an outcast, I am an outlaw from my State. How have I offended against God that he should visit me with such a fate?"
"Have you not heard," replied Pien Tzŭ, "how the perfect man conducts himself? He is oblivious of his physical organisation. He is beyond the reach of sight and hearing. He moves outside the limits of this dusty world, rambling transcendentally in the domain of no-affairs. This is called acting but not from self-confidence, influencing but not from authority.
That is, acting not in consequence of self-confidence, but without reference to it; _sc._ naturally. Influencing, not because of authority, but gaining authority because of natural influence.
This quotation appears, though Chuang Tzŭ or whoever may be responsible for this episode does not say so, in chs. x. and li. of the _Tao-Tê-Ching_.
"But you, you make a show of your knowledge in order to startle fools.
You cultivate yourself in contrast to the degradation of others. And you blaze along as though the sun and moon were under your arms.
These last three sentences will be found verbatim in ch. xx.
Whereas, that you have a whole body in a whole skin, and have not perished in mid career, dumb, blind, or halt, but actually hold a place among men,--this ought to be enough for you. Why rail at God? Begone!"
Sun Hsiu went away, and Pien Tzŭ went in and sat down. Shortly afterwards, he looked up to heaven and sighed; whereupon a disciple asked him what was the matter.
"When Hsiu was here just now," answered Pien Tzŭ, "I spoke to him of the virtue of the perfect man. I fear lest he be startled and so driven on to doubt."
"No, Sir," answered the disciple. "If he was right and you were wrong, wrong will never drive right into doubt. If, on the other hand, he was wrong and you were right, he brought his doubt with him, and you are not responsible."
"Not so," said Pien Tzŭ. "Of old, when a bird alighted outside the capital of Lu, the prince was delighted, and killed an ox to feed it and had the _Chiu Shao_ played to entertain it. The bird, however, was timid and dazed and dared not to eat or drink. This was treating the bird like oneself. But to treat a bird as a bird would treat a bird, you must put it to roost in a deep forest, let it swim in river or lake, and feed at its ease on the plain. Now Sun Hsiu is a man of small understanding; and for me to speak to him of the perfect man is like setting a mouse to ride in a coach or a band of music to play to a quail. How should he not be startled?"
The above episode has already appeared in ch. xviii., _ad fin._ CHAPTER XX.
MOUNTAIN TREES.
_Argument_:--The alternatives of usefulness and [This chapter is supplementary to chapter iv.]
Chuang Tzŭ was travelling over a mountain when he saw a huge tree well covered with foliage. A woodsman had stopped near by, not caring to take it; and on Chuang Tzŭ enquiring the reason, he was told that it was of no use.
"This tree," cried Chuang Tzŭ, "by virtue of being good for nothing succeeds in completing its allotted span."
When Chuang Tzŭ left the mountain, he put up at the house of an old friend. The latter was delighted, and ordered a servant to kill a goose and cook it.
"Which shall I kill?" enquired the servant; "the one that cackles or the one that doesn't?"
His master told him to kill the one which did not cackle. And accordingly, the next day, a disciple asked Chuang Tzŭ, saying, "Yesterday, that tree on the mountain, because good for nothing, was to succeed in completing its allotted span. But now, our host's goose, which is good for nothing, has to die. Upon which horn of the dilemma will you rest?"
"I rest," replied Chuang Tzŭ with a smile, "halfway between the two. In that position, appearing to be what I am not, it is impossible to avoid the troubles of mortality; The text is here doubtful, and commentators explain according to the fancy of each. When a Chinese commentator does not understand his text, he usually slurs it over. He never says "I do not understand."
Chu Fu Tzŭ alone could rise to this height.
though, if charioted upon TAO and floating far above mortality, this would not be so. No praise, no blame; both great and small; changing with the change of time, but ever without special effort; both above and below; making for harmony with surroundings; reaching creation's First Cause; swaying all things and swayed by none;--how then shall such troubles come? This was the method of Shên Nung and Huang Ti.
"If another guest had happened to arrive," says Lin Hsi Chung, "I fancy the chance even of the cackling goose would have been small."
"But amidst the mundane passions and relationships of man, such would not be the case. For where there is union, there is also separation; where there is completion, there is also destruction; where there is purity, there is also oppression; where there is honour, there is also disparagement; where there is doing, there is also undoing; where there is openness, there is also underhandedness; and where there is no semblance, there is also deceit. How then can there be any fixed point?
