Chuang Tzu replied, ‘This is poverty but not distress. If a scholar has the Tao and the Virtue but is unable to use them, that is distress. If his clothes are worn and shoes held together with string, that is poverty but not distress. This is known as not being around at the right time. Your Majesty, have you never seen monkeys climbing? When they are amongst plane trees, the oaks and camphor trees, they cling to branches and leaves with such ease that not even the archers Yi or Peng Meng could spot them. However, when they are amongst the prickly mulberry, thorny date trees and other spiky bushes, they move cautiously, looking from side to side, shaking with fear. This is not because their sinews and bones have gone stiff or unable to bend, but because the monkeys are not in their own environment and so cannot use their skills. Now that I find myself living with a benighted leader and with rebellious ministers above me, how can I avoid distress? Observe how Pi Kan’s heart was cut out81 – that illustrates my point!’
Confucius was confronted by troubles between Chen and Tsai and he had no hot food for seven days. He grasped a rotting tree in his left hand, while his right hand beat out a rhythm on a rotting branch and he sang the poem of the Lord of Piao. He had an instrument but no beat, he had sound but no blend of melody. The tree gave sound and the singer gave voice to a sadness that touched people’s hearts.
Yen Hui, standing erect, arms folded, cast his eyes towards him. Confucius, anxious that Hui might overdo the respect and honour due to him, or that his love would make him vulnerable, said, ‘Hui, it is easy not to care about what comes from Heaven. It is hard not to care about what comes from people. Nothing begins which will not end, Heaven and humanity are one. So who, now, is actually singing?’
‘How can one avoid the inflections of Heaven with ease?’ said Hui.
‘Hunger, thirst, cold and heat and being unable to progress beyond barriers,’ said Confucius, ‘these are the effects of Heaven and Earth, aspects of ever-changing cycles. They are known as travelling together with others. The minister of a ruler dare not disobey. If he is true to his ruler, then how much more true should we be to respond to the decrees of Heaven!’
‘What do you mean when you say it is difficult not to respond to the works of humanity?’
Confucius replied, ‘Someone landing a new position goes out in all four directions at the same time. Honours and wealth become his without ceasing, but these do not come from who you are, they are just the external attributes of that particular job. The nobleman is no thief, an honest man is not a robber. Why should I be like that? It is said that there is no bird wiser than the swallow. If its eyes cannot find a good place, it will not give it another thought. If the food it is carrying falls from its mouth, it leaves it and goes on. It is cautious around humans, but it nests amongst them, finding protection by being close to the altars of the Earth and the Grain.’
‘What do you mean, nothing begins that does not end?’
‘The change and transformation of all forms of life goes on,’ said Confucius, ‘but we do not know who sustains this change. How, therefore, can we know beginnings? How can we know ends? There is nothing else to do but wait.’
‘What do you mean when you say Heaven and humanity are one?’
‘You have Heaven, therefore humanity is. You have Heaven, which is because it is Heaven. Humanity cannot create Heaven, because of humanity’s own innate nature. The sage calmly passes on with his body, and that is the end.’
Chuang Tzu was wandering through the park at Tiao Ling, when he saw a strange jackdaw come flying from the south. Its wing-span measured seven feet and its eyes were large, about an inch across. It brushed against Chuang Tzu’s forehead as it passed and then came to rest in a copse of chestnut trees. Chuang Tzu said, ‘What sort of bird is this, with wings so vast but going nowhere, eyes so large but it can’t see properly?’ Hitching up his robe, he hurried after it with his crossbow in order to take a pot shot at it. On the way he saw a cicada which was basking in a beautiful shady spot, without a thought for its bodily safety. Suddenly, a praying mantis stretched forth its feelers and prepared to spring upon the cicada, so engrossed in the hunt that it forgot its own safety. The strange jackdaw swept down and seized them both, likewise forgetting its own safety in the excitement of the prize. Chuang Tzu sighed with compassion and said, ‘Ah! So it is that one thing brings disaster upon another, and then upon itself!’ He cast aside his crossbow and was on his way out, when the forester chased after him, shouting at him for being a poacher.
Chuang Tzu went home and was depressed for three months. Lin Chou, who was with him, asked him, ‘Master, why are you so miserable?’
Chuang Tzu said, ‘I was so concerned with my body that I forgot my self. It was like looking into cloudy water, thinking it was really clear. Furthermore, I heard my Master say once, “When associating with the locals, act like a local.” So I went out walking in the park at Tiao Ling and forgot my own self. A strange jackdaw touched my forehead, then settled in a copse of chestnut trees and there forgot its own true being. The forester thought I was to blame. This is why I’m miserable.’
Yang Tzu was travelling to Sung