荀子·勸學荀子·劝学

The gentleman says: learning must never stop. Blue dye is taken from the indigo plant, yet it is bluer than the plant. Ice is made from water, yet it is colder than water. Wood as straight as a plumb line can be steamed and bent into a wheel, its curve as true as a compass, and even when it has dried in the sun it will not straighten again: the bending has made it so. So wood that meets the carpenter's line becomes straight, and metal put to the whetstone becomes sharp. When the gentleman studies widely and every day examines himself, his understanding becomes clear and his conduct is without fault. So if you do not climb a high mountain, you do not know how high the sky is. If you do not look down into a deep gorge, you do not know how thick the earth is. If you do not hear the words left by the former kings, you do not know how great learning is. Children born among the Gan, the Yue, the Yi and the Mo cry with the same voice at birth, yet grow up with different customs: teaching has made them so. The Book of Songs says: "Ah, you gentlemen, do not always rest at ease. Be quietly diligent in your place, and love what is upright. The spirits will hear of it and grant you great blessings." There is no spirit greater than being transformed by the Way, and no blessing more lasting than freedom from misfortune. I once spent a whole day thinking, but it was not as good as a moment of learning. I once stood on tiptoe to look into the distance, but it was not as good as the wide view from a high place. Wave your arm from a height: your arm is no longer, yet you are seen from far away. Shout with the wind behind you: your voice is no louder, yet you are heard clearly. Those who borrow a carriage and horses have not made their own feet faster, yet they travel a thousand miles. Those who borrow a boat and oars have not learned to swim, yet they cross great rivers. The gentleman is no different from others at birth; he is simply good at making use of things. In the south there is a bird called the meng dove. It makes a nest of feathers woven together with hair and ties it to the tassels of the reeds. When the wind comes, the reeds snap, the eggs break and the young die. It is not that the nest was badly made; it is what it was tied to. In the west there is a tree called the shegan. Its stem is only four inches long, but it grows on top of a high mountain and looks down into an abyss a hundred fathoms deep. It is not that the stem is long; it is where it stands. Fleabane growing among hemp stands straight without being propped. The root of the orchid is fragrant angelica, but steep it in foul water, and the gentleman will not come near it and the common people will not wear it. It is not that its substance is not fine; it is what it has been steeped in. So the gentleman takes care where he lives and goes among scholars when he travels, to guard against what is crooked and to draw near to what is centred and true. Every kind of thing that arises has a beginning. The honour or disgrace that comes to someone reflects his virtue. Rotten meat breeds maggots; dried fish breeds worms. Grow careless and forget yourself, and disaster follows. What is strong will be used as a pillar; what is soft will be used for binding: each brings it on itself. Wickedness in a person is what resentment gathers around. Spread out kindling evenly, and the fire will go to the driest; level the ground evenly, and the water will go to the dampest. Plants grow with their kind, birds and beasts gather in flocks and herds: each thing follows its own kind. So when the target is set up, the arrows come; when the forest grows thick, the axes come; when a tree spreads its shade, the birds come to rest; when vinegar turns sour, the gnats gather. So words may invite misfortune and actions may invite disgrace. The gentleman takes care where he stands.

Pile up earth into a mountain, and wind and rain will rise from it. Pile up water into a deep pool, and dragons will be born in it. Pile up goodness into virtue, and a godlike clarity will come of itself, and the mind of the sage will be complete. So without piling up single steps, there is no way to reach a thousand miles. Without piling up little streams, there is no way to make a river or a sea. A fine horse cannot cover ten paces in a single leap, but a worn-out nag can go far in ten days; the achievement lies in not giving up. Carve and then stop, and you cannot even cut through rotten wood. Carve and never stop, and you can engrave metal and stone. The earthworm has no sharp claws or teeth, no strong muscles or bones, yet above it eats the dust and below it drinks from the springs: it uses its mind on one thing. The crab has six legs and two pincers, yet without the hole of a snake or an eel it has nowhere to shelter: its mind is restless. So without a deep and silent purpose there is no brilliant understanding, and without dedicated and quiet work there is no shining achievement. One who walks a forked road never arrives; one who serves two lords is accepted by neither. The eye cannot look at two things and see clearly; the ear cannot listen to two things and hear clearly. The flying serpent has no feet and yet it flies; the flying squirrel has five skills and yet it is stuck. The Book of Songs says: "The cuckoo is in the mulberry, and its young are seven. The good person, the gentleman, is constant in his ways. Constant in his ways, his heart is as if bound fast." So the gentleman binds himself to one thing.

