1
Zeh-yang having travelled to Khû, Î Kieh spoke of him to the
king, and then, before the king had granted him an interview,
(left him, and) returned home. Zeh-yang went to see Wang Kwo,
and said to him, 'Master, why do you not mention me to the
king?' Wang Kwo replied, 'I am not so good a person to do that
as Kung-yüeh Hsiû.' 'What sort of man is he?' asked the other,
and the reply was, 'In winter he spears turtles in the Kiang,
and in summer he rests in shady places on the mountain. When
passers-by ask him (what he is doing there), he says, "This is
my abode." Since Î Kieh was not able to induce the king to see
you, how much less should I, who am not equal to him, be able to
do so! Î Kieh's character is this:--he has no (real) virtue, but
he has knowledge. If you do not freely yield yourself to him,
but employ him to carry on his spirit-like influence (with you),
you will certainly get upset and benighted in the region of
riches and honours. His help will not be of a virtuous
character, but will go to make your virtueless;--it will be like
heaping on clothes in spring as a protection against cold, or
bringing back the cold winds of winter as a protection against
heat (in summer). Now the king of Khû is of a domineering
presence and stern. He has no forgiveness for offenders, but is
merciless as a tiger. It is only a man of subtle speech, or one
of correct virtue, who can bend him from his purpose.
'But the sagely man, when he is left in obscurity, causes the
members of his family to forget their poverty; and, when he gets
forward to a position of influence, causes kings and dukes to
forget their rank and emoluments, and transforms them to be
humble. With the inferior creatures, he shares their pleasures,
and they enjoy themselves the more; with other men, he rejoices
in the fellowship of the Tâo, and preserves it in himself.
Therefore though he may not speak, he gives them to drink of the
harmony (of his spirit). Standing in association with them, he
transforms them till they become in their feeling towards him as
sons with a father. His wish is to return to the solitude of his
own mind, and this is the effect of his occasional intercourse
with them. So far-reaching is his influence on the minds of men;
and therefore I said to you. "Wait for Kung-yüeh Hsiû.'''
2
The sage comprehends the connexions between himself and others,
and how they all go to constitute him of one body with them, and
he does not know how it is so;--he naturally does so. In
fulfilling his constitution, as acted on and acting, he (Simply)
follows the direction of Heaven; and it is in consequence of
this that men style him (a sage). If he were troubled about (the
insufficiency of) his knowledge, what he did would always be but
small, and sometimes would be arrested altogether;--how would he
in this case be (the sage)? When (the sage) is born with all his
excellence, it is other men who see it for him. If they did not
tell him, he would not know that he was more excellent than
others. And when he knows it, he is as if he did not know it;
when he hears it, he is as if he did not hear it. His source of
joy in it has no end, and men's admiration of him has no
end;--all this takes place naturally. The love of the sage for
others receives its name from them. If they did not tell him of
it, he would not know that he loved them; and when he knows it,
he is as if he knew it not; when he hears it, he is as if he
heard it not. His love of others never has an end, and their
rest in him has also no end:--all this takes place naturally.
3
When one sees at a distance his old country and old city, he
feels a joyous satisfaction. Though it be full of mounds and an
overgrowth of trees and grass, and when he enters it he finds
but a tenth part remaining, still he feels that satisfaction.
How much more when he sees what he saw, and hears what he heard
before! All this is to him like a tower eighty cubits high
exhibited in the sight of all men.
(The sovereign) Zän-hsiang was possessed of that central
principle round which all things revolve, and by it he could
follow them to their completion. His accompanying them had
neither ending nor beginning, and was independent of impulse or
time. Daily he witnessed their changes, and himself underwent no
change; and why should he not have rested in this? If we (try
to) adopt Heaven as our Master, we incapacitate ourselves from
doing so. Such endeavour brings us under the power of things. If
one acts in this way, what is to be said of him? The sage never
thinks of Heaven nor of men. He does not think of taking the
initiative, nor of anything external to himself. He moves along
with his age, and does not vary or fail. Amid all the
completeness of his doings, he is never exhausted. For those who
wish to be in accord with him, what other course is there to
pursue?
