There are in China three recognized sects or "religiones
licitæ:"—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Tao-ism. We have examined the
Sacred Books of the first; those of the second will come under
review in another section. There remains the comparatively small and
unimportant sect of the Taò-tsé, or "Doctors of Reason," who derive
their origin from Laò-tsé, and who possess as their classic the single
written composition which emanated from their founder. It is entitled
the Taò-tĕ-Kīng.
Ancient as this book is (probably about B.C. 520), there is no reason
to doubt its authenticity.[47] This is sufficiently guaranteed by
quotations from it which are found in authors belonging to the fourth
century B.C., and by the fact that a scholar who wrote in B.C. 163
made it the subject of a commentary, which accompanies it sentence
by sentence. Nor does Chinese tradition state that it perished in
the Burning of the Books (B.C. 212-209), which was a measure leveled
against the Confucian school, and took place under an Emperor who
was favorable to the Taò-tsé. We may safely conclude that we are in
possession of the genuine composition of the ancient philosopher (T. T.
K., lxxiii., lxxiv).
Of the three words which compose its title, King has already been
explained (Supra p. 390-391). The full meaning of Taò will appear in
the sequel: we may here term it the Absolute. Te means Virtue; and the
title would thus imply either that this Canonical Book deals with the
Absolute _and_ with Virtue, or with that kind of virtue which emanates
from, and is founded upon, a belief in and a spiritual union with the
Absolute.[48]
Whatever the signification of its name, its principal subjects
undoubtedly are Taò and Te: the Supreme Principle and human Virtue.
Let us see what is Laò-tsé's description of Taò, the great fundamental
Being on whom his whole system rests. "Taò, if it can be pronounced, is
not the eternal Taò. The Name, if it can be named, is not the eternal
Name. The Nameless One is the foundation of Heaven and Earth; he who
has a Name is the Mother of all beings" (Ch. 1). These enigmatical
sentences open the Taò philosophy. The idea that Taò is unnameable
is a prominent one in the author's mind, although he seems also to
recognize a subordinate creative principle—like the Gnostic Æons—which
is nameable. Thus we read: "Taò, the Eternal has no Name.... He who
begins to create, has a Name" (Ch. 32). Again: "For ever and ever it is
unnameable, and returns into non-existence." Or: "I know not its Name;
if I describe it, I call it Taò" (Ch. 25). We are reminded of Faust's
reply in Goethe:—
"Ich habe keinen Namen
Dafür? Gefühl ist alles;
Name ist Schall und Rauch
Umnebelnd Himmelsgluth."
Nor is Taò only without a Name; it is sometimes described as if devoid
of all intelligible attributes. Thus, in one chapter, we learn that
it is eternally without action, and yet without non-action (Ch. 37).
Nay, the entire absence of all activity is not unfrequently predicated
of Taò, whose great merit is stated to be complete quiescence. Taò
is moreover incomprehensible, inconceivable, undiscoverable, obscure
(Ch. 21). Its upper part is not clear, its lower part not obscure. It
returns into non-existence. It is the form of the Formless; the image
of the Imageless (Ch. 14). Mysterious as this Being is, yet in other
places attributes are ascribed to it which go far to elucidate the
author's conception of its nature. Productive energy, for instance, is
plainly attributed to Taò, for it is stated that Taò produces one, one
two, and two three, while three produces all creatures (Ch. 32). The
following account is less mystical: "Taò produces them [creatures],
its Might preserves them, its essence forms them, its power perfects
them: therefore of all beings there is none that does not adore Taò,
and honor its Might. The adoration of Taò, the honoring of its Might,
is commanded by no one and is always spontaneous. For Taò produces
them, preserves them, brings them up, fashions them, perfects them,
ripens them, cherishes them, protects them. To produce and not possess,
to act and not expect, to bring up and not control, this is called
sublime Virtue."[49] In addition to these creative and preservative
qualities, it has moral attributes of the highest order. Thus, its
Spirit is supremely trustworthy. In it is faithfulness (Ch. 21). All
beings trust to it in order to live. When a work is completed, it does
not call it its own. Loving and nourishing all beings, it still does
not lord it over them. It is eternally without desire. All beings turn
to it, yet it does not lord it over them (Ch. 34). It is eminently
straightforward. It dwells only with those who are not occupied with
the luxuries of this world (Ch. 53). Nay, it is altogether perfect (Ch.
