Zhuangzi Tien Tzŭ Fang

[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."

Yen Yüan

See p. 179.

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, is 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 B.C. 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."

"It is a command from your Highness' late father," said the ministers, "and may not be disobeyed. What need for divination?"

So the old man of Tsang was received and entrusted with the administration. He altered none of the existing statutes. He issued no unjust regulations. And when, after three years, Wên Wang made another inspection, he found all dangerous organisations broken up, the officials doing their duty as a matter of course, while the use of measures of grain was unknown within the four boundaries of the State. There was thus unanimity in the public voice, singleness of official purpose, and identity of interests to all.

So Wên Wang appointed the old man Grand Tutor; and then, standing with his face to the north,

An attitude of respect. Facing the south was the conventional position of a ruler.

asked him, saying, "Can such government be extended over the empire?"

The old man of Tsang was silent and made no reply. He then abruptly took leave, and by the evening of that same day had disappeared, never to be heard of again.

Yen Yüan said to Confucius, "If Wên Wang was unable to do this of himself, how was he able to do it by a dream?"

"Silence!" cried Confucius: "It is not for you to criticise Wên Wang who succeeded in fulfilling his mission. The dream was merely to satisfy the vulgar mind."

The whole episode is of course spurious.

Lieh Yü K'ou

Or Lieh Tzŭ. See ch. i.

instructed Po Hun Wu Jên

See ch. v.

in archery. Drawing the bow to its full, he placed a cup of water on his elbow and began to let fly. Hardly was one arrow out of sight ere another was on the string, the archer standing all the time like a statue.

"But this is shooting under ordinary conditions," cried Po Hun Wu Jên; "it is not shooting under extraordinary conditions. Now I will ascend a high mountain with you, and stand on the edge of a precipice a thousand feet in height, and see how you can shoot then."

Thereupon Wu Jên went with Lieh Tzŭ up a high mountain, and stood on the edge of a precipice a thousand feet in height, approaching it backwards until one-fifth of his feet overhung the chasm, when he beckoned to Lieh Tzŭ to come on. But the latter had fallen prostrate on the ground, with the sweat pouring down to his heels.

"The perfect man," said Wu Jên, "soars up to the blue sky, or dives down to the yellow springs,

The infernal regions.

or flies to some extreme point of the compass, without change of countenance. But you are terrified, and your eyes are dazed. Your internal economy is defective."

You have not Tao.

Chien Wu

See ch. i.

said to Sun Shu Ao,

A famous minister of the Ch'u State.

"Sir, you have been three times called to office without showing any elation, and you have been three times dismissed without displaying any chagrin. At first, I doubted you; but now I notice that your breathing is perfectly regular. How do you manage thus to control your emotions?"

"I am no better than other people," replied Sun Shu Ao. "I regard office when it comes as something which may not be declined; when it goes, as something which cannot be kept. To me both the getting and losing are outside my own self; and therefore I feel no chagrin. How am I better than other people?

"Besides, I am not conscious of office being either in the hands of others or in my own. If it is in the hands of others, my own personality disappears; if in mine, theirs. And amidst the cares of deliberation and investigation, what leisure has one for troubling about rank?"

When Confucius heard this, he said, "The perfect Sages of old!—cunning men could not defeat them; beautiful women could not seduce them; robbers could not steal from them;

They were unmoved in the face of danger.

Fu Hsi and the Yellow Emperor could not make friends of them. Life and death are great; yet these gave them no pang.

That would cause them to sacrifice truth.

How much less then rank and power!

"The souls of such men pierced through huge mountains as though they had been nothing; descended into the abyss without getting wet; occupied lowly stations without chagrin. They filled the whole universe; and the more they gave to others, the more they had themselves."

These last words occur in chapter lxxxi. of the Tao-Tê-Ching. It is, to say the least, strange to find them here in the mouth of Confucius without a hint as to their alleged Taoistic source.

The explanation is that when this episode was penned, that patchwork treatise which passes under the name of the Tao-Tê-Ching had not been pieced together.

The Prince of Ch'u was sitting with the Prince of Fan. By and by, one of the officials of Ch'u said, "There were three indications of the destruction of the Fan State."

"The destruction of the Fan State," cried the Prince of Fan, "did not suffice to injure my existence.

Which was already, by virtue of Tao, beyond the reach of mundane influences.

And while the destruction of the Fan State did not suffice to injure my existence, the preservation of the Ch'u State will not be enough to preserve yours.

You being without Tao.

From this point of view it will be seen that while we Fans have not begun to be destroyed, you Ch'us have not begun to exist."

A good specimen of the Fallacia Amphiboliœ.