Lao Tzu’s teaching, like that of Confucius, cannot be described as religion; like Confucius’s, it is a sort of social philosophy, but of irrationalistic character.  Thus it was quite possible, and later it became the rule, for one and the same person to be both Confucian and Taoist.  As an official and as the head of his family, a man would think and act as a Confucian; as a private individual, when he had retired far from the city to live in his country mansion (often modestly described as a cave or a thatched hut), or when he had been dismissed from his post or suffered some other trouble, he would feel and think as a Taoist.  In order to live as a Taoist it was necessary, of course, to possess such an estate, to which a man could retire with his servants, and where he could live without himself doing manual work.  This difference between the Confucian and the Taoist found a place in the works of many Chinese poets.  I take the following quotation from an essay by the statesman and poet Ts’ao Chih, of the end of the second century A.D.: 

“Master Mysticus lived in deep seclusion on a mountain in the wilderness; he had withdrawn as in flight from the world, desiring to purify his spirit and give rest to his heart.  He despised official activity, and no longer maintained any relations with the world; he sought quiet and freedom from care, in order in this way to attain everlasting life.  He did nothing but send his thoughts wandering between sky and clouds, and consequently there was nothing worldly that could attract and tempt him.

[Illustration:  1 Painted pottery from Kansu:  Neolithic. In the collection of the Museum fuer Voelkerkunde, Berlin.]

[Illustration:  2 Ancient bronze tripod found at Anyang. From G. Ecke:  Fruehe chinesische Bronzen aus der Sammlung Oskar Trautmann, Peking 1939, plate 3.]

“When Mr. Rationalist heard of this man, he desired to visit him, in order to persuade him to alter his views.  He harnessed four horses, who could quickly traverse the plain, and entered his light fast carriage.  He drove through the plain, leaving behind him the ruins of abandoned settlements; he entered the boundless wilderness, and finally reached the dwelling of Master Mysticus.  Here there was a waterfall on one side, and on the other were high crags; at the back a stream flowed deep down in its bed, and in front was an odorous wood.  The master wore a white doeskin cap and a striped fox-pelt.  He came forward from a cave buried in the mountain, leaned against the tall crag, and enjoyed the prospect of wild nature.  His ideas floated on the breezes, and he looked as if the wide spaces of the heavens and the countries of the earth were too narrow for him; as if he was going to fly but had not yet left the ground; as if he had already spread his wings but wanted to wait a moment.  Mr. Rationalist climbed up with the aid of vine shoots, reached the top of the crag, and stepped up to him, saying very respectfully: