Chuang Tzu 6.13

Î-r Tsze having gone to see Hsü Yû, the latter said to him, "What benefit have you received from Yâo?" 

The reply was, "Yâo says to me, 'You must yourself labor at benevolence and righteousness, and be able to tell clearly which is right and which wrong in conflicting statements.'" 

Hsü Yû rejoined, "Why then have you come to me? Since Yâo has put on you the brand of his benevolence and righteousness, and cut off your nose with his right and wrong, how will you be able to wander in the way of aimless enjoyment, of unregulated contemplation, and the ever-changing forms of dispute?" 

Î-r Tsze said, "That may be; but I should like to skirt along its hedges." 

"But," said the other, "it cannot be. Eyes without pupils can see nothing of the beauty of the eyebrows, eyes, and other features; the blind have nothing to do with the green, yellow, and variegated colors of the sacrificial robes." 

Î-r Tsze rejoined, "Yet, when Wû-kwang lost his beauty, Kü-liang his strength, and Hwang-Tì his wisdom, they all recovered them under the moulding of your system—how do you know that the Maker will not obliterate the marks of my branding, and supply my dismemberment, so that, again perfect in my form, I may follow you as my teacher?" 

Hsü Yû said, "Ah! That cannot yet be known. I will tell you the rudiments. 0 my Master! 0 my Master! He gives to all things their blended qualities, and does not count it any righteousness; His favors reach to all generations, and He does not count it any benevolence; He is more ancient than the highest antiquity, and does not count Himself old; He overspreads heaven and supports the earth; He carves and fashions all bodily forms, and does not consider it any act of skill;- this is He in whom I find my enjoyment." 

IMAGE: M.C. Escher, Eye (1946) 

Chuang Tzu 6.12

Yen Hui asked Kung-nì, saying, "When the mother of Mang-sun Tshâi died, in all his wailing for her he did not shed a tear; in the core of his heart he felt no distress; during all the mourning rites, he exhibited no sorrow. 

"Without these three things, he was considered to have discharged his mourning well—is it that in the state of Lû one who has not the reality may yet get the reputation of having it? I think the matter very strange." 

Kung-nì said, "That Mang-sun carried out his views to the utmost. He was advanced in knowledge; but in this case it was not possible for him to appear to be negligent in his ceremonial observances, but he succeeded in being really so to himself. 

"Mang-sun does not know either what purposes life serves, or what death serves; he does not know which should be first sought, and which last. If he is to be transformed into something else, he will simply await the transformation which he does not yet know. This is all he does.

"And moreover, when one is about to undergo his change, how does he know that it has not taken place? And when he is not about to undergo his change, how does he know that it has taken place? Take the case of me and you—are we in a dream from which we have not begun to awake? 

"Moreover, Mang-sun presented in his body the appearance of being agitated, but in his mind he was conscious of no loss. The death was to him like the issuing from one's dwelling at dawn, and no more terrible reality. 

"He was more awake than others were. When they wailed, he also wailed, having in himself the reason why he did so. And we all have our individuality which makes us what we are as compared together; but how do we know that we determine in any case correctly that individuality? 

"Moreover, you dream that you are a bird, and seem to be soaring to the sky; or that you are a fish, and seem to be diving in the deep. But you do not know whether we that are now speaking are awake or in a dream. 

"It is not the meeting with what is pleasurable that produces the smile; it is not the smile suddenly produced that produces the arrangement of the person. When one rests in what has been arranged, and puts away all thought of the transformation, he is in unity with the mysterious Heaven." 

IMAGE: Zhu Da, Fish and Birds (17th century) 

Chuang Tzu 6.11

Tsze-sang Hû, Mang Tsze-fan, and Tsze-khin Kang, these three men, were friends together. 

One of them said, "Who can associate together without any thought of such association, or act together without any evidence of such cooperation? Who can mount up into the sky and enjoy himself amidst the mists, disporting beyond the utmost limits of things, and forgetting all others as if this were living, and would have no end?" 

