The Empire

[Summary by early editors.]

[Summary by early editors.]

Systems of government are many. Each man thinks his own perfect. Where then does what the ancients called the system of Tao come in? There is nowhere where it does not come in.

There are many systems of government. Each person thinks their own is perfect. So where does what the ancients called the system of Tao fit in? It fits in everywhere.

It may be asked whence our spirituality, whence our intellectuality. The true Sage is born; the prince is made. Yet all proceed from an original One.

We may ask where our spirituality and intellect come from. The true sage is born, while the prince is made. Yet all come from an original One.

He who does not separate from the Source is one with God. He who does not separate from the essence is a spiritual man. He who does not separate from the reality is a perfect man. He who makes God the source, and Tê the root, and Tao the portal, passively falling in with the modifications of his environment,—he is the true Sage.¹

Anyone who stays united with the Source is one with God. Anyone who stays united with the essence is a spiritual person. Anyone who stays united with reality is a perfect person. The true Sage makes God the source, Tê the root, and Tao the gateway. The Sage passively goes along with changes in the surrounding world.¹

He who practises charity as a kindness, duty to one's neighbour as a principle, ceremony as a convenience, music as a pacificator, and thus becomes compassionate and charitable,—he is a superior man.²

A superior person practices charity as an act of kindness and duty to others as a principle. He treats ceremony as useful and music as a way to bring peace. In this way, he becomes compassionate and charitable.²

He who regulates his conduct by law, who regards fame as an external adjunct, who verifies his hypotheses, who bases his judgment upon proof,—such men rank one, two, three, four, etc. It is thus that officials rank. In a strict sense of duty, in making food and raiment of paramount importance, in caring for and nourishing the old, the weak, the orphan, and the widow, they all exemplify the principle of true government.³

Those who govern their conduct by law rank first. Those who regard fame as something external rank second. Those who test their assumptions rank third. Those who base their judgments on evidence rank fourth, and so on. This is how officials are ranked. All of them show the principle of true government through their strict sense of duty. They also show it by treating food and clothing as matters of paramount importance, and by caring for and supporting the old, the weak, orphans, and widows.³

Thus far-reaching was the extension of Tao among the ancients.

This is how far the Tao reached among the ancients.

The companion of the gods, the purifier of the universe, it nourishes all creation, it unites the empire, it benefits the masses. Illuminating the fundamental, it is bound up with the accessory, reaching to all points of the compass and to the opposite extremes of magnitude. There is indeed nowhere where it is not!

It is the companion of the gods and the purifier of the universe. It nourishes all creation, unites the empire, and benefits the masses. It illuminates what is fundamental and is bound up with what is secondary. It reaches in every direction and extends to the extremes of size, both great and small. Indeed, there is nowhere it is not!

How it enlightened the polity of past ages is evidenced in the records which historians have preserved to us. Its presence in the Canons of Poetry, History, Rites, and Music, has been made clear by many scholars of Chou and Lu. It informs the Canon of Poetry with its vigour, the Canon of History with its usefulness, the Canon of Rites with its adaptability, the Canon of Music with its harmonising influence, the Canon of Changes with its mysterious Principles, and the Spring and Autumn with its discriminations. Spread over the whole world, it is focussed in the Middle Kingdom, and the learning of all schools renders constant homage to its power.

The records historians have preserved show how it enlightened the government of past ages. Many scholars of Chou and Lu have shown its presence in the Canons of Poetry, History, Rites, and Music. It gives the Canon of Poetry its vigor, the Canon of History its usefulness, and the Canon of Rites its adaptability. It gives the Canon of Music its power to create harmony, the Canon of Changes its mysterious Principles, and the Spring and Autumn its distinctions. It extends throughout the world, with its focus in the Middle Kingdom. The teachings of all schools pay constant homage to its power.

But when the world is disorganised, true Sages do not manifest themselves, Tao ceases to exist as One, and the world becomes cognisant of the idiosyncrasies of the individual. These are like the senses of hearing, sight, smell, and taste,—not common to each organ. Or like the skill of various artisans,—each excellent of its kind and each useful in its turn, but not equally at the command of all.

