3. The next point to be considered is the relation of a government to the neighbouring states. On this subject Lao-tzŭ has very little to say, and what he does say concerns only the small feudal dependencies of the kingdom of Chow. All the world—that is, all the world known—was the king’s; but holding under him, at this time indeed only nominally for the most part, were chiefs of smaller and larger provinces and principalities. It is of this, in their relations to each other and to their titular superior, that Lao-tzŭ makes mention.
The different states in their mutual intercourse ought to be guided by courtesy and forbearance. The great kingdom is the reservoir of the small principalities,[40] and ought to remain in dignified peace, while these come to give in their allegiance, as the little streams from the mountains flow to the placid lake or smoothly-flowing river as their king. The large state ought thus to remain lowly and humble towards the small one, and not act towards it in an arrogant or violent manner. When a large kingdom abases itself to a small principality, and when a small state abases itself to a large one, it obtains service (and protection) under that large one. It is for this purpose that the small state submits; and the large kingdom annexes the small states for the purpose of uniting and maintaining the people.
It is fit that the large state should always act humbly and meekly, and that the small states should own its supremacy; there will thus be no need of fighting. There is no greater misfortune in the world than to take up a quarrel on a slight pretext.[41] As the soldiers say, it is much better to bear than to make the attack—to yield considerably than to advance a little. That is, it is better to have one’s own territory invaded than to make aggression on that of another. The king who is yielding and compliant is sure to be ultimately victorious. If, however, a prince must go to war, whether to defend his own dominions, or at the bidding of his sovereign, he must show clemency. It is the tender hearted who gains the victory in the pitched battle, and who succeeds in keeping the beleaguered city.
By words like these the philosopher endeavoured to dissuade the princes and barons of his time from the border warfare in which they were perpetually engaged. The mutual aggressions and reprisals of these chiefs were in his days desolating the kingdom and gradually reducing it to the condition favourable to the production of a tyrant. A few centuries after Lao-tzŭ’s death the man arose who made himself king over all the empire (王天下), but he was very unlike the king depicted by Lao-tzŭ and Confucius and Mencius.
4. On the latter of the two departments into which Sir G. C. Lewes divides Politics, namely, the relations of the subjects to their ruler and to each other, Lao-tzŭ, as I have already intimated, does not dilate. With him the inhabitants of a kingdom are divided into the ruling and the ruled. The former class comprises the king and the several ministers whom he of his sovereign pleasure appoints to various posts; and the latter comprises all the rest of the population. Now the relation in which the common people stand to the ruler resembles that of children to a father. They have no part or lot in the administration of government. They are regarded, not as individuals, but as masses. They are the “hundred surnames,” or “the people,” and the ruler of supreme virtue and wisdom—the godlike man—regards them all impartially as so many straw-made dog-effigies, creatures made to be used. The subjects imitate their king or chief; and as he is, so are they; and excellence in him is followed by excellence in them. The relations of the members of the community to each other are referred, as has been stated, to the province of ethics.
From the above sketch of the political sentiments contained in the Tao-tê Ching, I hope it has been seen that the author was not an utterly vain dreamer and theoriser, at least on these matters. It would be very easy to show how many of the Confucianist doctrines in politics closely resemble those of Lao-tzŭ; though others, also, are diametrically opposite. The teachings of the latter sage, in point of practicability at least, are not far removed from those of the former.
In many points Lao-tzŭ seems to us to be giving bad advice to the ruler, and his general notions about a state are very unlike those to which we are accustomed. That the people should be kept ignorant, advancement in mechanical skill discountenanced, and that the standards of political excellence should be the ideal sages of an ideal antiquity, are doctrines to which we would refuse to adhere, and which we would condemn, as savouring of despotism. Yet Lao-tzŭ’s conception of the ruler is not of him as a despot, but rather as a sort of dictator during good conduct. He is raised to his high position by the concurrent wishes of heaven and the people, and on his observance of the duties of his office depends his stability on the throne. It is interesting and instructive to compare Lao-tzŭ’s ideas on politics with those of Machiavelli, who somewhat resembles him also in his fortunes. Each lived in times of national disaster and misery and each wished for peace in the land. Each longed to see one ruler installed, and honoured with absolute power. During life neither seems to have been appreciated by his fellows; and after death so ill were the merits of both recognised, that the abbreviated form of the Christian name of the one became, as some suppose, a familiar term for the original Devil;[42] and the other has been confounded by his enemies with charlatans and impostors. The counsels which each gave to the chiefs of the time were those which he deemed useful and practicable, though in many cases, if judged by a general standard, they must be condemned. The patriotic fire of the Florentine Secretary led him to make rather reckless statements about the license allowed to the man who makes and keeps himself an absolute and independent prince.[43] So the Chinese moralist, deprecating the evils wrought in his country by unprincipled but clever and ambitious men, recommends a general state of ignorance. The serpent wisdom of the professional statesman, however, is far removed from the guileless simplicity of the philosopher. The latter abhors the idea of war, and recoils from the thought of force and ostentation; but the former, with more earthly prudence, recommends above all things a good native army, serviceable military skill, and splendid enterprises.[44] Machiavelli allows the prince to break his word when it suits him for state purposes[45] (unless this be ironical), but Lao-tzŭ requires of the king good faith, at least to his subjects. Each of them advises that the ruler should be, or at least appear to be, clement and liberal, sparing of the people’s possessions and a fosterer of their material prosperity.[46] Many other points of similarity or contrast in the political opinions of these two eminent men might be adduced, but the above must suffice as examples.
When we read Lao-tzŭ’s sentiments about taxation, over-legislation, penal retributions and excessive governmental interference, and remember that these same subjects are still eagerly debated among Western philosophers and statesmen, we must ascribe to the Chinese sage a remarkable amount of what Humboldt calls the presentiment of knowledge. What he, however, could sketch only in faint outline on these subjects, has been broadly discussed in later and more auspicious times by men like Adam Smith, Bentham, Emerson and J. S. Mill. If we now cannot but condemn his ignoring the individuality of each member of the state, his discouraging progress in the mechanical arts, and his magnifying the kingly office, we must remember that there are still among us, notwithstanding the experience and struggles of centuries, almost as great barriers to the enjoyment of personal liberty as were those which Lao-tzŭ recommends. Large standing armies at the call of one man—“incognoscibility” of the laws—bribery—gerrymandering—and, above all, the power of the many—are still great retarders of human freedom and prosperity. That such things exist, even though the voice of the philosopher is always against them, should make us indulgent towards the mistaken notions of a man who lived 2,500 years ago.
[1] Treatise on the Methods of Observation. Reasoning in Politics, vol. 1, p. 44.
[2] See Ch. 62. In Pi-yuan’s edition, 天下 is the reading, instead of 天子 of the ordinary texts.