《公孙龙子》

The Gongsun Longzi is the work of Gongsun Long, a native of the state of Zhao in the Warring States period, and is included among the collected writings of the philosophers in the Zhonghua Daozang (Chinese Daoist Canon).

The book is divided into three juan—upper, middle, and lower—comprising six chapters in all. The upper juan contains “Jifu” (Storehouse of Traces) and “Baima lun” (Discourse on the White Horse); the middle juan contains “Zhiwu lun” (Discourse on Pointing and Things) and “Tongbian lun” (Discourse on Understanding Change); and the lower juan contains “Jianbai lun” (Discourse on Hard and White) and “Mingshi lun” (Discourse on Names and Actualities). The original table of contents is incomplete, and the present one has been supplied from the chapter titles in the main text.

“Jifu” is the first chapter. “Fu” means to gather or collect; this chapter brings together accounts of Gongsun Long’s writings and of the affairs he discussed, and for this reason it takes “Jifu” as its title.

Gongsun Long was a debater of the Warring States period. Distressed that names and actualities—the designations of things and the things as they actually are—had fallen into confusion, he drew on his own intelligence to advance the doctrine of “holding to white,” that is, using “a white horse is not a horse” to distinguish names from actualities. By analogy with concrete things, he held that the myriad things each possess different properties, and that the sage ought to take and use them according to those properties.

Every kind of intelligence and every mode of argument has its own strength, yet people each cling to their own views and contend with one another, using deviant doctrines to shut out correct principles. As a result, rewards and punishments are no longer decided by the Son of Heaven, while power and favor are instead monopolized by powerful ministers. Gongsun Long lamented that no worthy and enlightened ruler had appeared, and he was dissatisfied that names did not correspond to actualities. He therefore used arguments such as “pointing and things” to distinguish right from wrong, and used the distinction between “white horse” and “horse” to discuss the relation between the myriad things and the self, hoping that the rulers of his time would awaken and set names and actualities in order. He maintained: a white horse is not a horse.

What is meant by “a white horse is not a horse” is that “white” refers to color and “horse” refers to form. Color is not form, and form is not color. When one speaks of color, one should not reckon form in as well; when one speaks of form, one should not include color along with it. To combine color and form in a single name is therefore not rigorous. Suppose, for example, that one seeks a white horse. Horses may indeed come, yet among them there may also be a black horse, and a black horse cannot be counted as a white horse that has answered the call. Since it cannot be counted as a white horse, the white horse one sought has not been found. Therefore a white horse is, after all, not a horse.

Gongsun Long wished to use this line of argument to clarify names and actualities and thereby bring the world under good order. The form of a horse does not differ, yet a yellow horse and a white horse are distinguished by color. If such distinctions are mixed together, right and wrong are easily confused; that is why he used this kind of disputation to rectify names and actualities.

Gongsun Long once met Kong Chuan at the residence of Lord Pingyuan of Zhao. Kong Chuan said, “I have long heard of your lofty reputation, sir, and I am willing to be your disciple for a long time. I simply do not agree with your thesis that ‘a white horse is not a horse.’ Please abandon this doctrine, and I will take you as my teacher.”

Gongsun Long replied, “What you say, sir, does not accord with reason. The very reason I am known is that I advanced the white-horse thesis. If I were required to abandon it, I would have nothing left to teach. Moreover, those who wish to take me as their teacher do so because they consider their own intelligence and learning inferior to mine. Now I am asked first to abandon my own position and only afterward to serve as their teacher. This reverses the proper order and cannot work. Furthermore, ‘a white horse is not a horse’ is precisely the position of Confucius (Zhongni). Confucius said that governing a state begins with rectifying roles and names. My white-horse thesis is used to rectify names and actualities, and thus accords exactly with Confucius’s teaching.”

Gongsun Long then spoke of the story of the king of Chu losing his bow. The king of Chu drew the powerful bow Fanruo, carried arrows named Wanggui, and hunted flood-dragons and rhinoceroses in the park of Yunmeng, yet lost the bow. When his attendants wished to search for it, the king of Chu said, “Let it be. The king of Chu has lost a bow, and a man of Chu will pick it up—what is there to look for?” When Confucius heard of this, he said, “Although the king of Chu has a heart of humaneness and righteousness, he has not yet carried it through. He ought to have said, ‘Someone lost a bow, and someone picked it up.’ Why restrict it to a man of Chu?”

The king of Chu confined benefit to the state of Chu and failed to let all the people of the world share in it; that is why Confucius said his humaneness and righteousness were still insufficient. If a ruler attends only to his own state, it is like seeking a horse only under the condition “white horse,” so that in the end only a white horse answers the call. The “person” of whom the king of Chu spoke in fact referred only to people of Chu, whereas the “person” of whom Confucius spoke referred to all people under heaven. Thus, if one does not restrict the search by “white” but seeks only a horse, horses of every kind will come; if one does not attend only to Chu but takes the benefit of all people under heaven as one’s concern, the people of the world will respond.

Gongsun Long held that Confucius distinguished people of Chu from the people of the world, yet criticized him for distinguishing a white horse from a horse, and that this could not stand to reason. Kong Chuan studied the learning of the Ru, yet opposed a position that Confucius himself endorsed. He wished to take a teacher, and at the same time required Gongsun Long to abandon the very content he taught. Even if a hundred people acted in this way, Gongsun Long could not accept becoming their teacher. Kong Chuan had nothing to say in reply.

Although the teachings of the sages differ from one another, their ultimate aims do not. Those of narrow vision, when they pursue learning, cannot bring things together into a single understanding; they rest content with the doctrines they already know and disparage what they do not comprehend. Therefore, even if many worthy persons came to persuade him, Gongsun Long would not on that account change his position and become Kong Chuan’s teacher. It is like seeking horses only by the criterion “white horse,” and in the end missing a great many.

Gongsun Long was a retainer of Lord Pingyuan of the state of Zhao. Kong Chuan was a descendant of Confucius. When Kong Chuan met Gongsun Long, he said to him: “I live in the state of Lu and have long heard of your reputation. I admire your wisdom and character, and I have wished for a long time to take you as my teacher. Today I finally have the chance to meet you. Yet the one thing I cannot accept is your view that ‘a white horse is not a horse.’ Please give up the doctrine that ‘a white horse is not a horse,’ and I will be willing to become your disciple.”

Gongsun Long said: “Your words contradict themselves. The very doctrine I study is that ‘a white horse is not a horse.’ If I were made to abandon it, I would have nothing left with which to teach anyone. If I have nothing to teach, and yet you still wish to learn from me, that does not hold together. Moreover, one who wishes to learn from me does so because he feels that his own wisdom and learning fall short of mine. Now you would have me first abandon ‘a white horse is not a horse’ and only then take me as your teacher. That is to be the teacher first and the student afterward, and it will not do.

“The lesson you wish to teach me closely resembles what the King of Qi said to Yin Wen. The King of Qi asked Yin Wen: ‘I am very fond of worthy men, yet worthy men cannot be found in Qi. Why is this?’ Yin Wen asked: ‘May I ask what sort of person Your Majesty means by a worthy man?’ The king could not answer.

“Yin Wen then said: ‘Suppose there is a man who is loyal in serving his ruler, filial in serving his parents, trustworthy toward his friends, and harmonious in his village. If he possesses these four qualities, may he be called a worthy man?’ The king said: ‘Yes. This is precisely the worthy man I mean.’ Yin Wen asked again: ‘If Your Majesty obtained such a man, would you be willing to employ him?’ The king said: ‘This is what I have long sought and failed to find.’

