1. Thien Dze-fang, sitting in attendance on the marquis Wän of Wei, often quoted (with approbation) the
words of Khî Kung. The marquis
said, ‘Is Khî Kung your preceptor?’ Dze-fang replied, ‘No. He only belongs to
the same neighbourhood. In speaking about the Tâo, his views are often correct,
and therefore I quote them as I do.’ The marquis went on, ‘Then have you no
preceptor?’ ‘I have.’ And who is he? He is Tung-kwo Shun-dze.’ ‘And why, my Master, have I never heard you quote
his words?’ Dze-fang replied, ‘He is a man who satisfies the true (ideal of
humanity); a man in appearance,
but (having the mind of) Heaven. Void of any thought of himself, he accommodates
himself to others, and nourishes the true ideal that belongs to him. With all
his purity, he is forbearing to others. Where they are without the Tâo, he
rectifies his demeanour, so that they understand it, and in consequence their
own ideas melt away and disappear. How should one like me be fit to quote his
words?’
When Dze-fang went out, the marquis Wän continued in a state of dumb amazement
all the day. He then called Lung Lî-khin, and said to him, ‘How far removed from
us is the superior man of complete virtue! Formerly I thought the words of the
sages and wise men, and the practice of benevolence and righteousness, to be the
utmost we could reach to. Since I have heard about the preceptor of Dze-fang, my
body is all unstrung, and I do not wish to move, and my mouth is closed up, and
I do not wish to speak;—what I have learned has been only a counterfeit of
the truth. Yes, (the possession of
Wei) has been an entanglement to me.’
2. Wän-po Hsüeh-dze, on his way to
Khï, stayed some time in Lû, where some persons of the state begged to have an
interview with him. He refused them, saying, ‘I have heard that the superior men
of these Middle States understand
the (subjects of) ceremony and righteousness, but are deplorably ignorant of the
minds of men. I do not wish to see them.’ He went on to Khî; and on his way back
(to the south), he again stayed in Lû, when the same persons begged as before
for an interview. He then said, ‘Formerly they asked to see me, and now again
they seek an interview. They will afford me some opportunity of bringing out my
sentiments.’ He went out accordingly and saw the visitors, and came in again
with a sigh. Next day the same thing occurred, and his servant said to him, ‘How
is it that whenever you see those visitors, you are sure to come in again
sighing?’ ‘I told you before,’ was the reply, ‘that the people of these Middle
States understand (the subjects of) ceremony and righteousness, but are
deplorably ignorant of the minds of men. Those men who have just seen me, as
they came in and went out would describe, one a circle and another a square, and
in their easy carriage would be like, one a dragon and another a tiger. They
remonstrated with me as sons (with their fathers), and laid down the way for me
as fathers (for their sons). It was this which made me sigh.’
Kung-nî saw the man, but did not speak a word to him. Dze-lû said, ‘You have
wished, Sir, to see this Wän-po Hsüeh-dze for a long time; what is the reason
that when you have seen him, you have not spoken a word?’ Kung-nî replied, ‘As
soon as my eyes lighted on that man, the Tâo in him was apparent. The situation
did not admit of a word being spoken.’
3. Yen Yüan asked Kung-nî, saying, ‘Master, when you pace quietly along, I also
pace along; when you go more quickly, I also do the same; when you gallop, I
also gallop; but when you race along and spurn the dust, then I can only stand
and look, and keep behind you.’
The Master said, ‘Hui, what do you mean?’ The reply was, ‘In saying that when
you, Master, pace quietly along, I also pace along,” I mean that when you speak, I also speak. By saying, “When
you go more quickly, I also do the same,” I mean I that when you reason, I also
reason. By saying, “When you gallop, I also gallop,” I mean10 that when you speak of the Way, I also speak of the
Way; but by saying, “When you race along and spurn the dust, then I can only
stare, and keep behind you,” I am thinking how though you do not speak, yet all
men believe you; though you are no partisan, yet all parties approve your
catholicity; and though you sound no instrument, yet people all move on
harmoniously before you, while (all the while) I do not know how all this comes
about; and this is all which my words are intended to express.’
