Without Finding the Gate, You Cannot See the Temple’s Beauty—Some Beauty Makes Demands of Its Viewer
Translated by AI. Read the Chinese original ↗
Contents 3 sections
The Analects contains this passage:
Someone said, “Zigong is more worthy than Zhongni.”
Zigong replied, “Compare us to enclosing walls. Mine reaches only the shoulder, so one can peer in and see the beauty of the rooms. The Master’s wall is several ren high. Without finding the gate and entering, one cannot see the beauty of his ancestral temple or the abundance of its buildings. Few may find that gate. Is it not understandable that the gentleman says this?”
Someone said Zigong was more worthy than Confucius.
Zigong replied: think of enclosing walls. My low wall reaches only the shoulder, so passersby can see all the furnishings and beauty inside. The Master’s wall rises several ren. Unless you find the gate and enter, you cannot see its magnificent ancestral temple and abundant buildings. Few find the entrance, so it is unsurprising that someone judges my teacher this way.
Without finding the gate, you cannot see the temple’s beauty.
In secondary school, a close friend lost an election for class representative.
I had raised my hand for him, but did not know how to comfort him. We faced one another silently in dusk.
Years ago, reading Zigong’s words, I remembered that evening.
Some people reveal their gentleness, intelligence, and preciousness only gradually, after you spend time with them.
Much true beauty and talent hides behind high walls. If outsiders cannot see or recognize it, that does not mean nothing is inside. Often they simply remain outside, unable to find the gate.
Understanding people follows the same logic as understanding all things. The vastness of stars and the universe, the subtlety of poetry and art, history’s weight, technology’s ingenuity—all require learning and a ladder of understanding before we open the door and appreciate the temple’s beauty and abundance within.
Therefore
Some beauty makes demands of its viewer.
As a child, looking up at stars, I only thought there were many. Later, physics taught me about stars, galaxies, light-years, and that a star we see may look as it did a million years ago. When I looked up again, that sky was already different.
The world has many acknowledged masterpieces: the intricacy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, the stillness of Walden. Frankly, I still find them difficult and distant, their wonders hard to glimpse.
The classics have not failed their reputation. Their walls are high; my literary cultivation and life experience are not yet enough to immerse myself, empathize, and find the door inside.
Thinking this, I remembered another admonition in the Analects:
“Do not worry that you lack a position; worry about what qualifies you to hold one. Do not worry that others do not know you; seek to become worthy of being known.”
Do not fret over lacking a place, but over lacking the abilities to stand in it. Do not fret that others misunderstand you; strive to become someone worth understanding.
Together, these sayings form a complete attitude toward the world:
The first is humility toward others: do not hastily underestimate them because you cannot see through them.
The second is confidence in examining yourself: do not worry about being misunderstood or unseated; quietly build your own temple and abundance within the walls.
Whether outsiders see it, whether many or few stand at the gate, no longer matters.