The three men looked at one another and laughed, not perceiving the drift of the questions; and they continued to associate together as friends. 

Suddenly, after a time, Tsze-sang Hû died. Before he was buried, Confucius heard of the event, and sent Tsze-kung to go and see if he could render any assistance. 

One of the survivors had composed a ditty, and the other was playing on his lute. Then they sang together in unison, 

"Ah! come, Sang Hû! ah! come, Sang Hû! 

Your being true you've got again,
While we, as men, still here remain,
Alas!" 

Tsze-kung hastened forward to them, and said, "I venture to ask whether it be according to the rules to be singing thus in the presence of the corpse?" 

The two men looked at each other, and laughed, saying, "What does this man know about the idea that underlies our rules?" 

Tsze-kung returned to Confucius, and reported to him, saying, "What sort of men are those? They had made none of the usual preparations, and treated the body as a thing foreign to them. They were singing in the presence of the corpse, and there was no change in their countenances. I cannot describe them—what sort of men are they?" 

Confucius replied, "Those men occupy and enjoy themselves in what is outside the common ways of the world, while I occupy and enjoy myself in what lies within those ways. There is no common ground for those of such different ways; and when I sent you to condole with those men, I was acting stupidly. 

"They, moreover, make man to be the fellow of the Creator, and seek their enjoyment in the formless condition of heaven and earth. They consider life to be an appendage attached, an excrescence annexed to them, and death to be a separation of the appendage and a dispersion of the contents of the excrescence. 

"With these views, how should they know wherein death and life are to be found, or what is first and what is last? They borrow different substances, and pretend that the common form of the body is composed of them. They dismiss the thought of its inward constituents like, the liver and gall, and its outward constituents, the ears and eyes. 

"Again and again they end and they begin, having no knowledge of first principles. They occupy themselves ignorantly and vaguely with what they say lies outside the dust and dirt of the world, and seek their enjoyment in the business of doing nothing. How should they confusedly address themselves to the ceremonies practiced by the common people, and exhibit themselves as doing so to the ears and eyes of the multitude?" 

Tsze-kung said, "Yes, but why do you, Master, act according to the common ways of the world?" 

The reply was, "I am in this under the condemning sentence of Heaven. Nevertheless, I will share with you what I have attained to." 

Tsze-kung rejoined, "I venture to ask the method which you pursue." 

Confucius said, "Fishes breed and grow in the water; man develops in the Tâo. Growing in the water, the fishes cleave the pools, and their nourishment is supplied to them. Developing in the Tâo, men do nothing, and the enjoyment of their life is secured. Hence it is said, 'Fishes forget one another in the rivers and lakes; men forget one another in the arts of the Tâo.'" 

Tsze-kung said, "I venture to ask about the man who stands aloof from others." 

The reply was, "He stands aloof from other men, but he is in accord with Heaven! Hence it is said, 'The small man of Heaven is the superior man among men; the superior man among men is the small man of Heaven!'" 

Chuang Tzu 6.10

Before long, Tsze-lâi fell ill, and lay gasping at the point of death, while his wife and children stood around him wailing. 

Tsze-lì went to ask for him, and said to them, "Hush! Get out of the way! Do not disturb him as he is passing through his change." 

Then, leaning against the door, he said to the dying man, "Great indeed is the Creator! What will He now make you to become? Where will He take you to? Will He make you the liver of a rat, or the arm of an insect?" 

Tsze-lâi replied, "Wherever a parent tells a son to go, east, west, south, or north, he simply follows the command. The Yin and Yang are more to a man than his parents are. If they are hastening my death, and I do not quietly submit to them, I shall be obstinate and rebellious. 

"There is the great Mass of nature—I find the support of my body in it; my life is spent in toil on it; my old age seeks ease on it; at death I find rest on it—what has made my life a good will make my death also a good.

