Mastering Life

Mastering Life

One who has penetrated the true nature of life does not strive for what is of no use to life; one who has penetrated the true nature of fate does not strive for what is beyond the reach of knowledge. There are certainly things that must first be provided to sustain the body, yet there are cases where there is an abundance of such things and the body still goes unsustained. There is certainly no life that does not first require the body to remain intact, yet there are cases where the body remains intact and life is lost. When life comes, it cannot be turned back; when it departs, it cannot be stopped. How lamentable! The people of the world suppose that sustaining the body is sufficient to preserve life, but if sustaining the body is indeed not sufficient to preserve life, then what in the world is sufficient to do? Even though it is not sufficient, there are things one cannot do without doing, and one's actions cannot be avoided! For one who wishes to be free of the effort of managing the body, nothing is better than abandoning the world. If one abandons the world, there is no encumbrance; if there is no encumbrance, one is upright and even; if one is upright and even, one transforms along with other things; and if one transforms along with other things, one approaches the Way. Why must affairs be abandoned, and why must life be cast aside? If one abandons affairs, the body is not toiled; if one casts aside life, the essence is not depleted. When the body is whole and the essence is restored, one becomes one with Heaven. Heaven and Earth are the father and mother of the ten thousand things. When they combine, a complete form is produced; when they disperse, a new beginning is formed. When form and essence are not depleted, this is called the capacity to transform; when essence is refined to the utmost, it returns to assist Heaven.

Master Liezi asked Master Guan Yin: "The utmost person walks beneath water and is not stopped, treads fire and is not burned, and moves above the ten thousand things without trembling. May I ask how one comes to this?" Master Guan Yin said: "This is a matter of preserving one's pure vital energy, not of knowledge, cleverness, decisiveness, or courage. Stay, and I shall tell you: all things that have appearances, forms, sounds, and colors are objects. By what means can one object be far removed from another? What is sufficient to reach the forefront? It is only the outward form. If one reaches the formless and stops at the untransformed—one who has attained this and fathomed it—how could objects arrest him? Such a person abides within the bounds that are not excessive, hides in the principles that have no beginning, and wanders where the ten thousand things end and begin. He unifies his nature, nurtures his vital energy, and harmonizes his virtue so as to penetrate that which produces things. One who is like this preserves his heavenly nature whole, and his spirit has no gaps—how could objects enter him? Consider a drunk man who falls from a wagon: though he may be injured, he does not die. His bones and joints are the same as other people's, yet what he encounters is different from what others encounter. His spirit is whole. He did not know he was riding, and he does not know he has fallen. Death, life, alarm, and fear do not enter his breast. Therefore he encounters things without being startled. One who attains wholeness through wine is already like this—how much more so one who attains wholeness through Heaven! The sage hides in Heaven, so nothing can injure him." A man bent on revenge will not break the Mo or Gan swords; even a man with a jealous heart will not resent a tile that falls on him. For this reason, the world is equally peaceful. There is no disorder of attack and battle, no punishment of killing—it is through this Way. Do not open what belongs to man's nature, but open what belongs to Heaven's nature. Opening Heaven's nature gives birth to virtue; opening man's nature gives birth to harm. Do not be dissatisfied with Heaven's nature, and do not neglect man's nature—the people will nearly arrive at their genuineness.

Confucius was traveling to Chu. Coming out of the woods, he saw a hunchback catching cicadas with a sticky pole, as though he were picking them up by hand. Confucius said, "Are you skilled! Do you have a Way?" The man said, "I have a Way. For five or six months I practice stacking two balls without dropping them, and then I miss only a few cicadas. When I stack three balls without dropping them, I miss only one in ten. When I stack five balls without dropping them, I pick them up as though by hand. I settle my body like a rooted stump; I hold my arm like a branch of a dead tree. Though Heaven and Earth are vast and the ten thousand things are many, I am aware only of the cicada's wings. I do not turn or tilt; I would not trade the wings of the cicada for all the ten thousand things. How could I fail?" Confucius turned to his disciples and said, "When the will is undivided, it congeals in the spirit—this applies to the hunchback old man, does it not!"

Yan Hui asked Confucius, "I once crossed the gorge of Shindou Deep. The ferryman handled the boat with supernatural skill. I asked him, 'Can handling a boat be learned?' He said, 'Yes. A good swimmer acquires the ability quickly. As for a man who can dive, he can handle a boat even if he has never seen one before.' I asked him further, but he did not tell me. May I ask what he meant?" Confucius said, "A good swimmer acquires the ability quickly because he forgets the water. As for a diver who can handle a boat even if he has never seen one before, he looks upon the gorge as he would a hillside, and he regards the overturning of a boat as he would the backing up of a cart. Though ten thousand overturnings and retreatings are arrayed before him, none can enter his breast—how could he fail to be at ease?" When one wagers with tiles, one is clever; when one wagers with belt buckles, one is anxious; when one wagers with gold, one is confused. One's cleverness is the same in each case, but when one has something to treasure, one places great weight on the external. Whenever one places great weight on the external, one's inner self is clumsy.