“At that time the King of Qi favored men of courage and martial valor. When a sage employs men of talent, he assigns offices according to each person’s ability and does not decide whom to take or reject solely by personal preference. Yet the king sought worthy men only according to his own likes, just as one insists on distinguishing a white horse from a horse. How could he truly obtain worthy men?

“Yin Wen then asked further: ‘If this man is insulted before a great crowd and yet never dares to fight, would Your Majesty still employ him?’ The king said: ‘Can he still count as a worthy man? To suffer insult and not dare to fight is a disgrace. Such a man I will not employ.’

“Yin Wen said: ‘He has only been insulted and has not fought; he has not lost those four qualities. Since all four remain, on what grounds is he no longer a worthy man? Your Majesty just called him a worthy man, and now you are unwilling to employ him. Then is the worthy man you spoke of a moment ago not a worthy man after all?’ The king had no answer.

“Yin Wen went on: ‘Suppose a ruler, in governing his state, reproaches a person who has done wrong, and reproaches equally one who has done no wrong; rewards a person who has merit, and rewards equally one who has no merit. He then still complains that the people fail to keep the state in good order. Does this make sense?’ The king said: ‘It does not.’

“Yin Wen said: ‘I have privately observed the officials who govern Qi, and their practice is just like this.’ The king said: ‘If my government of the state is indeed as you describe, then even if the people fail to govern well, I dare not blame them.’ Yin Wen replied: ‘I fear Your Majesty’s thinking has not yet reached the root of the matter. Are my words without foundation? Having pointed out the defects in Qi’s administration, how could I fail to explain the cause?

“‘Your Majesty has commanded that one who kills shall be put to death, and one who injures another shall be punished. Some, standing in awe of the royal command, dare not fight even when insulted. This is precisely obedience to the royal command. Yet Your Majesty says that to suffer insult and not fight is a disgrace. That is to reproach him. Your Majesty reproaches him without cause, then strikes him from the register of officials and employs him no longer; to employ him no longer is to punish him. Thus he is guilty of no crime, yet Your Majesty punishes him.

“‘Moreover, once Your Majesty regards not daring to fight as a disgrace, you must regard daring to fight as praiseworthy. If you hold daring to fight to be right, you will employ those who dare to fight. To employ them is to reward them. Thus that man has no merit, yet Your Majesty rewards him. What Your Majesty rewards is precisely what the officials punish; what the ruler holds to be right is precisely what the law holds to be wrong. Reward, punishment, right, and wrong—these four fall into confusion with one another. Even if there were ten Yellow Emperors, they could not govern well.’ The King of Qi had nothing to say in reply.

“If a ruler disregards the laws and decrees, the state has no proper order of government. Even if there were ten sages, they could not rescue such disorder. So I feel that your words are very much like those of the King of Qi. You know how to use ‘a white horse is not a horse’ in disputation, yet you do not understand the principle within it—just as the King of Qi knew only how to cherish the reputation of loving worthy men, but did not know how to distinguish the categories of worthy men. One must examine the good and evil and the categories of men of talent, and employ them according to their abilities.”

Can one say that a white horse is not a horse?

Yes. To bring out subtle principles and to explain the way of governing the state, one often sets up two parties in question and answer and develops a sustained debate. One also borrows some concrete thing to illustrate a general principle, and through argument sorts out the points at which people confuse one thing with another and mix up right and wrong. Thus “white horse” is taken here as an example, in order to discuss the question of names that are the same and names that differ.

Why say this?

The name “horse” is used to designate form, and the name “white” is used to designate color. A name that designates color is not a name that designates form, and so one says that a white horse is not a horse. The form of a horse may serve as a figure for the form and use proper to each of the myriad things; the color of a horse may serve as a figure for the different categories of the myriad things and for their relations of closeness and distance. If the myriad things are nurtured in a fitting way, the world can be at peace; if people are treated according to closeness and distance, the people of the world will grow estranged. Suppose, for instance, that one identifies only by the name “horse” and does not restrict the color: then many horses all qualify. If one seeks a horse only by recognizing white, one can find only a white horse. Therefore, to name the horse according to form, and yet to make white the sole limiting condition, is to fail to take in all horses.

If so, then since there is a white horse, one cannot say that there is no horse; and since one cannot say that there is no horse, is a white horse then not a horse? There is already a white horse—why say that it is not a horse? “White” and “horse” joined together are called “white horse,” yet whiteness itself is not a horse. Why is this?

Someone says: If one is looking for a horse, a yellow horse or a black horse may both be brought; if one is looking for a white horse, a yellow horse or a black horse cannot be brought. Among all things, those that meet a particular requirement are few, and those that do not are many, just as white stands in relation to the many colors. Therefore, if one seeks a horse, a yellow horse or a black horse may both be brought; if one seeks a white horse, a yellow horse or a black horse cannot be brought.

Set aside the color condition “white,” and speak only of seeking a horse: both the yellow horse and the black horse will come. Specify a white horse, and horses of every other color fail to qualify. Governing by a generous and inclusive method is much the same.

If a white horse is also a horse, then the requirements indicated by “white horse” and by “horse” are one and the same. If the requirements are the same, a white horse ought not to be distinguished from a horse. Even though a white horse is only one among all horses, its endowment is no more special than that of any other horse. Likewise, a person favored by the ruler is still only one person, and is not necessarily more worthy or able than the many.

The human heart will not remain loyal forever to a single ruler, just as a horse does not appear in only one color. When the ruler draws people close, they attach themselves to him; when the ruler holds them at a distance, they may turn away. How can a ruler draw close only to his own partisans while remaining distant from the people of the realm?

Someone asks further: “If the requirements do not differ, why are yellow horses and black horses sometimes acceptable and sometimes not? Whether they meet the requirement or not, the difference is perfectly plain. Yellow horses and black horses are equally horses: they can satisfy the demand to ‘seek a horse,’ yet they cannot satisfy the demand to ‘seek a white horse.’ Does this not show precisely that a white horse differs from what is ordinarily called a ‘horse’?”

A yellow horse and a black horse are each one horse, yet they cannot meet the demand to “seek horses of every kind” or to “seek a white horse.” Why is this? White is not yellow, and yellow is not white; the five colors differ from one another, and the boundaries are clear. If a ruler treats people with a heart of partiality, people will likewise turn from the ruler because of partiality—how, then, would they be willing to obey his commands? Thus, to seek a horse by specifying only “white” is plainly unable to summon horses of every kind.

Someone said: “If one holds that a horse, because it has color, is not a horse, then, since there is no colorless horse under heaven, may one say that there are no horses under heaven?” The reply was: “To call a colored horse not a horse is only because every horse under heaven has color; does it follow from this that there are no horses? It is like the fact that everyone stands in relations of closeness and distance; one cannot on that account say that there are no people in the world.”

Someone else said: “A horse inherently has color, and only for that reason is there a white horse. If a horse had no color, there would be only the horse, and how could there be a white horse? All the horses under heaven have color; does it follow from this that there are no horses? It is like the fact that everyone stands in relations of closeness and distance; one cannot on that account say that there are no people in the world.”

Someone else said: “A horse inherently has color, and only for that reason is there a white horse. If a horse had no color, there would be only the horse, and how could there be a white horse? Therefore, what is white is not a horse.”