When Thang got one to hold for him the reins of government,
namely, Män-yin Täng-häng, he employed him as his teacher. He
followed his master, but did not allow himself to be hampered by
him, and so he succeeded in following things to their
completion. The master had the name; but that name was a
superfluous addition to his laws, and the twofold character of
his government was made apparent. Kung-nî's 'Task your thoughts
to the utmost' was his expression of the duties of a master.
Yung-khäng said, 'Take the days away and there will be no year;
without what is internal there will be nothing external.'
4
(King) Yung of Wei made a treaty with the marquis Thien Mâu (of
Khî), which the latter violated. The king was enraged, and
intended to send a man to assassinate him. When the Minister of
War heard of it, he was ashamed, and said (to the king), 'You
are a ruler of 10,000 chariots, and by means of a common man
would avenge yourself on your enemy. I beg you to give me, Yen,
the command of 200,000 soldiers to attack him for you. I will
take captive his people and officers, halter (and lead off) his
oxen and horses, kindling a fire within him that shall burn to
his backbone. I will then storm his capital; and when he shall
run away in terror, I will flog his back and break his spine.'
Kî-dze heard of this advice, and was ashamed of it, and said (to
the king), 'We have been raising the wall (of our capital) to a
height of eighty cubits, and the work has been completed. If we
now get it thrown down, it will be a painful toil to the convict
builders. It is now seven years since our troops were called
out, and this is the foundation of the royal sway. Yen would
introduce disorder;--he should not be listened to.' Hwâ-dze
heard of this advice, and, greatly disapproving of it, said (to
the king), 'He who shows his skill in saying "Attack Khî" would
produce disorder; and he who shows his skill in saying "Do not
attack it" would also produce disorder. And one who should
(merely) say, "The counsellors to attack Khî and not to attack
it would both produce disorder," would himself also lead to the
same result.' The king said, 'Yes, but what am I to do?' The
reply was, 'You have only to seek for (the rule of) the Tâo (on
the subject).'
Hui-dze, having heard of this counsel, introduced to the king
Tâi Zin-zän, who said, 'There is the creature called a snail;
does your majesty know it?' 'I do.' 'On the left horn of the
snail there is a kingdom which is called Provocation, and on the
right horn another which is called Stupidity. These two kingdoms
are continually striving about their territories and fighting.
The corpses that lie on the ground amount to several myriads.
The army of one may be defeated and put to flight, but in
fifteen days it will return.' The king said, 'Pooh! that is
empty talk!' The other rejoined, 'Your servant begs to show your
majesty its real significance. When your majesty thinks of
space--east, west, north, and south, above and beneath--can you
set any limit to it?' 'It is illimitable,' said the king; and
his visitor went on, 'Your majesty knows how to let your mind
thus travel through the illimitable, and yet (as compared with
this) does it not seem insignificant whether the kingdoms that
communicate one with another exist or not?' The king replies,
'It does so;' and Tâi Zin-zän said, finally, 'Among those
kingdoms, stretching one after another, there is this Wei; in
Wei there is this (city of) Liang; and in Liang there is your
majesty. Can you make any distinction between yourself, and (the
king of that kingdom of) Stupidity?' To this the king answered,
'There is no distinction,' and his visitor went out, while the
king remained disconcerted and seemed to have lost himself.
When the visitor was gone, Hui-dze came in and saw the king, who
said, 'That stranger is a Great man. An (ordinary) sage is not
equal to him.' Hui-dze replied, 'If you blow into a flute, there
come out its pleasant notes; if you blow into a sword-hilt,
there is nothing but a wheezing sound. Yâo and Shun are the
subjects of men's praises, but if you speak of them before Tai
Zin-zän, there will be but the wheezing sound.'
5
Confucius, having gone to Khû, was lodging in the house of a
seller of Congee at Ant-hill. On the roof of a neighbouring
house there appeared the husband and his wife, with their
servants, male and female. Dze-lû said, 'What are those people
doing, collected there as we see them?' Kung-nî replied, 'The
man is a disciple of the sages. He is burying himself among the
people, and hiding among the fields. Reputation has become
little in his eyes, but there is no bound to his cherished aims.