"Here now is a great founder, casting his metal. If the metal were to leap up in the pot, and say, 'I must be made into a sword like the Mo-yeh,' the great founder would be sure to regard it as uncanny. 

"So, again, when a form is being fashioned in the mold of the womb, if it were to say, 'I must become a man; I must become a man,' the Creator would be sure to regard it as uncanny. 

"When we once understand that heaven and earth are a great melting pot, and the Creator a great founder, where can we have to go to that shall not be right for us? We are born as from a quiet sleep, and we die to a calm awaking." 

IMAGE: Isidoro Grünhut, The Dying Man (1887) 

Chuang Tzu 6.9

Tsze-sze, Tsze-yü, Tsze-lì, and Tsze-lâi, these four men, were talking together, when someone said, "Who can suppose the head to be made from nothing, the spine from life, and the rump-bone from death? Who knows how death and birth, living on and disappearing, compose the one body? I would be friends with him." 

The four men looked at one another and laughed, but no one seized with his mind the drift of the questions. All, however, were friends together. 

Not long after Tsze-yü fell ill, and Tsze-sze went to inquire for him. "How great," said the sufferer, "is the Creator! That He should have made me the deformed object that I am!" 

He was a crooked hunchback; his five viscera were squeezed into the upper part of his body; his chin bent over his navel; his shoulder was higher than his crown; on his crown was an ulcer pointing to the sky; his breath came and went in gasps—yet he was easy in his mind, and made no trouble of his condition. 

He limped to a well, looked at himself in it, and said, "Alas that the Creator should have made me the deformed object that I am!" 

Tsze said, "Do you dislike your condition?" 

He replied, "No, why should I dislike it? If He were to transform my left arm into a cock, I should be watching with it the time of the night; if He were to transform my right arm into a crossbow, I should then be looking for a hsiâo to bring down and roast; if He were to transform my rump-bone into a wheel, and my spirit into a horse, I should then be mounting it, and would not change it for another steed. 

"Moreover, when we have got what we are to do, there is the time of life in which to do it; when we lose that at death, submission is what is required. When we rest in what the time requires, and manifest that submission, neither joy nor sorrow can find entrance to the mind. 

"This would be what the ancients called loosing the cord by which the life is suspended. But one hung up cannot loose himself—he is held fast by his bonds. And that creatures cannot overcome Heaven, the inevitable, is a long-acknowledged fact—why should I hate my condition?" 

IMAGE: Jacques Callot, The Flageolet Player (c. 1622) 

Chuang Tzu 6.8

Nan-po Tsze-khwei asked Nü Yü, saying, "You are old, Sir, while your complexion is like that of a child—how is it so?" 

The reply was, "I have become acquainted with the Tâo." 

The other said, "Can I learn the Tâo?" 

Nü Yü said, "No. How can you? You, Sir, are not the man to do so. 

"There was Pû-liang Î who had the abilities of a sagely man, but not the Tâo, while I had the Tâo, but not the abilities. I wished, however, to teach him, if, peradventure, he might become the sagely man indeed. If he should not do so, it was easy, I thought, for one possessing the Tâo of the sagely man to communicate it to another possessing his abilities. 

"Accordingly, I proceeded to do so, but with deliberation. After three days, he was able to banish from his mind all worldly matters. 

"This accomplished, I continued my intercourse with him in the same way; and in seven days he was able to banish from his mind all thought of men and things. 

"This accomplished, and my instructions continued, after nine days, he was able to count his life as foreign to himself. 

"This accomplished, his mind was afterwards clear as the morning; and after this he was able to see his own individuality. 

"That individuality perceived, he was able to banish all thought of Past or Present. 

"Freed from this, he was able to penetrate to the truth that there is no difference between life and death—how the destruction of life is not dying, and the communication of other life is not living. 

The Tâo is a thing which accompanies all other things and meets them, which is present when they are overthrown and when they obtain their completion. Its name is Tranquillity amid all Disturbances, meaning that such Disturbances lead to Its Perfection." 

"And how did you, being alone without any teacher, learn all this?" 

