Chapter 5.1

The one-footed cripple Majestically Decrepit

In Lu there’s a one-footed cripple, Majestically Decrepit.
The number of people who follow him and who follow Second-Born Ni*—there’s as many who follow one as the other.

Constant Season,* putting a question to Second-Born Ni, says:
Majestically Decrepit is a one-footed cripple,
yet the number of people who follow him and who follow you, Venerable Master—it’s a fifty-fifty split between the folk of Lu.
Standing, he doesn’t teach.
Sitting, he doesn’t discuss.
But people go to him empty and come away full.
Could it really be he has a wordless teaching that, lacking outward form, makes the mind complete?
What sort of person is this?

Second-Born Ni says:
Venerable Master is a sage.
Me—I’ve just been dawdling and haven’t gone to him yet, that’s all.
And if I’m going to adopt him as my teacher, need we wonder about folk who aren’t like me?
Why only Lu Dukedom?
I’ll entice the whole world to come follow him.

Constant Season says:
He’s a one-footed cripple, and your respected elder.
Common, yet far above.
In that case, what are we to make of the unique way he uses his mind?

Second-Born Ni says:
Death and birth are big events, but he doesn’t fluctuate with them.
Even if heaven and earth upturned, he wouldn’t be lost with them.
He sees that he’s like an actor in a costume, so he doesn’t get shifted about with things.
He leaves the changing of things to fate and keeps to his core task.

Constant Season says:
What do you mean?

Second-Born Ni says:
Looked at in regard to their difference, the liver and gallbladder are Chu and Yueh.*
Looked at in regard to their similarity, the myriad things are all one.*
Someone like this—he doesn’t know what his ears and eyes ought to approve, and lets his mind wander on the harmony created by his charisma.

In regard to things, he looks at how they’re one and doesn’t see what they’ve lost.
He looks at losing his foot as he’d look at shaking off a clod of soil.

Constant Season says:
For his own benefit he uses his attention to discover his mind, and he uses his mind to discover the constant mind.
How does it benefit others to congregate around him?

Second-Born Ni says:
No one sees their reflection in turbulent water, but in still water.
Only stillness is able to still people’s stillness.

Of things that receive their fate from the earth, the pine and cypress stand out. In winter, summer, green throughout.
Of things that receive their fate from heaven, Shun* stands out. Affirming the whims of fortune, he was able to affirm his nature, and thus affirmed everyone’s nature.

A sign that someone maintains the attitude that they’re at the moment of inception is the absence of fear.
A brave officer boldly leads the charge into an army of nine hosts. If someone who’s motivated by reputation and who’s able to will himself forward is like this, need we wonder about someone who makes heaven and earth his ministers, and the myriad things his royal residence; who regards his trunk and limbs as but a pavilion, and his ears and eyes its musicians and wall hangings; who treats as one what his knowing knows, and whose mind never tastes death?
Such a person—he chooses the day and ascends the stage.
Others—they follow someone like this.
But such a person—why would he consent to make others his business?

*  *  *  *  *

Could it really be he has a wordless teaching that, lacking outward form, makes the mind complete?

Chuang Tzu uses words to help free us from our attachment to words (Chapter 2). But a problem with words is that instead of being freed by them, we can get bound up in them. When Chuang Tzu writes about the large bird Of a Flock, hoping to awake us to awareness, there is a risk that we simply see a large bird and that we then chirp our little hearts out either laughing at it or revering it (Chapter 1.2).

Much better, then, to have a wordless teaching, right?

Of course not. A wordless teaching communicates nothing (which is to say, it allows the student to infer anything). Chuang Tzu—a man not at all shy about using words—is parodying all those teachers and students who yap on endlessly about how one should just be silent.

And yet—there is something about silence. To see the path we have to find that wordless place that is the pivot of the path. We have to let going-by-this-and-that-aspect-of-things-and-saying-They’re-x cease  (Chapter 2.4).

If I’m going to adopt him as my teacher, need we wonder about folk who aren’t like me?

People who don’t dawdle, who don’t put off doing what matters. (Second-Born Ni—Confucius—dawdles by engaging in endless study and self-improvement.)

