Creation (65 page)

We often took walks with Master Li and his disciples. Plainly, the duties of the archivist of Chou were not onerous; he was always free to talk to us at length about his wordless doctrine. He gracefully dismissed my grandfather’s dogma of good and evil on the ground that the primal unity precluded such small divisions. I chose not to argue with him. I did describe for him Gosala, Mahavira, the Buddha, Pythagoras. He found only the Buddha interesting. He admired the four noble truths, and thought the Buddha’s triumph over the senses consistent with wu-wei. “But how,” asked Master Li, “can he be so certain that when he dies he will be snuffed out?”

“Because he has achieved perfect enlightenment.”

We were standing near the altar of earth. A high wind knocked leaves from the trees: winter was near. A dozen young men of the knightly class stood at a respectful distance. “If he thinks he has, he has not. Because he is still thinking.” This easy play on words delighted the young men; they giggled appreciatively.

The duke said, “Wisdom! Wisdom!”

I made no defense of the Buddha. After all, neither the Cathayan way nor the Buddhist noble truths has ever appealed to me. Each requires the banishment of the world as we know it. I can see how this might be a very desirable thing, but I cannot see how it is to be accomplished. Yet I am grateful to Master Li because, inadvertently, his performance that afternoon at the altar of earth set in train those events that made it possible for me to return to Persia.

Master Li sat on a rock. The young men made a circle about us. One asked, “Master, when the Cloud-spirit met Chaos, he asked him what was the best way to bring into harmony heaven and earth, and Chaos said that he didn’t know.”

“Wise is Chaos.” Master Li nodded approvingly. “Most wise,” said the young man. “But the Cloud-spirit said, ‘The people look to me as a model. I must do something to restore a balance in their affairs.’ ”

“Presumptuous,” said Master Li.

“Most presumptuous,” the young man echoed. But he persevered. “The Cloud-spirit asked, ‘What shall I do? Things are very bad on earth.’ And Chaos agreed that the world’s basic principles are constantly violated and the true nature of things constantly subverted. But Chaos said that the reason for this is—”

“—the mistake of governing men.” Master Li completed what was obviously an ancient dialogue. “Yes. That was—and is—a wise observation.”

“But,” said the young man, “the Cloud-spirit was not satisfied ...”

“... never is.” Master Li’s cloak was billowing about him in the sharp wind, and the strands of white hair on his head stood straight up. “But he should have been convinced when Chaos told him that the idea of
doing
in the world is what makes
all the trouble
.
Desist
!”
Master Li’s voice was suddenly as loud as that of a bronze bell struck with a hammer in a high wind.

“But, Master Li, are we to follow Chaos and not the Cloud-spirit?” The young man looked as if he might be asking an actual question instead of taking part in a litany.

“In this matter, yes. Particularly when Chaos said, ‘Nourish your mind. Rest in the position of doing nothing, and things will take care of themselves. Never ask the names of things, do not try to figure out the secret workings of nature. All things flourish of themselves.’ ”

“Beautiful,” said the duke of Sheh.

“Your word for Chaos—” I began.

“—is also one of our words for heaven,” said Master Li.

“I see,” I said, not seeing at all. Since things cannot flourish without order, heaven must be the antithesis of Chaos. But I was not about to engage the old master in a debate. He had the advantage of knowing what all the words of his language meant—and that is the secret of power, Democritus. No, I will not explain myself just yet.

One of the young men was not as delighted as the others with Master Li’s celebration of inactivity. He came forward, head bowed; a slight youth, his whole body was atremble—whether from the cold wind or from awe, I could not tell. “But surely, Master, the Cloud-spirit’s desire for harmony between heaven and earth should not be disregarded. After all, why else do we pray to earth in this place?” The young man bowed to the nearby altar.

“Oh, we must observe what is proper.” Master Li tightened his cloak about him; sniffed the sharp smell of snow upon the air.

“Would Chaos disapprove of such observances?”

“No, no. Chaos would accept them as natural as the ... the fall of the year. Or the winter sleep of the root in the ground. Do nothing that is not natural—and ritual is natural—and all will be for the best.”

“Then, Master, do you agree that if a ruler could for just one day submit himself to ritual everyone under heaven would respond to his goodness?”

