POLITICS.
We now breathe a freer air—escaped from the trammels of Physics, and
at large in the wide spaces of Politics. Here Lao-tzŭ speaks more
plainly and fully, and it is easily seen that he is dealing with
congenial subjects. To us also his political aphorisms will come with
more freshness and delight than the speculations about things much
more beyond his ken with which we were last engaged. Yet we must not
expect to find in the _Tao-tê Ching_ a treatise on Politics, or a
discourse on the best form of government. Lao-tzŭ does not present to
us a wax figment of his own imagination—an ideal republic, an Utopia,
or a New Atlantis. He looks to his own country as it was then,
oppressed and miserable, and he endeavours to recall those in
authority to a noble and generous mode of government. His standard of
political excellence may be ideal, and some of his maxims may be
fanciful, and even bad; still we will find in all a genial human
philosophy, which even we of the enlightened nineteenth century cannot
utterly despise.
“Politics,” says Sir G. C. Lewes, “relate to human action so far as it
concerns the public interest of a community, and is not merely private
or ethical. Human action, thus defined, consists of—1, the acts and
relations of a sovereign government, both with respect to its own
subjects and other sovereign governments; 2, the acts and relations of
members of the political community, so far as they concern the
government, or the community at large, or a considerable portion of
it.”[1] Lao-tzŭ’s teachings in politics refer more to the former than
to the latter of these two divisions. He does not, however, omit to
notice the relations of the different members of the state, as well to
the government as to each other; but he relegates this subject to the
province of ethics. He considers the people more in their private
relations than as bound by legal ties to the performance of certain
acts, and the abstaining from certain other acts, towards their
fellows. Nor is it from the political stand-point that he contemplates
the nature and distribution of wealth, a subject which properly
belongs to politics. These and similar matters are all assigned to the
private relations of man to the Universal Nature, and so they will
come more properly under the head of ethics.
Having premised thus much, I now proceed to set forth Lao-tzŭ’s
teachings about “the acts and relations of a sovereign government,
both with respect to its own subjects and other sovereign
governments;” and
1. _Of the institution of the Sovereign_.—It is to the people that he
assigns the original appointment of an emperor, and he gives a
peculiar reason for the institution. A bad man still has the law of
Nature (_Tao_) in him; and he is not to be cast aside as a hopeless
case, seeing he may be transformed into a virtuous man. Accordingly
emperors and magistrates were appointed, whose duty it was to save, as
it were, by precept and example, those who had gone astray.[2] Thus
Lao-tzŭ’s idea of the sovereign is so far purely ethical. He does not
conceive of him so much as the judge and ruler of the people as their
model and instructor. The man whom the people elect, however, is also
the elected of Heaven.[3] As in the case of Saul the Israelites
anointed him whom the Lord had chosen, so the people raise to the
throne him whom Heaven has appointed. Princes exercise government,
because they have received that destiny as their share of the
Universal Nature.[4] They obtain their _One_—their individualizing
nature—in order that they may rule righteously. Sometimes he seems to
use the term _Shêng-jĕn_ (聖人) as synonymous with _Wang_ (王), or
King.[5] Now the _Shêng-jĕn_ is the man who by his nature is
completely virtuous, perfectly in harmony with the ways heaven has
ordained. He is in short the stoic _Sapiens_, and whether he actually
administer public affairs or not, is still a king. The term _Saint_,
by which Julien renders this expression, scarcely conveys its full
meaning; as the _Shêng-jĕn_ is not only holy, but also supremely wise.
