The Taoist idealisation of a spontaneity not disrupted by rational control becomes in political terms a faith in the spontaneously cohesive forces in society rather than in order deliberately imposed from above. Lao-tzŭ, which is written from the viewpoint of the prince, is pervaded by an awareness of the uselessness of trying to control political forces, which however the ruler can guide by locating the crucial points and moments and exerting the minimum pressure to the maximum effect. In most of Chuang-tzŭ, on the other hand, the viewpoint is that of the subject, who thinks things run better the less they are interfered with from above. Throughout the book we find sketches of Utopias flourishing in distant times or regions, and skeleton histories of the decline of government.32 Here we assemble the few examples not translated elsewhere in this selection.
It was at one time popular in the West to think of the political philosophy of Taoism, even that of Lao-tzŭ, as anarchism. But most although not all Taoism accepts one basic premise of ancient Chinese thinking, that social order centres on a ruler, and depends on influences emanating from the te, the ‘Power’ in him, which moves men to follow him even without the backing of armed force, until it fades with the decline of the dynasty. Chuang-tzŭ himself gives the doctrine an unusual twist by hinting that the influences sustaining the social order may have nothing to do with the Emperor, and be emanating from some unnoticed sage in private life.33 We do however find genuinely anarchistic Utopias, ‘without ruler and subject’, in the Taoist revival about AD 300, in Lieh-tzŭ, and most remarkably in Pao Ching-yen, who goes so far as to say that rulers were instituted not by Heaven but by the strong to oppress the weak.34 Pao Ching-yen is known only by lengthy extracts in a suspiciously tame and conventional refutation of him by the great alchemist Ko Hung of the fourth century AD, who may well have invented him as a spokesman of subversive thoughts of his own. This suspicion is a reminder that any literary traces of such dangerous ideas would only be the top of what might be a considerable iceberg.
The essay with which we start this section is a complete chapter, ‘Menders of nature’ (chapter 16). It is an apology for the hermit’s life by an author of uncertain date, not recognisable anywhere else in the book. His style is pedestrian but he is interesting as the first documented instance of a true anarchist in China, in the sense that he conceives the ideal community as living in a spontaneous oneness without any ruler at all. He dates the decline of the social order from the very first rulers, Sui-jen and Fu-hsi, and is explicit that the sage is a hermit except in the Utopian age, when he enters the world not to take office but to submerge in the primordial oneness. This anarchism is rooted in what looks like a Taoistic variation on the doctrine of the goodness of human nature preached by the Confucian Mencius. The author surprises us by recommending the Confucian moral virtues, which like Mencius he sees as inherent in human nature. He holds that if we still the passions and achieve the equilibrium in which tranquillity and awareness support and enhance each other, Goodwill and Duty become natural to us, and so do Music (which otherwise excites the passions) and Rites (which otherwise are empty formalities).
MENDERS OF NATURE
Menders of their nature by vulgar learning, trying to recover what they originally were; muddlers of the desires by vulgar thinking, trying to perfect their enlightenment – we may call them the blinkered and benighted people.
The men of old who cultivated the Way used calm to nurture knowing. They knew how to live but did not use knowing to do anything; one may say that they used knowing to nurture calm. When knowing and calm nurture each other, harmony and pattern issue from our nature. The Power is the harmony, the Way is the pattern. The Power harmonising everything is Goodwill, the Way patterning everything is Duty. Fellow-feeling with others when duty to them is understood is Loyalty;…………… is Trustworthiness. When loyalty is pure and solid, return to the essential emotions is Music; when trustworthiness is activating expression and gesture, compliance with the forms is the Rites. When rites or music are practised without the rest, the world falls into disorder. If something else lays down the direction for you, you blinker your own Power. As for the Power, it will not venture blindly; and things which do venture blindly are sure to lose their natures.
The men of old lived in the midst of the merged and featureless, and found tranquillity and mildness with those of their own time. At this era the Yin and Yang were harmonious and peaceful, ghosts and daemons did no mischief, the four seasons were properly proportioned, the myriad creatures were unharmed, all that live escaped untimely death. Even if men did have knowledge, they had nothing to use it on. It is this that is called being in utmost oneness. At this era things were done by nobody, and were constantly so of themselves.
