Yizeng — Exaggerations in the Classics藝增篇

What the common world suffers from is this. In speaking of affairs men add to the truth of them. In making writings and handing down words, the words overflow what is real. In praising what is fine they go beyond a man's goodness, and in pressing his faults they bury his crimes out of sight. Why is it so? Common men love the strange. What is not strange, no one repeats. So if in praising a man one does not add to his beauty, the hearer takes no pleasure in it, and if in slandering a man one does not add to his wickedness, the listener is not satisfied in his heart. They hear one and add until it is ten. They see a hundred and increase it until it is a thousand. A plain and simple matter they split ten ways and divide a hundred ways, and a saying that is truly so they turn about a thousand times and set at odds ten thousand times. Mozi wept over the plain silk and Yangzi wept at the forking road. They grieved at the loss of the root and were sad at the parting from what is real. Words that fly and drift, sayings passed on a hundred times, come out of the mouths of small men and run through the lanes and villages. It is just like this. The writings of the philosophers and the records of brush and ink were made by great worthies and are a gathering of fine thought. They ought to match the truth, yet even they sometimes add to it. Are the words of the classics and the arts, then, equal to the truth? For carefulness of speech none surpasses the sages, and the classics and the arts are not altered in ten thousand generations, yet even they sometimes overflow and add and go beyond the truth. Adding beyond the truth always has some purpose behind it. It is not a wild and confused error that takes few for many. Yet it must be discussed, for the additions of the classics and the arts are not the same as the additions of hearsay. The additions in the classics are not one. I raise the plainest of them in brief, so that men who are dazed and led astray may look and choose, and may open their hearts, get through to the meaning, and come to understanding.

The Shangshu says, "He brought the ten thousand states into accord." This praises Yao, whose virtue brought about the transformation of great peace, a transformation that reached the Xia states and the Yi and Di as well. To say that he brought the regions beyond into accord is right. To say ten thousand states is an addition.

Tang and Zhou alike ruled within five thousand li. In the time of Zhou the feudal lords held one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three states. Add to them the Huangfu, the Rongfu and the Yaofu zones, and the peoples beyond the four seas who do not eat grain, such as the Chuanxiong, the Daner, the Jiaoyao and the Bazhong, and put all their number together, and it cannot reach three thousand. All that heaven covers and earth bears is used up within those three thousand. Yet the Shangshu says ten thousand states. It extols and adds beyond the truth in order to praise Yao. It meant to say that Yao's virtue was great and those he transformed were many, and that among the Xia states and the Yi and Di there were none who were not at peace and in accord. Therefore it said ten thousand states. It is like the Odes saying "sons and grandsons, a thousand million." That praises King Xuan of Zhou, whose virtue could be careful of heaven and earth, so that heaven and earth blessed him and his sons and grandsons were many, reaching a thousand million. To say that his sons and grandsons were many is right. To say a thousand million is an addition. However many his sons and grandsons, they cannot be a thousand million. The poet sang his praise and added to the truth. Consider that from Houji, who first received the fief of Tai, down to King Xuan, and from King Xuan out to the outer clans and the inner dependents, all who are joined by blood cannot be a thousand million. A thousand and ten thousand are the great names of number. Ten thousand says "many." So the Shangshu says ten thousand states and the Odes says a thousand million.

The Odes says, "The crane cries in the ninefold marsh, and its voice is heard in heaven." This says that when the crane cries in a marsh of nine bends its voice is still heard in heaven, to liken it to the gentleman who cultivates virtue in a poor and out of the way place while his name still reaches the court. To say that it is heard high and far is right. To say that it is heard in heaven is an addition.

Those who say the voice is heard in heaven have seen the crane cry among the clouds and heard it from the ground, and have reckoned that a voice crying on the ground must likewise be heard in heaven. When a crane cries among the clouds, a man hears the sound, looks up, and his eyes see its shape. Ear and eye have the same strength. If the ear hears its voice, then the eye sees its shape. That being so, what ear and eye hear and see is no more than ten li, and if the cry rose as high as heaven a man could not hear it. Why? Heaven is far from man by a distance counted in tens of thousands, so the eye cannot see and the ear cannot hear. Now a crane's cry is heard from below because the crane's cry is near. To hear its voice from below, and then to say that when it cries on the ground it must likewise be heard in heaven, is to lose the truth. When the crane cries among the clouds and a man hears it from below, it is as if it cried in the ninefold marsh. No man is up in heaven. How does he know that it is heard up in heaven? There is no way to know it. He took it in his mind by comparison. The poet perhaps did not know and in perfect sincerity held it to be so, or perhaps he knew and wished to liken a matter by it, and so added to it and made it extreme.

