of) the Yang has no cause. But is it really so? How does (the Yang) operate in this direction? Why does it not operate there?

‘Heaven has its places and spaces which can be calculated; (the divisions of) the earth can be assigned by men. But how shall we search for and find out (the conditions of the Great Mystery)? We do not know when and how (life) will end, but how shall we conclude that it is not determined (from without)? and as we do not know when and how it begins, how should we conclude that it is not (so) determined?

‘In regard to the issues of conduct which we deem appropriate, how should we conclude that there are no spirits presiding over them; and where those issues seem inappropriate, how should we conclude that there are spirits presiding over them?’

[1. In illustration of the text here Lû Shû-kih refers to the use of Miâo (###) in the account of the term ‘Spirit,’ in the fifth Appendix to the Yî, par. 10, as meaning ‘the subtle (presence and operation of God) with all things.’ Dze-yû’s further exposition of his attainments is difficult to understand fully.]

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5. The penumbrae (once) asked the shadow[1], saying, ‘Formerly you were looking down, and now you are looking up; formerly you had your hair tied up, and now it is dishevelled; formerly you were sitting, and now you have risen up; formerly you were walking, and now you have stopped:–how is all this?’ The shadow said, ‘Venerable Sirs, how do you ask me about such small matters? These things all belong to me, but I do not know how they do so. I am (like) the shell of a cicada or the cast-off skin of a snake[2];–like them, and yet not like them. With light and the sun I make my appearance; with darkness and the night I fade away. Am not I dependent on the substance from which I am thrown? And that substance is itself dependent on something else! When it comes, I come with it; when it goes, I go with it. When it comes under the influence of the strong Yang, I come under the same. Since we are both produced by that strong Yang, what occasion is there for you to question me?’

6. Yang Dze-kü[3] had gone South to Phei[4], while Lâo Tan was travelling in the west in Khin[5]. (He thereupon) asked (Lao-dze) to come to the border (of Phei), and went himself to Liang, where be met him. Lâo-dze stood in the middle of the way, and, looking up to heaven, said with a sigh, ‘At first I thought that you might be taught, but now I see that you cannot be.’ Yang Dze-kü made no reply;

[1. Compare Bk. II, par. 11.

2. Such is the reading of Ziâo Hung.

3. No doubt the Yang Kû of Lieh-dze and Mencius.

4. See in XIV, 26 b.

5. In the borders of Phei; can hardly be the great State.]

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and when they came to their lodging-house, he brought in water for the master to wash his hands and rinse his mouth, along with a towel and comb. He then took off his shoes outside the door, went forward on his knees, and said, ‘Formerly, your disciple wished to ask you, Master, (the reason of what you said); but you were walking, and there was no opportunity, and therefore I did not presume to speak. Now there is an opportunity, and I beg to ask why you spoke as you did.’ Lâo-dze replied, ‘Your eyes are lofty, and you stare;–who would live with you? The purest carries himself as if he were soiled; the most virtuous seems to feel himself defective.’ Yang Dze-kü looked abashed and changed countenance, saying, ‘I receive your commands with reverence.’

When he first went to the lodging-house, the people of it met him and went before him. The master of it carried his mat for him, and the mistress brought the towel and comb. The lodgers left their mats, and the cook his fire-place (as he passed them). When he went away, the others in the house would have striven with him about (the places for) their mats[1].

[1. So had his arrogant superciliousness given place to humility.]

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BOOK XXVIII.
PART III. SECTION VI.
Zang Wang, or ‘Kings who have wished to resign the Throne[1].’

1. Yâo proposed to resign the throne to Hsü Yû, who would not accept it. He then offered it to Dze-kâu Kih-fû[2], but he said, ‘It is not unreasonable to propose that I should occupy the throne, but I happen to be suffering under a painful sorrow and illness. While I am engaged in dealing with it, I have not leisure to govern the kingdom.’ Now the throne is the most important of all positions, and yet this man would not occupy it to the injury of his life; how much less would he have allowed any other thing to do so! But only he who does not care to rule the kingdom is fit to be entrusted with it.

Shun proposed to resign the throne to Dze-kâu Kih-po[2], who declined in the very same terms as Kih-fû had done. Now the kingdom is the greatest of all concerns, and yet this man would not give his life in exchange for the throne. This shows how they who possess the Tâo differ from common men.

[1. See vol. xxxix, pp. 156, 157.

2. We know nothing of this man but what is related here. He is, no doubt, a fictitious character. Kih-fû and Kih-po are supposed to be the same individual. See Hwang-fû Mî, I, 7.]

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Shun proposed to resign the throne to Shan Küan[1], who said, ‘I am a unit in the midst of space and time. In winter I wear skins and furs; in summer, grass-cloth and linen; in spring I plough and sow, my strength being equal to the toil; in autumn I gather in my harvest, and am prepared to cease from labour and eat. At sunrise I get up and work; at sunset I rest. So do I enjoy myself between heaven and earth, and my mind is content:–why should I have anything to do with the throne? Alas! that you, Sir, do not know me better!’ Thereupon he declined the proffer, and went away, deep among the hills, no man knew where.

Shun proposed to resign the throne to his friend, a farmer of Shih-hû[2]. The farmer, however, said (to himself), ‘How full of vigour does our lord show himself, and how exuberant is his strength! If Shun with all his powers be not equal (to the task of government, how should I be so?).’ On this he took his wife on his back, led his son by the hand, and went away to the sea-coast, from which to the end of his life he did not come back.

When Thâi-wang Than-fû[3] was dwelling in Pin[3], the wild tribes of the North attacked him. He tried to serve them with skins and silks, but they were not satisfied. He tried to serve them with dogs and horses, but they were not satisfied, and then

[1. Nor do we know more of Shan Küan, though Mî relates a visit of Yâo to him.

2. Name of a place; where it was is very uncertain.

3. An ancestor of the House of Kâu, who about B.C. 1325 removed from Pin (in the present small department so called of Shen-hsî), and settled in the district of Khî-shan, department of Fäng-zhiang. He was the grandfather of king Wän.]

{p. 151}

with pearls and jade, but they were not satisfied. What they sought was his territory. Thâi-wang Than-fû said (to his people), ‘To dwell with the elder brother and cause the younger brother to be killed, or with the father and cause the son to be killed,–this is what I cannot bear to do. Make an effort, my children, to remain here. What difference is there between being my subjects, or the subjects of those wild people? And I have heard that a man does not use that which he employs for nourishing his people to injure them.’ Thereupon he took his staff and switch and left, but the people followed him in an unbroken train, and he established a (new) state at the foot of mount Khî[1]. Thus Thâi-wang Than-fû might be pronounced one who could give its (due) honour to life. Those who are able to do so, though they may be rich and noble, will not, for that which nourishes them, injure their persons; and though they may be poor and mean, will not, for the sake of gain, involve their bodies (in danger). The men of the present age who occupy high offices and are of honourable rank all lose these (advantages) again, and in the prospect of gain lightly expose their persons to ruin:–is it not a case of delusion?

