Sacred-Texts Taoism

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CHAPTER III
LOVE
ONCE more it was evening. We sat again upon the soft turf of the mountain-side, the quietness of our mood in sympathy with the solemn stillness of twilight. The distant mountain-ranges reposed in an atmosphere breathing reverence and devotion--they seemed to be kneeling beneath the heavens, beneath the slow-descending blessing of night. The isolated trees dotted here and there about the hills stood motionless, in a pause of silent worshipping. The rush of the sea sounded distant and indistinct, lost in its own greatness. Peace lay over everything, and soft sounds went up, as of prayer.

The hermit stood before me, dignified as a tree in the midst of Nature, and awe-inspiring as the evening itself.

I had returned to question him again. For my soul found no repose apart from him, and a mighty impulse was stirring within me. But now that I found myself near him, I hardly dared to speak; and indeed it seemed as though words were no longer necessary--as though everything lay, of itself, open and clear as daylight. How goodly and simple everything appeared that evening! Was it not my own inmost being that I recognized in all the beauty around me? and was not the whole on the point of being absorbed into the Eternal?

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Nevertheless I broke in upon this train of feeling, and cleft the peaceful silence with my voice:

"Father," I said sadly, "all your words have sunk into my mind, and my soul is filled with the balm of them. This soul of mine is no longer my own--no longer what I used to be. It is as though I were dead: and I know not what is taking place within me--by day and by night--causing it to grow so light, and clear, and vacant in my mind. Father, I know it is Tao; it is death, and glorious resurrection; but it is not love; and without love, Tao appears to me but a gloomy lie."

The old man looked round him at the evening scene, and smiled gently.

"What is love?" he asked calmly. "Are you sure about that, I wonder?"

"No, I am not sure," I answered. "I do not know anything about it, but that is just the reason of its great blessedness. Yes, do but let me express it! I mean: love of a Maiden, love of a woman.--I remember yet, Father, what it was to me when I saw the maiden, and my soul knew delight for the first time. It was like a sea, like a broad heaven, like death. It was light--and I had been blind! It hurt, Father--my heart beat so violently--and my eyes burned. The world was a fire, and all things were strange, and began to live. It was a great flame flaring from out my soul. It was so fearful, but so lovely, and so infinitely great! Father, I think it was greater than Tao!"

"I know well what it was," said the sage. "It was Beauty, the earthly form of the formless Tao, calling up in you the rhythm of that movement by which you will enter into Tao. You might have experienced

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the same at sight of a tree, a cloud, a flower. But because you are human, living by desire, therefore to you it could only be revealed through another human being, a woman--because, also, that form is to you more easily understood, and more familiar. And since desire did not allow the full upgrowth of a pure contemplation, therefore was the rhythm within you wrought up to be wild tempest, like a storm-thrashed sea that knows not whither it is tending. The inmost essence of the whole emotion was not 'love,' but Tao."

But the calmness of the old sage made me impatient, and excited me to answer roughly:

"It is easy to talk thus theoretically, but seeing that you have never experienced it yourself, you can understand nothing of that of which you speak!"

He looked at me steadily, and laid his hand sympathetically on my shoulder.

"It would be cruel of you to speak thus to any one but me, young man!--I loved, before you drew breath in this world! At that time there lived a maiden, so wondrous to see, it was as if she were the direct-born expression of Tao. For me she was the world, and the world lay dead around her. I saw nothing but her, and for me there existed no such things as trees, men, or clouds. She was more beautiful than this evening, gentler than the lines of those distant mountains, more tender than those hushed tree-tops; and the light of her presence was more blessed .to see than the still shining of yonder star. I will not tell you her story. It was more scorching than a very hell-fire--but it was not real, and it is over now, like a storm that has passed. It seemed to me that I must die; I longed to flee from my pain into death.--But there came a

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dawning in my soul, and all grew light and comprehensible. Nothing was lost. All was yet as it had been. The beauty which I believed to have been taken from me lived on still, spotless, in myself. For not from this woman,--out of my soul had this beauty sprung; and this I saw shining yet, all over the world, with an everlasting radiance, Nature was no other than what I had fashioned to myself out of that shadowy form of a woman. And my soul was one with Nature, and floated with a like rhythm towards the eternal Tao."

Calmed by his calmness, I said: "She whom I loved is dead, Father--She who culled my soul as a child culls a flower never became my wife. But I have a wife now, a miracle of strength and goodness, a wife who is essential to me as light and air. I do not love her as I even now love the dead. But I know that she is a purer human being than that other. How is it then that I do not love her so much? She has transformed my wild and troubled life into a tranquil march towards death. She is simple and true as Nature itself, and her face is dear to me as the sunlight."

"You love her, indeed!" said the sage, "but you know not what love means, nor loving. I will tell it you. Love is no other than the rhythm of Tao. I have told you: you are come out of Tao, and to Tao you will return. Whilst you are young--with your soul still enveloped in darkness--in the shock of the first impulse within you, you know not yet whither you are trending. You see the woman before you. You believe her to be that towards which the rhythm is driving you. But even when the woman is yours, and you have thrilled at the touch of her, you feel the rhythm yet within you, unappeased, and know that

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you must forward, ever further, if you would bring it to a standstill. Then it is that in the soul of the man and of the woman there arises a great sadness, and they look at one another, questioning whither they are now bound. Gently they clasp one another by the hand, and move on through life, swayed by the same impulse, towards the same goal. Call this love if you will. What is a name? I call it Tao. And the souls of those who love are like two white clouds floating softly side by side, that vanish, wafted by the same wind, into the infinite blue of the heavens."

"But that is not the love that I mean!" I cried. "Love is not the desire to see the loved one absorbed into Tao; love is the longing to be always with her; the deep yearning for the blending of the two souls in one; the hot desire to soar, in one breath with her, into felicity! And this always with the loved one alone--not with others, not with Nature. And, were I absorbed into Tao, all this happiness would be for ever lost! Oh let me stay here, in this goodly world, with my faithful companion! Here it is so bright and homely, and Tao is still so gloomy and inscrutable for me."

"The hot desire dies out," he answered calmly. "The body of your loved one will wither and pass away within the cold earth. The leaves of the trees fade in autumn, and the withered flowers droop sadly to the ground. How can you love that so much which does not last? However, you know, in truth, as yet, neither how you love nor what it is that you love. The beauty of woman is but a vague reflection of the formless beauty of Tao. The emotion it awakens, the longing to lose yourself in her beauty, that ecstasy of feeling

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which would lend wings for the flight of your soul with the beloved--beyond horizon-bounds, into regions of bliss--believe me, it is no other than the rhythm of Tao; only you know it not. You resemble still the river which knows as yet only its shimmering banks; which has no knowledge of the power that draws it forward; but which will one day inevitably flow out into the great ocean. Why this striving after happiness, after human happiness, that lasts but a moment and then vanishes again? Chuang-Tse said truly: 'The highest happiness is no happiness.' Is it not small and pitiable, this momentary uprising, and downfalling, and uprising again? This wavering, weakly intention and progress of men? Do not seek happiness in a woman. She is the joyful revelation of Tao directed towards you. She is the purest form in the whole of nature by which Tao is manifested. She is the gentle force that awakens the rhythm of Tao within you. But she is only a poor creature like yourself. And you are for her the same joyful revelation that she is to you. Fancy not that that which you perceive in her is that Tao, that very holiest, into which you would one day ascend! For then you would surely reject her when you realized what she was. If you will truly love a woman, then love her as being of the same poor nature as yourself, and do not seek happiness with her. Whether in your love you see this or not--her inmost being is Tao. A poet looks upon a woman, and, swayed by the 'rhythm,' he perceives the beauty of the beloved in all things--in the trees, the mountains, the horizon; for the beauty of a woman is the same as that of Nature. It is the form of Tao, the great and formless, and what your soul desires in the

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excitement of beholding--this strange, unspeakable feeling--is nothing but your oneness with this beauty, and with the source of this beauty--Tao. And the like is experienced by your wife. Ye are for each other angels, who lead one another to Tao unconsciously."

I was silent for a while, reflecting. In the soft colouring and stillness of the evening lay a great sadness. About the horizon, where the sun had set, there glimmered a streak of faint red light, like dying pain.

"What is this sadness, then, in the Nature around us?" I asked. "Is there not that in the twilight as though the whole earth were weeping with a grievous longing? See how she mourns, with these fading hues, these drooping tree-tops, and solemn mountains. Human eyes must fill with tears, when this great grief of Nature looms within their sight. It is as though she were longing for her beloved--as though everything--seas, mountains and heavens--were full of mourning.

And the Sage replied: "It is the same pain which cries in the hearts of men. Your own longing quivers in Nature too. The 'Heimweh' of the evening is also the 'Heimweh' of your soul. Your soul has lost her love: Tao, with whom she once was one; and your soul desires re-union with her love. Absolute re-union with Tao--is not that an immense love?--to be so absolutely one with the beloved that you are wholly hers, she wholly yours;--a union so full and eternal that neither death nor life can ever cleave your oneness again? So tranquil and pure that desire can no more awaken in you--perfect blessedness being attained,

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and a holy and permanent peace? . . . For Tao is one single, eternal, pure infinitude of soul.

