BOOK III.
PART I. SECTION III.
Yang Shang Kû, or ‘Nourishing the Lord of Life[1].’

---

1. There is a limit to our life, but to knowledge there is no limit. With what is limited to pursue after what is unlimited is a perilous thing; and when, knowing this, we still seek the increase of our knowledge, the peril cannot be averted[2]. There should not be the practice of what is good with any thought of the fame (which it will bring), nor of what is evil with any approximation to the punishment (which it will incur)[3]:–an accordance with the Central Element (of our nature)[4] is the regular way to preserve the body, to maintain the life, to nourish our parents, and to complete our term of years.

2. His cook[5] was cutting up an ox for the ruler Wän-hui[5]. Whenever he applied his hand, leaned forward with his shoulder, planted his foot, and employed

[1. See pp. 130, 131.

2. Under what is said about knowledge here there lies the objection of Tâoists to the Confucian pursuit of knowledge as the means for the right conduct of life, instead of the quiet simplicity and self-suppression of their own system.

3. This is the key to the three paragraphs that follow. But the text of it is not easily construed. The ‘doing good’ and the doing evil’ are to be lightly understood.

4. A name for the Tâo.

5. ‘The ruler Wän-hui’ is understood to be ‘king Hui of Liang (or Wei),’ with the account of an interview between whom and Mencius the works of that philosopher commence.]

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the pressure of his knee, in the audible ripping off of the skin, and slicing operation of the knife, the sounds were all in regular cadence. Movements and sounds proceeded as in the dance of ‘the Mulberry Forest[1]’ and the blended notes of ‘the King Shâu[1].’ The ruler said, ‘Ah! Admirable! That your art should have become so perfect!’ (Having finished his operation), the cook laid down his knife, and replied to the remark, ‘What your servant loves is the method of the Tâo, something in advance of any art. When I first began to cut up an ox, I saw nothing but the (entire) carcase. After three years I ceased to see it as a whole. Now I deal with it in a spirit-like manner, and do not look at it with my eyes. The use of my senses is discarded, and my spirit acts as it wills. Observing the natural lines, (my knife) slips through the great crevices and slides through the great cavities, taking advantage of the facilities thus presented. My art avoids the membranous ligatures, and much more the great bones.

‘A good cook changes his knife every year;–(it may have been injured) in cutting; an ordinary cook changes his every month;–(it may have been) broken. Now my knife has been in use for nineteen years; it has cut up several thousand oxen, and yet its edge is as sharp as if it had newly come from the whetstone. There are the interstices of the joints, and the edge of the knife has no (appreciable) thickness; when that which is so thin enters where the interstice is, how easily it moves along! The

[1. Two pieces of music, ascribed to Khäng Thang and Hwang-Tî.]

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blade has more than room enough. Nevertheless, whenever I come to a complicated joint, and see that there will be some difficulty, I proceed anxiously and with caution, not allowing my eyes to wander from the place, and moving my hand slowly. Then by a very slight movement of the knife, the part is quickly separated, and drops like (a clod of) earth to the ground. Then standing up with the knife in my hand, I look all round, and in a leisurely manner, with an air of satisfaction, wipe it clean, and put it in its sheath.’ The ruler Wän-hui said, ‘Excellent! I have heard the words of my cook, and learned from them the nourishment of (our) life.’

3. When Kung-wän Hsien[1] saw the Master of the Left, he was startled, and said, ‘What sort of man is this? How is it he has but one foot? Is it from Heaven? or from Man?’ Then he added[2], ‘It must be from Heaven, and not from Man. Heaven’s making of this man caused him to have but one foot. In the person of man, each foot has its marrow. By this I know that his peculiarity is from Heaven, and not from Man. A pheasant of the marshes has to take ten steps to pick up a mouthful of food, and thirty steps to get a drink, but it does not seek to be nourished in a coop. Though its spirit would (there) enjoy a royal abundance, it does not think (such confinement) good.’

[1. There was a family in Wei with the double surname Kung-wän. This would be a scion of it.

2. This is Hsien still speaking. We have to understand his reasoning ad sensum and not ad verbum. The master of the Left had done ‘evil,’ so as to incur the punishment from which be suffered; and had shown himself less wise than a pheasant.]

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4. When Lâo Tan died[1], Khin Shih[2] went to condole (with his son), but after crying out three times, he came out. The disciples[3] said to him, ‘Were you not a friend of the Master?’ ‘I was,’ he replied, and they said, ‘Is it proper then to offer your condolences merely as you have done?’ He said, ‘It is. At first I thought he was the man of men, and now I do not think so. When I entered a little ago and expressed my condolences, there were the old men wailing as if they had lost a son, and the young men wailing as if they had lost their mother. In his attracting and uniting them to himself in such a way there must have been that which made them involuntarily express their words (of condolence), and involuntarily wail, as they were doing. And this was a hiding from himself of his Heaven (-nature), and an excessive indulgence of his (human) feelings;–a forgetting of what he had received (in being born); what the ancients called the punishment due to neglecting the Heaven (-nature). When the Master came[5], it was at the proper time; when he went away, it was the simple sequence (of his coming). Quiet acquiescence in what happens at its proper time, and quietly submitting (to its ceasing) afford no occasion for grief or for joy[6]. The ancients described (death) as the loosening of the

[1. Then the account that Lâo-dze went westwards, and that nothing is known as to where he died, must be without foundation.

2. Nothing more is known of this person.

3. Probably the disciples of Lâo-dze.

4. Lâo had gone to an excess in his ‘doing good,’ as if he were seeking reputation.

5. Into the world.

6. See Kwang-dze’s remarks and demeanour on the death of his wife, in Book XVIII.]

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cord on which God suspended (the life)[1]. What we can point to are the faggots that have been consumed; but the fire is transmitted (elsewhere), and we know not that it is over and ended[2].

[1. This short sentence is remarkable by the use of the character Tî (###) ‘God,’ in it, a usage here ascribed to the ancients.

2. The concluding sentence might stand as a short paragraph by itself. The ‘faggots’ are understood to represent the body, and the ‘fire’ the animating spirit. The body perishes at death as the faggots are consumed by the fire. But the fire may be transmitted to other faggots, and so the spirit may migrate, and be existing elsewhere.]

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BOOK IV.
PART I. SECTION IV.
Zän Kien Shih, or ‘Man in the World, Associated with other Men[1].’

1. Yen Hui[2] went to see Kung-nî[3], and asked leave to take his departure. ‘Where are you going to?’ asked the Master. ‘I will go to Wei[4]’ was the reply. ‘And with what object?’ ‘I have heard that the ruler of Wei[5] is in the vigour of his years, and consults none but himself as to his course. He deals with his state as if it were a light matter, and has no perception of his errors. He thinks lightly of his people’s dying; the dead are lying all over the country as if no smaller space could contain them; on the plains[6] and about the marshes, they are as thick as heaps of fuel. The people know not where to turn to. I have heard you, Master, say, “Leave the state that is well

[1. See pp. 131, 132.

2. The favourite disciple of Confucius, styled also Dze-yüan.

3. Of course, Confucius;–his designation or married name.

4. A feudal state, embracing portions of the present provinces of Ho-nan, Kih-lî, and Shan-tung. There was another state, which we must also call Wei in English, though the Chinese characters of them are different;–one of the fragments of the great state of Zin, more to the west.

5. At this time the marquis Yüan, known to us by his posthumous title of duke Ling;–see Book XXV, 9.

Adopting Lin’s reading of ### instead of the common ###.]

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governed; go to the state where disorder prevails[1].” At the door of a physician there are many who are ill. I wish through what I have heard (from you) to think out some methods (of dealing with Wei), if peradventure the evils of the state may be cured.’

Kung-nî said, ‘Alas! The risk is that you will go only to suffer in the punishment (of yourself)! The right method (in such a case) will not admit of any admixture. With such admixture, the one method will become many methods. Their multiplication will embarrass you. That embarrassment will make you anxious. However anxious you may be, you will not save (yourself). The perfect men of old first had (what they wanted to do) in themselves, and afterwards they found (the response to it) in others. If what they wanted in themselves was not fixed, what leisure had they to go and interfere with the proceedings of any tyrannous man?

‘Moreover, do you know how virtue is liable to be dissipated, and how wisdom proceeds to display itself? Virtue is dissipated in (the pursuit of) the name for it, and wisdom seeks to display itself in the striving with others. In the pursuit of the name men overthrow one another; wisdom becomes a weapon of contention. Both these things are instruments of evil, and should not be allowed to have free course in one’s conduct. Supposing one’s virtue to be great and his sincerity firm, if he do not comprehend the spirit of those (whom he wishes to influence); and supposing he is free from the

[1. Compare in the Analects, VIII, xiii, 2, where a different lesson is given; but Confucius may at another time have spoken as Hui says.]

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disposition to strive for reputation, if he do not comprehend their, minds;-when in such a case he forcibly insists on benevolence and righteousness, setting them forth in the strongest and most direct language, before the tyrant, then he, hating (his reprover’s) possession of those excellences, will put him down as doing him injury. He who injures others is sure to be injured by them in return. You indeed will hardly escape being injured by the man (to whom you go)[1]

‘Further, if perchance he takes pleasure in men of worth and hates those of an opposite character, what is the use of your seeking to make yourself out to be different (from such men about him)? Before you have begun to announce (your views), he, as king and ruler, will take advantage of you, and immediately contend with you for victory. Your eyes will be dazed and full of perplexity; you will try to look pleased with him; you will frame your words with care; your demeanour will be conformed to his; you will confirm him in his views. In this way you will be adding fire to fire, and water to water, increasing, as we may express it, the evils (which you deplore). To these signs of deferring to him at the first there will be no end. You will be in danger, seeing he does not believe you, of making your words more strong, and you are sure to die at the hands of such a tyrant.

‘And formerly Kieh[1] killed Kwan Lung-fäng[2], and Kâu[3] killed the prince Pî-kan[4]. Both of

[1. The tyrant with whom the dynasty of Hsiâ ended.

2. A worthy minister of Kieh.

3. The tyrant with whom the dynasty of Shang or Yin ended.

4. A half-brother of Kâu, the tyrant of the Yin dynasty.]

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these cultivated their persons, bending down in sympathy with the lower people to comfort them suffering (as they did) from their oppressors, and on their account opposing their superiors. On this account, because they so ordered their conduct, their rulers compassed their destruction:–such regard had they for their own fame. (Again), Yâo anciently attacked (the states of) Zhung-kih[1] and Hsü-âo[1], and Yü attacked the ruler of Hû[1]. Those states were left empty, and with no one to continue their population, the people being exterminated. They had engaged in war without ceasing; their craving for whatever they could get was insatiable. And this (ruler of Wei) is, like them, one who craves after fame and greater substance;–have you not heard it? Those sages were not able to overcome the thirst for fame and substance;–how much less will you be able to do so! Nevertheless you must have some ground (for the course which you wish to take); pray try and tell it to me.’

Yen Hui said, ‘May I go, doing so in uprightness and humility, using also every endeavour to be uniform (in my plans of operation)?’ ‘No, indeed!’ was the reply. ‘How can you do so? This man makes a display[2] of being filled to overflowing (with virtue), and has great self-conceit. His feelings are not to be determined from his countenance. Ordinary men do not (venture to) oppose him, and he proceeds from the way in which he affects them

[1. See in par. 7, Book II, where Hsü-âo is mentioned, though not Zhung-kih. See the Shû, III, ii.

2. I take ### here as = ###;–a meaning given in the Khang-hsî dictionary.]

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to seek still more the satisfaction of his own mind. He may be described as unaffected by the (small lessons of) virtue brought to bear on him from day to day; and how much less will he be so by your great lessons? He will be obstinate, and refuse to be converted. He may outwardly agree with you, but inwardly there will be no self-condemnation;-how can you (go to him in this way and be successful)?’

