Before proceeding to examine in detail the doctrines of the Tao-tê Ching, I shall briefly indicate their general nature; and by way of preface to my own remarks, I now present to the reader the statements of two critics of different countries, and of rather widely separated dates. One of these, Chu-hsi 朱熹, a Chinese philosopher who lived in the 12th century, says:—“Lao-tzŭ’s scheme of philosophy consists in modesty, self-emptiness, the saving of one’s powers, and the refusal in all circumstances to agitate the bodily humours and spirits. Lao-tzŭ’s learning consists, generally speaking, in being void of desires, quiet, and free from exertion—in being self-empty, retiring, and self-controlling (lit., self-keeping) in actual life. Accordingly, what his words are ever inculcating is to have in outward deportment a gentle tenderness and modesty, and to be at the core void of all selfishness, and unhurtful to all things in the world.”[1] The other critic, a French philosopher still living, says:—“La conception de Lao-tseu est un Rationalisme panthéistique absolu dans lequel le monde sensible est consideré comme la cause de toutes les imperfections et de toutes les misères, et la personalité humaine comme un mode inférieur et passager du grand Être, de la grande Uité qui est l’origine et la fin de tous les Êtres. Elle a, comme nous l’avons déjà dit ailleurs une grande analogie avec le système de l’Identitè absolue de Schelling. Il y a cette difference, cependant, que la conception du premier n’est en quelque sorte qu’à l’état rudimentaire, comme la civilization de son époque, tandis que le système du dernier embrasse tous les progrès que la pensée philosophique a fait pendant plus de deux mille ans d’incessants et souvent d’infructueus labeurs.”[2] I am unable to coincide perfectly with the opinions of the above critics, especially with those of the latter; and I shall probably refer to them again. There is at least one respect in which the writings of Lao-tzŭ resemble those of Schelling—that is, in being frequently quite unintelligible to all ordinary mortals.
Pauthier, however, seems to have observed what the Chinese critic apparently failed to notice—namely, that all Lao-tzŭ’s teachings are the elucidation and development of his idea of the relations between something which he names Tao and the Universe. In taking a general view of Lao-tzŭ’s philosophy, this is the first observation I have to make:—It is a system which refers all things to Tao, as the ultimate ideal unity of the universe. The sum of the Tao-tê Ching may be said to be that Tao originated all things, is the everlasting model of rule for all things, and that into it all things are finally absorbed. It behoves us then, at the outset, to endeavour to ascertain what that is which Lao-tzŭ designates by this name, and to find some sort of an equivalent for it in our own language, if possible.
Now the character Tao 道 is used in several very different senses in the Tao-tê Ching. (1) It is used in the sense of the way or means of doing a thing.[3] (2) In some passages it means to speak of or describe.[4] (3) It is used in the sense of the course—literal and metaphorical—characteristic of and pursued by Heaven, Earth, the perfect man, &c.[5] This usage of the word is common to Lao-tzŭ with the Confucianists and all other Chinese writers. In some places also it seems to be used in the sense of good principles—truth—as in Confucianist writings. (See Ch. 46.). (4) There is the transcendental use of the word, perhaps originated by Lao-tzŭ,[6] but at least chiefly transmitted through him. It is with Tao used in this last sense alone that we have to deal at present, and I shall accordingly now give a sketch of Lao-tzŭ’s own account of the Tao which has given a name to his philosophy.
Tao, then, is something which existed before heaven and earth were, before Deity was, and which is, indeed, eternal.[7] It has not any name really,[8] and it never had a name; but Lao-tzŭ feels himself obliged to devise an epithet for it, and he adopts the word Tao. This word, however, is not to be taken in any of its ordinary significations,[9] but is used in a peculiar sense, to denote that which would otherwise be nameless. This Tao cannot be apprehended by any of the bodily senses.[10] It is profound, mysterious, and extremely subtle.[11] Represented as existing eternally, it is in its nature calm, void, solitary, and unchanging;[12] but represented as in operation, it revolves through the universe of being, acting everywhere, but acting “mysteriously, spontaneously, and without effort.”[13] It contains matter, and an inherent power of production; and though itself formless, it yet comprehends all possible forms.[14] It is the ultimate cause of the universe, and it is the model or rule for all creatures, but chiefly for man.[15] It represents also that ideal state of perfection in which all things acted harmoniously and spontaneously, and when good and evil were unknown; and the return to which constitutes the summum bonum of existence.[16] Lao-tzŭ speaks of the Tao under various metaphors—it is the spirit of the void[17] (lit., spirit of the valley)—a hollow utensil[18]—a river or ocean[19]—a parent[20]—a ruler.[21] We will have more to say of this Tao shortly; but the above will perhaps suffice for the present to give an idea of what meaning Lao-tzŭ attached to the word, or rather, it should be said, the meanings; for he does not seem to have had in his mind a very clear conception of what Tao actually was.