Though he may speak with his mouth, he never tells what is in
his mind. Moreover, he is at variance with the age, and his mind
disdains to associate with it;--he is one who may be said to lie
hid at the bottom of the water on the dry land. Is he not a sort
of Î Liâo of Shih-nan?' Dze-lû asked leave to go and call him,
but Confucius said, 'Stop. He knows that I understand him well.
He knows that I am come to Khû, and thinks that I am sure to try
and get the king to invite him (to court). He also thinks that I
am a man swift to speak. Being such a man, he would feel ashamed
to listen to the words of one of voluble and flattering tongue,
and how much more to come himself and see his person! And why
should we think that he will remain here?' Dze-lû, however, went
to see how it was, but found the house empty.
6
The Border-warden of Khang-wû, in questioning Dze-lâo, said,
'Let not a ruler in the exercise of his government be (like the
farmer) who leaves the clods unbroken, nor, in regulating his
people, (like one) who recklessly plucks up the shoots.
Formerly, in ploughing my corn-fields, I left the clods
unbroken, and my recompense was in the rough unsatisfactory
crops; and in weeding, I destroyed and tore up (many good
plants), and my recompense was in the scantiness of my harvests.
In subsequent years I changed my methods, ploughing deeply and
carefully covering up the seed; and my harvests were rich and
abundant, so that all the year I had more than I could eat.'
When Kwang-dze heard of his remarks, he said, 'Now-a-days, most
men, in attending to their bodies and regulating their minds,
correspond to the description of the Border-warden. They hide
from themselves their Heaven(-given being); they leave (all care
of) their (proper) nature; they extinguish their (proper)
feelings; and they leave their spirit to die:--abandoning
themselves to what is the general practice. Thus dealing with
their nature like the farmer who is negligent of the clods in
his soil, the illegitimate results of their likings and
dislikings become their nature. The bushy sedges, reeds, and
rushes, which seem at first to spring up to support our bodies,
gradually eradicate our nature, and it becomes like a mass of
running sores, ever liable to flow out, with scabs and ulcers,
discharging in flowing matter from the internal heat. So indeed
it is!'
7
Po Kü was studying with Lâo Tan, and asked his leave to go and
travel everywhere. Lao Tan said, 'Nay;--elsewhere it is just as
here.' He repeated his request, and then Lâo Tan said, 'Where
would you go first?' 'I would begin with Khî,' replied the
disciple. Having got there, I would go to look at the criminals
(who had been executed). With my arms I would raise (one of)
them up and set him on his feet, and, taking off my court robes,
I would cover him with them, appealing at the same time to
Heaven and bewailing his lot, while I said, "My son, my son, you
have been one of the first to suffer from the great calamities
that afflict the world."' (Lâo Tan) said, '(It is said), ---Do
not rob. Do not kill." (But) in the setting up of (the ideas of)
glory and disgrace, we see the cause of those evils; in the
accumulation of property and wealth, we see the causes of strife
and contention. If now you set up the things against which men
fret; if you accumulate what produces strife and contention
among them; if you put their persons in such a state of
distress, that they have no rest or ease, although you may wish
that they should not come to the end of those (criminals), can
your wish be realised?
'The superior men (and rulers) of old considered that the
success (of their government) was to be found in (the state of)
the people, and its failure to be sought in themselves; that the
right might be with the people, and the wrong in themselves.
Thus it was that if but a single person lost his life, they
retired and blamed themselves. Now, however, it is not so.
(Rulers) conceal what they want done, and hold those who do not
know it to be stupid; they require what is very difficult, and
condemn those who do not dare to undertake it; they impose heavy
burdens, and punish those who are unequal to them; they require
men to go far, and put them to death when they cannot accomplish
the distance. When the people know that the utmost of their
strength will be insufficient, they follow it up with deceit.
