Chwang Tsz (So-shi), the greatest of Chinese philosophers, says:  “Thou knowest the music of men, but not the music of the earth.  Thou knowest the music of the earth, but not the music of the heaven."[FN#132] Goethe, perceiving a profound meaning in Nature, says:  “Flowers are the beautiful hieroglyphics of Nature with which she indicates how much she loves us.”

[FN#132] Chwang Tsz, vol. i., p. 10.

Son-toku[FN#133] (Ninomiya), a great economist, who, overcoming all difficulties and hardships by which he was beset from his childhood, educated himself, says:  “The earth and the heaven utter no word, but they ceaselessly repeat the holy book unwritten.”

[FN#133] One of the greatest self-made men in Japan, who lived 1787-1856.

7.  The Absolute and Reality are but an Abstraction.

A grain of sand you, trample upon has a deeper significance than a series of lectures by your verbal philosopher whom you respect.  It contains within itself the whole history of the earth; it tells you what it has seen since the dawn of time; while your philosopher simply plays on abstract terms and empty words.  What does his Absolute, or One, or Substance mean?  What does his Reality or Truth imply?  Do they denote or connote anything?  Mere name! mere abstraction!  One school of philosophy after another has been established on logical subtleties; thousands of books have been written on these grand names and fair mirages, which vanish the moment that your hand of experience reaches after them.

“Duke Hwan,” says Chwang Tsz,[FN#134] “seated above in his hall, was” (once) reading a book, and a wheelwright, Phien, was making a wheel below it.  Laying aside his hammer and chisel, Phien went up the steps and said:  ’I venture to ask your Grace what words you are reading?’ The duke said:  ‘The words of sages.’  ’Are these sages alive?’ Phien continued.  ‘They are dead,’ was the reply.  ‘Then,’ said the other, ’what you, my Ruler, are reading is only the dregs and sediments of those old men.’  The duke said: 

[FN#134] Chwang Tsz, vol. ii., p. 24.

’How should you, a wheelwright, have anything to say about the book which I am reading?  If you can explain yourself, very well; if you cannot, you shall die.’  The wheelwright said:  ’Your servant will look at the thing from the point of view of his own art.  In making a wheel, if I proceed gently, that is pleasant enough, but the workmanship is not strong; if I proceed violently, that is toilsome and the joinings do not fit.  If the movements of my hand are neither (too) gentle nor (too) violent, the idea in my mind is realized.  But I cannot tell (how to do this) by word of mouth; there is a knack in it.  I cannot teach the knack to my son, nor can my son learn it from me.  Thus it is that I am in my seventieth year, and am (still) making wheels in my old age.  But these ancients, and what it was not possible for them to convey, are dead and gone.  So then what you, my Ruler, are reading is but their dregs and sediments.”  Zen has no business with the dregs and sediments of sages of yore.