ETHICS.
Lao-tzŭ’s notions on ethics are fortunately set forth with much more
fulness than on any other department of knowledge, and in giving a
brief account of them one is rather encumbered by the abundance of
aphorisms than perplexed by their paucity. In saying this, however, I
do not mean to intimate that the philosopher has elaborated a system
of speculative or practical morality, or that he has given full and
explicit statements about the moral sense and many other subjects
familiar to the student of western ethics. On several of these points
he is absolutely silent, and his notions about others are expressed
darkly and laconically, and only occasionally in a connected manner.
We must, however, make the most we can of the obscure text and
discordant commentaries, in order to learn at least an outline of what
our author taught.
In the first place, Lao-tzŭ seems to have believed in the existence of
a primitive time, when virtue and vice were unknown terms.[1] During
this period everything that man did was according to Nature (Tao), and
this not by any effort on man’s part, but merely as the result of his
existence. He knew not good or evil, nor any of the relative virtues
and vices which have since obtained names. This was the period of
Nature in the world’s history, a period of extreme simplicity of
manners and purity of life corresponding to the Garden-of-Eden state
of the Hebrews, before man perceived that he was unclothed, and became
as a God knowing good and evil. To this succeeded the period of Virtue
(德) in two stages or degrees. The higher is almost identical with the
state of Nature, as in it also man led a pure life, without need of
effort and without consciousness of goodness. Of the people of this
period we may speak as the
“Saturni gentem, haud vinclo nec legibus æquam,
Sponte sua, veterisque dei se more tenentem.”[2]
In the next and lower stage life was still virtuous, though
occasionally sliding into vice, and unable to maintain the stability
of unconscious and unforced excellence.[3] Then came the time when
humanity and equity appeared, and when filial piety and integrity made
themselves known.[4] These were degenerate days when man was no more
“Nature’s priest” and when the “vision splendid” had almost ceased to
attend him. Finally came the days when craft and cunning were
developed, and when insincerity arose. Propriety and carefulness of
external deportment also, according to Lao-tzŭ, indicated a great
falling away from primitive simplicity the beginning of trouble; and
he, accordingly, speaks of them rather slightingly. This is a point on
which Confucius seems to have been of a very different opinion,
although he had studied the ceremonial code under Lao-tzŭ.
Such is, according to the Tao-tê Ching, the mode in which the world
gradually became what it is at present. The book does not contain any
express statement of opinion as to whether each human creature is born
with a good or a bad nature. From various passages in it, however, we
are authorised in inferring that Lao-tzŭ regarded an infant as good by
nature. Its spirit comes pure and perfect from the Great Mother, but
susceptible to all the evil influences which operate upon it and lead
it astray.
The standard of virtue to which Lao-tzŭ refers is Nature (Tao), just
as another old philosopher says, “in hoc sumus sapientes, quod naturam
optimam ducem, tanquam deum, sequimur eique paremus.”[5] By our
philosopher, however, Nature is not regarded as personified and
deified, but is contemplated as the eternal, spontaneous, and
emanatory cause. The manifestation of complete virtue comes from
Nature only.[6] This is the guide and model of the universe, and it
itself has spontaneity as guide, that is, it has no guide whatever.