The people of Yüeh three times in succession killed their ruler, and the prince Sâu[2], distressed by it, made his escape to the caves of Tan, so that Yüeh was left without a ruler. The people sought

[1. See note 3, p. 150.

2. Sze-mâ Khien takes up the history of Yüeh at a later period, and we have from him no details of this prince Sâu. Tan-hsüeh was the name of a district in the south of Yüeh, in which was a valley with caves containing cinnabar;–the fabled home of the phœnix.]

{p. 152}

for the prince, but could not find him, till (at last) they followed him to the cave of Tan. The prince was not willing to come out to them, but they smoked him out with moxa, and made him mount the royal chariot. As he took hold of the strap, and mounted the carriage, he looked up to heaven, and called out, ‘O Ruler, O Ruler, could you not have spared me this?’ Prince Sâu did not dislike being ruler;–he disliked the evil inseparable from being so. It may be said of him that he would not for the sake of a kingdom endanger his life; and this indeed was the reason why the people of Yüeh wanted to get him for their ruler.

2. Han[1] and Wei[1] were contending about some territory which one of them had wrested from the other. Dze-hwâ Dze[2] went to see the marquis Kâo-hsî (of Han)[3], and, finding him looking sorrowful, said, ‘Suppose now that all the states were to sign an agreement before you to the effect that “Whoever should with his left hand carry off (the territory in dispute) should lose his right hand, and whoever should do so with his right hand should lose his left hand, but that, nevertheless, he who should carry it off was sure to obtain the whole kingdom;” would your lordship feel yourself able to carry it off?’ The marquis said, ‘I would not carry it off,’ and Dze-hwâ rejoined, ‘Very good. Looking at the thing from this point of view, your two arms are of more value to you than the whole kingdom. But

[1. Two of the three states into which the great state of Zin was divided about the beginning of the fifth century B.C.

2. A native, we may call him a philosopher, of Wei.

3. Began his rule in B.C. 359.]

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your body is of more value than your two arms, and Han is of much less value than the whole kingdom. The territory for which you are now contending is further much less important than Han:–your lordship, since you feel so much concern for your body, should not be endangering your life by indulging your sorrow.

The marquis Kâo-hsî said, ‘Good! Many have given me their counsel about this matter; but I never heard what you have said.’ Dze-hwâ Dze may be said to have known well what was of great importance and what was of little.

3. The ruler of Lû, having heard that Yen Ho[1] had attained to the Tâo, sent a messenger, with a gift of silks, to prepare the way for further communication with him. Yen Ho was waiting at the door of a mean house, in a dress of coarse hempen cloth, and himself feeding a cow[2]. When the messenger arrived, Yen Ho himself confronted him. ‘Is this,’ said the messenger, ‘the house of Yen Ho?’ ‘It is,’ was the reply; and the other was presenting the silks to him, when he said, ‘I am afraid you heard (your instructions) wrongly, and that he who sent you will blame you. You had better make sure.’ The messenger on this returned, and made sure that he was right; but when he came back, and sought for Yen Ho, he was not to be found.

Yes; men like Yen Ho do of a truth dislike riches and honours. Hence it is said, ‘The true

[1. Perhaps the Yen Ho of IV, 5.

2. The same thing is often seen at the present day. The party in charge of the cow pours its prepared food down its throat from a joint of bamboo.]

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object of the Tâo is the regulation of the person. Quite subordinate to this is its use in the management of the state and the clan; while the government of the kingdom is but the dust and refuse of it.’ From this we may see that the services of the Tîs and Kings are but a surplusage of the work of the sages, and do not contribute to complete the person or nourish the life. Yet the superior men of the present age will, most of them, throw away their lives for the sake of their persons, in pursuing their (material) objects;–is it not cause for grief? Whenever a sage is initiating any movement, he is sure to examine the motive which influences him, and what he is about to do. Here, however, is a man, who uses a pearl like that of the marquis of Sui[1] to shoot a bird at a distance of 10,000 feet. All men will laugh at him; and why? Because the thing which he uses is of great value, and what he wishes to get is of little. And is not life of more value than the pearl of the marquis of Sui?

4. Dze[2] Lieh-dze[2] was reduced to extreme poverty, and his person had a hungry look. A visitor mentioned the case to Dze-yang, (the premier) of Käng, saying, ‘Lieh Yü-khâu, I believe, is a scholar who has attained to the Tâo. Is it because our ruler does not love (such) scholars, that he should be living in his state in such poverty?’ Dze-yang immediately ordered an officer to send to him a supply of grain.

[1. Sui was a small feudal state, a dependency of Wei. its name remains in the Sui-kâu, Teh-an department, Hû-pei. The story is that one of its lords having healed a wounded snake, the creature one night brought him a large pearl in its mouth.

2. The phraseology is peculiar. See Introductory Note on Bk. XXXII.]

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When Lieh-dze saw the messenger, he bowed to him twice, and declined the gift, on which the messenger went away. On Lieh-dze’s going into the house, his wife looked to him and beat her breast, saying, ‘I have heard that the wife and children of a possessor of the Tâo all enjoy plenty and ease, but now we look starved. The ruler has seen his error, and sent you a present of food, but you would not receive it;–is it appointed (for us to suffer thus)?’ Dze Lieh-dze laughed and said to her, ‘The ruler does not himself know me. Because of what some one said to him, he sent me the grain; but if another speak (differently) of me to him, he may look on me as a criminal. This was why I did not receive the grain.’

In the end it did come about, that the people, on an occasion of trouble and disorder, put Dze-yang to death.

5. When king Kâo of Khû[1] lost his kingdom, the sheep-butcher Yüeh followed him in his flight. When the king (recovered) his kingdom and returned to it, and was going to reward those who had followed him, on coming to the sheep-butcher Yüeh, that personage said, ‘When our Great King lost his kingdom, I lost my sheep-killing. When his majesty got back his kingdom, I also got back my sheep-killing. My income and rank have been recovered; why speak further of rewarding me?’ The king, (on hearing of this reply), said, ‘Force him (to take the reward);’ but Yüeh said, ‘It was not through any crime of mine that the king lost his kingdom,

[1. B.C. 515-489. He was driven from his capital by an invasion of Wû, directed by Wû Dze-hsü.]

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and therefore I did not dare to submit to the death (which would have been mine if I had remained in the capital). And it was not through any service of mine that he recovered his kingdom, and therefore I do not dare to count myself worthy of any reward from him.’

