De l'un au multiple| ,
IV. Les aléas des textes
Authorial presence in some pre-Buddhist Chinese texts
Présence d’un auteur dans quelques textes chinois pré-bouddhiques
L’autoréférence est attestée en Chine dès le iiie siècle avant notre ère, avec le poète Qu Yuan, qui se met en scène lui-même. Néanmoins, il n’est pas évident que ce soit le cas pour les textes des penseurs. Les pronoms de la première personne qu’on trouve dans le Laozi peuvent correspondre aussi bien à un collectif qu’à un singulier ; dans la plupart des passages cités, il semble raisonnable de les interpréter comme des singuliers, mais la validité de ce choix n’est pas démontrable. On relève dans le Zhuangzi des pronoms qui renvoient sans ambiguïté à la première personne du singulier, mais s’ils désignent le personnage qui donne son nom à l’ouvrage, Zhuangzi, celui-ci n’est pas pour autant posé comme étant l’auteur.
C. Harbsmeier analyse de nombreuses citations. Pour conclure, il distingue cinq degrés de présence de l’auteur dans les textes chinois antérieurs à l’introduction du bouddhisme : 1) propos rapportés d’un auteur s’adressant à un public physiquement présent [ex. : les Entretiens de Confucius ] ; 2) l’auteur présumé, dont le nom constitue le titre du livre, est difficile à situer ; on ne connaît ni les dates ni les circonstances de son existence [ex. : Laozi] ; 3) il y a un « je » qui se présente explicitement comme le créateur de textes, adressés à un public indéfini [ex. : Qu Yuan] ; 4) il y a un « je » qui se présente comme auteur et assortit son texte de remarques éditoriales [ex. : Hanfei] ; 5) il y a un « je » qui se présente comme le rédacteur de certains passages et le compilateur d’un ensemble constituant un livre [ex. : Sima Qian].
Les traducteurs qui donnent à l’auteur une présence qu’il n’a pas dans le texte original commettent une faute herméneutique.
1Qu Yuan is communicative in a still more personal mode where the first-person pronoun (very often yu) is no longer just an appended poetic signature at the end of a poem:
2Even when there is no Chinese pronoun present (the non-bold pronouns), it remains somehow significant that an English translation (like that of Hawkes 1959, from which I have quoted) will naturally introduce it where it is not there in the original. On the other hand, in a context like the present one, one should probably not allow oneself the licence to introduce first-person pronouns where there are none. In any case, there can be no doubt that this poetry is strongly ego-centered, not only in the sense of the second couplet, but particularly in the sense of the remarkable first couplet. And Qu Yuan does speak of his inner life as quite separate from what is uttered:
Keeping my feelings unexpressed.
how can / live forever in such a state?
zhen and yu as first-person pronouns.
(Chuci, Lisao 258.)
Who understands my innermost feelings?
(Chuci, Lisao 140.)
3Given the traditional interpretation of his poetry, it is not surprising that Qu Yuan had a most profound impact on the history of authorship and personal expressiveness in China. His influence went beyond poetry. Consider the case of the Laozi in this connection.
4Traditionally, there was a division of labour in ancient China between the person who uses the knife or the brush to inscribe texts on various materials and the person who creates the texts that specialists in writing write down. Writing was originally a specialised craft and it remained a menial, often an anonymous task. The function of the editor/compiler was separate both from that of the originator of the linguistic content of the text and from that of the person responsible for the production of a given inscribed material object.as a writer in the Laozi , although there are many statements in the text which use first-person pronouns. The Laozi is an acroamatic text. The first thing to note is that, unlike the Zhuangzi , the Laozi never uses the unambiguously non-plural first-person pronouns yu or . There is no preface in the book. There is no postface. How exactly are we to understand the first-person pronouns in the Laozi? I want to study this question afresh in the context of the ethnography of literary communication in ancient China.
- 2 . It is worth noting that authorship is not limited to men in ancient China: the lyrical “I” in man (...)
5Some basic observations are hard to illustrate simply because they concern absences. For example, if we restrict our attention to first-person pronouns that refer to the auctor2 of a text, then it turns out that forms like “I think that”, “I suspect that”, “I feel that”, “I assume that”, “I presume that”, “I expect that”, “I presuppose that”, “I posit that”, “I maintain that”, “I argue that”, “I contend that”, “I suppose that”, “I deny that”, are interestingly rare in many pre-Buddhist Chinese texts. (A striking exception is the Shangshu
Laozi yue to introduce the chapters or saying any-where in the text. This is the decisive difference to texts like the Mencius or the Wenzi . The question then is whether the case of the Laozi is one of omission of something that is understood, namely Laozi yue or whether we have a genuinely different and new form in which a writer speaks in his own name without an intermediate compiling redactor. Moreover, we need to ask exactly what it is that prevents us from taking the first-person pronouns in the plural as “we”.
, What other men teach,
, I/we also teach it:
, The strong and the violent one,
does not come to his natural death.
I/we shall make this the beginning of teaching.
(Laozi 42, Gao Ming 1996: 33.)
6Keeping questions of this order in mind, I shall now consider the rest of the relevant evidence:
The softest thing in the world,
Crushes against the hardest thing in the world,
The non-existant enters where there is no space.
Therefore I/we know that the non-action has an advantage.
The teaching without words,
And the advantage of non-action,
Few in the world come to apprehend it.
(Laozi 4, Gao Ming 1996: 37.)
7Here Laozi distinguishes between what he presents as objective observations about the softest thing in the world and about the non-existant. Then he goes on to what he presents as an explicitly subjective deduction: he says wu shiyi zhi“therefore I/we know”. He does not simply say gu “therefore, thus”. Is this really Laozi’s psychological and autobiographic report on himself? It seems that we know far too little about the author’s person for that sort of personal psycho-logical report to have a plausible psychological context.
8There is no internal reason in the text why we should not be able to read this as: “therefore we know”. In any case, since the text tells us next to nothing about this “I”, it would not seem to matter whether it could be understood as a collective first-person pronoun.
The sage has no constant [heart/] mind,
He has the people’s [hearts/] minds as his own.
The good one, I/we treat him as good;
And the bad one I/we also treat him as good,
So he obtains goodness.
The trustworthy one, I/we trust him,
And the untrustworthy I/we also trust him,
So he obtains trust.
The sage’s attitude to the world is [contracted/] self-restrained
For the sake of the world he muddles his [heart/] mind.
The people all direct their ears and eyes to him,
° And the sage treats them all as children.
(Laozi 49, Gao Ming 1996: 59 has no first-person pronouns here.)
9One might insist that Laozi considers the publicly, generally, recognized “good ones”, and he contrasts his own subjective attitude. He takes an independant, a “private” stance. But there is another possibility. The “I” of the text may refer to the sage, not to Laozi. In that case, we would have a case of unmarked direct speech. The rhetorical form here would be remarkable. The text would pass imperceptibly from report to direct speech and back to report.
° What is well planted will not be pulled up.
° What is well embraced will not be pulled away.
° When sons and grandsons with it [i.e. the Way] sacrifice, it will
Cultivate it in the person,
° And the inner Power will be true.