A time came when the Power declined, until Sui-jen and Fu-hsi began their rule over the world. The consequence was that there was compliance but not oneness. The Power declined a stage further, until Shen-nung and the Yellow Emperor began their rule over the world. The consequence was that there was control without compliance. The Power declined a stage further, until Yao and Shun began their rule over the world. It was only after they started the fashion of reforming through government, and rinsed the clean and broke up the unhewn, parted from the Way in order to become good, endangered the Power in order to act, that we relinquished our nature to follow after the heart. And it was only after hearts became perceptive and knowing, yet proved inadequate to settle the world, that we tacked culture on to them, added information to them. And it was only after culture obliterated substance, and information swamped the heart, that the people for the first time fell into perplexity and disorder, and had no means to return to the natural and essential in them and recover what they originally were.
Observing from this point of view, the age has abandoned the Way, the Way has abandoned the age. When the age and the Way have abandoned each other, from where would men of the Way rise up in the age, from where would the age be resurrected by the Way? As long as there is no means for the Way to rise up in the age or the age to be resurrected by the Way, even if a sage is not living in the mountain forests the Power in him has been obscured. It has been obscured, therefore it is not that he has chosen his obscurity.
As for what of old was meant by ‘living in obscurity’, it was not that someone was lying low and refusing to show himself, or keeping his words to himself and refusing to make them public, or hoarding his knowledge and refusing to let it out. It was that the fate of the times was too much awry. If he was lucky in his times and there was full scope for him in the world, he would return to the oneness and leave no trace behind. If he was unlucky in his times and there was no scope for him in the world, he would deepen his roots, secure the ultimate in him, and wait. This is the Way to save your life.
Those who of old guarded their lives did not use disputation to ornament knowing, did not use knowing to get the most out of the world, did not use knowing to get the most out of the Power. They stayed undaunted in their places and returned to their nature, what more would they have to do? It is inherent in the Way not to be trivially active, inherent in the Power not to be trivially perceptive. Trivial perceptions injure the Power, trivial actions injure the Way. Hence it is said, ‘Simply set yourself in the true direction.’ It is the happiness of being whole which is meant by success.
As for what of old was called ‘success’, it was not a matter of the caps and carriages of high office, it meant simply that nothing could add to their happiness. But what is called ‘success’ nowadays is a matter of caps and carriages. Caps and carriages do not belong to one’s person by its nature and destiny. A thing which comes to us by chance is a lodger with us, and we who give it lodging can neither ward off its coming nor stop it going away. The men of old did not for the sake of caps and carriages indulge ambitions, did not on account of failure and need conform to the vulgar. It was simply that they were as happy in one condition as the other, and therefore had no worries. Nowadays when our lodgers depart we are unhappy, from which it can be seen that we never fail to lay waste even such happiness as we have. Hence it is said, ‘Those who abandon their own selves to other things, and lose their nature to the vulgar are to be called “the wrong-way-round people”.’ (Chuang-tzŭ, chapter 16)
When Yi-liao of Shih-nan visited the Marquis of Lu, the Marquis looked careworn.
‘Why that careworn look?’ said the master from Shih-nan.
‘I have studied the Way of the former kings and trained myself for the task inherited from my forebears, I revere the spirits and honour excellence, do everything myself and never rest for a moment, yet there is no escape from trouble. That is why I am so careworn.’
‘My lord has a shallow method of ridding himself of troubles. The fox with his rich fur and the leopard with his spotted coat settle in the mountain forest and lurk in caves of the cliffs, to be left in peace. They go abroad at night and rest by day, to be on the alert. Even in hunger, thirst, hardship, they still go only one at a time to riverside or lakeside for food, that’s how disciplined they are. If none the less they still do not escape trouble from the nets and traps, what fault is it of theirs? It’s that their hides are a disaster to them. Now in your case isn’t it the state of Lu which is your hide? I would wish my lord to strip his body and rid it of its hide, wash his heart and rid it of desires, and roam in the wilds where there is no other man.
‘In South Yüeh there is a city, the name of the state is Steadfast Power. Its people are foolish and simple, are rarely selfish and have few desires. They know how to work but not how to store, and give without thought of a return. They do not know what a duty fits or a rite accompanies. Heedlessly, carelessly, they tread the path which opens out in every direction. They enjoy their lives and there’s a fine funeral for them when they die. I would wish my lord to leave the state, abandon the customary, and go on a journey with the Way as his helper.’
‘The Way there is long and perilous, and there are mountains and rivers between; I have no boat and carriage, what could I do?’