"Is that not more perfect than the love of a woman?--this poor, sad love, each day of which reveals to you some sullying of the clear life of the soul by dark and sanguine passion? When you are absorbed into Tao, then only will you be completely, eternally united with the soul of your beloved, with the souls of all men, your brothers, and with the soul of Nature. And the few moments of blessedness fleetingly enjoyed by all lovers upon earth are as nothing in comparison with that endless bliss: the blending of the souls of all who love in an eternity of perfect purity."

A horizon of blessedness opened out before my soul, wider than the vague horizon of the sea, wider than the heavens.

"Father!" I cried in ecstasy, "can it be that everything is so holy, and I have never known it?--I have been so filled with longing, and so wornout with weeping; and my breast has been heavy with sobs and dread. I have been so consumed with fear! I have trembled at the thought of death! I have despaired of all things being good, when I saw so much suffering around me. I have believed myself damned, by reason of the wild passions, the bodily desires, burning within and flaming without me--passions which, though hating them, I still was, coward-like, condemned to serve. With what breathless horror I have realized how the tender, flower-like body of my love must one day moulder and crumble away in the cold, dark earth! I have believed that I should never feel again that blessed peace at the look in her eyes, through which

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her soul was shining. And was it Tao!--was Tao really even then always within me, like a faithful guardian? and was it Tao that shone from her eyes? Was Tao in everything that surrounded me? in the clouds, the trees and the sea? Is the inmost being of earth and heaven, then, also the inmost being of my beloved and my own soul? Is it that for which there burns within me that mysterious longing which I did not understand, and which drove me so restlessly onward? I thought it was leading me away from the beloved and that I was ceasing to love her!--Was it really the rhythm of Tao, then, that moved my beloved too?--the same as that in which all nature breathes, and all suns and planets pursue their shining course throughout eternity?--Then all is indeed made holy!--then Tao is indeed in everything, as my soul is in Tao! Oh, Father, Father! it is growing so light in my heart! My soul seems to foresee that which will come one day; and the heavens above us, and the great sea, they foretell it too! See, how reverent is the pose of these trees around us--and see the lines of the mountains, how soft in their holy repose! All Nature is filled with sacred awe, and my soul too thrills with ecstasy, for she has looked upon her beloved!"

I sat there long, in silent, still forgetfulness. It was to me as though I were one with the soul of my master and with Nature. I saw nothing and heard nothing;--void of all desire, bereft of all will, I lay sunk in the deepest peace. I was awakened by a soft sound close by me. A fruit had fallen from the tree to the ground behind us. When I looked up, it was into shimmering moonlight. The recluse was standing by me, and bent over me kindly.

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"You have strained your spirit overmuch, my young friend!" he said concernedly. "It is too much for you in so short a time. You have fallen asleep from exhaustion. The sea sleeps too. See, not a furrow breaks its even surface; motionless, dreaming, it receives the benediction of the light. But you must awaken! It is late, your boat is ready, and your wife awaits you at home in the town."

I answered, still half dreaming: "I would so gladly stay here. Let me return, with my wife, and stay here for ever! I cannot go back to the people again! Ah, Father, I shudder--I can see their scoffing faces, their insulting glances, their disbelief, and their irreverence! How can I retain the wondrous light and tender feeling of my soul in the midst of that ungracious people? How can I ever so hide it under smile or speech that they shall never detect it, nor desecrate it with their insolent ridicule?"

Then, laying his hand earnestly upon my shoulder, he said:

"Listen carefully to what I now say to you, my friend, and above all, believe me. I shall give you pain, but I cannot help it. You must return to the world and your fellow-men; it cannot be otherwise. You have spoken too much with me already; perhaps I have said somewhat too much to you. Your further growth must be your own doing, and you must find out everything for yourself. Be only simple of heart, and you will discover everything without effort, like a child finding flowers. At this moment you feel deeply and purely what I have said to you. This present mood is one of the highest moments of your life. But you cannot yet be strong enough to maintain it. You will

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relapse, and spiritual feeling will turn again to words and theories. Only by slow degrees will you grow once more to feel it purely and keep it permanently. When that is so, then you may return hither in peace and then you will do well to remain here;--but by that time I shall be long dead.

"You must complete your growth in the midst of life, not outside it; for you are not yet pure enough to rise above it. A moment ago, it is true, you were equal even to that, but the reaction will soon set in. You may not shun the rest of mankind; they are your equals, even though they may not feel. so purely as you do. You can go amongst them as their comrade, and take them by the hand; only do not let them look upon your soul, so long as they are still so far behind you. They would not mock you from evilmindedness, but rather out of religious persuasion, being unaware how utterly miserable, how godless, how forsaken they are, and how far from all those holy things by which you actually live. You must be so strong in your conviction that nothing can hinder you. And that you will only become after a long and bitter struggle. But out of your tears will grow your strength, and through pain you will attain peace. Above all remember that Tao, Poetry and Love are one and the same, although you may seek to define it by these several vague terms;--that it is always within you and around you;--that it never forsakes you; and that you are safe and well cared for in this holy environment. You are surrounded with benefits, and sheltered by a love which is eternal. Everything is rendered holy through the primal force of Tao dwelling within it."

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He spoke so gently and convincingly that I had no answer to give. Willingly I allowed myself to be guided by him to the shore. My boat lay motionless upon the smooth water, awaiting me.--

"Farewell, my young friend! Farewell!" he said, calmly and tenderly. "Remember all that I have told you!"

But I could not leave him in such a manner. Suddenly I thought of the loneliness of his life in this place, and tears of sympathy rose to my eyes. I grasped his hand.

"Father, come with me!" I besought him. "My wife and I will care for you; we will do everything for you; and when you are sick we will tend you. Do not stay here in this loneliness, so void of all the love that might make life sweet to you!"

He smiled gently, and shook his head as a father might at some fancy of his child's, answering with tranquil kindness:

"You have lapsed already! Do you realize now how necessary it is for you to remain in the midst of the every-day life? I have but this moment told you how great is the love which surrounds me--and still you deem me lonely here and forsaken?--Here, in Tao, I am as safe at home as a child is with its mother. You mean it well, my friend, but you must grow wiser, much wiser! Be not concerned for me; that is unnecessary, grateful though I am to you for this feeling. Think of yourself just now. And do what I say. Believe that I tell you that which is best for you. In the boat lies something which should remind you of the days you have spent here. Farewell!"

I bent silently over his hand and kissed it. I thought

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[paragraph continues] I felt that it trembled with emotion; but when I looked at him again his face was calm and cheerful as the moon in the sky.

I stepped into the boat, and the boatman took up the oars. With dextrous strokes he drove it over the even surface of the water. I was already some way from the land when my foot struck against some object in the boat and I remembered that something for me was lying there. I took it up. It was a small chest. Hastily I lifted the lid. And in the soft, calm moonlight there gleamed with mystical radiance the wonderful porcelain of the Kwan-Yin image, the same which the old man had cherished so carefully, and loved so well.

There, in the lofty tranquillity of severe yet gentle lines, in all the ethereal delicacy of the transparent porcelain, reposed the pure figure of Kwan-Yin, shining as with spiritual radiance amidst the shimmering petals of the lotus.

I scarcely dared believe that this holy thing had been given to me. I seized my handkerchief, and waved with it towards the shore, to convey to the recluse my thanks. He stood there motionless, gazing straight before him. I waited longingly for him to wave--for one more greeting from him--one more sign of love--but he remained immovable.

Was it I after whom he was gazing? Was he gazing at the sea? . . .

I closed the lid of the chest, and kept it near me, as though it had been a love of his which I was bearing away. I knew now that he cared for me; but his imperturbable serenity was too great for me--it saddened my mood that he had never signed to me again.

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We drew further and further away; the outlines of his figure grew fainter and fainter; at last I could see it no more.

He remained; with the dreams of his soul, in the midst of Nature--alone in infinity--bereft of all human love--but close to the great bosom of Tao.

I took my way back to the life amongst mankind, my brothers and equals--in all the souls of whom dwells Tao, primordial and eternal.

The ornamental lights of the harbour gleamed already in the distance, and the drone of the great town sounded nearer and nearer to us over the sea.

Then I felt a great strength in me, and I ordered the boatman to row still more quickly. I was ready. Was I not as safely and well cared for in the great town as in the still country?--in the street as on the sea?

In everything, everywhere, dwells Poetry--Love--Tao. And the whole world is a great sanctuary, well-devised and surely-maintained as a strong, well-ordered house.



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Next: Notes

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NOTES
1. p. 78. This is a fact. Chinese priests are in the habit of repeating Sutras which, to judge by the sound, have been translated from the Sanscrit into Chinese phrases of which they do not understand one word.

2. p. 80. The "Yellow Emperor" is a legendary emperor, who appears to have reigned about the year 2697 B.C.

3. p. 80. That which follows in inverted commas is an extract translated from the twelfth chapter of the "Nan Hwa King."