The king (now) asked that the butcher should be introduced to him, but Yüeh said, ‘According to the law of Khû, great reward ought to be given to great service, and the recipient then be introduced to the king; but now my wisdom was not sufficient to preserve the kingdom, nor my courage sufficient to die at the hands of the invaders. When the army of Wû entered, I was afraid of the danger, and got out of the way of the thieves;–it was not with a distinct purpose (of loyalty) that I followed the king. And now he wishes, in disregard of the law, and violations of the conditions of our social compact, to see me in court;–this is not what I would like to be talked of through the kingdom.’ The king said to Dze-khî, the Minister of War, ‘The position of the sheep-butcher Yüeh is low and mean, but his setting forth of what is right is very high; do you ask him for me to accept the place of one of my three most distinguished nobles[1].’ (This being communicated to Yüeh), he said, ‘I know that the place of such a distinguished noble is nobler than a sheep-butcher’s stall, and that the salary of 10,000 kung is more than its profits. But how should 1, through my greed of rank and emolument, bring on our ruler the name of an unlawful dispensation of his gifts? I dare not

[1. Literally, ‘My three banners or flags,’ emblems of the favourite of the sovereign.]

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respond to your wishes, but desire to return to my stall as the sheep-butcher.’ Accordingly he did not accept (the proffered reward).

6. Yüan Hsien[1] was living in Lû. His house, whose walls were only a few paces round, looked as if it were thatched with a crop of growing grass; its door of brushwood was incomplete, with branches of a mulberry tree for its side-posts; the window of each of its two apartments was formed by an earthenware jar (in the wall), which was stuffed with some coarse serge. It leaked above, and was damp on the ground beneath; but there he sat composedly, playing on his guitar. Dze-kung, in an inner robe of purple and an outer one of pure white, riding in a carriage drawn by two large horses, the hood of which was too high to get into the lane (leading to the house), went to see him. Yüan Hsien, in a cap made of bark, and slippers without heels, and with a stalk of hellebore for a staff, met him at the door. ‘Alas! Master,’ said Dze-kung, ‘that you should be in such distress!’ Yüan Hsien answered him, ‘I have heard that to have no money is to be poor, and that not to be able to carry one’s learning into practice is to be distressed. I am poor but not in distress.’ Dze-kung shrank back, and looked ashamed, on which the other laughed and said, ‘To act with a view to the world’s (praise); to pretend to be public-spirited and yet be a partisan; to learn in order to please men; to teach for the sake of one’s own gain; to conceal one’s wickedness under the garb of

[1. A disciple of Confucius, called also Yüan Sze;–see Confucian Analects VI, iii, 3. With the description of his house or hut, compare in the Lî Kî, XXVIII, 10.]

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benevolence and righteousness; and to be fond of the show of chariots and horses:–these are things which Hsien cannot bear to do.’

Zäng-dze was residing in Wei. He wore a robe quilted with hemp, and had no outer garment; his countenance looked rough and emaciated; his hands and feet were horny and callous; he would be three days without lighting a fire; in ten years he did not have a new suit; if he put his cap on straight, the strings would break; if he drew tight the overlap of his robe, his elbow would be seen; in putting on his shoes, the heels would burst them. Yet dragging his shoes along, he sane, the ‘Sacrificial Odes of Shang’ with a voice that filled heaven and earth as if it came from a bell or a sounding stone. The Son of Heaven could not get him to be a minister; no feudal prince could get him for his friend. So it is that he who is nourishing his mind’s aim forgets his body, and he who is nourishing his body discards all thoughts of gain, and he who is carrying out the Tâo forgets his own mind.

Confucius said to Yen Hui, ‘Come here, Hui. Your family is poor, and your position is low; why should you not take office?’ Hui replied, ‘I have no wish to be in office. Outside the suburban district I possess fields to the extent of fifty acres, which are sufficient to supply me with congee; and inside it I have ten acres, which are sufficient to supply me with silk and flax. I find my pleasure in playing on my lute, and your doctrines, Master, which I study, are sufficient for my enjoyment; I do not wish to take office.’ Confucius looked sad, changed countenance, and said, “How good is the mind of Hui! I have heard that he who is contented

{p. 159}

will not entangle himself with the pursuit of gain, that he who is conscious of having gained (the truth) in himself is not afraid of losing other things, and that he who cultivates the path of inward rectification is not ashamed though he may have no official position. I have long been preaching this; but to-day I see it realised in Hui:–this is what I have gained.’

7. Prince Mâu[1] of Kung-shan[1] spoke to Kan-dze[2], saying, ‘My body has its place by the streams and near the sea, but my mind dwells at the court of Wei;–what have you to say to me in the circumstances?’ Kan-dze replied, ‘Set the proper value on your life. When one sets the proper value on his life, gain seems to him unimportant.’ The prince rejoined, ‘I know that, but I am not able to overcome (my Wishes).’ The reply was, ‘If you cannot master yourself (in the matter), follow (your inclinations so that) your spirit may not be dissatisfied. When you cannot master yourself, and try to force yourself where your spirit does not follow, this is what is called doing yourself a double injury; and those who so injure themselves are not among the long-lived.’

Mâu of Wei was the son of a lord of ten thousand chariots. For him to live in retirement among crags and caves was more difficult than for a scholar who had not worn the dress of office. Although he

[1. Prince Mâu was a son of the marquis of Wei, and had been appointed to the appanage of Kung-shan,–corresponding to part of the present Ting Kâu in Pei Kih-lî.

2. A worthy officer or thinker of Wei. One is not sure that his advice was altogether good.]

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had not attained to the Tâo, he maybe said to have had some idea of it.

8. When Confucius was reduced to extreme distress between Khän and Zhâi, for seven days he had no cooked meat to eat, but only some soup of coarse vegetables without any rice in it. His countenance wore the appearance of great exhaustion, and yet he kept playing on his lute and singing inside the house. Yen Hui (was outside), selecting the vegetables, while Dze-la and Dze-kung were talking together, and said to him, ‘The Master has twice been driven from Lû; he had to flee from Wei; the tree (beneath which he rested) was cut down in Sung; he was reduced to extreme distress in Shang and Kâu; he is held in a state of siege here between Khän and Zhâi; any one who kills him will be held guiltless; there is no prohibition against making him a prisoner. And yet he keeps playing and singing, thrumming his lute without ceasing. Can a superior man be without the feeling of shame to such an extent as this?’ Yen Hui gave them no reply, but went in and told (their words) to Confucius, who pushed aside his lute, and said, ‘Yû and Zhze are small men. Call them here, and I will explain the thing to them.’