"I learned it," was the reply, "from the son of Fû-mo; he learned it from the grandson of Lo-sung; he learned it from Shan-ming; he learned it from Nieh-hsü; he, from Hsü-yì; he, from Wû-âo; he, from Hsüan-ming; he, from Tshan-liâo; and he learned it from Î-shih." 

IMAGE: Isaac Levitan, Over Eternal Peace (1894) 

Chuang Tzu 6.7

This is the Tâo—there is in It emotion and sincerity, but It does nothing and has no bodily form. It may be handed down by the teacher, but may not be received by his scholars. It may be apprehended by the mind, but It cannot be seen. 

It has Its root and ground of existence in Itself. Before there were heaven and earth, from of old, there It was, securely existing. From It came the mysterious existences of spirits, from It the mysterious existence of God. 

It produced heaven; It produced earth. It was before the Thâi-kì, and yet could not be considered high; It was below all space, and yet could not be considered deep. It was produced before heaven and earth, and yet could not be considered to have existed long; It was older than the highest antiquity, and yet could not be considered old. 

Shih-wei got It, and by It adjusted heaven and earth. Fû-hsì got It, and by It penetrated to the mystery of the maternity of the primary matter. The Wei-tâu got It, and from all antiquity has made no eccentric movement. 

The Sun and Moon got It, and from all antiquity have not intermitted their bright shining. Khan-pei got It, and by It became lord of Khwan-lun. Fang-ì got It, and by It enjoyed himself in the Great River. 

Kien Wû got It, and by It dwelt on mount Thâi. Hwang-Tì got It, and by It ascended the cloudy sky. Kwan-hsü got It, and by It dwelt in the Dark Palace. Yü-khiang got It, and by It was set on the North Pole. Hsì Wang-mû got It, and by It had her seat in the palace of Shâo-kwang. 

No one knows Its beginning; no one knows Its end. Phang Tsû got It, and lived on from the time of the lord of Yü to that of the Five Chiefs. Fû Yüeh got It, and by It became chief minister to Wû-ting, who thus in a trice became master of the kingdom. After his death, Fû Yüeh mounted to the eastern portion of the Milky Way, where, riding on Sagittarius and Scorpio, he took his place among the stars. 

Chuang Tzu 6.6

There is the great Mass of nature—I find the support of my body on it; my life is spent in toil on it; my old age seeks ease on it; at death I find rest in it—what makes my life a good makes my death also a good. 

If you hide away a boat in the ravine of a hill, and hide away the hill in a lake, you will say that the boat is secure; but at midnight there shall come a strong man and carry it off on his back, while you in the dark know nothing about it. 

You may hide away anything, whether small or great, in the most suitable place, and yet it shall disappear from it. 

But if you could hide the world in the world, so that there was nowhere to which it could be removed, this would be the grand reality of the ever-during Thing. 

When the body of man comes from its special mould, there is even then occasion for joy; but this body undergoes a myriad transformations, and does not immediately reach its perfection—does it not thus afford occasion for joys incalculable? 

Therefore the sagely man enjoys himself in that from which there is no possibility of separation, and by which all things are preserved. He considers early death or old age, his beginning and his ending, all to be good, and in this other men imitate him—how much more will they do so in regard to That Itself on which all things depend, and from which every transformation arises! 

IMAGE: Shitao, Outing to Zhang Gong's Grotto (c. 1700) 

Chuang Tzu 6.5

In this way they were one and the same in all their likings and dislikings. Where they liked, they were the same; where they did not like, they were the same. 

In the former case where they liked, they were fellow-workers with the Heavenly in them; in the latter where they disliked, they were co-workers with the Human in them. 

The one of these elements in their nature did not overcome the other. Such were those who are called the True men. 

Death and life are ordained, just as we have the constant succession of night and day; in both cases from Heaven. Men have no power to do anything in reference to them; such is the constitution of things. 