4. p. 81. The following passage, as far as the sentence "and the Millions return again into One" is an adaptation--not a translation--of the first section of "Tao-Teh-King." Laotsu's wonderfully simple writing cannot possibly be translated into equally simple passages in our language. This rendering of mine--arrived at partly by aid of Chinese commentators--is an entirely new reading, and is, to the best of my knowledge, the true one. One of the most celebrated, and in a certain sense, one of the most competent of the sinologues, Herbert Giles, translates of this first section only the first sentence, and finds the rest not worth the trouble of translating! (compare "The Remains of Lao Tzü," by H. A. Giles, Honkong, China Mail Office, 1886). This same scholar translates "Tao" as "the Way," not perceiving how impossible it is that that which Laotsu meant--the highest of all, the infinite--should be a "way," seeing that a way (in the figurative sense) always leads to something else, and therefore cannot be the highest. Another still more celebrated sinologue, Dr. Legge, translates "Tao" as "Course," and out of the simple sentence: "If Tao could be expressed in words it would not be the eternal Tao" he makes: "The Course that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging course." The whole secret is this: that the sign or word "Tao" has a great number of meanings, and that in Confucius's work "Chung Yung" it does as a matter of fact mean "Way"; but in a hundred other instances it means: "speech expression, a saying." Laotsu having, in one sentence, used this sign in two different senses, nearly all translators have suffered themselves to be misled. The sentence is as simple as possible, and in two of my Chinese

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editions the commentators put "spoken," and: "by word of mouth." But of all the sinologues only Wells Williams has translated this sentence well, namely thus "The Tao which can be expressed is not the eternal Tao." Although the construction of the phrase is not accurately rendered, at any rate Williams has grasped the meaning.

After my work had already appeared in the periodical De Gids, I saw for the first time Professor de Groot's work "Jaarlijksche feesten en gebruiken der Emoy Chineezen," from which I gathered that he agreed with me in so far as to say also that "Tao" was untranslatable--a sub-lying conception "for which the Chinese philosopher himself could find no name, and which he consequently stamped with the word 'Tao.'" Professor de Groot adds: "If one translates this word by 'the universal soul of Nature,' 'the all-pervading energy of nature,' or merely by the word 'Nature' itself, one will surely not be far from the philosopher's meaning."

Although the term holds for me something still higher yet I find Professor de Groot's conception of it the most sympathetic of all those known to me.

5. p. 84. This "Wu-Wei"--untranslatable as it is in fact--has been rendered by these sinologues into "inaction"--as though it signified idleness, inertia. It most certainly does not signify idleness, however, but rather action, activity--that is to say: "inactivity of the perverted, unnatural passions and desires," but "activity in the sense of natural movement proceeding from Tao." Thus, in the "Nan Hwa King" we find the following "The heavens and the earth do nothing" (in the evil sense "and" (yet) "there is nothing which they do not do." The whole of nature consists in "Wu-Wei," in natural, from-Tao-emanating movement. By translating Wu-Wei into "inaction" the sinologues have arrived at the exact opposite of the meaning of the Chinese text.

Laotsu himself does not dilate further upon the subject. What follows here is my own conception of the text. The whole first chapter of the original occupies only one page in the book, and contains only fifty-nine characters. It testifies to Laotsu's wonderful subtlety and terseness of language that he was able in so few words to say so much.

6. p. 84. This sentence is translated from the "Tao-Teh-King" (chapter ii).

7. p. 84. From the 56th chapter. This sentence is .also to be found in 15th chapter of the "Nan Hwa King."

8. p. 89. This runs somewhat as follows in the 6th chapter of the

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[paragraph continues] Nan Hwa King: "The true men of the early ages slept dreamlessly, and were conscious of self without care."

9. p. 90. This episode is translated from the 18th section of the "Nan Hwa King." By the "Great House" Chuang-Tse meant, of course, the universe, and this expression "house" lends to the passage a touch of familiar intimacy, showing Chuang-Tse to have the feeling that the dead one was well cared for, as though within the shelter of a house.--H. Giles, who renders it "Eternity," which does not appear at all in the Chinese text, loses by his translation the confiding element which makes Chuang-Tse's speech so touching. (Compare "Chuang Tsy," by H. Giles, London, Bernard Quaritch, 1889.) The actual words are "Ku Shih" = Great House.

10. p. 92. In almost all the temples is a chamber in which the Mandarins lodge, and where Western travellers may usually stay for the night, and probably for longer periods.

11. p. 93. The following, to the end of the sentence: "Poetry is the sound of the heart," has been translated by me from a preface by Ong Giao Ki to his edition of the Poetry of the Tang-Dynasty. Ong Giao Ki lived in the first half of the eighteenth century.

12 p. 101. The Chinese do really preserve their treasures in this careful manner. It is usual for an antique figure of Buddha to lie in a silk-lined shrine, the shrine in a wooden chest, and the chest in a cloth. It is unpacked upon great occasions.

13. p. 102. Such a figure as the above-described is not a mere figment of the author's imagination--such figures really exist. A similar one is in the possession of the author.

14. p. 102. The Soul-Pearl "Durmâ."

15. p. 104. The figure in the author's possession is by Tan Wei. Another great artist was Ho Chao Tsung, of certain figures by whom I have also, with very great trouble, become possessed. These names are well known to every artist, but I have endeavoured in vain to discover anything nearer with regard to them. They became famous after death; hut they had lived in such simplicity and oblivion, that now not even their birthplace is remembered. One hears conjectures, but I could arrive at no certainty.




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Next: The Beginnings of Taoist Philosophy

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HISTORICAL ESSAYS
by
DR. KIANG KANG-HU
p. 126 p. 127

THE BEGINNINGS OF TAOIST PHILOSOPHY
The Taoists trace their original founder to the Yellow Emperor, and even to the Divine Farmer. They consider all the hermit philosophers under the Five Ti Rulers as of their school. Lu Shang, the prime minister of the first Chou emperor and the founder of the Ch’i state, who is commonly known as Chiang T’ai Kung, was also a Taoist sage. The extant teachings of these ancient sages is very ambiguous.

The real beginnings of Taoism begins with Laotzu, the Old Master. According to Su-ma-Ch’ien, the historian, who lived at the beginning of the First Century B. c., Laotzu was the official historian and custodian of the secret archives of the Cheu state. He was an older contemporary of Confucius and records a visit which Confucius paid him. He also tells of Laotzu's passing the guard at the frontier and writing the book.

History tells us that there were two more early Taoists in the Chou Dynasty. Lao Lai Tsu, a native of the Ch’u state, wrote a book of fifteen chapters which has been lost. Another Taoist named Lao Tan, who was also a historian of the imperial house, lived in the same state. These three Taoist sages who lived 200 or more years apart, according to history, are commonly believed to be the same man, who by his wisdom had attained longevity. Because of this some modernist scholars question the very existence of Lao-tzu

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and ascribe everything to the Loa Tan, but the simpler and more probable solution of the confusion is to accept the historicity of all three, but to give the credit for the original writing to Laotzu and consider the others as able disciples and possibly editors. The book in its present form might not have been written until the Third Century at about the time of Lao Tan for it was engraved on stone tablets soon after that time. It might even contain some of the verses by Lao Tan without detracting from the larger credit that belongs to Laotzu. There are a number of legends that have gathered about the name of Laotzu but which only serve to throw doubt upon his existence.

The Chinese character for Tao is difficult to translate. It is made up of two characters: shau, meaning to lead, or the head; and hsing, meaning to walk, or a trail. Tao, therefore, would carry the meaning of 'that which leads us to walk on trails.' From this comes the meaning, The Way, or The Path, and a second meaning, Law or Method. There is a third meaning, also, the Word, or to talk. Tao is one of the oldest and commonest words used in ancient Chinese literature. It was used long before the beginning of Taoist philosophy. The same word is also used in Confucian works and just as frequently. But it was the Taoists who generalized it and mystified it and brought it to mean, instead of a practical method for the conduct of life, the abstract and natural course of things, and the pure nature of the universe and of life.

Laotzu's conception of Tao is something formless, nameless, invisible, unspeakable. It exists from before

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the creation and will exist till after the dissolution of all things. It has neither beginning nor end; it never changes but witnesses and withstands all changes. Tao is the mother of all substances and is the motive of all movements. It is the only and the absolute law of the universe. Laotzu's conception of teh is, that it is the virtue of Tao, the original nature of Tao, and should, therefore, be practiced by all human beings. By following this primeval law and by living in a state harmonious with it, one would be following the true Way of life, which is teh. His view of the universe is expressed by the term, Tsu-jan, which means, 'by itself, so', that is, it is pure naturalism. Everything is what it is because of its own nature as it follows its natural course. Because of an endless chain of causes and effects and conditions it can not be otherwise. He did not believe in a personal God, nor even in supreme intelligence, nor in any final purpose. The universe is simply an ever flowing current. It moves by a certain force, in a certain direction, according to a certain formula, but with no fixed aim. His view of life is expressed by the term, wu-wei, which means, doing nothing, or inaction. The best thing one can do in life is to do nothing, or as near nothing as possible. One should reflect stimulating and responsive calls but must not go beyond this limit, nor take any part of the action from which he could be spared.

Laotzu was not an atheist but his conception of God and heaven is nothing more than nature. He is not an anarchist but his conception of government is to think according to people's thought and to treat them as little children. He was strongly opposed to

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war and to the resort to force in any form be it expressed by law or religious rites or social custom. He is the chief representative of the negative and passive phase of Chinese philosophy.

