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1
How (ceaselessly) heaven revolves! Flow (constantly) earth
abides at rest! And do the sun and moon contend about their (respective)
places? Who presides over and directs these (things)? Who binds
and connects them together? Who is it that, without trouble or
exertion on his part, causes and maintains them? Is it, perhaps,
that there is some secret spring, in consequence of which they
cannot be but as they are? Or is it, perhaps, that they move and
turn as they do, and cannot stop of themselves?
(Then) how the clouds become rain! And how the rain again forms
the clouds! Who diffuses them so abundantly? Who is it that,
without trouble or exertion on his part, produces this elemental
enjoyment, and seems to stimulate it?
The winds rise in the north; one blows to the west, and another
to the east; while some rise upwards, uncertain in their
direction. By whose breathing are they produced? Who is it that,
without any trouble and exertion of his own, effects all their
undulations? I venture to ask their cause.
Wû-hsien Thiâo said, 'Come, and I will tell you. To heaven there
belong the six Extreme Points, and the five Elements. When the
Tîs and Kings acted in accordance with them, there was good
government; when they acted contrary to them, there was evil.
Observing the things (described) in the nine divisions (of the
writing) of Lo, their government was perfected and their virtue
was complete. They inspected and enlightened the kingdom beneath
them, and all under the sky acknowledged and sustained them.
Such was the condition under the august (sovereigns ) and those
before them.'
2
Tang, the chief administrator of Shang, asked Kwang-dze about
Benevolence, and the answer was, 'Wolves and tigers are
benevolent.' 'What do you mean?' said Tang. Kwang-dze replied, 'Father
and son (among them) are affectionate to one another. Why should
they be considered as not benevolent?'
'Allow me to ask about perfect benevolence,' pursued the other.
Kwang-dze said, 'Perfect benevolence does not admit (the feeling)
of affection.' The minister said, 'I have heard that, without (the
feeling of) affection there is no love, and without love there
is not filial duty;--is it permissible to say that the perfectly
benevolent are not filial?' Kwang-dze rejoined, 'That is not the
way to put the case. Perfect Benevolence is the very highest
thing;--filial duty is by no means sufficient to describe it.
The saying which you quote is not to the effect that (such
benevolence) transcends filial duty;--it does not refer to such
duty at all. One, travelling to the south, comes (at last) to
Ying, and there, standing with his face to the north, he does
not see mount Ming. Why does he not see it? Because he is so far
from it. Hence it is said, "Filial duty as a part of reverence
is easy, but filial duty as a part of love is difficult. If it
be easy as a part of love, yet it is difficult to forget one's
parents. It may be easy for me to forget my parents, but it is
difficult to make my parents forget me. If it were easy to make
my parents forget me, it is difficult for me to forget all men
in the world. If it were easy to forget all men in the world, it
is difficult to make them all forget me."
'This virtue might make one think light of Yâo and Shun, and not
wish to be they. The profit and beneficial influences of it
extend to a myriad ages, and no one in the world knows whence
they come. How can you simply heave a great sigh, and speak (as
you do) of benevolence and filial duty? Filial duty, fraternal
respect, benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, sincerity,
firmness, and purity;--all these may be pressed into the service
of this virtue, but they are far from sufficient to come up to
it. Therefore it is said, "To him who has what is most noble,
all the dignities of a state are as nothing; to him who has what
is the greatest riches, all the wealth of a state is as nothing;
to him who has all that he could wish, fame and praise are as
nothing." It is thus that the Tâo admits of no substitute.'
3
Pei-män Khäng asked Hwang-Tî, saying, 'You were celebrating, O
Tî, a performance of the music of the Hsien-khih, in the open
country near the Thung-thing lake. When I heard the first part
of it, I was afraid; the next made me weary; and the last
perplexed me. I became agitated and unable to speak, and lost my
self-possession.' The Tî said, 'It was likely that it should so
affect you! It was performed with (the instruments of) men, and
all attuned according to (the influences of) Heaven. It
proceeded according to (the principles of) propriety and
righteousness, and was pervaded by (the idea of) the Grand
Purity.