Here “white” means the color white, and “horse” means the horse; “white horse” is a designation that joins the two attributes “horse” and “white.” Horses all have color, and only for that reason are there white horses. If a horse originally had no color, and there were only the concept of the horse, how could there be a white horse? It is like human beings being born according to kind and lineage, and thus there being the distinction between the Hua and the Yi; if there were originally no clans, and only the concept of the person, from where could one speak of closeness and distance? Thus “white” in itself is whiteness and is not a horse; “white horse” comprises both the horse and whiteness. Since whiteness is not equivalent to the horse, white and horse are two things. When the two are joined to form a white horse, one cannot call it simply a “horse.” Therefore, when one uses the horse to account for whiteness, a white horse cannot be equated with a horse.

Someone says: “Horse and white have not been combined and called ‘horse,’ nor has white been combined and called ‘white.’ Only when ‘horse’ and ‘white’ are joined together is there, in addition, the name ‘white horse.’ To take two things that were not originally combined and join them under one name will not do. Therefore, to say that ‘a white horse is not a horse’ will not do either.” This is the claim advanced by the guest, and the host calls it into question.

Horse, in itself, takes horse as one class, and whiteness, in itself, takes whiteness as one class; hence it is said that each is combined on its own. A horse cannot be called a horse merely by virtue of whiteness, and white cannot be called white merely by virtue of horse; hence it is also said that they are not combined. When horse and whiteness are put together, the result is called a white horse. Spoken of in this way, whiteness still belongs to the class of white, and so one says that they are combined; yet a horse cannot be called a horse merely by whiteness, nor white called white merely by horse, and so one also says that they are not combined. To combine horse and whiteness and call the result a white horse is in fact to force “white,” by a strained expedient, into serving as a name for horse, and this way of speaking does not hold. Therefore, to conclude on this basis that “a white horse is not a horse” does not hold either. The earlier statement that it “does not hold” is the thesis advanced by the host; the later statement that it “does not hold” is the host’s rebuttal of the guest’s claim.

It is further asked: “If having a white horse already counts as having a horse, can having a white horse be spoken of as having a yellow horse?”

The reply is: “No.” The host questions the guest in return: “Since you hold that having a white horse is equivalent to having a horse, may a white horse be counted as a yellow horse?” The guest answers: “It may not.”

Some say: “To regard having a horse as different from having a yellow horse is to exclude the yellow horse from the class of horses. To exclude the yellow horse from the class of horses is tantamount to saying that a yellow horse is not a horse. Since one grants that a white horse is a horse, yet does not grant that a yellow horse is a white horse, the conclusion that a yellow horse is not a horse would seem to be clear.” Yet those who persist in this view are never free of error.

To say “a yellow horse is not a horse,” and also to say “having a horse differs from having a yellow horse,” is still to exclude the yellow horse from horses; to exclude the yellow horse from horses is to say that a yellow horse is not a horse. Since a white horse is a horse, while a yellow horse is not a white horse, to assert on that basis that a yellow horse is not a horse remains untenable.

To call a yellow horse not a horse, while calling a white horse a horse, is like saying that what can fly falls into a pond, and like placing the inner coffin and the outer coffin in different places—all of these are absurd and confused sayings in the world. Yellow and white refer to color; the various horses refer to bodily form. To force color to count as form is as absurd as saying that a flying thing drops into a pool. A yellow horse and a white horse are equally horses, yet to accept only the white horse and reject the yellow horse is like setting the inner coffin and the outer coffin apart.

The inner coffin and the outer coffin fit one another, just as teeth rest against one another in succession; if one is damaged, the other is affected as well, and they cannot be separated. The Yi and Di of the four quarters guard the frontiers, while the various Xia of the Central Plains dwell in the interior; inner and outer depend upon each other, and only then can all under heaven be at peace. If one favors the various Xia and keeps the Yi and Di at a distance, the Yi and Di will rebel; if one raises troops to attack distant regions and burdens the people beyond what they can bear, the various Xia too will fall into disorder. Division within and rebellion without are like the inner coffin and the outer coffin standing in two separate places. In that case, even the side the ruler prefers cannot assist the ruler on its own. Therefore, to cast aside the yellow horse and acknowledge only the white horse is an extremely absurd and confused practice.

Someone said: “To grant that there is a white horse is not yet to say that there is a horse; this is to treat ‘white’ and ‘horse’ as separate. In that case, although there is a white horse, one still cannot say there is a horse. Thus, to say there is a horse can only be because there is the thing called ‘horse,’ and not because there is a white horse. In other words, the existence of a white horse cannot be directly equated with the existence of a horse.” The guest replied: “A white horse is spoken of by joining ‘white’ and ‘horse’; if the two are taken apart, a white horse cannot count as a complete horse. Only when the form of the horse is combined with whiteness is it called a white horse. One must therefore say ‘white horse’ as a single expression, and cannot speak of it as two horses.”

Someone went on to say: “Whiteness does not belong exclusively to any one kind of thing, and for the moment we need not pursue it. All things may be white, so whiteness does not refer specifically to the horse; nor does the horse refer specifically to whiteness. Since ‘white’ and ‘horse’ each have their own reference, only when they are combined is there a white horse. One must therefore say ‘white horse’ together, and cannot speak of it as two horses.”

The attribute “white” cannot be fixed as belonging to any one thing alone, so one need not cling to it at the outset. All things may be white, and therefore white does not belong exclusively to the horse, nor does the horse belong exclusively to white. If color is set aside for the moment and one seeks only by “horse,” every kind of horse one meets can satisfy the requirement. When personal favoritism is laid down and all people are treated with an impartial mind, everyone under Heaven can draw near.

To speak of a “white horse” is to confine whiteness to the horse. Once the white in question has been so confined, “white horse” cannot be taken directly as the same as saying “white” alone. Only when whiteness falls upon a horse is it the whiteness of a horse; how could whiteness detach itself from concrete things and stand alone as its own white? The name “horse” does not select for color, so a yellow horse and a black horse also answer to the designation “horse.” To say only “horse” is to face every color without exclusion and without selection. Because nothing is excluded, horses of every kind can respond; because color is not selected, horses of every color are included.

Thus the sage’s mind is plain and unattached, unburdened by preconceived views. With a mind of emptiness and stillness he holds all things together, and so can accord with them and comprehend the principles of affairs in full. To say “white horse,” however, is already to have chosen in matters of color: the yellow horse and the black horse are shut out because their colors do not match, and only the white horse fits. When the yellow horse is discarded and the white horse is chosen, the various horses each keep to their own kind and stand apart from one another.

If a ruler favors those close to him and keeps the people of the world at a distance, the people of the world will each remain in their place of distance, cut off from one another, and in the end turn away. Once everyone under Heaven has turned away, who will still heed the ruler’s commands? Probably only those he favors will remain. Yet if only the favored obey, the calamity is deepened rather than eased: the situation cannot be settled, and the result is disorder.

What is called “not excluding” is not a deliberate rejection of anything; it means not shutting things out at all on account of some attribute. Hence it is said that “a white horse is not a horse.” Not clinging to white is precisely not excluding yellow. When no color is excluded, neither color nor horse can exclude the other. Thus not excluding is not some further exclusion of something else.

The relation of the yellow horse and the white horse to “horse” is like closeness and distance among people. If one favors only those who are close, everyone else is thereby kept distant; once the distant scatter and rebel, those who are close cannot uphold the situation by themselves. Hence it is said that “a white horse is not a horse.”

