Objective existences cannot injure him who puts his trust in God.
[This episode occurs twice, with textual differences, in the works of Lieh Tzŭ, chs. ii. and viii.]
Ch'ing, the chief carpenter,
Of the Lu State.
was carving wood into a stand for hanging musical instruments. When finished, the work appeared to those who saw it as though of supernatural execution. And the prince of Lu asked him, saying, "What mystery is there in your art?"
"No mystery, your Highness," replied Ch'ing; "and yet there is something.
"When I am about to make such a stand, I guard against any diminution of my vital power. I first reduce my mind to absolute quiescence. Three days in this condition, and I become oblivious of any reward to be gained. Five days, and I become oblivious of any fame to be acquired. Seven days, and I become unconscious of my four limbs and my physical frame. Then, with no thought of the Court present to my mind, my skill becomes concentrated, and all disturbing elements from without are gone. I enter some mountain forest. I search for a suitable tree. It contains the form…
Ch'ing the carpenter teaches a paradox: mastery arrives not through ambition or study, but through progressive surrender. He stills his mind for days until even his body disappears from awareness, and only then does his skill concentrate perfectly. The wood already contains its form; his job is to remove what blocks him from seeing it. For those in recovery, this echoes the spiritual work of getting ourselves out of the way.
(23) It becomes liquid sea, and is measured by the same tale as before it became earth. R. P. 39.
Heraclitus reminds us that nothing stays. The sea becomes earth; earth becomes sea again. The same measure holds through all transformation. Where Ch'ing seeks stillness to reveal hidden form, Heraclitus insists form itself is flux—constant exchange, hidden opposition. Both voices trust process, but one finds rest in it; the other finds perpetual motion.
To the Same.
I render thanks to our LORD for having relieved you a little, according to your desire. I have been often near expiring, but I never was so much satisfied as then. Accordingly, I did not pray for any relief, but I prayed for strength to suffer with courage, humility and love. Ah, how sweet it is to suffer with GOD! However great the sufferings may be, receive them with love. It is paradise to suffer and be with Him; so that if in this life we would enjoy the peace of paradise we must accustom…
Brother Lawrence suffered greatly yet prayed not for relief but for strength to suffer with courage and love, calling it paradise. This directly challenges the carpenter's serene withdrawal: the spiritual work happens not in mountain silence but in the furnace of actual pain, received consciously.
All three voices reject grasping and demand surrender. Ch'ing empties himself into craft; Brother Lawrence empties himself into suffering; Heraclitus sees emptiness as the only constant. But they diverge sharply on where the work lives. Ch'ing finds a quiet forest and concentrated skill. Brother Lawrence finds God in the midst of wounds. Heraclitus finds no resting place at all—only the hidden harmony of opposites flowing through everything. For recovery, the question is whether surrender leads to peace, to love-in-pain, or to acceptance of ceaseless change.
What small thing can I receive today without fixing, improving, or running from it?