He is the ideal or typical man, who rules ever and transforms the
world; and, failing a better, I shall translate it by the expression
_godlike man_. In ancient times, it was the _Shêng-jĕn_, or godlike
man, who was appointed ruler; and if such were the case now, the world
would be in peace and prosperity. The man who is destined to become
king will not use violence to obtain the honour.[6] On the contrary he
will be humble and yielding; and so, as water wears away the hard
opposing rocks, he will finally triumph. In confirmation hereof
Lao-tzŭ cites the saying of a godlike man:—“To bear the reproaches of a
kingdom is to preside over the sacrifices to the gods of the land and
grain (_i.e._ to be prince), and to bear a kingdom’s misfortunes
is to be king of the whole empire”—words true, though seeming
paradoxical.[7] Lao-tzŭ, however, has a very high opinion of the
position and dignity of the sovereign. There are four great things in
the universe, and he is one of them; the remaining three being Nature
(_Tao_), Heaven, and Earth[8] In another place he even puts the king
immediately before Heaven.[9]
2. _The relations of the ruler to his subjects_.—With Lao-tzŭ, as with
all Chinese writers on politics, the mode in which, government ought
to be conducted is a supremely important subject. In his homely
manner, he compares the ruling of a large kingdom to the cooking of a
small fish, or the handling of a fine and delicate implement.[10] Too
much cooking spoils the implement. So is it with the kingdom. It is an
etherial instrument which cannot be wrought with—if one works with it
he destroys it, and if one handles it he loses it.
The first duty of the ruler is to rectify himself—to overcome his
appetites and passions.[11] He must cultivate virtue in himself, and
proceeding thence he will have it cultivated in his family, and
finally in all the empire; and thus the kingdom will remain
established in his family for generations to come.[12] He must be
serious and grave[13] in his deportment, remembering the greatness of
his charge, and whence it was derived. By levity of conduct he will
lose his ministers, and by violent proceedings he will lose his
throne. His models ought to be the Earth,[14] which is always in
peaceful rest, and the rulers of antiquity, who followed Nature
(_Tao_). In the early days of innocence and simplicity, subjects only
knew that they had rulers, so lightly lay the hand of government on
them.[15] Then came the time when rulers were loved and lauded, then
the time when they were feared, and lastly that in which they were
treated with contumely. The prince of the present time ought to return
as far as possible to the primitive ways. He should, like the great
Universal Nature, be free from show of action[16]—if he could only
keep the law of Nature, his kingdom would, as a matter of course, be
in a state of order and tranquility—all things would submit to
him, and become, of their own accord, transformed to a state of
goodness[17]—even the demons would cease to possess elfish power; or
if they still possessed it, they would not use it to the detriment of
men. The prince ought also, at least outwardly, to be humble and
modest, not arrogating precedence and superiority, but rather using
the language of self-abasement.[18]
In the exercise of government Lao-tzŭ does not allow the use of
violence, and he inveighs nobly against military oppression. If the
prince keep himself from being absorbed in worldly interests—do not
confer honour and emoluments on brilliant parts—nor prize what the
world holds valuable—nor make display of that which is coveted: his
example will have such virtue that all his subjects will cease from
strife and violence, and live in peaceful obedience.[19] But if he try
to have the empire through force, he will fail. He who according to
the Law of Nature (_Tao_) would assist the prince will not compel the
empire by arms—this sort of thing is wont to have its recompense.
