1. Under the sky is perfect enjoyment to be found or not? Are there
any who can preserve themselves alive or not? If there be, what do
they do? What do they maintain? What do they avoid? What do they
attend to? Where do they resort to? Where do they keep from? What
do they delight in? What do they dislike?
What the world honours is riches, dignities, longevity, and being
deemed able. What it delights in is rest for the body, rich
flavours, fine garments, beautiful colours, and pleasant music.
What it looks down on are poverty and mean condition, short life
and being deemed feeble 2. What men consider bitter experiences are
that their bodies do not get rest and case, that their mouths do
not get food of rich flavour, that their persons are not finely
clothed, that their eyes do not see beautiful colours, and that
their ears do not listen to pleasant music. If they do not get
these things, they are very sorrowful, and go on to be troubled
with fears. Their thoughts are all about the body;--are they not
silly?
Now the rich embitter their lives by their incessant labours; they
accumulate more wealth than they can use:--while they act thus for
the body, they make it external to themselves 1. Those who seek for
honours carry their pursuit of them from the day into the night,
full of anxiety about their methods whether they are skilful or
not:--while they act thus for the body they treat it as if it were
indifferent to them 2. The birth of man is at the same time the
birth of his sorrow; and if he live long he becomes more and more
stupid, and the longer is his anxiety that he may not die; how
great is his bitterness!--while he thus acts for his body, it is
for a distant result. Meritorious officers are regarded by the
world as good; but (their goodness) is not sufficient to keep their
persons alive. I do not know whether the goodness ascribed to them
be really good or really not good. If indeed it be considered good,
it is not sufficient to preserve their persons alive; if it be
deemed not good, it is sufficient to preserve other men alive.
Hence it is said, 'When faithful remonstrances are not listened to,
(the remonstrant) should sit still, let (his ruler) take his
course, and not strive with him.' Therefore when Dze-hsü 3 strove
with (his ruler), he brought on himself the mutilation of his body.
If he had not so striven, he would not have acquired his fame:--was
such (goodness) really good or was it not?
As to what the common people now do, and what they find their
enjoyment in, I do not know whether the enjoyment be really
enjoyment or really not. I see them in their pursuit of it
following after all their aims as if with the determination of
death, and as if they could not stop in their course; but what they
call enjoyment would not be so to me, while yet I do not say that
there is no enjoyment in it. Is there indeed such enjoyment, or is
there not? I consider doing nothing (to obtain it) to be the great
enjoyment 1, while ordinarily people consider it to be a great
evil. Hence it is said, 'Perfect enjoyment is to be without
enjoyment; the highest praise is to be without praise 2.' The right
and the wrong (on this point of enjoyment) cannot indeed be
determined according to (the view of) the world; nevertheless, this
doing nothing (to obtain it) may determine the right and the wrong.
Since perfect enjoyment is (held to be) the keeping the body alive,
it is only by this doing nothing that that end is likely to be
secured. Allow me to try and explain this (more fully):--Heaven
does nothing, and thence comes its serenity; Earth does nothing,
and thence comes its rest. By the union of these two inactivities,
all things are produced. How vast and imperceptible is the
process!--they seem to come from nowhere! How imperceptible and
vast!--there is no visible image of it! All things in all their
variety grow from this Inaction. Hence it is said, 'Heaven and
Earth do nothing, and yet there is nothing that they do not do 1.'
But what man is there that can attain to this inaction?
2. When Kwang-dze's wife died, Hui-dze went to condole with him,
and, finding him squatted on the ground, drumming on the basin 2,
and singing, said to him, 'When a wife has lived with her husband,
and brought up children, and then dies in her old age, not to wail
for her is enough. When you go on to drum on this basin and sing,
is it not an excessive (and strange) demonstration?' Kwang-dze
replied, 'It is not so. When she first died, was it possible for me
to be singular and not affected by the event? But I reflected on
the commencement of her being 3. She had not yet been born to life;
not only had she no life, but she had no bodily form; not only bad
she no bodily form, but she had no breath. During the intermingling
of the waste and dark chaos 3, there ensued a change, and there was
breath; another change, and there was the bodily form; another
change, and there came birth and life. There is now a change again,
and she is dead. The relation between these things is like the
procession of the four seasons from spring to autumn, from winter
to summer. There now she lies with her face up, sleeping in the
Great Chamber 1; and if I were to fall sobbing and going on to wail
for her, I should think that I did not understand what was
appointed (for all). I therefore restrained myself 2!'
