In the thirtieth year of his reign, Emperor Liang sat upon the alabaster throne in the Hall of Balanced Scales. Two provincial governors had journeyed a thousand miles to lay their quarrel at his feet.
Governor Wei of the fertile Riverlands entered first. His robes were silk, his retinue numerous, hearty, and gracious. Behind him came Governor Shen of the lush plains. Shen’s cloak was patched, his escort thin, his people lean, restless, and surly. Shen pushed his way past Wei to be the first to speak.
“Imperial Majesty, he who wields wisdom and justice as the mountains wield the wind,” he proffered. “Behold the greatest injustice that ever cried out for redress. Six centuries ago, when the empire was young and savage, the warlords of the Riverlands raided my ancestors’ villages. They carried my people off into bondage and worked them in the paddy fields for 200 years. The chains were struck off only four centuries past, by the edict of your illustrious forefather. Yet the wound still bleeds. See how poor we remain! Our children go barefoot while his feast. Our young men fall to opium and the knives of their fellows in the streets, while his study letters. Our women raise bastards alone while his marry with dowry and honor.”
“Therefore, by the law of heaven and earth, let the Riverlands pay. Let Governor Wei open his storehouses, fill our bellies, build us houses, and educate our sons; without price, condition or delay. For the chains of our forefathers still rattle in our ears.”
He stepped back, hatred and victory dripping from his glare at the petitioner beside him. Governor Wei bowed low, calm as a winter stream. “Your Majesty, the last captive in my province was freed three hundred and sixty years before I drew breath. Neither I, nor my father, nor my grandfather, ever forced another man into labor without pay. Yet Governor Shen demands that I feed men who will not plow, school boys who will not read, and heal families who scorn marriage. His men leave bastards under one roof to go make more in another. As his angry and worthless fellows murder one another over opium, he lays the violence at my feet. He points to the crimes and idleness of his province and says, ‘this is your doing, because long ago some of your blood wronged some of mine.’ But, Majesty, he confuses sequence with cause. The lash is long abolished, but the stripes continue by his own hand.”
Emperor Liang rested his chin upon the jade scepter and regarded them both for the space of ten breaths. At length he spoke, in a language they did not understand. “Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc.” His words fell upon the silent room like a gong. His voice rising, unwavering as steel, he began.
“Governor Shen, stand. Tell me plainly: since the chains were broken four centuries ago, did any later emperor forbid your people from marrying?”
“No, Majesty.”
“Did any law compel them to swallow opium?”
“No.”
“Did any edict close the examination halls to your sons, or command your daughters to bear children out of wedlock?”
Shen was silent.
“Then hear my judgement,” the Emperor said. “The past is a mirror, not a chain. It may show us why men stumble, but it does not bind him to the ground today. The lash of centuries past did not force your province to scorn fatherhood, ruin its schoolhouses, or trade plowshares for poppy pipes. Those choices were made last year, and the year before, and this morning.
I will take not a grain from the mouth of Governor Wei’s diligent farmer to feed the idle great-grandson of a freedman. I will not command the thrifty to support the profligate, because their great-great-grandfathers stood on the opposite sides of history. To do so would be to say that a crime committed in the time of my remotest ancestors forever excuses each crime committed now.
Yet neither will I forget mercy. Let any man, woman, or child of the lush plains who resolves to marry faithfully, work honestly, and raise their children in a whole house be welcome in the Riverlands. Governor Wei will receive them as brothers, give them land on the same terms he gives his own, and teach them the art of abundance. The door is open, but no one will be carried across the threshold on the back of another’s imaginary guilt. A great injustice would be mine, were I to proclaim that a wrong done centuries ago is the cause of every ill that befalls today, and that someone else must pay who is guiltless of those ills. Sequence is not causation. It is a lie that comforts the lazy and robs the just.
Rise, both of you. The audience is ended.”
And the Emperor turned to matters of irrigation and border defense, for empires are not preserved by nursing ancient grudges, but by tending present duties.
Galatians 6:7-8
“Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that he shall also reap.”
Marcus Aurelius, meditations 12.8
“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment. If the cause of the trouble lies in your own disposition, correct it. If it is some old impression still rankling, erase it.”
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