Fishes are born in water.
Man is born in Tao.
If fishes, born in water, seek the depth of the pool,
all their needs are satisfied.
If man, born in Tao, sinks into the depth of non-action
[wu-wei],
forgetting aggression and concerns, he lacks nothing.
His life is secure.
[trans. Merton]
Tung Kwo Tzu asked Chuang Tzu, "Where is what you call Tao
found?"
Chuang Tzu replied, "There is nowhere it is not found."
"Show me some specific place where Tao is found," insisted Tung Kwo
Tzu.
"It is in the ant."
"Is there a lower instance?"
"It is here in these weeds."
"Is it further down the scale of things?"
"It is in this piece of tile."
"Is that the lowest instance?"
"It is in this turd."
To this, Tung Kwo Tzu had no reply.
Chuang Tzu said, "None of your questions, master, are to the point.
They are like questions of inspectors in the market testing the
weight of pigs by prodding them in their thinnest parts. Why look for
Tao by going 'down the scale of being,' as if what we call 'least'
had less of Tao. There is not a single thing without Tao. Tao is
Great in all things; it is the same if we call it the Perfect Tao.
Complete, Universal, Whole, these names are different, but the
reality is the same, referring to the One."
Hsu Yu was leaving the capital city on the main road to the frontier when he met a friend. "Where are you going?" he was asked. "I am leaving King Yao [legendary sage king]. He is so obsessed with the ideas of benevolence that I am afraid something ridiculous will come of it. In any event, funny or not, this eventually ends with people destroying each other.
"At the moment, there is a great wave of solidarity. The people
think they are loved.... They are behind the king because they think
they are getting rich.... But soon they will have to accept something
they do not like and the whole thing will collapse. When justice and
benevolence are in the air, a few people are really concerned with
the good of others, but the majority ... take advantage of the
situation.... Thus, benevolence and justice come to be associated
with fraud and hypocrisy. Then everybody doubts. And that is when the
trouble begins....
You cannot make men good or honest by praising virtue and
knowledge.
Since the days of pious Yao and virtuous Shun, everybody has sought
riches....
In the time of Yao and Shun the root of all this was planted.
The branches will grow for a thousand ages....
Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu were crossing the Hao river by the dam. Chuang Tzu said, "See how free the fishes leap and dart; that is their happiness. Hui Tzu replied, "Since you are not a fish, how do you know what makes fishes happy?"
Chuang Tzu said, "Since you are not I, how can you know that I do not know what makes fishes happy?" Hui Tzu replied, "If I, not being you, cannot know what you know, it follows that you, not being a fish, cannot know what they know."
Chuang Tzu said, "Wait. Let us get back to the original question. What you asked me was, 'How do you know?' From the words of your question, you know that I know what makes fishes happy."
"I know the joy of fishes in the river
through my own joy, as I walk along the bank,"
Prince Wen Hui's cook was cutting up an ox. He leaned forward, planted his foot, pressed with his knee and the sounds of his knife slicing made a regular cadence like the sacred music of the ancient harmonies. The Prince exclaimed, "Admirable that your method has become so perfect."
The cook put his knife down and said, "What your servant follows is the method of the Tao, which is beyond all methods. When I first began cutting up oxen, I saw nothing but the whole carcass. After three years, I no longer saw the whole, but distinctions. Now I see nothing with my eyes, but my whole being apprehends it in a spirit-like manner. My senses are idle. My spirit follows instincts. Following natural lines, my knife finds its own way, through the crevices and the cavities. My art avoids the joints or tendons and the great bones.
A good cook changes his knife every year; it may be injured in cutting. An ordinary cook changes his every month; it may be broken. I have used this same knife for 19 years. It has cut up thousands of oxen, yet its edge is as sharp as if it had just come from the whetstone. The edge has no appreciable thickness, and it enters the interstices of the joints with more than enough room. However, if I come to a complicated joint, I slow down, concentrate, move more slowly, and then by a slight movement the part drops like a clod of earth. Then I withdraw the blade, stand up, and with an air of satisfaction, wipe the blade clean and put it in its sheath."
"Excellent," exclaimed the Prince. "I have learned from the words of my cook the nourishment of life [how to live life]."
Duke Huan sat high in his hall reading a book. Vien, the wheelwright was out in the yard making a wheel. Laying down his hammer and chisel, he climbed the steps and said, "May I ask you, my Lord, what you are reading?"
The Duke said, "The words of the sages." P'ien asked, "Are they alive or dead?" "They are dead," the Duke replied.