Tian Kaizhi visited Duke Wei of Zhou. Duke Wei said, "I have heard that Zhu Xian studies life. You are an associate of Zhu Xian—what have you heard from him?" Tian Kaizhi said, "Kaizhi merely holds a broom and waits in the courtyard—what could I have heard from the Master?" Duke Wei said, "Master Tian, do not be modest. I should like to hear it." Kaizhi said, "I heard the Master say, 'One who is good at nurturing life is like a shepherd—he whips the laggards from behind.'" Duke Wei said, "What does that mean?" Tian Kaizhi said, "In Lu there was a man named Shan Bao. He lived in the mountains and drank only water, sharing no profit with the people. At the age of seventy he still had the complexion of an infant. Unfortunately he encountered a hungry tiger, which killed and ate him. There was also a man named Zhang Yi, who ran in and out of the households of both high and low, never failing to visit them. At the age of forty he died of an internal fever. Bao nurtured his inner nature, but a tiger devoured his outer being; Yi nurtured his outer being, but disease attacked his inner nature. Both of these men failed to whip the laggards from behind. Confucius said, 'Do not enter into hiding, do not emerge into prominence—stand in the center. If one achieves these three, his name will surely reach its height.'" When a road is dangerous and one in ten travelers is killed, fathers and sons, elder and younger brothers warn each other, and they must gather a large party before they dare to set out. Is this not wisdom! Yet the things people ought to fear most are the pleasures of the mat and the indulgence of food and drink, and they do not know to take warning about them—this is a mistake!

The Master of Blessings, in his dark square-cut cap, approached the pigpen and addressed the pig, saying, "Why should you dislike dying? I will feed you for three months, keep you in abstinence for ten days, fast you for three days, lay white couch grass beneath you, and place your shoulders and rump upon the carved sacrificial stand—would you accept this?"

Planning on the pig's behalf, he said: "Better to eat chaff and bran and be placed back in the pen." But planning for himself, he would accept the honor of rank and carriage in life, and to die upon the ornamented bier amid the funerary finery. Planning for the pig, he rejected it; planning for himself, he accepted it. How is he different from the pig?

Duke Huan was hunting in the marshes, with Guan Zhong driving his carriage, when he saw a ghost. The Duke grasped Guan Zhong's hand and said, "What do you see, Father Zhong?" Guan Zhong replied, "I see nothing." The Duke returned home, fell ill with a wasting sickness, and did not leave his chambers for several days. A scholar of Qi named Prince Gao Zhao-ao said, "Your Grace has injured himself—how could a ghost injure you? When the pent-up qi of anger disperses and does not return, it becomes depleted; when it rises and does not descend, it makes one prone to rage; when it descends and does not rise, it makes one prone to forgetfulness; when it neither rises nor descends but lodges in the body at the heart, it causes illness." The Duke said, "Then do ghosts exist?" He replied, "They do. In the depths there are *lü*; in the stove there is the *ji*. In the dust and rubble within the inner rooms, *Lei-ting* dwells; in the northeast corner below, *Bei-a Gui-long* leaps about; in the northwest corner below, *Yi-yang* resides. In the waters there is the *Wang-xiang*; on the hills there is the *sui*; in the mountains there is the *Kui*; in the wilds there is the *Pang-huang*; in the marshes there is the *Wei-she*." The Duke said, "May I ask: what does the *Wei-she* look like?" The Prince said, "The *Wei-she* is as large as a hub, as long as a carriage-pole, clad in purple with a crimson cap. It is a creature that abhors the sound of thunder and chariots—when it hears them, it raises its head and stands upright. He who sees it will nearly become a hegemon." The Duke broke into a broad smile and said, "That is what I saw." He then straightened his robes and cap, sat with the scholar, and before the day was out, without knowing it, his illness had departed.

Ji Shengzi was raising fighting crows for the king. After ten days the king asked, "Are they ready?" He said, "Not yet—they are still vain and puffed up with qi." After another ten days the king asked again. He said, "Not yet—they still respond to sounds and reflections." After another ten days the king asked again. He said, "Not yet—they still glare fiercely and are full of aggressive qi." After another ten days the king asked again. He said, "Nearly ready! Though other crows crow, these show no reaction. They look like wooden crows—their virtue is complete. No other crow dares to respond; they all turn and flee."