3. Mr. Deformed 3 and Mr. One-foot 3 were looking at the
mound-graves of the departed in the wild of Khwän-lun, where
Hwang-Tî had entered into his rest. Suddenly a tumour began to grow
on their left wrists, which made them look distressed as if they
disliked it. The former said to the other, 'Do you dread it?' 'No,'
replied he, 'why should I dread it? Life is a borrowed thing. The
living frame thus borrowed is but so much dust. Life and death are
like day and night. And you and I were looking at (the graves of)
those who have undergone their change. If my change is coming to
me, why should I dislike it?'
4. When Kwang-dze went to Khû, he saw an empty skull, bleached
indeed, but still retaining its shape. Tapping it with his
horse-switch, he asked it, saying, 'Did you, Sir, in your greed of
life, fail in the lessons of reason, and come to this? Or did you
do so, in the service of a perishing state, by the punishment of
the axe? Or was it through your evil conduct, reflecting disgrace
on your parents and on your wife and children? Or was it through
your hard endurances of cold and hunger? Or was it that you had
completed your term of life?'
Having given expression to these questions, he took up the skull,
and made a pillow of it when he went to sleep. At midnight the
skull appeared to him in a dream, and said,' What you said to me
was after the fashion of an orator. All your words were about the
entanglements of men in their lifetime. There are none of those
things after death. Would you like to hear me, Sir, tell you about
death?' 'I should,' said Kwang-dze, and the skull resumed: 'In
death there are not (the distinctions of) ruler above and minister
below. There are none of the phenomena of the four seasons.
Tranquil and at ease, our years are those of heaven and earth. No
king in his court has greater enjoyment than we have.' Kwang-dze
did not believe it, and said, 'If I could get the Ruler of our
Destiny 1 to restore your body to life with its bones and flesh and
skin, and to give you back your father and mother, your wife and
children, and all your village acquaintances, would you wish me to
do so?' The skull stared fixedly at him, knitted its brows, and
said, 'How should I cast away the enjoyment of my royal court, and
undertake again the toils of life among mankind?'
5. When Yen Yüan went eastwards to Khî, Confucius wore a look of
sorrow 2. Dze-kung left his mat, and asked him, saying, 'Your
humble disciple ventures to ask how it is that the going eastwards
of Hui to Khî has given you such a look of sadness.' Confucius
said, 'Your question is good. Formerly Kwan-dze 3 used words of
which I very much approve. He said, "A small bag cannot be made to
contain what is large; a short rope cannot be used to draw water
from a deep well 3." So it is, and man's appointed lot is
definitely determined, and his body is adapted for definite ends,
so that neither the one nor the other can be augmented or
diminished. I am afraid that Hui will talk with the marquis of Khî
about the ways of Hwang-Tî, Yâo, and Shun, and go on to relate the
words of Sui-zän and Shän Näng. The marquis will seek (for the
correspondence of what he is told) in himself; and, not finding it
there, will suspect the speaker; and that speaker, being suspected,
will be put to death. And have you not heard this?--Formerly a
sea-bird alighted in the suburban country of Lû 1. The marquis went
out to meet it, (brought it) to the ancestral temple, and prepared
to banquet it there. The Kiû-shâo 2 was performed to afford it
music; an ox, a sheep, and a pig were killed to supply the food.
The bird, however, looked at everything with dim eyes, and was very
sad. It did not venture to eat a single bit of flesh, nor to drink
a single cupful; and in three days it died.
'The marquis was trying to nourish the bird with what he used for
himself, and not with the nourishment proper for a bird. They who
would nourish birds as they ought to be nourished should let them
perch in the deep forests, or roam over sandy plains; float on the
rivers and lakes; feed on the eels and small fish; wing their
flight in regular order and then stop; and be free and at ease in
their resting-places. It was a distress to that bird to hear men
speak; what did it care for all the noise and hubbub made about it?
If the music of the Kiû-shâo 3 or the Hsien-khih 4 were performed
in the wild of the Thung-thing 4 lake, birds would fly away, and
beasts would run off when they heard it, and fishes would dive down
to the bottom of the water; while men, when they hear it, would
come all round together, and look on. Fishes live and men die in
the water. They are different in constitution, and therefore differ
in their likes and dislikes. Hence it was that the ancient sages
did not require (from all) the same ability, nor demand the same
performances. They gave names according to the reality of what was
done, and gave their approbation where it was specially suitable.
