Happy Birthday, Mr. Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou
Today is the forty-first birthday of Mr. Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou. Before dawn, while all was quiet save for the chirping of autumn insects, he was already up. In his heart he said to himself: "Happy birthday, Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou." It was the first birthday wish he received that day, and it came from himself.
Today many people will wish him well—relatives, loved ones, friends, patients, and readers who know his birthday. In recent years he has received many greetings every year. Only now, in this quiet pre-dawn hour, can he wish himself well in peace.
Mr. Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou is a diligent man, always writing and never without a book in hand. From sixteen to forty-one—twenty-five full years—he has largely remained in this state. So though he is no genius, he has gathered something. By forty-one, his life is basically settled. Heaven rewards the diligent; the hardworking know neither want nor much anxiety.
Mr. Qian Mu wrote that the Western spirit is one of outward pursuit, and that pursuit is infinite; the Indian spirit turns inward, and that inward pursuit is also infinite; the Chinese chose the Golden Mean, avoiding both extremes. Even Indian Buddhism, when it reached China, was assimilated by the Chinese middle way.
Mr. Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou is a typical Chinese. In youth he pursued outward things, then turned inward. Since reaching thirty, he neither seeks within nor without; "the mind neither guards the Way nor creates entanglements," gradually leaning toward the middle way. Holding to the principle that "seeking brings suffering, desirelessness brings peace; let things come and go, follow nature," he has become a naturalist in life.
Mr. Yu Yingshi held that Chinese culture has infinite vitality only among the people; once absorbed into official orthodoxy, it becomes rigid. By nature and by fate, Mr. Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou unwittingly escaped the shackles of official learning. For a long time he regretted not being part of the so-called orthodoxy; only in recent years has he come to appreciate the great benefit of escape—nothing is more pleasant than choosing freely and expressing freely, for human nature refuses to be enslaved or oppressed.
In his letter "Breaking with Shan Juyuan," Ji Kang listed nine great afflictions: "There are seven things I cannot bear and two things I absolutely cannot. I love to rise late, yet the gatekeeper keeps calling—that is the first. I love to roam with my lute, fishing in the wilds, yet officers would stand guard and forbid me to move—that is the second. I must sit stiffly until numb, unable to stretch; I am lousy and scratch endlessly, yet I must wrap myself in official robes and bow to superiors—that is the third. I am poor at writing and dislike correspondence, yet the world is full of affairs, papers piling on my desk; if I do not reply, I offend duty, but forcing myself cannot last—that is the fourth. I dislike funerals, though the world esteems them; I am already resented by those who will not forgive me, even plotted against; though I chide myself, my nature cannot change, and forcing it would be false—that is the fifth. I dislike vulgar men, yet must work with them, surrounded by noisy guests and clatter and a thousand antics before my eyes—that is the sixth. I am impatient, yet official duties pile up, entangling my mind and fretting my thoughts—that is the seventh. Moreover, I often condemn Tang and Wu and disparage Zhou and Confucius; were this known, convention would not tolerate it—that is the first unforgivable. I am outspoken and hate evil, speaking rashly and out at every turn—that is the second unforgivable. With my narrow, anxious disposition, burdened by these nine afflictions, if no external trouble comes, internal illness will; how could I long endure the world? I have also heard the Daoists' saying that taking atractylodes and polygonatum brings long life, and I believe it; roaming hills and streams, watching fish and birds, gives me joy. Once I take office, all this ends. How could I abandon what I love for what I fear?"
Mr. Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou lacks Ji Kang's talent, yet of those nine afflictions, apart from "rising late" and "being lousy," he has them all. Fortunately, this log of a man has not stood out enough in the forest for "the wind to break the tallest tree." Thus he can enjoy the leisurely life Ji Kang longed for. This is the great benefit of mediocrity: had his fame shaken the court and the common people, given his temperament, even if he wished to wander among springs and woods, he could not—and worse, he might have met Ji Kang's fate.
The foregoing lines sketch a simple portrait of the forty-one-year-old: a slovenly, unorthodox idle man with many friends, little money, modest rank, sizable faults, no taste for scheming or climbing, seeking neither fame nor office, competing with no one—a "ten-nots" idler.
At present he farms at the foot of Fragrant Hills, growing vegetables for himself, living as things come, with no grand ambitions. Though in the imperial capital, far from court, he contends with no one, cautious and diligent, seeking not fame but peace. Yet even this humble wish is hard to realize. The plague of Gengzi has left the people destitute and suffering; the ill suffer most. With all beings in such state, he cannot enjoy himself alone. He can only pray the plague ends soon, that all may be well and joyful, and the departed rest in peace.
Nicholas Stephenson Maimaiti Zhou Ergou, happy birthday! Compared with those who have met with tragedy, we who live are already fortunate. This forty-first birthday passes unceremoniously; may future birthdays, in a peaceful, prosperous land, be more comfortable and free of laughter.