Alas indeed! Take note, my disciples, that such is to be found only in the domain of TAO."
of Shih-nan paid a visit to the prince of Lu. The latter wore a melancholy look; whereupon the philosopher of Shih-nan enquired what was the cause.
"I study the doctrines of the ancient Sages," replied the prince. "I carry on the work of my predecessors. I respect religion. I honour the good. Never for a moment do I relax in these points; yet I cannot avoid misfortune, and consequently I am sad."
"Your Highness' method of avoiding misfortune," said the philosopher of Shih-nan, "is but a shallow one. A handsome fox or a striped leopard will live in a mountain forest, hiding beneath some precipitous cliff.
This is their repose. They come out at night and keep in by day. This is their caution. Though under the stress of hunger and thirst, they lie hidden, hardly venturing to slink secretly to the river bank in search of food. This is their resoluteness. Nevertheless, they do not escape the misfortune of the net and the trap. But what crime have they committed? 'Tis their skin which is the cause of their trouble; and is not the State of Lu your Highness' skin? I would have your Highness put away body and skin alike, and cleansing your heart and purging it of passion, betake yourself to the land where mortality is not.
TAO.
"In Nan-yüeh there is a district, called Established-Virtue. Its people are simple and honest, unselfish, and without passions. They can make, but cannot keep. They give, but look for no return. They are not conscious of fulfilling obligations. They are not conscious of subservience to etiquette.
Theirs is the natural etiquette of well-regulated minds.
Their actions are altogether uncontrolled, yet they tread in the way of the wise. Life is for enjoyment; death, for burial. And thither I would have your Highness proceed, power discarded and the world left behind, only putting trust in TAO."
"The road is long and dangerous," said the prince. "Rivers and hills to be crossed, and I without boat or chariot;--what then?"
"Unhindered by body and unfettered in mind," replied the philosopher, "your Highness will be a chariot to yourself."
"But the road is long and dreary," argued the prince, "and uninhabited.
This is a play on "where mortality is not," above.
I shall have no one to turn to for help; and how, without food, shall I ever be able to get there?"
"Decrease expenditure Of energy.
and lessen desires," answered the philosopher, "and even though without provisions, there will be enough. And then through river and over sea your Highness will travel into shoreless illimitable space. From the border-land, those who act as escort will return; but thence onwards your Highness will travel afar.
"It is the human in ourselves which is our hindrance; and the human in others which causes our sorrow. The great Yao had not this human element himself, nor did he perceive it in others. And I would have your Highness put off this hindrance and rid yourself of this sorrow, and roam with TAO alone through the realms of Infinite Nought.
"Suppose a boat is crossing a river, and another empty boat is about to collide with it. Even an irritable man would not lose his temper. But supposing there was some one in the second boat. Then the occupant of the first would shout to him to keep clear. And if the other did not hear the first time, nor even when called to three times, bad language would inevitably follow. In the first case there was no anger, in the second there was; because in the first case the boat was empty, and in the second it was occupied. And so it is with man. If he could only roam empty through life, who would be able to injure him?"
With his mind in a negative state, closed to all impressions conveyed within by the senses from without.
* * * * * Pei Kung Shê, minister to Duke Ling of Wei, levied contributions for making bells. An altar was built outside the city gate; For purposes of sacrifice.
and in three months the bells, upper and lower, were all hung.
The bell-chime consisted of a frame with bells swung on an upper and lower bar.
When Wang Tzŭ Ch'ing Chi Minister to the ruling House of Chou.
saw them, he asked, saying, "How, Sir, did you manage this?"
"In the domain of ONE," replied Shê, "there may not be managing. I have heard say that which is carved and polished reverts nevertheless to its natural condition. And so I made allowances for ignorance and for suspicion. I betrayed no feeling when welcomed or dismissed. I forbade not those who came, nor detained those who went away. I showed no resentment towards the unwilling, nor gratitude towards those who gave.
Every one subscribed what he liked; and thus in my daily collection of subscriptions, no injury was done.--How much more then those who have the great WAY?"
If my success was due to the simple principle above enunciated, what a success would result from TAO, which is the infinite extension of such principles into every phase of existence!