This was what was called the method of universal adaptation and of
sure success.'
6. Lieh-dze (once) upon a journey took a meal by the road-side.
There he saw a skull a hundred years old, and, pulling away the
bush (under which it lay), he pointed to it and said, 'It is only
you and I who know that you are not dead, and that (aforetime) you
were not alive. Do you indeed really find (in death) the
nourishment (which you like)? Do I really find (in life my proper)
enjoyment? The seeds (of things) are multitudinous and minute. On
the surface of the water they form a membranous texture. When they
reach to where the land and water join they become the (lichens
which we call the) clothes of frogs and oysters. Coming to life on
mounds and heights, they become the plantain; and, receiving
manure, appear as crows' feet. The roots of the crow's foot become
grubs, and its leaves, butterflies. This butterfly, known by the
name of hsü, is changed into an insect, and comes to life under a
furnace. Then it has the form of a moth, and is named the khü-to.
The khü-to after a thousand days becomes a bird, called the
kan-yü-kû. Its saliva becomes the sze-mî, and this again the
shih-hsî (or pickle-eater). The î-lo is produced from the
pickle-eater; the hwang-kwang from the kiû-yû; the mâu-zui from the
pû-khwan. The ying-hsî uniting with a bamboo, which has long ceased
to put forth sprouts, produces the khing-ning; the khing-ning, the
panther; the panther, the horse; and the horse, the man. Man then
again enters into the great Machinery (of Evolution), from which
all things come forth (at birth), and which they enter at death
1.'
Footnotes
1:1 See vol. xxxix, pp. 149, 150.
1:2 Of riches, dignities, longevity, and their opposites, enough is
said, while the other two qualities are lightly passed over, and
referred to only in connexion with 'meritorious officers.' I can
only understand them as in the translation.
2:1 If they did not do so, they would be content when they had
enough.
2:2 Wishing to attach it more closely to them.
2:3 Wû Dze-hsü, the scourge of Khû; and who perished miserably at
last, when the king of Wû would no longer listen to his
remonstrances;--in about B.C. 475.
3:1 This is the secret of the Tâo.
3:2 The last member of this sentence is the reading adopted by Wû
Khäng towards the conclusion of the thirty-ninth chapter of the Tâo
Teh King, instead of the common .
4:1 Compare similar statements in the Tâo Teh King, ch. 48, et
al.
4:2 The basin or tub, not 'a basin.' The reference is, no doubt, to
the basin of ice put down near or under the couch on which the body
was laid. I suppose that Kwang-dze was squatting so as to have this
between his legs.
4:3 Is the writer referring to the primal creation as we may call
it, or development of things out of the chaos, or to some analogous
process at the birth of his wife? However that be, birth and death
appear to him to be merely changes of the same kind in the
perpetual process of evolution.
5:1 Between heaven and earth.
5:2 Was it necessary he should fall singing to his drumming on the
basin? But I subjoin a note here, suggested by the paragraph, which
might have found, perhaps, a more appropriate place in the notice
of this Book in vol. xxxix, pp. 149, 150.
In Sir John F. Davis' 'Description of the Empire of China and its
Inhabitants (edition of 1857),' vol. ii, pp. 74-90, we have the
amusing story of 'The Philosopher and his Wife.' The philosopher is
Kwang-dze, who plays the part of a magician; and of his wife it
might be said, 'Frailty, thy name is woman!' Sir John Davis says,
'The story was translated into French by Père d'Entrecolles, and
supplied the materials of Voltaire's Zadig.' I have not met in
Chinese with Father d'Entrecolles' original. All of Zadig which can
be supposed to have been borrowed from his translator is only a few
sentences. The whole story is inconsistent with the account in
paragraph 2 of the death of Kwang-dze's wife, and with all which we
learn from his writings of his character.
5:3 We know nothing of these parties but what we are told here.
They are called Shû, meaning 'uncle,' often equivalent in China to
our 'Mr.' The lesson taught by them is that of submission to pain
and death as merely phenomena in the sphere of change. For the
phraseology of their names, see Bk. III, par. 3, and Bk. IV, par.
8.
7:1 I suppose the Tâo; but none of the commentators, so far as I
have seen, say anything about the expression.