There are those who specially regard Heaven as their father, and they still love It, distant as It is; how much more should they love That which stands out, Superior and Alone! 

Some specially regard their ruler as superior to themselves, and will give their bodies to die for him; how much more should they do so for That which is their true Ruler! 

When the springs are dried up, the fishes collect together on the land. Than that they should moisten one another there by the damp about them, and keep one another wet by their slime, it would be better for them to forget one another in the rivers and lakes. 

And when men praise Yâo and condemn Kieh, it would be better to forget them both, and seek the renovation of the Tâo. 

Chuang Tzu 6.4

The True men of old presented the aspect of judging others aright, but without being partisans; of feeling their own insufficiency, but being without flattery or cringing. 

Their peculiarities were natural to them, but they were not obstinately attached to them; their humility was evident, but there was nothing of unreality or display about it. 

Their placidity and satisfaction had the appearance of joy; their every movement seemed to be a necessity to them. 

Their accumulated attractiveness drew men's looks to them; their blandness fixed men's attachment to their virtue. 

They seemed to accommodate themselves to the manners of their age, but with a certain severity; their haughty indifference was beyond its control. 

Unceasing seemed their endeavors to keep their mouths shut; when they looked down, they had forgotten what they wished to say. 

They considered punishments to be the substance of government, and they never incurred it; ceremonies to be its supporting wings and they always observed them; wisdom to indicate the time for action, and they always selected it; and virtue to be accordance with others, and they were all-accordant. 

Considering punishments to be the substance of government, yet their generosity appeared in the manner of their infliction of death. 

Considering ceremonies to be its supporting wings, they pursued by means of them their course in the world. 

Considering wisdom to indicate the time for action, they felt it necessary to employ it in the direction of affairs. 

Considering virtue to be accordance with others, they sought to ascend its height along with all who had feet to climb it. 

Such were they, and yet men really thought that they did what they did by earnest effort. 

Chuang Tzu 6.3

Being such, their minds were free from all thought; their demeanor was still and unmoved; their foreheads beamed simplicity. 

Whatever coldness came from them was like that of autumn; whatever warmth came from them was like that of spring. Their joy and anger assimilated to what we see in the four seasons. 

They did in regard to all things what was suitable, and no one could know how far their action would go. Therefore the sagely man might, in his conduct of war, destroy a state without losing the hearts of the people; his benefits and favors might extend to a myriad generations without his being a lover of men. 

Hence he who tries to share his joys with others is not a sagely man; he who manifests affection is not benevolent; he who observes times and seasons to regulate his conduct is not a man of wisdom; he to whom profit and injury are not the same is not a superior man; he who acts for the sake of the name of doing so, and loses his proper self is not the right scholar; and he who throws away his person in a way which is not the true way cannot command the service of others. 

Such men as Hû Pû-kieh, Wû Kwang, Po-ì, Shû-khì, the count of Kì, Hsü-yü, Kì Thâ, and Shan-thû Tì, all did service for other men, and sought to secure for them what they desired, not seeking their own pleasure. 

IMAGE: Ambrose McEvoy, The Seasons (c. 1904) 

Chuang Tzu 6.2

What is meant by "the True Man?" 

The True men of old did not reject the views of the few; they did not seek to accomplish their ends like heroes before others; they did not lay plans to attain those ends. 

Being such, though they might make mistakes, they had no occasion for repentance; though they might succeed, they had no self-complacency. 

Being such, they could ascend the loftiest heights without fear; they could pass through water without being made wet by it; they could go into fire without being burnt; so it was that by their knowledge they ascended to and reached the Tâo. 

The True men of old did not dream when they slept, had no anxiety when they awoke, and did not care that their food should be pleasant. 

Their breathing came deep and silently. The breathing of the true man comes even from his heels, while men generally breathe only from their throats. 

When men are defeated in argument, their words come from their gullets as if they were vomiting. Where lusts and desires are deep, the springs of the Heavenly are shallow. 