Next to Laotzu comes Chuangtsu who lived about a hundred years later. His given name was Chou, his surname was Nan Wha. He was a native of the Meng district now a part of Anhui. He was at one time an actuary of the Ch’i Yuan. Requested by the king of Ch’u to become a minister of state, he declined and retired to write a book of fifty-three chapters of which since the Han Dynasty only thirty-three survive. The book was canonized by the T’ang emperors and named, Nan-wha Chen Ching. It is the second most important of the Taoist classics. It is divided into three parts of which the first part, consisting of seven chapters, is the most important. One will find in it more profound ideas and more elaborate discussions than in Laotzu.

There are three other classics of importance. The Lieh Tsu, by Lieh Yu-kou of the Cheng state; Wen Tsu, by Chi-jan of the Yueh state; and Ken-sang Tsu, by a scholar of the Lu state. These are the five classics of Taoism. As to their authenticity there is some question. Wen-Tsu is the oldest and it contains more quotations from Laotzu than the others. These books, and others written before the Eastern Han Dynasty and before the beginnings of Taoism as a religion, are suitable as sources for the study of the philosophy of Taoism.

Taoists, and especially Laotzu and Chuangtsu, are exponents of ancient philosophy and are very passive and non-resistant. They have always been the most

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radical leaders of thought against the state religion based upon the teachings of Confucius, against any military supported government and against any social order built up on conventions. They have always advocated free thinking and free teaching and, in the early days, after the passing of the feudal age, opened a new era of Chinese civilization. All schools of philosophy of their day and thereafter, and this includes the Confucian, came under their influence. No philosopher however different his philosophy ever disputed the Taoist philosophy or its teachers. On the contrary, they all proclaimed in some measure to be derived from ancient Taoist teachings. Aside from the Taoist religion, the ancient Taoist teachings have had a very strong and permanent hold on Chinese life and thought both personal and collective. Taoist elements of thought lie at the basis of Chinese characteristics of patience, reserve, egotism, peacefulness, and contentment. Whether these characteristics are virtues or not, it is in these qualities that the Chinese characteristics and the Taoist teachings are identical. Though both Taoism and Confucianism have taught the same principles of Tao and teh with similar definitions in many respects, the Confucianists compared with the Taoists have taught a more positive and active presentation of them. The Confucianists emphasize human activities in forming civilization, while the Taoists advise merely a return to nature and an obedience to her laws. It is therefore the Confucian scholars of later days who have criticized Taoism as being a one-sided philosophy that is good only for retirement and is bad for government. Some Taoists have replied to this by saying that nature itself is evolution

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and is never at a standstill, and that their course is wiser because it falls in with nature instead of foolishly trying to change or expedite the natural process of things.

Laotzu's idea of a return to nature is, however, somewhat different from that. Laotzu advocates passivity because it is the safest position in which to undergo natural evolution; he advocates simplicity because it is the best attitude of mind to understand compliance. He depicts the cultivation of Tao and teh first in one's person, then in his family, then in his town, then in his state, and then in the whole world, which is the same order that Confucius taught in his Great Learning. Laotzu often discusses about government and state affairs. He uses the term 'the perfect Sage' frequently and by it generally refers to the ruler. By reviewing the glorious achievements of the early Han emperors who reigned according to Laotzu's understanding of the principle of Tao, we are convinced that the Taoist philosophy, though a negative philosophy, is not alone a philosophy for hermits.



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Next: Taoist Religion

p. 133

TAOIST RELIGION
Religion is very different from philosophy, often it becomes quite opposite and yet it is carried on in its name and claims to be the original teaching. Sometimes this is caused by the inclusion of some alien elements, but in case of Taoism in China, from beginning to end it has been an indigenous faith. It took about 650 years from the time of Laotzu to its proclamation as a religion, to complete this transformation. The difference between Taoist philosophy and Taoist religion is so great that one can hardly find any connection; in fact, it is doubtful if there is any. All relations asserted by modern Taoists are uncertain and unreliable. The transformation, however, can be traced.

After the passing of the early Taoist teachers, its teachings were invaded and finally dominated by believers in the 'two forces' and the 'five elements' (male and female; earth, water, fire, air, ether) . From these two schools emerged. The first, the Ch’an Wei School, became mixed up with a Confucian school and gave birth to witchcraft. The second, the Shen Hsien School, was dominated by adepts in discerning the 'wind and water influence (fang-shih)' who practiced alchemy and the art of prolonging life. The first emperor of the Ch’in Dynasty fell a victim to these adepts and sent out emissaries to seek for this elixir of life. In the Western Han Dynasty the chief counsel of its founder, Chang Liang, was fond of this doctrine, and

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the Emperor Wu-ti particularly favored it and made several unsuccessful attempts to find the philosopher's stone.

Under Emperor Kuang-wu of the Eastern Han Dynasty, in 34 A.D., Chang Tao-lin was born. It was by him that the Taoist religion was founded. He was a native of Chekiang Province although he spent most of his life in the Dragon-tiger mountain in Kang-si, where he lived and taught to an extremely old age; he spent a great deal of his time in meditation and lived to be 123 years of age.

A century elapsed. Then came the revolution of the Yellow Turbans who were followers of Chang Tao-lin and whose leader was a descendant of him. The revolution was soon suppressed but the religion continued and spread among the lower classes. Chang Tao-lin who had been called, "the Divine Teacher," was later honored by having this title (Tien-shih) made hereditary. This Taoist papacy still continues with its seat in the Dragon-tiger mountains. In the Western Chin Dynasty two independent adepts appeared (Ke-hung and Tao Hung-thing) who were famous for their wisdom and magical achievements. Later another Heavenly Teacher appeared during the Northern Wei Dynasty, in North China who was highly regarded by the Tartar Emperors. This man was K’ou Ch’ien-chieh of Chili, and through his influence Taoism became established for a time as a state religion. It was during this time (440 A.D.) that Buddhism was persecuted and Confucianism was neglected.

Since the founding of the T’ang Dynasty, owing to the fact that its founder claimed to be a descendant

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of Laotzu, Taoist philosophy and the Taoist religion have been highly honored and promoted. The Old Master, Laotzu, was honored and his four great disciples; many Taoist priests were summoned to court and placed in high government positions. In the beginning of the Northern Sun Dynasty, Ch’ien T’uan and Ting Shao-wei, two great Taoist scholars, were honored by both Emperors T’ai Tzu and T’ai Tsung. Ch’ien T’uan's philosophy had a strong influence over Confucianism, and was directly the foundation of the so-called orthodox school of Taoism. Emperor Huei Tsung of the same Dynasty was a renowned patron of Taoism. He was often called the Taoist King. He regulated the Taoist priesthood into twenty-six ranks and two high priests were made ministers of state. He even went so far as to order all Buddhists to become Taoists. This was in 1119. It was during this revival of Taoism that meditation (ch’u zan ch’un) was revived. The first Mongol Emperor Kublai confirmed the Taoist papacy, and made Chang Tsung-yen, the thirty-sixth generation from Chang Tao-lin, a member of the hereditary nobility (1275) .

In the Ming Dynasty a famous Taoist named Chang San-feng was summoned by the Emperor many times but never responded. Emperor Chia Ching in his long reign (1522-1566) devoted much attention to Taoist affairs and ordered Taoist sacrificial feasts throughout the Empire. Since the Ming Dynasty there has been a bureau in the central government to administer Taoist affairs, together with a similar Buddhist bureau. The Ch’ing Dynasty followed this system and made the heir of Chang Tao-lin, its honorary chief, an official of the fourth rank. The Chang

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family have thus enjoyed hereditary rank second only to the family of Confucius.

In modern times there have been two great branches of Taoist teachings, the Cheng Yi and the Ch’uan Chen. The former is the orthodox sect and follows strictly Chang Tao-lin's religious practices. Each of the two branches is again divided into two schools. The two schools of the orthodox branch are called Fu-lu and K’e Chiao, and are both under the Papacy that had been founded in 1161 in the Ch’in Dynasty. The First Patriarch of the first orthodox school was Lu Tung-pin, a retired Chin-shih scholar of the T’ang Dynasty. They practice witchcraft and most acts of exorcism and necromancy are under this sect; they use cryptic monograms, charms, spells, amulets in their services, and produce various psychic phenomena. The ouija board was their invention and its name originated in Fukien. It is called Fu-chi in Mandarin. The second Orthodox school, the Ke Ch’iao, confine their attention to the study of forms and rites and the practice of medicine. They are also interested in Taoist literature and ceremonies which have been developed mainly after Buddhist patterns and their costumes and ceremonies are often decorative and graceful.

