VOLUME II, SEMESTER 2, CHAPTER 21, SECTION 2
The Moment the Potter Shapes the Clay
The last section cleared the name of the word wei. What people make is wei. And the ones who make that new thing are the potter Xunzi spoke of. This lesson follows Xunzi right up to the potter's wheel, and watches him mold. See this moment clearly, and the most important thing of today is seen clearly.
Xunzi's favorite figure for wei is the potter. The potter kneads the clay and makes a vessel, and so the vessel is born of the craftsman's wei, and not out of the nature of the clay. It looks a plain line, and it says a thing of the first importance. A lump of clay sits there. It will not, of itself, become a bowl. What it becomes is wholly in those hands. The hands mold it into a bowl, and it is a bowl. Into a jar, and it is a jar. Into a thing that leaks the moment you pour water in, and it is a thing that leaks the moment you pour water in. The clay has no opinion. The clay says not a word.
Now look at a thing. A water cup, made, and sold. A person pours hot water into it, the wall of it splits, the hot water goes over his hand, and scalds him. This wrong, at which moment did it happen? Most people will say, at the moment it split. No. Roll the picture back. Roll it back three months. The potter is sitting at his wheel. And this lump of clay in his hands, he knows, has sand mixed through it, and fired, it will not stand up to heat. He also knows that good clay would cost him three parts in ten more. He also knows this batch is wanted badly, and is due to be handed over tomorrow. He hesitated, for two seconds. And then he set that sand-mixed clay on the wheel. The wrong happened inside those two seconds. Not three months on, in the moment the man was scalded. The scalding is only the result of those two seconds, showing itself three months later. This is the fiercest thing in Xunzi's line. The implement is born of the craftsman's wei. Everything about a thing, its good and its bad, its soundness and its splitting, is all settled in the moment it is molded. And the one who uses it is helpless. The man who was scalded, when he took the cup in his hand, could not see the sand in it. The cup looked exactly like any other, as round, as smooth, as good to the eye. He could only trust. Hold onto that line. The one who uses it can only trust. It is the bone of this whole chapter. Just because the one who uses it can only trust, the moment of the one who molds it weighs so much.
Look at a nearer figure. A car, from the first drawing to the factory gate, passes through some thousands of steps. And one of them is the brake. An engineer sits there, drawing the brake. He has to reckon. What is the worst case? What of a heavy rain? What of a mountain road? What of a brake pad worn down by half? What of a green driver who panics and stamps it flat to the floor? He has to leave a margin on the drawing. And that margin costs money, and costs material, and makes each car two hundred dearer. A million cars, and that is two hundred million. Someone at the meeting says, this margin, can we not cut it by half? Nine cases in ten it is never used. And what does this engineer say? This is his two seconds. If he says, all right. Then three years on, on some rainy night, on some mountain road, some person stamps the brake flat, and the car does not stop. And the wrong of that moment is not in that rainy night. It is three years back, in the meeting room, in the second he said, all right. And that second, no one saw. No one took a picture, no one wrote it down. The minutes of the meeting say only one line. Optimized the cost structure. Will the law, in the end, trace it back to him? It will. When a real disaster comes, the tracing of blame runs all the way down to the layer of the design. But by the time the law traces it back, the person is already gone. And what this book is speaking of is not the law. What this book is speaking of is that second. In that second, there has to be a thing in his heart, for him to get out the word, no. And that thing is the Way. The last chapter said it. The Way comes before the implement. The one who holds the tool has first to have a thing in his heart. And the one drawing the thing stands a step earlier than the one who holds it. The thing in his heart has to be harder still.
So today, the one who makes that new thing, before he molds it, how many gates must he pass? Set out four, plainly. The first is the gate of culture. This thing I am making, how will it change a person's days? Will it make it so a child never again knocks on his father's door? Will it make it so a person no longer thinks a thing through for himself? Will it crowd the transmitting of the Way out of the human world? This gate is the very thing this whole volume of cultural institution has been about. The second is the gate of the rice bowl. This thing I am making, how many people will it leave with no work? And those people, who are they? How old? Can they still learn another trade? And if they cannot, who sees to them? I take their work away, and I make the money. Is there, in that money, a share that is owed to them? The third is the gate of who says what goes. This thing I am making, whose voice will it make larger, and whose smaller? Will it speak of one kind of people a little more, and of another kind a little less, or not at all? And those who are spoken of less, did they agree to it? Do they even know? The fourth is the gate of the rules. This thing I am making, where does it step over a line? If something goes wrong, how is the responsibility to be divided? If it must later be traced, can it be? Did I leave a hole open? Four gates. Culture, the rice bowl, who says what goes, the rules. And mark one thing. All four of these gates must be passed before the molding. Not after the thing is made, when a few experts are invited to look it over. Not after something has gone wrong, when a meeting is held to patch it. Before he sets that clay on the wheel. Because once the clay is on the wheel and turning, it is already too late.
And here the most important line of this section can be said. Responsibility begins from the moment the hand moves. Not from the moment something goes wrong. A great many people today keep the account this way. I only do the technical part. I make the thing. As for what others take it and do later, that is their affair, and no concern of mine. This account is kept wrong. Could the potter of the sand-mixed clay say, I only knead the clay, and the cup splitting is the business of the one who used the cup? He could not. Could the engineer who cut the margin off the brake say, I only draw the drawing, and the car not stopping is the business of the driver? He could not. Xunzi, twenty three centuries ago, settled the account in one line. The implement is born of the craftsman's wei. The implement is born out of the worker's own hand. And so when the implement goes wrong, the first to be asked of is that hand. Not the last. The first. This is not a lesson in morals. It is a matter of position. The worker stands at that position. And the name of that position is, the implement is born here. To stand at this position is to have the responsibility here. You may choose not to stand at it. You may walk away, and do something else. But the moment you sit down in that chair, and lay your hand on that wheel, this responsibility is yours. From the second you press the first key.
So here is where this section leaves us. Following Xunzi up to the wheel. The potter kneads the clay and makes a vessel, and the vessel is born of the craftsman's wei. A lump of clay will not become a bowl of itself, and what it becomes is wholly in the hands. A cup that scalds a man, the wrong is not in the moment it split, but in the two seconds the potter set the clay he knew was full of sand on the wheel. A car that does not stop, the wrong is not in the rainy night, but in the second the engineer said all right in the meeting room. And that second, no one saw. And the one who uses it can only trust. Just because the one who uses it can only trust, the moment of the one who molds it weighs so much. So before the molding, four gates, culture and the rice bowl and who says what goes and the rules, all of them before the clay goes on the wheel. And the most important line, responsibility begins from the moment the hand moves, not from the moment something goes wrong, for the implement is born of the craftsman's wei, and when it goes wrong the first to be asked is that hand, not the last but the first. That carries the twenty first stake deeper. Everything is settled at the molding, and the maker's responsibility begins from the second he presses the first key. So, who is to guard those four gates? Rely on the ones above to inspect? Can they inspect it all? Rely on the law? The law is forever a step behind. And in the end, only one thing stands between that sand-mixed clay and the wheel. And that one thing is the potter himself. The next section speaks of those two words. See you there.
Credit to the ancestors; the mistakes are mine: Tiger Lyon.