Where the General pitches his tent, thorns and briers spring up; and
in the wake of a great army there are inevitably bad years. If there
be necessity for fighting—and only then—he who is wise in ruling will
strike a decisive blow at the fit time, and then lay down his arms,
not glorying in his conquest. Fine arms are inauspicious implements,
hated by all things; and he who holds to Nature will not continue to
use them. The noble man (君子) in private life esteems the left side,
and in time of war esteems the right—the left being symbolic of the
_Yang_ (陽) or preserving principle, and the right of the _Yin_ (陰) or
killing principle. Arms are inauspicious implements—not such as the
noble man employs; he uses them only when he has no alternative, but
he looks on superiority with indifference, and takes no glory in
victory. He who glories in victory delights in the massacre of men,
and such an one cannot have his will in the empire. To him who slays a
multitude of men, a position of dignity is assigned corresponding to
that of the chief mourner at a funeral, viz., the right hand side,
which in inauspicious matters is the post of honour, just as in
auspicious matters the left hand side is the post of honour.[20] Thus
not only is the ruler not to use military power to keep his subjects
in subjection, but he is also not to drag these latter into war for
his own aggrandisement. The fighting to which Lao-tzŭ mainly alludes
is that of the different principalities of the country among
themselves, and on this subject the words of Pascal may be not unaptly
added to those of our author:—“Le plus grand des maux est les guerres
civiles. Elles sont sûres si on veut récompenser le mérite; car tous
diraient qu’ils meritent. Le mal à craindre d’un sot qui succède par
droit de naissance n’est ni si grand ni si sûr.”[21] War is the
result, according to Lao-tzŭ, of bad government, of the lust of power
and property. If good government prevail in a country, its fleet
horses will be employed on the farm; but if ill government prevail,
and lust and ambition have scope, feuds will continue until war steeds
beget war steeds on the plains of the frontier.[22] Whether,
therefore, for the purpose of solidifying the prince’s power over his
subjects, or for state aggrandisement, war and all violent measures
are interdicted.
But not only does Lao-tzŭ thus advise the ruler against using military
power in his realm; he also recommends the doing away with capital
punishment—indeed with all punishment whatever. The people do not fear
death, and how then is it to be used to keep them in dread? If the
people could be made to have a constant fear of death, and some commit
a crime, and be apprehended and put to death, would any one continue
to venture on offending? It is presumptuous then for the magistrate to
use capital punishment. There is the eternal executioner, and he who
puts to death for him is like the man who fells a tree for the head
wood-man; and such an one seldom fails to wound his hand.[23] Capital
punishment is thus reserved for something superhuman to execute; and
the earthly magistrate has only to endeavour to lead a life free from
the appearance of lust and violence.[24]
It is by justice that a kingdom is well governed, as by stratagem a
war is conducted.[25] Yet the prince must be lenient to his people. If
restrictions on liberty of action be multiplied, so that his subjects
cannot lift a hand or move a foot without incurring guilt, they will
be prevented from pursuing their industry, and so become poor.[26]
The levying of excessive taxes[27] by those in authority for the
indulgence of their sensual appetites, also impoverishes a people, and
accordingly in government there is nothing like economy.[28] To keep
the court in affluence while the fields are weed-grown and the public
granaries exhausted; for the rulers to have expensive clothing, sharp
swords, sumptuous food and excessive wealth, is to glory in plunder,
but not to follow Nature. Nor may the prince break his word with
subjects—as want of faith in him is followed by want of faith in
them.[29]
It is not necessary for the ruler to explain the nature and method of
his government. On the contrary he ought to keep his counsels and his
conduct secret. Inasmuch as the fish cannot with impunity leave its
element, so the sharp engines of government may not be displayed.[30]
When the laws are numerous and obtrusively exhibited, the people
become thieves and robbers; but when they are not so, the people
continue decent and orderly.[31] Thus it is better that the rulers
keep the populace in a state of ignorance and stupidity.[32] The
ancient kings went on this principle, and had peaceful reigns.[33] In
his own time Lao-tsŭ considered that the difficulty of keeping the
people well governed arose from their being too knowing. He would
accordingly like to see them recalled to the ways of primitive
simplicity, so that their arms would be unworn, and their boats and
cars unused. He would like to have the people return to the manners
of the times when knotted cords were still the symbols of words,
and would have them relish their food, enjoy their clothes,
feel comfortable in their homes, and delight in their social
institutions.[34] He would have them brought to think seriously of
death, so that they would end their days in their own country and
never leave it for another, even though it were so near that the
respective inhabitants could hear the cackling of the fowls and the
barking of the dogs in the two places. Thus, while the prince keeps
his subjects simple and ignorant, he must have their bodily wants
supplied. The godlike man when he rules empties the minds of the
people, and fills their stomachs; weakens their wills, and strengthens
their bones (that is, their animal power).[35] He treats them as
children, and is always kind, postponing his own comfort to their good.