7:2 Compare the long discourse of Confucius with Yen Hui, on the
latter's proposing to go to Wei, in Bk. IV.
7:3 Kwan Î-wû or Kwan Kung, the chief minister of duke Hwan of Khî,
whom he is supposed to have in view in his 'small bag and short
rope.'
8:1 Perhaps another and more ridiculous version of the story told
in 'the Narratives of the States,' II, i, art. 7.
8:2 The name of Shun's music;--see the Shû (in vol. iii), par.
2.
8:3 Called also Tâ Shâo, in Book XXXIII, par. 2.
8:4 Hwang-Tî's music;--see Bk. XIV, par. 3--But the genuineness of
the whole paragraph is called in question.
10:1 A much larger paragraph from which this must have been
abbreviated, or which must have been enlarged from this, is found
in the first Book of Lieh-dze's works (pp. 4, 5). In no Buddhist
treatise is the transrotation of births more fully, and, I must
add, absurdly stated.
1. He who understands the conditions of Life does not strive after
what is of no use to life; and he who understands the conditions of
Destiny does not strive after what is beyond the reach of
knowledge. In nourishing the body it is necessary to have
beforehand the things (appropriate to its support) 2; but there are
cases where there is a superabundance of such things, and yet the
body is not nourished'. In order to have life it is necessary that
it do not have left the body; but there are cases when the body has
not been left by it, and yet the life has perished 3.
When life comes, it cannot be declined; when it goes, it cannot be
detained. Alas! the men of the world think that to nourish the body
is sufficient to preserve life; and when such nourishment is not
sufficient to preserve the life, what can be done in the world that
will be sufficient? Though (all that men can do) will be
insufficient, yet there are things which they feel they ought to
do, and they do not try to avoid doing them. For those who wish to
avoid caring for the body, their best plan is to abandon the world.
Abandoning the world, they are free from its entanglements. Free
from its entanglements, their (minds) are correct and their
(temperament) is equable. Thus correct and equable, they succeed in
securing a renewal of life, as some have done 1. In securing a
renewal of life, they are not far from the True (Secret of their
being). But how is it sufficient to abandon worldly affairs? and
how is it sufficient to forget the (business of) life? Through the
renouncing of (worldly) affairs, the body has no more toil; through
forgetting the (business of) life, the vital power suffers no
diminution. When the body is completed and the vital power is
restored (to its original vigour), the man is one with Heaven.
Heaven and Earth are the father and mother of all things. It is by
their union that the body is formed; it is by their separation that
a (new) beginning is brought about. When the body and vital power
suffer no diminution, we have what may be called the transference
of power. From the vital force there comes another more vital, and
man returns to be the assistant of Heaven.
2. My master 2 Lieh-dze 2 asked Yin, (the warden) of the gate 2,
saying, 'The perfect man walks under water without encountering any
obstruction, treads on fire without being burned, and walks on high
above all things without any fear; let me ask how he attains to do
this 1?' The warden Yin replied, 'It is by his keeping of the pure
breath (of life); it is not to be described as an achievement of
his skill or daring. Sit down, and I will explain it to you.
Whatever has form, semblance, sound, and colour is a thing; how can
one thing come to be different from another? But it is not
competent for any of these things to reach to what preceded them
all;--they are but (form and) visibility. But (the perfect man)
attains to be (as it were) without form, and beyond the capability
of being transformed. Now when one attains to this and carries it
out to the highest degree, how can other things come into his way
to stop him? He will occupy the place assigned to him without going
beyond it, and lie concealed in the clue which has no end. He will
study with delight the process which gives their beginning and
ending to all things. By gathering his nature into a unity, by
nourishing his vital power, by concentrating his virtue, lie will
penetrate to the making of things. In this condition, with his
heavenly constitution kept entire, and with no crevice in his
spirit, how can things enter (and disturb his serenity)?
'Take the case of a drunken man falling from his carriage;--though
he may suffer injury, he will not die. His bones and joints are the
same as those of other men, but the injury which he receives is
different:--his spirit is entire. He knew nothing about his getting
into the carriage, and knew nothing about his falling from it. The
thought of death or life, or of any alarm or affright, does not
enter his breast; and therefore he encounters danger without any
shrinking from it. Completely under the influence of the liquor he
has drunk, it is thus with him;--how much more would it be so, if
he were under the influence of his Heavenly constitution! The
sagely man is kept hid in his Heavenly constitution, and therefore
nothing can injure him.