The True men of old knew nothing of the love of life or of the hatred of death. Entrance into life occasioned them no joy; the exit from it awakened no resistance. Composedly they went and came. 

They did not forget what their beginning bad been, and they did not inquire into what their end would be. They accepted their life and rejoiced in it; they forgot all fear of death, and returned to their state before life. 

Thus there was in them what is called the want of any mind to resist the Tâo, and of all attempts by means of the Human to assist the Heavenly. 

Such were they who are called the True men. 

Chuang Tzu 6.1

He who knows the part which the Heavenly in him plays, and knows also that which the Human in him ought to play, has reached the perfection of knowledge. 

He who knows the part which the Heavenly plays knows that it is naturally born with him; he who knows the part which the Human ought to play proceeds with the knowledge which he possesses to nourish it in the direction of what he does not yet know—to complete one's natural term of years and not come to an untimely end in the middle of his course is the fullness of knowledge. 

Although it be so, there is an evil attending this condition. Such knowledge still awaits the confirmation of it as correct; it does so because it is not yet determined. 

How do we know that what we call the Heavenly in us is not the Human? And that what we call the Human is not the Heavenly? There must be the True man, and then there is the True knowledge. 

Chuang Tzu 5.5

A person who had no lips, whose legs were bent so that he could only walk on his toes, and who was otherwise deformed, addressed his counsels to duke Ling of Wei, who was so pleased with him, that he looked on a perfectly formed man as having a lean and small neck in comparison with him. 

Another who had a large goitre like an earthenware jar addressed his counsels to duke Hwan of Khì, who was so pleased with him that he looked on a perfectly formed man as having a neck lean and small in comparison with him. 

So it is that when one's virtue is extraordinary, any deficiency in his bodily form may be forgotten. When men do not forget what is easily forgotten, and forget what is not easily forgotten, we have a case of real oblivion. 

Therefore, the sagely man has that in which his mind finds its enjoyment, and looks on wisdom as but the shoots from an old stump; agreements with others are to him but so much glue; kindnesses are but the arts of intercourse; and great skill is but as merchants' wares. 

The sagely man lays no plans—of what use would wisdom be to him? He has no cutting and hacking to do—of what use would glue be to him? He has lost nothing—of what use would arts of intercourse be to him? He has no goods to dispose of—what need has he to play the merchant? 

The want of these four things are the nourishment of his Heavenly nature; that nourishment is its Heavenly food. Since he receives this food from Heaven, what need has he for anything of man's devising? 

He has the bodily form of man, but not the passions and desires of other men. He has the form of man, and therefore he is a man. Being without the passions and desires of men, their approvings and disapprovings are not to be found in him. How insignificant and small is the body by which he belongs to humanity! How grand and great is he in the unique perfection of his Heavenly nature! 

Hui-tsze said to Kwang-tsze, "Can a man indeed be without desires and passions?" 

The reply was, "He can." 

"But on what grounds do you call him a man, who is thus without passions and desires?" 

Kwang-tsze said, "The Tâo gives him his personal appearance and powers; Heaven gives him his bodily form; how should we not call him a man?" 

Hui-tsze rejoined, "Since you call him a man, how can he be without passions and desires?" 

The reply was, "You are misunderstanding what I mean by passions and desires. What I mean when I say that he is without these is, that this man does not by his likings and dislikings do any inward harm to his body—he always pursues his course without effort, and does not try to increase his store of life." 

Hui-tsze rejoined, "If there were not that increasing of the amount of life, how would he get his body?" 

Kwang-tsze said, "The Tâo gives him his personal appearance and powers; Heaven gives him his bodily form; and he does not by his likings and dislikings do any internal harm to his body. 

"But now you, Sir, deal with your spirit as if it were something external to you, and subject your vital powers to toil. You sing your ditties, leaning against a tree; you go to sleep, grasping the stump of a rotten dryandra tree. Heaven selected for you the bodily form of a man, and you babble about what is strong and what is white." 