But when the world is in disorder, true Sages do not appear. Tao ceases to exist as One, and the world becomes aware of individual differences. These are like the senses of hearing, sight, smell, and taste. Each sense belongs to its own organ, not to all of them. Or they are like the skills of different artisans. Each skill is excellent in its own way and useful at the right time, but not everyone can use each skill equally well.

Consequently, when a mere specialist comes forward and dogmatises on the beauty of the universe the principles which underlie all creation, the position occupied by the ancients in reference to the beauty of the universe, and the limits of the supernatural,—it follows that the Tao of inner wisdom and of outer strength is obscured and prevented from asserting itself. Every one alas! regards the course he prefers as the infallible course. The various schools diverge never to meet again; and posterity is debarred from viewing the original purity of the universe and the grandeur of the ancients. For the system of Tao is scattered in fragments over the face of the earth.

So when a mere specialist makes dogmatic claims about the beauty of the universe and the principles behind all creation, the Tao of inner wisdom and outer strength is obscured. The same happens when a specialist makes dogmatic claims about the ancients’ views on the beauty of the universe and the limits of the supernatural. The Tao is prevented from asserting itself. Alas, everyone regards their own preferred course as the only right one. The various schools go their separate ways, never to meet again. Later generations are kept from seeing the original purity of the universe and the grandeur of the ancients. For the system of Tao lies scattered in fragments across the earth.

Not to covet posthumous fame, nor to aim at dazzling the world, nor to pose as a benefactor of mankind, but to be a strict self-disciplinarian while lenient to the faults of others,—herein lay the Tao of the ancients.

The Tao of the ancients was not to seek fame after death, or to dazzle the world, or to pose as a benefactor of humanity. Instead, they were strict with themselves and forgiving of others’ faults.

Mih Tzŭ and Ch'in Hua Li⁴ became enthusiastic followers of Tao, but they pushed the system too far, carrying their practice to excess. The former wrote an essay Against Music, and another which he entitled Economy.⁵

Mih Tzŭ and Ch'in Hua Li⁴ became enthusiastic followers of Tao, but they took its practices too far. Mih Tzŭ wrote an essay called Against Music and another called Economy.⁵

There was to be no singing in life, no mourning after death. He taught universal love and beneficence towards one's fellow men, without contentions, without censure of others. He loved learning, but not in order to become different from others. Yet his views were not those of the ancient Sages, whose music and rites he set aside.

There was to be no singing during life and no mourning after death. He taught universal love and kindness toward others, without arguing or criticizing them. He loved learning, but not to set himself apart from others. Yet his views differed from those of the ancient Sages. He set aside their music and rituals.

The Yellow Emperor gave us the Hsien-ch'ih. Yao gave us the Ta-chang. Shun, the Ta-shao. Yü, the Ta-hsia. T'ang, the Ta-hu. Wên Wang, the P'i-yung. Wu Wang and Chou Kung added the Wu.⁶

The Yellow Emperor gave us the Hsien-ch'ih. Yao gave us the Ta-chang. Shun gave us the Ta-shao. Yü gave us the Ta-hsia. T'ang gave us the Ta-hu. Wên Wang gave us the P'i-yung. Wu Wang and Chou Kung added the Wu.⁶

The mourning ceremonial of old was according to the estate of each, and determined in proportion to rank. Thus, the body of the Son of Heaven was enclosed in a seven-fold coffin. That of a feudal prince, in a five-fold coffin. That of a minister, in a three-fold coffin. That of a private individual, in a two-fold coffin. But now Mih Tzŭ would have no singing in life, no mourning after death, and a single coffin of only three inches in thickness as the rule for all alike!

In the past, mourning rites varied according to each person’s status and rank. The body of the Son of Heaven was enclosed in a seven-layer coffin. A feudal prince’s body was enclosed in a five-layer coffin. A minister’s body was enclosed in a three-layer coffin. A private individual’s body was enclosed in a two-layer coffin. But now Mih Tzŭ would have everyone follow the same rule: no singing in life, no mourning after death, and a single coffin only three inches thick!

Such doctrines do not illustrate his theory of universal love;⁷ neither does his practice of them establish the fact of his own personal self-respect. They may not suffice to destroy his system altogether; though it is unreasonable to prohibit singing, and weeping, and rejoicing in due season.