All creatures and man among them, must conform to it or they miss the
end of their existence and soon cease to be. As Tao, however, is very
indefinite and intangible, Lao-tzŭ holds it out to mortals as their
guide chiefly through the medium of certain other ideas more easily
comprehended. Thus Heaven, corresponding somewhat to our notions of
providence, imitates Nature, and becomes to man its visible
embodiment.[7] In its perfect impartiality, its noiseless working, its
disinterested and unceasing well-doing, it presents a rule by which
man should regulate his life.[8] Not less are the material heavens
above him a model in their unerring, and spontaneous obedience to
Nature, and in their eternal purity. The Earth[9] also, with her calm
eternal repose, and the great rivers and seas, are types of the
far-off olden times, whose boundless merit raised them to the height
of fellow-workers with Nature, and to whom all things once paid a
willing homage, are patterns for all after ages.[10]
Of a personal deity above all these our author makes no mention, nor
can it be inferred with certainty from his book whether he believed in
the existence of such a being. In one place he speaks of Nature (Tao)
as being antecedent to the manifestation of Ti (帝), a word which the
commentators usually explain as meaning lord or master of heaven.[11]
The learned Dr. Medhurst translates the passage in question thus, “I
do not know whose son it (viz., Taóu) is; it is prior to the (Supreme)
Ruler of the visible (heavens).” I do not understand how, after this,
the same author can state that the Taoists, that is, with Lao-tzŭ at
their head, understand the word Ti “in the sense of the Supreme
Being.”[12] Ghosts and Spirits (鬼 and 神) are referred to in the
Tao-tê Ching, but these are very subordinate beings capable of being
controlled by the saints of the earth. Lao-tzŭ refers, however, as has
been seen, to a supernatural punisher of crime; and in several
passages he speaks of heaven in a manner very similar to that in which
we do when we mean thereby the Deity who presides over heaven and
earth.[13] Yet we must not forget that it is inferior and subsequent
to the mysterious Tao, and in fact produced by the latter. I cannot,
accordingly, agree with the learned Pauthier when he writes thus about
the Sixteenth Chapter of the Tao-tê Ching—“Ce chapitre renferme à lui
seul les éléments d’une religion; et il n’est pas étonnant que les
Sectateurs de Lao-tseu, si habiles, comme tous les Asiatiques, à tirer
d’un principe posé toutes les conséquences qui en découlent
logiquement, aient établi un culte et un sacerdoce avec les doctrines
du philosophe; car dès l’instant qu’un Dieu suprême est annoncé, que
les bonnes actions et la connaissance que l’on acquiert de lui sont
les seuls moyens pour l’homme de parvenir a l’ternelle félicité dans
son sein, il est bien évident qu’il faut des médiateurs entre ce Dieu
et l’homme pour conduire et éclairer les intelligences ignorantes et
faibles.”[14] Tao with Lao-tzŭ is not a deity, but is above all
deities, and, as has been seen, it is not always represented
unchangeable. On the contrary, regarded from one point of view the Tao
is in a state of constant change—“twinkling restlessly,” to use an
expression from Wordsworth. Only when considered as the existence
which was solitary in the universe and eternal, is it spoken of as
unchanging. Long after Lao-tzŭ’s time Tao was, indeed, raised or
rather degraded to be a deity, but the theories of later Taoists are
seldom the logical developments of the doctrines of Lao-tzŭ, and in
this they err widely.
Of virtue in the abstract little is said by our author, but we know
that his idea of it was that it consisted in following Nature (Tao).
He generally, however, speaks of it in the concrete as the perfect
nature of the world or man and the other creatures of the universe.
Sometimes indeed he refers to Tê, Virtue, as if it were a mysterious,
independent existence and not an inherent quality. At other times he
seems to regard good and bad as merely relative terms, the existence
of the former implying and indeed causing the existence of the latter,
and vice versa.
Descending from these generalities, however, we now come to the
consideration of Lao-tzŭ’s conception of the ideal sage. The virtues
which characterise the perfect man, and which all should endeavour to
possess, are described in the Tao-tê Ching with greater or less
fulness. Among the most important of these is the negative excellence
of an absence of the bustling ostentation of goodness. Not to be fussy
or showy, but to do one’s proper work and lead a quiet life without
meddling in the concerns of others, are virtues which to Lao-tzŭ
seemed of transcendent importance, the expression which I interpreted
as meaning absence of ostentation or bustle is _wu-wei_ (無爲).[15]
Many Chinese commentators seem to regard this as equivalent to
nothingness, non-existence, or absolute inaction; so Julien also
translates it usually by “non-agir.”[16] Though, however, the words
have in many places these meanings, yet there are several passages
which seem to require the explanation given above, and which is also
in harmony with the general tenor of the book. Man’s guide is Nature
(Tao), and it works incessantly but without noise or show. So also it
is not an inactive life that Lao-tzŭ commends, but a gentle one, and
one which does not obtrude itself on the notice of the world. The man
who would follow Nature must try to live virtuously without the
appearance of so doing; he must present a mean exterior while under it
he hides the inestimable jewel.[17] The advice which Sir Thomas Browne
gives is very like the teaching of Lao-tzŭ. “Be substantially great in
thyself, and more than thou appearest unto others; and let the world
be deceived in thee, as they are in the lights of heaven.”[18] Again,
the man who follows Nature is wise but wears the mask of
ignorance[19]—to the world he appears silly and stupid, but in his
breast are deep stores of wisdom. So also he does good without the
show of doing it; he helps in the amelioration of his fellows, and
indeed of all things in the world, without talking or making any
display.[20] He does his alms not before men but in secret and without
a preluding trumpet. Those are rare who can instruct others without
the necessity of talking, and benefit them without making a show; but
in striving to attain to this excellence man is aiming at the
perfection of Nature.[21] The art of living thus is an art made by
Nature—the silent, informing, universally-operant spirit. By Nature
(Tao) the passions and other impediments to virtue are lessened more
and more until man attains to that state of perfection in which he
acts naturally and so can do all things.[22]
The virtue of humility is one of which Lao-tzŭ speaks very highly.