The Chinese word here used for "way," as a synonym of TAO, settles the original meaning of the latter in the sense of "road." Thus Lao Tzŭ is said to have explained that the WAY he taught was not the way which could be walked upon.
* * * * * When Confucius was hemmed in between Ch'ên and Ts'ai, he passed seven days without food.
The minister Jen went to condole with him, and said, "You were near, Sir, to death."
"I was indeed," replied Confucius.
"Do you fear death, Sir?" enquired Jen.
"I do," said Confucius.
"Then I will try to teach you," said Jen, "the way not to die.
"In the eastern sea there are certain birds, called the _i-êrh_.
They behave themselves in a modest and unassuming manner, as though unpossessed of ability. They fly simultaneously: they roost in a body.
In advancing, none strives to be first; in retreating, none ventures to be last. In eating, none will be the first to begin; it is considered proper to take the leavings of others. Therefore, in their own ranks they are at peace, and the outside world is unable to harm them. And thus they escape trouble.
"Straight trees are the first felled. Sweet wells are soonest exhausted. And you, you make a show of your knowledge in order to startle fools. You cultivate yourself in contrast to the degradation of others. And you blaze along as though the sun and moon were under your arms; consequently, you cannot avoid trouble.
See p. 243.
"Formerly, I heard a very wise man say, Self-praise is no recommendation. In merit achieved there is deterioration. In fame achieved there is loss. Who can discard both merit and fame and become one with the rest? TAO pervades all things but is not seen. TÊ This is "virtue," the expression of TAO.
moves through all things but its place is not known. In its purity and constancy, it may be compared with the purposeless. Remaining concealed, rejecting power, it works not for merit nor for fame. Thus, not censuring others, it is not censured by others.
"And if the perfect man cares not for fame, why, Sir, should you take pleasure in it?"
"Good indeed!" replied Confucius; and forthwith he took leave of his friends and dismissed his disciples and retired to the wilds, where he dressed himself in skins and serge and fed on acorns and chestnuts. He passed among the beasts and birds and they took no heed of him. And if so, how much more among men?
An unquestionably spurious episode.
Confucius asked Tzŭ Sang Hu, See ch. vi.
saying, "I have been twice expelled from Lu. My tree was cut down in Sung. I have been tabooed in Wei. I am a failure in Shang and Chou. I was surrounded between Ch'ên and Ts'ai. And in addition to all these troubles, my friends have separated from me and my disciples are gone.
How is this?"
See p. 180.
"Have you not heard," replied Sang Hu, "how when the men of Kuo fled, one of them, named Lin Hui, cast aside most valuable regalia and carried away his child upon his back? Some one suggested that he was influenced by the value of the child;--but the child's value was small.
Or by the inconvenience of the regalia;--but the inconvenience of the child would be much greater. Why then did he leave behind the regalia and carry off the child?
"Lin Hui himself said, 'The regalia involved a mere question of money.
The child was from God.'
"And so it is that in trouble and calamity mere money questions are neglected, while we ever cling nearer to that which is from God. And between neglecting and clinging to, the difference is great.
"The friendship of the superior man is negative like water. The friendship of the mean man is full-flavoured like wine. That of the superior man passes from the negative to the affectionate. That of the mean man passes from the full-flavoured to nothing. The friendship of the mean man begins without due cause, and in like manner comes to an end.
"I hear and obey," replied Confucius; and forthwith he went quietly home, put an end to his studies and cast aside his books. His disciples no longer saluted him as teacher; but his love for them deepened every day.
* * * * * On another occasion, Sang Hu said to him again, "When Shun was about to die, he commanded the Great Yü as follows:--Be careful. Act in accordance with your physical body. Speak in accordance with your feelings. You will thus not get into difficulty with the former nor suffer annoyance in the latter. And as under these conditions you will not stand in need of outward embellishment of any kind, it follows that you therefore will not stand in need of anything."
Also an episode of doubtful authorship. The commentators, however, have nothing to say against its genuineness.
Chuang Tzŭ put on cotton clothes with patches in them, and arranging his girdle and tieing on his shoes, To keep them from falling off.
went to see the prince of Wei.
"How miserable you look, Sir!" cried the prince.
"It is poverty, not misery," replied Chuang Tzŭ. "A man who has TAO cannot be miserable. Ragged clothes and old boots make poverty, not misery. Mine is what is called being out of harmony with one's age.
