the friend who had given him the explanation was satisfied, and experienced great joy too. But when Chang Lu-tzŭ heard about it, he laughed, and said, "Rainbows, clouds, mists, wind, rain, and the four seasons—all are produced by accumulations of vapour in the sky. Mountains and hills, rivers and seas, metal and stone, fire and wood—all these consist of accumulated forms upon the earth. Now, knowing what we do about these accumulations of vapour and accumulations of matter, how can it be said that their disruption is impossible [seeing that disruption did actually take place during the state of chaos]? Why, Heaven and Earth themselves are just one little particle in the midst of space; and yet, in the midst of Heaven and Earth there is that which is extremely great, difficult to exhaust, difficult to get to the end of, difficult to fathom, difficult to understand. This is a most certain fact. The man who is sorrowful lest all this should disrupt is really over-fearful; while the other, who says that disruption is impossible, is also far from right. Heaven and Earth cannot but disrupt; they will return to a condition when disruption must take place; but it will be quite soon enough to grieve about it when the time for their destruction comes."
When Lieh-tzŭ heard this, he smiled, and said, "Both those who say that Heaven and Earth will disrupt, and those who say they will not, make a great blunder. Whether disruption will or will not take place is a question about which I cannot know anything; yet each of the two theories has its advocate. Thus the living know nothing of death, the dead know nothing of life; the coming know nothing of their departure, the departing know nothing of their return. Whether there is to be disruption or not, why should I trouble myself about it either way?"
The following stories have a raciness that will commend them even to those who find it difficult to see a moral in them, though each is intended to illustrate some special doctrine peculiar to the philosophy of Taoism:—
