We now breathe a freer air—escaped from the trammels of Physics, and at large in the wide spaces of Politics. Here Lao-tzu speaks more plainly and fully, and it is easily seen that he is dealing with congenial subjects. To us also his political aphorisms will come with more freshness and delight than the speculations about things much more beyond his ken with which we were last engaged. Yet we must not expect to find in the Tao-tÊ Ching a treatise on Politics, or a discourse on the best form of government. Lao-tzu does not present to us a wax figment of his own imagination—an ideal republic, an Utopia, or a New Atlantis. He looks to his own country as it was then, oppressed and miserable, and he endeavours to recall those in authority to a noble and generous mode of government. His standard of political excellence may be ideal, and some of his maxims may be fanciful, and even bad; still we will find in all a genial human philosophy, which even we of the enlightened nineteenth century cannot utterly despise.

“Politics,” says Sir G. C. Lewes, “relate to human action so far as it concerns the public interest of a community, and is not merely private or ethical. Human action, thus defined, consists of—1, the acts and relations of a sovereign government, both with respect to its own subjects and other sovereign governments; 2, the acts and relations of members of the political community, so far as they concern the government, or the community at large, or a considerable portion of it.”1 Lao-tzu’s teachings in politics refer more to the former than to the latter of these two divisions. He does not, however, omit to notice the relations of the different members of the state, as well to the government as to each other; but he relegates this subject to the province of ethics. He considers the people more in their private relations than as bound by legal ties to the performance of certain acts, and the abstaining from certain other acts, towards their fellows. Nor is it from the political stand-point that he contemplates the nature and distribution of wealth, a subject which properly belongs to politics. These and similar matters are all assigned to the private relations of man to the Universal Nature, and so they will come more properly under the head of ethics.

Having premised thus much, I now proceed to set forth Lao-tzu’s teachings about “the acts and relations of a sovereign government, both with respect to its own subjects and other sovereign governments;” and

1. Of the institution of the Sovereign.—It is to the people that he assigns the original appointment of an emperor, and he gives a peculiar reason for the institution. A bad man still has the law of Nature (Tao) in him; and he is not to be cast aside as a hopeless case, seeing he may be transformed into a virtuous man. Accordingly emperors and magistrates were appointed, whose duty it was to save, as it were, by precept and example, those who had gone astray.2 Thus Lao-tzu’s idea of the sovereign is so far purely ethical. He does not conceive of him so much as the judge and ruler of the people as their model and instructor. The man whom the people elect, however, is also the elected of Heaven.3 As in the case of Saul the Israelites anointed him whom the Lord had chosen, so the people raise to the throne him whom Heaven has appointed. Princes exercise government, because they have received that destiny as their share of the Universal Nature.4 They obtain their One—their individualizing nature—in order that they may rule righteously. Sometimes he seems to use the term ShÊng-jen (??) as synonymous with Wang (?), or King.5 Now the ShÊng-jen is the man who by his nature is completely virtuous, perfectly in harmony with the ways heaven has ordained. He is in short the stoic Sapiens, and whether he actually administer public affairs or not, is still a king. The term Saint, by which Julien renders this expression, scarcely conveys its full meaning; as the ShÊng-jen is not only holy, but also supremely wise. He is the ideal or typical man, who rules ever and transforms the world; and, failing a better, I shall translate it by the expression godlike man. In ancient times, it was the ShÊng-jen, or godlike man, who was appointed ruler; and if such were the case now, the world would be in peace and prosperity. The man who is destined to become king will not use violence to obtain the honour.6 On the contrary he will be humble and yielding; and so, as water wears away the hard opposing rocks, he will finally triumph. In confirmation hereof Lao-tzu cites the saying of a godlike man:—“To bear the reproaches of a kingdom is to preside over the sacrifices to the gods of the land and grain (i.e. to be prince), and to bear a kingdom’s misfortunes is to be king of the whole empire”—words true, though seeming paradoxical.7 Lao-tzu, however, has a very high opinion of the position and dignity of the sovereign. There are four great things in the universe, and he is one of them; the remaining three being Nature (Tao), Heaven, and Earth8 In another place he even puts the king immediately before Heaven.9

2. The relations of the ruler to his subjects.—With Lao-tzu, as with all Chinese writers on politics, the mode in which, government ought to be conducted is a supremely important subject. In his homely manner, he compares the ruling of a large kingdom to the cooking of a small fish, or the handling of a fine and delicate implement.10 Too much cooking spoils the implement. So is it with the kingdom. It is an etherial instrument which cannot be wrought with—if one works with it he destroys it, and if one handles it he loses it.