Master Li looked up at the young man and frowned. The other disciples were wide-eyed. Even the duke was suddenly attentive. Some sort of heresy had been spoken. The young man shuddered convulsively, as if with fever.

“What is this goodness that you refer to?” The normally seductive voice of Master Li was shrill.

“I do not know. All I know is that through correct ritual, goodness can be attained. And for the state to flourish, goodness must have its source in the ruler himself. It cannot be got from others.”

“The son of heaven reflects heaven, which is all things, as we know. But this goodness, what is it if it is not wu-wei?”

“It is the thing done as well as not done. It is not doing to others what you would not like done to yourself. And if you are able to behave in this way, there will be no feelings of opposition to you, or—”

Master Li gave a somewhat unceremonious hoot of laughter. “You are quoting Master K’ung! Even though you must know that he and I are as unlike as the bright side of the hill is to the dark.”

“But surely, light or dark, it is all the same hill,” said the duke mildly.

“No thanks to Master K’ung. Or Confucius, as the vulgar name him. You must go to Wei, my boy.” Master Li was helped to his feet by two disciples. The shivering youth was silent, eyes to the ground. “Or wherever Confucius happens to be for the moment. He stays no place for very long. He is always greeted with deference. But then he starts to harangue and annoy officials, even rulers. Why, he once tried to instruct the son of heaven himself! Oh, it was mortifying. But then he is a vain and foolish man, who thinks of nothing but holding public office. He lusts for worldly distinction and power. Years ago he held some little office in the ministry of police at Lu. But since he’s only a knight, he could never be what he wanted to be, which was the minister. So he moved on to Key. But the prime minister found him—I quote the minister’s very words: ‘Impractical, conceited, with many peculiarities, including an obsession with the details of old ceremonies.’ ” Master Li turned to the duke of Sheh. “Later I believe that your cousin”—Master Li smiled into the freezing wind—“the late duke of Wei, gave him a minor post.”

The duke nodded. “My cousin, the incomparable one, did appoint him to some post or other. But then the incomparable one died. Rather,” he said to me, “the same sort of death that recently visited the all-compassionate one at Ch’in. Neither could stop drinking millet wine. But the incomparable one was as charming as the all-compassionate one was boorish.” The duke turned to Master Li. “Actually, Confucius left Wei before the incomparable one died ...”

“We heard that there had been a quarrel between Confucius and the ministry of the incomparable one.” Master Li pulled his cloak over his head. We were all growing cold.

“If there was, it’s been patched up. Only yesterday, the son of heaven told me that Confucius is once more in Wei, where our young cousin Duke Chu regards him most highly.”

“Mysterious are the ways of heaven,” said Master Li.

I was freezing; and bored with so much talk of a man I knew nothing about. Although Fan Ch’ih had liked to quote Confucius, I remembered little of what Fan Ch’ih had said. It is hard to take seriously another world’s wise man, particularly at second hand.

“Confucius has been invited to return to Lu by Duke Ai,” said the shivering young man; his face was as gray as the clouds in the winter sky. The light was failing.

“Are you certain?” The duke condescended to look at the youth.

“Yes, Lord Duke. I’ve just come from Lu. I wanted to stay and meet Confucius. But I was obliged to come home.”

“I
am
sorry,” whispered Master Li. Malice made his ancient face look almost young.

“So am I, Master.” The young man was straightforward. “I admire Confucius for all those things that he does not do.”

“Yes, he is noted for what he does not do.” The duke was quite serious, and I was careful not to laugh.

Master Li caught my eye, and smiled collusively. He turned to the young man. “Tell us which of those things he does
not
do that you most revere.”

“There are four things he does not do that I revere. He takes nothing for granted. He is never overpositive. Or obstinate. Or egotistical.”

Master Li responded to the young man’s challenge. “Although it is true that Confucius takes little for granted, he is certainly the most positive, the most obstinate, the most egotistical man within the four seas. I met him only once. I found him respectful until he began to lecture us on the proper observances of this-and-that ceremony. As I listened to him I thought to myself, With such self-importance, such consequential airs, who could live under the same roof with this man? In his presence, what is purest white looks blurred, while the power that is most sufficing becomes inadequate.” These last lines were in verse, beautifully rendered, with the north wind for accompaniment. The disciples applauded. The trembling youth did not. Then all light left the sky and it was night, and winter.