The Odes says, "Of the people of Zhou not one is left." This speaks of the time of King Xuan of Zhou, when they met the calamity of a great drought.

The poet grieved at how severe the drought was and how the people suffered its harm, and said that not one man was left who did not sorrow and ache. That the drought was severe, that was so. To say that not one man was left is an addition.

The people of Zhou were like the people of today. Let the people of today meet the calamity of a great drought. The poor and the weak, who have nothing laid up, beat their breasts and long for rain. But the rich, whose grain and food are plentiful, whose granaries are not empty and whose mouths and bellies do not hunger, what sorrow have they? When heaven brings drought, the space of the hills and woods does not dry up, just as when water covers the ground the tops of the hills and mounds are not flooded. Among the hills and woods, and among the rich and noble, there must have been some who escaped. Yet to say that not one was left is to add to the wording, meaning to say how severe the drought was.

The Yi says, "He makes his house great and screens his home. You peer in at his door, and it is still, there is no one there." It is not that there is no one there. It is that there is no worthy man there. The Shangshu says, "Do not leave the many offices empty." Kuang means empty and shu means many. Do not leave the many offices empty. To put in a man who is not the right man is no different from leaving the place empty, and so it says empty.

Even the unworthy all carry the five constants within them. Their talent is poor and falls short, so they do not become wholly worthy, but they are not mad and reckless and dull, without a single knowledge in them. Virtue has its great and small, talent has its high and low, but in holding office and ordering their duties all wish to strive and show their worth in office. The officers of the Shangshu, and those inside the door in the Yi, can still be of use. How can it be said that they are empty and that there is no one? The Odes says, "Many, many are the officers, and by them King Wen is at peace." This says that King Wen got many worthy men and few unworthy ones. Now the Yi ought to say that it is still and there are few men there, and the Shangshu ought to say that the many offices should not be let grow few. To speak of them as few is right. To say that they are empty and there is no one goes much too far.

As for the five grains and man, he eats any of them and is full. The taste of rice and fine millet is sweet and rich. Beans and wheat, coarse as they are, can also cure hunger. Those who eat beans and wheat all say that they are coarse and not sweet. None says that his belly is empty and there is nothing to eat. Staffs of bamboo and of wood can both hold up a sick man. The strength of a bamboo staff is weak and poor and does not match wood. A man who takes up a bamboo staff says that it is not stout. He does not say that his hand is empty and there is nothing to grip. Unworthy ministers are of the kind of beans and wheat and bamboo staffs. In the Yi the ministers who merely fill their places are inside the door, and to say that there is no one is to hate them to excess.

The many offices of the Shangshu also make room for small talent, yet to call them empty is to stab at them too hard.

The Analects says, "Great was Yao as a ruler! So vast that the people could find no name for it." A tradition says, "There was a man of fifty years beating the earth clods by the road. One who watched him said, 'Great is the virtue of Yao!' The man beating the clods said, 'I rise at sunrise and work, I rest at sunset, I dig a well and drink, I plough a field and eat. What strength has Yao in it?'" This is the proof of the vastness for which no name could be found. To say vast is right, but to go on and say that the people could find no name for it is an addition. With the four seas so wide and the ten thousand people so many, to say that there was no one who could name Yao's virtue is likely not the truth.

The man beating the clods said, "What strength has Yao in it?" That is meant to say that the people could find no name for it. But the one who watched said, "Great is the virtue of Yao!" Whatever sort of man he was, he was still able to know it. In truth there were those who knew it, and to say that there were none is in the end an addition.

The books of the scholars also say, "The people of Yao and Shun could be enfeoffed house by house." This says that their households had the conduct of gentlemen and that all of them could hold office. To say that they could be enfeoffed is right. To say house by house is an addition.

A man of fifty years is a father. If he is a father and does not know his ruler, what will he show his son? In an age of great peace every household makes gentlemen, men have ritual and right, the father does not lose ritual and the son does not cast off good conduct. He who has good conduct has knowledge, and for knowing the ruler none is like the minister. A minister who is worthy can know his ruler, and because he can know his ruler he can govern his people. Now this man could not know Yao. How could he be enfeoffed and given office? At fifty years he beat the clods by the road and kept company with boys not yet grown. What kind of worthy man is that? Zilu made Zigao a steward, and Confucius held it not right, for he had not studied and knew nothing. The man beating the clods had no knowledge. How is he to be given office? If you praise the vastness of Yao, you cannot go on to say that the people could be enfeoffed house by house, and if you say that the worthy could be enfeoffed house by house, you cannot then take them to task for their folly. The man without knowledge who beat the clods is hard to square with house by house, and house by house is hard to square with vastness. Both are places where addition takes its rise, praising the virtue of Yao.