The first duty of the ruler is to rectify himself—to overcome his appetites and passions.11 He must cultivate virtue in himself, and proceeding thence he will have it cultivated in his family, and finally in all the empire; and thus the kingdom will remain established in his family for generations to come.12 He must be serious and grave13 in his deportment, remembering the greatness of his charge, and whence it was derived. By levity of conduct he will lose his ministers, and by violent proceedings he will lose his throne. His models ought to be the Earth,14 which is always in peaceful rest, and the rulers of antiquity, who followed Nature (Tao). In the early days of innocence and simplicity, subjects only knew that they had rulers, so lightly lay the hand of government on them.15 Then came the time when rulers were loved and lauded, then the time when they were feared, and lastly that in which they were treated with contumely. The prince of the present time ought to return as far as possible to the primitive ways. He should, like the great Universal Nature, be free from show of action16—if he could only keep the law of Nature, his kingdom would, as a matter of course, be in a state of order and tranquility—all things would submit to him, and become, of their own accord, transformed to a state of goodness17—even the demons would cease to possess elfish power; or if they still possessed it, they would not use it to the detriment of men. The prince ought also, at least outwardly, to be humble and modest, not arrogating precedence and superiority, but rather using the language of self-abasement.18

In the exercise of government Lao-tzu does not allow the use of violence, and he inveighs nobly against military oppression. If the prince keep himself from being absorbed in worldly interests—do not confer honour and emoluments on brilliant parts—nor prize what the world holds valuable—nor make display of that which is coveted: his example will have such virtue that all his subjects will cease from strife and violence, and live in peaceful obedience.19 But if he try to have the empire through force, he will fail. He who according to the Law of Nature (Tao) would assist the prince will not compel the empire by arms—this sort of thing is wont to have its recompense. Where the General pitches his tent, thorns and briers spring up; and in the wake of a great army there are inevitably bad years. If there be necessity for fighting—and only then—he who is wise in ruling will strike a decisive blow at the fit time, and then lay down his arms, not glorying in his conquest. Fine arms are inauspicious implements, hated by all things; and he who holds to Nature will not continue to use them. The noble man (??) in private life esteems the left side, and in time of war esteems the right—the left being symbolic of the Yang (?) or preserving principle, and the right of the Yin (?) or killing principle. Arms are inauspicious implements—not such as the noble man employs; he uses them only when he has no alternative, but he looks on superiority with indifference, and takes no glory in victory. He who glories in victory delights in the massacre of men, and such an one cannot have his will in the empire. To him who slays a multitude of men, a position of dignity is assigned corresponding to that of the chief mourner at a funeral, viz., the right hand side, which in inauspicious matters is the post of honour, just as in auspicious matters the left hand side is the post of honour.20 Thus not only is the ruler not to use military power to keep his subjects in subjection, but he is also not to drag these latter into war for his own aggrandisement. The fighting to which Lao-tzu mainly alludes is that of the different principalities of the country among themselves, and on this subject the words of Pascal may be not unaptly added to those of our author:—“Le plus grand des maux est les guerres civiles. Elles sont sÛres si on veut rÉcompenser le mÉrite; car tous diraient qu’ils meritent. Le mal À craindre d’un sot qui succÈde par droit de naissance n’est ni si grand ni si sÛr.”21 War is the result, according to Lao-tzu, of bad government, of the lust of power and property. If good government prevail in a country, its fleet horses will be employed on the farm; but if ill government prevail, and lust and ambition have scope, feuds will continue until war steeds beget war steeds on the plains of the frontier.22 Whether, therefore, for the purpose of solidifying the prince’s power over his subjects, or for state aggrandisement, war and all violent measures are interdicted.

But not only does Lao-tzu thus advise the ruler against using military power in his realm; he also recommends the doing away with capital punishment—indeed with all punishment whatever. The people do not fear death, and how then is it to be used to keep them in dread? If the people could be made to have a constant fear of death, and some commit a crime, and be apprehended and put to death, would any one continue to venture on offending? It is presumptuous then for the magistrate to use capital punishment. There is the eternal executioner, and he who puts to death for him is like the man who fells a tree for the head wood-man; and such an one seldom fails to wound his hand.23 Capital punishment is thus reserved for something superhuman to execute; and the earthly magistrate has only to endeavour to lead a life free from the appearance of lust and violence.24