When they came in, Dze-lû said, ‘Your present condition may be called one of extreme distress.’ Confucius replied, ‘What words are these! When the Superior man has free course with his principles, that is what we call his success; when such course is denied, that is what we call his failure. Now I hold in my embrace the principles of benevolence and righteousness, and with them meet the evils of a disordered age;–where is the proof of my being

{p. 161}

in extreme distress? Therefore looking inwards and examining myself, I have no difficulties about my principles; though I encounter such difficulties (as the present), I do not lose my virtue. It is when winter’s cold is come, and the hoar-frost and snow are falling, that we know the vegetative power of the pine and cypress. This strait between Khän and Zhâi is fortunate for me.’ He then took back his lute so that it emitted a twanging sound, and began to play and sing. (At the same time) Dze-lû, hurriedly, seized a shield, and began to dance, while Dze-kung said, ‘I did not know (before) the height of heaven nor the depth of the earth.’

The ancients who had got the Tâo were happy when reduced to extremity, and happy when having free course. Their happiness was independent of both these conditions. The Tâo and its characteristics!–let them have these and distress and success come to them as cold and heat, as wind and rain in the natural order of things. Thus it was that Hsü Yû found pleasure on the north of the river Ying, and that the earl of Kung enjoyed himself on the top of mount (Kung)[1].

9. Shun proposed to resign the throne to his friend, the Northerner Wû-kâi[2], who said, ‘A strange man you are, O sovereign! You (first) lived among the channeled fields, and then your

[1. This takes us to the famous Kung-ho period (B.C. 842-828), but our author evidently follows the account of it found in the ‘Bamboo Books;’–see the prolegomena to the Shû King, p. 154.

2. We found, in Book XXI (see vol. xxxix, p. 133), Wû-kâi as the name of Thien Dze-fang. Here is the same name belonging to a much earlier man, ‘a man of the north.’]

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place was in the palace of Yâo. And not only so:–you now further wish to extend to me the stain of your disgraceful doings. I am ashamed to see you. And on this he threw himself into the abyss of Khing-läng[1].

When Thang was about to attack Kieh, he took counsel with Pien Sui, who said, ‘It is no business of mine.’ Thang then said, ‘To whom should I apply?’ And the other said, ‘I do not know.’ Thang then took counsel with Wû Kwang, who gave the same answer as Pien Sui; and when asked to whom he should apply, said in the same way, ‘I do not know.’ ‘Suppose,’ Thang then said, ‘I apply to Î Yin, what do you say about him?’ The reply was, ‘He has a wonderful power in doing what is disgraceful, and I know nothing more about him!’

Thang thereupon took counsel with Î Yin, attacked Kieh, and overcame him, after which he proposed to resign the throne to Pien Sui, who declined it, saying, ‘When you were about to attack Kieh, and sought counsel from me, you must have supposed me to be prepared to be a robber. Now that you have conquered Kieh, and propose to resign the throne to me, you must consider me to be greedy. I have been born in an age of disorder, and a man without principle twice comes, and tries to extend to me the stain of his disgraceful proceedings!–I cannot bear to hear the repetition of his proposals.’ With this he threw himself into the Kâu[2] water and died.

[1. At the foot of a hill in the present department of Nan-yang, Ho-nan.

2. The reading uncertain.]

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Thang further made proffer of the throne to Wû Kwang[1], saying, ‘The wise man has planned it; the martial man has carried it through; and the benevolent man should occupy it:–this was the method of antiquity. Why should you, Sir, not take the position?’ Wû Kwang refused the proffer, saying, ‘To depose the sovereign is contrary to right; to kill the people is contrary to benevolence. When another has encountered the risks, if I should accept the gain of his adventure, I should violate my disinterestedness. I have heard it said, “If it be not right for him to do so, one should not accept the emolument; in an age of unprincipled (government), one should not put foot on the soil (of the) country:”–how much less should I accept this position of honour! I cannot bear to see you any longer.’ And with this he took a stone oil his back, and drowned himself in the Lü water[2].

10. Formerly, at the rise of the Kâu dynasty, there were two brothers who lived in Kû-kû[3], and were named Po-î and Shû-khî. They spoke together and said, ‘We have heard that in the west there is one who seems to rule according to the Right Way; let us go and see.’ (Accordingly) they came to the south of (mount) Khî; and when king Wû heard of them, he sent (his brother) Shû Tan to see them, and make a covenant with them, engaging that their wealth should be second (only to that of the king), and that their offices should be of the first rank,

[1. Not elsewhere heard of, save in the same connexion.

2. In the west of Liâo-tung.

3. A small principality, in the present Lwan-kâu, department of Yung-phing Kih-lî.]

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and instructing him to bury the covenant with the blood of the victim after they had smeared the corners of their mouths with it[1]. The brothers looked at each other and laughed, saying, ‘Ah! How strange! This is not what we call the Right Way. Formerly, when Shän Näng had the kingdom, he offered his sacrifices at the proper seasons and with the utmost reverence, but without praying for any blessing. Towards men he was leal-hearted and sincere, doing his utmost in governing them, but without seeking anything for himself When it was his pleasure to use administrative measures, he did so; and a sterner rule when he thought that would be better. He did not by the ruin of others establish his own power; he did not exalt himself by bringing others low; he did not, when the time was opportune, seek his own profit. But now Kâu, seeing the disorder of Yin, has suddenly taken the government into its hands; with the high it has taken counsel, and with those below employed bribes; it relies on its troops to maintain the terror of its might; it makes covenants over victims to prove its good faith; it vaunts its proceedings to please the masses; it kills and attacks for the sake of gain:–this is simply overthrowing disorder and changing it for tyranny. We have heard that the officers of old, in an age of good government, did not shrink from their duties, and in an age of disorder did not recklessly seek to remain in office. Now the kingdom is in a state of darkness; the virtue of Kâu is decayed. Than to join with it and

[1. According to the usual forms in which a covenant was made and established. The translation is free and diffuse.]

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lay our persons in the dust, it is better for us to abandon it, and maintain the purity of our conduct.’

The two princes then went north to the hill of Shâu-yang[1], where they died of starvation. If men such as they, in the matter of riches and honours, can manage to avoid them, (let them do so); but they must not depend on their lofty virtue to pursue any perverse course, only gratifying their own tendencies, and not doing service in their time:–this was the style of these two princes.

[1. In the present department of Phû-kau, Shan-hsî.]

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BOOK XXIX.
PART III. SECTION VII.
Tâo Kih, or ‘The Robber Kih[1].’

1. Confucius was on terms of friendship with Liû-hsîa Kî[2], who had a brother named Tâo Kih. This Tâo Kih had 9,000 followers, who marched at their will through the kingdom, assailing and oppressing the different princes. They dug through walls and broke into houses; they drove away people’s cattle and horses; they carried off people’s wives and daughters. In their greed to get, they forgot the claims of kinship, and paid no regard to their parents and brethren. They did not sacrifice to their ancestors. Wherever they passed through the country, in the larger states the people guarded their city walls, and in the smaller the people took to their strongholds. All were distressed by them.