Therefore the sage, empty-minded and clear-sighted, can hold together every principle of affairs, taking heaven, earth, and the four quarters—the six conjunctions—into his breast while still retaining lucid insight. He reflects the myriad things within his mind, yet his spirit (Shen) grows all the more still. In this way, though he stands amid relations of closeness, he is not partial to those who are close; facing those who are distant, he does not treat them as outsiders. He neither clings to closeness and distance nor sets closeness and distance aside. Then the people of the four seas can all draw near, and the various states can communicate with one another.

Wu (things) are what actually exists in the world, while zhi (designations) are the names or judgments people use to refer to and distinguish things. Between things there is always a relation of mutual comparison and of judging right and wrong, and so it is said that no thing can do without zhi. Yet when people designate and judge one another, they often each cling to one side, so that right and wrong become confused, and in the end there is no fixed and unchanging zhi. Hence it is also said that zhi is not a fixed zhi.

If the world had no designations or judgments of right and wrong at all, nothing could be called a particular kind of thing; it is precisely because things are distinguished from one another that we have what we call wu. But it is also inappropriate, on this account, to take things themselves as zhi: the things of the world exist all along, and each thing has its own condition, so one cannot forcibly call wu zhi. The myriad things of the world arbitrarily designate one another, and therefore those zhi cannot be regarded as determinate and unchanging zhi either.

Zhi is not a substantial entity that exists among the myriad things of the world; wu is what actually exists in the world. To treat actually existing wu as non-existent zhi is inappropriate. There is not a day in the world without things, nor is there any thing that does not exist each in its own way; therefore, forcibly taking wu as zhi is improper.

In the world there is no zhi (designation or criterion of judgment) that stands apart from the myriad things and can determine everything; therefore one cannot fixedly declare any particular thing to be zhi. Nor are there absolute “right” and “wrong”: the myriad things each accord with their own circumstances, and one cannot judge across the board which is right and which is wrong. Hence it is said that right and wrong do not obtain in any absolute sense.

Water and fire differ in nature, and each has its own use. Since each is suited to its own purpose, how can one say that one is right and the other wrong? To speak here of “not zhi” is not to say that none of the myriad things counts as a designation, but that there is no designation that remains fixed and unchanging. In fact, any of the myriad things may become an object that people designate, and people constantly point one another out and pass judgment.

Since there is no absolute right and wrong, one need not then treat “the absence of right and wrong” as an absolute conclusion either. Only by clinging neither to “there being right and wrong” nor to “there being no right and wrong” does one reach the forgetting of both sides (not holding fast to either). People therefore spend the whole day disputing right and wrong, yet do not regard right and wrong as fixed and unchanging standards. The saying that “there is nothing among the myriad things that does not become a designation,” while “the designation is not itself a fixed designation,” means precisely this.

That the world has no fixed standard of designation arises because each of the myriad things has its own manner of being. Whether one affirms right and wrong or holds that there is fundamentally no right and wrong, one does not cling to either position; once both sides have been set aside, even if one discusses right and wrong all day long, one does not take right and wrong as an absolute standard.

There is in the world no “zhi” (designation, pointing) that stands on its own apart from concrete things, for every kind of thing has its own name, and these names are not independently existing “zhi.” Things each have their actual content, and each has its name. Wang Liang, for example, excelled at driving a chariot, and Li Shou excelled at reckoning; each performs a different function, just as the ear and the eye do—neither can be lacking—so one need not on that basis decide who is right and who is wrong.

If one calls a “zhi” that does not exist independently a “zhi,” one is at the same time calling it not a “zhi.” The myriad things are themselves none of them independent “zhi,” yet people sometimes call them “zhi.” This is because things compare with one another and judge one another’s right and wrong, so that the standard of right and wrong cannot be fixed; hence one says that they are not independent “zhi.” To try to infer from “some things are not zhi” that “there is nothing that is not zhi” is an inference that does not hold. “Shi” (correspondence, belonging) means matching or assignment: “some are not zhi” is said of things, while “there is nothing that is not zhi” is said of “zhi.” To understand things by assigning them to “zhi” therefore cannot be established.

Furthermore, “zhi” concerns the merging and interconnection among the things of the world. The standard of right and wrong cannot be fixed, so things are not independent “zhi.” To infer from “some things are not zhi” that “there is nothing that is not zhi” still will not do. “Shi” is correspondence: “some are not zhi” refers to things, and “there is nothing that is not zhi” refers to “zhi.” To set things in correspondence with “zhi” means that this inference cannot be established.

“Zhi” is a relation in which the things of the world are commonly involved. Sometimes one and the same thing bears two mutually opposed names; sometimes things are in turn taken as one another’s “zhi.” All of this may be called “jian” (combining). To say that the world has no independent “zhi” is not to say that things may be called wholly without “zhi.” Since one cannot say that things are wholly without “zhi,” one also cannot say of them that they truly possess an independent “zhi.”

Names of right and wrong arise from mutual comparison among things, so one cannot say that things are altogether without “zhi.” The myriad things have neither an independent “zhi” nor an independent “non-zhi,” and so they can be classed neither simply as “having zhi” nor simply as “lacking zhi.” What is meant by “none of the myriad things is an independent zhi” is that the claim “there is no right and wrong” arises from the circumstance in which the myriad things can all be called “zhi.” It is precisely by seeking amid the disputes of right and wrong that the sage finds the person who is not bound by right and wrong.

“Zhi” is not “non-zhi.” Neither “zhi” nor things can be said to be independent “zhi.” To say that something is “zhi” is not to say that it is wholly without “zhi”; yet “zhi” cannot be sharply separated from things, and so one cannot treat “zhi” as something existing independently of things.

If the world had no zhi (the concept or name by which things are designated), who could straightaway say that zhi is not zhi? If the world contained nothing at all, who could straightaway say that zhi is zhi? Suppose the world had neither things nor zhi: everything would sink into wordless silence, and who would still say that zhi is not zhi, or that zhi is zhi?

The world has zhi, yet nothing that can be designated. Who can straightaway say that zhi is not zhi? And who can straightaway say, “There is nothing to designate, and therefore it is not zhi”? This shows that zhi does not originally depend on particular things in order to exist. What is more, zhi itself can already be spoken of as not being zhi; why wait until one encounters some thing, and only then join with it so as to become zhi? If zhi is used again and again to designate zhi, then zhi itself becomes a zhi that designates nothing. How, then, could it join with things in order to designate them?

This shows that the myriad things each differ, each becoming the thing that it is, and each having a state that suits it; there is no absolute right or wrong. The sage therefore remains deep and silent, calm and at ease, forgetting right and wrong. He neither abandons any capacity nor overlooks any thing.

On Understanding Change, the Fourth

It is asked whether two things can be combined into one. The answer is that two cannot be combined into one. White and horse, for example, are two distinct things; one cannot merge them into a single thing and count them as two.

It is asked whether two things have a right side in common. The answer is that two have no right side in common.

It is asked whether two things have a left side in common. The answer is that two have no left side in common. When left and right are joined together, there is no fixed position. One cannot call the two combined “right,” nor call them “left.” This shows that two certainly cannot become one.

It is asked whether the right side can be called two. The answer is that it cannot.

It is asked whether the left side can be called two. The answer is that it cannot. One cannot split the right into two, nor split the left into two. This shows that one cannot become two.

It is asked whether left and right may be called two.

Someone asked, “May one say so?”

The reply was: “Left and right occupy different positions, and so they may be called two.”

Someone asked, “May one say that things undergo change and, at the same time, do not change?”

The reply was: “Yes. One cannot be called two, and two cannot be called one; this is certain. Yet things have a principle of shifting and transformation, and so one cannot say that they do not change.”

Someone asked, “There is something on the right. May one say that it has changed?”