Kung-nî said, ‘But you must try and search the matter out. Of all causes for
sorrow there is none so great as the death of the mind;—the death of man’s
(body) is only next to it. The sun comes forth in the east, and sets in the
extreme West;—all things have their position determined by these two
points. All that have eyes and feet wait for this (sun), and then proceed to do
what they have to do. When this comes forth, they appear in their places; when
it sets, they disappear. It is so with all things. They have that for which they
wait, and (on its arrival) they die; they have that for which they wait, and
then (again) they live. When once I receive my frame thus completed, I remain
unchanged, awaiting the consummation of my course. I move as acted on by things,
day and night without cessation, and I do not know when I will come to an end.
Clearly I am here a completed frame, and even one who (fancies that he) knows
what is appointed cannot determine it beforehand. I am in this way daily passing
on, but all day long I am communicating my views to you; and now, as we are
shoulder to shoulder you fail (to understand me);—is it not matter for
lamentation? You are able in a measure to set forth what I more clearly set
forth; but that is passed away, and you look for it, as if it were still
existing, just as if you were looking for a horse in the now empty place where
it was formerly exhibited for sale. You have very much forgotten my service to
you, and I have very much forgotten wherein I served you. But nevertheless why
should you account this such an evil? What you forget is but my old self; that
which cannot be forgotten remains with me.’
4. Confucius went to see Lâo Tan, and arrived just as he had completed the
bathing of his head, and was letting his dishevelled hair get dry. There be was,
motionless, and as if there were not another man in the world. Confucius waited quietly; and, when in a little
time he was introduced, he said, ‘Were my eyes dazed? Is it really you? Just
now, your body, Sir, was like the stump of a rotten tree. You looked as if you
had no thought of anything, as if you had left the society of men, and were
standing in the solitude (of yourself).’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘I was enjoying myself
in thinking about the commencement of things.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘My mind is so cramped, that I
hardly know it; my tongue is so tied that I cannot tell it; but I will try to
describe it to you as nearly as I can. When the state of Yin was perfect, all
was cold and severe; when the state of Yang was perfect, all was turbulent and
agitated. The coldness and severity came forth from Heaven; the turbulence and
agitation issued from Earth. The two states communicating together, a harmony
ensued and things were produced. Some one regulated and controlled this, but no
one has seen his form. Decay and growth; fulness and emptiness; darkness and
light; the changes of the sun and the transformations of the moon:—these
are brought about from day to day; but no one sees the process of production.
Life has its origin from which it springs, and death has its place from which it
returns. Beginning and ending go on in mutual contrariety without any
determinable commencement, and no one knows bow either comes to an end. If we
disallow all this, who originates and presides over all these phenomena?’
Confucius said, ‘I beg to ask about your enjoyment in these thoughts.’ Lâo Tan
replied, ‘The comprehension of this is the most admirable and the most enjoyable
(of all acquisitions). The getting of the most admirable and the exercise of the
thoughts in what is the most enjoyable, constitutes what we call the Perfect
man.’ Confucius said, ‘I should like to hear the method of attaining to it.’ The
reply was, ‘Grass-eating animals do not dislike to change their pastures;
creatures born in the water do not dislike to change their waters. They make a
small change, but do not lose what is the great and regular requirement (of
their nature); joy, anger, sadness, and delight do not enter into their breasts
(in connexion with such events). Now the space under the sky is occupied by all
things in their unity. When they possess that unity and equally share it, then
the four limbs and hundred members of their body are but so much dust and dirt,
while death and life, their ending and beginning, are but as the succession of
day and night, which cannot disturb their enjoyment; and how much less will they
be troubled by gains and losses, by calamity and happiness! Those who renounce
the paraphernalia of rank do it as if they were casting away so much mud; they
know that they are themselves more honourable than those paraphernalia. The
honour belonging to one’s self is not lost by any change (of condition).
Moreover, a myriad transformations may take place before the end of them is
reached. What is there in all this sufficient to trouble the mind? Those who
have attained to the Tâo understand the subject.’