Confucius spoke to Liû-hsiâ Kî, saying, ‘Fathers should be able to lay down the law to their sons,

[1. See vol. xxxix, pp. 157, 158.

2. Better known as Liû-hsiâ Hui, under which designation he is mentioned both in the Confucian Analects and in Mencius, but it is an anachronism to say that Confucius was on terms of friendship with him. He was a scion of the distinguished family of Kan in Lû, and was called Kan Hwo and Kan Khin. We find, in the Zo Kwan, a son of his employed in an important expedition in B.C. 634, so that he, probably, had passed away before Confucius was born in B.C. 551, and must certainly have deceased before the death of Dze-lû (480), which is mentioned in the Book.]

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and elder to instruct their younger brothers. If they are unable to do so, they do not fulfil the duties of the relationships which they sustain. You, Sir, are one of the most talented officers of the age, and your younger brother is this Robber Kih. He is a pest in the kingdom, and you are not able to instruct him better; I cannot but be ashamed of you, and I beg to go for you and give him counsel.’ Liû-hsiâ Kî replied, ‘You say, Sir, that fathers must be able to lay down the law to their sons, and elder to instruct their younger brothers, but if sons will not listen to the orders of their fathers, nor the younger receive the lessons of their elder brothers, though one may have your powers of persuasion, what is to be done? And, moreover, Kih is a man whose mind is like a gushing fountain, and his will like a whirlwind; he is strong enough to resist all enemies, and clever enough to gloss over his wrong-doings. If you agree with him, he is glad; if you oppose him, he is enraged; and he readily meets men with the language of abuse. You must not go to him.’

Confucius, however, did not attend to this advice. With Yen Hui as his charioteer, and Dze-kung seated on the right, he went to see Tâo Kih, whom he found with his followers halted on the south of Thâi-shan, and mincing men’s livers, which he gave them to eat. Confucius alighted from his carriage, and went forward, till he saw the usher, to whom he said, ‘I, Khung Khiû of Lî, have heard of the general’s lofty righteousness,’ bowing twice respectfully to the man as he said so. The usher went in and announced the visitor. But when Tâo Kih heard of the arrival, he flew into a great

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rage; his eyes became like blazing stars, and his hair rose up and touched his cap. ‘Is not this fellow,’ said he, ‘Khung Khiû, that artful hypocrite of Lû? Tell him from me, “You invent speeches and babble away, appealing without ground to (the examples of) Wän and Wû The ornaments on your cap are as many as the branches of a tree, and your girdle is (a piece of skin) from the ribs of a dead ox. The more you talk, the more nonsense you utter. You get your food without (the labour of) ploughing, and your clothes without (that of) weaving. You wag your lips and make your tongue a drum-stick. You arbitrarily decide what is right and what is wrong, thereby leading astray the princes throughout the kingdom, and making its learned scholars not occupy their thoughts with their proper business. You recklessly set up your filial piety and fraternal duty, and curry favour with the feudal princes, the wealthy and the noble. Your offence is great; your crime is very heavy. Take yourself off home at once. If you do not do so, I will take your liver, and add it to the provision for to-day’s food.”‘

But Confucius sent in another message, saying, I enjoy the good will of (your brother) Kî, and I wish and hope to tread the ground beneath your tent[1].’ When the usher had communicated this message, Tâo Kih said, ‘Make him come forward.’ On this Confucius hastened forwards. Declining to take a mat, he drew hastily back, and bowed twice to Tâo Kih, who in a great rage stretched

[1. That is, I wish to have an interview with you, to see and speak to you face to face.]

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his legs apart, laid his hand on his sword, and with glaring eyes and a voice like the growl of a nursing tigress, said, ‘Come forwards, Khiû. If what you say be in accordance with my mind, you shall live; but, if it be contrary to it, you shall die.’ Confucius replied, ‘I have heard that everywhere under the sky there are three (most excellent) qualities. To be naturally tall and large, to be elegant and handsome without a peer, so that young and old, noble and mean, are pleased to look upon him;–this is the highest of those qualities. To comprehend both heaven and earth in his wisdom, and to be able to speak eloquently on all subjects;–this is the middle one of them. To be brave and courageous, resolute and daring, gathering the multitudes round him, and leading on his troops;–this is the lowest of them. Whoever possesses one of these qualities is fit to stand with his face to the south[1], and style himself a Prince. But you, General, unite in yourself all the three. Your person is eight cubits and two inches in height; there is a brightness about your face and a light in your eyes; your lips look as if stained with vermilion; your teeth are like rows of precious shells; your voice is attuned to the musical tubes, and yet you are named “The Robber Kih.” I am ashamed of you, General, and cannot approve of you. If you are inclined to listen to me, I should like to go as your commissioner to Wû and Yüeh in the south; to Khî and Lû in the north; to Sung and Wei in the east; and to Zin and Khû in the west. I will get them to build for you a great city several hundred lî in size, to

[1. To take the position of a ruler in his court.]

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establish under it towns containing several hundred thousands of inhabitants, and honour you there as a feudal lord. The kingdom will see you begin your career afresh; you will cease from your wars and disband your soldiers; you will collect and nourish your brethren, and along with them offer the sacrifices to your ancestors[1]:–this will be a course befitting a sage and an officer of ability, and will fulfil the wishes of the whole kingdom.’

‘Come forward, Khiû,’ said Tâo Kih, greatly enraged. ‘Those who can be persuaded by considerations of gain, and to whom remonstrances may be addressed with success, are all ignorant, low, and ordinary people. That I am tall and large, elegant and handsome, so that all who see me are pleased with me;–this is an effect of the body left me by my parents. Though you were not to praise me for it, do I not know it myself? And I have heard that he who likes to praise men to their face will also like to speak ill of them behind their back. And when you tell me of a great wall and a multitudinous people, this is to try to persuade me by considerations of gain, and to cocker me as one of the ordinary people. But how could such advantages last for long? Of all great cities there is none so great as the whole kingdom, which was possessed by Yâo and Shun, while their descendants (now) have not so much territory as would admit an awl[2]. Thang and Wa were both set up as the Sons of Heaven, but in after ages (their posterity) were cut

[1. It is said near the beginning that Kih and his followers had ceased to offer such sacrifices;–they had no religion.

2. The descendants of those worthies were greatly reduced; but they still had a name and a place.]

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off and extinguished;–was not this because the gain of their position was so great a prize[1]?