Water is always with him the type of what is humble; and the godlike
man, like it, occupies a low position, which others abhor but in which
he can profit all around him.[23] “The supremely virtuous is like
water,” are words taken from the Tao-tê Ching, and frequently
inscribed on rocks and other objects. Such a man does not claim
precedence or merit, nor does he strive with any one.[24] He never
arrogates honour or preferment, yet they come to him;[25] and he is
yielding and modest, yet always prevails in the end. When success is
obtained, and his desire accomplished, he modestly retires. Pride, on
the other hand, and vaulting ambition, always fail to attain the
wished-for consummation.[26] So also the man who is violent and
headstrong generally comes to a bad end.[27] Some of the commentators,
however, seem to take this humility in a bad sense, and they would
make us believe that the quality as recommended by Lao-tzŭ is not
virtue but rather a vice, as partaking of the nature of a trick or
artifice. The historical instance which they most frequently quote as
illustrating the success of this humility is the career of the famous
Chang Tzŭ-fang (張子房), a sort of political Uriah Heep.
To continence also Lao-tzŭ assigns a high place. The total exemption
from the power of the passions and desire is a moral pre-eminence to
which man should seek to attain—
“For not to desire or admire, if a man could learn it, were more
Than to walk all day like the Sultan of old in a garden of spice.”
It is the body, with its inseparably connected emotions and passions,
which is the cause of all the ills that attend humanity;[28] and he
who would return to the state of original innocence must overcome his
body.[29] To be without desires is to be at rest, and if man were
freed from the body he would have no cause for fear. To keep the
gateways of the senses closed against the sight, sounds and tastes
which distract and mar the soul within, is the simple metaphor which
Lao-tzŭ uses to express this overcoming of self.[30] This conquest he
puts above every other. He who knows others is learned, but he who
knows himself is enlightened; he who overcomes others has physical
force, but he who overcomes himself has moral strength.[31] The
disastrous consequence of yielding to the bodily appetites is
beautifully illustrated by a metaphor familiar to us in a Taoist book
to which I have already referred. The people of the world following
their desires strive for reputation, grasp at gain, covet wine, and
lust after beauty—they take the bitter for the pleasant and the false
for the real—day and night they toil and moil, morn and even they fret
and care, nor desist even when their vital energies are almost
exhausted. Like the moth which extinguishes its life in the dazzling
blaze of the lamp or the worm which goes to its own destruction in the
fire, these men do not wait for the command of the king of Death, but
send themselves to the grave.[32]
Associated with continence is the virtue of moderation, which also
must form part of the good man’s character. To be content is to be
rich and brings with it no danger or shame, while there is no greater
calamity than not to know when to be satisfied.[33] He who knows where
to stop will not incur peril, nor will he ever indulge in excess. To
fill a cup while holding it in the hand is not so good as to let it
alone, or, as we say, it is hard to carry a full cup even.[34] Too
sharp an edge cannot be kept on a tool, and a hall full of gold and
precious stones cannot be defended; and he who is wanton in prosperity
leaves a legacy of misfortune. Various other metaphors are used to
inculcate the necessity of following the mean, and abstaining from
extravagance. The man who erects himself on tiptoe cannot continue so,
nor can he who takes long strides continue to walk.[35] The
intelligent and good man will be moderate in all things, not desiring
to be prized like jade or slighted like a stone.[36]
It is also a characteristic of the truly virtuous man that he is
always, and especially in privacy, grave and serious, and not
unmindful of his weak points. He who knows his strength and protects
his weakness at the same time will have all the world resorting to him
for instruction and example; eternal virtue will not leave him, and he
will return to the natural goodness of infancy.[37] Many things fail
when the goal is nearly attained, but the godlike man is careful about
the end no less than about the beginning.[38] So also were the sages
of antiquity whose cautious, hesitating character is portrayed in
outline as a model for others.[39]
Mercy is another virtue to which Lao-tzŭ attaches considerable
importance. Nor is the quality of mercy, as he represents it, strained
within any narrow compass. On the contrary, it flows not only over all
mankind, but even to the entire world. As has been seen, Lao-tzŭ would
have all capital punishment reserved for a supernatural agent to
execute, and he would have the correction of wickedness effected by
the quiet influence of a good example. He goes farther than this,