25). The last assertion is found in a chapter which, as it is probably
the most important in the book for the purpose of understanding the
theology of the author, deserves to be translated in full:—"There
existed a Being, inconceivably perfect, before Heaven and Earth arose.
So still! so supersensible! It alone remains and does not change.
It pervades all and is not endangered. It may be regarded as the
Mother of the World. I know not its name; if I describe it, I call
it Taò. Concerned to give it a Name, I call it Great; as great, I
call it Immense; as immense, I call it Distant; as distant, I call it
Returning. For Taò is great; Heaven is great; the Earth is great; the
King is also great. In the world there are many kinds of greatness,
and the King remains one of them. The measure of Man is the earth; the
measure of earth, Heaven; the measure of Heaven, Taò; Taò's measure
itself."[50]
Such is the picture of Taò; but the Taò-tĕ-Kīng is much more than a
treatise on theology; it is even more conspicuously a treatise on
morals. Taò is indeed the transcendental foundation on which the
ethical superstructure is raised; but the superstructure occupies
a much more considerable space than the foundation, and seems to
have been the main practical end for which the latter was laid down.
Intermingled with the image of Taò we find the image of the good man,
or, as we may call him, in Scriptural phraseology, the righteous man;
an ideal of perfect virtue, whom the author holds up, not as an actual
person, but as an imaginary model for the guidance of human conduct.
By putting together the scattered traits of his character, we may
arrive at a tolerable comprehension of the author's conception of
perfect goodness. In the first place, the righteous man is in harmony
in his actions with Taò; he becomes one with Taò, and Taò rejoices
to receive him (Ch. 23). He places himself in the background, and
by that very means is brought forward (Ch. 7). He does not regard
himself, and therefore shines; he is not just to himself, and is
therefore distinguished; does not praise himself, and is therefore
meritorious; does not exalt himself, and is therefore preëminent. As
he does not dispute, none can dispute with him (Ch. 22). If he acts,
he sets no store by his action; for he does not wish to render his
wisdom conspicuous (Ch. 77). He knows himself, but does not regard
himself; loves himself, but does not set a high price on himself (Ch.
72). Unwilling lightly to promise great things, he is thereby able
to accomplish the more; by treating things as difficult, he finds
nothing too difficult during his whole life (Ch. 63). Inaccessible
alike to friendship and enmity, uninfluenced by personal advantage or
injury, by honor or dishonor, he is honored by all the world (Ch. 56).
He is characterized by quiet earnestness; should he possess splendid
palaces, he inhabits them or quits them with equal calm (Ch. 26).
He clothes himself in wool (a very coarse material in China), and
hides his jewels (Ch. 70). He is ever ready to help others; for the
good man is the educator of the bad, the bad man the treasure of the
good (Ch. 27). "The righteous man does not accumulate. The more he
spends on others, the more he has; the more he gives to others, the
richer he is" (Ch. 81). "He who knows others is clever; he who knows
himself is enlightened" (Ch. 33). Thus the sage, like Socrates, makes
νῶθι σéαντον a main principle of his conduct. Should he be called
to the administration of the realm, he adopts a policy of _laisser
faire_, for he has observed the evils produced by over-legislation.
It is his belief that if he be inactive, the people will improve by
themselves; if he be quiet, they will become honorable; if he abstain
from intermeddling, they will become rich; if he be free from desires,
they will become simple (Ch. 57). Compelled to engage in war, he will
not make use of conquest to triumph or exalt himself, neither will he
take violent measures (Ch. 30). Mercy is a quality that must not be
despised; the merciful will conquer in battle (Ch. 67). Endowed with
these characteristics, the good man need fear nothing. Like Horace's
"Integer vitæ scelerisque purus,"
he is preserved from danger. The horn of the rhinoceros, the claws of
the tiger, the blade of the sword, cannot hurt him (Ch. 50). He is like
a new-born child: serpents do not sting it, nor wild beasts seize it,
nor birds of prey attack it.[51]
A few features, which do not directly enter into the delineation of the
character of the sage, must still be added to complete that image. And
first, a prominent place must be assigned to a quality which is a large
ingredient in Laò-tsé's conception of goodness, both human and divine.