(Yen Hui) rejoined, ‘Well then; while inwardly maintaining my straightforward intention, I will outwardly seem to bend to him. I will deliver (my lessons), and substantiate them by appealing to antiquity. Inwardly maintaining my straightforward intention, I shall be a co-worker with Heaven. When I thus speak of being a co-worker with Heaven, it is because I know that (the sovereign, whom we style) the son of Heaven, and myself, are equally regarded by Heaven as Its sons. And should I then, as if my words were only my own, be seeking to find whether men approved of them, or disapproved of them? In this way men will pronounce me a (sincere and simple[1]) boy. This is what is called being a co-worker with Heaven.

‘Outwardly bending (to the ruler), I shall be a co-worker with other men. To carry (the memorandum tablet to court)[2], to kneel, and to bend the body reverentially:-these are the observances of ministers. They all employ them, and should I presume not to do so? Doing what other men do, they would have no occasion to blame me. This

[1. Entirely unsophisticated, governed by the Tâo.

2. See the Lî Kî, XI, ii, 16, 11.]

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is what is called being a fellow-worker with other men.

‘Fully declaring my sentiments and substantiating them by appealing to antiquity, I shall be a co-worker with the ancients. Although the words in which I convey my lessons may really be condemnatory (of the ruler), they will be those of antiquity, and not my own. In this way, though straightforward, I shall be free from blame. This is what is called being a co-worker with antiquity. May I go to Wei in this way, and be successful?’ ‘No indeed!’ said Kung-nî. ‘How can you do so? You have too many plans of proceeding, and have not spied out (the ruler’s character). Though you firmly adhere to your plans, you may be held free from transgression, but this will be all the result. How can you (in this way) produce the transformation (which you desire)? All this only shows (in you) the mind of a teacher!’

2. Yen Hui said, ‘I can go no farther; I venture to ask the method from you.’ Kung-nî replied, ‘It is fasting[1], (as) I will tell you. (But) when you have the method, will you find it easy to practise it? He who thinks it easy will be disapproved of by the bright Heaven.’ Hui said, ‘My family is poor. For months together we have no spirituous drink, nor do we taste the proscribed food or any strong-smelling vegetables[2];–can this be regarded as fasting?’ The reply was, ‘It is the fasting appropriate to sacrificing, but it is not the fasting

[1. The term is emphatic, as Confucius goes on to explain.

2. Such as onions and garlic, with horse, dog, cow, goose, and pigeon.]

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of the mind.’ ‘I venture to ask what that fasting of the mind is,’ said Hui, and Kung-nî answered, ‘Maintain a perfect unity in every movement of your will. You will not wait for the hearing of your ears about it, but for the hearing of your mind. You will not wait even for the hearing of your mind, but for the hearing of the spirit[1]. Let the hearing (of the ears) rest with the ears. Let the mind rest in the verification (of the rightness of what is in the will). But the spirit is free from all pre-occupation and so waits for (the appearance of) things. Where the (proper) course is[2], there is freedom from all pre-occupation;–such freedom is the fasting of the mind.’ Hui said[3], ‘Before it was possible for me to employ (this method), there I was, the Hui that I am; now, that I can employ it, the Hui that I was has passed away. Can I be said to have obtained this freedom from pre-occupation?’ The Master replied, ‘Entirely. I tell you that you can enter and be at ease in the enclosure (where he is), and not come into collision with the reputation (which belongs to him). If he listen to your counsels, let him hear your notes; if he will not listen, be silent. Open no (other) door; employ no other medicine; dwell with him (as with a. friend) in the same apartment, and as if you had no other option, and you will not be far from success in your object. Not to move a step is easy;–to walk without treading on the ground is difficult. In acting after the manner of men, it is easy to fall

[1. The character in the text for ‘spirit’ here is ###, ‘the breath.’

2. The Tâo.

3. ‘Said;’ probably, after having made trial of this fasting.]

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into hypocrisy; in acting after the manner of Heaven, it is difficult to play the hypocrite. I have heard of flying with wings; I have not heard of flying without them. I have heard of the knowledge of the wise; I have not heard of the knowledge of the unwise. Look at that aperture (left in the wall);–the empty apartment is filled with light through it. Felicitous influences rest (in the mind thus emblemed), as in their proper resting place. Even when they do not so rest, we have what is called (the body) seated and (the mind) galloping abroad. The information that comes through the ears and eyes is comprehended internally, and the knowledge of the mind becomes something external:–(when this is the case), the spiritual intelligences will come, and take up their dwelling with us, and how much more will other men do so! All things thus undergo a transforming influence. This was the hinge on which Yü and Shun moved; it was this which Fû-hsî[1] and Kî-khü[2] practised all their lives: how much more should other men follow the same rule!’

3. Dze-kâo[3], duke of Sheh, being about to proceed on a mission to Khî, asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘The king is sending me, Kû-liang[3], on a mission which

[1. Often spoken of as Fo-hî, the founder of the Chinese kingdom. His place in chronology should be assigned to him more than B.C. 3000 rather than under that date.

2. A predecessor of Fû-hsî, a sovereign of the ancient paradisiacal time.

3. The name of Sheh remains in Sheh-hsien, a district of the department Nan-yang, Ho-nan. Its governor, who is the subject of this narrative, was a Shän Kû-liang, styled dze-kâo. He was {footnote p. 211} not a duke, but as the counts of Khû had usurped the name of king, they gave high-sounding names to all their ministers and officers.]

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is very important. Khî will probably treat me as his commissioner with great respect, but it will not be in a hurry (to attend to the business). Even an ordinary man cannot be readily moved (to action), and how much less the prince of a state! I am very full of apprehension. You, Sir, once said to me that of all things, great or small, there were few which, if not conducted in the proper way[1], could be brought to a happy conclusion; that, if the thing were not successful, there was sure to be the evil of being dealt with after the manner of men[2]; that, if it were successful, there was sure to be the evil of constant anxiety[3]; and that, whether it succeeded or not, it was only the virtuous man who could secure its not being followed by evil. In my diet I take what is coarse, and do not seek delicacies,–a man whose cookery does not require him to be using cooling, drinks. This morning I received my charge, and in the evening I am drinking iced water;–am I not feeling the internal heat (and discomfort)? Such is my state before I have actually engaged in the affair;–I am already suffering from conflicting anxieties. And if the thing do not succeed, (the king) is sure to deal with me after the manner of men. The evil is twofold; as a minister, I am not able to bear the burden (of the mission). Can

[1. Or, ‘according to the Tâo.’

2. As a criminal; punished by his sovereign.

3. Anxiety ‘night and day,’ or ‘cold and hot’ fits of trouble;–a peculiar usage of Yin Yang.]

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you, Sir, tell me something (to help me in the case)?’

Kung-nî replied, ‘In all things under heaven there are two great cautionary considerations:–the one is the requirement implanted (in the nature)[1]; the other is the conviction of what is right. The love of a son for his parents is the implanted requirement, and can never be separated from his heart; the service of his ruler by a minister is what is right, and from its obligation there is no escaping anywhere between heaven and earth. These are what are called the great cautionary considerations. Therefore a son finds his rest in serving his parents without reference to or choice of place; and this is the height of filial duty. In the same way a subject finds his rest in serving his ruler, without reference to or choice of the business; and this is the fullest discharge of loyalty. When men are simply obeying (the dictates of) their hearts, the considerations of grief and joy are not readily set before them. They know that there is no alternative to their acting as they do, and rest in it as what is appointed; and this is the highest achievement of virtue. He who is in the position of a minister or of a son has indeed to do what he cannot but do. Occupied with the details of the business (in hand), and forgetful of his own person, what leisure has he to think of his pleasure in living or his dislike of death? You, my master, may well proceed on your mission.

‘But let me repeat to you what I have heard:–In

[1. The Ming of the text here is that in the first sentence of the Kung Yung.]

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all intercourse (between states), if they are near to each other, there should be mutual friendliness, verified by deeds; if they are far apart, there must be sincere adherence to truth in their messages. Those messages will be transmitted by internuncios. But to convey messages which express the complacence or the dissatisfaction of the two parties is the most difficult thing in the world. If they be those of mutual complacence, there is sure to be an overflow of expressions of satisfaction; if of mutual dissatisfaction, an overflow of expressions of dislike. But all extravagance leads to reckless language, and such language fails to command belief. When this distrust arises, woe to the internuncio! Hence the Rules for Speech I say, “Transmit the message exactly as it stands; do not transmit it with any overflow of language; so is (the internuncio) likely to keep himself whole.”

4. ‘Moreover, skilful wrestlers begin with open trials of strength, but always end with masked attempts (to gain the victory); as their excitement grows excessive, they display much wonderful dexterity. Parties drinking according to the rules at first observe good order, but always end with disorder; as their excitement grows excessive, their fun becomes uproarious[2]. In all things it is so. People are at first sincere, but always end with becoming rude; at the commencement things are treated as trivial,

[1. Probably a Collection of Directions current at the time; and which led to the name of Yang Hsiung’s Treatise with the same name in our first century.

2. See the Shih, II, vii, 6.]

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but as the end draws near, they assume great proportions. Words are (like) the waves acted on by the wind; the real point of the matters (discussed by them) is lost. The wind and waves are easily set in motion; the success of the matter of which the real point is lost is easily put in peril. Hence quarrels are occasioned by nothing so much as by artful words and one-sided speeches. The breath comes angrily, as when a beast, driven to death, wildly bellows forth its rage. On this animosities arise on both sides. Hasty examination (of the case) eagerly proceeds, and revengeful thoughts arise in their minds;-they do not know how. Since they do not know how such thoughts arise, who knows how they will end? Hence the Rules for Speech[1] say, “Let not an internuncius depart from his instructions. Let him not urge on a settlement. If he go beyond the regular rules, he will complicate matters. Departing from his instructions and urging on a settlement imperils negotiations. A good settlement is proved by its lasting long, and a bad settlement cannot be altered;–ought he not to be careful? ”

‘Further still, let your mind find its enjoyment in the circumstances of your position; nourish the central course which you pursue, by a reference to your unavoidable obligations. This is the highest object for you to pursue; what else can you do to fulfil the charge (of your father and ruler)[2]. The best thing you can do is to be prepared to sacrifice your life; and this is the most difficult thing to do.’

[1. See above, on preceding page.

2. Not meaning the king of Khû; but the Tâo, whose will was to be found in his nature and the conditions of his lot.]

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5. Yen Ho[1], being about to undertake the office of Teacher of the eldest son of duke Ling of Wei, consulted Kü Po-yü[2]. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘is this (young) man, whose natural disposition is as bad as it could be. If I allow him to proceed in a bad way, it will be at the peril of our state; if I insist on his proceeding in a right way, it will be at the peril of my own person. His wisdom is just sufficient to know the errors of other men, but he does not know how he errs himself What am I to do in such a case?’ Kü Po-yü replied, ‘Good indeed is your question! Be on your guard; be careful; see that you keep yourself correct! Your best plan will be, with your person to seek association with him, and with your mind to try to be in harmony with him; and yet there are dangers connected with both of these things. While seeking to keep near to him, do not enter into his pursuits; while cultivating a harmony of mind with him, do not show how superior you are to him. If in your personal association you enter into his pursuits, you will fall with him and be ruined, you will tumbledown with a crash. If in maintaining a harmony with his mind, you show how different you are from him, he will think you do so for the reputation and the name, and regard you as a creature of evil omen[3]. If you find him to be a mere boy, be you with him as another boy; if you find him one of those who will not have their ground marked out in the ordinary way, do you humour

[1. A member of the Yen family of Lû. We shall meet with him again in Books XIX, XXVIII, and XXXII.

2. A minister of Wei; a friend and favourite of Confucius.

3. Compare in the Kung Yung, ii, ch. 24.]

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him in this characteristic[1]; if you find him to be free from lofty airs, show yourself to be the same;(ever) leading him on so as to keep him free from faults.