Confucius said, ‘O Master, your virtue is equal to that of Heaven and Earth, and
still I must borrow (some of your) perfect words (to aid me) in the cultivation
of my mind. Who among the superior men of antiquity could give such expression
to them?’ Lâo Tan replied, ‘Not so. Look at the spring, the water of which rises
and overflows; it does nothing, but it naturally acts so. So with the perfect
man and his virtue;—he does not cultivate it, and nothing evades its
influence. He is like heaven which is high of itself, like earth which is solid
of itself, like the sun and moon which shine of themselves;—what need is
there to cultivate it?’
Confucius went out and reported the conversation to Yen Hui, saying, ‘In the
(knowledge of the) Tâo am I any better than an animalcule in vinegar? But for
the Master’s lifting the veil from me, I should not have known the grand
perfection of Heaven and Earth.’
5. At an interview of Kwang-dze with duke Âi of Lû, the duke said, ‘There are many of the Learned
class in Lû; but few of them can be compared with you, Sir.’ Kwang-dze replied,
‘There are few Learned men in Lû.’ ‘Everywhere in Lû,’ rejoined the duke, ‘you
see men wearing the dress of the Learned;—how can you say that they are few?’ ‘I have
heard,’ said Kwang-dze, ‘that those of them who wear round caps know the times
of heaven; that those who wear square shoes know the contour of the ground; and
that those who saunter about with semicircular stones at their girdle-pendents
settle matters in dispute as they come before them. But superior men who are
possessed of such knowledge will not be found wearing the dress, and it does not
follow that those who wear the dress possess the knowledge. If your Grace think
otherwise, why not issue a notification through the state, that it shall be a
capital offence to wear the dress without possessing the knowledge.’ On this the
duke issued such a notification, and in five days, throughout all Lû, there was
no one who dared to wear the dress of the Learned. There was only one old man
who came and stood in it at the duke’s gate. The duke instantly called him in,
and questioned him about the affairs of the state, when he talked about a
thousand points and ten thousand divergences from them. Kwang-dze said, ‘When
the state of Lû can thus produce but one man of the Learned class, can he be
said to be many?’
6. The ideas of rank and emolument did not enter the mind of Pâi-lî Hsî, and so he
became a cattle-feeder, and his cattle were all in fine condition. This made duke Mû of
Khin forget the meanness of his position, and put the government (of his state) into his
hands. Neither life nor death entered into the mind of (Shun), the Lord of Yü, and therefore
he was able to influence others.
7. The ruler Yüan of
Sung wishing to have a map
drawn, the masters of the pencil all came (to undertake the task). Having received his
instructions and made their bows, they stood, licking their pencils and preparing their
ink. Half their number, however, remained outside. There was one who came late, with an
air of indifference, and did not hurry forward. When he had received his instructions
and made his bow, he did not keep standing, but proceeded to his shed. The duke sent a
man to see him, and there he was, with his upper garment off, sitting cross-legged, and
nearly naked. The ruler said, ‘He is the man; he is a true draughtsman.’
8. King Wän was (once) looking about him at Zang, when he saw an old man fishing.
But his fishing was no fishing. It was not the fishing of one whose business is fishing.
He was always fishing (as if he had no object in the occupation). The king wished to raise
him to office, and put the government into his hands, but was afraid that such a step
would give dissatisfaction to his great ministers, his uncles, and cousins. He then wished
to dismiss the man altogether from his mind, but he could not bear the thought that his
people should be without (such a) Heaven (as their Protector). On this, (next) morning,
he called together his great officers, and said to them, ‘Last night, I dreamt that I
saw a good man, with a dark complexion and a
beard, riding on a piebald horse, one half of whose hoofs were red, who commanded me,
saying, “Lodge your government in the hands of the old man of Zang; and perhaps the evils
of your people will be cured.”‘ The great officers said eagerly, ‘It was the king, your
father.’ King Wän said, ‘Let us then submit the proposal to the tortoise-shell.’ They
replied, ‘It is the order of your father. Let not your majesty think of any other. Why
divine about it?’ (The king) then met the old man of, Zang, and committed the government
to him. The statutes and laws were not changed by him; not a one-sided order (of his own)
was issued; but when the king made a survey of the kingdom after three years, he found
that the officers had destroyed the plantations (which harboured banditti), and dispersed
their occupiers, that the superintendents of the official departments did not plume themselves
on their successes, and that no unusual grain measures were allowed within the different
states. When the officers
had destroyed the dangerous plantations and dispersed their
occupants, the highest value was set on the common interests; when the chiefs of departments
did not plume themselves on their successes, the highest value was set on the common business;
when unusual grain measures did not enter the different states, the different princes
had no jealousies. On this king Min made the old man his Grand Preceptor, and asked him,
with his own face to the north, whether his government might be extended to all the kingdom.