Cultivate it in the family,
° And the inner Power will be abundant
Cultivate it in the village,
° And the inner Power will be durable.
Cultivate it in the state,
° And the inner Power will be ample.
Cultivate it in the world,
° And the inner Power will be universal.
’ Hence by aid of your own person you should [observe/] judge [other] persons,
’ By aid of your own family judge [other] families;
’ By aid of your own village judge [other] villages;
’ By aid of your own state judge [other] states;
° By aid of the world judge the world.
How do I/we know that the world is like this?
° By aid of the above.
(Laozi 54, cf. Laozi 21, Gao Ming 1996: 88.)
10The text presents a long list of assertions, but then there is the sudden apparently personal question: “How do I/we know that the world is as I/ we describe it?” The question refers the reader back to the chapter he has just read to find the justification. This rhetorical figure recurs several times in the book. But in some cases, the metatextual question is answered in what follows so that cimust be taken cataphorically as “what follows”:
By open correctness one governs a state,
’ By covert strategems one carries on war,
° And by making nothing one’s business one seizes the realm.
Whereby do I/we know that this is so?
° By the following:
If there are many prohibitions in the realm,
° Then the people will get the poorer for it.
If the people have many instruments of profit,
° Then the state will get the more darkened for it.
If the people have many skills and tricks,
° Then the strange implements will increase.
The more laws and ordinances are made widely known,
° The more thieves and malefactors there will be.
Therefore the Sage says:
When I/we have no actions,
° Then the people will be transformed of themselves.
When I/we love stillness,
° Then the people will be corrected of themselves.
When I/we make nothing my business,
° Then the people will be enriched of themvelves.
If I/we have no [extravagant] desires,
° Then the people turn to simplicity of themselves.
(Laozi 57, Gao Ming 1996: 102 ff.)
11There is no internal evidence in the text that prevents us from translating “how do we know that this is so?”. The other first-person pronouns are irrelevant because they are part of direct speech.
All in the world call my/our Way great.
° But it appears to be unlike [others].
° Just because it is great, therefore it appears to be unlike [others].
’ If it were like [others],
° Then a long time ago it would have counted as slight.
I/we have three treasures
: And hold and guard them:
’ The first is kindliness.
’ The second is frugality.
° The third is not to dare to be the foremost in the world.
’ I am kindly, and therefore I am capable of courage,
’ I am frugal, then therefore capable of liberality,
I do not dare to be the foremost in the world,
° Therefore I can become the leader of “instruments”.
’ Now to reject kindliness and go on to be courageous,
’ To reject frugality and to go on to be liberal,
’ To reject being hindmost and go on to come first,
° That means death.
’ Now as for kindliness, if you go to battle with it you will win,
° If you fight a defensive battle with it you will be safe.
’ If Heaven wants to save someone,
° Through his kindliness it protects him.
(Laozi 67, Gao Ming 1996: 158.)
12Laozi comments on public opinion. He then goes on to identify certain appearances that are liable to arise with respect to his person. At first thought, it seems most implausible to understand the first-person pronouns here collectively and translate them as “we”. Laozi adds a rather personal comment: It is precisely because he is indeed great that he is unlike others. Laozi is aware of the uniqueness of the sage in general, and of his own uniqueness. The crucial notion is that of du(literally: “alone”) But there is nothing in these texts to suggest that what we have here is writing rather than a saying by Laozi. And, on reflection, we had better be entirely clear what the internal explicit evidence is against taking the personal pronouns in the plural. “We are the only ones” is logically as well formed as “I alone”. Why exactly are we sure that we have an individual “I” speaking to us?
Those who [use weapons/] carry on wars have a saying:
° We dare not be the host but would rather be the guest.
° We dare not advance one inch but would rather withdraw one foot.
° This is called moving where there is no march,
° Rolling up one’s sleeves where there is no arm,
° Attacking where there are no enemies,
° Grasping where there are no weapons.
° Among disasters none is greater than underrating the enemy.
° If we underrate the enemy, we come close to losing mylour treasures.
Thus hostile armies are pitched against each other,
° Then those who feel grief will conquer.
(Laozi 69, Gao Ming 1996: 168.)
13It looks as if, at the end of this passage, it is made clear that the whole piece should be read as a text with a personal touch. “If I underrate the enemy I come close to losing my treasures.” This must surely refer back to formulations like those in chapter 67 if it is to be comprehensible. But there still is that – albeit remote – possibility of a collective first-person pronoun.
’ If I/we greatly had wisdom,
’ And were to travel on the great Way,
° I/we would only fear paths leading astray.
° The great Way is level and easy,
’ But people love by-paths.
’ The [princely] courts are well kept,
’ But the fields are all weed covered,
° And the granaries are empty.
’ People wear pattemed colourful clothes,
’ And on their belts they have sharp swords.
’ They are filled with food and drink,
° And of precious wares they have a surplus.
° This is called the boasting of thieves.
° It is indeed not in accordance with the Way!
(Laozi 53, Gao Ming 1996: 79.)
14Laozi sets out with a reflection in which he imagines himself in a certain situation, and he is surprised that other people behave differently, “love by-paths”. At the end of this passage, there is no need to say that the person who is calling this “the boasting of thieves” is primarily Laozi himself. The “I” does not, in this chapter, speak explicitly as an individual writing the chapter.
15It seems unnatural to translate the woas “we” here: the reflection seems almost on a personal level. And yet: can we exclude the possibility that the text speaks of the collective attitude of a group? What are the decisive grounds for this?
16That possibility becomes even more remote as we turn to the next relevant chapter:
’ My/our words are very easy to understand,
° And they are very easy to practise.
But in the whole world no one can understand them,
° And no one can practise them.
These words have their ancestry,
° And the [Laozi’s]deeds have their guiding principle.
’ It is because people have no understanding,
° Therefore they do not understand me/us.
’ Those who understand me/us are few,
° But those who take me/us as their model are prominent.
° Therefore the sage is clad in sack-cloth, and his jewel he hides in his bosom.
(Laozi 70, Gao Ming 1996: 173.)
17Laozi speaks here as the author of words. We do not know whether these were written or spoken. He reflects on their effect on the world. Laozi is confident about his words and deeds: “These words have their ancestry. [My] deeds have their guiding principle.” Then we get a direct piece of personal information on his real worry: lack of general recognition. At the same time a proud assertion: “Those [presumably few] who take me as their model are prominent.” Without humility, Laozi subsumes himself under the concept of the sage: we are given to understand that his position is a humble one, limiting him to sack-cloth clothes.
18Exactly why do we exclude “our words”? Exactly why do we exclude “Therefore they do not understand us”, “Those who understand us are few”. What exactly do we know about this “I” that makes the distinction important?
19The isolation of the wocomes out forcefully in the following:
° Discard learning and there will be no worry.
’ Between “Yes” and “Nay”,
? How great is the distance?
’ Between good and bad,
? How large is the distance?
’ He of whom others are in awe-struck fear,
° He must be in awe-struck fear of others.
° Waxing, it has not reached its limit.
The common people look happy,
As if enjoying a tailao sacrifice,
° And as if ascending a tower in spring.