‘Do you not know (the fate of) the praying mantis? It angrily stretches out its arms, to arrest the progress of the carriage, unconscious of its inability for such a task, but showing how much it thinks of its own powers. Be on your guard; be careful. If you cherish a boastful confidence in your own excellence, and place yourself in collision with him, you are likely to incur the fate (of the mantis).

‘Do you not know how those who keep tigers proceed? They do not dare to supply them with living creatures, because of the rage which their killing of them will excite. They do not (even) dare to give them their food whole, because of the rage which their rending of it will excite. They watch till their hunger is appeased, (dealing with them) from their knowledge of their natural ferocity. Tigers are different from men, but they fawn on those who feed them, and do so in accordance with their nature. When any of these are killed by them, it is because they have gone against that nature.

‘Those again who are fond of horses preserve their dung in baskets, and their urine in jars. If musquitoes and gadflies light on them, and the grooms brush them suddenly away, the horses break their bits, injure (the ornaments on) their heads, and smash those on their breasts. The more care that is taken of them, the more does their fondness

[1. Equivalent to I Do not cross him in his peculiarities.’]

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(for their attendants) disappear. Ought not caution to be exercised (in the management of them)?’

6. A (master) mechanic, called Shih, on his way to Khî, came to Khü-yüan[1], where he saw an oak-tree, which was used as the altar for the spirits of the land. It was so large that an ox standing behind it could not be seen. It measured a hundred spans round, and rose up eighty cubits on the hill before it threw out any branches, after which there were ten or so, from each of which a boat could be hollowed out. People came to see it in crowds as in a market place, but the mechanic did not look round at it, but held on his way without stopping. One of his workmen, however, looked long and admiringly at it, and then ran on to his master, and said to him, ‘Since I followed you with my axe and bill, I have never seen such a beautiful mass of timber as this. Why would you, Sir, not look round at it, but went on without stopping?’ ‘Have done,’ said Mr. Shih, ‘and do not speak about it. It is quite useless. A boat made from its wood would sink; a coffin or shell would quickly rot; an article of furniture would soon go to pieces; a door would be covered with the exuding sap; a pillar would be riddled by insects; the material of it is good for nothing, and hence it is that it has attained to so great an age[2].’

[1. The name of a place; of a road; of a bend in the road; of a hill. All these accounts of the name are found in different editions of our author, showing that the locality had not been identified.

2. No one has thought it worth cutting down.]

{p. 218}

When Mr. Shih was returning, the altar-oak appeared to him in a dream, and said, I What other tree will you compare with me? Will you compare me to one of your ornamental trees? There are hawthorns, pear-trees, orange-trees, pummelo-trees, gourds and other low fruit-bearing plants. When their fruits are ripe, they are knocked down from them, and thrown among the dirt[1]. The large branches are broken, and the smaller are torn away. So it is that their productive ability makes their lives bitter to them; they do not complete their natural term of existence, but come to a premature end in the middle of their time, bringing on themselves the destructive treatment which they ordinarily receive. It is so with all things. I have sought to discover how it was that I was so useless;–I had long done so, till (the effort) nearly caused my death; and now I have learned it:–it has been of the greatest use to me. Suppose that I had possessed useful properties, should I have become of the great size that I am? And moreover you and I are both things;–how should one thing thus pass its judgment on another? how is it that you a useless man know all this about me a useless tree?’ When Mr. Shih awoke, he kept thinking about his dream, but the workman said, ‘Being so taken with its uselessness, how is it that it yet acts here as the altar for the spirits of the land?’ ‘Be still,’ was the master’s reply, ‘and do not say a word. It simply happened to grow here; and thus those who do not know it do not speak ill of it as an evil thing. If it were not used as the altar, would it be in danger of

[1. This is the indignity intended.]

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being cut down? Moreover, the reason of its being preserved is different from that of the preservation of things generally; is not your explaining it from the sentiment which you have expressed wide of the mark?’

7. Nan-po Dze-khî[1] in rambling about the Heights of Shang[2], saw a large and extraordinary tree. The teams of a thousand chariots might be sheltered under it, and its shade would cover them all! Dze-khî said, ‘What a tree is this! It must contain an extraordinary amount of timber! When he looked up, however, at its smaller branches, they were so twisted and crooked that they could not be made into rafters and beams; when he looked down to its root, its stem was divided into so many rounded portions that neither coffin nor shell could be made from them. He licked one of its leaves, and his mouth felt torn and wounded. The smell of it would make a man frantic, as if intoxicated, for more than three whole days together. ‘This, indeed,’ said he, ‘is a tree good for nothing, and it is thus that it has attained to such a size. Ah! and spirit-like men acknowledge this worthlessness (and its result)[3].’

In Sung there is the district of King-shih[4], in which catalpae, cypresses, and mulberry trees grow well. Those of them which are a span or two or rather more in circumference[5] are cut down by persons who want to make posts to which to tie their

[1. Probably the Nan-kwo Dze-khî at the beginning of the second Book.

2. In the present department of Kwei-teh, Ho-nan.

3. A difficult sentence to construe.

4. In what part of the duchy we do not know.

5. See Mencius, VI, i, 13.]

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monkeys; those which are three or four spans round are cut down by persons who want beams for their lofty and famous houses; and those of seven or eight spans are cut down by noblemen and rich merchants who want single planks for the sides of their coffins. The trees in consequence do not complete their natural term of life, and come to a premature end in the middle of their growth under the axe and bill;–this is the evil that befalls them from their supplying good timber.

In the same way the Kieh[1] (book) specifies oxen that have white foreheads, pigs that have turned-up snouts, and men that are suffering from piles, and forbids their being sacrificed to the Ho. The wizards know them by these peculiarities and consider them to be inauspicious, but spirit-like men consider them on this account to be very fortunate.

8. There was the deformed object Shû[2]. His chin seemed to hide his navel; his shoulders were higher than the crown of his head; the knot of his hair pointed to the sky; his five viscera were all compressed into the upper part of his body, and his two thigh bones were like ribs. By sharpening needles and washing clothes he was able to make a living. By sifting rice and cleaning it, he was able to support ten individuals. When the government was calling out soldiers, this poor Shû would bare his arms among the others; when it had any great service to be undertaken, because of his constant ailments, none of the work was assigned to him; when it was

[1. Probably the name of an old work on sacrifices. But was there ever a time in China when human sacrifices were offered to the Ho, or on any altar?

2. One of Kwang-dze’s creations.]

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giving out grain to the sick, he received three kung, and ten bundles of firewood. If this poor man, so deformed in body, was still able to support himself, and complete his term of life, how much more may they do so, whose deformity is that of their faculties[1]!

9. When Confucius went to Khû[2], Khieh-yû, the madman of Khû[3], as he was wandering about, passed by his door, and said, ‘O Phoenix, O Phoenix, how is your virtue degenerated! The future is not to be waited for; the past is not to be sought again! When good order prevails in the world, the sage tries to accomplish all his service; when disorder prevails, he may preserve his life; at the present time, it is enough if he simply escape being punished. Happiness is lighter than a feather, but no one knows how to support it; calamity is heavier than the earth, and yet no one knows how to avoid it. Give over! give over approaching men with the lessons of your virtue! You are in peril! you are in peril, hurrying on where you have marked out the ground against your advance! I avoid publicity, I avoid publicity, that my path may not be injured. I pursue my course, now going backwards, now crookedly, that my feet may not be hurt[4].

[1. The deficiency of their faculties–here mental faculties–would assimilate them to the useless trees in the last two paragraphs, whose uselessness only proved useful to them.

2. The great state of the south, having its capital in the present Hû-pei.

3 See the Analects, XVIII, v.

4 The madman would seem to contrast his own course with that of Confucius; but the meaning is very uncertain, and the text cannot be discussed fully in these short notes. There is a jingle {footnote p. 222} of rhyme also in the sentence, and some critics find something like this in them:

‘Ye ferns, ye thorny ferns, O injure not my way!
To save my feet, I backward turn, or winding stray!’

]

{p. 222}

‘The mountain by its trees weakens itself[1]. The grease which ministers to the fire fries itself The cinnamon tree can be eaten, and therefore it is cut down. The varnish tree is useful, and therefore incisions are made in it. All men know the advantage of being useful, but no one knows the advantage of being useless.’

[1. Literally, ‘robs itself;’–exhausts its moisture or productive strength.]

{p. 223}
BOOK V.
PART I. SECTION V.
Teh Khung Fû, or ‘The Seal of Virtue Complete[1].’

1. In Lû[2] there was a Wang Thâi[3] who had lost both his feet[4]; while his disciples who followed and went about with him were as numerous as those of Kung-nî. Khang Kî[5] asked Kung-nî about him, saying, ‘Though Wang Thâi is a cripple, the disciples who follow him about divide Lû equally with you, Master. When he stands, he does not teach them; when he sits, he does not discourse to them. But they go to him empty, and come back full. Is there indeed such a thing as instruction without words[6]? and while the body is imperfect, may the mind be complete? What sort of man is he?’

Kung-nî replied, ‘This master is a sage. I have

[1. See pp. 133, 134.

2. The native state of Confucius, part of the present Shan-tung.

3. A Tâoist of complete virtue; but probably there was not really such a person. Our author fabricates him according to his fashion.

4. The character uh (###) does not say that he had lost both his feet, but I suppose that such is the meaning, because of what is said of Toeless below that ‘he walked on his heels to see Confucius.’ The feet must have been amputated, or mutilated rather (justly or unjustly), as a punishment; but Kwang-dze wished to say nothing on that point.

5. Perhaps a disciple of Confucius;–not elsewhere mentioned as such.

6. Seethe Tâo Teh King, ch. 2.]

{p. 224}

only been too late in going to him. I will make him my teacher; and how much more should those do so who are not equal to me! Why should only the state of Lû follow him? I will lead on all under heaven with me to do so.’ Khang Kî rejoined, ‘He is a man who has lost his feet, and yet he is known as the venerable Wang[1];–he must be very different from ordinary men. What is the peculiar way in which he employs his mind?’ The reply was, ‘Death and life are great considerations, but they could work no change in him. Though heaven and earth were to be overturned and fall, they would occasion him no loss. His judgment is fixed regarding that in which there is no element of falsehood[2]; and, while other things change, he changes not. The transformations of things are to him the developments prescribed for them, and he keeps fast hold of the author of them[2].’

Khang Kî said, ‘What do you mean? When we look at things,’ said Kung-nî, ‘as they differ, we see them to be different, (as for instance) the liver and the gall, or Khû and Yüeh; when we look at them, as they agree, we see them all to be a unity. So it is with this (Wang Thai). He takes no knowledge of the things for which his ears and eyes are the appropriate organs, but his mind delights itself in the harmony of (all excellent) qualities. He looks at the unity which belongs to things, and does not perceive where they have suffered loss. He looks

[1. Literally, ‘the Senior;’ often rendered ‘Teacher.’

2. ‘That in which there is no element of falsehood’ is the Tâo, which also is the ‘Author’ of all the changes that take place in time and space. See the Introductory Note on the title and subject of the Book.]

{p. 225}

on the loss of his feet as only the loss of so much earth.’

Khang Kî said, ‘He is entirely occupied with his (proper) self[1]. By his knowledge he has discovered (the nature of) his mind, and to that he holds as what is unchangeable[1]; but how is it that men make so much of him?’ The reply was, ‘Men do not look into running water as a mirror, but into still water;–it is only the still water that can arrest them all, and keep them (in the contemplation of their real selves). Of things which are what they are by the influence of the earth, it is only the pine and cypress which are the best instances;-in winter as in summer brightly green[2]. Of those which were what they were by the influence of Heaven[3], the most correct examples were Yâo and Shun; fortunate in (thus) maintaining their own life correct, and so as to correct the lives of others.

‘As a verification of the (power of) the original endowment, when it has been preserved, take the result of fearlessness,-how the heroic spirit of a single brave soldier has been thrown into an army of nine hosts[4]. If a man only seeking for fame and able in this way to secure it can produce such an effect, how much more (may we look for a greater

[1. Wang Thâi saw all things in the Tâo, and the Tâo in all things. Comp. Book XI, par. 7, et al.