The reply was: “Yes. Move what is on the right over to the left, and say that it has gone from right to left: the same thing has then changed its position and become a thing situated in another place. It is like the kun (giant fish) changing into the peng (great bird): in each case one kind of thing changes into another kind. One therefore cannot say that it has not changed.”

Someone asked again, “There is something on the right. May one say that it has changed?”

The reply was: “Yes. Move what is on the right over to the left, and the same thing becomes another kind. The kun changes into the peng, loyalty turns into defiance, life and death cannot be fixed, and fortune and misfortune do not stay in place. All of these are cases of one and the same thing changing into a different category. The example of ‘the right’ is raised in order to show that, although things change without cease, they may still themselves be said to be the same.”

Someone asked, “Since the kun and the peng are two things, and through change they become two, why say that one cannot become two by changing?”

The reply was: “Yes. The kun changing into the peng is one thing changing into another thing; just as when the right moves to the left, it is in the end still that former thing which had been on the right.”

Someone asked, “If the thing on the right has changed, how can it still be called the right? If it has not changed, how can one say that it has changed? Once the right has moved to the left, how can it still be called the right? If one already knows that what comes before and what comes after are the same thing, how can one say that it has changed? This shows that two may be joined into one, and that one may also become two.”

Someone asked, “If two things have neither a left nor a right, then what is to be done with these two things—left and right?”

The reply was: “A sheep and an ox joined together are not a horse. Suppose the sheep is on the left and the ox on the right, and they are combined into a single whole: one cannot call it only a sheep, nor only an ox; and since it has no separate name, one cannot call the combination a horse either. It is therefore clear that two things cannot become one. An ox and a sheep joined together are not a chicken either.

“For a thing to become something else is like left and right exchanging places. Thus if the ox is placed on the left and the sheep on the right and they are combined into a single whole, it can be called neither only an ox nor only a sheep, nor is it a chicken; so it is neither ox, nor sheep, nor chicken.”

Someone asked, “What does this mean?”

The reply was this. Sheep and oxen each differ. Sheep have teeth; oxen do not. Yet one cannot on that account say that a sheep is not a sheep, or that an ox is not an ox. The two are not alike in every feature; they are similar only in certain respects. That an ox has no teeth does not mean the ox is deficient. That a sheep has teeth may, by comparison with the ox, be called one additional feature, but one cannot therefore say that the sheep is not a sheep. A sheep’s having teeth is not, in itself, something superfluous. If one takes the sheep as the basis of comparison, then it is the ox’s lack of teeth that appears as a deficiency. Yet one still cannot, merely because the ox is deficient in this respect, say that the ox is not an ox. Each is born according to its inborn character, each possesses what properly belongs to it, and each accords with its own kind. Thus an ox, according to its kind, is an ox, and a sheep, according to its kind, is a sheep.

Sheep have horns, and oxen have horns as well. One cannot, simply because both sheep and oxen have horns, call the ox a sheep or the sheep an ox. Both have horns, but the kinds to which they belong are different. When one speaks here of “taking a sheep to be an ox” or “taking an ox to be a sheep,” the meaning is treating one thing as another. That both sheep and oxen have horns is so by nature; but sheep and oxen are of different kinds and cannot stand in for one another.

Sheep and oxen have horns; horses do not. Horses have tails; sheep and oxen do not. Therefore, speaking of sheep and oxen together, they are not horses. “Not a horse” means that there is no horse among them. Each sheep is one animal, and each ox is one animal; sheep and oxen taken together are two kinds of things. To say in this way that sheep and oxen are not horses is acceptable. Even when they are cited together as an example, one cannot erase the fact that their kinds differ. Horses differ from sheep and oxen so plainly that the latter are not horses; not only are they not horses, there is indeed no horse among sheep and oxen. The sheep is one kind and cannot be split into two sheep; the ox is likewise one kind and cannot be split into two oxen. If one takes one sheep and one ox and combines them, that makes two kinds of things. To call sheep and oxen a horse would be to count “two kinds” as “three kinds.” Therefore it is proper to point out that there is no horse among sheep and oxen. The example of sheep and oxen relies on the fact that different kinds cannot be conflated, in order to clarify the distinction between left and right. Once the division of left and right is settled, the positions of above and below become clear as well.

Oxen and sheep have hair; chickens have feathers. If one counts a chicken’s foot as one class and then adds the number of its feet, the total is three. If one counts the foot of oxen and sheep as one class and then adds their four feet, the total is five. Reckoned in this way, the feet of oxen and sheep are five and the feet of a chicken are three; therefore one says that oxen and sheep taken together are not a chicken. To say “not a chicken” has a basis. Earlier the wording was “sheep combined with ox”; here it is changed to “ox combined with sheep.” This is a change of expression meant to show a shift in the positions of left and right. Once position changes, the duties of ruler and minister, which serve as the comparison, change with it; and when duties fall into disorder, confusion follows.

People commonly say that a sheep has feet, an ox has feet, and a chicken has feet as well, without counting each one’s feet in detail, so that it sounds as if each had only a single foot. If one counts them one by one, oxen and sheep each have four feet and a chicken has two; adding the class called “foot” mentioned above, oxen and sheep each come to five and the chicken comes to three. In this way oxen and sheep differ from the chicken, and so one says that oxen and sheep are not chickens. Oxen and sheep are not chickens because, when oxen and sheep are examined as one kind, there is no chicken among them.

If one is to compare the chicken with the horse, it is better to take the horse. The horse has abilities that can be put to use in the affairs of the state; the chicken has no such abilities. The two plainly differ in kind and in practical capacity. To set them side by side and treat them as the same is an act that confuses names and stations, and it is a presumptuous measure. Here the horse stands for what is fitting, and the chicken for what is unfitting; therefore, if horse and chicken are placed on a par, one would rather adopt the standard of the horse. If a ruler appoints those without ability alongside those who have ability, confusing titles with actual duties, this is what is called a presumptuous measure.

Tabian (“discernment by means of other things”) is the analysis of principles by appeal to other things. For example, when blue (qing) stands opposed to white, one cannot call white yellow; and when white stands opposed to blue, one cannot call blue bi (a mixed blue-green).

Blue and white are not originally the same color, yet they can be set side by side in contrast. Each occupies its own place, and even when they meet they do not interfere with each other’s position. Earlier, sheep and oxen were used to distinguish left from right by taking them together as one whole; yet sheep and oxen each correspond to different things and cannot stand in for one another, so one must again appeal to other things in order to draw the distinction.

In the Five Phases (wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), blue belongs to Water and lies to the east, while white belongs to Metal and lies to the west. East and west run in opposite directions, yet they face one another. What belongs to the east reaches the farthest limit of the east, and what belongs to the west reaches the farthest limit of the west, and so they are said not to be adjacent. In fact, east and west are not such that they never meet; but meeting does not disturb the position of either. What is called “not harming their directions” means that they stand opposite each other, each resting in its own place, just as left and right are clearly distinguished and not mixed together.

One cannot, therefore, assign the case only to blue, nor only to white. If one spoke only of blue or only of white, where would yellow be? Yellow is the upright color and stands for proper measures. When blue and white each rest in their own place and neither encroaches on the other, they cannot be mixed and still be called only blue or only white. Even if yellow is absent from the opposition of blue and white, one cannot on that account say that the world has no yellow. Yellow is by nature a primary color, so of course yellow exists in the world. Here white figures the ruler, blue the ministers, and yellow the state: when ruler and ministers each keep to their stations, the state can grow strong, and the ruler too can long remain secure.