"Then, my Lord, what you are reading are only the dregs and sediments of those old men." The Duke replied, "How do you, a wheelwright, have anything to say about the book I'm reading.? Explain yourself satisfactorily, or you will die."
The wheelwright said, "Your servant will look at it from the point of view of his art. In making a wheel, if I go too easy, the wheel will be loose, not strong. If I am too rough, I strain, but the joints do not fit. If I am neither too gentle nor too violent, the idea in my mind is realized. But I cannot tell how to do this in words. There is a knack to it. I cannot teach the knack to my son. Thus, here I am in my 70th year still making wheels. But the ancient sages, and what it was not possible for them to convey, are dead and buried. So what you, Lord, are reading is but their dregs and sediments."
* * * *
What the world thinks the most valuable exhibition of Tao is found in books.
But books are only a collection of words.
Words are valuable for the ideas they convey.
But those ideas are a sequence of something else
What that "something else" is cannot be conveyed by words.
So it is that "the wise do not speak and those who speak are not wise."
How else should the world know the real nature of Tao
Khing, the master carver, made an ornamental bell stand out of precious wood. All who saw it were amazed and said it must be the work of spirits. When the Prince of Lu went to see it, he asked, "What mystery is there in your art?"
Khing replied, "Your subject is only a workman. I have no secret. I just begin in this manner. When your servant undertook the work, he guarded against any waste of his vital powers [Taoist belief of not expending semen because it would reduce man's vital life power.] Then I fasted to set my mind at rest.
After fasting three days, I had forgotten about praise or criticism.
After fasting five days, I had forgotten about rewards or titles.
After fasting seven days, I had forgotten my limbs and my body.
Everything that could distract my mind had disappeared.
My skill had become concentrated.
Then I went into the forest to look at the natural forms of the trees. When I saw one of perfect form, the figure of the bell stand arose in my mind. Then, I just applied my hands to the work. If I had not met with such a tree, I would have had to abandon the task. I let my heaven-given faculty interact with the heaven-given qualities of the wood. What is believed to be the work of spirits was due solely to this."
Hui Tzu said to Chuang Tzu, "I have a big, old tree. Its trunk swells out at the bottom and is so distorted that it could not be cut into straight lumber. Its smaller branches are so knotted and crooked that they could not be used in any practical way to make things. There it stands beside the road, but no carpenter would even look at it. So, too, are your teachings: big, twisted, and useless. Everybody ignores them."
Chuang Tzu replied . Have you seen the yak, standing huge like a thundercloud hanging in the sky? It is large, indeed, but it cannot catch mice. You, sir, are troubled because your big tree is of no use.... Saunter idly by its side or enjoy untroubled sleep beneath its shade. No axe will shorten its existence.... Why does the uselessness of your tree cause you distress?"
With a section of wood from a 100-year-old tree, a sacramental vessel is carved and ornamented with green and yellow designs. The wood that was carved away was thrown in a ditch. If we compare the sacramental vessel with the wood thrown in the ditch, their appearances differ. One is more beautiful, the other is ugly. But what they have in common is that both have lost their original nature of living wood.
So, too, in respect to the practice of righteousness. If we
compare a robber and a respectable citizen, there will be an obvious
difference in their appearance of righteousness. But what they have
in common is that both have lost the original nature of man
[proper simplicity].
Confucius traveled to the west to deposit some of his writings in the library of Chou. Lu Tzu advised him, "I have heard that the officer in charge of [the state of] Cheng library is called Lao Tzu, who has given up his off-ice and gone home. Since you, Master, wish to deposit these writings, why go to him for help." Confucius agreed and sought out Lao Tzu, who refused assistance. To try to persuade him, Confucius proceeded to recite an abstract of the Twelve Classics.
Lao Tzu interrupted, "This is too vague; tell me the substance in brief." Confucius said, "The substance of them is devoted to benevolence and righteousness."
Lao Tzu said, "Let me ask if you consider benevolence and righteousness to constitute the nature of man?" "I do," replied Confucius. "If the superior man is not benevolent, he will not fulfill his character; if he is not righteous, he might as well not be born. Benevolence and righteousness are truly the nature of man."
Lao Tzu said, "Let me ask you what you mean by benevolence and righteousness." Confucius said, "To be in one's inmost heart in kindly sympathy with all things, to love all men, and to allow no selfish thoughts, this is the nature of benevolence and righteousness."