The first of the heterodox schools is called the Lien Yang, or Chen Yang, and is devoted to the practice of physical and mental hygiene. They believe in strengthening the body and mind as a means of prolonging life and developing the spirit. This is achieved by secret meditations and exchange of vibrations. The Fang Chung Shu method for developing inner character, and the science of 'sexual' transformations (a

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secret and cryptic word for the positive and negative principles) are important elements of their practices. The second of the heterodox schools is called the Fu-shih and their interests are related to the science of medicine and alchemy. They think that the life elements of the human body can be supplied either by herbal nourishment or by mental and spiritual sublimations. They value lead and mercury as means for transmuting into gold and in making an elixir of immortality. Most of these schools have northern and southern divisions. In general the Northern are more materialistic, the Southern more idealistic and less formal. *

As stated above, the Taoist religion is an abuse of Taoist philosophy. We find nothing essentially in common between them and, in many respects, they are conflicting. This is especially so between Laotzu's teachings and the orthodox Papacy. The true nature of the Taoist religion is a combination of the ancient animism, spiritism, mythology, and the popular superstitions of the day. Its formulation was chiefly influenced by imperial encouragement of the adepts and the social adoption of Buddhism. From the ancient animism and Buddhism, Chang Tao-lin made up the Taoist religion just as Mohammed made up


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[paragraph continues] Islam from early Judaism and Christianity. They both borrowed foreign faiths and conformed them to native ideas to suit their own purpose. Against Laotzu's atheistic tendency the Taoist religion created numerous divinities. Against his disapproval of names and forms, it manufactured voluminous scriptures, rituals and elaborate ceremonials. Against his belief in the simple quiet life it imitated the ranks and standards of nobles and officials. Misunderstanding and ignoring Laotzu's warning against greed and lust, many Taoist practices of alchemy and sexual 'gravitation' appeared disguised in secret teachings and cryptic terms. On the other hand, the Taoist religion borrowed from the Buddhists the conception of the 'three bodies' of Buddha, but interpreted it as meaning their ancient belief in the 'three purities':--Virility (Ching), Air (Ch’i), and Spirit (Shen). It enumerated the eight immortals and the twenty-eight star gods, and pictured the heavens and hells after the Buddhist tales, and they have adopted the Buddhist practice of saying masses for the dead.

Differing somewhat from the Buddhists many orthodox Taoist priests forsake their temples and brotherhoods to marry and live the ordinary life of the world. Taoists often use their surnames and wear long hair. There are none or very few Taoist nuns. During the change of Dynasties, particularly between the Ming and Ch’ing, many officials, soldiers and scholars refused to submit to Manchu customs and became Taoists, because they were the only ones who were allowed to keep old Chinese ways and wear long hair. Strangely enough, during the recent revolution,

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the Taoists were the last to lay aside their queues.

The influence of the Taoist religion in China is neither as strong as the influence of Buddhism or, the Taoist philosophy, but all the popular superstitions, practices and resort to geomantic magic, including spiritism and shamanism, can be regarded as Taoist in some form. The many revolutions of the Ch’ing Dynasty, besides the T’ai P’ing Christian and Mohammedan, were all connected more or less closely with the Taoist sects. Taoism has never created any great literature or art, as Buddhism and Confucianism has; it has never been the religion of the intellectual classes and has always been looked down upon by the literati.


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Footnotes
137:* Besides these strictly Taoist sects, there are minor sects that are often more Buddhistic than Taoist, that practice meditation and are more spiritual and sincere. Most of these derive from Yuen Dynasty Ch’u-San-chen. Among these is the Eternal Life Sect that originated at the close of the Ming Dynasty in Chekiang Province under the leadership of Chan-sung-tao (Wang Chansung) as their first patriarch. This is an eclectic sect recognizing Buddha, Laotzu, and Confucius, as of equal merit. They are generally found in mountain temples living as small communistic Brotherhoods with their lay members living in the surrounding villages. They practice meditation and are very industrious, celibate, earnest and friendly.

As a religion Taoism passed over into Japan and became mixed up with Japanese history and legends to make up Japanese Shin-tao-ism, which, as it is involved with the cult of Emperor worship, is almost a state religion. In Korea it was the source of the T’ien Tao religion which has exercised a strong influence over political and social life. In the present Republic of China, Confucianism has been made a kind of state religion, but the rising of different sects integrating the 'three religions', such as the Tao Yuan, T’ung Shan She, and others, and a renaissance of a more spiritual Buddhism among the laity, is an indication of the undercurrent power of the old Tao conception.

Sacred Texts  Taoism 

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  The Sayings of Lao Tzu
by Lionel Giles
[1905]


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Contents    Start Reading

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This is Lionel Giles' translation of the Tao te Ching. Giles (1875-1958) was Keeper of the Department of Oriental Books and Manuscripts at the British Museum. He also translated Sun Tzu's Art of War.

This translation is long out of print, which is a shame, because it is a very clear English rendition of this very difficult and profund text.


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Title Page
Contents
Editorial Note
Introduction
Tao In Its Transcendental Aspect, And In Its Physical Manifestation
Tao As A Moral Principle, Or ''Virtue''
The Doctrine of Inaction
Lowliness And Humility
Government
War
Paradoxes
Miscellaneous Sayings and Precepts
Lao Tzŭ On Himself

Sacred Texts  Taoism  Index  Next 

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The Sayings of Lao-Tzu, Lionel Giles translation [1905], at sacred-texts.com


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p. 3

The Wisdom of the East Series

EDITED BY

L. CRANMER-BYNG
Dr. S. A. KAPADIA

THE SAYINGS OF LAO TZŬ

p. 4 p. 5

WISDOM OF THE EAST
THE SAYINGS OF LAO TZŬ
TRANSLATED
FROM THE CHINESE, WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY LIONEL GILES, M.A. (OXON.)
ASSISTANT AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY, INC.
NEW YORK
[1905]
Scanned at sacred-texts.com, September 2006. Proofed and Formatted by John Bruno Hare. This text is in the public domain in the United States because it was published prior to January 1st, 1923. These files may be used for any non-commercial purpose, provided this notice of attribution is left intact in all copies.



Click to enlarge
Front cover and spine




Click to enlarge
Title Page




Click to enlarge
Verso





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Next: Contents


p. 6

Printed in Great Britain by
Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.

p. 7

CONTENTS

 
PAGE


INTRODUCTION
9

I.
TAO IN ITS TRANSCENDENTAL ASPECT AND IN ITS PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION
19

II.
TAO AS A MORAL PRINCIPLE, OR "VIRTUE"
24

III.
THE DOCTRINE OF INACTION
30

IV.
LOWLINESS AND HUMILITY
33

V.
GOVERNMENT
37

VI.
WAR
41

VII.
PARADOXES
43

VIII.
MISCELLANEOUS SAYINGS AND PRECEPTS
47

IX.
LAO TZŬ ON HIMSELF
54




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Next: Editorial Note

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EDITORIAL NOTE
THE object of the Editors of this series is a very definite one. They desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between East and West--the old world of Thought and the new of Action. In this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor fears the nation of another creed and colour.

L. CRANMER-BYNG.
S. A. KAPADIA.

NORTHBROOK SOCIETY,
  21, CROMWELL ROAD,
      KENSINGTON, S.W.



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Next: Introduction

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INTRODUCTION
WITH rare modesty and intelligent self-appreciation, Confucius described himself as "a transmitter, not a maker, one who loved and believed in the ancients." This judicious estimate fairly sums up the position of China's most prominent teacher. Incalculable though his influence has been over millions of the human race, it is due rather to his sterling common sense backed by the moral strength of his character, than to any striking intellectual power or novelty in his ideas.

But some fifty years before the time of Confucius there lived another great Chinaman, who, besides being a lover of antiquity, takes high rank as a profound and original thinker. Apart from the thick crop of legend and myth which soon gathered round his name, very little is known about the life and personality of Lao Tzŭ, and even the meagre account preserved for us in the history of Ssŭ-ma Ch‘ien must be looked upon with suspicion. All the alleged meetings and conversations with Confucius may safely be rejected, not only on account of chronological difficulties, but because they are exactly the sort of invention which would to likely to pass current in an early and uncritical age. We need not,

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however, go so far as those who impugn the very existence of Lao Tzŭ as an individual, and regard the book which passes under his name as a mere collection of scraps of ancient proverbial philosophy. Some colour, indeed, is lent to this theory by the uncertainty that attaches to the proper interpretation of the name Lao Tzŭ, which is variously explained as (1) Old Boy, because he is said to have been born with a white beard (but we may rather suspect that the story was invented to explain the name); (2) Son of Lao, this being the surname of the virgin mother who conceived him at the sight of a falling star; or (3) Old Philosopher, because of the great age at which he wrote his immortal book, the Tao Tê Ching.

The mention of this classic, or "Treatise of the Way and of Virtue" (as it may be translated for want of better English equivalents), brings us naturally to the vexed question as to whether the text which has come down to us can really be attributed to the hand of Lao Tzŭ, or whether it is not rather a garbled and unauthorised compilation of his sayings, or even the mere forgery of a later age. The Chinese themselves, it may be remarked, are almost unanimous in denying its authenticity. It has been urged that we must make allowance here for Confucian bias; but the internal evidence alone should suffice to dispel the notion, to which many eminent sinologues have clung, that the Tao Tê Ching in its present form can possibly represent the actual work of Lao Tzŭ. On the other hand, it is highly probable that much of it is substantially what he said or

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wrote, though carelessly collected and pieced together at random. Ssŭ-ma Ch’ien, who published his history in 91 B.C., and was consequently removed from Lao Tzŭ by a much longer period than we are from Shakespeare, tells us that the Sage wrote a book of five thousand and odd words; and, indeed, by that time the Tao Tê Ching may possibly have existed in something like its present shape. But anyone who reflects on the turbulent condition of China during the intervening centuries, and the chaotic state of primitive literature before the labours of Confucius, to say nothing of the Burning of the Books in 213 B.C., will find it hard to convince himself that Ssŭ-ma Ch’ien ever had before him the actual writings of the philosopher.

