The Three Teachings Converge into One: The Path of the Mortal and the Saintly is the Same

Poetry:

Sudden rain swept across the river, stirring up dust in the fields; raging floods brought tears to the eyes of the people.

A young boy in a blue robe, with a heart full of benevolence, wanted to turn the tide and save those in distress.

After bidding farewell to the old man at Qingxi Ferry, Su Qingxuan, carrying his books alone, headed north. Leaving behind the gentle, willow-lined landscapes of Jiangnan, he entered the plains of Huainan, intending to quickly reach Qingxu Temple on Langya Mountain to seek the profound principles of Taoism and explore the common origins of the three religions. However, in early summer, the Huai and Si Rivers were struck by torrential rains that lasted for weeks, day and night. The Milky Way seemed to hang upside down, the rain poured down relentlessly, rivers swelled, dikes collapsed, and turbid waves surged and roared. In an instant, thousands of miles of fields were turned into a vast expanse of water, villages and houses were swept away by the waves, and timber, livestock, and farm tools were swept away – a scene of utter devastation.

That day, Su Qingxuan arrived at a high hill called "Anfeng Embankment." Looking out, he saw turbid waves surging to the horizon, the once crisscrossing fields and wisps of smoke rising from chimneys completely submerged, only a few treetops and rooftops visible, bobbing in the turbulent waters. Below the embankment, tens of thousands of refugees, young and old, dressed in rags, emaciated and pale, huddled under ruins or slept on barren slopes and overgrown with weeds. Their cries of hunger and cold echoed across the land. The wounded groaned incessantly, the elderly lay dying, children cried incessantly, and corpses lay strewn along the roads—a truly heartbreaking sight.

Wherever the floodwaters passed, granaries were submerged, grain was washed away, vegetables rotted from the muddy water, and herbs were buried under silt. For days, the victims were without food, forced to eat tree bark and grass roots, even digging in the earth to stave off hunger and cold, their lives hanging by a thread. The wind and rain continued to rage, the turbid waves still surging, as if to devour all living things on earth—a desolate scene of indifference and indifference.

Su Qingxuan stood atop a high hill, his blue robe soaked by the wind and rain, clinging to his body. The nine-year-old boy's frame appeared so small amidst the raging storm. Gazing upon the devastation and displacement before him, the Confucian compassion deeply ingrained in his heart since childhood surged forth, burning like a raging fire, piercing his very soul. Mencius said, "Yu thought of those drowning in the world as if he himself were drowning; Ji thought of those starving in the world as if he himself were starving." In the past, when he recited these words in his study, he only considered them the principles of sages. Today, witnessing the people drowning in floods and starving, he truly understood the profound weight of "feeling the drowning and hunger of one's own people."

Ignoring the wind, rain, cold, and the arduous journey, he immediately leaped down the hill and rushed into the crowd of disaster victims, using his meager strength to perform acts of charity and rescue.

The disaster victims were astonished to see a young boy in a blue robe arrive alone. His clothes were simple, yet his demeanor was calm. Although he was young, his eyes were firm. They wondered where this child came from and what he could do. Su Qingxuan remained silent. Following his memory, he dug through the mud and sand in the ruins of a half-collapsed granary near the breached dike. He found a half-bag of millet that had been soaked by the flood but had not completely rotted. He then dug up wild vegetables and cattail roots that had not yet been soaked by the muddy water from the weeds on the dike. He found a broken tile to use as a pot, gathered dry branches to start a fire, and cooked a thin porridge. He then spooned it to the elderly, weak, and children around him who were on the verge of death.

Seeing that many of the disaster victims were injured by the flood, cut by debris, or suffering from high fever due to wind, cold, dampness, and heat, he used his knowledge of herbs learned from books to find honeysuckle, dandelion, mugwort, purslane, and other medicinal herbs on the high ground of the embankment. He washed them with clean water, chewed them up and applied them to the wounds, or boiled them in water and fed them to the patients. His movements were gentle, his expression solemn, without a trace of childish whimsy or contempt for the disaster victims; he simply used a pure and compassionate heart to help those in distress.

Tens of thousands of people were affected by the disaster, countless were starving and freezing, and the wounded and sick were everywhere. He was just a young boy, and even with a heart full of compassion, his efforts were ultimately a drop in the ocean. Half a bag of millet and a few herbs could only alleviate the suffering of a few people at hand. For tens of thousands of disaster victims, it was like throwing a stone into the sea, leaving no ripple. Seeing more disaster victims die on the road, more children cry their hearts out, and more wounded suffer unbearable pain, while the flood continued to rage and the world remained merciless, Su Qingxuan felt an endless surge of grief, anger, and helplessness.