2. Notwithstanding his being a cripple. He forgets that circumstance himself, and all others forget it, constrained and won by his embodiment of the Tâo. What follows is an illustration of this, exaggerated indeed, but not so extravagantly as in many other passages.

3. In the Tâoistic meaning of the term.

4. The royal army consisted of six hosts; that of a great feudal prince of three. ‘Nine hosts’ = a very great army.]

{p. 226}

result) from one whose rule is over heaven and earth, and holds all things in his treasury, who simply has his lodging in the six members[1] of his body, whom his ears and eyes serve but as conveying emblematic images of things, who comprehends all his knowledge in a unity, and whose mind never dies! If such a man were to choose a day on which he would ascend far on high, men would (seek to) follow him there. But how should he be willing to occupy himself with other men?’

2. Shän-thû Kîa[2] was (another) man who had lost his feet. Along with dze-khân[3] of Käng[3] he studied under the master Po-hwän Wû-zän[4]. Dze-khân said to him (one day), ‘If I go out first, do you remain behind; and if you go out first, I will remain behind.’ Next day they were again sitting together on the same mat in the hall, when Dze-khân spoke the same words to him, adding,’ Now I am about to go out; will you stay behind or not? Moreover, when you see one of official rank (like myself), you do not try to get out of his way;-do you consider yourself equal to one of official rank?’ Shän-thû Kîa replied, ‘In our Master’s school is there indeed such recognition required of official rank? You are one, Sir, whose pleasure is in your official rank, and would therefore take precedence of other men. I

[1. The arms, legs, head, and trunk.

2. Another cripple introduced by our author to serve his purpose.

3. Kung-sun Khiâo; a good and able minister of Kang, an earldom forming part of the present Ho-nan. He was a contemporary of Confucius, who wept when he heard of his death in B. C. 522. He was a scion of the ruling house, which again was a branch of the royal family of Kâu.

4. A Tâoist teacher. See XXI, par. 9; XXXII, par. 1.]

{p. 227}

have heard that when a mirror is bright, the dust does not rest on it; when dust rests on it the mirror is not bright. When one dwells long with a man of ability and virtue, he comes to be without error. There now is our teacher whom you have chosen to make you greater than you are; and when you still talk in this way, are you not in error?’ Dze-khân rejoined, ‘A (shattered) object as you are, you would still strive to make yourself out as good as Yâo! If I may form an estimate of your virtue, might it not be sufficient to lead you to the examination of yourself?’ The other said, ‘Most criminals, in describing their offences, would make it out that they ought not to have lost (their feet) for them; few would describe them so as to make it appear that they should not have preserved their feet. They are only the virtuous who know that such a calamity was unavoidable, and therefore rest in it as what was appointed for them. When men stand before (an archer like) Î[1] with his bent bow, if they are in the middle of his field, that is the place where they should be hit; and if they be not hit, that also was appointed. There are many with their feet entire who laugh at me because I have lost my feet, which makes me feel vexed and angry. But when I go to our teacher, I throw off that feeling, and return (to a better mood);–he has washed, without my knowing it, the other from me by (his instructions in) what is good. I have attended him now for nineteen years, and have not known that I am without my feet. Now, you, Sir, and I have for the object of our study the

[1. A famous archer of antiquity in the twenty-second century B.C., or perhaps earlier.]

{p. 228}

(virtue) which is internal, and not an adjunct of the body, and yet you are continually directing your attention to my external body;–are you not wrong in this?’ Dze-khân felt uneasy, altered his manner and looks, and said, ‘You need not, Sir, say anything more about it.’

3. In Lû there was a cripple, called Shû-shan the Toeless[1], who came on his heels to see Kung-nî. Kung-nî said to him, ‘By your want of circumspection in the past, Sir, you have incurred such a calamity;–of what use is your coming to me now?’ Toeless said, ‘Through my ignorance of my proper business and taking too little care of my body, I came to lose my feet. But now I am come to you, still possessing what is more honourable than my feet, and which therefore I am anxious to preserve entire. There is nothing which Heaven does not cover, and nothing which Earth does not sustain; you, Master, were regarded by me as doing the part of Heaven and Earth;–how could I know that you would receive me in such a way?’ Confucius rejoined, ‘I am but a poor creature. But why, my master, do you not come inside, where I will try to tell you what I have learned?’ When Toeless had gone out, Confucius said, ‘Be stimulated to effort, my disciples. This toeless cripple is still anxious to learn to make up for the evil of his former conduct;–how much more should those be so whose conduct has been unchallenged!’

Mr. Toeless, however, told Lâo Tan (of the interview),

[1. ‘Toeless’ is a sort of nickname. Shû-shan or Shû hill was, probably, where he dwelt:–‘Toeless of Shû hill.’]

{p. 229}

saying, ‘Khung Khiû, I apprehend, has not yet attained to be a Perfect man. What has he to do with keeping a crowd of disciples around him? He is seeking to have the reputation of being an extraordinary and marvellous man, and does not know that the Perfect man considers this to be as handcuffs and fetters to him.’ Lâo Tan said, ‘Why did you not simply lead him to see the unity of life and death, and that the admissible and inadmissible belong to one category, so freeing him from his fetters? Would this be possible?’ Toeless said, ‘It is the punishment inflicted on him by Heaven[1]. How can he be freed from it?’

4. Duke Âi of Lû[2] asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘There was an ugly man in Wei, called Âi-thâi Tho[3] . His father-in-law, who lived with him, thought so much of him that he could not be away from him. His wife, when she saw him (ugly as he was), represented to her parents, saying, “I had more than ten times rather be his concubine than the wife of any other man[4].” He was never heard to take the lead in discussion, but always seemed to be of the same opinion with others. He had not the position of a ruler, so as to be able to save men from death. He had no revenues, so as to be able to satisfy men’s craving for food. He was ugly enough, moreover, to scare

[1. ‘Heaven’ here is a synonym of Tâo. Perhaps the meaning is ‘unavoidable;’ it is so in the Tâoistic order of things.

2. It was in the sixteenth year of duke Âi that Confucius died. Âi was marquis of Lû from B.C. 494 to 468.

3 The account of Âi-thâi Tho is of course Kwang-dze’s own fabrication. Âi-thâi is understood to be descriptive of his ugliness, and Tho to be his name.

4 Perhaps this was spoken by his wife before their marriage.]

{p. 230}

the whole world. He agreed with men instead of trying to lead them to adopt his views; his knowledge did not go beyond his immediate neighbourhood[1]. And yet his father-in-law and his wife were of one mind about him in his presence (as I have said);–he must have been different from other men. I called him, and saw him. Certainly he was ugly enough to scare the whole world. He had not lived with me, however. for many months, when I was drawn to the man; and before he had been with me a full year, I had confidence in him. The state being without a chief minister, I (was minded) to commit the government to him. He responded to my proposal sorrowfully, and looked undecided as if he would fain have declined it. I was ashamed of myself (as inferior to him), but finally gave the government into his hands. In a little time, however, he left me and went away. I was sorry and felt that I had sustained a loss, and as if there were no other to share the pleasures of the kingdom with me. What sort of man was he?’

Kung-nî said, ‘Once when I was sent on a mission to Khû, I saw some pigs sucking at their dead mother. After a little they looked with rapid glances, when they all left her, and ran away. They felt that she did not see them, and that she was no longer like themselves. What they had loved in their mother was not her bodily figure, but what had given animation to her figure. When a man dies in battle, they do not at his interment employ the usual appendages

[1. One sees dimly the applicability of this illustration to the case in hand. What made Âi-thâi Tho so much esteemed was his mental power, quite independent of his ugly person.]

{p. 231}

of plumes[1]: as to supplying shoes to one who has lost his feet, there is no reason why he should care for them;–in neither case is there the proper reason for their use’. The members of the royal harem do not pare their nails nor pierce their ears[2]; when a man is newly married, he remains (for a time) absent from his official duties, and unoccupied with them[2]. That their bodies might be perfect was sufficient to make them thus dealt with;–how much greater results should be expected from men whose mental gifts are perfect! This Âi-thâi Tho was believed by men, though he did not speak a word, and was loved by them, though he did no special service for them. He made men appoint him to the government of their states, afraid only that he would not accept the appointment. He must have been a man whose powers[3] were perfect, though his realisation of them[3] was not manifested in his person.’

Duke Âi said, ‘What is meant by saying that his powers were complete?’ Kung-nî replied, ‘Death and life, preservation and ruin, failure and success, poverty and wealth, superiority and inferiority, blame and praise, hunger and thirst, cold and heat;–these are the changes of circumstances, the operation of our appointed lot. Day and night they succeed to one another before us, but there is no wisdom

[1. See the Lî Kî VIII, i, 7; but the applicability of these two illustrations is not so clear.

2. These two have force as in ‘reasoning from the less to t e greater.’ With the latter of the two compare the mosaical provision in Deuteronomy xxiv. 5.

3. ‘Powers’ are the capacities of the nature,–the gift of the Tâo. ‘Virtue’ is the realisation or carrying out of those capacities.]

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able to discover to what they owe their origination. They are not sufficient therefore to disturb the harmony (of the nature), and are not allowed to enter into the treasury of intelligence. To cause this harmony and satisfaction ever to be diffused, while the feeling of pleasure is not lost from the mind; to allow no break to arise in this state day or night, so that it is always spring-time[1] in his relations with external things; in all his experiences to realise in his mind what is appropriate to each season (of the year)[2]:–these are the characteristics of him whose powers are perfect.’

‘And what do you mean by the realisation of these powers not being manifested in the person?’ (pursued further the duke). The reply was, ‘There is nothing so level as the surface of a pool of still water. It may serve as an example of what I mean. All within its circuit is preserved (in peace), and there comes to it no agitation from without. The virtuous efficacy is the perfect cultivation of the harmony (of the nature). Though the realisation of this be not manifested in the person, things cannot separate themselves (from its influence).’

Some days afterwards duke Âi told this conversation to Min-dze[3], saying, ‘Formerly it seemed to me the work of the sovereign to stand in court with his face to the south, to rule the kingdom, and to pay good heed to the accounts of the people concerned, lest any should come to a (miserable) death;–this

[1. Specially the season of complacent enjoyment.

2. So, in Lin Hsî-kung; but the meaning has to be forced out of the text.

3. The disciple Min Sun or Min Dze-Khien.]

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I considered to be the sum (of his duty). Now that I have heard that description of the Perfect man, I fear that my idea is not the real one, and that, by employing myself too lightly, I may cause the ruin of my state. I and Khung Khiû are not on the footing of ruler and subject, but on that of a virtuous friendship.’

5. A person who had no lips, whose legs were bent so that he could only walk on his toes, and who was (otherwise) deformed[1], addressed his counsels to duke Ling of Wei, who was so pleased with him, that he looked on a perfectly formed man as having a lean and small neck in comparison with him. Another who had a large goitre like an earthenware jar[1] addressed his counsels to duke Hwan of Khî[2], who was so pleased with him that he looked on a perfectly formed man as having a neck lean and small in comparison with him[3]. So it is that when one’s virtue is extraordinary, (any deficiency in) his bodily form may be forgotten. When men do not forget what is (easily) forgotten, and forget what is not (easily) forgotten, we have a case of real oblivion. Therefore the sagely man has that in which his mind finds its enjoyment, and (looks on) wisdom as (but) the shoots from an old stump; agreements with others are to him but so much glue; kindnesses are

[1. These two men are undoubtedly inventions of Kwang-dze. They are brought before us, not by surnames and names, but by their several deformities.

2. The first of the five presiding chiefs; marquis of Khî from B.C. 685 to 643.

3. Lin Hsî-kung wonders whether the story of the man who was so taken with the charms of a one-eyed courtesan, that he thought other women all had an eye too many, was taken from this!]