Arbitrary and confused though the arrangement of the Tao Tê Ching appears, it is possible to trace a coherent line of thought throughout the whole. And although no coiner of paradox on such an extensive scale as Lao Tzŭ could hope to achieve absolute and invariable consistency, it is easy to see that the Tao Tê Ching is something more than a mere jumble of stray aphorisms--that it is, in fact, the well-defined though rudimentary outline of a great system of transcendental and ethical philosophy. That this magnificent scheme of thought never reached its full expression in Lao Tzŭ's treatment is largely due to the fact that he was perpetually struggling to convey his ideas through the medium of a language still imperfectly developed, and forming an inadequate vehicle for abstruse philosophical conceptions. This, too, combined with an extraordinary

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conciseness of diction, is the cause of the obscurity which hangs over several portions of the text, and which the labours of innumerable commentators have done very little to clear away. To the wide scope thus afforded for the imagination we owe the startling discoveries, in the body of the work, of the Doctrine of the Trinity, and of the Hebrew word for Jehovah, thinly disguised in its Chinese dress. Sad to say, both of these once famous theories are now totally discredited.

The real value of the Tao Tê Ching lies not in such puerilities, but in its wealth of suggestive hints and pregnant phrases, each containing a world of thought in itself and capable of expansion into volumes. Whether Lao Tzŭ ever developed the germs of thought thrown out with such prodigality, we do not know. At any rate, no record of the development remains. And if Lao Tzŭ failed to work out his own system, the task was never satisfactorily accomplished by those who came after him. It is true that an enormous superstructure of Taoist literature has been raised upon the slender foundation of the Tao Tê Ching, but these Taoist writers soon forsook the austerity of Lao Tzŭ's way for the more attractive fields of ritual and magic. Lao Tzŭ was a Socrates who never found a Plato or an Aristotle to reap the goodly harvest he had sown; even Chuang Tzŭ, the greatest of his followers, whose exquisite literary style contrasts strangely with the rugged sentences of the Tao Tê Ching, scarcely seems to have caught the true spirit of his Master, and is apt to lose

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himself in the vague speculations of a dreamy mysticism.

Lao Tzŭ's work, however, was able to command attention on its own merits. It was first officially recognised as a "canon" or "classic" under the Emperor Ching Ti (B.C. 156-140) of the Han Dynasty, after which the study of Tao survived many vicissitudes, being now under a cloud, and now again in high favour at Court. One Emperor was in the habit of holding forth on the doctrines of Lao Tzŭ before his assembled ministers, and would forthwith degrade any one who stretched, yawned, or spat during his discourse. Another published an edition of the Tao Tê Ching, which is described in the preface as "the root of all things, the teacher of kings, and the most precious jewel of the public." The first Emperor of the later Chin dynasty asked if Tao was of any use in government. Chang Ch‘ien-ming told him that "with Tao a corpse could govern the Empire." By successive edicts the Tao Tê Ching was made obligatory at the examination for graduates of the second degree, every one was required to possess a copy of the work, and it was cut on stone at both capitals. Later on, printed copies were distributed to all directors of education, and it was translated into the language of the Nü-chên Tartars. Finally, Kublai Khan ordered all Taoist books to be burnt, with the exception of the Tao Tê Ching, thus showing a just appreciation of the gulf separating Lao Tzŭ from the later writers on Tao.

In view of the disjointed and inartistic character of the work, and its antagonism to

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many of the principles of orthodox Confucianism, it is small wonder that native scholars, with true Chinese subordination of matter to form, seldom profess to hold it in great esteem; and, indeed, its qualities are not such as would strongly appeal to an essentially hard-headed and materialistic race. Yet, on reflection, it will certainly appear that the teaching of Lao Tel has not been barren of practical results. The great political lesson of laisser-faire is one that the Chinese people has well assimilated and perhaps carried to excess; it may even be said to impregnate their national life more thoroughly than any doctrine of Confucius. From two great evils of modern civilisation--the bane of over-legislation and the pest of meddlesome and overbearing officialdom--China is remarkably free; and in few other countries does the individual enjoy such absolute liberty of action. Thus, on the whole, the Chinese may be said to have adopted Lao Tzŭ's main principles of government, with no small success. It is hard to believe that a rigidly despotic Empire, encumbered with an irksome array of laws and statutes, could have remained homogeneous and intact throughout so lengthy a period. Who can doubt that the enormous bulk of China has managed to defy the disintegrating action of time by reason of its very inertness and placidity? It has been suggested that Lao Tzŭ may have reached this doctrine of non-interference by observing that the Supreme Power, Tao, governs the Universe by fixed laws, and yet leaves to man an apparently unrestricted freedom of will. Be this as it may, he was

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undoubtedly the first man to preach the gospel of peace and intelligent inaction, being in this, as in many other respects, far in advance of his age.

In those troublous times, when the land was torn by internecine feuds, and the spirit of militarism was rife, it is not a little remarkable to find him expressing unqualified abhorrence of war, though, to be sure, this was but the logical outcome of his system of quietism. Few can help being struck by the similarity of tone between the sayings of Lao Tzŭ and the Gospel enunciated six centuries later by the Prince of Peace. There are two famous utterances in particular which secure to Lao Tzŭ the glory of having anticipated the lofty morality of the Sermon on the Mount. The cavillers who would rank the Golden Rule of Confucius below that of Christ will find it hard to get over the fact that Lao Tzŭ said, "Requite injury with kindness," and "To the not-good I would be good in order to make them good." It was a hundred and fifty years later that Plato reached the same conclusion in the first book of the Republic.

It is interesting to observe certain points of contact between Lao Tzŭ and the early Greek philosophers. He may be compared both with Parmenides, who disparaged sense-knowledge and taught the existence of the One as opposed to the Many, and with Heraclitus, whose theory of the identity of contraries recalls some of our Sage's paradoxes. But it is when we come to Plato that the most striking parallels occur. It has not escaped notice that something like the Platonic doctrine of ideas is discoverable in the

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[paragraph continues] "forms" which Lao Tzŭ conceives as residing in Tao. But, so far as I know, no one has yet pointed out what a close likeness Tao itself bears to that curious abstraction which Plato calls the Idea of the Good. The function and attributes of this grandiose conception are not set forth quite so fully or clearly as those of Tao, but it certainly covers a great deal more than the ordinary moral connotation of our word "good." * It is at once the creative and sustaining Cause of the Universe, the condition of all knowledge, and the Summum Bonum or supreme object of man's desire. Being a metaphysical entity, it cannot be perceived by the eye or ear of sense, and is therefore ridiculed by the inferior man of little intelligence, while only the few can enter into close communion with it. Now, all of this might stand equally well as a description of Tao. On the other hand, the inactivity and repose which are so insisted on by the Chinese thinker as the primary characteristics of Tao, would have been less intelligible to the Greek, and seem to bring us nearer to Buddhism.

The lack of reliable information about Lao Tzŭ is very disappointing. One cannot help wishing that some of the less important details touching the life of Confucius could be exchanged for an authentic personal account, however brief, of his older contemporary. All that we know for certain is that, after having spent most of his life in the State of Chou, he set out at an advanced age


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towards the West, passed the frontier, and was never heard of again. Thus Lao Tzŭ's gigantic figure looms but indistinctly through the mist of ages, and to gather some idea of his personality we must be content to fall back on his own rough-hewn sentences. There is one striking passage in which he describes himself, half sarcastically and half in earnest, as a dullard and a clown compared with ordinary men, and this, he seems to indicate, is the result of his adherence to Tao. These words, evidently written in great bitterness of spirit, may have been wrung from him by a sense of his failure to convert the careless generation which would have none of the Tao he venerated as the most precious thing under heaven. In showing himself, the man of Tao, in such a disadvantageous light, his meaning was probably much the same as that of Plato in the allegory of the Cave, where he depicts the blindness and bewilderment of those who descend once more into the darkness of their prison after having contemplated the dazzling brilliance of the sun.

Lao Tzŭ's despondency would have been greater still, could he have foreseen how his pure and idealistic teaching was destined to be dragged in the mire of degrading superstition, which for centuries has made Taoism a byword of reproach. Though frequently described as one of the "three religions of China," this cult is really little more than an inextricable mass of jugglery and fraud, absorbed from various popular beliefs and other sources, including even the rival creed of Buddhism, and conducted by a body of priests recruited from

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the very dregs of the Empire. Such a fate, however, is less to be wondered at than deplored, seeing that the great Founder himself took no pains to establish a practicable system. He propounded lofty sentiments, and neglected the homely details without which his ideas could not bear fruit. Moreover, when all is said and done, idealism can never hope to hold its own in human affairs, until indeed the new era dawns of which Plato dreamed long ago, and this world of ours becomes ripe for the dominion of Philosopher-Kings.

1, WILLCOTT ROAD, ACTON,
    June 21, 1904.


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Footnotes
16:* Lao Tzŭ, like Plato, recognizes very little distinction between Knowledge and Virtue, the rational and moral sides of man's nature. Virtue with him is simply the knowledge of Tao, just as with Plato it is the knowledge of "the Good."