When (the rulers) daily exhibit much hypocrisy, how can the
officers and people not be hypocritical? Insufficiency of
strength produces hypocrisy; insufficiency of knowledge produces
deception; insufficiency of means produces robbery. But in this
case against whom ought the robbery and theft to be charged?'
8
When Kü Po-yü was in his sixtieth year, his views became changed
in the course of it. He had never before done anything but
consider the views which he held to be right, but now he came to
condemn them as wrong; he did not know that what he now called
right was not what for fifty-nine years he had been calling
wrong. All things have the life (which we know), but we do not
see its root; they have their goings forth, but we do not know
the door by which they depart. Men all honour that which lies
within the sphere of their knowledge, but they do not know their
dependence on what lies without that sphere which would be their
(true) knowledge:--may we not call their case one of great
perplexity? Ah! Ah! there is no escaping from this dilemma. So
it is! So it is!
9
Kung-nî asked the Grand Historiographer Tâ Thâo, (along with) Po
Khang-khien and Khih-wei, saying, 'Duke Ling of Wei was so
addicted to drink, and abandoned to sensuality, that he did not
attend to the government of his state. Occupied in his pursuit
of hunting with his nets and bows, he kept aloof from the
meetings of the princes. In what was it that he showed his title
to the epithet of Ling?' Tâ Thâo said, 'It was on account of
those very things.' Po Khang-khien said, 'Duke Ling had three
mistresses with whom he used to bathe in the same tub. (Once,
however), when Shih-zhiû came to him with presents from the
imperial court, he made his servants support the messenger in
bearing the gifts. So dissolute was he in the former case, and
when he saw a man of worth, thus reverent was he to him. It was
on this account that he was styled "Duke Ling." Khih-wei said,
'When duke Ling died, and they divined about burying him in the
old tomb of his House, the answer was unfavourable; when they
divined about burying him on Shâ-khiû, the answer was
favourable. Accordingly they dug there to the depth of several
fathoms, and found a stone coffin. Having washed and inspected
it, they discovered an inscription, which said,
"This grave will not be available for your posterity;
Duke Ling will appropriate it for himself."
Thus that epithet of Ling had long been settled for the duke.
But how should those two be able to know this
10
Shâo Kih asked Thâi-kung Thiâo, saying, 'What do we mean by "The
Talk of the Hamlets and Villages?" The reply was, 'Hamlets and
Villages are formed by the union--say of ten surnames and a
hundred names, and are considered to be (the source of) manners
and customs. The differences between them are united to form
their common character, and what is common to them is separately
apportioned to form the differences. If you point to the various
parts which make up the body of a horse, you do not have the
horse; but when the horse is before you, and all its various
parts stand forth (as forming the animal), you speak of "the
horse." So it is that the mounds and hills are made to be the
elevations that they are by accumulations of earth which
individually are but low. (So also rivers like) the Kiang and
the Ho obtain their greatness by the union of (other smaller)
waters with them. And (in the same way) the Great man exhibits
the common sentiment of humanity by the union in himself of all
its individualities. Hence when ideas come to him from without,
though he has his own decided view, he does not hold it with
bigotry; and when he gives out his own decisions, which are
correct, the views of others do not oppose them. The four
seasons have their different elemental characters, but they are
not the partial gifts of Heaven, and so the year completes its
course. The five official departments have their different
duties, but the ruler does not partially employ any one of them,
and so the kingdom is governed. (The gifts of) peace and war(are
different), but the Great man does not employ the one to the
prejudice of the other, and so the character (of his
administration) is perfect. All things have their different
constitutions and modes of actions, but the Tâo (which directs
them) is free from all partiality, and therefore it has no name.
Having no name, it therefore does nothing. Doing nothing, there
is nothing which it does not do.
'Each season has its ending and beginning; each age has its
changes and transformations; misery and happiness regularly
alternate. Here our views are thwarted, and yet the result may
afterwards have our approval; there we insist on our own views,
and looking at things differently from others, try to correct
them, while we are in error ourselves. The case may be compared
to that of a great marsh, in which all its various vegetation
finds a place, or we may look at it as a great hill, where trees
and rocks are found on the same terrace. Such may be a
description of what is intended by "The Talk of the Hamlets and
Villages."'