If blue is mixed into white, white is dyed bi. White ought originally to prevail over blue; now, instead, white cannot prevail over blue, just as Wood overcomes Metal. The bi produced when Wood overcomes Metal is an improper color. White symbolizes the ruler’s Dao (the Way), and blue symbolizes the minister’s Dao. Blue mixed with white means that powerful ministers seize authority and subordinates encroach upon the ruler’s power. Once the ruler’s Dao is confused, the ruler can no longer hold the leading place. This is like Metal, which ought to control Wood, being instead invaded by Wood: the minister screens the ruler. Blue dyeing white into bi is just as ministers overpower the ruler and throw the norms of order into confusion. The ruler’s Dao falls into disorder also because the ruler has failed to set himself aright.

Blue and white are not originally the same; now they are mixed together, yet neither wholly overcomes the other. When blue dyes white and white does not entirely disappear, blue has not prevailed over white; and when the pure quality of white is stained by blue, white has likewise failed to restrain blue. Call it blue, and the white is still not exhausted; call it white, and blue has been mixed into the white. Both colors show themselves, and this is called liangming (“both manifest”). White and blue contend to display themselves, and the color is commonly called bi.

Better to take yellow than to take bi. Yellow is the color of the center and of what is correct, and the horse is a strength the state can put to use. Centered and upright De (Virtue/Power) and talent the state can employ are of a kind, so one would rather take yellow and let it symbolize the useful capacity for which the horse stands. Bi, by contrast, resembles the chicken: bi is an improper color, and the chicken is not a bird equal to a heavy charge, so the two correspond. If blue invades white and becomes bi, the disorder has still not been removed. When ruler and ministers contend with each other to be manifest, confusion arises above and below.

When ruler and ministers contend to be manifest, the orders of government are unclear, and statuses and offices cannot be properly arranged. This is called feizhengju (“not a correct reference”): name and actuality do not correspond, and the mixed color shows through. A name serves to designate an actual thing, and the actual thing ought to accord with its name. Heaven and earth and the myriad things, rulers and fathers together with ministers and sons, the offices of the hundred officials, and every kind of implement each have their fixed rank and name. When the sage takes charge of these affairs and keeps ranks correct and not misplaced, Heaven and earth are settled and the honored and the humble stand in order. He need not toil personally over every matter, yet his undertakings can be broadly accomplished; he need not speak at length, yet moral instruction can still be carried through.

If names run counter to actualities, actualities will not fit their names. Those above grow negligent and those below turn violent, and every institution falls into disorder. When name and actuality are not as they should be, ruler and ministers contend for power, the interior splits, and the exterior turns away; the proper Dao declines because of this. When name and actuality cannot be brought into agreement, there is no way to restore order, and the Dao is lost along with it.

Can hardness, whiteness, and stone, taken together, be called three things?

The answer is no.

Then may one speak of “two”?

The answer is yes.

Why?

The answer is this: when hardness is not seen and only whiteness is seen, what a person cites are two items—whiteness and the stone; when whiteness is not seen and only hardness is felt, what a person cites are likewise two items—hardness and the stone. Hardness, whiteness, and stone are originally three things combined, yet when a person observes the stone, he sees only its whiteness and does not see its hardness, and so what is spoken of are the two items of stone and whiteness. This is “not seeing hardness and obtaining whiteness,” and therefore one says there are two. When the hand touches the stone, one knows only that it is hard and does not know that it is white, and so what is spoken of are the two items of stone and hardness. This is “not seeing whiteness and obtaining hardness,” and therefore one also says there are two.

The question then arises: since one has seen the whiteness of the stone, one cannot say there is no whiteness; since one has felt the hardness of the stone, one cannot say there is no hardness. The stone is originally like this—should it not count as three? Stone, hardness, and whiteness exist together; one cannot say they do not exist. Since hardness and whiteness have already been recognized, how can one say they are not three?

The reply is this: the eye cannot discern the hardness of the stone and sees only its whiteness; at that moment hardness has not been obtained. When the hand touches it, whiteness cannot be felt and only hardness is felt; at that moment whiteness has not been obtained. If this is so, why must one insist that they are three?

Someone said: “The eye cannot see the hardness of a stone; it can see only its whiteness. Therefore there is no such attribute as hardness. King Zhou (the last ruler of the Shang dynasty) could not see the whiteness, yet he could obtain the hardness, so what he obtained was hardness, and he did not obtain whiteness. Hardness is not something the eye can see, and thus one says there is no hardness; whiteness is not something the hand can perceive, and thus one says there is no whiteness.”

Someone else then said: “If the world had no whiteness, one could not see a stone; if the world had no hardness, one could not call a stone a stone. Hardness, whiteness, and the stone—these three cannot be separated from one another. Can all three of them be hidden? Whiteness is a kind of color. Indicate one color, and the classes of the other colors can be known. There is no object in the world that does not bear color; an object must depend on color before color becomes manifest. Hence it is said: there is no colorless stone in the world, and a person is thus unable to see a stone. Hardness is a kind of material quality. Indicate one material quality, and the classes of different qualities, such as the firm and the soft, can be known. The material qualities of the myriad things each differ, and each is named according to the quality it possesses. There is no object in the world that lacks a material quality; an object must have a material quality before it is solid. Hence it is said: there is no stone without hardness in the world, and one thus cannot call a stone a stone. A stone, for its part, is a kind of form. Indicate the form of a stone, and the classes of the forms of other objects can be known. There is nothing formless in the world; an object must have form before it coheres. Seen in this light, color, form, and material quality complete one another within a single object and cannot be separated. Hence it is said that hardness, whiteness, and the stone are not apart from one another.

Yet when a person looks with the eyes and feels with the hands, he can at one time perceive only two of the three, and cannot obtain all three together. That a person himself cannot obtain all three does not mean that the three do not exist. Therefore, to say ‘Can all three be hidden?’ means that they cannot.”

Still another person said: “Some things hide of themselves; it is not that anyone hides them. The eye can see an object, yet cannot see hardness, and so hardness seems as if hidden; the hand can perceive an object, yet cannot perceive whiteness, and so whiteness seems as if hidden. That these attributes are so is not a human arrangement; rather, they naturally appear imperceptible, and so one says that they hide of themselves. Each remains hidden and does not show itself; it is not that some thing conceals them. The ‘hiding’ spoken of here is not the concealment of a physical object. That by touch one can obtain only two of them—this is hiding in the true sense.”

Someone asked: A stone is white, and it is also hard. These properties must fill and contain one another within one and the same stone. How, then, could each of them be concealed and fail to appear? “Ying” means filling. Whiteness must fill the stone that is both hard and white; hardness likewise fills the white stone; and the stone itself fills both the hard and the white. Hence it is said that they must fill one another. If the two properties already fill each other, how can one still say that each is concealed on its own?

Gongsun Long replied: When one obtains the property “white” and the property “hard,” what is manifest and what is not manifest are separate. Properties that have not manifested do not contain one another, and so they are said to be separated. “Li” (separation) is “cang” (concealment). Each thing has its name, and each name has its corresponding actual content. To recognize a white stone is to grasp the actual content of “white”; to recognize hardness is likewise to grasp the actual content of “hard.” Yet when one looks at the stone, what one sees is the actual content of white, not the actual content of hard. That hardness is not seen shows that hard and white are separated from each other. Therefore, the manifest and the non-manifest are called “li.” From this it follows that knowing and not-knowing are also separated from each other.