"Has your Highness never seen a climbing ape? Give it some large tree, and it will twist and twirl among the branches as though monarch of all it surveys. Yi and Fêng Mêng An ancient archer and his apprentice.
can never catch a glimpse of it.
"But put it in a bramble bush, and it will move cautiously with sidelong glances, trembling all over with fear. Not that its muscles relax in the face of difficulty, but because it is at a disadvantage as regards position, and is unable to make use of its skill. And how should any one, living under foolish sovereigns and wicked ministers, help being miserable, even though he might wish not to be so?
"It was under such circumstances that Pi Kan was disembowelled."
See ch. iv. The above episode is too much even for Chinese critics, and has been condemned accordingly.
* * * * * When Confucius was hemmed in between Ch'ên and Ts'ai and had gone seven days without food, then, holding in his left hand a piece of dry wood and in his right hand a dry stick, he sang a ballad of Piao Shih.
An ancient ruler.
He had an instrument, but the gamut was wanting. There was sound, but no tune. The sound of the wood accompanied by the voice of the man yielded a harsh result, but it was in keeping with the feelings of his audience.
Yen Hui, who was standing by in a respectful attitude, thereupon began to turn his eyes about him; and Confucius, fearing lest he should be driven by exaltation into bragging, or by a desire for safety into sorrow, As a result of hearing the song.
spoke to him as follows:-- "Hui! it is easy to escape injury from God; it is difficult to avoid the benefits of man. There is no beginning and there is no end. Man and God are ONE. Who then was singing just now?"
"Pray, Sir, what do you mean," asked Yen Hui, "by saying that it is easy to escape injury from God?"
"Hunger, thirst, cold, and heat," replied Confucius, "are but as fetters in the path of life. They belong to the natural laws which govern the universe; and in obedience thereto I pass on my allotted course. The subject dares not disregard the mandates of his prince. And if this is man's duty to man, how much more shall it be his duty to God?"
"What is the meaning of difficult to avoid the benefits of man?" asked Yen Hui.
"If one begins," replied Confucius, "by adaptation to surroundings, rank and power follow without cease. Such advantages are external; they are not derived from oneself. And my life is more or less dependent upon the external. The superior man does not steal these; nor does the good man pilfer them. What then do I but take them as they come?
"Therefore it has been said that no bird is so wise as the swallow. If it sees a place unfit to dwell in, it will not bestow a glance thereon; and even though it should drop food there, it will leave the food and fly away. Now swallows fear man. Yet they dwell among men. Because there they find their natural abode."
In the same way, man should adapt himself to the conditions which surround him.
"And what is the meaning," enquired Yen Hui, "of no beginning and no end?"
"The work goes on," replied Confucius, "and no man knoweth the cause.
How then shall he know the end, or the beginning? There is nothing left to us but to wait."
"And that man and God are ONE," said Yen Hui. "What does that mean?"
"That man is," replied Confucius, "is from God. That God is, is also from God. That man is not God, is his nature.
_Sc._ that which makes him man.
The Sage quietly waits for death as the end."
Which shall unite him once again with God.
When Chuang Tzŭ was wandering in the park at Tiao-ling, he saw a strange bird which came from the south. Its wings were seven feet across. Its eyes were an inch in circumference. And it flew close past Chuang Tzŭ's head to alight in a chestnut grove.
"What manner of bird is this?" cried Chuang Tzŭ. "With strong wings it does not fly away. With large eyes it does not see."
Or it would not have flown so near.
So he picked up his skirts and strode towards it with his cross-bow, anxious to get a shot. Just then he saw a cicada enjoying itself in the shade, forgetful of all else. And he saw a mantis spring and seize it, forgetting in the act its own body, which the strange bird immediately pounced upon and made its prey. And this it was which had caused the bird to forget its own nature.
And approach so close to man.
* * * * * This episode has been widely popularised in Chinese every-day life.
Its details have been expressed pictorially in a roughly-executed woodcut, with the addition of a tiger about to spring upon the man, and a well into which both will eventually tumble. A legend at the side reads,--"All is Destiny!"
"Alas!" cried Chuang Tzŭ with a sigh, "how creatures injure one another. Loss follows the pursuit of gain."