Such doctrines do not demonstrate his theory of universal love.⁷ Nor does his practice of them prove his personal self-respect. They may not be enough to discredit his whole system. Even so, it is unreasonable to prohibit singing, weeping, and rejoicing at the proper times.

He would have men toil through life and hold death in contempt. But this teaching is altogether too unattractive. It would land mankind in sorrow and lamentation. It would be next to impossible as a practical system, and cannot, I fear, be regarded as the Tao of the true Sage. It would be diametrically opposed to human passions, and as such would not be tolerated by the world. Mih Tzŭ himself might be able to carry it out; but not the rest of the world. And when one separates from the rest of the world, his chances of developing an ideal State become small indeed.

He would have people work hard all their lives and despise death. But this teaching is altogether too unappealing. It would leave humanity in sorrow and lamentation. As a practical system, it would be almost impossible to follow. I fear it cannot be considered the Tao of the true Sage. It would be completely opposed to human passions, and so the world would not tolerate it. Mih Tzŭ himself might be able to follow it, but the rest of the world could not. And when someone separates himself from the rest of the world, his chances of developing an ideal State become very small indeed.

Mih Tzŭ argued in favour of his system as follows:—Of old, the great Yü drained off the flood of waters, and caused rivers and streams to flow through the nine divisions of the empire and the parts adjacent thereto,—three hundred great rivers, three thousand branches, and streams without number. With his own hands he plied the bucket and dredger, in order to reduce confusion to uniformity,⁸ until his calves and shins had no hair left upon them. The wind bathed him, the rain combed him; but he marked out the nations of the world, and was in very truth a Sage. And because he thus sacrificed himself to the commonwealth, ages of Mihists to come would also wear short serge jackets and straw sandals, and toil day and night without stopping, making self-mortification their end and aim, and say to themselves, "If we cannot do this, we do not follow the Tao of Yü, and are unworthy to be called Mihists."

Mih Tzŭ argued for his system as follows: Long ago, the great Yü drained the floodwaters. He made rivers and streams flow through the nine divisions of the empire and the surrounding regions. There were three hundred great rivers, three thousand branches, and countless streams. He used the bucket and dredger with his own hands to bring order out of chaos,⁸ until no hair remained on his calves and shins. The wind bathed him and the rain combed him, but he marked out the nations of the world. He was truly a Sage. Because he sacrificed himself for the common good, generations of Mihists to come would also wear short serge jackets and straw sandals. They would work day and night without stopping, making self-denial their goal. They would say to themselves, "If we cannot do this, we do not follow the Tao of Yü and are unworthy to be called Mihists."

The disciples of Hsiang Li Ch'in,⁹ the followers of the five princes, Mihists of the south, such as K'u Huo, Chi Ch'ih, and Têng Ling,—all these studied the canon of Mih Tzŭ, but their disagreements and agreements were not identical. They called each other schismatics, and quarrelled over the "hard and white," the "like and unlike," and argued over questions of "odd and even." Chü Tzŭ was their Sage, and they wanted to canonise him as a saint, that they might carry on his doctrines into after ages. Even now these differences are not settled.

The disciples of Hsiang Li Ch'in,⁹ the followers of the five princes, and the southern Mihists all studied Mih Tzŭ’s canon. The southern Mihists included K'u Huo, Chi Ch'ih, and Têng Ling. But these groups did not all agree or disagree on the same points. They called each other schismatics and quarreled over the "hard and white" and the "like and unlike." They also argued over questions of "odd and even." Chü Tzŭ was their Sage, and they wanted to make him a saint so that his doctrines would continue into later ages. Even now, these differences remain unsettled.

Thus we see that Mih Tzŭ and Ch'in Hua Li, while right in theory, were wrong in practice. They would merely have taught mankind to vie with each other in working the hair off their calves and shins. The evil of that system would have predominated over the good. Nevertheless, Mih Tzŭ was undoubtedly a well-meaning man. In spite of failure, with all its withering influences, he stuck to his text. He may be called a man of genius.¹⁰

So we see that Mih Tzŭ and Ch'in Hua Li were right in theory but wrong in practice. They would only have taught people to compete in working so hard that they wore the hair off their calves and shins. That system would have done more harm than good. Nevertheless, Mih Tzŭ was undoubtedly well-meaning. Despite failure and all its discouraging effects, he stuck to his principles. He may be called a genius.¹⁰

Not to be involved in the mundane, not to indulge in the specious, not to be overreaching with the individual, nor antagonistic to the public; but to desire the tranquillity of the world in general with a view to the prolongation of life, to seek no more than sufficient for the requirements of oneself and others, and by such a course to purify the heart,—herein lay the Tao of the ancients.