‘Not to be stiff-necked,
Not to be hidebound,
Is all the carriage that you need.’
‘The way there is dark and long, where no one dwells; whom would I have for a neighbour? I have no provisions, I have no food, how could I ever arrive there?’
‘Reduce your expenditures, lessen your desires, and even unprovided you will have enough. May my lord ford the river and drift out over the ocean, gaze into the distance beyond sight of shores, go farther and farther in ignorance where there is an end. Those who come to see you off will all turn back from the shore. You will be far indeed from here.
‘As owner of others you have ties, owned by others you have cares, which is why Yao neither owned nor was owned by other men. Therefore I would wish to free my lord from his ties, rid him of his cares, to wander alone in the kingdom of the ultimate void.’ (Chuang-tzŭ, chapter 20)
Men Wu-kuei and Ch’ih-chang Man-chi were viewing the army of King Wu.
‘He isn’t up to the House of Yu-yü!’ said Ch’ih-chang Man-chi; ‘that’s why we have run into these troubles.’
‘If the world were equitably ordered, would the House of Yu-yü have been putting it in order? Or did it have to be disordered before he put it in order?’
‘If it’s an equitably ordered world that you want, why take the Yu-yü into account at all? When the Yu-yü medicined the sores, it was putting a wig on a head already bald, fetching a doctor for a man already sick. A filial son carrying the medicine to treat his compassionate father looks haggard in the face; to the sage it is an embarrassment.
‘In an age when Power is at its utmost, they don’t “promote excellence”, don’t “employ ability”. The man above is like a treetop, the people are like wild deer. They are upright but do not know how to think of it as Duty, love each other but do not know how to think of it as Goodwill, are genuine but do not know how to think of it as Loyalty, keep their word but do not know how to think of it as Good Faith. Moved like the insects in spring their employers are each other, they do not think of government as a gift from above. Therefore their steps leave no footprints, their deeds leave no records behind them.’ (Chuang-tzŭ, chapter 12)
NOTE ‘Promoting excellence’ and ‘employing ability’ are Mohist slogans for the reform of government, which became widely accepted even in the Confucian school as the old hereditary fiefs developed into bureaucratised states. The following displaced fragment may continue the same story. It explains that there need be no righteous wars (like King Wu ‘s) if the people follow the Heaven which moves them spontaneously, not the Heaven which men invent as the authority for their own doctrines.
‘An avenger does not smash Excalibur, even the most hot-tempered man does not resent a tile blown by the wind. That is why the world is peaceful and equitable. Therefore that there are no disorders from invasion and battle, no punishments by execution and extermination, is because they follow this Way. They throw open not man’s Heaven but Heaven’s Heaven. In whoever throws open Heaven the Power is born, in whoever throws open man violence is born.
Not suppressing the Heaven in them,
Not deluded by the man in them,
The people are near to acting on their true promptings.’
(Chuang-tzŭ, chapter 19)
When Yao ruled the empire, Po-ch’eng Tzŭ-kao was set up as lord of a fief. After Yao passed the throne to Shun, and Shun to Yü, Po-ch’eng Tzŭ-kao resigned his fief and took up the plough.
Yü went to visit him and found him in the fields ploughing. Yü approached briskly, obeying the etiquette for an inferior, stood before him, and asked:
‘Sir, formerly when Yao ruled the empire, you were set up as lord of a fief. After Yao passed the throne to Shun, and Shun to myself, you resigned your fief to take up the plough. May I ask why?’
‘Formerly when Yao ruled the empire, the people were willing without being rewarded, were in awe without being punished. Nowadays you do reward and punish, yet the people have become malevolent. From now on the Power will deteriorate, from now on punishment will prevail; the misrule of coming ages has its beginning now. Why don’t you leave me alone? Don’t interrupt my work.’
Busy with his ploughing, he did not turn his head.
(Chuang-tzŭ, chapter 12)
NOTE There is evidence of a wide variety of hermits with different philosophies and objections to the existing order (for example, the ‘Tillers’, cf. p. 169), and this story is unlikely to be Taoist in origin. Yü was the first ruler to hand the throne to his own son instead of the best available man, thus founding the first dynasty, the Hsia. In a longer version of this story, preserved in chapter 7 of the Hsin-hsü (a miscellany of the first century BC), Po-ch’eng Tzŭ-kao’s main objection is to the introduction of hereditary succession.