The mode in which the ruler is to obtain respect and esteem from his
subjects is by deporting himself humbly towards them, and he must
never arrogate greatness to himself.[36] His conduct should be calm
and unostentatious, while inwardly he is anxious; and his gravity and
quietness of deportment ought never to be departed from. The prince is
to save his people, as it were, by setting before them an example of
humility, forbearance, and all the other virtues which save a country
from being imbroiled in wars and rebellions—he is to be of one heart
and one mind with them, and have no will independent of theirs.[37]
These are the principal duties of the king to his people as indicated
or conceived of by Lao-tzŭ—the king being in his contemplation an
absolute sovereign. I shall now add, as a comment, the views on this
subject set forth by two other authors in widely different
circumstances. The writer of Deuteronomy says:—“When thou art come
into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, and shalt possess
it, and shalt dwell therein, and shalt say, I will set a king over me,
like as all the nations that _are_ about me; thou shalt in any wise
set _him_ king over thee, whom the Lord thy God shall choose; _one_
from among thy brethren shalt thou set king over thee; thou mayest not
set a stranger over thee, which _is_ not thy brother. But he shall not
multiply horses to himself, nor cause the people to return to Egypt,
to the end that he should multiply horses: *** Neither shall he
multiply wives to himself, that his heart turn not away, neither shall
he greatly multiply to himself silver and gold, &c. *** That his heart
be not lifted up above his brethren, and that he turn not aside from
the commandment _to_ the right hand or _to_ the left; to the end that
he may prolong _his_ days in his kingdom, he, and his children, in the
midst of Israel.”[38]
The other writer is the philosopher of Malmesbury. After establishing
for the king a title as extravagantly high as any oriental flatterer
could have done, he proceeds to prescribe his duties to his people.
These are summed up in the sentence, “The safety of the people is the
supreme law”—according to the old maxim, “Salus populi suprema lex.”
Under this are included both spiritual and temporal benefits; but the
difficulty about the former is left in suspense. Of the latter he
says:—“The benefits of subjects respecting this life only, may be
distributed into four kinds—1, That they be defended against foreign
enemies; 2, That peace be preserved at home; 3, That they be enriched,
as much as may consist with public security; 4, That they enjoy a
harmless liberty.”[39]
3. The next point to be considered is _the relation of a government to
the neighbouring states_. On this subject Lao-tzŭ has very little to
say, and what he does say concerns only the small feudal dependencies
of the kingdom of _Chow_. All the world—that is, all the world
known—was the king’s; but holding under him, at this time indeed only
nominally for the most part, were chiefs of smaller and larger
provinces and principalities. It is of this, in their relations to
each other and to their titular superior, that Lao-tzŭ makes mention.
The different states in their mutual intercourse ought to be guided by
courtesy and forbearance. The great kingdom is the reservoir of the
small principalities,[40] and ought to remain in dignified peace,
while these come to give in their allegiance, as the little streams
from the mountains flow to the placid lake or smoothly-flowing river
as their king. The large state ought thus to remain lowly and humble
towards the small one, and not act towards it in an arrogant or
violent manner. When a large kingdom abases itself to a small
principality, and when a small state abases itself to a large one, it
obtains service (and protection) under that large one. It is for this
purpose that the small state submits; and the large kingdom annexes
the small states for the purpose of uniting and maintaining the people.
It is fit that the large state should always act humbly and meekly,
and that the small states should own its supremacy; there will thus be
no need of fighting. There is no greater misfortune in the world than
to take up a quarrel on a slight pretext.[41] As the soldiers say, it
is much better to bear than to make the attack—to yield considerably
than to advance a little. That is, it is better to have one’s own
territory invaded than to make aggression on that of another. The king
who is yielding and compliant is sure to be ultimately victorious. If,
however, a prince must go to war, whether to defend his own dominions,
or at the bidding of his sovereign, he must show clemency. It is the
tender hearted who gains the victory in the pitched battle, and who
succeeds in keeping the beleaguered city.