It is that of gentleness, or, as he would call it, weakness. It is a
favorite principle of his, that the weak things of the earth overcome
the strong, and that they overcome in virtue of that very weakness. He
has an aversion to all conspicuous exercise of force. The deity of his
philosophy is one who is indeed all-powerful, but who never displays
his power. The method of Heaven—and it should also be that of man—is
_apparent_ yielding, leading to real supremacy. "It strives not, yet is
able to overcome. It speaks not, yet is able to obtain an answer. It
summons not, yet men come to it of their own accord; is long-suffering,
yet is able to succeed in its designs" (Ch. 73). The superiority of
the weak—or the seeming weak—to the strong, is further illustrated
by Laò-tsé in several parallels. We enter life soft and feeble; we
quit it hard and strong. Therefore softness and feebleness are the
companions of life; hardness and strength of death (Ch. 76). And does
not the wife overcome her husband by her quietness? (Ch., 61.) Is not
water the softest and weakest of all things in the world, yet is there
anything which ever attacks the hard and strong that is able to surpass
it? (Ch., 78.) Thus, the most yielding of all substances overcomes the
most inflexible. Hence is manifest the advantage of inactivity and of
silence (Ch. 43). It is fully in accordance with these notions that
Laò-tsé should distinctly deprecate warfare, and should assert that the
most competent general will not be warlike. Calmly conscious of his
power, he is not quarrelsome or eager for battle, and thus possessing
the virtue of peaceable and patient strength, he becomes the peer
of Heaven (Ch. 68). War is altogether to be condemned, as pregnant
with calamity to the state (Ch. 30). "The most beauteous weapons are
instruments of misfortune; all creatures abhor them; therefore he who
has Taò does not employ them." They are not the instruments of the wise
man. If he must needs resort to them, yet he still values peace and
quietness as the highest aims. He conquers with reluctance. "He who has
killed many men, let him weep for them with grief and compassion. He
who has conquered in battle, let him stand as at a funeral pomp" (Ch.
31).
Another striking characteristic of Laò-tsé's moral system is his
dislike of luxury, and his earnest injunction to all men to be
contented with modest circumstances. We have seen that the sage is
depicted as wearing coarse clothing, and Laò-tsé considers that the
very presence of considerable riches indicates the absence of Taò from
the minds of their possessors. As we should express it, the devotion
to worldly wealth is inconsistent with a spiritual life. "To wear fine
clothes, to carry sharp swords, to be filled with drink and victuals,
to have a superfluity of costly gems, this is to make a parade of
robbery (Or, this is "magnificent robbery," O. P., p. 41); truly not
to have Taò" (Ch. 53). Moreover, the very pomp of the palace leads
to uncultivated fields and empty barns (Ibid). Laò-tsé therefore
warns every one not to consider his abode too narrow or his life too
confined. If we do not think it too confined, it will not be so (Ch.
72). Nay, he goes further, and asserts that the world is best known by
staying at home. The further a man goes, the less he knows (Ch. 47).
A truly virtuous and well-governed people will never care to travel
beyond its own limits. To such a people its food will be so sweet, its
clothing so beautiful, its dwellings so comfortable, and its customs
so dear, that it will never visit the territory of its neighbors, even
though that territory should lie so close that the cackling of the hens
and the barking of the dogs may be heard across the boundary (Ch. 80).
It results from the above exposition of his ethical principles that
Laò-tsé insists mainly upon three virtues: Modesty, Benevolence, and
Contentment. "For my part," he says himself, "I have three treasures; I
guard them and greatly prize them. The first is called Mercy,[52] the
second is called Frugality, the third is called Not daring to be first
in the kingdom. Mercy—therefore I can be brave; Frugality—therefore I
can give away; Not daring to be first in the kingdom—therefore I can
become the first of the gifted ones" (Ch. 67).
* * * * *
Of all the sacred books, the Taò-tĕ-Kīng is the most philosophical.