‘And moreover I have heard that anciently birds and beasts were numerous, and men were few, so that they lived in nests in order to avoid the animals. In the daytime they gathered acorns and chestnuts, and in the night they roosted on the trees; and on account of this they are called the people of the Nest-builder. Anciently the people did not know the use of clothes. In summer they collected great stores of faggots, and in winter kept themselves warm by means of them; and on account of this they are called the people who knew how to take care of their lives. In the age of Shän Näng, the people lay down in simple innocence, and rose up in quiet security. They knew their mothers, but did not know their fathers. They dwelt along with the elks and deer. They ploughed and ate; they wove and made clothes; they had no idea of injuring one another:–this was the grand time of Perfect virtue[2]. Hwang-Tî, however, was not able to perpetuate this virtuous state. He fought with Khih-yû[3] in the wild of Ko-lû[4] till the blood flowed over a hundred lî. When Yâo and Shun arose, they instituted their crowd of ministers. Thang banished his lord. King Wû killed Kâu. Since that time the strong have oppressed the weak, and the many tyrannised over the few. From Thang and Wû downwards, (the

[1. See note 2, p. 170.

2. Compare the description of this primeval time in Book X, par. 4.

3. Commonly spoken of as ‘the first rebel.’ See Mayers’s Manual, p. 36.

4. Perhaps in the present Pâo-an Kâu, department of Hsüan-hwâ, Kih-lî.]

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rulers) have all been promoters of disorder and confusion. You yourself now cultivate and inculcate the ways of Wän and Wû; you handle whatever subjects are anywhere discussed for the instruction of future ages. With your peculiar robe and narrow girdle, with your deceitful speech and hypocritical conduct, you delude the lords of the different states, and are seeking for riches and honours. There is no greater robber than you are;–why does not all the world call you the Robber Khiû, instead of styling me the Robber Kih?

‘You prevailed by your sweet speeches on Dze-lû, and made him your follower; you made him put away his high cap, lay aside his long sword, and receive your instructions, so that all the world said, “Khung Khiû is able to arrest violence and repress the wrong-doer;” but in the end, when Dze-lû wished to slay the ruler of Wei, and the affair proved unsuccessful, his body was exhibited in pickle over the eastern gate of the capital;–so did your teaching of him come to nothing.

‘Do you call yourself a scholar of talent, a sage? Why, you were twice driven out of Lû; you had to run away from Wei; you were reduced to extremity in Khî; you were held in a state of siege between Khän and Zhâi; there is no resting-place for your person in the kingdom; your instructions brought Dze-lû to pickle. Such have been the misfortunes (attending your course). You have done no good either for yourself or for others;–how can your doctrines be worth being thought much of?

‘There is no one whom the world exalts so much as it does Hwang-Tî, and still he was not able to perfect his virtue, but fought in the wilderness of

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Ko-lû, till the blood flowed over a hundred lî. Yâo was not kind to his son[1]. Shun was not filial[2]. Yü was paralysed on one side[3]. Thang banished his sovereign. King Wû smote Kâu. King Wän was imprisoned in Yû-lî[4]. These are the six men of whom the world thinks the most highly, yet when we accurately consider their history, we see that for the sake of gain they all disallowed their true (nature), and did violence to its proper qualities and tendencies:–their conduct cannot be thought of but with deep shame.

‘Among those whom the world calls men of ability and virtue were (the brothers) Po-Î and Shû-khî. They declined the rule of Kû-kû, and died of starvation on the hill of Shâu-yang, leaving their bones and flesh unburied. Pâo Ziâo vaunted his conduct, and condemned the world, but he died with his arms round a tree[5]. When Shän-thû Tî’s remonstrances were not listened to, he fastened a stone on his back, and threw himself into the Ho, where he was eaten by the fishes and turtles[6]. Kieh Dze-thui was the most devoted (of followers), and cut a piece from his thigh as food for duke Wän. But when the duke afterwards overlooked him (in

[1. Referring to his setting aside his unworthy son, Tan-kû, and giving the throne to Shun.

2. See in Mencius, V, i, 1. 3, 4.

3. This, I think, is the meaning; the fact was highly honourable to Yû, and brought on by his devotion to his labours.

4. In the present district of Thang-yin, department Khang-teh, Ho-nan. There king Wän pursued his labours on the Yî King.

5. A recluse of the time of Confucius, according to Han Ying (I, art. 27). After a dispute with Dze-kung, he committed suicide in the way described.

6. See art. 26, in the same Book of Han Ying.]

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his distribution of favours), he was angry, and went away, and was burned to death with a tree in his arms[1]. Wei Shäng had made an appointment with a girl to meet him under a bridge; but when she did not come, and the water rose around him, he would not go away, and died with his arms round one of the pillars[2]. (The deaths of) these four men were not different from those of the dog that is torn in pieces, the pig that is borne away by a current, or the beggar (drowned in a ditch) with his alms-gourd in his hand. They were all caught as in a net by their (desire for) fame, not caring to nourish their life to its end, as they were bound to do.

‘Among those whom the world calls faithful ministers there have been none like the prince Pî-kan and Wû Dze-hsü. But Dze-hsü’s (dead) body was cast into the Kiang, and the heart of Pî-kan was cut out. These two were what the world calls loyal ministers, but the end has been that everybody laughs at them. Looking at all the above cases, down to those of Dze-hsü and Pî-kan, there is not one worthy to be honoured; and as to the admonitions which you, Khiû, wish to impress on me, if you tell me about the state of the dead, I am unable to know anything about it; if you tell me about the things of men (alive), they are only such as I have stated, what I have heard and know all about. I will now tell you, Sir, my views about the condition of man. The eyes wish to look on beauty; the cars to hear music; the mouth to enjoy flavours; the will to be gratified. The greatest longevity man

[1. See Mayers’s Manual, p. 80.

2. Supposed to be the same with the Wei-shäng Kâo, mentioned in Analects, V, 23;–see Mayers’s Manual, p. 251.]

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can reach is a hundred years; a medium longevity is eighty years; the lowest longevity is sixty. Take away sickness, pining, bereavement, mourning, anxieties, and calamities, the times when, in any of these, one can open his mouth and laugh, are only four or five days in a month. Heaven and earth have no limit of duration, but the death of man has its (appointed) time. Take the longest amount of a limited time, and compare it with what is unlimited, its brief existence is not different from the passing of a crevice by one of king Mû’s horses[1]. Those who cannot gratify their will and natural aims, and nourish their appointed longevity, are all unacquainted with the (right) Way (of life). I cast from me, Khiû, all that you say. Be quick and go. Hurry back and say not a word more. Your Way is only a wild recklessness, deceitful, artful, vain, and hypocritical. It is not available to complete the true (nature of man); it is not worth talking about!’