By words like these the philosopher endeavoured to dissuade the
princes and barons of his time from the border warfare in which they
were perpetually engaged. The mutual aggressions and reprisals of
these chiefs were in his days desolating the kingdom and gradually
reducing it to the condition favourable to the production of a tyrant.
A few centuries after Lao-tzŭ’s death the man arose who made himself
king over all the empire (王天下), but he was very unlike the king
depicted by Lao-tzŭ and Confucius and Mencius.
4. On the latter of the two departments into which Sir G. C. Lewes
divides Politics, namely, the relations of the subjects to their ruler
and to each other, Lao-tzŭ, as I have already intimated, does not
dilate. With him the inhabitants of a kingdom are divided into the
ruling and the ruled. The former class comprises the king and the
several ministers whom he of his sovereign pleasure appoints to
various posts; and the latter comprises all the rest of the
population. Now the relation in which the common people stand to the
ruler resembles that of children to a father. They have no part or lot
in the administration of government. They are regarded, not as
individuals, but as masses. They are the “hundred surnames,” or “the
people,” and the ruler of supreme virtue and wisdom—the godlike
man—regards them all impartially as so many straw-made dog-effigies,
creatures made to be used. The subjects imitate their king or chief;
and as he is, so are they; and excellence in him is followed by
excellence in them. The relations of the members of the community to
each other are referred, as has been stated, to the province of ethics.
From the above sketch of the political sentiments contained in the
_Tao-tê Ching_, I hope it has been seen that the author was not an
utterly vain dreamer and theoriser, at least on these matters. It
would be very easy to show how many of the Confucianist doctrines in
politics closely resemble those of Lao-tzŭ; though others, also, are
diametrically opposite. The teachings of the latter sage, in point of
practicability at least, are not far removed from those of the former.
In many points Lao-tzŭ seems to us to be giving bad advice to the
ruler, and his general notions about a state are very unlike those to
which we are accustomed. That the people should be kept ignorant,
advancement in mechanical skill discountenanced, and that the
standards of political excellence should be the ideal sages of an
ideal antiquity, are doctrines to which we would refuse to adhere, and
which we would condemn, as savouring of despotism. Yet Lao-tzŭ’s
conception of the ruler is not of him as a despot, but rather as a
sort of dictator during good conduct. He is raised to his high
position by the concurrent wishes of heaven and the people, and on his
observance of the duties of his office depends his stability on the
throne. It is interesting and instructive to compare Lao-tzŭ’s ideas
on politics with those of Machiavelli, who somewhat resembles him
also in his fortunes. Each lived in times of national disaster and
misery and each wished for peace in the land. Each longed to see one
ruler installed, and honoured with absolute power. During life neither
seems to have been appreciated by his fellows; and after death so ill
were the merits of both recognised, that the abbreviated form of the
Christian name of the one became, as some suppose, a familiar term for
the original Devil;[42] and the other has been confounded by his
enemies with charlatans and impostors. The counsels which each gave to
the chiefs of the time were those which he deemed useful and
practicable, though in many cases, if judged by a general standard,
they must be condemned. The patriotic fire of the Florentine Secretary
led him to make rather reckless statements about the license allowed
to the man who makes and keeps himself an absolute and independent
prince.[43] So the Chinese moralist, deprecating the evils wrought in
his country by unprincipled but clever and ambitious men, recommends a
general state of ignorance. The serpent wisdom of the professional
statesman, however, is far removed from the guileless simplicity of
the philosopher. The latter abhors the idea of war, and recoils from
the thought of force and ostentation; but the former, with more
earthly prudence, recommends above all things a good native army,
serviceable military skill, and splendid enterprises.[44] Machiavelli
allows the prince to break his word when it suits him for state
purposes[45] (unless this be ironical), but Lao-tzŭ requires of the
king good faith, at least to his subjects. Each of them advises that
the ruler should be, or at least appear to be, clement and liberal,
sparing of the people’s possessions and a fosterer of their material
prosperity.[46] Many other points of similarity or contrast in the
political opinions of these two eminent men might be adduced, but the
above must suffice as examples.