It stands, indeed, on the borderland between a revelation and a
system of philosophy, partaking to some extent of the nature of both.
Since, however, it forms the fundamental classic of a religious
sect, and since it has engaged in its interpretation a multitude of
commentators,[53] it appears to be fully entitled to a place among
Scriptures. Not indeed that the Chinese regard it as a revelation in
the same sense in which nations of a more theological cast of mind
apply that term to the books composing their Canon. But I see no reason
to doubt that the Taò-tsé, however little they attend to its precepts,
yet treat it as a work of unapproachable perfection and unquestionable
truth. Indeed, the writer of a fabulous life of Laò-tsé, who lived many
centuries after his death, expressly ascribes to it those peculiar
qualities which, as we have seen, are the special attributes of sacred
books (L. V. V., pp. xxxi., xxxii).
To the European reader who approaches it for the first time it
will probably appear a perplexing study. Participating largely in
that disorder and confusedness which characterizes the class of
literature to which it belongs, it presents, in addition, considerable
difficulties peculiarly its own. The correct translation of many
passages is doubtful. The sense of still more is ambiguous and obscure.
Laò-tsé is fond of paradox, and his constant employment of paradoxical
antithesis seems specially designed to puzzle the reader. If his
doctrine was understood by few, it must be confessed that this was
partly his own fault. Moreover, the reverence with which he speaks of
Taò, and the care with which he insists that Taò does nothing, seem
at first sight inconsistent. We feel ourselves in an atmosphere of
hopeless mysticism. Nevertheless, these superficial troubles vanish,
or at least retire into the background, after repeated perusals of the
work. There are few books that gain more on continued acquaintance.
Every successive study reveals more and more of a wisdom and a beauty
which we miss at first in the obscurity and strangeness of the style.
And first, Taò itself turns out to be a less incomprehensible and
contradictory being than we originally supposed. For although he may
sometimes be spoken of as doing nothing, or even as destitute of all
distinct qualities, yet other attributes expressly exclude the notion
of absolute inaction. A being which creates, cherishes and loves, and
in which all the world implicitly trusts, is not the kind of nonentity
that can be described as wholly devoid of "action, thought, judgment,
and intelligence."[54] Moreover, it is to be borne in mind that the
sage is to imitate Taò in the quality—for which he is highly lauded—of
doing nothing. The two pictures, that of Taò and his follower, must
be held side by side in order to be correctly understood. Now what is
the peculiar beauty, from a philosophical point of view, of the order
of Nature? It is that all its parts harmoniously perform their several
offices, without any violent or conspicuous intrusion of the presiding
principle which guides them all.
Other teachers, indeed, have seen God mainly in violent and convulsive
manifestations, and have appealed to miraculous suspensions of natural
order as the best proofs of his existence. Not so Laò-tsé. He sees him
in the quiet, unobtrusive, unapparent guidance of the world; in the
unseen, yet irresistible power to which mankind unresistingly submit,
precisely because it is never thrust offensively upon them. The Deity
of Laò-tsé is free from those gross and unlovely elements which degrade
his character in so many other religions. He rules by gentleness and
love, not by vindictiveness and anger. So should it be with the holy
man who takes him for his model. Assuredly we are not to understand
those passages which enjoin quiescence so earnestly upon him as a
meaning that he is to lead a life of absolute indolence. Like Taò, he
is to guide his fellow-creatures rather by the beauty of his conduct
than by positive commands laid imperatively upon them. Let him but be
a shining example; they will be drawn towards him. The activity from
which a wise ruler is to abstain is the vexatious multiplication of
laws and edicts, which do harm rather than good. But neither ruler
nor philosopher is told to do nothing; for benevolence, love, and the
requital of good for evil, to say nothing of other positive virtues,
are most strictly enjoined on all. Laò-tsé himself no doubt lived, and
loved, a retired contemplative life. This is the kind of existence
which he evidently considered the most perfect and the most godlike. He
counsels his followers to be wholly unambitious, and to abstain from
all active pursuit of political honor. Such counsel might possibly be
well adapted to the time in which he lived. But none the less does he
lay down rules for the guidance of kings, statesmen, and warriors,
in their several spheres. Nor is the book wanting in pithy apothegms
applicable to all, and remarkable alike for the wisdom of their
substance and the neatness of their form. Whether, in short, we look
to the simplicity and grandeur of its speculative doctrine, or to the
unimpeachable excellence of its moral teaching, we shall find few among
the great productions of the human mind that evince, from beginning to
end, so lofty a spirit and so pure a strain.
