On Leveling All Things
Tch'i of Nankuo sat leaning on a low table. Gazing up to heaven, he
sighed and looked as though he had lost his mind.
Yench'eng Tyu, who was standing by him, exclaimed, "What are you
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thinking about that your body should become thus like dead wood, your
mind like burnt-out cinders? Surely the man now leaning on the table is
not he who was here just now."
"My friend," replied Tch'i, "your question is apposite. Today I have lost
Do you understand? ... Perhaps you only know the music of
man, and not that of Earth. Or even if you have heard the music of Earth,
perhaps you have not heard the music of Heaven."
"Pray explain," said Tyu.
"The breath of the univer," continued Tch'i, "is called wind. At times,
it is inactive. But when active, all crevices resound to its blast. Have you
never listened to its deafening roar?
"Caves and dells of hill and forest, hollows in huge trees of many a span
in girth -- some are like nostrils, and some like mouths, and others like
ears, beam-sockets, goblets, mortars, or like pools and puddles. And the
wind goes rushing through them, like swirling torrents or singing arrows,
bellowing, sousing, trilling, wailing, roaring, purling, whistling in front
and echoing behind, now soft with the cool blow, now shrill with the
whirlwind, until the tempest is past and silence reigns supreme. Have
you never witnesd how the trees and objects shake and quake, and
twist and twirl?"
"Well, then," inquired Tyu, "since the music of Earth consists of
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hollows and apertures, and the music of man of pipes and flutes, of what
consists the music of Heaven?"
"The effect of the wind upon the various apertures," replied Tch'i, "is
not uniform, but the sounds are produced according to their individual
capacities. Who is it that agitates their breasts?
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"Great wisdom is generous; petty wisdom is contentious. Great speech is
impassioned, small speech cantankerous.
"For whether the soul is locked in sleep or whether in waking hours the
body moves, we are striving and struggling with the immediate
circumstances. Some are easy-going and leisurely, some are deep and
cunning, and some are cretive. Now we are frightened over petty fears,
now disheartened and dismayed over some great terror. Now the mind
flies forth like an arrow from a cross-bow, to be the arbiter of right and
wrong. Now it stays behind as if sworn to an oath, to hold on to what it
has cured. Then, as under autumn and winter's blight, comes gradual
decay, and submerged in its own occupations, it keeps on running its
cour, never to return. Finally, worn out and imprisoned, it is choked up
like an old drain, and the failing mind shall not e light again(8).
"Joy and anger, sorrow and happiness, worries and regrets, indecision
and fears, come upon us by turns, with ever-changing moods, like music
from the hollows, or like mushrooms from damp. Day and night they
alternate within us, but we cannot tell whence they spring. Alas! Alas!
Could we for a moment lay our finger upon their very Cau?
"But for the emotions I should not be. Yet but for me, there would be
no one to feel them. So far we can go; but we do not know by who
order they come into play. It would em there was a soul;(9) but the
资本主义生产方式clue to its existence is wanting. That it functions is credible enough,
fiercelythough we cannot e its form. Perhaps it has inner reality without
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outward form.
"Take the human body with all its hundred bones, nine external cavities
and six internal organs, all complete. Which part of it should I love best?
Do you not cherish all equally, or have you a preference? Do the organs
what the hellrve as rvants of someone el? Since rvants cannot govern
themlves, do they rve as master and rvants by turn? Surely there
is some soul which controls them all.
日耳曼语"But whether or not we ascertain what is the true nature of this soul, it
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matters but little to the soul itlf. For once coming into this material
shape, it runs its cour until it is exhausted. To be harasd by the wear
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and tear of life, and to be driven along without possibility of arresting
one's cour, -- is not this pitiful indeed? To labor without ceasing all life,
and then, without living to enjoy the fruit, worn out with labor, to depart,