'The Perfect Music first had its response in the affairs of men,
and was conformed to the principles of Heaven; it indicated the
action of the five virtues, and corresponded to the spontaneity
(apparent in nature). After this it showed the blended
distinctions of the four seasons, and the grand harmony of all
things;--the succession of those seasons one after another, and
the production of things in their proper order. Now it swelled,
and now it died away, its peaceful and military strains clearly
distinguished and given forth. Now it was clear, and now rough,
as if the contracting and expanding of the elemental processes
blended harmoniously (in its notes). Those notes then flowed
away in waves of light, till, as when the hibernating insects
first begin to move, I commanded the terrifying crash of thunder.
Its end was marked by no formal conclusion, and it began again
without any prelude. It seemed to die away, and then it burst
into life; it came to a close, and then it rose again. So it
went on regularly and inexhaustibly, and without the
intervention of any pause:--it was this which made you afraid.
'In the second part (of the performance), I made it describe the
harmony of the Yin and Yang, and threw round it the brilliance
of the sun and moon. Its notes were now short and now long, now
soft and now hard. Their changes, however, were marked by an
unbroken unity, though not dominated by a fixed regularity. They
filled every valley and ravine; you might shut up every crevice,
and guard your spirit (against their entrance), yet there was
nothing but gave admission to them. Yea, those notes resounded
slowly, and might have been pronounced high and clear. Hence the
shades of the dead kept in their obscurity; the sun and moon,
and all the stars of the zodiac, pursued their several courses.
I made (my instruments) leave off, when (the performance) came
to an end, and their (echoes) flowed on without stopping. You
thought anxiously about it, and were not able to understand it;
you looked for it, and were not able to see it; you pursued it,
and were not able to reach it. All amazed, you stood in the way
all open around you, and then you leant against an old rotten
dryandra tree and hummed. The power of your eyes was exhausted
by what you wished to see; your strength failed in your desire
to pursue it, while I myself could not reach it. Your body was
but so much empty vacancy while you endeavoured to retain your
self-possession:--it was that endeavour which made you weary.
'In the last part (of the performance), I employed notes which
did not have that wearying effect. I blended them together as at
the command of spontaneity. Hence they came as if following one
another in confusion, like a clump of plants springing from one
root, or like the music of a forest produced by no visible form.
They spread themselves all around without leaving a trace (of
their cause); and seemed to issue from deep obscurity where
there was no sound. Their movements came from nowhere; their
home was in the deep darkness;-- conditions which some would
call death, and some life; some, the fruit, and some, (merely)
the flower. Those notes, moving and flowing on, separating and
shifting, and not following any regular sounds, the world might
well have doubts about them, and refer them to the judgment of a
sage, for the sages understand the nature of this music, and
judge in accordance with the prescribed (spontaneity). While the
spring of that spontaneity has not been touched, and yet the
regulators of the five notes are all prepared;--this is what is
called the music of Heaven, delighting the mind without the use
of words. Hence it is said in the eulogy of the Lord of Piâo,
"You listen for it, and do not hear its sound; you look for it,
and do not perceive its form; it fills heaven and earth; it
envelopes all within the universe." You wished to hear it, but
could not take it in; and therefore you were perplexed.
'I performed first the music calculated to awe; and you were
frightened as if by a ghostly visitation, I followed it with
that calculated to weary; and in your weariness you would have
withdrawn. I concluded with that calculated to perplex; and in
your perplexity you felt your stupidity. But that stupidity is
akin to the Tâo; you may with it convey the Tâo in your person,
and have it (ever) with you.'
4
When Confucius was travelling in the west in Wei, Yen Yüan asked
the music-master Kin, saying, 'How is it, do you think, with the
course of the Master?' The music-master replied, 'Alas! it is
all over with your Master!' 'How so?' asked Yen Yüan; and the
other said, 'Before the grass-dogs are set forth (at the
sacrifice), they are deposited in a box or basket, and wrapt up
with elegantly embroidered cloths, while the representative of
the dead and the officer of prayer prepare themselves by fasting
to present them. After they have been set forth, however,
passers-by trample on their heads and backs, and the
grass-cutters take and burn them in cooking. That is all they
are good for. If one should again take them, replace them in the
box or basket, wrap them up with embroidered cloths, and then in
rambling, or abiding at the spot, should go to sleep under them,
if he do not get (evil) dreams, he is sure to be often troubled
with the nightmare. Now here is your Master in the same way
taking the grass-dogs, presented by the ancient kings, and
leading his disciples to wander or abide and sleep under them.
Owing to this, the tree (beneath which they were practising
ceremonies) in Sung was cut down; he was obliged to leave Wei;
he was reduced to extremities in Shang and Kâu:--were not those
experiences like having (evil) dreams? He was kept in a state of
siege between Khän and Zhâi, so that for seven days he had no
cooked food to eat, and was in a situation between life and
death:--were not those experiences like the nightmare?
'If you are travelling by water, your best plan is to use a
boat; if by land, a carriage. Take a boat, which will go
(easily) along on the water, and try to push it along on the
land, and all your lifetime it will not go so much as a fathom
or two:--are not ancient time and the present time like the
water and the dry land? and are not Kâu and Lû like the boat and
the carriage? To seek now to practise (the old ways of) Kâu in
Lû is like pushing along a boat on the dry land. It is only a
toilsome labour, and has no success; he who does so is sure to
meet with calamity. He has not learned that in handing down the
arts (of one time) he is sure to be reduced to extremity in
endeavouring to adapt them to the conditions (of another).
'And have you not seen the working of a shadoof? When (the rope
of) it is pulled, it bends down; and when it is let go, it rises
up. It is pulled by a man, and does not pull the man; and so,
whether it bends down or rises up, it commits no offence against
the man. In the same way the rules of propriety, righteousness,
laws, and measures of the three Hwangs and five Tîs derived
their excellence, not from their being the same as those of the
present day, but from their (aptitude for) government. We may
compare them to haws, pears, oranges, and pummeloes, which are
different in flavour, but all suitable to be eaten. Just so it
is that the rules of propriety, righteousness, laws, and
measures, change according to the time.
'If now you take a monkey, and dress it in the robes of the duke
of Kâu, it will bite and tear them, and will not be satisfied
till it has got rid of them altogether. And if you look at the
difference between antiquity and the present time it is as great
as that between the monkey and the duke of Kâu. In the same way,
when Hsî Shih was troubled in mind, she would knit her brows and
frown on all in her neighbourhood. An ugly woman of the
neighbourhood, seeing and admiring her beauty, went home, and
also laying her hands on her heart proceeded to stare and frown
on all around her. When the rich people of the village saw her,
they shut fast their doors and would not go out; when the poor
people saw her, they took their wives and children and ran away
from her. The woman knew how to admire the frowning beauty, but
she did not know how it was that she, though frowning, was
beautiful. Alas! it is indeed all over with your Master!'
5
When Confucius was in his fifty-first year, he had not heard of
the Tâo, and went south to Phei to see Lâo Tan, who said to him,
'You have come, Sir; have you? I have heard that you are the
wisest man of the North; have you also got the Tâo?' 'Not yet,'
was the reply; and the other went on, 'How have you sought it?'
Confucius said, 'I sought it in measures and numbers, and after
five years I had not got it.' 'And how then did you seek it?' 'I
sought it in the Yin and Yang, and after twelve years I have not
found it.' Lâo-dze said, 'Just so! If the Tâo could be presented
(to another), men would all present it to their rulers; if it
could be served up (to others), men would all serve it up to
their parents; if it could be told (to others), men would all
tell it to their brothers; if it could be given to others, men
would all give it to their sons and grandsons. The reason why it
cannot be transmitted is no other but this,--that if, within,
there be not the presiding principle, it will not remain there,
and if, outwardly, there be not the correct obedience, it will
not be carried out. When that which is given out from the mind
(in possession of it) is not received by the mind without, the
sage will not give it out; and when, entering in from without,
there is no power in the receiving mind to entertain it, the
sage will not permit it to lie hid there. Fame is a possession
common to all; we should not seek to have much of it.