Lao Tzu exclaimed, "Ah! you show your lesser station by these words. 'To love all men.' Is not that vague and extravagant? 'To seek to allow no selfish thoughts.' That is selfishness. If you, Master, wish men to fulfill their natural character, think of Heaven and Earth which pursue their natural course, think of the sun and moon which maintain their brightness, think of the birds and beasts, which do not fail to collect together, think of the trees and grasses which do not fail to stand in their places. Do you, Master, imitate this way and carry it into practice?... Why must you further be vehement in putting forward your benevolence and righteousness ... ? Ah, Master, you are introducing disorder into the nature of Man."
Lao Tzu spoke to Confucius: "In the [legendary] age of perfect virtue, men attached no value to wisdom.... Superior men were like the higher branches of a tree, and the people were like deer of the wild. They were upright and correct without knowing that to be so was righteousness; the loved one another without knowing that to do so was benevolence; they were honest and loyal without knowing that it was loyalty; they fulfilled their engagements without knowing that to do so was good faith; in their simple movements they employed the services of one another without thinking that they were giving or receiving any gift. Therefore, their actions left no trace and there was no record of their affairs."
[At another time] Lao Tzu replied, "When Yao [legendary sage king] ruled the world, the people urged each other to do what was right without his offering them rewards; they stood in awe of doing wrong without his threatening them with punishments. Now with employing both rewards and punishments, the people are not good: virtue decays and each age grows increasingly disordered ......
Confucius and his disciples stopped on their travels to rest along a forest road near a lake. The disciples read their books and Confucius played on his lute and sang. An old fisherman approached. His beard and eyebrows were turning white, his hair uncombed. He stopped and listened. When the song was finished the old fisherman beckoned to two of the disciples. Pointing to Confucius, he asked,"Who is he?"
Lu Tzu replied, "He is the superior man of Lu." "And who is his family?" "He is of the K'ung family." "And what is his occupation?" To this Lu Tzu did not reply.
Kung Tzu replied, "This scion of the Kung family devotes himself according to his own nature to loyalty and sincerity; in his conduct he manifests benevolence and righteousness. He cultivates the ornaments of ceremonies and music. He pays special attention to the relationships of society: above, he would promote loyalty to the hereditary lords; below, he seeks the transformation of all classes. His object is to benefit the kingdom. This is what K'ung Fu Tzu [Confucius] devotes himself to."
The old fisherman replied, "Is he a ruler possessed of territory?" "No." "Is he the assistant of any prince or king?" "No. " At this, the stranger began to laugh and continue on his way, saying, "Yes, benevolence is benevolence, but I am afraid he will not escape the evils incident to humanity. By embittering his mind and toiling his body, he is imperiling his true nature. Alas, how far removed he is from the proper way of life."
Tzu Kung reported to Confucius what the stranger said. Confucius replied, "Is he not a sage?" Then he put down his lute and walked down the bank in search of the stranger. The old fisherman with his pole was dragging his boat toward the lake. Confucius bowed twice and said, "A little while ago, my master, you broke off the thread of your remarks and left. Inferior to you, I do not know what you wished to say, and have ventured here to wait for your instructions, fortunate if I may hear the sound of your words ......
The stranger responded, "How great is your love of learning?" Confucius bowed twice and said, "Since I was young, I have cultivated learning. Now I am 69 years old, but I have not had an opportunity of hearing the perfect teaching. I listen to you with a humble and unprejudiced mind."
The stranger responded, "When the four classes -- the king, the feudal lords, the great officers, and the common people -- do what is correct in their proper positions, we have the beauty of good order. When they leave their proper duties, there follows greatest disorder.... Now you, sir, have not the high rank of a ruler, a feudal lord, or a minister of the royal court; nor are you in the inferior position of a great minister with business of the various departments. Yet you take upon yourself to regulate ceremonies and music, to attend to the relationships of society with the aim of transforming the classes of the people. Is this not an excessive multiplication of your business?"
["Ambition" is the first of several "evils" and "defects" that the old fisherman discusses at length]: "to be fond of conducting great affairs, changing and altering what is of long standing; to obtain for oneself the reputation of meritorious service Confucius looked sorrowful and sighed. Again he bowed twice. He said, "I was twice driven from Lu. I had to flee from Wei; the tree under which I rested was cut down in Sung. I was kept in a state of siege between Ch'en and Ts'ai. I do not know what errors I committed that I came to be misrepresented and suffer as I did."