The next thing we have to do is to endeavour to find a word which will translate Tao in this, its transcendental use—a matter of no easy accomplishment. Pauthier, as has been seen, renders it by “Grande voie du monde,” by “Raison suprême universelle:” he also sometimes speaks of it simply as “Raison”[22] or “Logos.” Rémusat[23] also renders it by “Logos” or “Raison;” and it is by the term “Raison” or “Logos” that English writers translate the character Tao when it refers to the peculiar doctrines of Lao-tzŭ and his real or pretended followers. Julien, however, dissents from this interpretation, and rightly I think. After giving an account of Tao as taught by the Taoists themselves, he says:— “Il parait donc impossible de le (i.e., Tao) prendre pour la raison primordiale, pour l’intelligence sublime qui a créé et qui régit le monde.”[24] It is with great hesitation and reluctance, however, that I find myself unable to adopt Julien’s own translation—“Voie,” or Way. I quite agree with him as to the reason for not adopting the term Reason—namely, that Tao as represented by Lao-tzŭ is devoid of thought, judgment, and intelligence (as to action, Lao-tzŭ is apparently not quite consistent with himself.) Thus it is quite impossible to make it identical with the Logos of Plato, and almost absurd to identify it with the divine Logos of the Neoplatonists of Alexandria. But I do not think that the word way is the best we can use to translate Tao, and this for several reasons. A way implies a way-maker apart from and antecedent to it, but Tao was before all other existences. Again, when Lao-tzŭ speaks of it as indeterminate, as profound, and finally as producing, nourishing, and absorbing the universe, these terms can scarcely be applied to a way, however metaphorically used. Julien says:—“Le sens de Voie, que je donne au mot Tao 道, résulte clairement des passages suivants de Lao-tseu: ‘Si j’étais doué de quelque prudence, je marcherais dans le grand Tao’ (dans la grande Voie).—Le grand Tao est tres-uni (la grande Voie est tres-unie), mais le peuple aime les sentiers (ch. LIII).” “Le Tao peut être regardé comme la mere de l’univers. Je ne connais pas son nom; pour le qualifier, je l’appelle le Tao ou la Voie (ch. XXV).”[25] Now in the former of the two cases here cited the expression ta tao 大道 means, I think, the great course of duty which all men ought to pursue, but especially those who are in authority—the way of the magistrate or ruler; an interpretation which seems to be supported by the rest of the chapter, though some of the commentators seem to be of the same opinion with Julien.[26] It is to be observed that this scholar translates the words “ta tao” by “la grande Voie,” but in the same chapter renders the words “fei tao tsai” 非道哉 simply by “ce n’est point pratiquer le Tao.” The chapter from which the latter of the above two passages is cited by Julien also seems to require another word than way to translate Tao, and the same remark applies to the occurrence of the word in several other places throughout the Tao-tê Ching.[27] We may say of the Tao, as “Voie” or Way, that it revolves everywhere; but we can scarcely speak of it as being parent of the Universe—the first and highest existence. Way or road is, no doubt, one of the earliest meanings of the character Tao, and that which underlies many of its other uses. Nor is it very difficult to trace its progress from the perfectly concrete course or channel, and the abstract line or guide, to the ideal path or course which universal nature eternally and unchangingly pursues. What Lao-tzŭ does, as it seems to me, is to identify Nature and her ideal course; and as he could find no more general word whereby to express this ultimate ideal unity, he uses the word Tao to designate it, just as a mathematician uses x to express an unknown quantity.
