Of the three words which compose its title, King has already been explained (Supra p. 390-391). The full meaning of Taò will appear in the sequel: we may here term it the Absolute. Te means Virtue; and the title would thus imply either that this Canonical Book deals with the Absolute and with Virtue, or with that kind of virtue which emanates from, and is founded upon, a belief in and a spiritual union with the Absolute.[48]
Whatever the signification of its name, its principal subjects undoubtedly are Taò and Te: the Supreme Principle and human Virtue. Let us see what is Laò-tsé's description of Taò, the great fundamental Being on whom his whole system rests. "Taò, if it can be pronounced, is not the eternal Taò. The Name, if it can be named, is not the eternal Name. The Nameless One is the foundation of Heaven and Earth; he who has a Name is the Mother of all beings" (Ch. 1). These enigmatical sentences open the Taò philosophy. The idea that Taò is unnameable is a prominent one in the author's mind, although he seems also to recognize a subordinate creative principle—like the Gnostic Æons—which is nameable. Thus we read: "Taò, the Eternal has no Name.... He who begins to create, has a Name" (Ch. 32). Again: "For ever and ever it is unnameable, and returns into non-existence." Or: "I know not its Name; if I describe it, I call it Taò" (Ch. 25). We are reminded of Faust's reply in Goethe:—
"Ich habe keinen Namen
Dafür? Gefühl ist alles;
Name ist Schall und Rauch
Umnebelnd Himmelsgluth."
Nor is Taò only without a Name; it is sometimes described as if devoid of all intelligible attributes. Thus, in one chapter, we learn that it is eternally without action, and yet without non-action (Ch. 37). Nay, the entire absence of all activity is not unfrequently predicated of Taò, whose great merit is stated to be complete quiescence. Taò is moreover incomprehensible, inconceivable, undiscoverable, obscure (Ch. 21). Its upper part is not clear, its lower part not obscure. It returns into non-existence. It is the form of the Formless; the image of the Imageless (Ch. 14). Mysterious as this Being is, yet in other places attributes are ascribed to it which go far to elucidate the author's conception of its nature. Productive energy, for instance, is plainly attributed to Taò, for it is stated that Taò produces one, one two, and two three, while three produces all creatures (Ch. 32). The following account is less mystical: "Taò produces them [creatures], its Might preserves them, its essence forms them, its power perfects them: therefore of all beings there is none that does not adore Taò, and honor its Might. The adoration of Taò, the honoring of its Might, is commanded by no one and is always spontaneous. For Taò produces them, preserves them, brings them up, fashions them, perfects them, ripens them, cherishes them, protects them. To produce and not possess, to act and not expect, to bring up and not control, this is called sublime Virtue."[49] In addition to these creative and preservative qualities, it has moral attributes of the highest order. Thus, its Spirit is supremely trustworthy. In it is faithfulness (Ch. 21). All beings trust to it in order to live. When a work is completed, it does not call it its own. Loving and nourishing all beings, it still does not lord it over them. It is eternally without desire. All beings turn to it, yet it does not lord it over them (Ch. 34). It is eminently straightforward. It dwells only with those who are not occupied with the luxuries of this world (Ch. 53). Nay, it is altogether perfect (Ch. 25). The last assertion is found in a chapter which, as it is probably the most important in the book for the purpose of understanding the theology of the author, deserves to be translated in full:—"There existed a Being, inconceivably perfect, before Heaven and Earth arose. So still! so supersensible! It alone remains and does not change. It pervades all and is not endangered. It may be regarded as the Mother of the World. I know not its name; if I describe it, I call it Taò. Concerned to give it a Name, I call it Great; as great, I call it Immense; as immense, I call it Distant; as distant, I call it Returning. For Taò is great; Heaven is great; the Earth is great; the King is also great. In the world there are many kinds of greatness, and the King remains one of them. The measure of Man is the earth; the measure of earth, Heaven; the measure of Heaven, Taò; Taò's measure itself."[50]
Such is the picture of Taò; but the Taò-tĕ-Kīng is much more than a treatise on theology; it is even more conspicuously a treatise on morals. Taò is indeed the transcendental foundation on which the ethical superstructure is raised; but the superstructure occupies a much more considerable space than the foundation, and seems to have been the main practical end for which the latter was laid down. Intermingled with the image of Taò we find the image of the good man, or, as we may call him, in Scriptural phraseology, the righteous man; an ideal of perfect virtue, whom the author holds up, not as an actual person, but as an imaginary model for the guidance of human conduct. By putting together the scattered traits of his character, we may arrive at a tolerable comprehension of the author's conception of perfect goodness. In the first place, the righteous man is in harmony in his actions with Taò; he becomes one with Taò, and Taò rejoices to receive him (Ch. 23). He places himself in the background, and by that very means is brought forward (Ch. 7). He does not regard himself, and therefore shines; he is not just to himself, and is therefore distinguished; does not praise himself, and is therefore meritorious; does not exalt himself, and is therefore preëminent. As he does not dispute, none can dispute with him (Ch. 22). If he acts, he sets no store by his action; for he does not wish to render his wisdom conspicuous (Ch. 77). He knows himself, but does not regard himself; loves himself, but does not set a high price on himself (Ch. 72). Unwilling lightly to promise great things, he is thereby able to accomplish the more; by treating things as difficult, he finds nothing too difficult during his whole life (Ch. 63). Inaccessible alike to friendship and enmity, uninfluenced by personal advantage or injury, by honor or dishonor, he is honored by all the world (Ch. 56). He is characterized by quiet earnestness; should he possess splendid palaces, he inhabits them or quits them with equal calm (Ch. 26). He clothes himself in wool (a very coarse material in China), and hides his jewels (Ch. 70). He is ever ready to help others; for the good man is the educator of the bad, the bad man the treasure of the good (Ch. 27). "The righteous man does not accumulate. The more he spends on others, the more he has; the more he gives to others, the richer he is" (Ch. 81). "He who knows others is clever; he who knows himself is enlightened" (Ch. 33). Thus the sage, like Socrates, makes νῶθι σéαντον a main principle of his conduct. Should he be called to the administration of the realm, he adopts a policy of laisser faire, for he has observed the evils produced by over-legislation. It is his belief that if he be inactive, the people will improve by themselves; if he be quiet, they will become honorable; if he abstain from intermeddling, they will become rich; if he be free from desires, they will become simple (Ch. 57). Compelled to engage in war, he will not make use of conquest to triumph or exalt himself, neither will he take violent measures (Ch. 30). Mercy is a quality that must not be despised; the merciful will conquer in battle (Ch. 67). Endowed with these characteristics, the good man need fear nothing. Like Horace's
"Integer vitæ scelerisque purus,"
he is preserved from danger. The horn of the rhinoceros, the claws of the tiger, the blade of the sword, cannot hurt him (Ch. 50). He is like a new-born child: serpents do not sting it, nor wild beasts seize it, nor birds of prey attack it.[51]