however; for he will have us to abstain from even judging others—from
dividing men into the righteous and the sinners.[40] It is Heaven
alone which is to determine the moral worth of human creatures, and
give to each his meed. And we must not even assign worldly misfortunes
to the displeasure of Heaven—must not say that the eighteen on whom
the tower of Siloam fell were greater sinners than the other residents
in Jerusalem. The good man must not only not think too harshly of the
man who is not good,[41] but he must even love him, and must reward
ill will by virtue—the _ne plus ultra_ of generosity, as one of the
commentators observes.[42] So also the feeling of compassion will
cause the good man to keep his good qualities in the back ground, and
not excite the evil passions of the bad man by displaying them
obtrusively before him. After a great dispute has been adjusted some
grudge is sure to remain, so to live peaceably is to be regarded as
virtuous.[43] The good man keeps his proof of an agreement, but he
does not claim from the other party to it the fulfillment of the
agreement, that is, he will not sue him at a court of law. This spirit
of mercy and compassion ought not only to prevail in private and
social life, but it ought to extend also to the seat of power and even
to temper the fierce passions of warfare. Then from the circle of
humanity Lao-tsŭ looks abroad over the ample spaces of nature, and
extends to them also a kindly sympathy. The good man never injures
anything in the world; on the contrary he saves the inferior
creatures and assists them in their ever-renewed operations of coming
into existence, growing, and returning to their original source.[44]
Did the whole creation in his eyes, too, groan and travail in pain?
Of courage, truth, honesty, and several other virtues Lao-tzŭ does not
make much mention. He seems also to think lightly of conventional
humanity and equity, but Han Wên Kung says this was because he had a
low conception of these two virtues. According to the figure used by
Han, Lao-tzŭ was as a man sitting at the bottom of a well and
pronouncing the sky to be of small dimensions.[45] He teaches,
however, the mutual dependence of man upon man, and the consequent
necessity of the interchange of good offices. The good man gives and
asks not—does good and looks not for recompense. He who is virtuous is
master of him who is not virtuous, but respect and affection must
exist between them. The ruler and the ruled also are mutually
dependent, and they too must reciprocate kindness and forbearance.
Lao-tzŭ repeatedly condemns the vices of much and fine talking. The
wise man, he says, does not talk, and to do without audible words is
to follow Nature.[46] Man ought to be silent in his actions as is the
all-working Nature. Faithful words, are not fine, and fine words are
not faithful; the virtuous man is not argumentative and _vice versa_.
To learning and wisdom our author does not, I think, assign a
sufficiently high place, but seems rather to condemn them.[47]
Learning adds to the evils of existence, and if we could put it away
we would be exempt from anxiety. The ancient rulers kept the people
ignorant and they had good government—so the people ought still to be
kept in ignorance. But perhaps Lao-tzŭ refers to the faults of those
persons who drink only slightly of the Pierian spring and then boast
of what they acquire, thereby doing injury to themselves and to
society. It would, however, have been better if he had distinguished
between the pretenders to knowledge, and those who have drunk deeply
at the fountain of wisdom by assigning to intellectual worth its
proper importance.[48]
Lao-tzŭ, as has been seen, is not unmindful of the infirmity of noble
minds which expects a recompense for a virtuous life. Nor are the
inducements which he holds out of a slight or unworthy nature. On the
contrary, they are to souls which have begun to delight in the path of
virtue, and also to those still walking in “error’s wandering wood,”
calculated to have a great effect. The desires and appetites must all
be overcome and self must be subdued, but to him who obtains the
victory there remain grand prizes. The gateways of knowledge are open
to him, and he can contemplate the mysterious operations of
nature.[49] Fame and greatness come to him unsolicited, and the years
of his life are increased. Having the guileless purity of an
infant—becoming like a little child—he will enjoy an exemption from
the fear of noxious animals and wicked men.[50] Fierce beasts cannot
gore or tear him, nor the soldier wound him in battle, that is, having
perfect love towards all things he will not fear harm from any.[51]
The godlike man does not use his neighbour as a foil to set off his
own excellence, but rather assimilates himself to all. Thus he comes
into intimate union with his fellow creatures and is set on high
without incurring any ill-will. He lives not for himself but for
others, and his life is prolonged by so doing. He does not amass for
himself, nor does he bury his talent in the barren ground of itself.