The Shangshu says, "Zu Yi remonstrated with Zhou Xin (紂), saying, 'Now among our people there is none who does not wish for ruin.'" Wang means none. Among our people of all under heaven there is none who does not wish the king to perish. To say that they wished the king to perish is right. To say that there was none who did not is an addition.

Zhou Xin was wicked, yet the people and ministers who had received his favor were not one or two, and Zu Yi added to his words in order to frighten Zhou Xin. So it is said that if the words are not added to, the heart is not alarmed, and if the heart is not alarmed, the conduct is not changed. He added to his words to frighten him, hoping that he would take warning and wake.

Su Qin urged the king of Qi, saying, "In Linzi the wheel hubs knock together and men's shoulders rub. Raise the sleeves and they make a tent, join the lapels of the robes and they make a curtain, shake off the sweat and it makes rain." Flourishing as Qi was, it could not be like this. Su Qin added to his words to stir the king of Qi. Zu Yi's remonstrance with Zhou Xin was like Su Qin's urging of the king of Qi. When worthies and sages add to their writing, there is something outward they do it for, and inwardly it is not necessarily so. How is this made clear? The chapter Wucheng says that when King Wu struck Zhou Xin, blood flowed until it floated the pestles. Those who helped in the battle were many, and so the blood flowed to this extent. If all had wished Zhou Xin's ruin, they would have crumbled like earth and broken apart like tiles. How would they have been willing to fight? So Zu Yi's saying that there was none among the people who did not wish it is like Su Qin adding to his words.

The Wucheng saying that blood flowed and floated the pestles also goes much too far. The blood of the dead may flow, but how can it float a pestle? Consider that King Wu struck Zhou Xin in the wilds of Mu. North of the He the ground is high and there is no soil that is not dry. When soldiers fell and blood flowed, it dried at once and sank into the earth. How could a pestle float? Besides, the soldiers of the house of Zhou and Yin all carried dry rations with them and had no work of pestle and mortar. Where would they get a pestle to float? To say that blood floated the pestles is meant to say that in punishing Zhou Xin the soldiers fell and the men were wounded, and so it came to floating pestles.

The Chunqiu, in the seventh year of Duke Zhuang, says, "In summer, in the fourth month, on the day xinmao, in the middle of the night the fixed stars were not seen, and the stars were like rain." The Gongyang zhuan says, "What is meant by 'like rain'? It is not rain. If it is not rain, then why is it called like rain? The unrevised Chunqiu said that stars raining down before they came within a foot of the ground they went back up. A gentleman revised it, and it reads: the stars were like rain."

The unrevised Chunqiu means the records of the Lu historians before the Chunqiu was revised, which said that stars raining down before they came within a foot of the ground they went back up. The gentleman means Confucius. Confucius revised it to read that the stars were like rain. Like rain means like the look of rain. The vapor of the hills becomes cloud. It does not reach heaven above, and it comes down and becomes rain. Raining stars are stars that fall without reaching the earth and are back up in heaven again, and so it says like rain. This is Confucius speaking rightly. Stars may sometimes reach the earth and sometimes not, and the count of feet and yards is hard to determine. For the historian's record to say a foot also goes too far. The earth has towers and terraces, hills and mounds. How can one say a foot? Confucius saying like rain got the truth of it. Confucius made the Chunqiu, and so he rightly said like rain. Had Confucius not made it, the words about not coming within a foot of the ground would have been handed down to this day.

In the time of Emperor Guangwu, Ben Guang of Runan, a gentleman of the palace, sent up a memorial saying that in the time of Emperor Xiaowen the emperor lived in the Mingguang palace and that in all under heaven only three men were sentenced in the courts. He sang the praise of Emperor Wen and set forth the proof of it. Emperor Guangwu said, "In the time of Xiaowen he did not live in the Mingguang palace, and those sentenced in the courts were not three men." Heap up good and cultivate virtue, and a fair name flows from it, and this is why the gentleman hates to dwell downstream. Ben Guang sent up his memorial to Han, and Han is the present age, yet he added to the merit and the beauty of it and still went beyond the truth. How much more with the emperors and kings of high antiquity, who are long ago and far off, whom worthy men extol and set forth from later times, losing the truth and departing from the root. Of that there has already been much. Had it not met with Guangwu's judgement, a thousand generations later the affairs of Xiaowen would have been set down in the classics and the arts, men would not have known of the addition, and his living in the Mingguang palace and the sentencing of three men would in the end have become fact.