Once, when Chen Jen fell ill from the wet and cold, Tzu-yu left him in a rude shelter in search of a village where he might find medicine and more substantial food. Arriving at an inn late at night and drenched from the monsoon rains he determined to there spend a restful night and to press his inquiries in the morning. But no sooner had he found a spot beside the stove, then he was pressed about by the men of the region demanding to know who he was, what his business was and where he was going.
“I am called Tzu-yu,” he replied, “and thus need say nothing more.” For, so long had he been called ‘Wandering Master’, that he no longer remembered his original name. Nor had he any clear recollection of his life past or of a definite destination.
“Are you then a great sage? And if so, why have we not heard of you before now?” was their reply.
“As to whether I am a sage, great or lesser, I have no idea,” he answered. “Yet were I a great sage, how would you have heard of me since the greater the sage the less he be known? Indeed, were I a sage, I would be ashamed to hear that I had so strayed from the Tao that men would know of me.
It is said:
‘The Tao has no name.
Life has never been seen.
The man of Tao dwells empty
without identity.’”
At this the men became agitated and shouted: “In our village dwells a great sage and his fame is known far and wide, bringing great honor to us all! Are you, then, greater than he, that you would pass judgment upon him!?”
“But I judge no man, whether sage or fool,” replied Tzu-yu. “Nor do I care whether he be the one or the other.
‘He who transcends all judgment,
embraces both judge and judged.’
But why do you become so agitated? Surely a sage as great as your sage needs no defense, but dwells beyond all praise or defamation! And how better to honor him than to likewise remain so indifferent?”
But the men of the village were not mollified. Nor did they see any contradiction in their angry defense of the serenity of a sage. “Tomorrow we shall bring you before our Master, and then we shall see who is the greater sage!”
Thus, on the morrow, before he could slip away unnoticed, the men accosted him and brought him before their sage. Standing before an imposing mansion far surpassing in grandeur all the otherwise simple hovels of the village, the men said: “And now, Sir, you must pay tribute to the Sage in gold, that he might grant us an audience.”
Seeing both a serious loss to the insubstantial funds with which he hoped to purchase medicine and food for his companion and a way of foregoing an inauspicious encounter with this erstwhile sage, Tzu-yu replied: “Alas, my friends, I must plead poverty. For what few coins I possess I must use for the assistance of an ill companion, the commission for which has brought me to your noble village. And indeed, my very poverty already proves your case that your sage is my superior. For here before me I see this wonderful palace—ample demonstration of his surpassing powers and sagacity. No need, then, for me to be humbled before the radiance of his countenance!”
But the villagers remained adamant and forced him to render up his few coins for the audience. Ushered, therefore, before the Sage, Tzu-yu found himself in the presence of an obese man clothed in fine silk raiment and sitting upon a great chair, surrounding himself with an air of impenetrable boredom.
This post is part of a series. To view the index, go here.
“I am called Tzu-yu,” he replied, “and thus need say nothing more.” For, so long had he been called ‘Wandering Master’, that he no longer remembered his original name. Nor had he any clear recollection of his life past or of a definite destination.
“Are you then a great sage? And if so, why have we not heard of you before now?” was their reply.
“As to whether I am a sage, great or lesser, I have no idea,” he answered. “Yet were I a great sage, how would you have heard of me since the greater the sage the less he be known? Indeed, were I a sage, I would be ashamed to hear that I had so strayed from the Tao that men would know of me.
It is said:
‘The Tao has no name.
Life has never been seen.
The man of Tao dwells empty
without identity.’”
At this the men became agitated and shouted: “In our village dwells a great sage and his fame is known far and wide, bringing great honor to us all! Are you, then, greater than he, that you would pass judgment upon him!?”
“But I judge no man, whether sage or fool,” replied Tzu-yu. “Nor do I care whether he be the one or the other.
‘He who transcends all judgment,
embraces both judge and judged.’
But why do you become so agitated? Surely a sage as great as your sage needs no defense, but dwells beyond all praise or defamation! And how better to honor him than to likewise remain so indifferent?”
But the men of the village were not mollified. Nor did they see any contradiction in their angry defense of the serenity of a sage. “Tomorrow we shall bring you before our Master, and then we shall see who is the greater sage!”
Thus, on the morrow, before he could slip away unnoticed, the men accosted him and brought him before their sage. Standing before an imposing mansion far surpassing in grandeur all the otherwise simple hovels of the village, the men said: “And now, Sir, you must pay tribute to the Sage in gold, that he might grant us an audience.”
Seeing both a serious loss to the insubstantial funds with which he hoped to purchase medicine and food for his companion and a way of foregoing an inauspicious encounter with this erstwhile sage, Tzu-yu replied: “Alas, my friends, I must plead poverty. For what few coins I possess I must use for the assistance of an ill companion, the commission for which has brought me to your noble village. And indeed, my very poverty already proves your case that your sage is my superior. For here before me I see this wonderful palace—ample demonstration of his surpassing powers and sagacity. No need, then, for me to be humbled before the radiance of his countenance!”
But the villagers remained adamant and forced him to render up his few coins for the audience. Ushered, therefore, before the Sage, Tzu-yu found himself in the presence of an obese man clothed in fine silk raiment and sitting upon a great chair, surrounding himself with an air of impenetrable boredom.
This post is part of a series. To view the index, go here.
Somehow I missed the intro to these and now it makes more sense.
ReplyDeleteThey are very nice stories.