’ I/we alone am/are still, with no sign of anything yet,
; Like a baby that has not yet started to smile.
° I am despondent, like someone who has nowhere to seek refuge.
’ The common people all have affluence,
° I/we alone am/are like someone who is left out.
I/we have a stupid man’s heart.
° All confused I am/we are, but the vulgar people are bright,
; I/we alone am/are all dull and dark.
’ The common people are astute,
° I/we alone am/are depressed.
’ The common people all have their purposes,
° And I/we alone am/are foolish and rustic.
’ I/we alone am/are [Mawangdui: wish to be] different from others,
° And I/we set store by receiving nourishment from the Mother (i.e. the Way).
(Laozi 20, Gao Ming 1996: 319.)
20The hoi polloi of the Greeks have their perfect equivalent in the zhong ren“the common crowd”. The pose of the thinker is a sentimental, tragic one: we have a case of the self-satisfied, inspired melancholy of the genius whose genius consists in feeling stupid. His stupidity arises from the fact that he does not take for granted the pleasures and values that the common crowd live by.
21But how exactly do we decide that this is not a collective alienation?
22One point on which Laozi, the sage, feels stupid and confused is that of terminology for his most important concepts. He does not say that there are no appropriate concepts, he describes the psychology of nomenclature. “I don’t know its family name.” Of course he knows that concepts do not have family names. We have deliberate personification of the central concepts. Not only is it described as “the Mother”, and so forth, we also have a playful refusal to tie important concepts to words. Playful it may appear, but it is not jocular in the spirit of Zhuangzi.
’ There was a something achieved in chaos,
° And it was born before Heaven and Earth.
’ Quiet, empty, standing alone it does not change,
’ It completes its orbits. is never exposed to danger.
° One may regard it as the mother of the world.
’ I/we do not know its/her name.
° If forced to give it an appellation I/we say: “the Way”.
° And if forced to give it a style I/we say: “the Great”.
° The Great is called “the Receding”.
° The Receding is called “the Far Away”.
° The Far Away is called “the Returning”.
Thus the Way is great,
Heaven is great,
Earth is great,
° And Man is also great.
’ Within the confines of space there are four Great Ones,
° And Man occupies one of these places.
’ Man takes Earth as his model,
’ The Earth takes Heaven as her model,
’ Heaven takes the Way as its model,
° And the Way takes what is naturally so as its model.
(Laozi 25, Gao Ming 1996: 350.)
23At certain points it is as if Laozi personalises certain general observations and makes them into a part of his personal conviction rather than an objective wisdom.
’ The one who intends and wishes to capture the world and work for this,
° I/we can see that he definitely will not succeed.
’ The world is a daemonic object,
’ And it cannot be manipulated.
’ He who manipulates it will ruin it,
° And he who holds onto it will lose it.
As for creatures, some choose a path, others follow,
Some breathe lightly, others heavily,
Some are strong, others weak,
° Some break things to pieces, others are broken into pieces.
Therefore the sage eschews excessiveness,
He eschews luxury,
° And he eschews grandeur.
(Laozi 29, Gao Ming 1996: 377.)
24But how exactly are we sure that the insight here is not a collective one: “We can see...”?
25Even within the context of Taoist “metaphysics” there is, occasion-ally, what we are inclined to read as a characteristic personal touch. Laozi declares his philosophy of life not as an impersonal doctrine but as a personal strategy:
’ The Way constantly practises non-action.
° And there is nothing it does not get done.
’ If lords and kings were able to keep to it,
° Then the myriad creatures would be transformed of themselves.
’ If when there is transformation desires arise,
° Then I/we shall restrain it with the simplicity of the Nameless.
’ Given the simplicity of the Nameless
° Then one surely will be free from desires.
’ If one is free from desires and thus gains peace.
° Then the world will be at peace of itself.
(Laozi 37, Gao Ming 1996: 425-426.)
26There are cases when we are not inclined to take the first-person pronoun in a strict referential sense: we are tempted to translate “we” or “one”. There is an important question of what the stylistic force of this is; whether we should not feel constrained to reproduce the Chinese effect by retaining the “I” so that we get a much more lively rendering:
’ Favour and disgrace are like something frightening,
° And honours as well as great calamities are [transient] like the body.
What do we mean by “favour and disgrace are like something frightening”?
° Favour is the lowliest thing.
’ When you get it you still get frightened,
° And when you lose it your still get frightened.
° This is what we mean by “favour and disgrace are something frightening”.
What do we mean by “honours as well as great calamities are [transient] like the body”?
’ The reason why one suffers great calamities,
° is because one has a body.
’ When one gets to the point that one has no body,
What calamity is there for one?
’ Therefore someone who is so honoured that he takes his body to be the world,
° One can still entrust the realm to.
’ Someone who is so stingy that he takes his body to be the world,
° One can still entrust the realm to.
(Laozi 13, Gao Ming 1996: 278 has only two first-person pronouns.)
27The explicit pronouns woand wu are common in the Laozi, but some points are clear:
The unambiguously singular first-person pronouns are absent in the Laozi;
- </#ITALIQUES#>There is no first-person pronoun that refers to the author of the text as engaged in the composition or production of that very text. (There is one reference to wu yan “my/our words”, in chapter 70, but these are not the concrete words of the book we have. The Mawangdui version in chapter 25, Gao Ming 1996: 350, “when pushed [to give it a name] I/we call it great”, does not change this picture: what is being talked about is general language policy, not concrete formulation of the Laozi text.)
Whereas the first-person pronouns are common in many chapters, none of them are autobiographic uses, so that even if we take them in the first-person, the self-references yield no biographical information except that the Way of person/s involved was widely regarded as great (ch. 70).
The explicit “you” referring to or appealing to the reader is completely absent in the Laozi. This is a crucial point on which I want to dwell.
28Zi“you”, or other words with this kind of meaning, never refer to the reader in Chinese prose literature. Direct address is to the listener, or to the recipient of letters, memorials and the like. In ancient China this form was not transferred to larger-scale books. These, unlike their Roman counterparts, do not have overtly addressed addressees. For example, the following has to be within the scope of direct speech.
; ° Confucius and you are all dreams. And I calling you a dream is also a dream. (Zhuangzi 2.)
29There is no clear evidence that Zhuangzi addressed his readership with a second-person pronoun. But somehow one would not be surprised if one found an example where he did. We shall return to this question of the explicitly addressed public at several points below.
30We must now remember that yu“I”, like yu “I” are unambiguously singular. The phrase yu yi ren “I, the single person”, is current in early Zhou literature. And the pronoun would be singular even without the addition of yi ren . Sima Qian regularly uses unambiguously singular first-person pronouns, and so does Chuci.
31The following could not, according to the rules of pre-Han Chinese rhetoric as I understand them at this stage, involve Zhuangzi addressing his reader, except if we assume that breaking rhetorical rules is exactly what we would expect of Zhuangzi.
) will take this to be part of Chang Wuzi’s speech, in which case there is no reference to the reader of the book. We need a set of neat examples of the reader being addressed by ruo (“if”) before such an interpretation begins to be plausible. Words like zi “you” can-not refer to the reader of a book, only to the listener within a story, or to the addressee of a letter or memorial.