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Next: Tao In Its Transcendental Aspect, And In Its Physical Manifestation

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The Sayings of Lao-Tzu, Lionel Giles translation [1905], at sacred-texts.com


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p. 19

TAO IN ITS TRANSCENDENTAL ASPECT, AND IN ITS PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION
THE Tao which can be expressed in words is not the eternal Tao; the name which can be uttered is not its eternal name. Without a name, it is the Beginning of Heaven and Earth; with a name, it is the Mother of all things. Only one who is eternally free from earthly passions can apprehend its spiritual essence; he who is ever clogged by passions can see no more than its outer form. These two things, the spiritual and the material, though we call them by different names, in their origin are one and the same. This sameness is a mystery,--the mystery of mysteries. It is the gate of all spirituality.

How unfathomable is Tao! It seems to be the ancestral progenitor of all things. How pure and clear is Tao! It would seem to be everlasting. I know not of whom it is the offspring. It appears to have been anterior to any Sovereign Power. *


p. 20

Tao eludes the sense of sight, and is therefore called colourless. It eludes the sense of hearing, and is therefore called soundless. It eludes the sense of touch, and is therefore called incorporeal. These three qualities cannot be apprehended, and hence they may be blended into unity.

Its upper part is not bright, and its lower part is not obscure. Ceaseless in action, it cannot be named, but returns again to nothingness. We may call it the form of the formless, the image of the imageless, the fleeting and the indeterminable. Would you go before it, you cannot see its face; would you go behind it, you cannot see its back.

The mightiest manifestations of active force flow solely from Tao.

Tao in itself is vague, impalpable,--how impalpable, how vague! Yet within it there is Form. How vague, how impalpable! Yet within it there is Substance. How profound, how obscure! Yet within it there is a Vital Principle. This principle is the Quintessence of Reality, and out of it comes Truth.

From of old until now, its name has never passed away. It watches over the beginning of all things. How do I know this about the beginning of things? Through Tao.

There is something, chaotic yet complete, which existed before Heaven and Earth. Oh, how still it is, and formless, standing alone without changing, reaching everywhere without suffering harm! It must be regarded as the Mother of the Universe. Its name I know not. To designate it, I call it Tao. Endeavouring to describe it, I call it Great.

p. 21

[paragraph continues] Being great, it passes on; passing on, it becomes remote; having become remote, it returns.

Therefore Tao is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; and the Sovereign also is great. In the Universe there are four powers, of which the Sovereign is one. Man takes his law from the Earth; the Earth takes its law from Heaven; Heaven takes its law from Tao; but the law of Tao is its own spontaneity.

Tao in its unchanging aspect has no name. Small though it be in its primordial simplicity, mankind dare not claim its service. Could princes and kings hold and keep it, all creation would spontaneously pay homage. Heaven and Earth would unite in sending down sweet dew, and the people would be righteous unbidden and of their own accord.

As soon as Tao creates order, it becomes nameable. When it once has a name, men will know how to rest in it. Knowing how to rest in it, they will run no risk of harm.

Tao as it exists in the world is like the great rivers and seas which receive the streams from the valleys.

All-pervading is the Great Tao. It can be at once on the right hand and on the left. All things depend on it for life, and it rejects them not. Its task accomplished, it takes no credit. It loves and nourishes all things, but does not act as master. It is ever free from desire. We may call it small. All things return to it, yet it does not act as master. We may call it great.

The whole world will flock to him who holds the mighty form of Tao. They will come and receive no hurt, but find rest, peace, and tranquillity.

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With music and dainties we may detain the passing guest. But if we open our mouths to speak of Tao, he finds it tasteless and insipid.

Not visible to the sight, not audible to the ear, in its use it is inexhaustible.

Retrogression is the movement of Tao. Weakness is the character of Tao.

All things under Heaven derive their being from Tao in the form of Existence; Tao in the form of Existence sprang from Tao in the form of Non-Existence.

Tao is a great square with no angles, a great vessel which takes long to complete, a great sound which cannot be heard, a great image with no form.

Tao lies hid and cannot be named, yet it has the power of transmuting and perfecting all things.

Tao produced Unity; Unity produced Duality; Duality produced Trinity; and Trinity produced all existing objects. These myriad objects leave darkness behind them and embrace the light, being harmonised by the breath of Vacancy.

Tao produces all things; its Virtue nourishes them; its Nature gives them form; its Force perfects them.

Hence there is not a single thing but pays homage to Tao and extols its Virtue. This homage paid to Tao, this extolling of its Virtue, is due to no command, but is always spontaneous.

Thus it is that Tao, engendering all things, nourishes them, develops them, and fosters them; perfects them, ripens them, tends them, and protects them.

Production without possession, action without

p. 23

self-assertion, development without domination this is its mysterious operation.

The World has a First Cause, which may be regarded as the Mother of the World. When one has the Mother, one can know the Child. He who knows the Child and still keeps the Mother, though his body perish, shall run no risk of harm.

It is the Way of Heaven not to strive, and yet it knows how to overcome; not to speak, and yet it knows how to obtain a response; it calls not, and things come of themselves; it is slow to move, but excellent in its designs.

Heaven's net is vast; though its meshes are wide, it lets nothing slip through.

The Way of Heaven is like the drawing of a bow: it brings down what is high and raises what is low. It is the Way of Heaven to take from those who have too much, and give to those who have too little. But the way of man is not so. He takes away from those who have too little, to add to his own superabundance. What man is there that can take of his own superabundance and give it to mankind? Only he who possesses Tao.

The Tao of Heaven has no favourites. It gives to all good men without distinction.

Things wax strong and then decay. This is the contrary of Tao. What is contrary to Tao soon perishes.


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Footnotes
19:* This sentence is admittedly obscure, and it may be an interpolation. Lao Tzŭ's system of cosmogony has no place for any Divine Being independent of Tao. On the other hand, to translate ti by "Emperor," as some have done, necessarily involves us in an absurd anti-climax.



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Next: Tao As A Moral Principle, Or ''Virtue''

p. 24

TAO AS A MORAL PRINCIPLE, OR "VIRTUE"
THE highest goodness is like water, for water is excellent in benefiting all things, and it does not strive. It occupies the lowest place, which men abhor. And therefore it is near akin to Tao.

When your work is done and fame has been achieved, then retire into the background; for this is the Way of Heaven.

Those who follow the Way desire not excess; and thus without excess they are for ever exempt from change.

All things alike do their work, and then we see them subside. When they have reached their bloom, each returns to its origin. Returning to their origin means rest or fulfilment of destiny. This reversion is an eternal law. To know that law is to be enlightened. Not to know it, is misery and calamity. He who knows the eternal law is liberal-minded. Being liberal-minded, he is just. Being just, he is kingly. Being kingly, he is akin to Heaven. Being akin to Heaven, he possesses Tao. Possessed of Tao, he endures for ever. Though his body perish, yet he suffers no harm.

p. 25

He who acts in accordance with Tao, becomes one with Tao. He who treads the path of Virtue becomes one with Virtue. He who pursues a course of Vice becomes one with Vice. The man who is one with Tao, Tao is also glad to receive. The man who is one with Virtue, Virtue is also glad to receive. The man who is one with Vice, Vice is also glad to receive.

He who is self-approving does not shine. He who boasts has no merit. He who exalts himself does not rise high. Judged according to Tao, he is like remnants of food or a tumour on the body--an object of universal disgust. Therefore one who has Tao will not consort with such.

Perfect Virtue acquires nothing; therefore it obtains everything. Perfect Virtue does nothing, yet there is nothing which it does not effect. Perfect Charity operates without the need of anything to evoke it. Perfect Duty to one's neighbour operates, but always needs to be evoked. Perfect Ceremony operates, and calls for no outward response; nevertheless it induces respect. *

Ceremonies are the outward expression of inward feelings.

If Tao perishes, then Virtue will perish; if Virtue perishes, then Charity will perish; if Charity perishes, then Duty to one's neighbour will perish; if Duty to one's neighbour perishes, then Ceremonies will perish.

Ceremonies are but the veneer of loyalty and


p. 26

good faith, while oft-times the source of disorder. Knowledge of externals is but a showy ornament of Tao, while oft-times the beginning of imbecility.

Therefore the truly great man takes his stand upon what is solid, and not upon what is superficial; upon what is real, and not upon what is ornamental. He rejects the latter in favour of the former.

When the superior scholar hears of Tao, he diligently practises it. When the average scholar hears of Tao, he sometimes retains it, sometimes loses it. When the inferior scholar hears of Tao, he loudly laughs at it. Were it not thus ridiculed, it would not be worthy of the name of Tao.

He who is enlightened by Tao seems wrapped in darkness. He who is advanced in Tao seems to be going back. He who walks smoothly in Tao seems to be on a rugged path.

The man of highest virtue appears lowly. He who is truly pure behaves as though he were sullied. He who has virtue in abundance behaves as though it were not enough. He who is firm in virtue seems like a skulking pretender. He who is simple and true appears unstable as water.

If Tao prevails on earth, horses will be used for purposes of agriculture. If Tao does not prevail, war-horses will be bred on the common.

If we had sufficient knowledge to walk in the Great Way, what we should most fear would be boastful display.

The Great Way is very smooth, but the people love the by-paths.

Where the palaces are very splendid, there the

p. 27

fields will be very waste, and the granaries very empty.

The wearing of gay embroidered robes, the carrying of sharp swords, fastidiousness in food and drink, superabundance of property and wealth:--this I call flaunting robbery; most assuredly it is not Tao.