The stranger looked grieved at these words. "You, sir, exercise your judgment on questions of benevolence and righteousness; you investigate the points where agreement and difference touch; ... yet you have hardly been able to escape the troubles of which you speak. If you earnestly cultivated your own person and carefully guarded your proper truth, simply rendering to others what was due to them, then you would have escaped such entanglements. But now, when you do not cultivate your own person and make the cultivation of others your object, are you not occupying yourself with what is external?" Confucius sadly asked, "Allow me to ask what is it that you call my proper truth?"
The stranger replied, "A man's proper truth is pure sincerity in its highest degree. Without this pure sincerity, one cannot move others.... In our relations with others, it depends on the requirements of each situation. In the service of rulers and parents, in festive drinking, and in performing mourning rites, it is not required always in the same manner. Loyalty and integrity in the service of rulers, filial duty to give pleasure to parents, pleasant enjoyment from festive drinking, sadness and sorrow in mourning -- all take no account of how they are done, just as the enjoyment of festive drinking does not depend on the glasses and bottles.... Man's proper truth is what he has received from Heaven, operating spontaneously and unchangeable. Therefore, the sages take their law from Heaven, and prize their proper truth without submitting to the restrictions of custom.
"The stupid do the reverse. They are unable to take their law from Heaven, and are influenced by other men. They do not know how to prize the proper truth of their nature, but are under the dominion of ordinary things and change according to the customs around them; therefore, always incomplete. Alas for you, sir, that you were so early steeped in the hypocrisies of men and have been so late in hearing about the Great Way [Tao]."
Again Confucius bowed twice to the old fisherman and said, "Meeting you today is like the happiness of getting to heaven. If you, Master, are not ashamed but will let me be your servant and continue to teach me, let me ask where your dwelling is. I will then beg to receive your instruction there to finish learning of the Great Way [Tao]."
The stranger replied, "I have heard the saying, 'If you can walk together with someone, go with him to the subtlest mysteries of Tao. If you cannot walk together with someone and he does not know Tao, take care that you do not associate with him, and you will incur no responsibility.' Do your best, sir; now, I must leave you." And at this, he shoved off in his boat and disappeared among the green reeds.
After Confucius returned dejectedly to his disciples, Lu Tzu said, "I have been your servant for a long time, but I have never seen you, Master, treat another with such awe and reverence. I have seen you in the presence of a lord of 10,000 chariots ... but this old fisherman has stood erect in front of you with his pole in his hand, while you bowed twice each time before speaking. Was not your reverence excessive?"
Confucius said, "Difficult, indeed, it is to change you .... If you meet one older than yourself and do not show him respect, you fail in propriety. If you see a man of superior wisdom and goodness and do not honor him, you lack the great virtue of humanity [benevolence]. If that old fisherman did not possess it in the highest degree, how could he make others submit to him?...
"Tao is the course by which all things should proceed.... To oppose it in practice is ruin; to conform to it is success. Therefore, wherever the sagely man finds the Tao, he honors it. Today, that old fisherman might be said to possess it. Dare I not show him reverence?"
Kung Tzu, a disciple of Confucius, saw an old man watering his vegetable garden by carrying a jar of water and, thus, working very hard. Kung Tzu explained to him about an irrigation device which could accomplish a lot more with much less effort. "Would you, Master, not like to try it?" he asked....
The old gardener looked very angry, then laughed and said, "I have heard from my teacher that where there are ingenious contrivances, there are sure to be subtle doings; and that where there are subtle doings, there is sure to be a scheming mind.
Where there is a scheming mind, pure simplicity is impaired. When man's pure simplicity is impaired, the spirit becomes unsettled. The unsettled spirit is not the proper residence of the Tao. It is not that I do not know the contrivance you mention, but I should be ashamed to use it."
At these words, Kung Tzu looked blank and ashamed. He hung his head and made no reply. After a moment, the old gardener asked, "Who are you, sir?" Kung Tzu replied, "A disciple of Confucius."
The old gardener said, "Are you not a scholar whose great learning make you comparable to a sage, who boasts that you surpass all others, who sings melancholy songs to achieve a famous reputation throughout the kingdom? If you would only forget the energy of your spirit and neglect the care of your body, you might strive toward the Tao. But while you cannot regulate yourself, what leisure do you have to be regulating the world? Go away, sir, and do not interrupt my work."
Kung Tzu shrank back and turned pale. He was disturbed and did not regain his composure until after he returned to Confucius and the other disciples. Kung Tzu said, "I though there was but one Master in the world [i.e., Confucius], but now I perceive that they who hold fast and cleave to the Tao are complete in the qualities belonging to it; complete in those qualities, they are complete in spirit.... Success, gain , ingenious contrivances, artful cleverness indicate to them the forgetting of the proper mind of man ......