Those who would prey on others are preyed upon in turn themselves.
So he laid aside his bow and went home, driven away by the park-keeper who wanted to know what business he had there.
For three months after this, Chuang Tzŭ did not leave the house; and at length Lin Chü A disciple.
asked him, saying, "Master, how is it that you have not been out for so long?"
"While keeping my physical frame," replied Chuang Tzŭ, "I lost sight of my real self. Gazing at muddy water, I lost sight of the clear abyss.
Besides, I have learnt from the Master as follows:--"When you go into the world, follow its customs."
This saying is attributed, in uncanonical works, to Confucius. But if any one was "Master" to Chuang Tzŭ, it would of course be Lao Tzŭ.
Now when I strolled into the park at Tiao-ling, I forgot my real self.
That strange bird which flew close past me to the chestnut grove, forgot its nature. The keeper of the chestnut grove took me for a thief. Consequently I have not been out."
* * * * * When Yang Tzŭ Yang Chu. See ch. viii.
went to the Sung State, he passed a night at an inn.
The innkeeper had two concubines, one beautiful, the other ugly. The latter he loved; the former, he hated.
Yang Tzŭ asked how this was; whereupon one of the inn servants said, "The beautiful one is so conscious of her beauty that one does not think her beautiful. The ugly one is so conscious of her ugliness that one does not think her ugly."
"Note this, my disciples!" cried Yang Tzŭ. "Be virtuous, but without being consciously so; and wherever you go, you will be beloved."
CHAPTER XXI.
T'IEN TZŬ FANG.
_Argument_:--TAO cannot be imparted in words--It is not at man's disposal--It does not consist in formal morality--It is an inalienable element of existence--Without it the soul dies--With it man is happy and his immortality secure--Illustrations.
[This chapter is supplementary to chapter vi.]
T'ien Tzŭ Fang was in attendance upon Prince Wên of Wei.
Whose tutor he was.
He kept on praising Ch'i Kung, until at length Prince Wên said, "Is Ch'i Kung your tutor?"
"No," replied Tzŭ Fang; "he is merely a neighbour. He discourses admirably upon TAO. That is why I praise him."
"Have you then no tutor?" enquired the Prince.
"I have," replied Tzŭ Fang.
"And who may he be?" said Prince Wên.
"Tung Kuo Shun Tzŭ," answered Tzŭ Fang.
"Then how is it you do not praise him?" asked the Prince.
"He is perfect," replied Tzŭ Fang. "In appearance, a man; in reality, God. Unconditioned himself, he falls in with the conditioned, to his own greater glory. Pure himself, he can still tolerate others. If men are without TAO, by a mere look he calls them to a sense of error, and causes their intentions to melt away. How could I praise him?"
Thereupon Tzŭ Fang took his leave, and the Prince remained for the rest of the day absorbed in silence. At length he called an officer in waiting and said, "How far beyond us is the man of perfect virtue!
Hitherto I have regarded the discussion of holiness and wisdom, and the practice of charity and duty to one's neighbour, as the utmost point attainable. But now that I have heard of Tzŭ Fang's tutor, my body is relaxed and desires not movement, my mouth is closed and desires not speech. All I have learnt, verily it is mere undergrowth. And the kingdom of Wei is my bane."
TAO is not to be reached by the superficial worker, or by such as value the distinctions of this world.
* * * * * When Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ "A sage from the south," as the commentators say, anticipating the "Middle Kingdom" below.
was on his way to Ch'i, he broke his journey in Lu. A certain man of Lu begged for an interview, but Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ said, "No. I have heard that the gentlemen of the Middle Kingdom are experts in ceremonies and obligations, but wanting in knowledge of the human heart. I do not wish to see him."
So he went on to Ch'i; but once more at Lu, on his way home, the same man again begged to have an interview.
"When I was last here," cried Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ, "he asked to see me, and now again he asks to see me. Surely he must have something to communicate."
Whereupon he went and received the stranger, and on returning gave vent to sighs. Next day he received him again, and again after the interview gave vent to sighs. Then his servant asked him, saying, "How is it that whenever you receive this stranger, you always sigh afterwards?"
"I have already told you," replied Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ, "that the people of the Middle Kingdom are experts in ceremonies and obligations but wanting in knowledge of the human heart. The man who visited me came in and went out as _per_ compasses and square. His demeanour was now that of the dragon, now that of the tiger. He criticised me as though he had been my son. He admonished me as though he had been my father.