APPENDIX TO SECTION II.
_Translations of the Taò-tĕ-Kīng_, ch. 25.
ABEL RÉMUSAT.—"Avant le chaos qui a précédé la naissance du ciel et de
la terre, un seul être existait, immense et silencieux, immuable et
toujours agissant sans jamais s'altérer. On peut le regarder comme la
_mère_ de l'univers. J'ignore son nom, mais je le désigne par le mot de
_raison_.
Forcé de lui donner un nom, je l'appelle _grandeur_, _progression_,
_éloignement_, _opposition_. Il y a dans le monde quatre grandeurs;
celle de la raison, celle du ciel, celle de la terre, celle du roi,
qui est aussi une des quatre. L'homme a son type et son modèle dans
la terre, la terre dans le ciel, le ciel dans la raison, la raison en
elle-même."[55]
STANISLAS JULIEN.—"Il est un être confus qui existait avant le ciel et
la terre.
O qu'il est calme! O qu'il est immatériel!
Il subsiste seul et ne change point.
Il circule partout et ne périclite point.
Il peut être regardé comme la mère de l'univers.
Moi, je ne sais pas son nom.
Pour lui donner un titre, je l'appelle _Voie_ (Tao).
En m'efforçant de lui faire un nom, je l'appelle _grand_.
De _grand_, je l'appelle _fugace_.
De _fugace_, je l'appelle _éloigné_.
_D'éloigné_, je l'appelle (l'être) _qui revient_.
C'est pourquoi le Tao est _grand_, le ciel est _grand_, la terre est
_grande_, le roi aussi est _grand_.
Dans le monde, il y a quatre grandes choses, et le roi en est une.
L'homme imite la terre; la terre imite le ciel; le ciel imite le Tao;
le Tao imite sa nature" (L. V. V., p. 35).
JOHN CHALMERS.—"There is something chaotic in nature which existed
before heaven and earth. It was still. It was void. It stood alone and
was not changed. It pervaded everywhere and was not endangered. It may
be regarded as the Mother of the Universe. I know not its name, but
give it the title of Tau. If I am forced to make a name for it, I say
it is _Great_; being great, I say that it _passes away_; passing away,
I say that it is _far off_; being far off, I say that it _returns_.
Now Tau is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; a king is great. In
the universe there are four greatnesses, and a king is one of them.
Man takes his law from the Earth; the Earth takes its law from Heaven;
Heaven takes its law from Tau; and Tau takes its law from what is in
itself" (O. P., p. 18).
REINHOLD VON PLÄNCKNER.—"Es existirt ein das All erfüllendes, durchaus
vollkommenes Wesen, das früher war denn der Himmel und die Erde. Es
existirt da in erhabener Stille, es ist ewig und unveränderlich, und
ohne Anstoss dringt es überall hin, überall da.
Man möchte es als den Schöpfer der Welt ansehen. Seinen Namen weiss
ich nicht, ich nenne es am liebsten das Tao; soll ich diesem eine
bezeichnende Eigenschaft beilegen, so würde es die der höchsten
Erhabenheit sein.
Ja, erhaben ist das Wesen, um das sich das All und Alles im All bewegt,
als solches muss es ewig sein, und wie es ewig ist, ist es folglich
auch allgegenwärtig.
Ja das Tao ist erhaben, erhaben ist auch der Himmel, erhaben die Erde,
erhaben ist auch das Ideal des Menschen. So sind denn vier erhabene
Wesen im Universum, und das Ideal des Menschen ist ohne Zweifel eins
derselben.
Denn der Mensch stammt von der Erde, die Erde stammt vom Himmel, der
Himmel stammt vom Tao.—Und das Tao stammt ohne Frage allein aus sich
selbst" (L. T., p. 113).