You and I having been made to argue over alternatives, if it is you not I that wins, is it really you who are on to it, I who am not. If it is I not you that wins, is it really I who am on to it, you who are not? Is one of us on to it and the other of us not? Or are both of us on to it and both of us not? (Zhuangzi 2, tr. Graham 1981: 60.)
32This is the general rule throughout pre-Buddhist literature. And yet Zhuangzi can address his readership in an unusually communicative chapter like “Rifling Trunks”, thus demonstrating that there is nothing somehow completely unthinkable in addressing the readership. The exception shows up the element of manifest cultural choice in the rule:
Have you never heard of the age when inner Power was perfect? (Zhuangzi 10, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 360, tr. Watson 1968: 111, tr. Graham 1981: 209.)
33I am extremely keen to find more examples of this sort, especially in other pre-Buddhist authors.
34By comparison with the Laozi, the Zhuangzi strikes one in several ways as a much more personal book, as has been often noted. For one thing, a character by the name of Zhuangzi figures prominently in the book. For another, autobiographic first-person pronouns might seem to abound in that text. One might even want to cite to the opening of chapter 3 as a case in point:
Giles (1889: 48) My life has a limit, but my knowledge is without limit.
Graham (1981: 62) My life flows between confines, but knowledge has no confines.
35These translators take this to be an autobiographical reflection. But there are other versions:
36Watson (1968: 50) introduces a second-person pronoun: Your life has a limit but knowledge has none.
37Liu Kia-hway (1969: 46) translates, not implausibly by “human life is limited”: La vie humaine est limitée; le savoir est illimité.° Zhang Mosheng (1993: 135) simply has: ° Chen Guying (1991: 94) freely and plausibly opts for the plural: °
38One notes, from a grammatical point of view, that, if Zhuangzi had written yuor yu , there would have been no ambiguity: Giles and Graham would have been right, everyone else would have been wrong.
39I want to investigate the varieties of the modes of first-person reference in the Zhuangzi, and ultimately I want to reconstruct a “bestiary of first-personae” in that book.wo or wu “I” refers to the Zhuangzi who is a part of a story about Zhuangzi that is being told in the book that bears his name:
I will have Heaven and Earth for my coffin and coffin shell, the sun and moon for my pair of jade discs, the stars and constellations for my pearls and beads, and the ten thousand things for my parting gifts. The furnishings for my funeral are already prepared – what is there to add. (Zhuangzi 32; tr. Watson 1968: 361.)
40Here Zhuangzi is an embedded persona in a story, not the author of the book. I am not at this stage concerned with these cases of self-reference.
41The authorial “I” is absent throughout most of the book, but that means there is all the more reason to pay careful attention to the deviating cases. Here are apparent representative examples of the authorial “I” in the Zhuangzi:
wo , is contrasted with the others, ren , but significantly there is nothing in the context which definitely or absolutely excludes a plural reading: “or are only we confused”. The first-person pronoun may be self-referential but it is not autobiographical. It might even plausibly be taken to refer to the group constituted by the author and his intended esoteric audience. Certainly the first-person does not present himself as the writer of a whole book or any part of it.
Is the life of man inherently confused like this? Or am only I/are only we confused, and among the others there are those who are not confused? (Zhuangzi 2.)
- 4 . See Zhuangzi 12, end, for a less spectacular but still relevant case of authorial yu .
42This is part of a quite unusual internal dialogue where Zhuangzi writes as if transcribing his inner uncertainties. This rhetorical feature is rare even within the book Zhuangzi.4
Of the hundred joints, nine openings, six viscera all present and complete, which should I [or: we] recognise as more kin to me than another? (Zhuangzi 2, tr. Graham 1981: 51.)
43Again, nothing excludes the plural here, but nothing particularly recommends it.
Even the daemonic Yu could not understand you, and what am I [or: are we] supposed to manage to do about it [i.e. how am I supposed to understand]? (Zhuangzi 2, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 56, tr. Graham 1981: 51.)
44The plural remains possible.
’ From my [or: our] point of view,
’ The starting points of goodness and humaneness,
and the path of right and wrong,
° are hopelessly confused.
How should I [or: we] be able to tell the difference.
(Zhuangzi 2, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 79.)
How do I [or: we] know that what I call Heaven is not human?
And that what I [or: we] call human is not from Heaven?
(Zhuangzi 6, beginning; ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 205.)
’ The great clod supports me/us with a body,
’ it bothers me/us with life,
’ it gives me/us peace in old age,
° it gives me/us rest in death.
Therefore my/our considering life as good,
° is exactly the reason why I/we consider death as good.
(Zhuangzi 6, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 223.)
45One might argue that the author relates in a personal way to the Way. There is an apparent contrast with the Laozi. But one might still go on to insist that all these may be plausibly read in the plural. What this means is that even when read in the singular, they have no truly personal, individual ring to them in this context. We still do not have the autobiographical “I”, even less the authorial “I”.
46Paradoxically, the authorial “I” is more manifestly present in the Zhuangzi without any overt pronoun or pseudo-pronoun whatsoever:
let [me!] try to say it:
? How do I [or: we] know that what I [or: we] call knowing is not ignorance?
? How do I [or: we] know that what I [or: we] call ignorance is not knowing?
(Zhuangzi 2, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 79.)
qing “beg”, if we do take it as a semi-grammaticalised transitive verb, would have to be the reader in this passage. The author seems to make a polite request addressed to his readership.
Let me try to say it:
° Heaven practices non-action and because of that becomes clean.
° Earth practices non-action and because of that becomes restful.
(Zhuangzi 18, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 642.)
47The phrase recurs almost literally:
qing chang yan zhi . We have clear instances here of an authorial persona of the text under discussion being explicitly present in that text.
This may be so, but let me try to explain this.
(Zhuangzi 2, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 70.)
changshi represents something of a personal style of the writer Zhuangzi, a feature that was then imitated by his imitators in the book. There are similar well-known cases involving speech habits of Confucius. The “trying” is not a collective trying, it is not a collective but an individual pose, a pose close to, but not identical with, the traditional Western dubitatio, “hesitation”.
° Let me try to explain this.
(Zhuangzi 10, ed. Wang Shumin 1988: 349.)