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(but the arts of) intercourse; and great skill is (but as) merchants’ wares. The sagely man lays no plans;–of what use would wisdom be to him? He has no cutting and hacking to do;–of what use would glue be to him? He has lost nothing; of what use would arts of intercourse be to him? He has no goods to dispose of;–what need has he to play the merchant? (The want of) these four things are the nourishment of (his) Heavenly (nature); that nourishment is its Heavenly food. Since he receives this food from Heaven, what need has he for anything of man’s (devising)? He has the bodily form of man, but not the passions and desires of (other) men. He has the form of man, and therefore he is a man. Being without the passions and desires of men, their approvings and disapprovings are not to be found in him. How insignificant and small is (the body) by which he belongs to humanity! How grand and great is he in the unique perfection of his Heavenly (nature)!

Hui-dze said to Kwang-dze, ‘Can a man indeed be without desires and passions?’ The reply was, ‘He can.’ ‘But on what grounds do you call him a man, who is thus without passions and desires?’ Kwang-dze said, ‘The Tâo[1] gives him his personal appearance (and powers); Heaven[2] gives him his bodily form; how should we not call him a man?’ Hui-dze rejoined, ‘Since you call him a man, how

[1. Lû Shû-kih maintains here that ‘the Tâo’ and ‘Heaven’ have the same meaning; nor does he make any distinction between mâo (###), ‘the personal appearance,’ and hsing (###), ‘the figure’ or ‘bodily form.’

2. Compare in the Tâo Teh King expressions in li, 2, and lv, 5.]

{p. 235}

can he be without passions and desires?’ The reply was, ‘You are misunderstanding what I mean by passions and desires. What I mean when I say that he is without these is, that this man does not by his likings and dislikings do any inward harm to his body;–he always pursues his course without effort, and does not (try to) increase his (store of) life.’ Hui-dze rejoined, ‘If there were not that increasing of (the amount) of life, how would he get his body’?’ Kwang-dze said, ‘The Tâo gives him his personal appearance (and powers); Heaven gives him his bodily form; and he does not by his likings and dislikings do any internal harm to his body. But now you, Sir, deal with your spirit as if it were something external to you, and subject your vital powers to toil. You sing (your ditties), leaning against a tree; you go to sleep, grasping the stump of a rotten dryandra tree. Heaven selected for you the bodily form (of a man), and you babble about what is strong and what is white[2].’

[1. Apparently a gross meaning attached by Hui-dze to Kwang-dze’s words.

2 Kwang-dze beats down his opponent, and contemptuously refers to some of his well-known peculiarities;–as in II, par. 5, XXXIII, par. 7, and elsewhere.]

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BOOK VI.
PART I. SECTION VI.
Tâ Zung Shih, or ‘The Great and Most Honoured Master[1].’

1. He who knows the part which the Heavenly[2] (in him) plays, and knows(also)that which the Human[2] (in him ought to) play, has reached the perfection (of knowledge). He who knows the part which the Heavenly plays (knows) that it is naturally born with him; he who knows the part which the Human ought to play (proceeds) with the knowledge which he possesses to nourish it in the direction of what he does not (yet) know[3]:–to complete one’s natural term of years and not come to an untimely end in the middle of his course is the fulness of knowledge. Although it be so, there is an evil (attending this condition). Such knowledge still awaits the confirmation of it as correct; it does so because it is not yet determined[4]. How do we know that what

[1. See pp. 134-136.

2. Both ‘Heaven’ and ‘Man’ here are used in the Tâoistic sense;–the meaning which the terms commonly have both with Lao and Kwang.

3. The middle member of this sentence is said to be the practical outcome of all that is said in the Book; conducting the student of the Tâo to an unquestioning submission to the experiences in his lot, which are beyond his comprehension, and approaching nearly to what we understand by the Christian virtue of Faith.

4. That is, there may be the conflict, to the end of life, between {footnote p. 237} faith and fact, so graphically exhibited in the Book of job, and compendiously described in the seventy-third Psalm.]

{p. 237}

we call the Heavenly (in us) is not the Human? and that what we call the Human is not the Heavenly? There must be the True man[1], and then there is the True knowledge.

2. What is meant by ‘the True Man[2]?’ The True men of old did not reject (the views of) the few; they did not seek to accomplish (their ends) like heroes (before others); they did not lay plans to attain those ends[3]. Being such, though they might make mistakes, they had no occasion for repentance; though they might succeed, they had no self-complacency. Being such, they could ascend the loftiest heights without fear; they could pass through water without being made wet by it; they could go into fire without being burnt; so it was

[1. Here we meet with the True Man, a Master of the Tâo. He is the same as the Perfect Man, the Spirit-like Man, and the Sagely Man (see pp. 127, 128), and the designation is sometimes interchanged in the five paragraphs that follow with ‘the Sagely Man.’ Mr. Balfour says here that this name ‘is used in the esoteric sense,–“partaking of the essence of divinity;”‘ and he accordingly translates ### by ‘the divine man.’ But he might as well translate any one of the other three names in the same way. The Shwo Wän dictionary defines the name by ###, ‘a recluse of the mountain, whose bodily form has been changed, and who ascends to heaven;’ but when this account was made, Tâoism had entered into a new phase, different from what it had in the time of our author.

2. In this description of ‘the True Man,’ and in what follows, there is what is grotesque and what is exaggerated (see note on the title of the first Book, p. 127). The most prominent characteristic of him was his perfect comprehension of the Tâo and participation of it.

3. ### has here the sense of ###.]

{p. 238}

that by their knowledge they ascended to and reached the Tâo[1].

The True men of old did not dream when they slept, had no anxiety when they awoke, and did not care that their food should be pleasant. Their breathing came deep and silently. The breathing of the true man comes (even) from his heels, while men generally breathe (only) from their throats. When men are defeated in argument, their words come from their gullets as if they were vomiting. Where lusts and desires are deep, the springs of the Heavenly are shallow.

The True men of old knew nothing of the love of life or of the hatred of death. Entrance into life occasioned them no joy; the exit from it awakened no resistance. Composedly they went and came. They did not forget what their beginning had been, and they did not inquire into what their end would be. They accepted (their life) and rejoiced in it; they forgot (all fear of death), and returned (to their state before life)[1]. Thus there was in them what is called the want of any mind to resist the Tâo, and of all attempts by means of the Human to assist the Heavenly. Such were they who are called the True men.

3. Being such, their minds were free from all thought[2]; their demeanour was still and unmoved;

[1. Was not this the state of non-existence? We cannot say of Pantâoism. However we may describe that, the Tâo operates in nature, but is not identical with it.

2, ### appears in the common editions as ###, which must have got into the text at a very early time. ‘The mind forgetting,’ or ‘free from all thought and purpose,’ appears everywhere {footnote p. 239} in the Book as a characteristic of the True Man. Not a few critics contend that it was this, and not the Tâo of which it is a quality, that Kwang-dze intended by the ‘Master’ in the title.]

{p. 239}

their foreheads beamed simplicity. Whatever coldness came from them was like that of autumn; whatever warmth came from them was like that of spring. Their joy and anger assimilated to what we see in the four seasons. They did in regard to all things what was suitable, and no one could know how far their action would go. Therefore the sagely man might, in his conduct of war, destroy a state without losing the hearts of the people[1]; his benefits and favours might extend to a myriad generations without his being a lover of men. Hence he who tries to share his joys with others is not a sagely man; he who manifests affection is not benevolent; he who observes times and seasons (to regulate his conduct) is not a man of wisdom; he to whom profit and injury are not the same is not a superior man; he who acts for the sake of the name of doing so, and loses his (proper) self is not the (right) scholar; and he who throws away his person in a way which is not the true (way) cannot command the service of others. Such men as Hû Pû-kieh, Wû Kwang, Po-î, Shû-khî, the count of Kî, Hsü-yü, Kî Thâ, and Shän-thû Tî, all did service for other men, and sought to secure for them what they desired, not seeking their own pleasure[2].

[1. Such antithetic statements are startling, but they are common with both Lâo-dze and our author.

2. The seven men mentioned here are all adduced, I must suppose, as instances of good and worthy men, but still inferior to the True Man. Of Hû Pû-kieh all that we are told is that he was ‘an ancient worthy.’ One account of Wû Kwang is that he {footnote p. 240} was of the time of Hwang-Tî, with ears seven inches long; another, that he was of the time of Thang, of the Shang dynasty. Po-î and Shû-khî are known to us from the Analects; and also the count of Khî, whose name, it is said, was Hsü-yü. I can find nothing about Kî Thâ;–his name in Ziâo Hung’s text is ### Shän-thû Tî was of the Yin dynasty, a contemporary of Thang. He drowned himself in the Ho. Most of these are referred to in other places.]

{p. 240}

4. The True men of old presented the aspect of judging others aright, but without being partisans; of feeling their own insufficiency, but being without flattery or cringing. Their peculiarities were natural to them, but they were not obstinately attached to them; their humility was evident, but there was nothing of unreality or display about it. Their placidity and satisfaction had the appearance of joy; their every movement seemed to be a necessity to them. Their accumulated attractiveness drew men’s looks to them; their blandness fixed men’s attachment to their virtue. They seemed to accommodate themselves to the (manners of their age), but with a certain severity; their haughty indifference was beyond its control. Unceasing seemed their endeavours to keep (their mouths) shut; when they looked down, they had forgotten what they wished to say.

They considered punishments to be the substance (of government, and they never incurred it); ceremonies to be its supporting wings (and they always observed them); wisdom (to indicate) the time (for action, and they always selected it); and virtue to be accordance (with others), and they were all-accordant. Considering punishments to be the substance (of government), yet their generosity appeared in the (manner of their) infliction of death. Considering ceremonies to be its supporting wings, they pursued

{p. 241}

by means of them their course in the world. Considering wisdom to indicate the time (for action), they felt it necessary to employ it in (the direction of) affairs. Considering virtue to be accordance (with others), they sought to ascend its height along with all who had feet (to climb it). (Such were they), and yet men really thought that they did what they did by earnest effort[1].

5. In this way they were one and the same in all their likings and dislikings. Where they liked, they were the same; where they did not like, they were the same. In the former case where they liked, they were fellow-workers with the Heavenly (in them); in the latter where they disliked, they were coworkers with the Human in them. The one of these elements (in their nature) did not overcome the other. Such were those who are called the True men.

Death and life are ordained, just as we have the constant succession of night and day;–in both cases from Heaven. Men have no power to do anything in reference to them;–such is the constitution of things[2]. There are those who specially regard Heaven[3] as their father, and they still love It (distant as It is)[3];–how much more should they love

[1. All this paragraph is taken as illustrative of the True man’s freedom from thought or purpose in his course.

2. See note 3 on par. 1, p. 236.

3. Love is due to a parent, and so such persons should love Heaven. There is in the text here, I think, an unconscious reference to the earliest time, before the views of the earliest Chinese diverged to Theism and Tâoism. We cannot translate the ### here.]

{p. 242}

That which stands out (Superior and Alone)[1]! Some specially regard their ruler as superior to themselves, and will give their bodies to die for him; how much more should they do so for That which is their true (Ruler)[1]! When the springs are dried up, the fishes collect together on the land. Than that they should moisten one another there by the damp about them, and keep one another wet by their slime, it would be better for them to forget one another in the rivers and lakes[2]. And when men praise Yâo and condemn Kieh, it would be better to forget them both, and seek the renovation of the Tâo.

6. There is the great Mass (of nature);–I find the support of my body on it; my life is spent in toil on it; my old age seeks ease on it; at death I find rest in it;–what makes my life a good makes my death also a good[3]. If you hide away a boat in the ravine of a hill, and hide away the hill in a lake, you will say that (the boat) is secure; but at midnight there shall come a strong man and carry it off on his back, while you in the dark know nothing about it. You may hide away anything, whether small or great, in the most suitable place, and yet it shall disappear from it. But if you could hide the world in the world[4], so that there was nowhere to which it could be removed, this would be the grand reality of the

[1. The great and most honoured Master,–the Tâo.