He who trusts to his abundance of natural virtue is like an infant newly born, whom venomous reptiles will not sting, wild beasts will not seize, birds of prey will not strike. The infant's bones are weak, its sinews are soft, yet its grasp is firm. All day long it will cry without its voice becoming hoarse. This is because the harmony of its bodily system is perfect.

Temper your sharpness, disentangle your ideas, moderate your brilliancy, live in harmony with your age. This is being in conformity with the principle of Tao. Such a man is impervious alike to favour and disgrace, to benefits and injuries, to honour and contempt. And therefore he is esteemed above all mankind.

In governing men and in serving Heaven, there is nothing like moderation. For only by moderation can there be an early return to man's normal state. This early return is the same as a great storage of Virtue. With a great storage of Virtue there is naught which may not be achieved. If there is naught which may not be achieved, then no one will know to what extent this power reaches. And if no one knows to what extent a man's power reaches, that man is fit to be the ruler of a State. Having the secret of rule, his rule shall endure. Setting the tap-root deep, and

p. 28

making the spreading roots firm: this is the way to ensure long life to the tree.

Tao is the sanctuary where all things find refuge, the good man's priceless treasure, the guardian and saviour of him who is not good.

Hence at the enthronement of an Emperor and the appointment of his three ducal ministers, though there be some who bear presents of costly jade and drive chariots with teams of four horses, that is not so good as sitting still and offering the gift of this Tao.

Why was it that the men of old esteemed this Tao so highly? Is it not because it may be daily sought and found, and can remit the sins of the guilty? Hence it is the most precious thing under Heaven.

All the world says that my Tao is great, but unlike other teaching. It is just because it is great that it appears unlike other teaching. If it had this likeness, long ago would its smallness have been known.

The skilful philosophers of the olden time were subtle, spiritual, profound, and penetrating. They were so deep as to be incomprehensible. Because they are hard to comprehend, I will endeavour to describe them.

Shrinking were they, like one fording a stream in winter. Cautious were they, like one who fears an attack from any quarter. Circumspect were they, like a stranger guest; self-effacing, like ice about to melt; simple, like unpolished wood; vacant, like a valley; opaque, like muddy water.

When terms are made after a great quarrel, a certain ill-feeling is bound to be left behind. How

p. 29

can this be made good? Therefore, having entered into an agreement, the Sage adheres to his obligations, * but does not exact fulfilment from others. The man who has Virtue attends to the spirit of the compact; the man without Virtue attends only to his claims.

He who tries to govern a kingdom by his sagacity is of that kingdom the despoiler; but he who does not govern by sagacity is the kingdom's blessing. He who understands these two sayings may be regarded as a pattern and a model. To keep this principle constantly before one's eyes is called Profound Virtue. Profound Virtue is unfathomable, far-reaching, paradoxical at first, but afterwards exhibiting thorough conformity with Nature.



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Footnotes
25:* Han Fei Tzŭ explains the passage by pointing out that "Virtue is the achievement of Tao; Charity is the glory of Virtue; Duty is the translation into action of Charity; and Ceremony is the ornamental part of Duty."

29:* Literally, "he holds the left-hand portion of the agreement." In olden times, the terms of a contract were inscribed on a wooden tablet, the debit or obligations being on the left, and the credit or dues on the right; it was then broken in two, and each of the contracting parties kept his own half until fulfilment was demanded, when the validity of the claim was tested by fitting the two halves together.



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Next: The Doctrine of Inaction

p. 30

THE DOCTRINE OF INACTION
THE Sage occupies himself with inaction, and conveys instruction without words. Is it not by neglecting self-interest that one will be able to achieve it?

Purge yourself of your profound intelligence, and you can still be free from blemish. Cherish the people and order the kingdom, and you can still do without meddlesome action.

Who is there that can make muddy water clear? But if allowed to remain still, it will gradually become clear of itself. Who is there that can secure a state of absolute repose? But let time go on, and the state of repose will gradually arise.

Be sparing of speech, and things will come right of themselves.

A violent wind does not outlast the morning; a squall of rain does not outlast the day. Such is the course of Nature. And if Nature herself cannot sustain her efforts long, how much less can man!

Attain complete vacuity, and sedulously preserve a state of repose.

Tao is eternally inactive, and yet it leaves nothing undone. If kings and princes could but hold fast to this principle, all things would work

p. 31

out their own reformation. If, having reformed, they still desired to act, I would have them restrained by the simplicity of the Nameless Tao. The simplicity of the Nameless Tao brings about an absence of desire. The absence of desire gives tranquillity. And thus the Empire will rectify itself.

The softest things in the world override the hardest. That which has no substance enters where there is no crevice. Hence I know the advantage of inaction.

Conveying lessons without words, reaping profit without action,--there are few in the world who can attain to this!

Activity conquers cold, but stillness conquers heat. Purity and stillness are the correct principles for mankind.

Without going out of doors one may know the whole world; without looking out of the window, one may see the Way of Heaven. The further one travels, the less one may know. Thus it is that without moving you shall know; without looking you shall see; without doing you shall achieve.

The pursuit of book-learning brings about daily increase. The practice of Tao brings about daily loss. Repeat this loss again and again, and you arrive at inaction. Practise inaction, and there is nothing which cannot be done.

The Empire has ever been won by letting things take their course. He who must always be doing is unfit to obtain the Empire.

Keep the mouth shut, close the gateways of sense, and as long as you live you will have no trouble. Open your lips and push your affairs,

p. 32

and you will not be safe to the end of your days.

Practise inaction, occupy yourself with doing nothing.

Desire not to desire, and you will not value things difficult to obtain. Learn not to learn, and

you will revert to a condition which mankind in general has lost.

Leave all things to take their natural course, and do not interfere.



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Next: Lowliness And Humility

p. 33

LOWLINESS AND HUMILITY
ALL things in Nature work silently. They come into being and possess nothing. They fulfil their functions and make no claim.

When merit has been achieved, do not take it to yourself; for if you do not take it to yourself, it shall never be taken from you.

Follow diligently the Way in your own heart, but make no display of it to the world.

Keep behind, and you shall be put in front; keep out, and you shall be kept in.

Goodness strives not, and therefore it is not rebuked.

He that humbles himself shall be preserved entire. He that bends shall be made straight. He that is empty shall be filled. He that is worn out shall be renewed. He who has little shall succeed. He who has much shall go astray.

Therefore the Sage embraces Unity, and is a model for all under Heaven. He is free from self-display, therefore he shines forth; from self-assertion, therefore he is distinguished; from self-glorification, therefore he has merit; from self-exaltation, therefore he rises superior to all. Inasmuch as he does not strive, there

p. 34

is no one in the world who can strive with him.

He who, conscious of being strong, is content to be weak, he shall be the paragon of mankind. Being the paragon of mankind, Virtue will never desert him. He returns to the state of a little child.

He who, conscious of his own light, is content to be obscure,--he shall be the whole world's model. Being the whole world's model, his Virtue will never fail. He reverts to the Absolute.

He who, conscious of desert, is content to suffer disgrace,--he shall be the cynosure of mankind. Being the cynosure of mankind, his Virtue then is full. He returns to perfect simplicity.

He who is great must make humility his base. He who is high must make lowliness his foundation. Thus, princes and kings in speaking of themselves use the terms "lonely," "friendless," "of small account." Is not this making humility their base?

Thus it is that "Some things are increased by being diminished, others are diminished by being increased." What others have taught, I also teach; verily, I will make it the root of my teaching.

What makes a kingdom great is its being like a down-flowing river,---the central point towards which all the smaller streams under Heaven converge; or like the female throughout the world, who by quiescence always overcomes the male. And quiescence is a form of humility.

Therefore, if a great kingdom humbles itself before a small kingdom, it shall make that small kingdom its prize. And if a small kingdom humbles itself before a great kingdom, it shall win

p. 35

over that great kingdom. Thus the one humbles itself in order to attain, the other attains because it is humble. If the great kingdom has no further desire than to bring men together and to nourish them, the small kingdom will have no further desire than to enter the service of the other. But in order that both may have their desire, the great one must learn humility.

The reason why rivers and seas are able to be lords over a hundred mountain streams, is that they know how to keep below them. That is why they are able to reign over all the mountain streams.

Therefore the Sage, wishing to be above the people, must by his words put himself below them; wishing to be before the people, he must put himself behind them. In this way, though he has his place above them, the people do not feel his weight; though he has his place before them, they do not feel it as an injury. Therefore all mankind delight to exalt him, and weary of him not.

The Sage expects no recognition for what he does; he achieves merit but does not take it to himself; he does not wish to display his worth.

I have three precious things, which I hold fast and prize. The first is gentleness; the second is frugality; the third is humility, which keeps me from putting myself before others. Be gentle, and you can be bold; be frugal, and you can be liberal; avoid putting yourself before others, and you can become a leader among men.

But in the present day men cast off gentleness, and are all for being bold; they spurn frugality,

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and retain only extravagance; they discard humility, and aim only at being first. Therefore they shall surely perish.

Gentleness brings victory to him who attacks, and safety to him who defends. Those whom Heaven would save, it fences round with gentleness.

The best soldiers are not warlike; the best fighters do not lose their temper. The greatest conquerors are those who overcome their enemies without strife. The greatest directors of men are those who yield place to others. This is called the Virtue of not striving, the capacity for directing mankind; this is being the compeer of Heaven. It was the highest goal of the ancients.



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