48Authorial presence is a matter of degree, and it will not come as a surprise to anyone that there is more of it in the Zhuangzi than in the Laozi. Large parts of the book Zhuangzi have a presupposed omniscient and ultimately impersonal sage “I” as the authorial persona. But there is another note in the Zhuangzi. It turns out that the question of the rhetoric of authorship in the Zhuangzi is sometimes extremely complex and almost post-modern.bei ming “Northern Dark”. And we only understand this reference if we realise that the author does not really intend to make a reference to any thing at all. Commentators like Sima Biao suggest that this is at the North Pole. The place is imaginary. The next thing we hear of is a fish, and the same is true of this fish. It is no use speculating whether it was a whale, as some commentators do: the thing is a figment of the writer’s poetic and philosophical imagination. Next comes a little philological scandal: the fish is called a kun “spawn, tiny baby-fish”, just as the vast sea in the North is called the tianchi “Pond of Heaven”. It is no use explaining this away as a scribal error for some name of a gigantic fish: the name is a playful figment of the author’s imagination. There is, of course, a philosophy behind this apparent incongruousness: what we must describe as a gigantic fish might still be, in a cosmic perspective, sub specie aeternitatis, a tiny fish. The author teases his congenial readership into this insight. Many later commentators were unable to enter into this world of flippant rhetoric.chi , “pond”: the usage is provocative, certainly not naive, but neither is it mystical in a technical sense, as we often find in the Laozi. The Zhuangzi cultivates the traditional Western rhetorical category of the aprosdoketon, “the unexpected”, sometimes to the point where one comes to expect the unexpected. Even when Zhuangzi quotes the “Jests of Qi” as an authoritative text, we suspect an authorial intention of ridiculing the insistence on references to historical authorities. What kind of a serious “authority” are the “Jests of Qi”? We read this source with suspended belief.ye ma , “floating vapour”, and minute dust blown about by the creator breath: the reader suspects he is hearing the Master’s Voice, Zhuangzi himself. Or does he? He has no way of being sure. Before the reader has made up his mind on this, the perspective changes radically again. Zhuangzi invites the reader to join the bird in the subjectivity of its mystical flight, to see the world through its eyes. He does this by first inviting the reader to join his own subjectivity: “Is what appears as the blue of the sky the true colour of the sky, or is it just an optical effect of distance?” When this our world appears thus to the bird, then it stops.
49We are almost metaphysically elevated. But, abruptly, the reader is brought down to earth with perfectly mundane reflections on the amount of water needed to float a boat. Parenthetically inserted into this, again, a surely trivial reflection on how mustard seed would float in a puddle: are we to take this as Zhuangzi’s serious discourse? Surely we have parody of mundane pedestrian thinking. His rhetoric keeps us guessing.
50After all this parenthetic material, Zhuangzi returns briefly to straight poetic and reasoned narrative: the bird faces south. Then, abruptly, Zhuangzi enters the psychological world of the cicada and the turtle-dove: a new change of philosophical perspective. The discourse of these little animals is entirely from their own world of undergrowth and bushes. Abruptly again, Zhuangzi goes on to an ordinary and reasonable human perspective: surely, one has to make sure that one has proper supplies according to how far one intends to travel. These little animals have a hopelessly narrow perspective. “What do they know?” Surely, small intelligence does not reach large intelligence.gu yue , “therefore it is said”, is a sequence of oxymora, “contradictions in terms”, in which he rises above these various perspectives: The person with a perfectly developed self has no self; the person with spiritual achievements has no achievements; the renowned sage has no fame. Thus the momentum of the liberation from omniscient-sage mode of authorship represented in the Laozi leads not only to an occasional personal authorial presence, but to a highly complex ironie display of assumed authorial personae. This is manifest in the first chapter of the book, common in the Inner Chapters, and there are quite a few reflections of it in the rest of the book. Soon afterwards, this initial momentum was lost. There is none of it left in Huainanzi (second century bc), none in Guo Xiang (died 312 ad) or Xiang Xiu (ca. 221-309 ad), certainly none of it in the Liezi (third century ad).Zhuangzi we not only have yu yan , “attributed, fictitious words”, we have an author who assumes a whole range of voices, an author who deliberately avoids the ordinary straight mode of saying “I the author of this piece of writing am telling you, the indended reader of that piece, my current honest opinion as follows...”, the mode which is assumed throughout, for example, by Wang Chong (27 ad-ca. 100 ad). Lu Deming (ad 556-627) in his preface to the Zhuangzi comments very much to the point:
- 5 . Qu “zest” is an important technical term of aesthetic appreciation.
° The literary zest5 is lush and profound.
° His [seemingly] straightforward formulations are as if turned round [i.e. ironical(?)].
51In the Xunzithe typical uses of wo outside quotation is impersonal:
Was nun solche Dinge anbelangt, wie die Pflege des eigenen Innern, ernsthaftes Bemühen um sittlichen Lebenswandel, Klärung des eigenen Wissens und Planens, trotz des Lebens im Heute nicht auch die Alten vergessen u.s.f., so hângt das alles vom Menschen persönlich (wo) ab. (Köster 1967: 218.)
... ce sont des choses qu’on a en soi. (Xunzi 17, Kamenarovic 206.)
Was also [die Regierenden] selbstsüchtig horten, dient nur dem eigenen Untergang, während der Feind, falls er das Gehortete erobert, dadurch nur stärker wird. (Köster 1967: 94.)
52Knoblock posits a quotation and thus avoids a reference to the author of the Xunzi:
wu in Xunzi is similar. The meaning is close to the impersonal “one”:
Thus, amassing tax revenues on my part will bring on my destruction, and my enemies by gaining my lands will be made stronger. (Xunzi 9.29; Knoblockl988,1: 98.)
When our thoughts are unclear we cannot quite fix affirmations or negations. So lange unsere Überlegungen nicht zu klaren Ergebnissen führen, sind wir noch nicht in der Lage, bestimmte positive oder negative Aussagen zu machen. (Xunzi 21.68, Köster 1967: 281.)
53There is nothing personal in the following:
wo must be understood impersonally or in the plural:
° Thus he who disapproves of one/me and is right is one’s/my teacher. He who approves of one/me and is right is one’s/my friend. And he who flatters one/me is one’s/my worst enemy. (Xunzi 2: 1; Knoblock 1988,1: 151.)
If we act according to Mozi’s Against Music then we will cause the world to be chaotic. (Xunzi 10.)
(fl. ad 818 ) commentary, quite rightly, takes the intention to be general:
What other men detest I detest also. (Xunzi 3, end; Knoblock 1988, I: 180.)
What the talented will desire or detest is not necessarily different from the ordinary people’s [desires and dislikes].
54There may be reason to tone down the personal touch of this by taking the wuin the plural. The personal note would certainly seem to be out of place in the context of this phrase in a way that such authorial first-person reference is not out of place in Zhuangzi 2.
55Consider, however, the following which comes closer to authorial presence:
Xunzi 17.81 shi xu yan ye “This is empty/insubstantial talk”, where translations like Kôster’s spuriously personalise the statement, thus distorting the impersonal mode of the original: “Ich nenne das Behauptungen von Phantasten”, “I call that the opinions of men with uncontrolled phantasies.”
Under such circumstances, then even if there is no ruin as yet, I/we say of them that they are not in control of the world. (Xunzi 18.15; cf. Kösterl967: 226: »...so leugne ich doch nicht, daß sie noch im Besitz der Weltherrschaft waren.”)
- 6 . I disregard, for the time being, the complicated question of the oracle-bone inscriptions and the (...)
56The constitutive features of textuality are manifestly problematic in traditional ancient Chinese prose literature.6 (Inscriptions, letters and the like raise complex problems in their own right that are beyond my present scope.) The books we have (our textus recepti) are results of long processes of literary accretion from widely different sources. Compilation, editorial redaction, scribal, and authorial functions tended to be disconcertingly separate.
