At this same time, Tzu-yu continued his wandering and came to the principal city of the region. And it came to pass that, as he took tea in the common room of the inn where he had taken lodging, he overheard three scholars at a table nearby who were discussing the Tao and some obscure metaphysics. And these worthies, noticing him for the first time and discerning from his clothing and manner that he was a wandering sage, invited him to join them at their table.
After introductions were made, a scholar named Yu Chu spoke to him thus: “Tell us, Tzu-yu, to what school do you belong and what can you add to our discussion, for we were speaking of the Tao and how it might be known? My colleagues and I believe it is through the pursuit of the Universal Principle of Li, but they cannot agree if this is expressed in belief in the rituals themselves or in what underlies them. And I am of the opinion that Li is not understood through ritual at all, but through a thorough pursuit of the knowledge of Li. Can you add to our debate and perhaps give weight to one side, for as it now stands, no one side has the advantage?”
“Sirs, I must tell you that I have no school, nor have I studied the teachings of your master, Kung-fu-tzu. Indeed, I have studied under no master at all and am not qualified to discuss these fine points. For as you have rightly perceived, I am a man who wanders inspired by Tao, but all that I have learned has come to me thus, in the company of others and at the bosom of nature. I must content myself, therefore, to merely listen and learn.”
At this the three scholars gave him a nod of resigned dismissal and proceeded to expound on their rarified metaphysics. This went on for considerable time and several pots of tea, until the scholars themselves seemed to tire of the subject. So turning again to address Tzu-yu, Yu Chu said, “Surely, Sir, you must have an opinion on all that you have here heard, or perhaps you might share with us what it is that you believe?”
Thus Tzu-yu reluctantly began: “Sirs, I am at a loss how to begin for I have been lost from the beginning. Yet I will tell you something of the way I follow Tao. And my words will be simple, for things of the spirit are above all simple and should be simply spoken. What I understand of the Tao is that it is the Great Mystery. It yields to no words, nor can debate achieve its description. It dwells beyond all knowing, and belief cannot reach it.
As great ones have said, ‘The end of knowledge is the beginning of wisdom.’ And again, ‘The wise sage stops where knowledge has its end.’ For the Mysterious Tao is known only in the intuitive heart and this knowing is a knowing beyond all words. And though a great mystery, the Tao is seen in all that is, if only we can look with a heart that is surrendered, open, and empty. And to have touched the Tao is to know harmony in unity with all that is.
Now you, Sirs,” he continued, “are very much like the novice painter in ink, who, having through simplicity achieved a great unity of the particular with a vast empty sky, decides it must have a gaggle of geese. But I see I have offended you, and that was not my intent. For you are scholars by profession and should practice your profession with pride. But I trust you will forgive me when I say you are no sages; for a sage would not attempt to explain the Tao or make things of the spirit the subject of debate.”
With these words, Tzu-yu saw his welcome had come to an end and so he excused himself and retired to his room where he remained in quiet contemplation until stirred by a tentative knocking at his door.
This post is part of a series. To view the index, go here.
After introductions were made, a scholar named Yu Chu spoke to him thus: “Tell us, Tzu-yu, to what school do you belong and what can you add to our discussion, for we were speaking of the Tao and how it might be known? My colleagues and I believe it is through the pursuit of the Universal Principle of Li, but they cannot agree if this is expressed in belief in the rituals themselves or in what underlies them. And I am of the opinion that Li is not understood through ritual at all, but through a thorough pursuit of the knowledge of Li. Can you add to our debate and perhaps give weight to one side, for as it now stands, no one side has the advantage?”
“Sirs, I must tell you that I have no school, nor have I studied the teachings of your master, Kung-fu-tzu. Indeed, I have studied under no master at all and am not qualified to discuss these fine points. For as you have rightly perceived, I am a man who wanders inspired by Tao, but all that I have learned has come to me thus, in the company of others and at the bosom of nature. I must content myself, therefore, to merely listen and learn.”
At this the three scholars gave him a nod of resigned dismissal and proceeded to expound on their rarified metaphysics. This went on for considerable time and several pots of tea, until the scholars themselves seemed to tire of the subject. So turning again to address Tzu-yu, Yu Chu said, “Surely, Sir, you must have an opinion on all that you have here heard, or perhaps you might share with us what it is that you believe?”
Thus Tzu-yu reluctantly began: “Sirs, I am at a loss how to begin for I have been lost from the beginning. Yet I will tell you something of the way I follow Tao. And my words will be simple, for things of the spirit are above all simple and should be simply spoken. What I understand of the Tao is that it is the Great Mystery. It yields to no words, nor can debate achieve its description. It dwells beyond all knowing, and belief cannot reach it.
As great ones have said, ‘The end of knowledge is the beginning of wisdom.’ And again, ‘The wise sage stops where knowledge has its end.’ For the Mysterious Tao is known only in the intuitive heart and this knowing is a knowing beyond all words. And though a great mystery, the Tao is seen in all that is, if only we can look with a heart that is surrendered, open, and empty. And to have touched the Tao is to know harmony in unity with all that is.
Now you, Sirs,” he continued, “are very much like the novice painter in ink, who, having through simplicity achieved a great unity of the particular with a vast empty sky, decides it must have a gaggle of geese. But I see I have offended you, and that was not my intent. For you are scholars by profession and should practice your profession with pride. But I trust you will forgive me when I say you are no sages; for a sage would not attempt to explain the Tao or make things of the spirit the subject of debate.”
With these words, Tzu-yu saw his welcome had come to an end and so he excused himself and retired to his room where he remained in quiet contemplation until stirred by a tentative knocking at his door.
This post is part of a series. To view the index, go here.
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