The old
man looked perplexed and gave no reply, but with aimless look took his leave. In the morning
he had issued his orders, and at night he had gone his way; nor was he heard of again
all his life. Yen Yüan questioned Confucius, saying, ‘Was even king Wän unequal to determine
his course? What had he to do with resorting to a dream?’ Kung-nî replied, ‘Be silent
and do not say a word! King Win was complete in everything. What have you to do with criticising
him? He only had recourse (to the dream) to meet a moment’s difficulty.’
9. Lieh Yü-khâu was exhibiting his archery to Po-hwän Wû-zän. Having drawn the bow
to its full extent, with a cup of water placed on his elbow, he let fly. As the arrow
was discharged, another was put in its place; and as that was sent off, a third was ready
on the string. All the while he stood like a statue. Po-hwän Wû-zän said, ‘That is the
shooting of an archer, but not of one who shoots without thinking about his shooting.
Let me go up with you to the top of a high mountain, treading with you among the tottering
rocks, till we arrive at the brink of a precipice, 800 cubits deep, and (I will then see)
if you can shoot.’ On this they went up a high mountain, making their way among the tottering
rocks, till they came to the brink of a precipice 800 cubits deep. Then Wû-zän turned
round and walked backwards, till his feet were two-thirds
of their length outside the edge, and beckoned Yü-khâu to come forward. He, however, had
fallen prostrate on the ground, with the sweat pouring down to his heels. Then the other
said, ‘The Perfect man looks up to the azure sky above, or dives down to the yellow springs
beneath, or soars away to the eight ends of the universe, without any change coming over
his spirit or his breath. But now the trepidation of your mind appears in your dazed eyes;
your inward feeling of peril is extreme!’
10. Kien Wû asked Sun-shû Âo, saying, ‘You, Sir, were thrice chief minister, and did not
feel elated; you were thrice dismissed from that position, without manifesting any sorrow.
At first I was in doubt about you, (but I am not now, since) I see how regularly and quietly
the breath comes through your nostrils. How is it that you exercise your mind?’ Sun-shû
Âo replied, ‘In what do I surpass other men? When the position came to me, I thought it
should not be rejected; when it was taken away, I thought it could not be retained. I
considered that the getting or losing it did not make me what I was, and was no occasion
for any manifestation of sorrow;—that was all. In what did I surpass other men? And
moreover, I did not know whether the honour of it belonged to the dignity, or to myself.
If it belonged to the dignity, it was nothing to me; if it belonged to me, it had nothing
to do with the dignity. While occupied with these uncertainties, and looking round in
all directions, what leisure had I to take knowledge of whether men honoured me or thought
me mean?’
Kung-nî heard of all this, and said, ‘The True men of old could not be fully described
by the wisest, nor be led into excess by the most beautiful, nor be forced by the most
violent robber. Neither Fû-hsî nor Hwang-Tî could compel them to be their friends. Death
and life are indeed great considerations, but they could make no change in their (true)
self; and how much less could rank and emolument do so? Being such, their spirits might
pass over the Thâi mountain and find it no obstacle to them; they might enter the greatest
gulphs, and not be wet by them; they might occupy the lowest and smallest positions without
being distressed by them. Theirs was the fulness of heaven and earth; the more that they
gave to others, the more they had.’
The king of Khû and the ruler of Fan were sitting together. After a little while, the
attendants of the king said, ‘Fan has been destroyed three times.’ The ruler of Fan rejoined,
‘The destruction of Fan has not been sufficient to destroy what we had that was most deserving
to be preserved.’ Now,
if the destruction of Fan had not been sufficient to destroy that which it had most deserving
to be preserved, the preservation of Khû had not been sufficient to preserve that in it
most deserving to be preserved. Looking at the matter from this point of view, Fan had
not begun to be destroyed, and Khû had not begun to be preserved.