makes all things subservient to his will; and yet here he is, trapped by the guile of a rat, which combined the speed of the flying hare with the repose of a blushing girl. Wherein then lies his superior intelligence?”
Thinking over this, with my eyes closed, a voice seemed to say to me, “Your knowledge is the knowledge of books; you gaze towards the truth but see it not. You do not concentrate your mind within yourself, but allow it to be distracted by external influences. Hence it is that you are deceived by the gnawing of a rat. A man may voluntarily destroy a priceless gem, and yet be unable to restrain his feelings over a broken cooking-pot. Another will bind a fierce tiger, and yet change colour at the sting of a bee. These words are your own; have you forgotten them?” At this I bent my head and laughed; and then, opening my eyes, I bade a servant bring pen and ink and commit the episode to writing.
THE PRINCE OF LITERATURE.
(See p. 113).
How has the simple and lowly one become a Teacher for all generations? Why has a single word of his become law for the whole world? Because he could place himself in harmony with Nature, and adapt himself to the eternal sequence of fulness and decay.
Life does not come to us without reason: it is not without reason that we lay it down. Hence, some have descended from the hills to live among us; others have joined the galaxy of the stars above.[1] The traditions of old lie not.
Mencius said, “I am able to nourish my divine spirit.”[2] That spirit may lodge in a specified area; but its volume fills all space. For him who possesses it, the honours of princes and kings,
- ↑ Two mythological allusions.
- ↑ Dr. Legge, in his translation of Mencius, renders this term by “vast, flowing, passion-nature.” It is, in fact, untranslatable; but what is meant may be easily understood from Wên T‘ien-hsiang’s splendid poem, headed Divinæ Particulam Auræ. See p. 201.