Shâo Kih said, 'Well, is it sufficient to call it (an expression
of) the Tâo?' Thâi-kung Thiâo said, 'It is not so. If we reckon
up the number of things, they are not 10,000 merely. When we
speak of them as "the Myriad Things," we simply use that large
number by way of accommodation to denominate them. In this way
Heaven and Earth are the greatest of all things that have form;
the Yin and Yang are the greatest of all elemental forces. But
the Tâo is common to them. Because of their greatness to use the
Tâo or (Course) as a title and call it "the Great Tâo" is
allowable. But what comparison can be drawn between it and "the
Talk of the Hamlets and Villages?" To argue from this that it is
a sufficient expression of the Tâo, is like calling a dog and a
horse by the same name, while the difference between them is so
great.'
11
Shâo Kih said, 'Within the limits of the four cardinal points,
and the six boundaries of space, how was it that there commenced
the production of all things?' Thâi-kung Thiâo replied, 'The Yin
and Yang reflected light on each other, covered each other, and
regulated each the other; the four seasons gave place to one
another, produced one another, and brought one another to an
end. Likings and dislikings, the avoidings of this and movements
towards that, then arose (in the things thus produced), in their
definite distinctness; and from this came the separation and
union of the male and female. Then were seen now security and
now insecurity, in mutual change; misery and happiness produced
each other; gentleness and urgency pressed on each other; the
movements of collection and dispersion were established:--these
names and processes can be examined, and, however minute, can be
recorded. The rules determining the order in which they follow
one another, their mutual influence now acting directly and now
revolving, how, when they are exhausted, they revive, and how
they end and begin again; these are the properties belonging to
things. Words can describe them and knowledge can reach to them;
but with this ends all that can be said of things. Men who study
the Tâo do not follow on when these operations end, nor try to
search out how they began:--with this all discussion of them
stops.'
Shâo Kih said, 'Kî Kän holds that (the Tâo) forbids all action,
and Kieh-dze holds that it may perhaps allow of influence. Which
of the two is correct in his statements, and which is one-sided
in his ruling?' Thâi-kung Thiâo replied, 'Cocks crow and dogs
bark;--this is what all men know. But men with the greatest
wisdom cannot describe in words whence it is that they are
formed (with such different voices), nor can they find out by
thinking what they wish to do. We may refine on this small
point; till it is so minute that there is no point to operate
on, or it may become so great that there is no embracing it.
"Some one caused it;" "No one did it;" but we are thus debating
about things; and the end is that we shall find we are in error.
"Some one caused it;"--then there was a real Being. "No one did
it;"--then there was mere vacancy. To have a name and a real
existence,-that is the condition of a thing. Not to have a name,
and not to have real being;--that is vacancy and no thing. We
may speak and we may think about it, but the more we speak, the
wider shall we be of the mark. Birth, before it comes, cannot be
prevented; death, when it has happened, cannot be traced
farther. Death and life are not far apart; but why they have
taken place cannot be seen. That some one has caused them, or
that there has been no action in the case are but speculations
of doubt. When I look for their origin, it goes back into
infinity; when I look for their end, it proceeds without
termination. Infinite, unceasing, there is no room for words
about (the Tâo). To regard it as in the category of things is
the origin of the language that it is caused or that it is the
result of doing nothing; but it would end as it began with
things. The Tâo cannot have a (real) existence; if it has, it
cannot be made to appear as if it had not. The name Tâo is a
metaphor, used for the purpose of description. To say that it
causes or does nothing is but to speak of one phase of things,
and has nothing to do with the Great Subject. If words were
sufficient for the purpose, in a day's time we might exhaust it;
since they are not sufficient, we may speak all day, and only
exhaust (the subject of) things. The Tâo is the extreme to which
things conduct us. Neither speech nor silence is sufficient to
convey the notion of it. Neither by speech nor by silence can
our thoughts about it have their highest expression. |