Therefore I gave vent to sighs."
When Confucius saw Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ, the former did not utter a word.
Whereupon Tzŭ Lu said, "Master, you have long wished to see Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ. How is it that when you do see him you do not speak?"
"With such men as these," replied Confucius, you have only to look, and TAO abides. There is no room for speech."
See ch. v, _ad init._, on "the Doctrine which is not expressed in words."
asked Confucius, saying, "Master, when you go at a walk, I go at a walk. When you trot, I trot. When you gallop, I gallop. But when you dash beyond the bounds of mortality, I can only stand staring behind.
How is this?"
"Explain yourself," said Confucius.
"I mean," continued Yen Yüan, "that as you speak, I speak. As you argue, I argue. As you preach TAO, so I preach TAO. And by 'when you dash beyond the bounds of mortality I can only stand staring behind,' I mean that without speaking you make people believe you, without striving you make people love you, without factitious attractions you gather people around you. I cannot understand how this is so."
"What is there to prevent you from finding out?" replied Confucius.
"There is no sorrow to be compared with the death of the mind. The death of the body is of but secondary importance.
Cf. ch. ii, "The body decomposes, and the mind goes with it. This is our real cause for sorrow."
"The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. There is no place which he does not illuminate; and those who have eyes and feet depend upon him to use them with success. When he comes forth, that is existence; when he disappears, that is non-existence.
"And every human being has that upon which he depends for death or for life.
Mind, which rises with life and sets at death.
But if I, receiving this mind-informed body, pass without due modification to the end, So that the mind perishes with the body.
day and night subject to ceaseless wear and tear like a mere thing, unknowing what the end will be, and in spite of this mind-informed body Which should teach a higher lesson.
conscious only that fate cannot save me from the inevitable grave-yard,--then I am consuming life until at death it is as though you and I had but once linked arms to be finally parted for ever! Is not that indeed a cause for sorrow?
The motive of this involved paragraph is identical with that of Mr.
Mallock's famous essay _Is Life Worth Living?_ "Now you fix your attention upon something in me which, while you look, has already passed away. Yet you seek for it as though it must be still there,--like one who seeks for a horse in a market-place.
In the interim the animal has been sold.
What I admire in you is transitory. Nevertheless, why should you grieve? Although my old self is constantly passing away, there remains that which does not pass away."
The mind, which feeds and thrives upon change.
* * * * * Confucius went to see Lao Tzŭ. The latter had just washed his head, and his hair was hanging down his back to dry. He looked like a lifeless body; so Confucius waited awhile, but at length approached and said, "Do my eyes deceive me, or is this really so? Your frame, Sir, seems like dry wood, as if it had been left without that which informs it with the life of man."
Chuang Tzŭ (?) is here repeating himself.
"I was wandering," replied Lao Tzŭ, "in the unborn."
Reflecting upon the state of man before his birth into the world.
"What does that mean?" asked Confucius.
"My mind is trammelled," replied Lao Tzŭ, "and I cannot know. My mouth is closed and I cannot speak. But I will try to tell you what is probably the truth.
"The perfect Negative principle is majestically passive. The perfect Positive principle is powerfully active. Passivity emanates from heaven above; activity proceeds from earth beneath. The interaction of the two results in that harmony by which all things are produced. There may be a First Cause, but we never see his form. His report fills space.
There is darkness and light. Days come and months go. Work is being constantly performed, yet we never witness the performance. Life must bring us from somewhere, and death must carry us back. Beginning and end follow ceaselessly one upon the other, and we cannot say when the series will be exhausted. If this is not the work of a First Cause, what is it?"
"Kindly explain," said Confucius, "what is to be got by wandering as you said."
"The result," answered Lao Tzŭ, "is perfect goodness and perfect happiness. And he who has these is a perfect man."
"And by what means," enquired Confucius, "can this be attained?"
"Animals," said Lao Tzŭ, "that eat grass do not mind a change of pasture. Creatures that live in water do not mind a change of pond. A slight change may be effected so long as the essential is untouched.