'A man in the pursuit of vengeance would not break the (sword)
Mo-yê or Yü-kiang (which had done the deed); nor would one, however
easily made wrathful, wreak his resentment on the fallen brick. In
this way all under heaven there would be peace, without the
disorder of assaults and fighting, without the punishments of death
and slaughter:--such would be the issue of the course (which I have
described). If the disposition that is of human origin be not
developed, but that which is the gift of Heaven, the development of
the latter will produce goodness, while that of the former would
produce hurt. If the latter were not wearied of, and the former not
slighted, the people would be brought nearly to their True
nature.'
3. When Kung-nî was on his way to Khû, as he issued from a forest,
he saw a hunchback receiving cicadas (on the point of a rod), as if
he were picking them up with his hand 1. 'You are clever!' said he
to the man. 'Is there any method in it?' The hunchback replied,
'There is. For five or six months, I practised with two pellets,
till they never fell down, and then I only failed with a small
fraction 1 of the cicadas (which I tried to catch). Having
succeeded in the same way with three (pellets), I missed only one
cicada in ten. Having succeeded with five, I caught the cicadas as
if I were gathering them. My body is to me no more than the stump
of a broken trunk, and my shoulder no more than the branch of a
rotten tree. Great as heaven and earth are, and multitudinous as
things are, I take no notice of them, but only of the wings of my
cicadas; neither turning nor inclining to one side. I would not for
them all exchange the wings of my cicadas;--how should I not
succeed in taking them?' Confucius looked round, and said to his
disciples, "Where the will is not diverted from its object, the
spirit is concentrated;"--this might have been spoken of this
hunchback gentleman.'
4. Yen Yüan asked Kung-nî, saying, 'When 1 was crossing the gulf of
Khang-shän 2, the ferryman handled the boat like a spirit. I asked
him whether such management of a boat could be learned, and he
replied, "It may. Good swimmers can learn it quickly; but as for
divers, without having seen a boat, they can manage it at once." He
did not directly tell me what I asked;--I venture to ask you what
he meant.' Kung-nî replied, 'Good swimmers acquire the ability
quickly;--they forget the water (and its dangers). As to those who
are able to dive, and without having seen a boat are able to manage
it at once, they look on the watery gulf as if it were a hill-side,
and the upsetting of a boat as the going back of a carriage. Such
upsettings and goings back have occurred before them multitudes of
times, and have not seriously affected their minds. Wherever they
go, they feel at ease on their occurrence.
'He who is contending for a piece of earthenware puts forth all his
skill 1. If the prize be a buckle of brass, he shoots timorously;
if it be for an article of gold, he shoots as if he were blind. The
skill of the archer is the same in all the cases; but (in the two
latter cases) he is under the influence of solicitude, and looks on
the external prize as most important. All who attach importance to
what is external show stupidity in themselves.'
5. Thien Khâi-kih 2 was having an interview with duke Wei of Kâu 2,
who said to him, 'I have heard that (your master) Kû Hsin 2 has
studied the subject of Life. What have you, good Sir, heard from
him about it in your intercourse with him?' Thien Khâi-kih replied,
'In my waiting on him in the courtyard with my broom, what should I
have heard from my master?' Duke Wei said, 'Do not put the question
off, Mr. Thien; I wish to hear what you have to say.' Khâi-kih then
replied, 'I have heard my master say that they who skilfully
nourish their life are like shepherds, who whip up the sheep that
they see lagging behind 1.' 'What did he mean?' asked the duke. The
reply was, 'In Lû there was a Shan Pâo, who lived among the rocks,
and drank only water. He would not share with the people in their
toils and the benefits springing from them; and though he was now
in his seventieth year, he had still the complexion of a child.
Unfortunately he encountered a hungry tiger, which killed and ate
him. There was also a Kang Î, who hung up a screen at his lofty
door, and to whom all the people hurried (to pay their respects) 2.
In his fortieth year, he fell ill of a fever and died. (Of these
two men), Pho nourished his inner man, and a tiger ate his outer;
while I nourished his outer man, and disease attacked his inner.
Both of them neglected whipping up their lagging sheep.'