The Tao of the ancients was to avoid involvement in worldly affairs and not indulge in false appearances. It meant not taking advantage of individuals or opposing the public. Instead, it meant wishing for peace throughout the world in order to prolong life. It also meant seeking only enough to meet one’s own needs and those of others. By following this path, one purified the heart.

Sung Hsing and Yin Wên became enthusiastic followers of Tao. They adopted a cap, shaped like the Hua Mountain, as a badge. They bore themselves with kindly discrimination towards all things. They spoke of the passive qualities of the heart as though they had been active; and declared that whosoever could bring joy among mankind and peace within the girdle of ocean should be made ruler over them.

Sung Hsing and Yin Wên became enthusiastic followers of Tao. They wore a cap shaped like Hua Mountain as a badge. They treated all things with kindness and discernment. They spoke of the passive qualities of the heart as if they were active. They declared that anyone who could bring joy to humanity and peace throughout the world should be made ruler over all people.

They suffered obloquy without noticing the insult. They preserved the people from strife. They prohibited aggression and caused arms to lie unused. They saved their generation from wars, and carried their system over the whole empire, to the delight of the high and to the improvement of the lowly. Though the world would have none of them, yet they struggled on and would not give way. Hence it was said that when high and low became tired of seeing them, they intruded themselves by force. In spite of all this, they did too much for others, and too little for themselves.

They endured public scorn without taking offense. They kept people from fighting. They forbade aggression and left weapons unused. They saved their generation from war and spread their system throughout the empire. This pleased the powerful and improved the lives of ordinary people. Though the world rejected them, they kept struggling and refused to give up. So it was said that when the powerful and ordinary people grew tired of seeing them, they forced themselves upon them. In spite of all this, they did too much for others and too little for themselves.

"Give us," said they, "but five pints of rice, and it will be enough." The master could not thus eat his fill; but the disciples, although starving, did not forget the world's claims.¹¹

"Give us just five pints of rice," they said, "and that will be enough." The master could not eat his fill on that amount. But the disciples, although starving, did not forget their obligations to the world.¹¹

Day and night they toiled on, saying, "Must we necessarily live? Shall we ape the so-called saviours of mankind?"

Day and night, they worked hard, saying, "Must we live? Should we imitate the so-called saviors of humanity?"

"The superior man," they say, "is not a fault-finder. He does not appropriate the credit of others. He looks on one who does no good to the world as a worthless fellow. He regards prohibition of aggressive actions and causing arms to lie unused, as external; the diminution and restraint of our passions, as internal. In all matters, great or small, subtle or gross, such is the point to which he attains."

"The superior person," they say, "does not look for faults in others. He does not take credit for what others have done. He considers anyone who does no good for the world worthless. He sees the prohibition of aggression and the laying down of arms as external matters. He sees the reduction and restraint of our passions as internal matters. This is the understanding he reaches in all matters, great or small, subtle or obvious."

To be public-spirited and belong to no party, in one's dealings not to be all for self, to move without being bound to a given course, to take things as they come, to have no remorse for the past, no anxiety for the future, to have no partialities, but to be on good terms with all,—herein lay the Tao of the ancients.

The Tao of the ancients was to care for the common good and belong to no party. It meant not acting solely out of self-interest in dealing with others. It meant moving freely without being tied to a fixed course and taking things as they came. It meant having no regrets about the past and no anxiety about the future. It meant showing no favoritism, but being on good terms with everyone.

P'êng Mêng, T'ien P'ien, and Shên Tao, became enthusiastic followers of Tao. Their criterion was the identity of all things. "The sky," said they, "can cover but cannot support us. The earth can support but cannot cover us. Tao can embrace all things but cannot deal with particulars."

P'êng Mêng, T'ien P'ien, and Shên Tao became enthusiastic followers of Tao. They held that all things were identical. "The sky," they said, "can cover us but cannot support us. The earth can support us but cannot cover us. Tao can embrace all things but cannot deal with particulars."