"Joy, anger, sorrow, happiness, find no place in that man's breast; for to him all creation is ONE. And all things being thus united in ONE, his body and limbs are but as dust of the earth, and life and death, beginning and end, are but as night and day, and cannot destroy his peace. How much less such trifles as gain or loss, misfortune or good fortune?
"He rejects rank as so much mud. For he knows that if a man is of honourable rank, the honour is in himself, and cannot be lost by change of condition, nor exhausted by countless modifications of existence.
Who then can grieve his heart? Those who practise TAO understand the secret of this."
"Master," said Confucius, "your virtue equals that of Heaven and Earth; yet you still employ perfect precepts in the cultivation of your heart.
Who among the sages of old could have uttered such words?"
"Not so," answered Lao Tzŭ. "The fluidity of water is not the result of any effort on the part of the water, but is its natural property.
And the virtue of the perfect man is such that even without cultivation there is nothing which can withdraw from his sway. Heaven is naturally high, the earth is naturally solid, the sun and moon are naturally bright. Do they cultivate these attributes?"
Confucius went forth and said to Yen Hui, "In point of TAO, I am but as an animalcule in vinegar. Had not the Master opened my eyes, I should not have perceived the vastness of the universe."
He who would concentrate himself upon life after death must first familiarise himself with life before birth.
* * * * * When Chuang Tzŭ was at an interview with Duke Ai of Lu, Who had then been dead 120 years.
the latter said, "We have many scholars, Sir, in Lu, but few of your school."
"In Lu," replied Chuang Tzŭ, "there are but few scholars."
"Look at the number who wear scholars' robes," said the Duke. "How can you say they are few?"
"Scholars who wear round hats," answered Chuang Tzŭ, "know the seasons of Heaven. Scholars who wear square shoes know the shape of Earth.
According to ancient Chinese cosmogony, "Heaven is round: Earth is square."
And scholars who loosely gird themselves are ready to decide whatever questions may arise. But scholars who have TAO do not necessarily wear robes; neither does the wearing of robes necessarily mean that a scholar has TAO. If your Highness does not think so, why not issue an order through the Middle Kingdom, making death the punishment for all who wear the robes without having the TAO?"
Thereupon Duke Ai circulated this mandate for five days, the result being that not a single man in Lu dared to don scholars' robes,--with the exception of one old man who, thus arrayed, took his stand at the Duke's gate.
My Ming editor (a priest) says this was Confucius himself!
The Duke summoned him to the presence, and asked him many questions on politics, trying to entangle him, but in vain. Then Chuang Tzŭ said, "If there is only one scholar in Lu, surely that is not many."
It is unnecessary, says Lin Hsi Chung, to descend to anachronisms in reference to the genuineness of this episode.
* * * * * Rank and power had no charms for Po Li Ch'i.
7th century BC. This story is alluded to by Mencius.
So he took to feeding cattle. His cattle were always fat, which caused Duke Mu of Ch'in to ignore his low condition and entrust him with the administration.
Shun cared nothing for life or death. He was therefore able to influence men's hearts.
His parents even went so far as to try to kill him.
* * * * * Prince Yüan of Sung desiring to draw a map, the officials of that department presented themselves, and after making obeisance stood waiting for the order, more than half of them already licking their brushes and mixing their ink.
One of them arrived late. He sauntered in without hurrying himself; and when he had made obeisance, did not wait but went off home.
The Prince sent a man to see what he did. He took off his clothes and squatted down bare-backed.
"He will do," cried the Prince. "He is a true artist."
The commentators do not get much out of this episode. Lin Hsi Chung damns it as a forgery.
When Wên Wang was on a tour of inspection in Tsang, he saw an old man fishing. But his fishing was not real fishing, for he did not fish to catch fish, but to amuse himself.
Wherefore, from the standpoint of TAO, he was the more likely to succeed.
So Wên Wang wished to employ him in the administration of government, but feared lest his own ministers, uncles, and brothers, might object.
On the other hand, if he let the old man go, he could not bear to think of the people being deprived of such an influence.
Accordingly, that very morning he informed his ministers, saying, "I once dreamt that a Sage of a black colour and with a large beard, riding upon a parti-coloured horse with red stockings on one side, appeared and instructed me to place the administration in the hands of the old gentleman of Tsang, promising that the people would benefit greatly thereby."
The ministers at once said, "It is a command from your Highness' father."
"I think so," answered Wên Wang. "But let us try by divination."