When we read Lao-tzŭ’s sentiments about taxation, over-legislation,
penal retributions and excessive governmental interference, and
remember that these same subjects are still eagerly debated among
Western philosophers and statesmen, we must ascribe to the Chinese
sage a remarkable amount of what Humboldt calls the presentiment of
knowledge. What he, however, could sketch only in faint outline on
these subjects, has been broadly discussed in later and more
auspicious times by men like Adam Smith, Bentham, Emerson and J. S.
Mill. If we _now_ cannot but condemn his ignoring the individuality of
each member of the state, his discouraging progress in the mechanical
arts, and his magnifying the kingly office, we must remember that
there are still among us, notwithstanding the experience and
struggles of centuries, almost as great barriers to the enjoyment of
personal liberty as were those which Lao-tzŭ recommends. Large
standing armies at the call of one man—“incognoscibility” of the
laws—bribery—gerrymandering—and, above all, the power of the many—are
still great retarders of human freedom and prosperity. That such
things exist, even though the voice of the philosopher is always
against them, should make us indulgent towards the mistaken notions of
a man who lived 2,500 years ago.
[1] Treatise on the Methods of Observation. Reasoning in Politics,
vol. 1, p. 44.
[2] See Ch. 62. In Pi-yuan’s edition, 天下 is the reading, instead
of 天子 of the ordinary texts.
[3] See Wu-ch‘êng’s note to ch. 62 (52 in his edition).
[4] Ch. 39.
[5] See Chs. 3, 5. Compare Emerson (Essays, Vol. 2, pp. 208–9).
[6] Ch. 29.
[7] Ch. 78.
[8] Ch. 25. We must remember that this passage is susceptible of a
metaphorical meaning. See Tao-tê-hsing-ming-chièn-hsü.
[9] Ch. 16.
[10] Chs. 60, 29, 64.
[11] Chs. 57, 13.
[12] Ch. 54.
[13] Ch. 26. For 臣, another reading is 平—that is, the
gravity which brings esteem.
[14] Ch. 25. For 王 here some editions have 人 man.
[15] Ch. 17. This chapter, however, is susceptible of a totally
different interpretation, 太上 being regarded as meaning the
highest authority. For 下 also some read 不, not.
[16] Ch. 48.
[17] Chs. 37, 32.
[18] Chs. 66, 68, 39.
[19] Ch. 2.
[20] Chs. 30, 31.
[21] Pensées, Art, VII.
[22] Ch. 46.
[23] Ch. 74.
[24] Ch. 57.
[25] Chs. 57, 8.
[26] Do. Compare Hobbes (Vol. 2, pp. 178–9, Molesworth Ed.).
[27] Ch. 75.
[28] Chs. 59, 53.
[29] Ch. 17.
[30] Chs. 36, 58.
[31] Ch. 57.
[32] Chs. 10, 19.
[33] Chs. 65, 3.
[34] Ch. 80.
[35] Ch, 3. Wu-ch‘êng’s note. Julien, however, translates “il vide
son cœur, &c.” Both translations are in harmony with the other
teachings of Lao-tsŭ.
[36] Chs. 39, 42.
[37] Ch. 49.
[38] Ch. xvii., vs. 14 to 20.
[39] Hobbes’ Works, (Molesworth’s edition), English, Vol. 2, p. 169.
Compare also Bacon’s Essay on Seditions and Troubles (Works,
Vol. 6, p. 406, &c. Ellis and Spedding’s Ed.).
[40] Chs. 61, 66.
[41] Ch. 69.
[42] See Macaulay’s Essays, Vol, I., Essay 2.
[43] See _The Prince_, chs, 8, 178.
[44] See The Prince, ch. 14.
[45] Do. ch. 18.
[46] Ch. 16, &c.