They knew that in creation all things had their possibilities and their impossibilities. Therefore they said, "Selection excludes universality. Training will not reach in all directions. But Tao is comprehensive."

They knew that everything in creation had its own possibilities and limits. So they said, "Choosing some things means leaving others out. Training cannot reach in every direction. But Tao encompasses everything."

Consequently, Shên Tao discarded all knowledge and self-interest and became a fatalist.¹²

As a result, Shên Tao gave up all knowledge and self-interest and became a fatalist.¹²

Passivity was his guiding principle. "For," said he, "we can only know that we know nothing, and a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Passivity was his guiding principle. "Because," he said, "all we can know is that we know nothing. And a little knowledge is dangerous.

"Take any worthless fellow who laughs at mankind for holding virtue in esteem, any unprincipled vagabond who reviles the great Sages of the world, and subject him to torture. In his agony he will sacrifice positive and negative alike. If he can but get free, he will trouble no more about knowledge and forethought. Past and future will cease to exist for him, in his then neutral condition.

"Take any worthless man who mocks people for valuing virtue, any unprincipled drifter who insults the world's great Sages. Put him under torture. In his agony, he will give up both positive and negative alike. If he can only get free, he will no longer care about knowledge or planning ahead. In that neutral state, past and future will cease to exist for him.

"Move when pushed, come when dragged. Be like a whirling gale, like a feather in the wind, like a mill-stone going round. The mill-stone as an existence is perfectly harmless. In motion or at rest it does no more than is required, and cannot therefore incur blame.

"Move when pushed, come when dragged. Be like a swirling wind, a feather in the breeze, or a turning millstone. A millstone is completely harmless. Whether moving or still, it does only what is required, so it cannot be blamed.

"Why? Because it is simply an inanimate thing. It has no anxieties about itself. It is never entangled in the trammels of knowledge. In motion or at rest it is always governed by fixed laws, and therefore it never becomes open to praise. Hence it has been said, 'Be as though an inanimate thing, and there will be no use for Sages.'

"Why? Because it is simply a lifeless thing. It has no worries about itself. It is never trapped by knowledge. Whether moving or still, it always follows fixed laws, so it never earns praise. That is why people have said, 'Be like a lifeless thing, and there will be no need for Sages.'

"For a clod cannot be without Tao,"—at which some full-blooded young buck covered the argument with ridicule by crying out, "Shên Tao's Tao is not for the living, but for the dead!"

"For even a clod of earth cannot exist without Tao." At this, a spirited young man mocked the argument, crying out, "Shên Tao's Tao is not for the living, but for the dead!"

It was the same with T'ien P'ien. He studied under P'êng Mêng; with the result that he learnt nothing.¹³

The same was true of T'ien P'ien. He studied under P'êng Mêng, and as a result, he learned nothing.¹³

P'êng Mêng's tutor said, "Those of old who knew Tao, reached the point where positive and negative ceased to exist. That was all."

P'êng Mêng's tutor said, "In ancient times, those who knew Tao reached a point where positive and negative no longer existed. That was all."

Now the bent of these men is one of opposition, which it is difficult to discuss. They act in every way differently from other people, but cannot escape the imputation of purpose.¹⁴

These men have a tendency to oppose others, which is difficult to discuss. They act differently from other people in every way, but cannot escape being accused of doing so deliberately.¹⁴

What they call Tao is not Tao; and what they predicate affirmatively cannot escape being negative. The fact is that P'êng Mêng, T'ien P'ien, and Shên Tao, did not know Tao. Nevertheless they all had a certain acquaintance with it.

What they call Tao is not Tao. And whatever they affirm cannot help but also deny something. In fact, P'êng Mêng, T'ien P'ien, and Shên Tao did not know Tao. Nevertheless, they all knew something of it.

To make the root the essential, to regard objective existences as accidental, to look upon accumulation as deficiency, and to meekly accept the dispositions of Providence,—herein lay the Tao of the ancients.

The ancients’ Tao was to see the root as essential and material things as incidental. They viewed accumulation as a shortcoming and humbly accepted what Providence ordained.