He spends it in the service of his fellows and it comes back to him
with interest.[52] The more he serves the more he has wherewith to
serve, and the more he gives the richer he becomes. It is almost
surprising to find this thought thus expressed by Lao-tzŭ, and the
words of one of his disciples, following out the idea, are somewhat
remarkable—“There is also accumulation which causes deficiency, and a
non-hoarding which results in having something over.”[53] There are
several passages in the Tao-tê Ching besides the above, which might be
included among the “testimonia animæ naturaliter Christianæ.”
Humility, charity, and the forgiveness of injuries which are sometimes
spoken of as purely Christian virtues are certainly inculcated by
Lao-tzŭ.[54] But to return to our subject.—Man’s life ought thus to be
continued opposition to self, gaining more and more control over it,
until the passions cease to trouble and self is perfectly vanquished.
Then comes the end which crowns the work. When the fleshly appetites
have been subdued, and the spirit has attained that state in which it is
—“equable and pure;
No fears to beat away—no strife to heal—
The past unsighed for, and the future sure,”
then comes death. And what after death? Man returns to Nature, which
delights to receive him, and identifies him with her own mysterious
self. Hither, too, come all the myriad things which had once emanated
from the womb of the same all-producing mother. This in reality means
that man and all other creatures return to nothingness. This is the
dreamless sleep wherewith our life is rounded—this is the end of all
our woe and misery, to be
—“Swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night
Devoid of sense and motion.”
There is at least one passage in which Lao-tzŭ seems to speak of a
life after death,[55] but this passage presents great difficulties,
and perhaps refers only to the “fancied life in others’ breath” by
which a man though dead is not lost. That man loses his individuality
and that he loses his existence are two doctrines strongly opposed to
Lao-tzŭ. The individual is everything with the one, nothing with the
other.[56] As to the immortality of the soul, this is a doctrine of
which many other excellent philosophers before the rise of
Christianity had little or no conception. We are wont to regard the
theory of the soul’s mortality as dismal and hopeless; yet Lao-tzŭ
holds out the hope of annihilation or at least of absorption into
universal Nature as the highest reward for a life of untiring virtue.
Few, he says, understand the matter; and few as yet even understand
the meaning of the immortality of the soul. The belief that the soul
is mortal no less than the opposite belief seems to lead to the
possession of a calm, contented spirit, and an indifference to the
things of this life. The strange but eloquent words of the
Hydriotaphia on this subject will form the closing sentence of this
chapter:—“And if any have been so happy as truly to understand
Christian annihilation, ecstasies, exolution, liquefaction,
transformation, the kiss of the spouse, gustation of God, and
ingression into the divine shadow, they have already had an handsome
anticipation of heaven; the glory of the world is surely over, and the
earth in ashes unto them.”[57]
[1] See chs. 2, 38, and compare the words of Pascal—“la vraie morale
se moque de la morale, c’est a dire que la morale du jugement se
moque de la morale de l’esprit qui est sans règle.” Pensées,
Art. xxv., 56.
[2] Æneid, B. 7, vs. 203–4.
[3] Compare Carlyle,—“Already to the popular judgment, he who
talks much about virtue in the abstract, begins to be suspect,”
&c. Essay on Characteristics. So also Emerson writes—“Our moral
nature is vitiated by any interference of our will.” Essays,
Vol. I., p. 119.
[4] See chs. 18, 38.
[5] The words of Cato in Cic. De Senectute.
[6] Compare Emerson: “The Supreme Critic on the errors of the past
and the present, and the only prophet of that which must be, is
that great Nature in which we rest, as the earth lies in the soft
arms of the atmosphere; that Unity, that Oversoul, within which
every man’s particular being is contained and made one with all
others; that common heart, of which all sincere conversation is
the worship, to which all right action is submission; that
overpowering reality which confutes our tricks and talents, and
constrains every one to pass for what he is, and to speak from his
character, and not from his tongue, and which evermore tends to
pass into our thought and hand, and become wisdom, and virtue, and
power and beauty.” Essays, Vol. I., p. 244.
[7] Chs. 30, 55.
[8] Chs. 7, 77.
[9] Ch. 25.
[10] Chs. 15, 68. Compare the saying of Sir T. Browne—“Live by
old ethicks and the classical rules of honesty.”
[11] Ch. 4. The word _hsiang_ 象 is also explained here as meaning
_probably_ or _it seems_; the equivalent of _yu_ (猶).
[12] Dissertation on the Theology of the Chinese, &c., p. 246.
[13] Chs. 73, 77.