He sees that he’s like an actor in a costume, so he doesn’t get shifted about with things. He leaves the changing of things to fate and keeps to his core task.

An actor doesn’t identify with the costume, script, and props. She identifies with herself, and so she experiences no distress when presented with a new costume, script, and set of props. Likewise, Majestically Decrepit doesn’t identify with a particular body and set of circumstances. He identifies with his life energy (Chapter 3.1), his daemon (Chapter 3.2), his charisma—and so he experiences no distress when his body and circumstances change.

Like an actor, his core task is to fill the part here-and-now given to him. It isn’t an actor’s business to choose the costume, script, and props. An actor leaves these things to the playwright and set designers. Likewise, Majestically Decrepit leaves the changing of things to fate.

Of course an actor could, and actors often do, complain that the costume/set/script is sub-standard. Having some other costume/set/script in mind they blow up the difference between the two to be like the difference between Chu and Yueh. But a great actor does not do this. A great actor takes the costume/set/script at hand and makes it great by filling it with her charisma. She sees that the costume/set/script is merely a costume/set/script, no different to any other costume/set/script. Likewise, Majestically Decrepit sees that a one-footed body is as good as any other. It is a mere costume in which he dresses himself so as to get on with his core task: to play his part, and play it well.

Looked at in regard to their similarity, the myriad things are all one.

As just discussed, different costumes are one in that they are all equally costumes with which to play.

Another example of how different things are one (equal) is the story of the monkeys and the seven nuts (Chapter 2.4). Whether it’s three nuts in the morning and four in the evening, or four in the morning and three in the evening, it’s seven in total. Each arrangement is equal. Each is a full allotment of nuts. Likewise, no matter what arrangement of things you have before you in this moment, you have a full allotment of experience.

By looking at things in this way, Majestically Decrepit sees that having a foot and not having a foot—each is a different but equal arrangement of things.

He lets his mind wander on the harmony created by his charisma.

Charisma is the quality of a person who is settled in their body and environment. It’s like water settled in a bowl (section 3). It turns an unwanted arrangement of things into a harmonious isness of things.

The harmony created by his charisma is the harmonious isness of things.

Instead of using his mind to label and evaluate things, Majestically Decrepit lets his mind wander on the harmonious isness of things.

He uses his attention to discover his mind ...

By being attentive, he discovers his mind at work. He sees that when his mind looks at how things are different, it can blow the difference up to be as great as the difference between Chu and Yueh. When his mind looks at how things are similar, it sees that the myriad things are all one (equal).

... and he uses his mind to discover the constant mind.

Once you see your label-making mind, you then see the constant mind: the ever-present awareness in which your label-making mind is doing its thing.

When Majestically Decrepit, not knowing what his ears and eyes ought to approve, lets his mind wander on the harmony created by his charisma, this wandering mind is the constant mind. (It wanders and is constant in the way that a charioteer on a moving chariot both wanders and is constant. The charioteer—the constant mind—is an ever-present constant, still and present, wandering through ever-changing scenery.)

A sign that someone maintains the attitude that they’re at the moment of inception is the absence of fear.

You are forever in the here and now, forever at the beginning of what’s next.

With this attitude, fear vanishes. We feel fear when we’re facing potential loss, when we’re staring down an approaching end. A frightened soldier looking out upon an army of nine hosts sees a wall of impending death. A fearless soldier—a person with charisma—sees an open arena in which to take his next step.

He chooses the day and ascends the stage.

Like an actor donning a costume and stepping onto the stage.

What costume? What stage?

The costume of the moment. The world stage.

Perhaps the costume is that of a soldier and the stage is a battlefront. Perhaps the costume of a footless cripple and the stage a room full of people looking for peace. Perhaps the costume of a pregnant woman and the stage a society hostile to her desire to have an abortion (as per our discussion in Chapter 2.4).

What costume is being handed to you in this moment? What stage happens to be before you? Here is your moment, your chance at greatness. Why not don the costume and ascend the stage? No need to look around, to look nervously behind you to see who’s following. No need to bully others into playing this and that role. Your role is this: to don the costume and ascend the stage. To mount the isness of heaven-and-earth and take the reins of the disputing six energies (Chapter 1.3).

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