Kuan Yin and Lao Tzŭ became enthusiastic followers of Tao.¹⁵

Kuan Yin and Lao Tzŭ became enthusiastic followers of Tao.¹⁵

They based their system upon nothingness, with One as their criterion. Their outward expression was gentleness and humility. Their inward belief was in unreality and avoidance of injury to all things.

They based their system on nothingness and used One as their standard. They showed gentleness and humility in their outward behavior. Inwardly, they believed in unreality and in avoiding harm to all things.

Kuan Yin said, "Adopt no absolute position. Let externals take care of themselves. In motion, be like water. At rest, like a mirror.¹⁶

Kuan Yin said, "Do not take any absolute position. Let external things take care of themselves. When moving, be like water. When still, be like a mirror.¹⁶

Respond, like the echo.¹⁷

Respond like an echo.¹⁷

Be subtle, as though non-existent. Be still, as though pure. Regard uniformity as peace. Look on gain as loss. Do not precede others. Follow them."

Be subtle, as though you did not exist. Be still, as though you were pure. See uniformity as peace. See gain as loss. Do not go ahead of others. Follow them."

Lao Tzŭ said, "He who conscious of being strong, is content to be weak,—he shall be a cynosure of men.¹⁸

Lao Tzŭ said, "Whoever knows he is strong but is content to be weak will be a guide for others.¹⁸

"He who conscious of purity, puts up with disgrace,—he shall be the cynosure of mankind.

"He who knows his purity and endures disgrace will be the focus of mankind's attention.

"He who when others strive to be first, contents himself with the lowest place, is said to accept the contumely of the world.

"When others strive to be first, a person content with the lowest place is said to accept the world's scorn.

"He who when others strive for the substantial, contents himself with the unsubstantial, stores up nothing and therefore has abundance. There he is in the midst of his abundance which comes to him without effort on his part. He does nothing, and laughs at the artifices of others.

"While others strive for what is substantial, he is content with what is insubstantial. He stores up nothing and therefore has abundance. There he is, surrounded by abundance that comes to him without effort. He does nothing and laughs at the schemes of others.

"He who when others strive for happiness is content with security, is said to aim at avoiding evil.¹⁹

"Someone who is content with safety while others pursue happiness is said to be trying to avoid harm.¹⁹

"He who makes depth of fundamental importance and moderation his rule of life, is said to crush that which is hard within him and temper that which is sharp.

"Someone who values depth above all and lives by moderation is said to crush what is hard within and soften what is sharp.

"To be in liberal sympathy with all creation, and not to be aggressive towards one's fellow-men,—this may be called perfection."

"To feel generous sympathy for all creation and not be aggressive toward other people may be called perfection."

O Kuan Yin! O Lao Tzŭ! verily ye were the true Sages of old.

Kuan Yin! Lao Tzŭ! You truly were the great sages of old.

Silence, formlessness, change, impermanence, now life, now death, heaven and earth blended in one, the soul departing, gone no one knows where: suddenly, no one knows whither, as all things go in turn, never to come back again;—herein lay the Tao of the ancients.

Silence, formlessness, change, impermanence, now life, now death, heaven and earth blending into one. The soul departs, suddenly gone no one knows where, as all things go in turn, never to return. This was the Tao of the ancients.

Chuang Tzŭ became an enthusiastic follower of Tao. In strange terms, in bold words, in far-reaching language, he gave free play to his thoughts, without following any particular school or committing himself to any particular line.

Chuang Tzŭ became an enthusiastic follower of Tao. He expressed his thoughts freely in strange, bold, and far-reaching language. He followed no particular school and committed himself to no particular line of thought.

He looked on the world as so sunk in corruption that it was impossible to speak gravely. Therefore he employed "goblet words" which apply in various directions; he based his statements upon weighty authority in order to inspire confidence; and he put words in other people's mouths in order to secure breadth.²⁰

He saw the world as so deeply corrupt that it was impossible to speak seriously. So he used "goblet words" that could apply in different ways. He based his statements on respected authorities to inspire confidence. He also put words in other people's mouths to give his work greater breadth.²⁰

In accord with the spirit of the universe, he was at peace with all creation. He judged not the rights and wrongs of mankind, and thus lived quietly in his generation. Although his book is an extraordinary production, it is plausible and harmless enough. Although the style is most irregular, it is at the same time ingenious and attractive.

