compared them with various parts of the body, and said, “You all have testified to my body, but each has grasped a part of it. The one who has my eye-brows is the master of manners; the second who has my eyes, knows how to look around; the third who has my ears, understands how to listen to reasoning; the fourth who has my nose is well versed in the act of breathing; the fifth who has my tongue, is a great arguer; and finally the one who has my mind knows the past and the present.” This gradation was impossible if “seeing into one’s nature” alone was considered; for the seeing is one indivisible act, allowing no stages of transition. It is however no contradiction of the principle of satori, as we have repeatedly asserted, to say that in fact there is a progressive realisation in the seeing, leading one deeper and deeper into the truth of Zen, finally culminating in one’s complete identification with it. * * * * * Lieh-tzŭ, the Chinese philosopher of Taoism, describes in the following passage certain marked stages of development in the practice of Tao: “The teacher of Lieh-tzŭ was Lao-shang-shih, and his friend Pai-kao-tzŭ. When Lieh-tzŭ was well advanced in the teachings of these two philosophers, he came home riding on the wind. Yin-shêng heard of this, and came to Lieh-tzŭ to be instructed. Yin-shêng neglected his own household for several months. He never lost opportunities to ask the master to instruct him in the arts [of riding on the wind]; he asked ten times, and was refused each time. Yin-shêng grew impatient and wanted to depart. Lieh-tzŭ did not urge him to stay. For several months Yin-shêng kept himself away from the master, but did not feel any easier in his mind. He came over to Lieh-tzŭ again. Asked the master, ‘Why this constant coming back and forth?’ Yin-shêng replied, ‘The other day, I, Chang Tai, wished to be instructed by you, but you refused to teach me, which I did not naturally like. I feel, however, no grudge against you now, hence my presence here again.’