Tao Te Ching, Laozi [the gingerbread man read aloud TXT] 📗

precious. Thus it is that when weapons are (actually) crossed, he who deplores the (situation) conquers.”

There are some other points in the practical lessons of Taoism to which I should like to call the attention of the reader, but I must refer him for them to the chapters of the Tao Te Ching, and the books of Chuang-tzŭ. Its salient features have been set forth somewhat fully. Notwithstanding the scorn poured so freely on Confucius by Chuang-tzŭ and other Taoist writers, he proved in the course of time too strong for Lao as the teacher of their people. The entrance of Buddhism, moreover, into the country in our first century, was very injurious to Taoism, which still exists, but is only the shadow of its former self. It is tolerated by the government, but not patronised as it was when emperors and empresses seemed to think more of it than of Confucianism. It is by the spread of knowledge, which it had always opposed, that its overthrow and disappearance will be brought about ere long.

Accounts of Laozi and Chuang-Tzŭ Given by Ssŭ-Ma Chʽien

It seems desirable, before passing from Lao and Chuang in this “Introduction,” to give a place in it to what is said about them by Ssŭ-ma Chʽien. I have said that not a single proper name occurs in the Tao Te Ching. There is hardly an historical allusion in it. Only one chapter, the twentieth, has somewhat of an autobiographical character. It tells us, however, of no incidents of his life. He appears alone in the world through his cultivation of the Tao, melancholy and misunderstood, yet binding that Tao more closely to his bosom.

The books of Chunag-tzŭ are of a different nature, abounding in pictures of Taoist life, in anecdotes and narratives, graphic, argumentative, often satirical. But they are not historical. Confucius and many of his disciples, Lao and members of his school, heroes and sages of antiquity, and men of his own day, move across his pages; but the incidents in connection with which they are introduced are probably fictitious, and devised by him “to point his moral or adorn his tale.” His names of individuals and places are often like those of Bunyan in his Pilgrim’s Progress or his Holy War, emblematic of their characters and the doctrines which he employs them to illustrate. He often comes on the stage himself, and there is an air of verisimilitude in his descriptions, possibly also a certain amount of fact about them; but we cannot appeal to them as historical testimony. It is only to Ssŭ-ma Chʽien that we can go for this; he always writes in the spirit of a historian; but what he has to tell us of the two men is not much.

And first, as to his account of Laozi. When he wrote, about the beginning of the first century BC, the Taoist master was already known as Laozi. Chʽien, however, tells us that his surname was Li, and his name Êrh, meaning “Ear,” which gave place after his death to Tan, meaning “Long-eared,” form which we may conclude that he was named from some peculiarity in the form of his ears. He was a native of the state of Chʽu, which had then extended far beyond its original limits, and his birthplace was in the present province of Henan or of Anhui. He was a curator in the Royal Library; and when Confucius visited the capital in the year BC 517, the two men met. Chʽien says that Confucius’s visit to Luoyang was that he might question Lao on the subject of ceremonies. He might have other objects in mind as well; but however that was, the two met. Li said to Kʽung, “The men about whom you talk are dead, and their bones are mouldered to dust; only their words are left. Moreover, when the superior man gets his opportunity, he mounts aloft; but when the time is against him, he is carried along by the force of circumstances.34 I have heard that a good merchant, though he have rich treasures safely stored, appears as if he were poor; and that the superior man, though his virtue be complete, is yet to outward seeming stupid. Put away your proud air and many desires, your insinuating habit and wild will. They are of no advantage to you;⁠—this is all I have to tell you.” Confucius is made to say to his disciples after the interview: “I know how birds can fly, fishes can swim, and animals run. But the runner may be snared, the swimmer hooked, and the flyer shot by the arrow. But there is the dragon:⁠—I cannot tell how he mounts on the wind through the clouds, and rises to heaven. Today I have seen Laozi, and can only compare him to the dragon.”

In this speech of Confucius we have, I believe, the origin of the name Laozi, as applied to the master of Taoism. Its meaning is “The Old Philosopher,” or “The Old Gentleman.”35 Confucius might well so style Li Êrh. At the time of this interview he was himself in his thirty-fifth year, and the other was in his eighty-eighth. Chʽien adds, “Laozi cultivated the Tao and its attributes, the chief aim of his studies being how to keep himself concealed and remain unknown. He continued to reside at (the capital of) Chou, but after a long time, seeing the decay of the dynasty, he left it and went away to the