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What Mao is attempting to do, in effect, is to replace the lingering ideal of harmony—using as much of it as he can for his own devices—with a modern, dynamic system of dialectic struggle. In trying to accomplish this, he must cope with every ancient phase of Chinese mentality, from its basic view of man to the minutest daily practices. The traditional Chinese view of the universe does not, as in the West, see a struggle between good and evil. The famous principles of Yin and Yang imply an alternate cosmic rhythm but not a struggle. Nor is there a relationship of struggle—or love or dialogue—between man and God. China is agnostic and scarcely knows a religion in the Western sense. Confucian teaching is not concerned with metaphysics. As the Master once told his disciples: "Till you have learned to serve men. how can you serve spirits?" In the Confucian view, man is essentially good—which is why the Chinese have a sense of shame but not of sin. To stay good, he needs moral guidance, and to provide it is the essence of Confucianism.
The well-being of the state and people depends on the proper conduct of proprieties and rites, or li—which one scholar calls "the politeness of the heart." This can be achieved by following the five virtues: benevolence, righteousness, propriety, knowledge, sincerity. These must be applied in the framework of the five relationships: prince and minister, father and son, older brother and younger brother, husband and wife, friend and friend.
This practical, moralistic code has encountered many rival teachings, chief among them mystical Taoism, which holds that Tao, or the Way, knows no distinction between big and small, high and low, good and bad. Through wu wei, meaning "action by inaction," man can achieve tranquillity in the midst of strife. As the sage Lao Tzu expressed it:
To yield is to be preserved whole.
To be bent is to become straight.
To be hollow is to be filled.
To be tattered is to be renewed.
To be in want is to possess.
To have plenty is to be confused.
Realism of Magic
These comforting paradoxes provided mental escape for the Chinese in times of stress. Thanks to the unique Chinese gift for blending all manner of faiths, Taoism managed to coexist with Confucianism over the centuries. A Chinese in power, it has been said, is a Confucian: out of power, he is a Taoist, and when about to die, a Buddhist. China absorbed Buddhism, too; in China, somehow, the evanescent idea of nirvana became transmuted into a far earthier notion.
While the Chinese mind is earthbound, it is strongly drawn to magic. It sees the world inhabited by a multitude of spirits. Before a house or a temple is built, its location must be carefully considered in relation to mountain or water spirits. Children sometimes dress in striped tiger clothing to ward off evil influences. It is unlucky to meet a bald-headed man on the way to a mah-jongg party and dangerous to help a drowning man, because evil spirits might drag the rescuer down too. The aggregate of thousands of such superstitions is not transcendental or spiritual. It is not an attempt to commune with the unseen forces but to constrain them. It is all part of what Amaury de Riencourt calls "magic realism."