Long ago, when Hu Ba played the zither, the fish in the stream came up to listen; when Bo Ya played the qin, the six horses of the chariot looked up from their fodder. So no sound is too small to be heard, and no conduct too hidden to show. When there is jade in the mountain, its plants and trees are lush; when the pool produces pearls, its banks never dry. If you do good and keep piling it up, how could it go unheard? Where does learning begin and where does it end? I say: as a course of study, it begins with reciting the classics and ends with reading the rites; in its meaning, it begins with becoming a scholar and ends with becoming a sage. Pile it up truly and work at it long, and you will enter into it. Learning goes on until death, and only then does it stop. So the course of study has an end, but its meaning cannot be set aside even for a moment. To do it is to be human; to abandon it is to be a beast. So the Documents are the record of government; the Songs are where the music of the centre comes to rest; the Rites are the great divisions of the law and the guiding threads of every category. So learning reaches the Rites and stops there. This is called the summit of the Way and of virtue. The reverence and refinement of the Rites, the balance and harmony of Music, the breadth of the Songs and the Documents, the subtlety of the Spring and Autumn Annals: everything between heaven and earth is there. The learning of the gentleman enters through the ear, is fixed in the heart, spreads through the four limbs and shows itself in movement and rest. In his slightest word and smallest movement, everything about him can serve as a model. The learning of the small man enters through the ear and comes out of the mouth. Between the mouth and the ear there are only four inches. How could that be enough to make a whole person of seven feet beautiful? In ancient times people learned for their own sake; nowadays people learn for the sake of others. The gentleman learns in order to make himself beautiful; the small man learns to make a present of it, like a gift of birds or calves. So to tell someone what they have not asked is called being presumptuous, and to tell them two things when they asked about one is called chattering. Presumption is wrong; chattering is wrong. The gentleman is like an echo. In learning, nothing is better than to be close to the right person. The Rites and Music give models but do not explain; the Songs and Documents tell of old times but are not close to us; the Spring and Autumn Annals are terse and not quickly grasped. But if you follow a teacher in learning the explanations of the gentleman, you will be honoured, learn widely and understand the world. So it is said: in learning, nothing is better than to be close to the right person. Of the paths of learning, none is quicker than to love the right person, and next to that is to honour the rites. If you can neither love the right person nor honour the rites, but only study a jumble of facts and follow the Songs and Documents, then to the end of your days you will be nothing but a narrow pedant. If you want to trace things back to the former kings and to root yourself in humaneness and right, then the rites are the warp and weft and the paths that lead there. It is like lifting a fur coat by the collar: bend your fingers and give it a shake, and all the hairs fall into place. Without the guidance of the rites, to go only by the Songs and Documents is like measuring a river with your finger, pounding millet with a spear, or eating from a pot with an awl: it cannot be done. So one who honours the rites, even without full understanding, is a scholar of principle; one who does not honour the rites, however sharp and clever, is a scattered pedant. Do not answer someone who asks about something crooked; do not ask someone who speaks of something crooked; do not listen to someone who argues for something crooked; do not debate with someone who is spoiling for a quarrel. Only when people come by the proper way should you meet with them; if they do not come by the proper way, avoid them. So only when people are courteous can you speak with them about the direction of the Way; only when their words are agreeable can you speak with them about the principles of the Way; only when their faces show they are willing can you speak with them about the furthest reaches of the Way. To speak to someone who is not ready is called presumption; not to speak to someone who is ready is called concealment; to speak without watching the other's face is called blindness. So the gentleman is not presumptuous, not secretive and not blind, but careful to fit himself to each person. The Book of Songs says: "Neither too familiar nor too slow: such are those the Son of Heaven favours." This is what it means.

Someone who misses one shot in a hundred is not called a good archer. Someone who falls short by a single step in a thousand miles is not called a good driver. Someone who does not connect things of the same kind, and is not single-minded in humaneness and right, is not called good at learning. Learning means learning to be single-minded. To go out by one way and come in by another is to be a man of the streets and alleys. Those with little good in them and much that is not good are the likes of Jie, Zhou and Robber Zhi. Only when you have made it whole and complete are you truly a learner. The gentleman knows that what is not whole and not pure is not enough to be beautiful. So he recites and counts to string it together, thinks and searches to understand it, lives like those who embody it, and removes what harms it so as to keep and nourish it. He makes his eyes not want to see what is not this, his ears not want to hear what is not this, his mouth not want to say what is not this, his heart not want to think what is not this. And when he comes to love it fully, his eyes love it more than the five colours, his ears love it more than the five notes, his mouth loves it more than the five flavours, his heart finds it more profitable than possessing the world. Then power and profit cannot sway him, the crowd cannot move him, the world cannot shake him. He lives by it and dies by it. This is called constancy in virtue. With constancy in virtue one can be steady, and being steady one can respond. One who is steady and can respond is called a complete person. Heaven shows its brightness, earth shows its light, and the gentleman values his completeness.