57If we were to treat such texts as written statements by an author intending to convey his thoughts to a general public (present and future), we would be making a very serious hermeneutic category mistake. Such hermeneutic category mistakes affect translation. Thus, for example, it is often directly relevant for translation that the “gentle (generalised) reader” of a book, the person addressed by the proverbial caveat lector, is practically never mentioned in all of traditional pre-Buddhist prose literature and that he certainly is not routinely addressed in any of our traditional texts of the period. One must realise that, when one interprets an author as directly addressing his audience by a second-person pronoun, one attributes to him an act of hermeneutic revolution.Lunyu is a text that presents predominantly such context-bound quotations. But already in that text, one has to be aware that what is said may begin to be intended as de-contextualised statement, where the “I”, while physically addressing an audience within earshot, is aware that he will indirectly reach a wider audience. Confucius, Mo Di (late fifth century bc), Yan Ying (ca. 580-500 bc) and Mencius belong into this category: they are known not through writings but as the originators of dicta. In these books there is an embedded “auctorial” I. Consider the case of Mozi 15:
This speaks of matters relating to Yu. We can, then, universalize love in conduct...
This is what King Wen had accomplished. We can, then, universalize love in conduct....
This relates the deeds of King Wu. We can, then, universalize love in conduct. (Mozi 15, tr. Mei Yi Pao 1929: 172. Compare Schmidt-Glintzer 1975: 145, who follows Mei.)
58As an interesting borderline case, one might mention the “I” presenting himself in self-quotation, as in the famous taishi gong yue“the Grand Recorder said”.
59The speaker may be more or less context bound to his concrete physical audience in his pronouncements. To varying degrees he may say things to an audience, expecting these to be remembered and repeated by his audience. The extent to which this happens in any given instance of recorded speech is crucial for correct translation and interpretation.auctor”, the “I” presented in implicit quotation, where a book is built up from sayings implicitly attributed to a speaker, the attribution being indicated through the title of a work. The Laozi is a text that predominantly presents such quotations, which by the nature of things have to be less concretely and openly context bound than direct speech within a given historical situation would tend to be, but the utterance of which must have entered a social and intellectual context which it is often hard to reconstruct. The presumed author Laozi , of uncertain date and existence, would be such an auctor.7 in Mao Shi 200 is a case in point, and so is Qu Yuan (ca. 343-277 bc). (died 233 bc) poses as such a writer in parts of the anonymous collection Hanfeizi. (ca. 145 – ca. 85 bc) is a case of such a writer-editor, who even introduces cross-references to other parts of his book into his text. (179-122 bc) and Lu Buwei (ca. 290-235 bc) might appear to be cases of such compiler-editors. However, it is characteristically difficult to find passages where these editors refer to themselves in the first person.
60If we now turn to the instances where a person refers to himself in some sense or another as the author of a given text, further complications arise. We have already noted the important question of whether he ever engages in a dialogue with the public reader, whether he ever dramatises this dialogue in something like the form “You might say... But I tell you...” The answer is, he does not.
61But there are important further questions concerning pre-Buddhist Chinese texts:
How do writers pose for their audience: what are their standardised poses? What is the cultural register of authorial personae “masks” in pre-Buddhist China?
To what extent and how do writers explicitly place passages in their writing in a personal-life autobiographic context? What is the cultural register of autobiographic contextualisation in pre-Buddhist China?
To what extent do we find the fictionalisation of the authorial Self? What is the cultural register of prosopopeia?
To what extent could authors explicitly address their writings to themselves? Archilochos: thyme thym’ amechanoisin pemasin kyko-menos. ... Cicero’s “Consolatio”, written as advice to himself after the death of his beloved daughter, Tullia.
What is the cultural register of sustained and explicit inner conflict among writers?
To what extent could authors correct their own use of language through such phrases as “or rather”? What is the cultural register of second thoughts on one’s own formulations in pre-Buddhist China?
62Questions of this order are legion. Few of them have been investigated by a “historical critical method”. Historically well-founded answers to these questions will severely restrict the range of plausible translations in all those Chinese texts where one of the grammatically possible readings would attribute to a pre-Buddhist writer authorial ploys and devices that were alien to the culture at a given stage.
63Aside from questions of historical grammar, historical lexicography, the semantics of sentences, and so on, there are crucial dimensions of the historical anthropology of literary communication which should define and limit the options translators have when approaching traditional Chinese texts. We need more than W.V.O. Quine’s Principle of Charity (interpret in such a way that a maximum of statements you interpret turn out to be true) and more than Richard Grandy’s Principle of Humanity (interpret in such a way that a maximum of the statements you interpret turn out to be consistent with each other). What we need is a Principle of Hermeneutic Austerity: Do not attribute to texts of a certain culture, time and genre semantic features and rhetorical devices that are not a plausible part of the literary communication in that culture, at that time, and in that genre. This may sound plausible to the point of triviality. It is therefore all the more surprising that this principle is so consistently overlooked in translations from classical Chinese.
64Some relevant contrasts between different varieties of authorial “I” must be distinguished. Firstly, and crucially, one has to emphasise the fact that the non-explicit authorial “I” is often much more personal and individual than the explicit authorial “I”.
65There is the important question of the scope of authorship claimed by the authorial “I”: is it a passage in a chapter, a sequence of passages or episodes, the chapter as a whole, a sequence of chapters, or a whole book?
66There is an important progression from the abstract, untensed authorial “I” which construes itself as the author of the whole text or passage to the tensed author who construes himself as being at a given stage in the production of his text.
67There is the basic difference between an author who construes his role as emotionally expressive versus the authorial “I” which poses as a transmitter of fact and judgment.
68There is the difference between the authorial “I” that construes itself as the producer of oral text versus the authorial “I” that construes itself as the author of the written text.
69There is the contrast between the authorial “I” that construes itself or poses as being in a concrete dialogue with a certain audience and the authorial “I” that simply expounds things to an uncircumscribed and unfocussed general audience.
70There is the contrast between the authorial “I” that poses as the Creator versus the author that poses as the transmitter of messages.
71There is the contrast between the authorial “I” that poses as a real historical person versus the authorial “I” that poses as an explicitly fictional character;
72There is the contrast between the authorial “I” that poses as objective versus the authorial “I” that poses as subjective.
73There is the contrast between the authorial “I” that poses as a generic, collective “I/we” versus the authorial “I” that poses as an individualistic: “I”.
74Finally, among many other distinctions along these lines, one might mention the distinction between the authorial “I” as referring to a concrete author versus the abstract philosophical “I” that no longer refers to the individual author at all but to the generalised philosophical notion of the “Self.
75I shall not continue in this recitation of relevant contrasts within the conceptual field of the authorial “I”. My point is that, unless and until the historical dynamics of the evolution of such contrasting construals of the authorial “I” in early Chinese literature is given proper close attention, unless it is closely reconstructed text by text, chapter by chapter, passage by passage, histories of early Chinese literature will omit a central feature in the evolution of early Chinese literary sensibilities. The study of this important subject, it seems to me, has barely begun.
Chen Zizhan 1995: Neat critical text and excellent prose translation of the older parts of the collection, including a detailed study of what the author regards as the genuine parts of the book.
Dong Chuping 1986: Incomplete text, but interesting translations and notes.