As for the stone, it is one thing, whereas hard and white are two properties. The three names—stone, hard, and white—each have their corresponding actual content, and so they do not contain one another. Since the names do not contain one another, they are separate from the outset; and because this separation is not easily seen, it is called “cang.” The Lüshi chunqiu records that Gongsun Long and Kong Chuan once debated in the household of Lord Pingyuan of Zhao, and that Kong Chuan took this as the topic of his argument.

Someone says: “The whiteness of the stone, the hardness of the stone, and the two conditions of being seen and not being seen—taken together, are they two or three? They seem to extend into one another and to fill one another. Is this not to set all three out at once? ‘Xiu’ means length. Although white has the substance of whiteness, this is the white of the stone; although hard has the substance of hardness, this is the hardness of the stone. Thus hardness and whiteness are two things, and with the stone they make three. What can be seen and what cannot be seen together constitute a single whole; the scope and form of hardness and of whiteness are each equal to the stone and fill one another. Is this not to list three names while uniting them in one actual thing?”

Someone objects: “To say that something is white does not fix where it is white; to say that something is hard does not fix where it is hard. Where there is no such fixing, the terms may refer jointly to many things. How, then, can white and hard be assigned only to the stone? Whiteness belongs universally to the myriad things, so ‘white’ cannot be restricted to the white of a stone. And is it merely that hardness and whiteness cannot be confined to the stone? They may also refer jointly to the myriad things. If even the myriad things cannot be restricted to any single object, how can one say that hardness and whiteness alone form one and the same whole with the stone?”

Someone goes on to say: “If one examines the matter by following the stone, then without that aspect of hardness there is no stone; and without the stone there is no way to pick out, in the stone, the object called ‘white stone.’ They cannot be separated from one another. This is how things inherently are, and there is no end to it.” Here the guest is rebutting the host. The host reasons along the line of the stone and holds that the myriad things likewise form one body with hardness, which is why it is said that one must examine the matter “by following the stone.” The “that” of which the host speaks refers to hardness: without hardness, a thing cannot be called a stone—that is, the name “stone” can be established only by relying on “hard.” Without the stone, there is no way to pick out the whiteness of the stone; that is, only by relying on the stone can “white” be made manifest. Hardness, whiteness, and the stone depend on one another before they constitute a single whole, and so it is said that hardness and whiteness cannot be separated. Since hardness, whiteness, and the stone cannot be separated, the myriad things naturally cannot be separated from hardness either, and reasoning of this kind has no end.

Someone said: “There is only one stone, yet ‘hardness’ and ‘whiteness’ are two different attributes, and both are present in the stone. Thus, of them, some a person can know and some cannot know; some can be seen and some cannot be seen. It is clear, then, that knowing and not knowing are separate from each other, and seeing and not seeing conceal one another. Since certain attributes are hidden, who can say that they are not separated? When one feels the stone with the hand, one can know that it is hard, yet does not know that it is white; this shows that knowing and not knowing are distinct. When one looks at the stone with the eyes, one can see that it is white, yet cannot see that it is hard; this shows that seeing and not seeing conceal each other. The attribute lies hidden where the eyes cannot see it, and the eyes likewise cannot perceive hardness—who can say that hardness is not concealed? Whiteness cannot be discovered by the hand’s touch, and the hand does not know whiteness—who can say that whiteness is not separated?”

Someone replied: “That the eyes cannot perceive hardness, and the hand cannot perceive whiteness, does not allow us to say that the stone has no hardness or no whiteness. It is only that the eyes and the hand each have different functions and cannot substitute for one another. Hardness and whiteness both belong to the stone—how can one say that they have been separated? The eyes can see, and the hand can take hold; each undertakes a different task. The eyes cannot discern hardness—can the hand be made to take the place of the eyes and thereby discern hardness? The hand cannot know whiteness—can the eyes be made to take the place of the hand and thereby know whiteness by touch? This shows that the two have different functions and cannot replace each other. Hardness and whiteness coexist in the stone and are not separated from one another—how, then, can one say that they are divided?”

He said: “‘Hardness’ does not become hard by joining with stone, nor do the various things become hard by joining with hardness. Yet hardness must be hardness: even if it attaches to nothing else, it is still hard. Stone is a thing possessed of form, and it also has hardness. Nothing in the world is more manifest than hardness, yet hardness itself remains hidden and does not show itself.”

Hardness does not exist only in stone; it also exists among the myriad things, and so it is said not to belong exclusively to stone. But hardness need not rely on the myriad things in order to be hard. It itself possesses the nature of hardness, and so it is said that hardness must be hardness. Nowhere in the world does one see a hardness that has detached from the myriad things and appears all by itself, yet one cannot therefore say that hardness does not exist. Hence hardness is said to be hidden and not manifest.

“Whiteness” itself cannot display white on its own; how, then, could it make stone or other things appear white? If whiteness itself were necessarily able to display white, it would not need to rely on some particular thing in order to appear white. Yellow and black are the same. If stone did not exist, from where could one obtain a stone that is hard and white? Therefore hardness and whiteness are separate.

What is called “separation” is to look by following the original condition of things. In the world there is no independently existing hardness, nor any whiteness existing in isolation. Hence it is said that whiteness cannot display white by itself. Since it cannot display white by itself, how could it make stone or anything else appear white? If whiteness were originally able to display white on its own, it would not need to rely on things in order to appear. Can hardness and whiteness really unite into one? Yellow, black, and the other colors are likewise so.

Stone and the myriad things must rely on color in order to be seen; but color cannot manifest by itself, and so stone cannot appear as stone by itself alone. There is nothing in the world that can be seen without depending on color. Hence it is said that if stone has no color, it has no way to appear. Once stone cannot appear, where do hardness and whiteness lodge? Hence it is said: from where can one still obtain a stone that is hard and white? Examining the matter again and again, one finds that hardness, whiteness, and the myriad things are each separate from one another.

Is this separation something forcibly brought about? It is not. The myriad things merely follow their own original condition and separate of themselves, naturally and spontaneously. This is what is called “following what is so.” Relying on force and clever artifice is in the end inferior to according with this separation as it originally is. Here, “result” means the outcome of finally failing. If one does not accord with the original separation of things, and insists on using force and cleverness to separate hardness from whiteness, one will in the end certainly be unable to do so. Therefore it is better to follow the state in which they are already so.

Furthermore, whiteness depends on the eyes and must also rely on the light of fire in order to be seen. Without the light of fire the eyes cannot see, yet the light of fire itself is not the subject that sees whiteness. Who, then, truly sees? It is the spirit (Shen). Spirit must rely on the eyes and the light of fire in order to see things. If even the eyes and the light of fire cannot accomplish seeing on their own, how could they see on behalf of spirit? Yet if one presses the question to the end and asks who, after all, is looking, it is also hard to find an independent subject. Hence it is said that “seeing,” too, is separate.

To feel hardness with the hand, one must also rely on striking. Neither the hand nor the striking can know hardness independently, and spirit likewise cannot know it by itself. What is called “separation” means precisely that these functions each have something they depend on and do not mingle with one another. The hand and the striking, together with spirit, cannot singly obtain a complete cognition; still less is the object known determined by any one of them alone. Spirit is the master of life, and also the subtle, luminous, and aware part within the mind. Yet the ears and the eyes each have their own functions, and every part of the body has its own capacity of responsive attunement. The countless transformations are all governed by spirit, but spirit can operate only by following the capacities of the ears and eyes and the responsive attunement proper to each part of the body. It cannot make the ears see or the eyes hear, nor make the feet grasp things or the hands walk.