Confucius bowed twice, and hurried away. He went out at the door, and mounted his carriage. Thrice he missed the reins as he tried to take hold of them. His eyes were dazed, and he could not see; and his colour was that of slaked lime. He laid hold of the cross-bar, holding his head down, and unable to draw his breath. When he got back, outside the east gate of (the capital of) Lû, he encountered Liû-hsiâ Kî, who said to him, ‘Here you are, right in the gate. For some days I have not seen you. Your carriage and horses are travel-stained;–have you not been to see Tâo Kih?’ Confucius

[1. King Mû had eight famous horses, each having its own name. The name of only one–Khih-ki–is given here. See Bk. XVII, par. 5.]

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looked up to heaven, sighed, and said, ‘Yes.’ The other went on, ‘And did he not set himself in opposition to all your views, as I said he would do?’ ‘He did. My case has been that of the man who cauterised himself without being ill. I rushed away, stroked the tiger’s head, played with his whiskers, and narrowly escaped his mouth.’

2. Dze-kang[1] asked Mân Kâu-the[2], saying, ‘Why do you not pursue a (righteous) course? Without such a course you will not be believed in; unless you are believed in, you will not be employed in office; and if not employed in office, you will not acquire gain. Thus, if you look at the matter from the point of reputation, or estimate it from the point of gain, a righteous course is truly the right thing. If you discard the thought of reputation and gain, yet when you think over the thing in your own mind, you will see that the scholar should not be a single day without pursuing a (righteous) course.’ Man Kau-teh said, ‘He who has no shame becomes rich, and he in whom many believe becomes illustrious. Thus the greatest fame and gain would seem to spring from being without shame and being believed in. Therefore if you look at the matter from the point of reputation, or estimate it from the point of gain, to be believed in is the right thing. If you discard the thought of fame and gain, and think over the thing in your own mind, you will see that the scholar in the course which he pursues is (simply) holding fast his Heavenly (nature, and gaining nothing).’

[1. We are told (Analects, II, 18) that Dze-kang ‘studied with a view to official emolument.’ This is, probably, the reason why he appears as interlocutor in this paragraph.

2. A fictitious name, meaning, ‘Full of gain recklessly got.’]

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Dze-kang said, ‘Formerly Kieh and Kâu each enjoyed the honour of being the sovereign, and all the wealth of the kingdom was his; but if you now say to a (mere) money-grabber, “Your conduct is like that of Kieh or Kâu,” he will look ashamed, and resent the imputation:–(these two sovereigns) are despised by the smallest men. Kung-nî and Mo Tî (on the other hand) were poor, and common men; but if you say to a Prime Minister that his conduct is like that of Kung-nî or Mo Tî, then he will be put out and change countenance, and protest that he is not worthy (to be so spoken of):–(these two philosophers) are held to be truly noble by (all) scholars. Thus it is that the position of sovereign does not necessarily connect with being thought noble, nor the condition of being poor and of common rank with being thought mean. The difference of being thought noble or mean arises from the conduct being good or bad.’ Mân Kâu-teh replied, ‘Small robbers are put in prison; a great robber becomes a feudal lord; and in the gate of the feudal lord your righteous scholars will be found. For instance, Hsiâo-po[1], the duke Hwan, killed his elder brother, and took his sister-in-law to himself, and yet Kwan Kung became his minister; and Thien Khang, styled Khäng-dze, killed his ruler, and usurped the state[2], and yet Confucius received a present of silks from him. In their discussions they would condemn the men, but

[1. The name of duke Hwan.

2. Compare the account of the same transaction in Book X, par. 1. See also Analects, XIV, 22. But there is no evidence but rather the contrary, that Confucius ever received a gift from Thien or Khän Häng.]

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in their conduct they abased themselves before them. In this way their words and actions must have been at war together in their breasts;–was it not a contradiction and perversity? As it is said in a book, “Who is bad? and who is good? The successful is regarded as the Head, and the unsuccessful as the Tail.”

Dze-kang said, ‘If you do not follow the usual course of what is held to be right, but observe no distinction between the near and remote degrees of kin, no difference between the noble and the mean, no order between the old and the young, then how shall a separation be made of the fivefold arrangement (of the virtues), and the six parties (in the social organisation)?’ Mân Kâu-teh replied, ‘Yâo killed his eldest son, and Shun banished his half-brother[1]:–did they observe the rules about the different degrees of kin? Thang deposed Kieh; king Wa overthrew Kâu:–did they observe the righteousness that should obtain between the noble and the mean? King Kî took the place of his elder brother[2], and the duke of Kâu killed his[3]:–did they observe the order that should obtain between the elder and the younger? The Literati make hypocritical speeches; the followers of Mo hold that all should be loved equally:–do we find in them the separation of the fivefold arrangement (of the

[1. Exaggerations or misrepresentations.

2. King Kî was the so-called king Kî-lî, the father of king Wän. His elder brother, that the state of Kâu might descend to him, left it, and withdrew south to what was then the wild region of Wû. See Analects, VIII, i; the Shih King, III, i, Ode 7. 3, 4.

3. Who had joined with Wû-käng, son of the tyrant of Yin, in rebellion, thus threatening the stability of the new dynasty of Kâu.]

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virtues)[1], and the six parties (in the social organisation)[2]? And further, you, Sir, are all for reputation, and I am all for gain; but where the actual search for reputation and gain may not be in accordance with principle and will not bear to be examined in the light of the right way, let me and you refer the matter to-morrow[3] to the decision of Wû-yo[4].’

(This Wû-yo) said, ‘The small man pursues after wealth; the superior man pursues after reputation. The way in which they change their feelings and alter their nature is different; but if they were to cast away what they do, and replace it with doing nothing, they would be the same. Hence it is said, “Do not be a small man;–return and pursue after the Heavenly in you. Do not be a superior man;–follow the rule of the Heavenly in you. Be it crooked, be it straight, view the thing in the light of Heaven as revealed in you. Look all round on every side of it, and as the time indicates, cease your endeavours. Be it right, be it wrong, hold fast the ring in yourself in which all conditions converge. Alone by yourself, carry out your idea; ponder over the right way. Do not turn your course; do not try to complete your righteousness. You will fail in what you do. Do not haste to be rich; do not follow after your perfection. If you do, you will lose the heavenly in you.”

[1. Probably what are called ‘the five constant virtues.’

2. The parties in the ‘Three Bonds of Society,’ or Three Cardinal Objects of Duty.

3. So Lû Shû-kih (### = ###).

4. If we take Wû-yo as a name, which is the simplest construction, we must still recognise its meaning as denoting ‘one who is unbound by the conventionalities of opinion.’ Much of what he is made to say is in rhyme, and might also be so translated.]