Confucius replied, "This man makes a pretense of cultivating the arts of the embryonic [primeval, earliest] times. He knows the first thing, but not the sequel to it. He regulates what is internal in himself, but not what is external. If he had intelligence enough to be entirely unsophisticated and, by doing nothing, seek to return to original simplicity, embodying the instincts of his nature.... you might then be afraid of him. But what should you and I find in the arts of the embryonic time worth our knowing?"
When Confucius was visiting the state of Chu, the madman Ch'ieh Yu sang outside the Master's door:
0 Phoenix, Phoenix, where has your virtue gone?
It cannot bring back the past or reach the future.
When the world makes sense, the wise have work to do.
They can only hide when the world is out of balance.
Lucky are you; try to survive.
The tree on the mountain height is its own enemy. The oil that feeds the light devours itself. The cinnamon tree is edible, so the cut it down. The lacquer tree is profitable, so they maim it. Every man knows how useful it is to be useful. No one seem to know how useful it is to be useless. [iv.9]
One of Confucius' disciples went to see the madman in his hermitage. Ch'ieh Yu demanded, "What have you been taught?" The disciple replied, "I was taught that when rulers gave forth their regulations, according to their own views and enacted righteous measures, no one would venture not to obey them and all would be transformed."
Ch'ieh Yu responded, "That is but the hypocrisy of virtue. For the right ordering of the world it would be like trying to wade through the sea and dig through the Ho, or employing a mosquito to carry a mountain. When the sage is governing, does he govern man's outward actions? He is himself correct, and so his government goes on; this is the simple and certain way he secures the success of his affairs ......
On another occasion, one of Confucius' disciples was rambling along a mountain in Yin where he met a recluse and asked: "What should be done to carry on the government of the world?" The recluse replied, "Go away; you are a rude fellow. Why do you put to me a question for which I am unprepared?"
But the disciple persisted in his questioning, and then the recluse responded: "Let you mind find its enjoyment in pure simplicity; blend yourself with the primary ether [air] in idle indifference; allow all things to take their natural course; admit no personal or selfish consideration; do all these things and the world will be governed."
Han, a young man of an old and honorable family in a small village, enjoyed entertainments with his friend, Shu, who often visited for drinking parties. One day, outside of Han's house, a Taoist priest, alms bowl in hand, stood by the door. The servants put money and food into his bowl, but the priest would accept nothing, nor would he go away. Han heard the noise of the priest banging on his bowl, and after a while questioned the servants. Before they could finish telling what happened, the priest walked in. Han courteously invited him to sit down. The priest raised his hand in salute of his host and took a scat.
After a few words of greeting, the priest said that he lived in an old ruined temple cast of the village. "When did you settle there?" asked Han. "I knew nothing of it and so have been lacking in the proper courtesy to you." The priest replied, "I am from a distant part of the country and have just arrived, so I have no friends here. Having heard of your generous hospitality your fine wine, I have come to drink with you." Han was surprised at the priest's forwardness, but he ordered wine be served. They raised their goblets many times, as the priest proved to be a prodigious drinker. Shu noticed that the priest's clothes were shabby and dirty, so treated him with disrespect. Han, however, treated him with the courtesy due a traveling stranger and pious man.
The priest left after several hours and many toasts. From then on, he never failed to appear at every gathering of guests at Han's house. He ate and drank continuously. Even Han began to tire of this. One day, Shu sneered, "You, good priest, have long been a constant guest; would you not for once be a host?" The priest smiled and answered, "I am much the same as yourself, just a mouth supported by two shoulders." Shu was embarrassed and did not reply. The priest continued, "For some time I have been preparing for you and have in mind a humble feast. Tomorrow at noon please honor me with your company."
The next day the two friends went out, doubting that the priest would have anything, let alone a feast. They met the priest waiting along the road east of the village. He ushered them through a large new gate into a courtyard from which pavilion after pavilion spread before them like clouds in the sky. Both men were amazed. "It is so long since we were here," said Han, "I never knew of all this; when was it built?" "Only recently completed," replied the priest.
Then they entered his pavilion where there was such magnificence as would not be found even in the houses of the richest of the village. The two men then showed great respect to the priest. When they were seated, much food and wine appeared, of high quality and fancy preparation, served by young boys in embroidered coats and red shoes. After this meal, rare fruits were brought in. Han and Shu did not know many of the names. The crystal and jade dishes sparkled in brilliance.