In harmony with the spirit of the universe, he was at peace with all creation. He did not judge what people did as right or wrong, so he lived quietly among his contemporaries. Although his book is extraordinary, it is plausible and harmless enough. Although its style is highly irregular, it is also ingenious and appealing.

As a thinker, he is endlessly suggestive. Above, he roams with God. Below, he consorts with those who are beyond the pale of life and death, who deny a beginning and an end. In relation to the root,²¹ he speaks on a grand and extensive scale. In relation to Tao, he establishes a harmony between man and the higher powers. Nevertheless, he yields to the modifications of existence and responds to the exigencies of environment. His arguments are inexhaustible, and never illogical. He is far-reaching, mysterious, and not to be fully explored.²²

As a thinker, he offers endless insights. Above, he wanders with God. Below, he associates with those who live beyond life and death and deny any beginning or end. When speaking of the root,²¹ he speaks on a grand and expansive scale. When speaking of Tao, he establishes harmony between human beings and the higher powers. Nevertheless, he adapts to changes in existence and responds to the demands of his surroundings. His arguments are inexhaustible and never illogical. His thought reaches far, remains mysterious, and cannot be fully explored.²²

Hui Tzŭ was a man of many ideas. His works would fill five carts. But his doctrines are paradoxical, and his terms are used ambiguously.

Hui Tzŭ had many ideas. His writings would fill five carts. But his teachings are paradoxical, and he uses terms ambiguously.

He calls infinite greatness, beyond which there is nothing, the Greater One. He calls infinite smallness, within which there is nothing, the Lesser One.²³

He calls infinite greatness, beyond which nothing exists, the Greater One. He calls infinite smallness, within which nothing exists, the Lesser One.²³

He says that that which is without dimensions measures a thousand li.²⁴

He says that something with no dimensions measures a thousand li.²⁴

That heaven and earth are equally low. That mountain and marsh are equally level.²⁵

That heaven and earth are equally low. That mountains and marshes are equally level.²⁵

That the sun at noon is the sun setting.²⁶

That the noon sun is setting.²⁶

That when an animal is born, it dies.²⁷

When an animal is born, it dies.²⁷

That the likeness of things partly unlike is called the lesser likeness of unlikes. That the likeness of things altogether unlike is called the greater likeness of unlikes. That southwards there is no limit, and yet there is a limit. That one can reach Yüeh to-day and yet be there before. That joined rings can be separated. That the middle of the world is north of Yen and south of Yüeh.²⁸

The similarity between things that are partly different is called the lesser similarity of unlike things. The similarity between things that are completely different is called the greater similarity of unlike things. To the south, there is no limit, yet there is a limit. One can reach Yüeh today and yet have been there before. Joined rings can be separated. The middle of the world is north of Yen and south of Yüeh.²⁸

That he loves all creation equally, just as heaven and earth are impartial to all.²⁹

That he loves all creation equally, just as heaven and earth treat all things equally.²⁹

Accordingly, Hui Tzŭ was regarded as a great philosopher and a very subtle dialectician; and became a favourite with the other dialecticians of the day.

As a result, Hui Tzŭ was considered a great philosopher and a very subtle debater. He became a favorite among the other debaters of his day.

He said that there were feathers in an egg.³⁰

He said there were feathers in an egg.³⁰

That a fowl had three feet.³¹

That a bird had three feet.³¹

That Ying was the world.³²

That Ying was the world.³²

That a dog could be a sheep. That a mare could lay eggs. That a nail has a tail.³³

That a dog could be a sheep. That a mare could lay eggs. That a nail has a tail.³³

That fire is not hot.³⁴

That fire is not hot.³⁴

That mountains have mouths.³⁵

That mountains have mouths.³⁵

That wheels do not press down the ground.³⁶

That wheels do not press on the ground.³⁶

That the eye does not see.³⁷

That the eye cannot see.³⁷

That the finger does not touch. That the uttermost extreme is not the end. That a tortoise is longer than a snake.³⁸

That the finger does not touch. That the farthest limit is not the end. That a tortoise is longer than a snake.³⁸

That a carpenter's square is not square.³⁹

That a carpenter's square is not square.³⁹

That compasses will not make a circle.⁴⁰

That a compass cannot draw a circle.⁴⁰

That a round hole will not surround a square handle. That the shadow of a flying bird does not move. That there is a moment when a swiftly-flying arrow is neither moving nor at rest. That a dog is not a hound.⁴¹

