Hui Tzŭ said to Chuang Tzŭ, "Sir, I have a large tree, of a worthless kind. Its trunk is so irregular and knotty that it cannot be measured out for planks; while its branches are so twisted as to admit of no geometrical subdivision whatever. It stands by the roadside, but no carpenter will look at it. And your words, sir, are like that tree;--big and useless, not wanted by anybody." "Sir," rejoined Chuang Tzŭ, "have you never seen a wild cat, crouching down in wait for its prey? Right and left it springs from bough to bough, high and low alike,--until perchance it gets caught in a trap or dies in a snare. On the other hand, there is the yak with its great huge body. It is big enough in all conscience, but it cannot catch mice. The adaptability of a thing is oft-times its bane. The inability of the yak to catch mice saves it from the snare which is fatal to the wild cat. "Now if you have a big tree and are at a loss what to do with it, why not plant it in the domain of non-existence, Beyond the limits of our external world. Referring to the conditions of mental abstraction in which alone true happiness is to be found. whither you might betake yourself to inaction by its side, to blissful repose beneath its shade? "Why does the horizon hold me fast, with my joy and grief in this centre?"--_Emerson._ There it would be safe from the axe and from all other injury; for being of no use to others, itself would be free from harm." Illustrating the advantage of being useless. That which is small and useful is thus shown to be inferior to that which is large and useless. CHAPTER II. THE IDENTITY OF CONTRARIES. _Argument_:--Contraries spring from our subjective individuality--Identity of subjective and objective--The centre where all distinctions are merged in ONE--How to reach this point--Speech an obstacle--The negative state--Light out of darkness--Illustrations. Tzŭ Ch'i of Nan-kuo sat leaning on a table. Looking up to heaven, he sighed and became absent, as though soul and body had parted. Yen Ch'êng Tzŭ Yu, who was standing by him, exclaimed, "What are you thinking about that your body should become thus like dry wood, your mind like dead ashes? Surely the man now leaning on the table is not he who was here just now." "My friend," replied Tzŭ Ch'i, "your question is apposite. _To-day I have buried myself_.... Do you understand?... Ah! perhaps you only know the music of Man, and not that of Earth. Or even if you have heard the music of Earth, you have not heard the music of Heaven." "Pray explain," said Tzŭ Yu. "The breath of the universe," continued Tzŭ Ch'i, "is called wind. At times, it is inactive. But when active, every aperture resounds to the blast. Have you never listened to its growing roar?