Then the priest gave an order, "Call the Shih sisters to appear." Two beautiful young girls entered -- one tall and slender as a willow, the other shorter with long, long hair. The priest asked them to sing while the men drank. The first one sang while the other accompanied her on a flute in delicate and clear tones. After the song, the priest said to them, "It has been a long time since you have danced." And immediately the girls danced among the men, their long robes swirling and shedding perfume all around.
The priest ordered more wine and the two men's hearts expanded and spirits soared, not even realizing how helplessly drunk the had become. Paying no attention to them, the priest emptied his goblet and said, "May I trouble you to help yourselves? I am going out to rest awhile." Meanwhile, the first girl spread an embroidered cover on a couch next to the wall and reclined invitingly. Shu approached and embraced her. He glanced at Han, who was still sitting alone. "Why are you so slow? he exclaimed. Thereupon Han drew the other sister to his seat.
As the first light appeared at dawn of the next day, Shu suddenly awoke from both drunkenness and dreams. He had felt something ice cold next to him. He shuddered to find that he was embracing a long slab of old stone, and he was lying on crumbling stone steps. He turned to see Han sleeping in the middle of a broken-down privy. Shu shook him awake. Terrified, they looked around to see a ruined courtyard overgrown with wild grass and some collapsed buildings -- nothing else.
A Taoist priest lived at the Yien Ch'i temple. His knowledge of the magic arts was extensive, and all who knew him regarded him to be an Immortal. [The Immortals were historical, mythological, or contemporary figures rewarded for with the state of immortality for their contributions to humanity. As Immortals, they might travel the world in disguise or their own shape, interceding with the gods, helping, rewarding, protecting those in need, A man (usually males) might aspire to becoming an Immortal by living truly according to the Tao. Moreover, Taoist priests were known to experiment and search for a pill or an elixir to confer immortality on the humans who swallowed the magic potion.]
Once a man who was severely addicted to gambling met this priest after the man had lost everything, including all his property, to a Buddhist priest with whom he was gambling all night. The man was dejected and hardly coherent as he told the Taoist priest about his bad luck. The Taoist priest laughed and said, "That's what happens to the gambler sooner or later. If you promise to break yourself of the habit, I will get your money and property back for you."
"Ali, if I can only win back my money and property, you may smash the dice with an iron pestle if I ever gamble again." Whereupon the Taoist priest gave the man a parchment on which was written a formula, as a talisman to hide in his belt. "This will allow you to win back what you have lost," said the Taoist priest, "but do not attempt to get a fraction more." He also gave the man 1000 gold coins as his initial stake, with the understanding that this be paid back from the winnings.
When the gambler returned to the Buddhist, he had a hard time getting the wagering resumed. Finally, the Buddhist agreed to one throw for the entire 1000 coins. The Buddhist led off with a fair throw, but the gambler, trusting his talisman, returned a better one. The Buddhist doubled the stake, and the gambler's talisman helped him win again. This went on until the man won back all he had lost in money and property. However, he decided to keep playing to win just a little more with each successive toss. But he began to lose. Frantically, he looked for the talisman in his belt, but it was gone. At that, he took his winnings and ran off to the T'ien Ch'i temple to find the Taoist priest.
With a shameful expression he placed the coins that he won before the priest and told of the loss of the talisman. The Taoist priest counted the coins and, after subtracting the loan of the 1000, returned to the man all the coins, which added up to the exact amount of what he originally lost. "Foolish man," the priest exclaimed, "I told you not to be greedy. Here is the talisman; it returned before you did. When you did not heed me, I took it away."
[One of the most familiar of the Taoist Immortals is Ti Kuai Li, a rather coarse, misshapen man with a short temper. He is associated with medicine, and the sign of his iron crutch often hung outside apothecary shops. His other sign, a magical, medicine-dispensing gourd, was favored by exorcists and others making Taoist magic. He is both a clown figure and a champion of the downtrodden, who can turn the tables on those higher up.]
Ti Kuai Li originally began as a normal man living in a mountain cave and cultivating a small plot. One day as he was planting seeds, a woodcutter approached. Ti Kuai Li offered to share his humble meal. As they sat beneath a shady tree, the woodcutter told of many strange thing to come. "You will have a long life and become a learned man. You will bring comfort and happiness to many people. One day you will become one of the Eight Immortals and will leave this bitter world of human troubles."