Chuang Tzu 5.4

Duke Âi of Lû asked Kung-nì, saying, "There was an ugly man in Wei, called Ai-thâi Tho. His father-in-law, who lived with him, thought so much of him that he could not be away from him. His wife, when she saw him, ugly as he was, represented to her parents, saying, 'I had more than ten times rather be his concubine than the wife of any other man.' 

"He was never heard to take the lead in discussion, but always seemed to be of the same opinion with others. He had not the position of a ruler, so as to be able to save men from death. He had no revenues, so as to be able to satisfy men's craving for food. He was ugly enough, moreover, to scare the whole world. He agreed with men instead of trying to lead them to adopt his views; his knowledge did not go beyond his immediate neighborhood. 

"And yet his father-in-law and his wife were of one mind about him in his presence, as I have said—he must have been different from other men. 

"I called him, and saw him. Certainly he was ugly enough to scare the whole world. He had not lived with me, however, for many months, when I was drawn to the man; and before he had been with me a full year, I had confidence in him. 

"The state being without a chief minister, I was minded to commit the government to him. He responded to my proposal sorrowfully, and looked undecided as if he would fain have declined it. I was ashamed of myself, as inferior to him, but finally gave the government into his hands. 

"In a little time, however, he left me and went away. I was sorry and felt that I had sustained a loss, and as if there were no other to share the pleasures of the kingdom with me. What sort of man was he?" 

Kung-nì said, "Once when I was sent on a mission to Khû, I saw some pigs sucking at their dead mother. After a little they looked with rapid glances, when they all left her, and ran away. They felt that she did not see them, and that she was no longer like themselves. What they had loved in their mother was not her bodily figure, but what had given animation to her figure. 

"When a man dies in battle, they do not at his interment employ the usual appendages of plumes: as to supplying shoes to one who has lost his feet, there is no reason why he should care for them—in neither case is there the proper reason for their use. 

"The members of the royal harem do not pare their nails nor pierce their ears; when a man is newly married, he remains, for a time, absent from his official duties, and unoccupied with them. That their bodies might be perfect was sufficient to make them thus dealt with—how much greater results should be expected from men whose mental gifts are perfect! 

"This Âi-thâi Tho was believed by men, though he did not speak a word; and was loved by them, though he did no special service for them. He made men appoint him to the government of their states, afraid only that he would not accept the appointment. He must have been a man whose powers were perfect, though his realization of them was not manifested in his person." 

Duke Âi said, "What is meant by saying that his powers were complete?" 

Kung-nì replied, "Death and life, preservation and ruin, failure and success, poverty and wealth, superiority and inferiority, blame and praise, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—these are the changes of circumstances, the operation of our appointed lot. Day and night they succeed to one another before us, but there is no wisdom able to discover to what they owe their origination. 

"They are not sufficient therefore to disturb the harmony of the nature, and are not allowed to enter into the treasury of intelligence. To cause this harmony and satisfaction ever to be diffused, while the feeling of pleasure is not lost from the mind; to allow no break to arise in this state day or night, so that it is always springtime in his relations with external things; in all his experiences to realise in his mind what is appropriate to each season of the year—these are the characteristics of him whose powers are perfect." 

"And what do you mean by the realization of these powers not being manifested in the person?" pursued further the duke. 

The reply was, "There is nothing so level as the surface of a pool of still water. It may serve as an example of what I mean. All within its circuit is preserved in peace, and there comes to it no agitation from without. The virtuous efficacy is the perfect cultivation of the harmony of the nature. Though the realization of this be not manifested in the person, things cannot separate themselves from its influence." 

Some days afterwards Duke Âi told this conversation to Min-tsze, saying, "Formerly it seemed to me the work of the sovereign to stand in court with his face to the south, to rule the kingdom, and to pay good heed to the accounts of the people concerned, lest any should come to a miserable death—this I considered to be the sum of his duty. 

