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Today, it is a pleasure to share selections from the “Book of Lieh-Tzu” by the Venerated Enlightened Master Lieh Tzu (vegetarian), translated by Lionel Giles. BOOK 1 Cosmogony “Confucius was travelling once over Mount T’ai when he caught sight of an aged man roaming in the wilds. He was […] singing as he played on a lute. ‘My friend,’ said Confucius, ‘what is it that makes you so happy?’ The old man replied: ‘I have a great deal to make me happy. God created all things, and of all His creations, man is the noblest. It has fallen to my lot to be a man: that is my first ground for happiness. […] Furthermore, some are born who never behold the Sun or the Moon, and who never emerge from their swaddling-clothes. But I have already walked the Earth for the space of ninety years. That is [also] my […] ground for happiness. […]”“Yen Tzu said: ‘How excellent was the ancients’ view of death! Bringing rest to the good and subjection to the wicked. Death is the boundary line of Virtue. That is, Death abolishes all artificial and temporary distinctions between good and evil, which only hold good in this world of relativity. The ancients spoke of the dead as kuei-jên (men who have returned). But if the dead are men who have returned, the living are men on a journey. Those who are on a journey and think not of returning have cut themselves off from their home. Should any one man cut himself off from his home, he would incur universal reprobation. But all mankind being homeless, there is none to see the error. Imagine one who leaves his native village, separates himself from all his kith and kin, dissipates his patrimony, and wanders away to the four corners of the Earth, never to return: what manner of man is this? The world will surely set him down as a profligate and a vagabond. On the other hand, imagine one who clings to respectability and the things of this life, holds cleverness and capacity in high esteem, builds himself up a reputation, and plays the braggart amongst his fellow men without knowing where to stop: what manner of man, once more, is this? The world will surely look upon him as a gentleman of great wisdom and counsel. Both of these men have lost their way, yet the world will consort with the one, and not with the other. Only the Sage knows with whom to consort and from whom to hold aloof. He consorts with those who regard life and death merely as waking and sleeping, and holds aloof from those who are steeped in forgetfulness of their return.’ […]”