Ti Kuai Li sat silently for a while, then said, "I do not expect a long life and I've never searched for immortality. But I do want to learn the reason for life, and this is why I'll study hard." The woodcutter seemed pleased with these words and, after remaining silent for a long time, replied, "I do not understand the Tao myself, but I have an obedient daughter, who wants me to live a long and healthy life, and to bless me with this wish, she wants to become a Taoist nun. Will you let her be your student, and serve you in your cave?"
Ti Kuai Li quickly responded, "No, I cannot do that." "But why not?" Ti Kuai Li shook his head and said, "I am still learning. How can I have a student when I am only a student." The woodcutter nodded, "You may be right."
Several days later, the woodcutter returned at twilight. Ti Kuai Li could see the shadow of a beautiful young girl behind the woodcutter. "This is my daughter," he said. "She insists on becoming your student, even though I told her that you are still studying. She refuses to eat. What can I do with such a determined girl? I leave her here with you." Ti Kuai Li closed his eyes and ignored her. "Stay here and obey him," the woodcutter said to the girl and left.
The girl walked forward, not looking at Ti Kuai Li, and knelt at his feet. He ignored her. He returned to reading his Taoist books. Eventually, looking for a way to be useful, she picked up a broom and swept the floor of the cave. In the candlelight, she could see Ti Kuai Li's handsome face. Cautiously and respectfully she approached him. He did not look at her.
"Master, I know that you study hard, but should you not also have a family? Do you have one? So, she tried to make him talk to her, but he remained silent. "Are you married?" she continued. "Do you have any problems? Please tell me. Your thoughts will be safe with me. You know that I am here to help you." At that, Ti Kuai Li stood up and walked away.
But the girl continued, "Please listen to me. I do not really want to learn Taoism, but my father wants me to marry an ugly man. He has long dark eyebrows, huge ears with a thick brass ring in one ear. His body is twisted and misshapen. How could I ever marry a man like that? I would rather learn Taoism than lead a miserable married life. But if I could marry a handsome man like you, I would obey my father by learning Taoism and have a handsome husband at the same time." Ti Kuai Li said nothing as he looked into his books.
But the girl became more insistent: "Master, why are you shy? Abandon your books and enjoy life. How can you live in this cold cave? Look at me. Am I not attractive? Why not come to town with me and enjoy the pleasures of life?" Ti Kuai Li did not move. He did not look at her or make a sound. She retreated to a dark part of the cave in desperation. The storm clouds hung low in the sky, and she shivered from the cold wind blowing through the cave entrance. She pulled her thin cotton jacket over her shoulders and again attempted to move Ti Kuai Li. She huddled close to him, urging him to choose her as his wife. But nothing could move him.
The next morning the woodcutter returned. "Where is my daughter?" he demanded of Ti Kuai Li. "I do not know," was the response; "she disappeared sometime in the night." "Did you try to rape her? Then did you kill her? Tell me," the woodcutter demanded; "you cannot lie to me."
Ti Kuai Li replied calmly, "I would never do such a wicked thing." The woodcutter smiled and said, "I believe you. You have a good understanding of Tao. You and I are alike." Suddenly, before Ti Kuai Li was not a woodcutter but a distinguished man in a dark red robe. Ti Kuai Li knew immediately that it was Lao Tzu. Lao Tzu held in his hand a thin piece of wood. "I made this wood into the girl. I tried to trick you, but you are too strong and determined. Henceforth, you will go to practice Tao. Eat this pill and do not ask any questions." Lao Tzu reached into the leather satchel hanging at his side and took out a small white tablet, which he handed to Ti Kuai Li. Then Lao Tzu walked down the hill and disappeared.
After Ti Kuai Li swallowed the pill he was never hungry or ill. For many years he traveled throughout the country helping the sick and poor. Occasionally, he returned to his cave where he studied and meditated. Many adventures later, he was given another magic pill by Lao Tzu after similar tests and tricks of disguise. As a result, Ti Kuai Li could fly faster than the swiftest bird and walk more than a thousand miles a day without fatigue. He used this gift wisely, dedicating his life to the sick and poor. Years of studying Tao made him a wise man. At the urging of Lao Tzu, Ti Kuai Li accepted a student, a young boy named Ching.
One morning they were studying together in the cave. Ti Kuai Li told the boy, "Today I will go to Wah Shan mountain to see Lao Tzu. Do not worry for I will return tomorrow. " The student replied, "How can you return tomorrow? Wah Shan is thousands of miles away."
