弘明集 5.28

5.28

I once visited Du Fang of my home commandery, formerly the magistrate of Chen. Seeing him reading the Laozi, he said, 'Laozi used tranquility to cultivate his nature and achieved an age of several hundred years. Now if I practice his Dao, could I prolong my life and ward off old age?' I answered him, saying: 'Although humans share the same form and name, their innate nature and constitution are each different; they possess endowments of strength and weakness, hardness and fragility. Caring for and appropriately using them merely produces slight improvements. It is like clothes, shoes, and utensils: if you care for them, they will remain intact and last long.' I saw a hemp-wick candle beside him with a stalk of residue hanging down about a foot. I then used it as a metaphor for the situation, saying: 'The spirit residing in the corporeal form is like fire burning a candle. If one cares for it well, trimming and tilting it in accordance with the flame, it can burn to the end of the candle without premature loss. The candle without fire cannot travel alone through empty space, nor can fire burn again on the residue. The residue is like a person who is old, with fallen teeth, white hair, and dried and withered flesh, while the spirit can no longer nourish it. When inside and outside are exhausted, the vital breath ceases and they die, just as the fire and the candle are both extinguished. When people meet with pathogenic harm or sickness and do not receive care from a good physician, some die untimely deaths. When they die, their flesh, sinews, and bones are like a fire tipped by a gust of wind and left unsaved; once it burns out, the remaining wick remains long. I once sat drinking at night in the interior room, burning a candle. When the candle was half-collapsed and about to be extinguished, I inspected it myself and saw that its outer bark was peeling and severed. I then supported and turned it; the fire thereupon passed across and burned again. When the human body suffers severe depletion and injury, if one can practice caution and sustain it well, one may likewise survive. Furthermore, no one can remember the time of their birth, and when old, one naturally cannot foresee their own death. In the peaceful and harmonious times of antiquity, the people were born under fine and abundant conditions; all were sturdy, long-lived, and died only around the age of a hundred. When they died, it was suddenly like falling asleep and going out, just like fruits and grains that naturally drop when aged and ripe. Later generations met with dwindling, foul vital breath, married out of season, and toiled excessively. Therefore, both parents and their offspring suffered harm, and their sinews, bones, blood, and vital breath were neither replete nor strong; thus many met with misfortune, died young, or perished abruptly in middle age. When afflicted by illness, they suffered poignant anguish, and only then did their life come to an end; hence people lament and dread it, regarding death as the greatest disaster. Thus King Jing of Qi once praised the beauty of his state and the delight of its pleasures, saying: 'If from antiquity there had been no death, how would it be?' Yanzi said: 'The Lord on High regards human death as good: through it, the humane rest, and the inhumane are subdued.' Now, if one does not strive daily to broaden learning, to achieve mastery for oneself, and to pursue establishing oneself and making one's name known, but only greedily seeks the benefit of long life and extensively seeks to prolong longevity and increase one's years, this is delusion without understanding.' Someone objected, saying: 'Using candle and fire as a metaphor for form and spirit is, I fear, specious. When human skin and flesh are occasionally scraped or injured, they heal on their own because the blood and vital breath circulate through them. When that hemp-wick candle is damaged, even though fire resides in it, it cannot become whole again. Thus spirit and breath generate growth, whereas the fire and candle cannot repair themselves. This is precisely how they differ; why would you equate them?' I answered, saying: 'Fire arises from one end, whereas human spirit and vital breath in the body gradually emerge from the inside to unite with the outside, and gather from the outside to reach the inside; they do not necessarily travel from one end. It is like glowing charcoal: if a small amount of water passes over it, it is slightly extinguished, but then rekindles. This is comparable to the blood and vital breath growing flesh. Looking at the ultimate end, it either becomes ash or becomes residue. Why should it not serve as a metaphor? Later, I sat talking at night with Boshi over a fat lamp. When the fat in the lamp was exhausted and the wick was charred and stubby, about to go out, I showed it to him to enlighten him. Boshi said: 'Human aging is also like that stubby wick.' I then told him about the previous matter of burning the hemp-wick candle. Boshi said: 'When the lamp and candle are spent, one should add fat and change the candle. When a person ages and declines, can they renew themselves?' I answered, saying: 'A person, having received and established their corporeal form, is like that single lamp or candle; when it reaches its ultimate end, how could it renew itself? Changing what is spent depends on humans; a person's renewal also depends on Heaven. If Heaven can endow their muscles, bones, blood, and vital breath with abundance and strength, then form and spirit will flourish and live long; if impaired, they will be cut short and injured. It is like fire: its slowness or speed depends on the abundance or scarcity, length or shortness of the fat and candle. If one wishes the lamp and candle to replenish and change themselves, they cannot; one can only gather the surrounding fat to soak the tip, and turn the wick so the fire can dwell securely, and then it shines bright again. When the source is exhausted, there is nothing with which to burn. Now, when people cultivate their nature, some can cause fallen teeth to regrow, white hair to turn black again, and the face to become plump and glowing. This is like turning the candle toward the fat: when the utmost lifespan is reached, they still die alone. The enlightened know this is difficult to attain, so they do not weary themselves; the foolish deceive themselves and hope to obtain the efficacy of adding fat and changing the candle, striving eagerly without rest. Furthermore, herbs, trees, and the five grains are generated from the earth through the yin and yang vital breath. When they grow large and bear fruit, the fruit enters the earth again, and only then can they be generated. It is like humans, beasts, and insects, all generated through the sexual union of male and female. When there is birth, there is growth; when there is growth, there is aging; when there is aging, there is death. It is like the succession of the four seasons. To wish to alter their nature and pursue an extraordinary path is delusion without understanding.'