He sat slumped on the embankment, letting the wind and rain batter him, gazing at the surging, turbid waves, muttering to himself: "I have studied the classics, cultivated the Confucian principles, and aspired to save the world and bring peace to the people, yet faced with this catastrophic flood, I cannot even protect one person, nor can I quell a hunger. What use is all my learning? What benefit is all my cultivation?"

At this moment, he suddenly recalled a conversation he had overheard in Qingxi Town, where neighbors mentioned a Daoist classic that said, "Heaven and earth are ruthless, treating all things like straw dogs." Back then, in his study, he read Confucian classics and practiced Confucian etiquette, never delving into the meaning of this phrase, considering it merely a Daoist esoteric saying, its significance unknown. But today, witnessing the ravages of the flood, the devastation of life, and the indifference of heaven and earth—their lack of joy or sorrow, their impartiality and selflessness—allowing the turbulent waves to devour all living beings, showing no regard for the value of anything or for the well-being of any living being, he began to understand: the so-called "ruthlessness of heaven and earth" did not mean that heaven and earth were violent and cruel, but rather that heaven and earth were simply following the objective laws of nature, devoid of joy or anger, love or hate, compassion or bias. All things in the universe, their birth, death, flourishing and withering, all follow the laws of nature. The flood was a calamity caused by the flow of heaven and earth's energy, not an intentional act of harm. This was the "ruthlessness" of heaven and earth—its indifference, its objectivity, a chaotic order independent of human will.

Heaven and earth are inherently ruthless, and human compassion is the only force to resist this ruthlessness. Yet, this force is so insignificant and so vulnerable in the face of a cataclysmic event.

He recalled the Shen family's annulment of the engagement and the humiliation of throwing silver at their door. He had once felt it was a profound disgrace, a deep wound in his heart, and had held a grudge until he gradually let it go through self-cultivation and enlightenment. But now, compared to this human catastrophe, compared to the life-and-death suffering of tens of thousands of people, that personal humiliation of the past seemed like dust compared to Mount Tai, like a firefly compared to the sun and moon—insignificant and not worth mentioning. The power of the classics lies not in the recitation of verses in the study, nor in personal honor or disgrace, but in the suffering of all people and in the light within the human heart.

As the wind and rain subsided and night fell, a few cold stars illuminated the scattered refugees. Bonfires flickered sporadically on the barren slopes, their weak light unable to illuminate the boundless darkness or warm the bone-chilling cold. The refugees huddled around the fires, their cries continuing, despair permeating the air. Su Qingxuan was heartbroken and utterly dejected, feeling that the teachings of the sages he had learned were utterly pale and powerless in the face of this cataclysmic disaster.

He reached into his robes and retrieved the tattered scroll of the Su family's ancestral heirloom, the *Confucian Heart Sutra*. This scroll, passed down by his father, was the foundation of Confucian cultivation. In the past, in his small courtyard in Jiangnan, by the Qingxi River, he had recited it day and night, finding its principles profound and its invigorating spirit gradually growing within him, yet he had never witnessed any unusual phenomena. Now, his fingertips traced the yellowed pages, and in despair, he silently recited the words within: "When the heart is upright, the spirit is upright; when the spirit is upright, the person is cultivated; when the person is cultivated, the family is regulated; when the family is regulated, the state is governed; when the state is governed, the world is at peace. When the world is at peace, one returns to the Great Way."

Then he recited: "The benevolent love others, and the courteous respect others. Those who love others are always loved; those who respect others are always respected. In the past, Yu the Great controlled the floods, passing his home three times without entering, toiling tirelessly for eight years, calming the waters and bringing peace to the people—this is great benevolence; Zilu carried rice for a hundred miles to serve his parents, traveling throughout the states, spreading benevolence, protecting refugees and bringing peace to his neighbors in times of chaos—this is supreme goodness..."

His soft voice pierced the night and reached the ears of the surrounding disaster victims. At that moment, a strange thing happened—the yellowed, old, and mottled Confucian classics scroll, on which the originally plain ink characters slowly emanated a layer of warm, white light, like moonlight flowing, like the warm sun spreading, the light gentle yet resilient, slowly enveloping the area several feet around it.