"Do not ask any more questions," said Ti Kuai Li. "My soul will travel there, but my body will remain here with you. If I do not return in seven days, do not worry because I will have become immortal and you can then burn my body, because I will not longer need it." Ti Kuai Li sat still in the pose of meditation. As the student watched, curls of smoke appeared above Ti Kuai Li's head. The student held a finger beneath the Master's nose and could not feel his breath. For six and one-half days, the student watched the Master's body. Afternoon on the seventh, the student received a message from his mother in the nearby village. She was mortally ill and wanted to see her son before she died. What could Ching do? He should obey his mother's dying wish, yet seven days had not passed and his Master was not back. In his haste to see his dying mother, the student burned his Master's body.
Down the hill from the cave, the student saw a beggar dying at the side of the road. The man had long dark eyebrows, huge ears with a thick brass ring in one ear. His body was twisted and misshapen. On his head he wore a pan lid. As Ching knelt there, the beggar died, but he had no time to bury him. "If I am late, my mother will die. I will bury the beggar on my way back," Ching said to himself.
No sooner had Ching left the cave, then Ti Kuai Li returned to reclaim his body. But he could not find it anywhere. His soul hovered and searched. With increasing frustration, he realized that his foolish student had burnt the body before the time. Now Ti Kuai Li had to find another body quickly, and all he could locate in the area was the unburied body of the beggar. Ti Kuai Li's soul reluctantly entered the misshapen beggar's body. As he painfully struggled to stand up, he heard someone laughing. An old, white-bearded man stood on the road, carrying a big bag of herbs and potions and motioning to Ti Kuai Li.
"Do you know me?" he asked. "Of course," replied the old man. "Come here. This is a bottle of a magic elixir which will cure anyone of anything. Your ugliness will frighten people, but when they realize that you can cure any illness, the poor will call you to their homes and princes will summon you to their palaces." "How much medicine is in the bottle?" "Do not worry. This medicine is eternal. Whatever you need, this bottle will produce."
Ti Kuai Li, his body bend and leg bleeding, stood before the old man, who said, "You cannot go far without a crutch." At this, he shook the bottle and poured out some metal powder into the palm of his hand. Then he poured some water from the gourd hanging at his side and moulded the powder into a long metal rod. "This crutch will never rust and or break. It will always be your support wherever you go." The old man handed Ti Kuai Li the crutch and bottle. "You are now ready to join the Immortals. You can go wherever you want. Now, I am leaving."
Ti Kuai Li, overcome with his new honor but frightened by the responsibility, asked the old man: "Who are you and where are you going ....?" The old man replied in a calming manner, "I am going to Lao Tzu. This bottle was bestowed on you by him. I am just his messenger." But, as the old man disappeared, Ti Kuai Li knew that he had just spoken to Lao Tzu himself.
With his new gift of immortality and his eternal medicine bottle, Ti Kuai Li traveled to many lands and could be found wherever the sick were in need or the poor were persecuted.
From the late 6th to the 9th centuries AD/CE, hundreds of years after the early Taoist writings of Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu, the legends of Han Shan were collected. He was called the mad recluse of Cold Mountain. As far as can be determined, he was once a gentleman farmer, who may have had a career as a minor government official, and after extensive wanderings in an impoverished condition, he retired as a hermit at a place called Cold Mountain in the T'ien T'ai range.
At times he would visit a nearby Buddhist temple where he would warm himself in the kitchen and get leftover food to take home. Once a government official newly assigned to the area sought out Han Shan for his great reputation as a sage and found him in the kitchen laughing with his friend the cook. The official bowed to them, but they laughed even harder, and Han Shan said to the official: "You fool. You would not know the Buddha if you met him. What do you mean by bowing to us?" At this, Han Shan walked out laughing all the way back to Cold Mountain.
Among Han Shan's writings, are the following:
I climb the road to Cold Mountain,
The road that never ends.
The valleys are long and strewn with stones,
The streams broad and banked with thick grass.
Who can break from the snares of the world
And sit with me among the white clouds?
Here in the wilderness, I am completely freeWith my friends the white clouds idling forever.
At Cold Mountain I cultivate the herbs of long life.
Broad is my garden and wrapped now in clouds.
In response to criticism of his poems as not making any sense, Han Shan wrote:
Freely I came to this mountain forest
To lie down alone on a rocky bed.
Under the trees a white-haired man
Mumbles ever his Taoist texts.
He has not gone home for ten years.
He has even forgotten the road he came by.
You complain that the Way is hard to find.
Turn your mind within. It is there. Why look abroad?People ask the way to Cold Mountain.
There is no road that goes through.
Even in summer the ice does not melt.
How can you hope to get there by following me?