Kongzi was observing at Lü-liang, where the water plunged thirty *ren* and the foam stretched forty *li*—a place where turtles, alligators, fish, and tortoises could not swim. He saw a man diving into it, and thinking he was in distress and wished to die, he had his disciples follow the current to rescue him. After several hundred paces the man emerged, let his hair down, and walked singing along the embankment. Kongzi approached and asked him, "I took you for a ghost, but on closer look you are a man. May I ask: is there a way to tread the water?" He said, "No, I have no way. I began with what was given, grew into it through my nature, and completed it through destiny. I enter together with the whirlpool and emerge together with the current, following the way of the water and not acting on my own behalf. This is how I tread it." Kongzi said, "What do you mean by 'began with what was given, grew into it through my nature, and completed it through destiny'?" He said, "I was born among hills and am at ease among hills—that is what was given. I grew up with water and am at ease with water—that is my nature. I do not know why it is so, yet it is so—that is destiny."

Zi Qing carved wood to make a bell-stand. When it was finished, those who saw it were astonished as if it had been made by spirits. The Marquis of Lu saw it and asked, "What art do you employ to make this?" He replied, "I am a mere craftsman—what art could I have? Nevertheless, there is one thing. When I am about to make a bell-stand, I never dare to dissipate my qi; I must fast to still my heart. After fasting for three days, I no longer think of rewards, rank, or emolument; after fasting for five days, I no longer think of praise or blame, skill or clumsiness; after fasting for seven days, I suddenly forget that I have four limbs and a body. At that time, I have no awareness of the court; my skill is concentrated and all outside distraction dissolves. Then I enter the mountains, observe the natural disposition of the wood, and when the form of a bell-stand is fully present to me, I set my hand to it. Otherwise I do not proceed. Thus I match Heaven with Heaven. Is this why the vessel seems to possess something numinous?"

Dongye Ji drove his horses before Duke Zhuang, advancing and retreating as straight as a plumb line, turning left and right as true as a compass. Duke Zhuang thought that even the finest weaving could not surpass this, and ordered him to make a hundred circuits and return. Yan He met him and went in to see the Duke, saying, "Ji's horses are going to fail." The Duke said nothing. A short while later, the horses did indeed fail and returned. The Duke said, "How did you know?" He replied, "Their strength was exhausted, yet he still demanded more—that is why I said they would fail."

Chui could draw curves and circles that covered compass and square, his fingers transforming along with the objects, without consulting his mind. Thus his spiritual platform was unified and unimpeded. Forget your feet, and the shoes fit. Forget your waist, and the belt fits. Know how to forget right and wrong, and the heart fits. No inner change, no outward following—when affairs meet you, they fit. Beginning in fitting and never not fitting—this is forgetting the fitting that fits.

There was a man named Sun Xiu who came to the door to tell his surprise to Bian Qingzi. He said, "When I live in my village, I am not considered morally cultivated. When facing danger, I am not considered brave. Yet when I till the fields, I do not meet with good harvests. When I serve my lord, I do not meet with a favorable age. I am cast out in the villages and driven away by the district authorities. What crime have I committed against Heaven? Why should I encounter such a fate?"

Bianzi said, "Have you not heard about the spontaneous conduct of the ultimate man? He forgets his liver and gall, he disregards his ears and eyes. He wanders aimlessly beyond the dust and grime, carefree and unconcerned in the midst of non-action. This is called 'acting without relying, leading without dominating.' Now you adorn your knowledge to startle the ignorant, you cultivate your conduct to expose the corrupt. You shine brightly, as if carrying the sun and moon as you walk. You have managed to keep your physical form whole, to possess all nine orifices, and to escape being cut down midway by deafness, lameness, or deformity, so that you can still be counted among the ranks of men. That is already a matter of good fortune! How could you have any leisure to resent Heaven? Go away!"

Sunzi left. Bianzi entered and sat down. After a while, he looked up to heaven and sighed. His disciples asked, "Why does the master sigh?" Bianzi said, "Just now Xiu came, and I told him about the virtue of the ultimate man. I am afraid that what I told him may startle him and lead him into confusion."

The disciples said, "Not necessarily. If what Sunzi said was right and what the master said was wrong, then what was wrong cannot confuse what was right. If what Sunzi said was wrong and what the master said was right, then he was already confused before he came. What fault is yours?"

Bianzi said, "Not so. In the past, a bird alighted on the outskirts of Lu. The Lord of Lu was pleased with it. He prepared the grand triad of sacrificial animals to feast it, and performed the Nine-Shao music to delight it. The bird then became anxious and giddy, and dared not eat or drink. This is called nourishing a bird with what nourishes oneself. If one were to nourish a bird with what nourishes a bird, one should let it roost in the deep forests, float it on rivers and lakes, and feed it on small reptiles—then it would be content even on open ground. Now Xiu is a man of limited understanding and meager knowledge. I told him about the virtue of the ultimate man. It is like putting a field mouse in a carriage or entertaining a quail with bells and drums. How could he fail to be startled?"