Fu Xiren 1982: Useful edition for cursory reading: all characters are sup-plied with bopomofo transliterations, and the commentaries are concise and informative.
Hawkes 1985: With Pinyin transcriptions, improved version of the first edition of 1959.
Huang Shouqi et al. 1984: Concisely annotated useful translation.
Lei Qingyi 1994: Commentary and argumentative study of the older parts of the book. Useful supplement to Chen Zizhan’s more useful work.
Lim Boon Keng 1929: Bilingual, and a useful cribedition, which provides the early commentaries and a complete index.
Chen Yiping 1994: Useful complete translation.
Chen Guangzhong 1993: Careful philological translation, with sparse annotation. Full philological edition by the same author is announced.
Larre et al. 1993.
Le Blanc 1985.
Liu Wendian 1969: Photographic reprint of the first edition of 1924
– 1989: Carefully punctuated, collated edition on the preceding. An indispensible edition, to be used, though, in conjunction with later editions, particularly the works of Yu Dacheng and Zhang Shuangdi.
Xu Kuangyi 1995.
Yu Dacheng 1969, 2 vols.: Singularly useful set with textual notes.
Zhang Shuangdi 1996: By far the best annotated edition to date, with abundant bibliography. A philological orgy of diligence and exactitude.
Gao Ming 1996: The best critical edition of the Mawangdui version of the text, sumptuously annotated.
Henricks 1989: Convenient edition and translation of the new manuscript finds.
Karlgren 1975: A moving document from the grand master who had declared all his life that Laozi was ultimately untranslatable.
Lau 1983: Bilingual edition of the traditional as well as the silk manuscript texts.
Shima Kunio 1973: The standard variorum edition of text and early commentaries, excluding recent manuscript finds.
Wing Tsit Chan 1963: Annotated translation with a survey of scholarship on the traditional text.
Graham 1960: One of Graham’s finest achievements as a translator.
Wang Qiangmo 1993.
Xiao Dengfu 1990: Best edition of the text and a rich selection of its commentaries, with detailed annotations.
Yan Beiming et al. 1991: Useful complete translation.
Yang Bojun 1979: The standard critical edition.
Cheng Shude 1990: My preferred collection of traditional textual and exegetic commentaries.
Couvreur 1950: Fluent French translation with painfully literal Latin translation systematically based on Zhu Xi’s interpretations.
Lau 1983, revised 1992: The best Western translation, but still to be used with care.
Liu Baonan 1933: Standard collection of pre-modern commentaries. Liu Baonan (1791-1855) showed remarkable philological judgement in this compilation.
Qian Mu 1987: The authoritative translation on Taiwan, often highly edifying reading.
Yang Bojun 1965: The authoritative modem Chinese translation on the mainland.
Zeng Xiujing 1991: Singularly useful collection of early commentaries gleaned from a wide variety of sources, conveniently presented.
Li Yushu 1976: Serviceable translation.
Mei Yi Pao 1929.
Sun Yirang 1936: The old standard edition.
Wang Huanbiao 1984: Careful, annotated translation.
Wu Yujiang 1993: The new standard critical edition of the text, also available in a very beautiful interlinear version (Xinanshifandaxue 1992).
Couvreur 1951: Very convenient traditionalist translation.
Gu Baotian 1995: Disciplined, concise edition, always useful to compare.
Jiang Hao 1990: Serviceable complete, annotated translation.
Karlgren 1950: The standard literal translation of the old parts.
Legge 1892, vol. 3: Usefully annotated and very beautifully printed.
Qu Wanli 1977: Convenient traslation, probably by a student of the grand old author.
– 1968: Masterful concise traditional annotation.
Ruan Yuan 1980, 2 vols.: Photographic reprint, conveniently collects the ancient commentaries.
Yang Renzhi 1993: Moderately useful, often careless modem annotated edition.
Chen Zizhan 1993: Talkative edition, with complete literal unrhyming translation. An attractive work.
Couvreur 1934: Fine French translation with painfully literal Latin paraphrase based on standard Song interpretations throughout.
Gao Heng 1980: Concise, dry modem annotation.
Karlgren 1950: The standard literal translation, curiously poetic in its prosaic literal awkwardness.
Qu Wanli 1959: Masterful traditional annotation
Ruan Yuan 1980: Photographic reprint, good source for the Mao commentaries.
Yuan Yu’an 1992: Serviceable complete, concisely annotated edition.
Deng Hanqing 1994: A popular plain commentary concentrating mainly on the philosophical arguments presented. A useful supplement to the more philologically orientated remaining commentaries.
Dubs 1973: Convenient bilingual version of this old translation.
Ed. Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index Series, Supplement no. 22, 1966: Photographic reprint.
Jiang Nanhua 1995: Interesting complete version with concise annotation.
Knoblock 1988, 3 vols.: Nicely annotated, but as a translation much inferior to Köster, below.
Liang Qixiong 1973: Reprint. Concise but thoroughly creative.
Xunzi xinzhu 1979: Masterful concise annotation: a fine edition.
Yang Liuqiao 1985: Solid philological contribution in the traditional vein.
Cao Chuji 1982: Very concise and quite helpful.
Chen Guying 1991: Revised version of the Taibei original edition. Perhaps the best translated version of the vast number of translations that exist.
Giles 1961 (first ed. 1889).
Graham 1981: Painfully intellectualised.
Guo Qingfan 1961: The classical edition, particularly useful for its critical edition of the old commentaries.
Ed. Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index Series, Supplement no. 20.
Liu Kia-hway 1969.
Liu Jianguo 1993: Useful crib.
Ouyang Jingxian et al. 1986: Quite useful for its attention to matters of grammatical usage.
Qian Mu 1989, Preface 1962: A thoughtful, weighty traditional commentary.
Wang Shumin 1988: The best critical text, replacing, I think, the standard edition by Guo Qingfan as the most useful basic edition.
Wang Xianqian, Liu Wu 1987: Wonderful illustration of the notion of progress in traditional Chinese philology: Liu discovers vast numbers of serious mistakes in Wang.
Watson 1968: Overly smooth.
Wilhelm 1969 (reprint).
Yang Liuqiao 1991: Careful philological edition.
Zhang Gengguang 1991: Useful crib.
Zhang Mosheng 1993: Talkative and interesting rambling commentary by an intellectual.
Zhong Tai 1988: Highly original, thoughtful running commentary.
Balfour, Frederic Henry (tr.). 1881. The Divine Classic of Nan-Hua; Being the Works of Chuang Tsze, Taoist Philosopher. With an excursus, and copious annotations in English and Chinese. Shanghai, Kelly and Walsh.1982. Zhuangzi qianzhu. Beijing, Zhonghua shuju .
Chan Wing Tsit. 1963. The Way of Lao Tzu. New York, Bobbs-Merrill.. 1993. Huainanzi yizhu . Changchun , Jilin wenshi .. 1991. Zhuangzi jinzhu jinyi . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju .. 1990. Lunyu jishi . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju , 4 vols.. 1994. Huainanzi jiaozhu yi . Guangdong , Guangzhou renmin .. 1993. Shijing zhijie . Shanghai , Fudan daxue .. Jiangsu , Jiangsu guji .