In the same way, with regard to a single thing, one cannot see only its whiteness and at the same time see its hardness, nor know only its hardness and at the same time know its whiteness—how much more so when heaven and earth are vast and the myriad things are many? Hence it is said that spirit seems to preside over everything, yet cannot cognize all things by itself; cognition itself is also separate. Extending this inquiry to all things under heaven, which of them does not stand apart on its own?

The myriad things each have their own proper limits and do not mix with one another; each accords with change and need not depend on the other. Since they do not depend on one another, there is no need to borrow that thing in order to complete this thing; since they do not mingle, one will not take this thing and use it to disturb that thing. Therefore the sage comes into contact with things without being bound by them, and handles affairs while remaining tranquil. When the mind is tranquil, the world is at peace; when one is not bound by things, the myriad things each attain their own nature. When the myriad things each attain their own nature, they can dwell in harmony with one another; the world too finds rest, and the distinction between names and actualities no longer becomes a clinging.

Heaven and Earth, and all that they generate and nourish, are called "things." The physical forms of Heaven and Earth, and the things brought forth by Heaven and Earth, likewise all belong to "things."

When things are arranged according to the use originally proper to them—exactly right, and not beyond due measure—this is called "actuality." For example, suitable materials are chosen to build the palace halls; chariots and horses, clothing, and vessels are set out at court; persons of worth and ability are selected to fill the offices; attendants and servants are assigned; and posts of every kind, inner and outer, are established, so that nothing is out of place and each finds its proper station. This is called "actuality."

When the content that "actuality" supplies corresponds exactly to the measure it ought to have, and no gap appears, this is called "position." Vessels differ in size, and the myriad things differ in standing, high and low: implements must be made of suitable materials, people must be equal to their duties, the affairs of government must lack nothing, and the order of noble and base must be clear. This is "position."

To leave the place where each ought to stand is called "being out of position." When an official abandons his post to take charge of other affairs, when the specifications of a vessel exceed the regulations, or when one usurps the station of those above or indiscriminately extends to those below, none of these accords with its position.

When each rests at ease in the position proper to it, this is called "rectitude." The choice of materials, the making of vessels, and rewards and punishments all involve graded distinctions of noble and base; the ranks of sacrifice to the spirits and deities likewise differ. To make these arrangements conform to regulation and harmonize with one another, neither overstepping rank nor going to excess, is called "rectitude."

To correct, by an already established standard of correctness, matters that do not accord with the correct Way (Dao) will, on the contrary, cause people to doubt that standard. If what is incorrect is corrected by means of the proper Way, what was originally incorrect can be set right; if the correct Way is disturbed by a way that is not correct, then everyone will fall into doubt. What is called "rectitude" is making things accord with their actuality; because it corrects deviations within actuality, it is called "rectitude."

To correct what is incorrect by a correct standard is also to rectify the names of things. Confucius said, "One must first rectify names." Thus, to rectify the actuality of things is itself to set them right; when actuality is set right, everything connected with it can be set right as well.

When names are used appropriately, things respond in accordance with the actual circumstances of “that” (bi) and “this” (ci). “Wei” (唯) means to answer in assent. To use a name correctly is to make it fit the actual object that is “that” or “this”; in this way, when one seeks the actual object by means of the name, each corresponds to its own name.

If something is called “that” and yet does not answer to that calling, the designation cannot be established. Here “wei” (谓) also carries the sense of instruction and command. When an order is issued to summon something and it does not respond, this shows that the order has not been directed at a suitable object, and so the command cannot be carried out. If something is called “this” and does not answer to “this,” the designation likewise cannot stand; this shows that the command has not been applied properly, and therefore cannot be executed.

What matters is whether the command is appropriate. An inappropriate command produces disorder; if a command is plainly inappropriate and yet one takes it to be appropriate, the error only grows greater. Hence, whether something is appropriate is judged by whether it accords with what is actual. When a command is unsuitable, the myriad things naturally do not respond; this shows precisely that the fault lies in the command itself.

If, angered that the myriad things do not respond to the command, one then relies on power and authority to coerce them, people throughout the world will come to treat inappropriate commands as appropriate ones, and the situation will only grow more disordered.

“That” is that thing. When it is called “that,” the name ought to correspond to the thing itself; only designating it according to this correspondence is called “enacting ‘that.’” “This” is this thing. When it is called “this,” the name likewise ought to correspond to the thing itself; only then is this called “enacting ‘this.’” When names and things match, and matching is taken as the standard, this is what is proper. When commands are carried out between “that” and “this,” so that the names used in the commands accord with the proper designations and actualities of each, all parties will respond and the commands can be put into effect. If the correspondence of name and actuality is taken as the standard, all under Heaven will naturally return to what is proper.

“That” ought to stop at that, and “this” ought to stop at this; only then is it acceptable. The name of that corresponds only to the actuality of that, and the name of this corresponds only to the actuality of this. The names and actualities of that and this are not confused with one another, and so this is acceptable. If one speaks of that as both that and this, or of this as both this and that, it is not acceptable. Some mistakenly apply the name “that” to the actuality of “this” and still say that that and this are similar; others mistakenly apply the name “this” to the actuality of “that” and still say that this and that are the same. None of this is acceptable.

Names and actualities are precisely what are used to refer to one another. If one knows that something is not this thing, or knows that it does not belong to “this,” one understands that it ought not to be called “this.” If one knows that that is not that, or knows that it does not belong to “that,” one ought not to call it “that.” A name is used to designate an actuality. Therefore, if people do not fall within the scope of “this,” they cannot be classed together and called “this.” If one knows that someone is not that, or does not belong to that, one likewise ought not to call him that.

A name is used to designate an actuality, so in governing affairs the designations involved in punishments, rewards, and the like ought to correspond to the facts; only then is this appropriate. If one knows that a great merit was not achieved by a certain person, and also knows that a minor merit is insufficient for him to receive a reward, then in neither case should the title of a reward be granted to him. If one knows that a great crime was not committed by a certain person, and also knows that a minor offense is insufficient to subject him to punishment, then in neither case should punishment be imposed on him. The worthy and enlightened rulers of antiquity carefully verified names against actualities and were cautious about their own words; they truly carried this to the utmost.

Gongsun Long wrote books and established doctrines, developing arguments through concrete things in order to explain the most fundamental and most important principles of the kingly Dao (the Way). Of all that the kingly Dao regards as weighty, nothing is more important than rectifying the relationship between names and actualities. Confucius said, “Titles and ritual vessels must not be casually granted to others.” From this it is clear that both titles and the actual uses of vessels were matters the sages treated with care. A name is used to designate things and to carry out moral transformation; actuality is the thing itself, and it also allows moral transformation to be realized. If names are lost, things cannot be properly designated; if things have no names, they cannot clearly express themselves either. Names are established on the basis of actualities, and actualities are known through names. Therefore, when names correspond to actualities, moral transformation can be widely carried out and practical efficacy can be fully realized. This is precisely why the kingly Dao can match the Dao of Heaven and thereby be made grand. For this reason, the worthy and enlightened rulers of antiquity carefully verified names against actualities and were cautious in carrying out their administrative orders.

Here ends the second volume of the Gongsun Longzi.

Collation notes: in the first instance, the original text reads “与,” which is emended to “离” on the basis of the Wang Guan edition; in the second instance, the four characters “有不见焉” are supplied from the Wang Guan edition; in the third instance, the original text reads “焉,” which is emended to “者” on the basis of the Wang Guan edition; in the fourth instance, the Wang Guan edition does not contain the character “故.”