{81} CHAPTER NINE
Horse Hooves
Here are the horses, able to tramp over frost and snow with the hooves they have, to keep out the wind and cold with their coats. Chomping the grass and drinking the waters, prancing and jumping over the terrain—this is the genuine inborn nature of horses. Even if given fancy terraces and great halls, they would have no use for them. Then along comes Bo Le,1 saying, “I am good at managing horses!” He proceeds to brand them, shave them, clip them, bridle them, fetter them with crupper and martingale, pen them in stable and stall—until about a quarter of the horses have dropped dead. Then he starves them, parches them, trots them, gallops them, lines them up neck to neck or nose to tail, tormenting them with bit and rein in front and with whip and spur behind. By then over half of the horses have dropped dead.
The potter says, “I’m good at managing clay! I round it until it matches the compass, square it until it matches the T-square.” The carpenter says, “I’m good at managing wood! I curve it until it matches the arc, straighten it until it corresponds to the line.” Do you suppose the inborn nature of the clay or the wood wishes to match a compass, T-square, arc, or line? And yet somehow or other, generation after generation bursts into songs of praise: “Bo Le is so good at managing horses! The potter and carpenter are so good at managing clay and wood!” And this is the same error made by those who “govern,” who “order” the world.
In my opinion, someone who was really good at ordering the world would not go about it like that. For the people, too, have their own constant inborn nature. To be clothed by their own weaving, fed by their own plowing—these are the intrinsic virtuosities in which they all share. All as one, without faction—this is just the way Heaven tosses them out. So it was that in the age of the full realization of the intrinsic virtuosities, their actions were solid and full but their gaze was distant and blank.2 For in those days, there were no paths or trails through the mountains, no boats or bridges over the ponds; all creatures lived together, {82} merging their territories into one another, the birds and beasts multiplying to form herds and flocks, the grasses and trees growing thick and unhampered, so one could tie a cord to a bird or beast and take a stroll with it, or bend down a branch to peep into a bird’s nest. For in those days when the intrinsic virtuosities were fully realized, the people lived together with the birds and beasts, bunched together with all things. What did they know about “noble men” and “petty men”? So simpleminded,3 without understanding, their intrinsic virtuosities remained undivided and never left them. So simpleminded, not wanting anything in particular—that is what it means to be undyed and unhewn. Undyed and unhewn, the inborn nature of the people was realized.
Then along came the sages. Limping and staggering after humankindness, straining on tiptoe after responsible conduct, they filled everyone in the world with self-doubt. Lasciviously slobbering over music, fastidiously obsessing over ritual, they got everyone in the world to take sides. For unless the undyed and unhewn are mutilated, what can be made into libation goblets? Unless the white jade is broken, what can be made into the ritual scepters and batons? And unless the Course and its intrinsic powers are broken down, what can be picked through to select out humankindness and responsible conduct?4 Unless the inborn nature is divided off from its uncontrived expression,5 how can you make use of ritual and music? Unless the five colors are disordered, what can be formed into designs and decorations? Unless the five tones are disordered, what can be forced into step with the six modes?6 The mutilation of the unhewn raw material to make valued vessels is the crime of the skilled carpenter. The destruction of the Course and its intrinsic powers to make humankindness and responsible conduct is the fault of the sage.
Horses dwelling out on the plains chomp the grasses and drink the waters there. When pleased, they twine and rub their necks together. When angry, they turn their backs and kick. The understanding7 of horses goes no further than this. If you put yokes and poles on their necks and level them down with crossbars and shafts, they will come to understand a bit more: how to split the shafts, wriggle {83} out of the yokes, butt the hood, spit out the bit, and gnaw through the reins. Hence it is really Bo Le’s fault that the horses came to understand how to feint, and from there even how to rob and steal.
Likewise, in the days of Hexu,8 the people stayed at home without knowing what they were doing, ventured out without knowing where they were going. Filling their mouths they were merry; drumming their bellies they amused themselves. This was the extent of the people’s abilities. Then along came the sage, bending and twisting over ritual and music to reform the bodies of the world, dangling humankindness and responsible conduct overhead to “comfort” the hearts of everyone in the world. Only then did the people begin groping on tiptoe in their eagerness for knowledge. From there it was inevitable that they would end up struggling for profit and advantage above all. And this, all this, is really the fault of the sages.
1. Renowned as a trainer of horses.
2. Tentative reading of a mysterious description, literally, “Their steps full-full, their gaze summit-summit.” Alternately, taking 蹎 for 顛 and reversing these two sentences and crisscrossing their predicates, we might get, “Their vision was packed to capacity, while their steps seemed teetering and precarious.” This would be a description of tentative, directionless movement through the untamed, animal-crammed environment. For another depiction of the apparently cautious tentativeness of the Daoist’s motions, compare Daodejing 15.
3. Reading 侗 for 同.
4. Cf. Daodejing, 18. Alternately: “Unless the Course and its intrinsic powers were abandoned, why would anyone choose humankindness and responsible conduct?”
5. Or: “Unless you remove yourself from the uncontrived expression of the inborn nature….”
6. These three lines could also be interpreted as “If the inborn nature were not divided off from its uncontrived expression, what use would there be for ritual and music? If the five colors were not disordered, who would bother with designs and decorations? If the five tones were not disordered, who would bother getting in step with the six modes?” This would be a bit of a shift in the argument, though; the present translation reads the whole paragraph as riffing on the structure of the trope enunciated at its end, of mutilating or breaking apart raw material to make culturally valued items from the fragmentary remains thereof.
7. Zhi. see Glossary.
8. Commentators agree only that this is the name of a figure of remote predynastic antiquity. The name might mean something like “Radiance for Everyone.”