Couvreur, Séraphin. 1934. Cheu king. Texte chinois avec une double traduction en français et en latin, une introduction et un vocabulaire. Sien Hien, Imprimerie de la Mission catholique.
– 1950. Les Quatre Livres. Paris, Cathasia.
– 1951. Chou King. Paris, Cathasia.. 1994. Xunzi yiping . Changsha , Yuelu shushe .. 1986. Chuci yizhu . Shanghai , Shanghai guji .
Dubs, Homer H. 1973. The Works of Hsüntze. Taibei, Confucius Publishing Company.. 1982. Xinyi Chuci duben . Taibei, Sanmin shuju .. 1980. Shijing jinzhu . Shanghai , Shanghai guji .. 1996. Boshu Laozi jiaozhu . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju .
Giles, Herbert A. 1961. Chuang Tzu. London, George Allen and Unwin. (First ed. 1889.)
Graham, Angus C. (tr.). 1960. Lieh Tzu. London, John Murray.
– 1981. Chuang Tzu. The Inner Chapters. London, George Allen and Unwin.. 1995. Shangshu yizhu . Changchun , Jilin wenshi .. 1961. Zhuangzi jishi . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju ., Supplement no. 20. 1947. Beijing ., Supplément no. 22. 1966. Taibei , Cheng Wen .
Hawkes, David (tr.). 1985. The Songs of the South. Oxford, Oxford University Press.
Henricks, R.( tr.). 1989. Lao-Tzu. Tao Te Ching. London, The Bodley Head.. 1984. Chuci quanyi . Guiyang , Guizhou renmin .. 1990. Jinguwen Shangshu quan yi . Guiyang , Guizhou renmin .
Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950a. The Book of Odes. Gothenburg, Elanders.
– 1950b. The Book of Documents. Gothenburg, Elanders.
– 1975. “Notes on Lao-tse”, Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities, 47: 1-18.
Knoblock, John (tr.). 1988. Xunzi. A Translation and Study of the Complete Works. Stanford, Stanford University Press.
Köster, Hermann. 1967. Hsün Tzu. Kaldenkirchen, Steyler.
Lafitte, Jean-Jacques. 1994. Le Rêve du papillon. Paris, Albin Michel.
Larre, Claude et al. (tr.). 1993. Les Grands Traités du Huainan zi. Paris, Cerf.
Lau, D.C. (tr.). 1983a. Tao Te Ching. Hong Kong, Chinese University Press.
– 1983b. The Analects. Hong Kong, Hong Kong University Press. (Revised ed. 1992.)
Le Blanc, Charles (tr.). 1985. Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought: the Idea of Resonance (kan-ying) with a translation and analysis of chapter six. Hong Kong, Hong Kong University Press.
Legge, James. 1892. The Chinese Classics. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 5 vols.1994. Chuci zhengjie . Shanghai , Xuelin .. 1976. Mozi jinzhu jinyi . Taibei , Shangwu yinshuguan .. 1973. Xunzi jianshi . Taibei , Shangwu yinshuguan .
Lim Boon Keng (tr.). 1929. The Li Sao. Shanghai, The Commercial Press.. 1933. Lunyu zhengyi . Shanghai , Shangwu yinshuguan .. 1993. Zhuangzi yizhu . Changchun , Jilin wenshi .
Liu Kia-hway (tr.). 1969. L’œuvre complète de Tchouang-tseu. Paris, Gallimard.
Loewe, Michael. 1993. Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide. Berkeley, The Society for the Study of Early China.
Mei Yi Pao (tr.).1929. The Ethical and Political Works of Motse. London, Probsthain.
Morgan, Evan. 1934. Tao, the Great Luminant; Essays from Huai nan tzu, with introductory articles, notes, analyses. Shanghai, Kelly and Walsh.et al. 1986. Zhuangzi shiyi . Xianning , Hubei renmin .. 1962. Zhuangzi zuanjian . Taibei , Dongda tushu gongsi .
Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig. 1975. Mo Ti – Solidarität und allgemeine Menschenliebe. Düsseldorf/Cologne, Eugen Diederichs.. 1973. Roshi Kosei . Tokyo .. 1936. Mozi xiangu . Shanghai , Shangwu yinshuguan .. 1964. Sojisakuin . Tokushima, Tokushima University Press.
Wallacker, Benjamin (tr.). 1962. The Huai-nan-tzu, Book eleven: Behavior, Culture and the Cosmos. New Haven, American Oriental Society (American Oriental Series 48).. 1984. Mozi jiaoshi . Hangzhou , Zhejiang wenyi .. 1993. Liezi quanyi . Guiyang , Guizhou renmin .. 1988. Zhuangzi jiaoquan . Taibei . Zhongyangyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo , 3 vols.. 1987. Zhuangzi jijie . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju . with Liu Wu . 1987. Zhuangzi jijie neipian buzheng . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju .
Watson, Burton. (tr.). 1968. The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu. New York, Columbia University Press.
Wilhelm, Richard. 1969. Das wahre Buch von südlichen Blütenland. Diisseldorf, Eugen Diederichs.. 1993. Mozi jiaozhu . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju .. 1990. Liezi guzhu jinyi . Taibei , Wenjin .. 1995. Huainanzi quanyi . Guilin , Guizhou renmin . et al. 1991. Liezi yizhu . Shanghai , Shanghai guji .. 1965. Lunyu yizhu . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju .Liezi jishi . Beijing , Zhonghua shuju .Xunzi guyi . Jinan , Qilu chubanshe .. 1991. Zhuangzi yigu . Shanghai , Shanghai guji .Beijing , Beijing guangbo xueyuan .. 1969. Huainanzi jiaoshi . Taibei , National Taiwan Normal University, 2 vols.. 1992. Shijing quanyi . Guiyang , Guizhou renmin .. 1991. Lunyu guzhu jikao . Taibei , Xuehai .. 1991. Zhuangzi quanyi . Guiyang Guizhou renmin .. 1993. Zhuangzi xinshi Jinan , Qilu shushe .. 1996. Huainanzi jiaoshi . Beijing , Beijing daxue .. 1988. Zhuangzi fawei . Shanghai , Shanghai guji .
1 . Couplets 59-60 as translated by Hawkes 1959: 82. I believe gou must mean “truly, really” here and cannot be taken to introduce a postposed conditional clause.
2 . It is worth noting that authorship is not limited to men in ancient China: the lyrical “I” in many songs is a woman. Whether these songs, like many Frauenlieder of the German Middle Ages, were written by women, is impossible to ascertain.
3 . For the translations, compare Karlgren 1975: 1-18, which I have freely adapted to my purposes wherever desirable.
4 . See Zhuangzi 12, end, for a less spectacular but still relevant case of authorial yu .
5 . Qu “zest” is an important technical term of aesthetic appreciation.
6 . I disregard, for the time being, the complicated question of the oracle-bone inscriptions and the bronze inscriptions.
7 . I shall abandon the term “auctor” as soon as I hear of a less offensive way of putting the matter.
Table des illustrations
© Éditions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme, 1999
Conditions d’utilisation : http://www.openedition.org/6540