2. This sentence contrasts the cramping effect on the mind of Confucianism with the freedom given by the doctrine of the Tâo.

3. The Tâo does this. The whole paragraph is an amplification of the view given in the preceding note.

4 The Tâo cannot be taken away. It is with its possessor, an ever-during thing.’]

{p. 243}

ever-during Thing[1]. When the body of man comes from its special mould[2], there is even then occasion for joy; but this body undergoes a myriad transformations, and does not immediately reach its perfection;–does it not thus afford occasion for joys incalculable? Therefore the sagely man enjoys himself in that from which there is no possibility of separation, and by which all things are preserved. He considers early death or old age, his beginning and his ending, all to be good, and in this other men imitate him;–how much more will they do so in regard to That Itself on which all things depend, and from which every transformation arises!

7. This is the Tâo;–there is in It emotion and sincerity, but It does nothing and has no bodily form[3]. It may be handed down (by the teacher), but may not be received (by his scholars). It may be apprehended (by the mind), but It cannot be seen. It has Its root and ground (of existence) in Itself. Before there were heaven and earth, from of old, there It was, securely existing. From It came the mysterious existences of spirits, from It the mysterious existence of God[4]. It produced heaven; It produced earth. It was before the Thâi-kî[5], and

[1. See p. 242, note 4.

2. Adopting the reading of ### for ###, supplied by Hwâi-nan dze.

3. Our author has done with ‘the True Man,’ and now brings in the Tâo itself as his subject. Compare the predicates of It here with Bk. II, par. 2. But there are other, and perhaps higher, things said of it here.

4. Men at a very early time came to believe in the existence of their spirits after death, and in the existence of a Supreme Ruler or God. It vas to the Tâo that those concepts were owing.

5. The primal ether out of which all things were fashioned by the interaction of the Yin and Yang. This was something like the {footnote p. 244} current idea of protoplasm; but while protoplasm lies down in the lower parts of the earth, the Thâi-kî was imagined to be in the higher regions of space.]

{p. 244}

yet could not be considered high[1]; It was below all space, and yet could not be considered deep[1]. It was produced before heaven and earth, and yet could not be considered to have existed long[1]; It was older than the highest antiquity, and yet could not be considered old[1].

Shih-wei got It[2], and by It adjusted heaven and earth. Fû-hsî got It, and by It penetrated to the mystery of the maternity of the primary matter. The Wei-tâu[3] got It, and from all antiquity has made no eccentric movement. The Sun and Moon got It, and from all antiquity have not intermitted (their bright shining). Khan-pei got It, and by It became lord of Khwän-lun[4]. Fäng-î[5] got It, and by It enjoyed himself in the Great River. Kien Wû[6] got It, and by It dwelt on mount Thâi. Hwang-Tî[7] got It, and by It ascended the cloudy sky. Kwan-hsü[8][1. The Tâo is independent both of space and time.

2. A prehistoric sovereign.

3. A name for the constellation of the Great Bear.

4. Name of the spirit of the Khwan-lun mountains in Thibet, the fairy-land of Tâoist writers, very much in Tâoism what mount Sumêru is in Buddhism.

5. The spirit presiding over the Yellow River;–see Mayers’s Manual, pp. 54, 55.

6. Appears here as the spirit of mount Thâi, the great eastern mountain; we met with him in I, 5, but simply as one of Kwang-dze’s fictitious personages.

7. Appears before in Bk. II; the first of Sze-mâ Khien’s ‘Five Tîs;’ no doubt a very early sovereign, to whom many important discoveries and inventions are ascribed; is placed by many at the head of Tâoism itself.

The second of the ‘Five Tîs;’ a grandson of Hwang-Tî. I do not know what to say of his ‘Dark Palace.’]

{p. 245}

got It, and by It dwelt in the Dark Palace. Yü-khiang[1] got It, and by It was set on the North Pole. Hsî Wang-mû[2] got It, and by It had her seat in (the palace of) Shâo-kwang. No one knows Its beginning; no one knows Its end. Phäng Zû got It, and lived on from the time of the lord of Yü to that of the Five Chiefs[3]. Fû Yüeh[4] got It, and by It became chief minister to Wû-ting[4], (who thus) in a trice became master of the kingdom. (After his death), Fû Yüeh mounted to the eastern portion of the Milky Way, where, riding on Sagittarius and Scorpio, he took his place among the stars.

8. Nan-po Dze-khwei[1], asked Nü Yü[1], saying, ‘You are old, Sir, while your complexion is like that of a child;–how is it so?’ The reply was, ‘I have become acquainted with the Tâo.’ The other said, ‘Can I learn the Tâo?’ Nü Yü said, ‘No. How can you? You, Sir, are not the man to do so. There was Pû-liang Î[7] who had the abilities of a sagely man, but not the Tâo, while I had the Tâo, but not the abilities. I wished, however, to teach him, if, peradventure, he might

[1. The Spirit of the Northern regions, with a man’s face, and a bird’s body, &c.

2. A queen of the Genii on mount Khwän-lun. See Mayers’s Manual, pp. 178, 179.

3. Phäng Zû has been before us in Bk. I. Shun is intended by ‘the Lord of Yü.’ The five Chiefs;–see Mencius, VI, ii, 7.

4. See the Shû, IV, viii; but we have nothing there of course about the Milky Way and the stars.–This passage certainly lessens our confidence in Kwang-dze’s statements.

5. Perhaps the same as Nan-po Dze-khî in Bk. IV, par. 7.

6. Must have been a great Tâoist. Nothing more can be said of him or her.

7. Only mentioned here.]

{p. 246}

become the sagely man indeed. If he should not do so, it was easy (I thought) for one possessing the Tâo of the sagely man to communicate it to another possessing his abilities. Accordingly, I proceeded to do so, but with deliberation[1]. After three days, he was able to banish from his mind all worldly (matters). This accomplished, I continued my intercourse with him in the same way; and in seven days he was able to banish from his mind all thought of men and things. This accomplished, and my instructions continued, after nine days, he was able to count his life as foreign to himself. This accomplished, his mind was afterwards clear as the morning; and after this he was able to see his own individuality[2]. That individuality perceived, he was able to banish all thought of Past or Present. Freed from this, he was able to penetrate to (the truth that there is no difference between) life and death;–(how) the destruction of life is not dying, and the communication of other life is not living. (The Tâo) is a thing which accompanies all other things and meets them, which is present when they are overthrown and when they obtain their completion. Its name is Tranquillity amid all Disturbances, meaning that such Disturbances lead to Its Perfection[3].’

‘And how did you, being alone (without any teacher), learn all this?’ ‘I learned it,’ was the reply, ‘from the son of Fû-mo[4]; he learned it from

[1. So the ### is explained.

2. Standing by himself, as it were face to face with the Tâo.

3. Amid all changes, in life and death, the possessor of the Tâo, has peace.

4. Meaning writings; literally, ‘the son of the assisting pigment.’ {footnote p. 247} We are not to suppose that by this and the other names that follow individuals are intended. Kwang-dze seems to have wished to give, in his own fashion, some notion of the genesis of the idea of the Tâo from the first speculations about the origin of things.]

{p. 247}

the grandson of Lo-sung; he learned it from Shan-ming; he learned it from Nieh-hsü; he, from Hsü-yî; he, from Wû-âo; he, from Hsüan-ming; he, from Zhan-liâo; and he learned it from Î-shih.’

9. Dze-sze[1], Dze-yü[1], Dze-1î[1], and Dze-lâi[1], these four men, were talking together, when some one said, ‘Who can suppose the head to be made from nothing, the spine from life, and the rump-bone from death? Who knows how death and birth, living on and disappearing, compose the one body?–I would be friends with him[2].’ The four men looked at one another and laughed, but no one seized with his mind the drift of the questions. All, however, were friends together.

Not long after Dze-yü fell ill, and Dze-sze went to inquire for him. ‘How great,’ said (the sufferer), ‘is the Creator[3]! That He should have made me the deformed object that I am!’ He was a crooked hunchback; his five viscera were squeezed into the

[1. We need not suppose that these are the names of real men. They are brought on the stage by our author to serve his purpose. Hwâi-nan makes the name of the first to have been Dze-shui (###).

2, Compare the same representation in Bk. XXIII, par. 10. Kû Teh-kih says on it here, ‘The head, the spine, the rump-bone mean simply the head and tail, the beginning and end. All things begin from nothing and end in nothing. Their birth and their death are only the creations of our thought, the going and coming of the primary ether. When we have penetrated to the non-reality of life and death, what remains of the body of so many feet?’

3. The ‘Creator’ or ‘Maker’ (###) is the Tâo.]

{p. 248}

upper part of his body; his chin bent over his navel; his shoulder was higher than his crown; on his crown was an ulcer pointing to the sky; his breath came and went in gasps[1]:–yet he was easy in his mind, and made no trouble of his condition. He limped to a well, looked at himself in it, and said, ‘Alas that the Creator should have made me the deformed object that I am!’ Dze said, ‘Do you dislike your condition?’ He replied, ‘No, why should I dislike it? If He were to transform my left arm into a cock, I should be watching with it the time of the night; if He were to transform my right arm into a cross-bow, I should then be looking for a hsiâo to (bring down and) roast; if He were to transform my rump-bone into a wheel, and my spirit into a horse, I should then be mounting it, and would not change it for another steed. Moreover, when we have got (what we are to do), there is the time (of life) in which to do it; when we lose that (at death), submission (is what is required). When we rest in what the time requires, and manifest that submission, neither joy nor sorrow can find entrance (to the mind)[2]. This would be what the ancients called loosing the cord by which (the life) is suspended. But one hung up cannot loose himself;–he is held fast by his bonds[3]. And that creatures cannot overcome

[1. Compare this description of Dze-yü’s deformity with that of the poor Shû, in IV, 8.

2. Such is the submission to one’s lot produced by the teaching of Tâoism.

3. Compare the same phraseology in III, par. 4, near the end. In correcting Mr. Balfour’s mistranslation of the text, Mr. Giles himself falls into a mistranslation through not observing that the ### is passive, having the ### that precedes as its subject (observe the force of the ### after ### in the best editions), and not active, or governing the ### that follows.]

{p. 249}

Heaven (the inevitable) is a long-acknowledged fact;-why should I hate my condition?’

10. Before long Dze-lâi fell ill, and lay gasping at the point of death, while his wife and children stood around him wailing’. Dze-lî went to ask for him, and said to them, ‘Hush! Get out of the way! Do not disturb him as he is passing through his change.’ Then, leaning against the door, he said (to the dying man), ‘Great indeed is the Creator! What will He now make you to become? Where will He take you to? Will He make you the liver of a rat, or the arm of an insect[2]?

Dze-lâi replied, ‘Wherever a parent tells a son to go, east, west, south, or north, he simply follows the command. The Yin and Yang are more to a man than his parents are. If they are hastening my death, and I do not quietly submit to them, I shall be obstinate and rebellious. There is the great Mass (of nature);–I find the support of my body in it; my life is spent in toil on it; my old age seeks ease on it; at death I find rest on it:–what has made my life a good will make my death also a good.

‘Here now is a great founder, casting his metal. If the metal were to leap up (in the pot), and say, “I must be made into a (sword like the) Mo-yeh[3].”

[1. Compare the account of the scene at Lâo-dze’s death, in III, par. 4.

2. Here comes in the belief in transformation.

3. The name of a famous sword, made for Ho-lü, the king of {footnote p. 250} Wû (B. C. 514-494). See the account of the forging of it in the ###, ch. 74. The mention of it would seem to indicate that Dze-lâi and the other three men were of the time of Confucius.]

{p. 250}

the great founder would be sure to regard it as uncanny. So, again, when a form is being fashioned in the mould of the womb, if it were to say, “I must become a man; I must become a man,” the Creator would be sure to regard it as uncanny. When we once understand that heaven and earth are a great melting-pot, and the Creator a great founder, where can we have to go to that shall not be right for us? We are born as from a quiet sleep, and we die to a calm awaking.’