On the way back to our quarters the duke spoke affectionately of Confucius. “I was never a disciple, of course. My rank made that impossible. But I used to listen to him whenever I was in Lu. Also, I used to see him in Wei. And come to think of it, didn’t I see him in ...” While the duke rambled inconsequentially, I had but one thought: We must go to Lu, where I will find Fan Ch’ih; if he is still alive, he will set me free.

The next few days I affected such interest in Confucius that the duke caught fire. “He is truly the wisest man within the four seas. In fact, he is probably a divine sage, as well as an intimate friend of mine. Master Li is superb, of course. But as you may have noticed, he’s not really of
this
world because he’s already a part of the Way, while Confucius is a guide for the rest of us
to
the Way.” The duke was so pleased with this last statement that he repeated it.

I responded rapturously, “Oh, what I would give to sit at the feet of a divine sage!” I sighed. “But Lu is so far away.”

“It’s not at all far away. One goes east, along the river for about ten days. Quite an easy trip, actually. But you and I are going south across the great plain to the Yangtze River and from there to the seaport of Kweichi and then ... on to the land of gold!”

But I had planted a seed which I nurtured daily. The duke was tempted. “After all,” he mused, “Lu has a number of seaports, inferior to Kweichi but still serviceable.” Apparently one could find a ship for Champa there. Although leaving from Lu would lengthen the sea voyage the land journey would be shortened. The duke confessed that he did not fancy crossing the great plain with a convoy of dragon’s bone. The great plain is aswarm with thieves. Also, he was obliged to admit, there was a large market for dragon’s bone in Lu.

Each day the duke became more tempted by the thought of Lu. “I am an uncle
by blood
of Duke Ai, a charming youth, who’s now been on the throne for eleven years. My half-brother, his father, was extremely musical. My half-brother his uncle was not. The uncle was duke until he was driven out by the barons, as you know. But, of course, you don’t know. How could you?”

We were walking in a grove of mulberry trees not far from the knoll where the unwanted newborn babies are left to die. As we strolled, the catlike sounds of dying babies mingled with the chatter of southbound birds. Cathayans put to death at birth any deformed male and most of the females. Thus do they keep in balance a population that shows no sign at all of getting to be too large. I was never able to understand why the custom of infant exposure should be so resolutely practiced in such a large, rich, empty country.

Naturally, the practice is universal and necessary: no society wants too many breeding females, particularly the Greek states where the soil is too poor to sustain a large population. Nevertheless, sooner or later, every Greek city becomes overcrowded. When this happens, numbers of people are sent away to start a new colony, in Sicily or Italy or Africa—wherever their ships will take them. As a result, Greek colonies now extend from the Black Sea to the pillars of Heracles—and all because of the harsh terrain of Attica and most of the Aegean islands. The Greeks like to boast that their prowess in war and sport comes from the selective way in which they kill off not only unwanted females but imperfect males. Only the strong—not to mention the beautiful—are allowed to survive, or so they say. But Democritus thinks that the Athenians must have grown lax in recent years. He tells me that most of the male population of this city are highly ill-favored, as well as susceptible to all sorts of disfiguring diseases, particularly those of the skin. I wouldn’t know. I am blind.

When I asked Fan Ch’ih why the Cathayans always pretend that there are too many people in their lovely empty world, he used the same phrase that the dictator Huan had used: “When we were few and things were many, there was universal happiness. Now that things are few, men many ...” I suppose that there is some religious reason for all this. But I was never able to find out what it was. When the Cathayans choose not to tell you something, they are exquisitely and tediously uninformative.

The duke reminisced about his half-brother Duke Chao, who had been driven out of Lu some thirty years earlier. “He was a bad-tempered man. Much older than I. Although he was not our father’s favorite, he was the heir. Everyone acknowledged this, even the hereditary ministers. Chao was
always
respectful of me. In fact—and this is very important to remember—he privately acknowledged that I took precedence over him because my title, which came to me through my mother, the duchess of Sheh, is the oldest title in the Middle Kingdom.” Even at that time I knew that my master had invented for himself not only a dynasty but a country. Actually, he was the son of either the third wife or the first concubine of the old duke of Lu. No one seems certain which. But all agreed that he might well have been styled marquis had he not preferred to be the self-invented duke of the nonexistent holy ground.