Benevolence and righteousness were as the lodging-houses of the
former kings; we should only rest in them for a night, and not
occupy them for long. If men see us doing so, they will have
much to say against us.
'The perfect men of old trod the path of benevolence as a path
which they borrowed for the occasion, and dwelt in Righteousness
as in a lodging which they used for a night. Thus they rambled
in the vacancy of Untroubled Ease, found their food in the
fields of Indifference, and stood in the gardens which they had
not borrowed. Untroubled Ease requires the doing of nothing;
Indifference is easily supplied with nourishment; not borrowing
needs no outlay. The ancients called this the Enjoyment that
Collects the True.
'Those who think that wealth is the proper thing for them cannot
give up their revenues; those who seek distinction cannot give
up the thought of fame; those who cleave to power cannot give
the handle of it to others. While they hold their grasp of those
things, they are afraid (of losing them). When they let them go,
they are grieved; and they will not look at a single example,
from which they might perceive the (folly) of their restless
pursuits:-such men are under the doom of Heaven.
'Hatred and kindness; taking and giving; reproof and
instruction; death and life:--these eight things are instruments
of rectification, but only those are able to use them who do not
obstinately refuse to comply with their great changes. Hence it
is said, "Correction is Rectification." When the minds of some
do not acknowledge this, it is because the gate of Heaven (in
them) has not been opened.'
6
At an interview with Lâo Tan, Confucius spoke to him of
benevolence and righteousness. Lâo Tan said, 'If you winnow
chaff, and the dust gets into your eyes, then the places of
heaven and earth and of the four cardinal points are all changed
to you. If musquitoes or gadflies puncture your skin, it will
keep you all the night from sleeping. But this painful iteration
of benevolence and righteousness excites my mind and produces in
it the greatest confusion. If you, Sir, would cause men not to
lose their natural simplicity, and if you would also imitate the
wind in its (unconstrained) movements, and stand forth in all
the natural attributes belonging to you!--why must you use so
much energy, and carry a great drum to seek for the son whom you
have lost? The snow-goose does not bathe every day to make
itself white, nor the crow blacken itself every day to make
itself black. The natural simplicity of their black and white
does not afford any ground for controversy; and the fame and
praise which men like to contemplate do not make them greater
than they naturally are. When the springs (supplying the pools)
are dried up, the fishes huddle together on the dry land. Than
that they should moisten one another there by their gasping, and
keep one another wet by their milt, it would be better for them
to forget one another in the rivers and lakes.'
From this interview with Lâo Tan, Confucius returned home, and
for three days did not speak. His disciples (then) asked him,
saying, 'Master, you have seen Lâo Tan; in what way might you
admonish and correct him?' Confucius said, 'In him (I may say)
that I have now seen the dragon. The dragon coils itself up, and
there is its body; it unfolds itself and becomes the dragon
complete. It rides on the cloudy air, and is nourished by the
Yin and Yang. I kept my mouth open, and was unable to shut
it;--how could I admonish and correct Lâo Tan?'
7
Dze-kung said, 'So then, can (this) man indeed sit still as a
representative of the dead, and then appear as the dragon? Can
his voice resound as thunder, when he is profoundly still? Can
he exhibit himself in his movements like heaven and earth? May
I, Zhze, also get to see him?' Accordingly with a message from
Confucius he went to see Lâo Tan.