Wherever the light reached, the cries of the disaster victims gradually subsided, children nestled peacefully in their mothers' arms and fell asleep, the furrowed brows of the elderly slowly relaxed, the pain of the injured seemed to be soothed, and even the torment of hunger and cold lessened somewhat. The light was not dazzling, but it went straight to people's hearts, like a lamp that illuminated the darkness of despair in the hearts of the disaster victims and comforted the anxious minds of all living beings.

Su Qingxuan stared blankly at the glowing tattered scroll in his hand, his heart pounding with shock. This was the first time he had directly witnessed the strange phenomena of the tattered scroll.

He began to understand that the power of this Confucian classic seemed to lie not in the words themselves, nor in the tone of recitation, but in "people," in the "heart," in the will to survive of the common people, and in the spirit of mutual assistance among humankind. The ancient sages passed down this method to save the world and bring peace to the people; only when placed amidst the suffering of the common people and in accordance with the good intentions of the human heart can it unleash its true power.

Historical records tell of the sages of the past. Yu the Great, in his efforts to control the floods, tore at his hands and feet until his calves were calloused and his shins were hairless, using his own labor to relieve the suffering of the world, placing the safety of the people above his own personal concerns. This kind of benevolence is the very source of Confucianism's enduring legacy. Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, lived a simple life, eating simple food and drinking simple water, residing in a humble alley, upholding benevolence amidst chaos, transmitting the Way of the Sages, his will unwavering despite poverty and hardship, his heart illuminating the world with the light of his own mind—this too is the true essence of Confucianism. These sages all put benevolence into practice, not merely engaging in empty talk of principles or seeking personal gain, but rather embodying the unity of knowledge and action, integrating the wisdom of the sages into hardship and into saving the world, thus giving the classics true vitality.

Heaven and earth are indifferent, a law of nature, a state of chaos and disorder, devoid of good and evil, upon which all things are born and die. Human compassion, however, is the foundation of civilization, a subjective expression of goodness, combating isolation with mutual aid, chaos with order, and cold with warmth. Floods may destroy houses, submerge fields, and claim lives, but they cannot destroy the inclination towards goodness in people's hearts, nor extinguish the will to survive. Among the disaster victims, young people give their meager grass roots to the elderly, women feed their children their meager porridge, the strong join hands to build dikes to hold back the flood, and the weak huddle together for warmth. This compassion in people's hearts is the strongest force against the ruthlessness of heaven and earth.

In the past, I was trapped by personal honor and disgrace, confined by the doctrines of the study, which was ultimately a small-minded practice. Today, seeing the suffering of the people, I realize the unity of knowledge and action, and understand that benevolence is fundamental. Only then can I step into the realm of the greater self in Confucianism. The learning of sages and virtuous men is never just empty talk or trivial writing, but must be practiced in suffering, honed in the world, and sublimated in helping the world.

Su Qingxuan gripped the glowing tattered scroll in his hand. His dejection and despair had vanished, replaced by an unprecedented determination. He stood up and stood by the campfire. In a gentle yet firm voice, he recited the teachings of sages and recounted the stories of Yu the Great controlling the floods and Zilu helping the people, comforting hearts and inspiring morale.

Inspired by him, the disaster victims gradually rallied together, no longer in despair or scattered. Young and strong men spontaneously gathered, armed with sticks and stones, to reinforce the dikes and block the flood; the elderly, women, and children gathered firewood, cooked food and prepared medicine, and cared for each other; the injured supported each other, and children looked after one another. Human warmth quietly blossomed amidst the devastation of the flood.

The gentle light of Confucianism blended with the benevolent light in the hearts of the disaster victims, permeating the night. Though it could not stop the raging flood, it preserved the order of people's hearts and lit up hope amidst suffering. Su Qingxuan stood among the crowd, his blue robe slightly askew, yet he was like a pine tree in winter, upright and resilient. He seemed to understand his own path. Was it in a Taoist temple deep in the mountains? In a carefree life beyond the world? Those were far away. For now, the path was in human suffering, in the unity of knowledge and action, in using benevolence to confront the ruthlessness of heaven and earth, and in using the sacred way to protect the peace of all living beings.

It is:

Hongbo then understood the heart of heaven and earth, and that benevolence could bring peace to a chaotic world.

Classics are not merely objects in bookshelves; true understanding comes from the unity of knowledge and action.