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‘Pî-kan had his heart cut out; Dze-hsü had his eyes gouged out:–such were the evil consequences of their loyalty. The upright person[1] bore witness against his father; Wei Shäng was drowned:–such were the misfortunes of good faith. Pao-dze stood till he was dried up; Shän-dze would not defend himself[2]:–such were the injuries brought on by disinterestedness. Confucius did not see his mother[3]; Khwang-dze[4] did not see his father:–such were the failures of the righteous. These are instances handed down from former ages, and talked about in these later times. They show us how superior men, in their determination to be correct in their words and resolute in their conduct, paid the penalty of these misfortunes, and were involved in these distresses.’

3. Mr. Dissatisfied[5], asked Mr. Know-the-Mean[5], saying, ‘There is no man after all who does not strive for reputation and pursue after gain. When men are rich, then others go to them. Going to them, they put themselves beneath them. In that position they do honour to them as nobler than themselves. But to

[1. See the Analects, XIII, 18.

2. The reading of the name here is not certain. The best identification perhaps is with Shan Shäng (###), the eldest son of duke Hsien of Zin, who was put to death on a false charge of having put poison into his father’s food, from which he would not defend himself.

3. A false charge.

4. The Khwang Kang of Mencius, IV, ii, 30, q.v.

5. Both of these names are fictitious. About the meaning of the first, there can be no difference of opinion. I have given that of the second according to my understanding of it,–see in the Lî Kî, Book XXVIII, section I.]

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see others taking that position and doing honour to us is the way to prolong life, and to secure the rest of the body and the satisfaction of the mind. You alone, Sir, however, have no idea of this. Is it that your knowledge is deficient? Is it that you have the knowledge, but want the strength to carry it into practice? Or is it that your mind is made up to do what you consider right, and never allow yourself to forget it?’ Know-the-Mean replied, ‘Here now is this man judging of us, his contemporaries, and living in the same neighbourhood as himself, that we consider ourselves scholars who have abjured all vulgar ways and risen above the world. He is entirely without the thought of submitting to the rule of what is right. He therefore studies ancient times and the present, and the differing questions about the right and wrong, and agrees with the vulgar ideas and influences of the age, abandoning what is most important and discarding what is most honourable, in order to be free to act as he does. But is he not wide of the mark when he thinks that this is the way to promote long life, and to secure the rest of the body and the satisfaction of the mind? He has his painful afflictions and his quiet repose, but he does not inquire how his body is so variously affected; he has his apprehensive terrors, and his happy joys, but he does not inquire how his mind has such different experiences. He knows how to pursue his course, but he does not know why he does so. Even if he had the dignity of the Son of Heaven, and all the wealth of the kingdom were his, he would not be beyond the reach of misfortunes and evils.’ Dissatisfied rejoined, ‘But riches are in every way advantageous to man.

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With them his attainment of the beautiful and mastery of every art become what the perfect man cannot obtain nor the sagely man reach to; his appropriation of the bravery and strength of others enables him to exercise a powerful sway; his availing himself of the wisdom and plans of others makes him be accounted intelligent and discriminating; his taking advantage of the virtues of others makes him be esteemed able and good. Though he may not be the holder of a state, he is looked to with awe as a ruler and father. Moreover, music, beauty, with the pleasures of the taste and of power, are appreciated by men’s minds and rejoiced in without any previous learning of them; the body reposes in them without waiting for the example of others. Desire and dislike, avoidance and pursuit, do not require any master;–this is the nature of man. Though the world may condemn one’s indulgence of them, who can refrain from it?’ Know-the-Mean replied, ‘The action of the wise is directed for the good of the people, but they do not go against the (proper) rule and degree. Therefore when they have enough, they do not strive (for more); they have no further object, and so they do not seek for one. When they have not enough, they will seek for it; they will strive for it in every quarter, and yet not think of themselves as greedy. If they have (already) a superfluity, they will decline (any more); they will decline the throne, and yet not think of themselves as disinterested:–the conditions of disinterestedness and greediness are (with them) not from the constraint of anything external. Through their exercise of introspection, their power may be that of the sovereign, but they will not in

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their nobility be arrogant to others; their wealth may be that of the whole kingdom, but they will not in their possession of it make a mock of others. They estimate the evils to which they are exposed, and are anxious about the reverses which they may experience. They think how their possessions may be injurious to their nature, and therefore they will decline and not accept them;–but not because they seek for reputation and praise.

‘Yâo and Shun were the sovereigns, and harmony prevailed. It did so, not because of their benevolence towards the people;–they would not, for what was (deemed) admirable, injure their lives. Shan Küan and Hsü Yû might have been the sovereigns, but they would not receive the throne;–not that they declined it without purpose, but they would not by its occupancy injure themselves. These all followed after what was advantageous to them, and declined what was injurious, and all the world celebrates their superiority. Thus, though they enjoy the distinction, they did what they did, not for the sake of the reputation and praise.’

Dissatisfied (continued his argument), saying, ‘In thus thinking it necessary for their reputation, they bitterly distressed their bodies, denied themselves what was pleasant, and restricted themselves to a bare sustenance in order to sustain their life; but so they had life-long distress, and long-continued pressure till their death arrived.’ Know-the-Mean replied, ‘Tranquil ease is happiness; a superfluity is injurious:–so it is with all things, and especially it is so, where the superfluity is of wealth. The ears of the rich are provided with the music of bells, drums, flageolets and flutes; and their mouths are

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stuffed with the flesh of fed beasts and with wine of the richest flavour; so are their desires satisfied, till they forget their proper business:–theirs may be pronounced a condition of disorder. Sunk deeply in their self-sufficiency, they resemble individuals ascending a height with a heavy burden on their backs:–their condition may be pronounced one of bitter suffering. They covet riches, thinking to derive comfort from them; they covet power, and would fain monopolise it; when quiet and retired, they are drowned in luxurious indulgence; their persons seem to shine, and they are full of boasting:–they may be said to be in a state of disease. In their desire to be rich and striving for gain, they fill their stores, and, deaf to all admonition, refuse to desist from their course. They are even more elated, and hold on their way:–their conduct may be pronounced disgraceful. When their wealth is amassed till they cannot use it, they clasp it to their breasts and will not part with it; when their hearts are distressed with their very fulness, they still seek for more and will not desist:–their condition may be said to be sad. In-doors they are apprehensive of pilfering and begging thieves, and out-of-doors they are afraid of being injured by plundering robbers; in-doors they have many chambers and partitions, and out-of-doors they do not dare to go alone:–they may be said to be in a state of (constant) alarm.

‘These six conditions are the most deplorable in the world, but they forget them all, and have lost their faculty of judgment. When the evil comes, though they begged it with all the powers of their nature, and by the sacrifice of all their wealth, they could

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not bring back one day of untroubled peace. When they look for their reputation, it is not to be seen; when they seek for their wealth, it is not to be got. To task their thoughts, and destroy their bodies, striving for (such an end as) this;–is it not a case of great delusion?’

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