[14] Chine, pp. 116–7.
[15] See chs. 2, &c. Wei (爲) sometimes means to _esteem_. and
_Wei-wu-wei_ would then mean to esteem without appearing to do
so. Compare Shĭ-wu-shi (事無事), Shang-tê pu-tê (上德不德), &c.
[16] In this he is often followed by Mr. Chalmers. Pauthier also so
translates the expression.
[17] See chs. 41, 70.
[18] Christian Morals, Section xix.
[19] So Celsus represents the early Christians as saying—“Wisdom is a
bad thing in life, foolishness is to be preferred.” Neander,
Ch. Hist., Vol. I., p. 164 (Amer. Translation).
[20] See chs. 45, 71, 77. Compare the statement attributed to Gotama
Buddha. “Great King, I do not teach the law to my pupils, telling
them, Go, ye saints, and before the eyes of the Brahmans and
householders perform, by means of your supernatural powers,
miracles greater than any man can perform. I tell them, when I
teach them the law, Live, ye saints, hiding your good works, and
showing your sins.” Chips from a German Workshop, Vol. I.,
p. 249; translated from Burnouf, Introduction à l’Histoire du
Buddhisme Indien, p. 170.
[21] Compare Emerson—“The man may teach by doing, and not otherwise.
If he can communicate himself he can teach, but not by word.”
Essay IV., Vol. I., p. 136.
[22] Ch. 48. _Wu-wei_ here may have another meaning. Wu-chʽêng and
Julien regard it as meaning _inaction_, and make it synonymous
with _Wu-shi_. See Mr. Chalmers’ extraordinary translation of
this chapter.
[23] Chs. 8, 78.
[24] Chs. 22, 34, 66.
[25] Compare the saying of Solomon,—“Before honour is humility.”
Proverbs, xviii. 12.
[26] See chs. 92, 24.
[27] Ch. 42.
[28] Ch. 13.
[29] Ch. 37.
[30] Chs. 52, 56.
[31] Ch. 33. Compare the words of Sir T. Browne:—“Rest not in an
ovation, but a triumph over thy passions.” Christian Morals,
sect. 2. So also Solomon—“_He that is_ slow to anger is better
than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that
taketh a city.” Proverbs, xvi. 32. Compare also Horace’s Ode to
Sallust, vs. 9, &c.
[32] 悟道錄. Ch. 2, p. 11.
[33] See Chs. 33, 44, 46, 29, 32.
[34] Ch. 9. Compare Horace’s advice:—“Quod satis est cui contigit,
hic nihil amplius optet.”
[35] Ch. 24.
[36] Ch. 39.
[37] Chs. 26, 28.
[38] Chs. 63, 64.
[39] Ch. 15.
[40] Chs. 19, 73.
[41] Ch. 27. The word _shan_ (善), however, rendered _good_, is also
susceptible of the interpretation _clever_ or _expert_. See
Wu-chêng’s note (ch. 22 in his edition).
[42] Ch. 63. In the Kan-ying-pʽien (感應篇) it is said “Look on the
acquisitions of others as if they were yours, and the losses of
others as if they were yours.” Ch. 2. In this book are taught
many other excellent lessons which are apparently derived from
the Tao-tê Ching.
[43] Ch. 79.
[44] See chs. 27, 64. So the Kan-ying-pʽien says:—“The tiny insects
and plants and trees may not be injured.”
[45] Works, ch. 11 原道.
[46] Chs. 23, 56. Compare “Let us be silent, for so are the gods.”
Also the words of the Tatler:—“Silence is sometimes more
significant and sublime than the most noble and most expressive
eloquence, and is on many occasions the indication of a great
mind.” No. 133.
[47] Chs. 65, 20, 48.
[48] Compare Emerson, Essays vol. i., p. 261–2.
[49] Ch. 1. Chalmers, however, translates—“In eternal non-existence,
therefore, man seeks to pierce the primordial mystery, and in
eternal existence, to behold the issues of the Universe.” See
also the German translation given in Hegel, Geschichte, &c.
Vol. i., p. 142.
[50] Chs. 7, 59.
[51] Chs. 50, 55.
[52] See chs. 66, 7, 81.
[53] Quoted by Wu-chʽêng in a note to ch. 81.
[54] Compare Pauthier, Chine, p. 117.
[55] Ch. 23. See Pauthier. Chine Moderne, ps. 356–7.
[56] Emerson, however, also speaks of the “individual soul mingling
with the Universal Soul.” Essays.
[57] Ch. 5.