Lâo Tan was then about to answer (his salutation) haughtily in
the hall, but he said in a low voice, 'My years have rolled on
and are passing away, what do you, Sir, wish to admonish me
about?' Dze-kung replied, 'The Three Kings and Five Tîs ruled
the world not in the same way, but the fame that has accrued to
them is the same. How is it that you alone consider that they
were not sages?' 'Come forward a little, my son. Why do you say
that (their government) was not the same?' 'Yâo,' was the reply,
'gave the kingdom to Shun, and Shun gave it to Yü. Yü had
recourse to his strength, and Thang to the force of arms. King
Wän was obedient to Kâu (-hsin), and did not dare to rebel; king
Wû rebelled against Kâu, and would not submit to him. And I say
that their methods were not the same.' Lâo Tan said, 'Come a
little more forward, my son, and I will tell you how the Three
Hwangs and the Five Tîs ruled the world. Hwang-Tî ruled it, so
as to make the minds of the people all conformed to the One
(simplicity). If the parents of one of them died, and he did not
wail, no one blamed him. Yâo ruled it so as to cause the hearts
of the people to cherish relative affection. If any, however,
made the observances on the death of other members of their
kindred less than those for their parents, no one blamed them.
Shun ruled it, so as to produce a feeling of rivalry in the
minds of the people. Their wives gave birth to their children in
the tenth month of their pregnancy, but those children could
speak at five months; and before they were three years old, they
began to call people by their surnames and names. Then it was
that men began to die prematurely. Yü ruled it, so as to cause
the minds of the people to become changed. Men's minds became
scheming, and they used their weapons as if they might
legitimately do so, (saying that they were) killing thieves and
not killing other men. The people formed themselves into
different combinations;--so it was throughout the kingdom.
Everywhere there was great consternation, and then arose the
Literati and (the followers of) Mo (Tî). From them came first
the doctrine of the relationships (of society); and what can be
said of the now prevailing customs (in the marrying of) wives
and daughters? I tell you that the rule of the Three Kings and
Five Tîs may be called by that name, but nothing can be greater
than the disorder which it produced. The wisdom of the Three
Kings was opposed to the brightness of the sun and moon above,
contrary to the exquisite purity of the hills and streams below,
and subversive of the beneficent gifts of the four seasons
between. Their wisdom has been more fatal than the sting of a
scorpion or the bite of a dangerous beast. Unable to rest in the
true attributes of their nature and constitution, they still
regarded themselves as sages:--was it not a thing to be ashamed
of? But they were shameless.' Dze-kung stood quite disconcerted
and ill at ease.
8
Confucius said to Lâo Tan, 'I have occupied myself with the
Shih, the Shû, the Lî, the Yo, the Yî, and the Khun Khiû, those
six Books, for what I myself consider a long time, and am
thoroughly acquainted with their contents. With seventy-two
rulers, all offenders against the right, I have discoursed about
the ways of the former kings, and set forth the examples of (the
dukes of Kâu and Shâo; and not one of them has adopted (my
views) and put them in practice:--how very difficult it is to
prevail on such men, and to make clear the path to be pursued!'
Lâo-dze replied, 'It is fortunate that you have not met with a
ruler fitted to rule the age. Those six writings are a
description of the vestiges left by the former kings, but do not
tell how they made such vestiges; and what you, Sir, speak about
are still only the vestiges. But vestiges are the prints left by
the shoes;--are they the shoes that produced them? A pair of
white herons look at each other with pupils that do not move,
and impregnation takes place; the male insect emits its buzzing
sound in the air above, and the female responds from the air
below, and impregnation takes place; the creatures called lêi
are both male and female, and each individual breeds of itself.
The nature cannot be altered; the conferred constitution cannot
be changed; the march of the seasons cannot be arrested; the Tâo
cannot be stopped. If you get the Tâo, there is no effect that
cannot be produced; if you miss it, there is no effect that
can.'
Confucius (after this) did not go out, till at the end of three
months he went again to see Lâo Tan, and said, 'I have got it.
Ravens produce their young by hatching; fishes by the
communication of their milt; the small-waisted wasp by
transformation; when a younger brother comes, the elder weeps.
Long is it that I have not played my part in harmony with these
processes of transformation. But as I did not play my part in
harmony with such transformation, how could I transform men?'
Lâo-dze said, 'You will do. Khiû, you have found the Tâo.' |