Kung-nî said, 'A man should not retire and hide himself; he should
not push forward and display himself; he should be like the decayed
tree which stands in the centre of the ground. Where these three
conditions are fulfilled, the name will reach its greatest height.
When people fear the dangers of a path, if one man in ten be
killed, then fathers and sons, elder brothers and younger, warn one
another that they must not go out on a journey without a large
number of retainers;--and is it not a mark of wisdom to do so? But
there are dangers which men incur on the mats of their beds, and in
eating and drinking; and when no warning is given against them;--is
it not a mark of error 1?'
6. The officer of Prayer 2 in his dark and square-cut robes goes to
the pig-pen, and thus counsels the pigs, 'Why should you shrink
from dying? I will for three months feed you on grain. Then for ten
days I will fast, and keep vigil for three days, after which I will
put down the mats of white grass, and lay your shoulders and rumps
on the carved stand;--will not this suit you?' If he had spoken
from the standpoint of the pigs, he would have said, 'The better
plan will be to feed us with our bran and chaff, and leave us in
our pen.' When consulting for himself, he preferred to enjoy, while
he lived, his carriage and cap of office, and after death to be
borne to the grave on the ornamented carriage, with the canopy over
his coffin. Consulting for the pigs, he did not think of these
things, but for himself he would have chosen them. Why did he think
so differently (for himself and) for the pigs 3?
7. (Once), when duke Hwan 4 was hunting by a marsh, with Kwan Kung
5 driving the carriage, he saw a ghost. Laying his hand on that of
Kwan Kung, he said to him, 'Do you see anything, Father Kung?'
'Your servant sees nothing,' was the reply. The duke then returned,
talking incoherently and becoming ill, so that for several days he
did not go out. Among the officers of Khî there was a Hwang-dze
Kâo-âo 1, who said to the duke, 'Your Grace is injuring yourself;
how could a ghost injure you? When a paroxysm of irritation is
dispersed, and the breath does not return (to the body), what
remains in the body is not sufficient for its wants. When it
ascends and does not descend, the patient becomes accessible to
gusts of anger. When it descends and does not ascend, he loses his
memory of things. When it neither ascends nor descends, but remains
about the heart in the centre of the body, it makes him ill.' The
duke said, 'Yes, but are there ghostly sprites 2?' The officer
replied, 'There are about mountain tarns there is the Lî; about
furnaces, the Khieh; about the dust-heaps inside the door, the
Lei-thing. In low-lying places in the north-east, the Pei-a and
Wa-lung leap about, and in similar places in the north-west there
dwells the Yî-yang. About rivers there is the Wang-hsiang; about
mounds, the Hsin; about hills, the Khwei; about wilds, the
Fang-hwang; about marshes, the Wei-tho.' 'Let me ask what is the
Wei-tho like?' asked the duke. Hwang-dze said, 'It is the size of
the nave of a chariot wheel, and the length of the shaft. It wears
a purple robe and a red cap. It dislikes the rumbling noise of
chariot wheels, and, when it hears it, it puts both its hands to
its head and stands up. He who sees it is likely to become the
leader of all the other princes.' Duke Hwan burst out laughing and
said, 'This was what I saw.' On this he put his robes and cap to
rights, and made Hwang-dze sit with him. Before the day was done,
his illness was quite gone, he knew not how.
8. Kî Hsing-dze was rearing a fighting-cock for the king 1. Being
asked after ten days if the bird were ready, he said, 'Not yet; he
is still vain and quarrelsome, and relies on his own vigour.' Being
asked the same after other ten days, he said, 'Not yet; he still
responds to the crow and the appearance of another bird.' After ten
days more, he replied, 'Not yet. He still looks angrily, and is
full of spirit.' When a fourth ten days had passed, he replied to
the question, 'Nearly so. Though another cock crows, it makes no
change in him. To look at him, you would say he was a cock of wood.
His quality is complete. No other cock will dare to meet him, but
will run from him.'