"Now that I have heard that description of the Perfect man, I fear that my idea is not the real one, and that, by employing myself too lightly, I may cause the ruin of my state. I and Khung Khiû are not on the footing of ruler and subject, but on that of a virtuous friendship." 

Chuang Tzu 5.3

In Lû there was a cripple, called Shû-shan the Toeless, who came on his heels to see Kung-nì. 

Kung-nì said to him, "By your want of circumspection in the past, Sir, you have incurred such a calamity—of what use is your coming to me now?" 

Toeless said, "Through my ignorance of my proper business and taking too little care of my body, I came to lose my feet. But now I am come to you, still possessing what is more honorable than my feet, and which therefore I am anxious to preserve entire. There is nothing which Heaven does not cover, and nothing which Earth does not sustain; you, Master, were regarded by me as doing the part of Heaven and Earth—how could I know that you would receive me in such a way?" 

Confucius rejoined, "I am but a poor creature. But why, my master, do you not come inside, where I will try to tell you what I have learned?" 

When Toeless had gone out, Confucius said, "Be stimulated to effort, my disciples. This toeless cripple is still anxious to learn to make up for the evil of his former conduct—how much more should those be so whose conduct has been unchallenged!"  

Toeless, however, told Lâo Tan of the interview, saying, "Khung Khiû, I apprehend, has not yet attained to be a Perfect man. What has he to do with keeping a crowd of disciples around him? He is seeking to have the reputation of being an extraordinary and marvelous man, and does not know that the Perfect man considers this to be as handcuffs and fetters to him." 

Lâo Tan said, "Why did you not simply lead him to see the unity of life and death, and that the admissible and inadmissible belong to one category, so freeing him from his fetters? Would this be possible?" 

Toeless said, "It is the punishment inflicted on him by Heaven. How can he be freed from it?" 

Chuang Tzu 5.2

Shan-thû Kiâ was another man who had lost his feet. Along with Tsze-khân of Kang he studied under the master Po-hwan Wû-zan. 

Tsze-khân said to him one day, "If I go out first, do you remain behind; and if you go out first, I will remain behind." 

Next day they were again sitting together on the same mat in the hall, when Tsze-khân spoke the same words to him, adding, "Now I am about to go out; will you stay behind or not? Moreover, when you see one of official rank like myself, you do not try to get out of his way—do you consider yourself equal to one of official rank?" 

Shan-thû Kiâ replied, "In our Master's school is there indeed such recognition required of official rank? You are one, Sir, whose pleasure is in your official rank, and would therefore take precedence of other men. 

"I have heard that when a mirror is bright, the dust does not rest on it; when dust rests on it the mirror is not bright. When one dwells long with a man of ability and virtue, he comes to be without error. 

"There now is our teacher whom you have chosen to make you greater than you are; and when you still talk in this way, are you not in error?" 

Tsze-khan rejoined, "A shattered object as you are, you would still strive to make yourself out as good as Yâo! If I may form an estimate of your virtue, might it not be sufficient to lead you to the examination of yourself?" 

The other said, "Most criminals, in describing their offenses, would make it out that they ought not to have lost their feet for them; few would describe them so as to make it appear that they should not have preserved their feet. They are only the virtuous who know that such a calamity was unavoidable, and therefore rest in it as what was appointed for them. 

"When men stand before an archer, like Yi, with his bent bow, if they are in the middle of his field, that is the place where they should be hit; and if they be not hit, that also was appointed. 

"There are many with their feet entire who laugh at me because I have lost my feet, which makes me feel vexed and angry. But when I go to our teacher, I throw off that feeling, and return to a better mood— he has washed, without my knowing it, the other from me by his instructions in what is good. I have attended him now for nineteen years, and have not known that I am without my feet. 

"Now, you, Sir, and I have for the object of our study the virtue which is internal, and not an adjunct of the body, and yet you are continually directing your attention to my external body—are you not wrong in this?" 

Tsze-khân felt uneasy, altered his manner and looks, and said, "You need not, Sir, say anything more about it."