11. Dze-sang Hû[1], Mäng Dze-fan[1], and Dze-khin Kang[1], these three men, were friends together. (One of them said), ‘Who can associate together without any (thought of) such association, or act together without any (evidence of) such co-operation? Who can mount up into the sky and enjoy himself amidst the mists, disporting beyond the utmost limits (of things)[2], and forgetting all others as if this were living, and would have no end?’ The three men looked at one another and laughed, not perceiving the drift of the questions; and they continued to associate together as friends.

Suddenly, after a time[3], Dze-sang Hia died. Before he was buried, Confucius heard of the event, and

[1. These three men were undoubtedly of the time of Confucius, and some would identify them with the Dze-sang Po-dze of Ana. VI, i, Mäng Kih-fan of VI, 13, and the Lâo of IX, vi, 4. This is very unlikely. They were Tâoists.

2. Or, ‘without end.’

3. Or, ‘Some time went by silently, and.’]

{p. 251}

sent Dze-kung to go and see if he could render any assistance. One of the survivors had composed a ditty, and the other was playing on his lute. Then they sang together in unison,

‘Ah! come, Sang Hû ah! come, Sang Hû!
Your being true you’ve got again,
While we, as men, still here remain
Ohone[1]!’

Dze-kung hastened forward to them, and said, ‘I venture to ask whether it be according to the rules to be singing thus in the presence of the corpse?’ The two men looked at each other, and laughed, saying, ‘What does this man know about the idea that underlies (our) rules?’ Dze-kung returned to Confucius, and reported to him, saying, ‘What sort of men are those? They had made none of the usual preparations[2], and treated the body as a thing foreign to them. They were singing in the presence of the corpse, and there was no change in their countenances. I cannot describe them;–what sort of men are they?’ Confucius replied, ‘Those men occupy and enjoy themselves in what is outside the (common) ways (of the world), while I occupy and enjoy myself in what lies within those ways. There is no common ground for those of such different ways; and when 1 sent you to condole with those men, I was acting stupidly. They, moreover, make man to be the fellow of the

[1. In accordance with the ancient and modern practice in China of calling the dead back. But these were doing so in a song to the lute.

2. Or, ‘they do not regulate their doings (in the usual way).’]

{p. 252}

Creator, and seek their enjoyment in the formless condition of heaven and earth. They consider life to be an appendage attached, an excrescence annexed to them, and death to be a separation of the appendage and a dispersion of the contents of the excrescence. With these views, how should they know wherein death and life are to be found, or what is first and what is last? They borrow different substances, and pretend that the common form of the body is composed of them[1]. They dismiss the thought of (its inward constituents like) the liver and gall, and (its outward constituents), the ears and eyes. Again and again they end and they begin, having no knowledge of first principles. They occupy themselves ignorantly and vaguely with what (they say) lies outside the dust and dirt (of the world), and seek their enjoyment in the business of doing nothing. How should they confusedly address themselves to the ceremonies practised by the common people, and exhibit themselves as doing so to the ears and eyes of the multitude?’

Dze-kung said, ‘Yes, but why do you, Master, act according to the (common) ways (of the world)?’ The reply was, ‘I am in this under the condemning sentence of Heaven[2]. Nevertheless, I will share

[1. The idea that the body is composed of the elements of earth, wind or air, fire, and water.

2. A strange description of himself by the sage. Literally, ‘I am (one of) the people killed and exposed to public view by Heaven;’ referring, perhaps, to the description of a living man as ‘suspended by a string from God.’ Confucius was content to accept his life, and used it in pursuing the path of duty, according to his conception of it, without aiming at the transcendental method of the Tâoists. I can attach no other or better meaning to the expression.]

{p. 253}

with you (what I have attained to).’ Dze-kung rejoined, ‘I venture to ask the method which you pursue;’ and Confucius said, ‘Fishes breed and grow in the water; man developes {sic–jbh} in the Tâo. Growing in the water, the fishes cleave the pools, and their nourishment is supplied to them. Developing in the Tâo, men do nothing, and the enjoyment of their life is secured. Hence it is said, “Fishes forget one another in the rivers and lakes; men forget one another in the arts of the Tâo.”‘

Dze-kung said, ‘I venture to ask about the man who stands aloof from others[1].’ The reply was, ‘He stands aloof from other men, but he is in accord with Heaven! Hence it is said, “The small man of Heaven is the superior man among men; the superior man among men is the small man of Heaven[2]!”‘

12. Yen Hui asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘When the mother of Mäng-sun Zhâi[3] died, in all his wailing for her he did not shed a tear; in the core of his heart he felt no distress; during all the mourning rites, he exhibited no sorrow. Without these three things, he (was considered to have) discharged his mourning well;–is it that in the state of Lû one who has not the reality may yet get the reputation of having it? I think the matter very strange.’ Kung-nî

[1. Misled by the text of Hsüang Ying, Mr. Balfour here reads ### instead of ###.

2. Here, however, he aptly compares with the language of Christ in Matthew vii. 28.–Kwang-dze seems to make Confucius praise the system of Tâoism as better than his own!

3. Must have been a member of the Ming or Ming-sun family of Lû, to a branch of which Mencius belonged.]

{p. 254}

said, ‘That Mäng-sun carried out (his views) to the utmost. He was advanced in knowledge; but (in this case) it was not possible for him to appear to be negligent (in his ceremonial observances)[1], but he succeeded in being really so to himself Mäng-sun does not know either what purposes life serves, or what death serves; he does not know which should be first sought, and which last[2]. If he is to be transformed into something else, he will simply await the transformation which he does not yet know. This is all he does. And moreover, when one is about to undergo his change, how does he know that it has not taken place? And when he is not about to undergo his change, how does he know that it has taken place[3]? Take the case of me and you:–are we in a dream from which we have not begun to awake[4]?

‘Moreover, Mäng-sun presented in his body the appearance of being agitated, but in his mind he was conscious of no loss. The death was to him like the issuing from one’s dwelling at dawn, and no (more terrible) reality. He was more awake than others were. When they wailed, he also wailed, having in himself the reason why he did so. And we all have our individuality which makes us what we are as compared together; but how do we know that we

[1. The people set such store by the mourning rites, that Mäng-sun felt he must present the appearance of observing them. This would seem to show that Tâoism arose after the earlier views of the Chinese.

2. I adopt here, with many of the critics, the reading of ### instead of the more common ###.

3. This is to me very obscure.

4. Are such dreams possible? See what I have said on II, par. 9.]

{p. 255}

determine in any case correctly that individuality? Moreover you dream that you are a bird, and seem to be soaring to the sky; or that you are a fish, and seem to be diving in the deep. But you do not know whether we that are now speaking are awake or in a dream[1]. It is not the meeting with what is pleasurable that produces the smile; it is not the smile suddenly produced that produces the arrangement (of the person). When one rests in what has been arranged, and puts away all thought of the transformation, he is in unity with the mysterious Heaven.’

13. Î-r Dze[2] having gone to see Hsü Yû, the latter said to him, ‘What benefit have you received from Yâo?’ The reply was, ‘Yâo says to me, You must yourself labour at benevolence and righteousness, and be able to tell clearly which is right and which wrong (in conflicting statements).’ Hsü Yû rejoined, ‘Why then have you come to me? Since Yâo has put on you the brand of his benevolence and righteousness, and cut off your nose with his right and wrong[3], how will you be able to wander in the way of aimless enjoyment, of unregulated contemplation, and the ever-changing forms (of dispute)?’ Î-r dze said, ‘That may be; but I should

[1. This also is obscure; but Confucius is again made to praise the Tâoistic system.

2. Î-r is said by Lî Î to have been ‘a worthy scholar;’ but Î-r is an old name for the swallow, and there is a legend of a being of this name appearing to king Mia, and then flying away as a swallow;–see the Khang-hsî Thesaurus under ###. The personage is entirely fabulous.

3 Dismembered or disfigured you.]

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like to skirt along its hedges.’ ‘But,’ said the other, ‘it cannot be. Eyes without pupils can see nothing of the beauty of the eyebrows, eyes, and other features; the blind have nothing to do with the green, yellow, and variegated colours of the sacrificial robes.’ Î-r dze rejoined, ‘Yet, when Wû-kwang[1] lost his beauty, Kü-liang[1] his strength, and Hwang-Tî his wisdom, they all (recovered them)[2] under the moulding (of your system);–how do you know that the Maker will not obliterate the marks of my branding, and supply my dismemberment, so that, again perfect in my form, I may follow you as my teacher?’ Hsû Yü said, ‘Ah! that cannot yet be known. I will tell you the rudiments. O my Master! O my Master! He gives to all things their blended qualities, and does not count it any righteousness; His favours reach to all generations, and He does not count it any benevolence; He is more ancient than the highest antiquity, and does not count Himself old; He overspreads heaven and supports the earth; He carves and fashions all bodily forms, and does not consider it any act of skill;–this is He in whom I find my enjoyment.’

14. Yen Hui said, ‘I am making progress.’ Kung-nî replied, ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I have ceased to think of benevolence and righteousness,’ was the reply. ‘Very well; but that is not enough.’

Another day, Hui again saw Kung-nî, and said, ‘I am making progress.’ ‘What do you mean?’

‘Names of parties, of whom we know nothing. It is implied, we must suppose, that they had suffered as is said by their own inadvertence.

[1. We must suppose that they had done so.]

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‘I have lost all thought of ceremonies and music.’ ‘Very well, but that is not enough.,

A third day, Hui again saw (the Master), and said, ‘I am making progress.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I sit and forget everything[1].’ Kung-nî changed countenance, and said, ‘What do you mean by saying that you sit and forget (everything)?’ Yen Hui replied, ‘My connexion with the body and its parts is dissolved; my perceptive organs are discarded. Thus leaving my material form, and bidding farewell to my knowledge, I am become one with the Great Pervader[2] . This I call sitting and forgetting all things.’ Kung-nî said, ‘One (with that Pervader), you are free from all likings; so transformed, you are become impermanent. You have, indeed, become superior to me! I must ask leave to follow in your steps[3].’

15. Dze-yü[4] and Dze-sang[4] were friends. (Once), when it had rained continuously for ten days, Dze-yü said, ‘I fear that Dze-sang may be in distress.’ So he wrapped up some rice, and went to give it to him to eat. When he came to Dze-sang’s door, there issued from it sounds between singing and wailing;

[1. ‘I sit and forget;’–generally thus supplemented (###). Hui proceeds to set forth the meaning he himself attached to the phrase.

2. Another denomination, I think, of the Tâo. The is also explained as meaning, ‘the great void in which there is no obstruction (###).

3. Here is another testimony, adduced by our author, of Confucius’s appreciation of Tâoism; to which the sage would, no doubt, have taken exception,

4. Two of the men in pars. 9, 10.]

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a lute was struck, and there came the words, ‘O Father! O Mother! O Heaven! O Men!’ The voice could not sustain itself, and the line was hurriedly pronounced. Dze-yü entered and said, ‘Why are you singing, Sir, this line of poetry in such a way?’ The other replied, ‘I was thinking, and thinking in vain, how it was that I was brought to such extremity. Would my parents have wished me to be so poor? Heaven overspreads all without any partial feeling, and so does Earth sustain all;–would Heaven and Earth make me so poor with any unkindly feeling? I was trying to find out who had done it, and I could not do so. But here I am in this extremity!–it is what was appointed for me[1]!’

[1. Here is the highest issue of Tâoism;–unquestioning submission to what is beyond our knowledge and control.]

{p. 259}
BOOK VII.
PART I. SECTION VII.
Ying Tî Wang[1], or ‘The Normal Course for Rulers and Kings[1].’