It is by justice that a kingdom is well governed, as by stratagem a war is conducted.25 Yet the prince must be lenient to his people. If restrictions on liberty of action be multiplied, so that his subjects cannot lift a hand or move a foot without incurring guilt, they will be prevented from pursuing their industry, and so become poor.26

The levying of excessive taxes27 by those in authority for the indulgence of their sensual appetites, also impoverishes a people, and accordingly in government there is nothing like economy.28 To keep the court in affluence while the fields are weed-grown and the public granaries exhausted; for the rulers to have expensive clothing, sharp swords, sumptuous food and excessive wealth, is to glory in plunder, but not to follow Nature. Nor may the prince break his word with subjects—as want of faith in him is followed by want of faith in them.29

It is not necessary for the ruler to explain the nature and method of his government. On the contrary he ought to keep his counsels and his conduct secret. Inasmuch as the fish cannot with impunity leave its element, so the sharp engines of government may not be displayed.30 When the laws are numerous and obtrusively exhibited, the people become thieves and robbers; but when they are not so, the people continue decent and orderly.31 Thus it is better that the rulers keep the populace in a state of ignorance and stupidity.32 The ancient kings went on this principle, and had peaceful reigns.33 In his own time Lao-tsu considered that the difficulty of keeping the people well governed arose from their being too knowing. He would accordingly like to see them recalled to the ways of primitive simplicity, so that their arms would be unworn, and their boats and cars unused. He would like to have the people return to the manners of the times when knotted cords were still the symbols of words, and would have them relish their food, enjoy their clothes, feel comfortable in their homes, and delight in their social institutions.34 He would have them brought to think seriously of death, so that they would end their days in their own country and never leave it for another, even though it were so near that the respective inhabitants could hear the cackling of the fowls and the barking of the dogs in the two places. Thus, while the prince keeps his subjects simple and ignorant, he must have their bodily wants supplied. The godlike man when he rules empties the minds of the people, and fills their stomachs; weakens their wills, and strengthens their bones (that is, their animal power).35 He treats them as children, and is always kind, postponing his own comfort to their good.

The mode in which the ruler is to obtain respect and esteem from his subjects is by deporting himself humbly towards them, and he must never arrogate greatness to himself.36 His conduct should be calm and unostentatious, while inwardly he is anxious; and his gravity and quietness of deportment ought never to be departed from. The prince is to save his people, as it were, by setting before them an example of humility, forbearance, and all the other virtues which save a country from being imbroiled in wars and rebellions—he is to be of one heart and one mind with them, and have no will independent of theirs.37

These are the principal duties of the king to his people as indicated or conceived of by Lao-tzu—the king being in his contemplation an absolute sovereign. I shall now add, as a comment, the views on this subject set forth by two other authors in widely different circumstances. The writer of Deuteronomy says:—“When thou art come into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, and shalt possess it, and shalt dwell therein, and shalt say, I will set a king over me, like as all the nations that are about me; thou shalt in any wise set him king over thee, whom the Lord thy God shall choose; one from among thy brethren shalt thou set king over thee; thou mayest not set a stranger over thee, which is not thy brother. But he shall not multiply horses to himself, nor cause the people to return to Egypt, to the end that he should multiply horses: *** Neither shall he multiply wives to himself, that his heart turn not away, neither shall he greatly multiply to himself silver and gold, &c. *** That his heart be not lifted up above his brethren, and that he turn not aside from the commandment to the right hand or to the left; to the end that he may prolong his days in his kingdom, he, and his children, in the midst of Israel.”38

The other writer is the philosopher of Malmesbury. After establishing for the king a title as extravagantly high as any oriental flatterer could have done, he proceeds to prescribe his duties to his people. These are summed up in the sentence, “The safety of the people is the supreme law”—according to the old maxim, “Salus populi suprema lex.” Under this are included both spiritual and temporal benefits; but the difficulty about the former is left in suspense. Of the latter he says:—“The benefits of subjects respecting this life only, may be distributed into four kinds—1, That they be defended against foreign enemies; 2, That peace be preserved at home; 3, That they be enriched, as much as may consist with public security; 4, That they enjoy a harmless liberty.”39

3. The next point to be considered is the relation of a government to the neighbouring states. On this subject Lao-tzu 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-tzu 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-tzu’s death the man arose who made himself king over all the empire (???), but he was very unlike the king depicted by Lao-tzu 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-tzu, 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-tzu; 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-tzu 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-tzu’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-tzu’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 purposes45 (unless this be ironical), but Lao-tzu 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-tzu’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-tzu 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.