9. Confucius was looking at the cataract near the gorge of Lü 2,
which fell a height of 240 cubits, and the spray of which floated a
distance of forty lî, (producing a turbulence) in which no
tortoise, gavial, fish, or turtle could play. He saw, however, an
old man swimming about in it, as if he had sustained Some great
calamity, and wished to end his life. Confucius made his disciples
hasten along the stream to rescue the man; and by the time they had
gone several hundred paces, he was walking along singing, with his
hair dishevelled, and enjoying himself at the foot of the
embankment. Confucius followed and asked him, saying, 'I thought
you were a sprite; but, when I look closely at you, I see that you
are a man. Let me ask if you have any particular way of treading
the water.' The man said, 'No, I have no particular way. I began
(to learn the art) at the very earliest time; as I grew up, it
became my nature to practise it; and my success in it is now as
sure as fate. I enter and go down with the water in the very centre
of its whirl, and come up again with it when it whirls the other
way. I follow the way of the water, and do nothing contrary to it
of myself;--this is how I tread it.' Confucius said, 'What do you
mean by saying that you began to learn the art at the very earliest
time; that as you grew up, it became your nature to practise it,
and that your success in it now is as sure as fate?' The man
replied, 'I was born among these hills and lived contented among
them;--that was why I say that I have trod this water from my
earliest time. I grew up by it, and have been happy treading
it;--that is why I said that to tread it had become natural to me.
I know not how I do it, and yet I do it;--that is why I say that my
success is as sure as fate.'
10. Khing, the Worker in Rottlera 1 wood, carved a bell-stand 2,
and when it was completed, all who saw it were astonished as if it
were the work of spirits. The marquis of Lû went to see it, and
asked by what art he had succeeded in producing it. 'Your subject
is but a mechanic,' was the reply; 'what art should I be possessed
of? Nevertheless, there is one thing (which I will mention), When
your servant had undertaken to make the bell-stand, I did not
venture to waste any of my power, and felt it necessary to fast in
order to compose my mind. After fasting for three days, I did not
presume to think of any congratulation, reward, rank, or emolument
(which I might obtain by the execution of my task); after fasting
five days, I did not presume to think of the condemnation or
commendation (which it would produce), or of the skill or want of
skill (which it might display). At the end of the seven days, I had
forgotten all about myself;--my four limbs and my whole person. By
this time the thought of your Grace's court (for which I was to
make the thing) had passed away; everything that could divert my
mind from exclusive devotion to the exercise of my skill had
disappeared. Then I went into the forest, and looked at the natural
forms of the trees. When I saw one of a perfect form, then the
figure of the bell-stand rose up to my view, and I applied my hand
to the work. Had I not met with such a tree, I must have abandoned
the object; but my Heaven-given faculty and the Heaven-given
qualities of the wood were concentrated on it. So it was that my
spirit was thus engaged in the production of the bell-stand.'
11. Tung-yê Kî 1 was introduced to duke Kwang 2 to exhibit his
driving. His horses went forwards and backwards with the
straightness of a line, and wheeled to the right and the left with
the exactness of a circle. The duke thought that the lines and
circles could not be surpassed if they were woven with silken
strings, and told him to make a hundred circuits on the same lines.
On the road Yen Ho 3 met the equipage, and on entering (the
palace), and seeing the duke, he said, 'Kî's horses will break
down,' but the duke was silent, and gave him no reply. After a
little the horses did come back, having broken down; and the duke
then said,' How did you know that it would be so?' Yen Ho said,
'The horses were exhausted, and he was still urging them on. It was
this which made me say that they would break down.'
12. The artisan Shui 4 made things round (and square) more exactly
than if he had used the circle and square. The operation of his
fingers on (the forms of) things was like the transformations of
them (in nature), and required no application of his mind; and so
his Intelligence 1 was entire and encountered no resistance.
13. To be unthought of by the foot that wears it is the fitness of
a shoe; to be unthought of by the waist is the fitness of a girdle.
When one's wisdom does not think of the right or the wrong (of a
question under discussion), that shows the suitability of the mind
(for the question); when one is conscious of no inward change, or
outward attraction, that shows the mastery of affairs. He who
perceives at once the fitness, and never loses the sense of it, has
the fitness that forgets all about what is fitting.
14. There was a Sun Hsiû 2 who went to the door of Dze-pien
Khing-dze, and said to him in a strange perturbed way, 'When I
lived in my village, no one took notice of me, but all said that I
did not cultivate (my fields); in a time of trouble and attack, no
one took notice of me, but all said that I had no courage. But that
I did not cultivate my fields, was really because I never met with
a good year; and that I did not do service for our ruler, was
because I did not meet with the suitable opportunity to do so. I
have been sent about my business by the villagers, and am driven
away by the registrars of the district;--what is my crime? O
Heaven! how is it that I have met with such a fate?'
Footnotes