1. Nieh Khüeh[2] put four questions to Wang Î[2], not one of which did he know (how to answer). On this Nieh Khüeh leaped up, and in great delight walked away and informed Phû-î-dze[3] of it, who said to him, ‘Do you (only) now know it? He of the line of Yü[4] was not equal to him of the line of Thâi[5]. He of Yü still kept in himself (the idea of) benevolence by which to constrain (the submission of) men; and he did win men, but he had not begun to proceed by what did not belong to him as a man. He of the line of Thâi would sleep tranquilly, and awake in contented simplicity. He would consider himself now (merely) as a horse, and now (merely) as an ox[6]. His knowledge was real and untroubled

[1. See pp. 136-138.

2. See p. 190, note 5.

3. An ancient Tâoist, of the time of Shun. So, Hwang-fû Mî, who adds that Shun served him as his master when he was eight years old. I suppose the name indicates that his clothes were made of rushes.

4. Shun. See p. 245, note 3.

5. An ancient sovereign, earlier, no doubt, than Fû-hsî; but nothing is known of him.

6. He thought nothing about his being, as a man, superior to the lower creatures. Shun in governing employed his acquired knowledge; Thâi had not begun to do so.]

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by doubts; and his virtue was very true:–he had not begun to proceed by what belonged to him as a man.

2. Kien Wû[1] went to see the mad (recluse), Khieh-yü[2], who said to him, ‘What did Zäh-kung Shih[3] tell you?’ The reply was, ‘He told me that when rulers gave forth their regulations according to their own views and enacted righteous measures, no one would venture not to obey them, and all would be transformed.’ Khieh-yd said, ‘That is but the hypocrisy of virtue. For the right ordering of the world it would be like trying to wade through the sea and dig through the Ho, or employing a musquito to carry a mountain on its back. And when a sage is governing, does he govern men’s outward actions? He is (himself) correct, and so (his government) goes on;–this is the simple and certain way by which he secures the success of his affairs. Think of the bird which flies high, to avoid being hurt by the dart on the string of the archer, and the little mouse which makes its hole deep under Shän-khiû[4] to avoid the danger of being smoked or dug out;-are (rulers) less knowing than these two little creatures?’

3. Thien Kän[5], rambling on the south of (mount) Yin[6], came to the neighbourhood of the Liâo-water.

[1. See p. 170, note 2.

2. See p. 170, note 3.

3. A name;–‘a worthy,’ it is said.

4. Name of some hill, or height.

5. A name (‘Root of the sky’), but probably mythical. There is a star so called.

6 Probably the name of a mountain, though this meaning of Yin is not given in the dictionary.]

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Happening there to meet with the man whose name is not known’, he put a question to him, saying, ‘I beg to ask what should be done[2] in order to (carry on) the government of the world.’ The nameless man said, ‘Go away; you are a rude borderer. Why do you put to me a question for which you are unprepared[3]? I would simply play the part of the Maker of (all) things[4]. When wearied, I would mount on the bird of the light and empty air, proceed beyond the six cardinal points, and wander in the region of nonentity, to dwell in the wilderness of desert space. What method have you, moreover, for the government of the world that you (thus) agitate my mind?’ (Thien Kän), however, again asked the question, and the nameless man said, ‘Let your mind find its enjoyment in pure simplicity; blend yourself with (the primary) ether in idle indifference; allow all things to take their natural course; and admit no personal or selfish consideration:–do this and the world will be governed.’

4. Yang Dze-kü, having an interview with Lao Tan, said to him, ‘Here is a man, alert and vigorous

[1. Or, ‘a nameless man.’ We cannot tell whether Kwang-dze had any particular Being, so named, in view or not.

2 The objectionable point in the question is the supposition that doing’ was necessary in the case.

3. Or, ‘I am unprepared! But as Thien Kän repeats the question, it seems better to supply the second pronoun. He had thought on the subject.

4. See the same phraseology in VI, par. 11. What follows is merely our author’s way of describing the non-action of the Tâo.

5. The Yang Kû, whom Mencius attacked so fiercely. He was, perhaps, a contemporary and disciple of Lâo-dze.]

{p. 262}

in responding to all matters[1], clearsighted and widely intelligent, and an unwearied student of the Tâo;–can he be compared to one of the intelligent kings?’ The reply was, ‘Such a man is to one of the intelligent kings but as the bustling underling of a court who toils his body and distresses his mind with his various contrivances[2]. And moreover, it is the beauty of the skins of the tiger and leopard which makes men hunt them; the agility of the monkey, or (the sagacity of) the dog that catches the yak, which make men lead them in strings; but can one similarly endowed be compared to the intelligent kings?’

Yang dze-kü looked discomposed and said, ‘I venture to ask you what the government of the intelligent kings is.’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘In the governing of the intelligent kings, their services overspread all under the sky, but they did not seem to consider it as proceeding from themselves; their transforming influence reached to all things, but the people did not refer it to them with hope. No one could tell the name of their agency, but they made men and things be joyful in themselves. Where they took their stand could not be fathomed, and they found their enjoyment in (the realm of) nonentity.’

5. In Käng there was a mysterious wizard[3] called

[1. The ### may be taken as = ### in which case we must understand a ### as its object; or as = ###, an echo,’ indicating the quickness of the man’s response to things.

2. Compare the language of Lâo Tan, in Bk. XII, par. 8, near the beginning.

3. ### is generally feminine, meaning ‘a witch.’ We must take {footnote p. 263} it here as masculine (= ###). The general meaning of the character is ‘magical,’ the antics of such performers to bring down the spirits.]

{p. 263}

Ki-hsien. He knew all about the deaths and births of men, their preservation and ruin, their misery and happiness, and whether their lives would be long or short, foretelling the year, the month, the decade and the day like a spirit. When the people of Käng saw him, they all ran out of his way. Lieh-dze went to see him, and was fascinated[1] by him. Returning, he told Hû-dze of his interview, and said, ‘I considered your doctrine, my master, to be perfect, but I have found another which is superior to it.’ Hû-dze[2] replied, ‘I have communicated to you but the outward letter of my doctrine, and have not communicated its reality and spirit; and do you think that you are in possession of it? However many hens there be, if there be not the cock among them, how should they lay (real) eggs[3]? When you confront the world with your doctrine, you are sure to show in your countenance (all that is in your mind)[4], and so enable (this) man to succeed in interpreting your physiognomy. Try and come to me with him, that I may show myself to him.’

On the morrow, accordingly, Lieh-dze came with the man and saw Ha-dze. When they went out, the

[1. Literally, ‘intoxicated.’

2. The teacher in Tâoism of Lieh-dze, called also Hû Khiû, with the name Lin (###). See the remarks on the whole paragraph in the Introductory Notice of the Book.

3. ‘The hens’ signify the letter of the doctrine; ‘the cock,’ its spirit; ‘the eggs,’ a real knowledge of it.

4. ### is here in the first tone, and read as ###, meaning ‘to stretch,’, to set forth.’]

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wizard said, ‘Alas! your master is a dead man. He will not live;–not for ten days more! I saw something strange about him;–I saw the ashes (of his life) all slaked with water!’ When Lieh-dze reentered, he wept till the front of his jacket was wet with his tears, and told Hû-dze what the man had said. Hû-dze said, ‘I showed myself to him with the forms of (vegetation beneath) the earth. There were the sprouts indeed, but without (any appearance of) growth or regularity:–he seemed to see me with the springs of my (vital) power closed up. Try and come to me with him again.’

Next day, accordingly, Lieh-dze brought the man again and saw Hû-dze. When they went out, the man said, ‘It is a fortunate thing for your master that he met with me. He will get better; he has all the signs of living! I saw the balance (of the springs of life) that had been stopped (inclining in his favour).’ Lieh-dze went in, and reported these words to his master, who said, ‘I showed myself to him after the pattern of the earth (beneath the) sky. Neither semblance nor reality entered (into my exhibition), but the springs (of life) were issuing from beneath my feet;–he seemed to see me with the springs of vigorous action in full play. Try and come with him again.’

Next day Lieh-dze came with the man again, and again saw Hû-dze with him. When they went out, the wizard said, ‘Your master is never the same. I cannot understand his physiognomy. Let him try to steady himself, and I will again view him.’ Lieh-dze went in and reported this to Hû-dze, who said, ‘This time I showed myself to him after the pattern of the grand harmony (of the two elemental

{p. 265}

forces), with the superiority inclining to neither. He seemed to see me with the springs of (vital) power in equal balance. Where the water wheels about from (the movements of) a dugong[1], there is an abyss; where it does so from the arresting (of its course), there is an abyss; where it does so, and the water keeps flowing on, there is an abyss. There are nine abysses with their several names, and I have only exhibited three of them. Try and come with him again.’

Next day they came, and they again saw Hû-dze. But before he had settled himself in his position, the wizard lost himself and ran away. ‘Pursue him,’ said Hû-dze, and Lieh-dze did so, but could not come up with him. He returned, and told Hû-dze, saying, ‘There is an end of him; he is lost; I could not find him.’ Hû-dze rejoined, ‘I was showing him myself after the pattern of what was before I began to come from my author. I confronted him with pure vacancy, and an easy indifference. He did not know what I meant to represent. Now he thought it was the idea of exhausted strength, and now that of an onward flow, and therefore he ran away.

After this, Lieh-dze considered that he had not yet begun to learn (his master’s doctrine). He returned to his house, and for three years did not go out. He did the cooking for his wife. He fed the pigs as if he were feeding men. He took no part

[1. One of the dugong. It has various names in Chinese, one being ###, ‘the Man-Fish,’ from a fancied resemblance of its head and face to a human being;–the origin perhaps of the idea of the mermaid.]

{p. 266}

or interest in occurring affairs. He put away the carving and sculpture about him, and returned to pure simplicity. Like a clod of earth he stood there in his bodily presence. Amid all distractions he was (silent) and shut up in himself. And in this way he continued to the end of his life.

6. Non-action (makes its exemplifier) the lord of all fame; non-action (serves him as) the treasury of all plans; non-action (fits him for) the burden of all offices; non-action (makes him) the lord of all wisdom[1]. The range of his action is inexhaustible, but there is nowhere any trace of his presence. He fulfils all that he has received from Heaven[2], but he does not see that he was the recipient of anything. A pure vacancy (of all purpose) is what characterises him. When the perfect man employs his mind, it is a mirror. It conducts nothing and anticipates nothing; it responds to (what is before it), but does not retain it. Thus he is able to deal successfully with all things, and injures none.

7. The Ruler[3] of the Southern Ocean was Shû[4], the

[1. The four members of this sentence occasion the translator no small trouble. They are constructed on the same lines, and seem to me to be indicative and not imperative. Lin Hsî-kung observes that all the explanations that had been offered of them were inappropriate. My own version is substantially in accordance with his interpretations. The chief difficulty is with the first member, which seems anti-Tâoistic; but our author is not speaking of the purpose of any actor, but of the result of his non-action. ### is to be taken in the sense of ###, ‘lord,’ ‘exercising lordship.’ The ### in the third sentence indicates a person or persons in the author’s mind in what precedes.

2. = the Heavenly or self- determining nature.

3. Perhaps ‘god’ would be a better translation.

4. Meaning ‘Heedless.’]

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Ruler of the Northern Ocean was Hû[1], and the Ruler of the Centre was Chaos. Shû and Hû were continually meeting in the land of Chaos, who treated them very well. They consulted together how they might repay his kindness, and said, ‘Men all have seven orifices for the purpose of seeing, hearing, eating, and breathing, while this (poor) Ruler alone has not one. Let us try and make them for him.’ Accordingly they dug one orifice in him every day; and at the end of seven days Chaos died[2].

[1. Meaning ‘Sudden.’

2. The little allegory is ingenious and amusing. ‘It indicates,’ says Lin, ‘how action (the opposite of non-inaction) injures the first condition of things.’ More especially it is in harmony with the Tâoistic opposition to the use of knowledge in government. One critic says that an ‘alas!’ might well follow the concluding ‘died.’ But surely it was better that Chaos should give place to another state. ‘Heedless’ and ‘Sudden’ did not do a bad work.]