In order to appreciate Lao-tzŭ’s system properly, we must substitute for Tao a word corresponding as closely as possible to it in width of meaning and vagueness of association. It bears a somewhat close analogy to the Apeiron of the old Ionic philosopher Anaximander; but the Indeterminate or the Indefinite is rather an awkward word to be frequently using, and we do not know enough of Anaximander’s system to warrant us in substituting the Apeiron for Tao. In modern times, again, the Substance in Spinoza’s philosophy, and the Absolute in Schelling’s, resemble it in many points; but neither could serve as a proper translation. I have accordingly determined to express Tao by our word Nature, using it in its widest and most abstract sense—“great creating Nature.” But I do not wish to be understood as implying that this word corresponds exactly to Tao—far from it. I use it simply as in my opinion the nearest approach we can get.[28] So, then, we may say of Lao-tzŭ’s system that it refers all matter and spirit in the universe to one original Nature, from which they both originated, by which they are maintained, and into which they are to be finally absorbed. This is the first general observation I have to make on his philosophy.
Again, Lao-tzŭ’s philosophy is eminently an ethical or rather a politico-ethical system. All his teachings aim at making man a better individual, and a better member of society. Whatever the subject be on which he discourses, there is generally a moral allusion or a moral lesson taught in allegory; and the high value which he assigns to moral excellence above all showy accomplishments deserves our greatest commendation, even though we dissent from his disparaging view of intellectual acquirements. He appeals more to the heart than to the mind—more to the Hebraistic side of our nature than to the Hellenistic (to use Mr. Matthew Arnold’s language); and the Tao-tê Ching is more a book of skeleton sermons than a book of “reasoned truth.” The intellect, indeed, is not only depressed; but is even sometimes spoken of unfavourably, as opposed to the beneficial operation of Nature (Tao) on men’s hearts.
Further, the system of Lao-tzŭ is one purely speculative, and a priori (in the Kantian sense). There is in it no gathering of facts—no questioning of nature—no rising from particular facts or truths of greater and greater generality. There is, in short, little or nothing of the spirit of the inductive philosophy of modern times to be found in the Tao-tê Ching. It “nobly takes the a priori road,” beginning with the universal cause, and coming down to particular facts; frames hypotheses about nature and morals, and tries to make existing circumstances conform to them. This is the character, however, which it has in common with nearly all early systems of philosophy, and even with some of very modern times. An utterly wrong method we believe it to be; but we can easily forgive it in Lao-tzŭ, when we take into consideration the circumstances amid which he lived, and the nature and amount of the materials at his hand.
The last characteristic of Lao-tzŭ’s teachings to which I shall allude at present is that they are all imbued with a genial and sympathetic spirit, regarding man not merely as an individual, and not merely as a member of human society, but also a citizen of the universe, if I may use the expression. Modesty, gentleness, forbearance, and self-denial are his constant watchwords. He ever inculcates on man, especially in his highest development, a sympathy not only with his fellow men, but also with all the creatures of the earth, and even with inanimate nature. This doctrine results, no doubt, from the leading idea that all owe their origin to the one all-producing, all-nourishing nature; and it is a doctrine of which Lao-tzŭ seems to have been very fond. He frequently alludes to it as the duty and advantage of man to be humble, gentle, and never striving; and he utterly abhors the idea of violence, and the ostentation of superiority. He goes to excess, however, I think, in his notions about a peaceful, non-interfering mode of life; and carries his doctrine of the imitation of Nature (Tao) to unwarranted lengths.
Having thus described generally the nature of the teachings of the Tao-tê Ching, I shall now proceed to examine them more in detail. In doing so it will be convenient to consider them under the three leading divisions of Speculative Physics, Politics and Ethics. I must, however, beg pardon of the pale shade of their author for doing so, as I am certain that he would not sanction this division; and at the same time I must forewarn the reader that he is not to think that subjects in his opinion appertaining to these three departments are kept rigorously distinct. Lao-tzŭ, like Plato and some other philosophers, makes Physics and Politics subordinate parts of Ethics—the grand, all embracing study. So when reading in the Tao-tê Ching about matters which we regard as belonging peculiarly to one or other of these divisions, we must endeavour to regard them from Lao-tzŭ’s point of view—viz., as part of one universal, all containing nature. If we leave out the important word which I enclose in brackets, and substitute some such word as yet or still, we find in the writings of a great English poet of the 18th century sentiments very similar to those of the Chinese sage who lived more than two thousand years before him:—