A round hole cannot fit around a square handle. The shadow of a flying bird does not move. There is a moment when a swiftly flying arrow is neither moving nor at rest. A dog is not a hound.⁴¹

That a bay horse and a dun cow are three.⁴²

That a reddish-brown horse and a tan cow are three.⁴²

That a white dog is black.⁴³

That a white dog is black.⁴³

That a motherless colt never had a mother.⁴⁴

That a colt without a mother never had a mother.⁴⁴

That if you take a stick a foot long and every day cut it in half, you will never come to the end of it.⁴⁵

If you take a foot-long stick and cut it in half every day, you will never reach the end of it.⁴⁵

And such was the stuff which dialecticians used to argue about with Hui Tzŭ, also without ever getting to the end of it.

This was the kind of thing dialecticians used to argue about with Hui Tzŭ, also without ever reaching a conclusion.

Huan T'uan and Kung Sun Lung were of this class. By specious premisses they imposed on people's minds and drove them into false conclusions. But though they won the battle in words, they did not carry conviction into their adversaries' hearts. Theirs were but the snares of the sophist.

Huan T'uan and Kung Sun Lung belonged to this class. They used arguments that only seemed sound to mislead people and drive them to false conclusions. But although they won arguments, they did not convince their opponents. Their arguments were merely the traps of sophists.

Hui Tzŭ daily devoted his intelligence to such pursuits, purposely advancing some preposterous thesis upon which to dispute. That was his characteristic. He had besides a great opinion of his own wisdom, and used to say, "The universe does not hold my peer."

Hui Tzŭ devoted his intelligence to such pursuits every day, deliberately putting forward some absurd idea to argue about. This was his characteristic habit. He also thought highly of his own wisdom and used to say, "There is no one in the universe equal to me."

Hui Tzŭ makes a parade of his strength, but is devoid of any sound system. An eccentric fellow in the south, named Huang Liao, asked why the sky did not fall and the earth sink; also, whence came wind, rain, and thunder.

Hui Tzŭ shows off his strength, but has no sound system of thought. An eccentric man in the south named Huang Liao asked why the sky did not fall and the earth did not sink. He also asked where wind, rain, and thunder came from.

Hui Tzŭ was not backward in replying to these questions, which he answered unhesitatingly. He went into a long discussion on all creation, and talked away without end, though to himself he seemed to be saying very little. He supplemented this with most extraordinary statements, making it his chief object to contradict others, and being desirous of gaining fame by defeating all comers. Thus, he was never popular. Morally, he was weak; physically, he was violent. His was a dark and narrow way.

Hui Tzŭ answered these questions readily and without hesitation. He talked at length about all creation and went on endlessly, though he felt he was saying very little. He added the most extraordinary claims. His chief aim was to contradict others, and he wanted to gain fame by defeating everyone who challenged him. As a result, he was never popular. He was morally weak and physically violent. His way was dark and narrow.

Looked at from the point of view of the Tao of the universe, the value of Hui Tzŭ may be compared with the efforts of a mosquito or a gadfly. Of what use was he to the world? As a specialist, he might have succeeded. But to let him put himself forward as an exponent of Tao, would have been dangerous indeed.

From the point of view of the Tao of the universe, Hui Tzŭ’s value may be compared to the efforts of a mosquito or a gadfly. What use was he to the world? As a specialist, he might have succeeded. But letting him present himself as a teacher of Tao would have been very dangerous.

He would not however be content to be a specialist. He must needs roam insatiably over all creation, though he only succeeded in securing the reputation of a sophist.

However, he would not be content to be a specialist. He had to roam endlessly over all creation, though he only gained a reputation as a sophist.

Alas for the talents of Hui Tzŭ! He is extravagantly energetic, and yet has no success. He investigates all creation, but does not conclude in Tao. He makes a noise to drown an echo. He is like a man running a race with his own shadow. Alas!⁴⁶

Alas for the talents of Hui Tzŭ! He puts in tremendous effort, yet achieves nothing. He investigates all creation, but does not arrive at Tao. He makes a noise to drown out an echo. He is like a man racing his own shadow. Alas!⁴⁶