According to certain superstitions, under which I was brought up, I was born under an extremely happy conjunction of the stars. These superstitions I have, by the grace of God, outgrown, but the fact remains that due partly to their influences I had from my very childhood a deep-rooted faith in my high destiny. As a boy I felt as though some day I should be great in a political way and my country and even the whole world would be the better for my existence. Thus I started with high hopes, but my later life has proved how groundless they were; and whenever I compare my ideals with what has actually happened, I feel quite tickled by the glaring contrast. Perhaps this is why I have become so humorous and so chastened. For, what is humor but a certain spontaneous tendency to laugh at one’s own follies and failings, with the humility of a frank recognition of the stark truth? Indeed, God has a knack of drawing good from evil.
As it was, the day of my birth corresponded, in the Solar Calendar, to March 28, 1899. It is a great consolation to know that St. Teresa of Avila, for whom I have a special devotion, had seen the light at about the same hour and on the same date in 1515; and that St. John Capistrano, the lawyer who became a holy man, had gone to Heaven on the same date in 1465. All this does not guarantee that I too shall become a saint, but it does serve as a stimulus to my spiritual life. I suppose I would have been even happier if I had been born on Christmas or Easter or on any feast of Our Lady. But who am I to question the wisdom of God? Has He not an infinitely better right than Pontius Pilate to say, “What is written is written”? As for me, I accept most gladly and in the fullest exercise of my free will whatever God has written for me from all eternity.
Some of my friends have observed that since I became a Catholic, I have somehow lost my ambitions. The fact is that I am now more ambitious than ever. I have had my share of worldly glory, but I have found it very hollow. To be contented with perishable things is not to with perishable things is not to be ambitious at all. To me the whole world no longer offers anything worth coveting; my only ambition is to be a docile child of God, and this is open to everybody who sets his heart upon it. If this ambition were not the noblest of all, my heart would not have rested in it; but if it were not open to all men, my mind would not have entertained it for a single moment. Since the supreme privilege of becoming a child of God is open to all, what is the use of enjoying any other privileges short of that?
God not only gave me a good birthday, but also a good birthplace. I was born in the city of Ningpo, at a place called “The Twenty-four Mansions.” “Ningpo” literally means “peaceful waves.” I do not know exactly why it is so called. Probably because it was built on the bank of the river Yung which connects it with the sea, and which ebbs and flows with such regularity that people in my generation used to tell the time of the day by its tides.
Now, the Ningponese are not refined people, but they are warmhearted and honest, full of vitality and the spirit of adventure. They take to business and industry more than to arts and letters; but they are brainy and prolific, perhaps because they feed mostly on fish and other kinds of sea food. “The best thing about the Ningponese, so far as I can see, is that they enjoy life wholeheartedly. God created the Ningponese, and the Ningponese saw that it is good to live. It is true that they are of the earth, earthy; but they never forget that the earth belongs to God, and they accept whatever grows on it as a gift from Him. In other words, they have a good appetite for the feast of life as it is offered by God for their enjoyment. I think it is not unreasonable to suppose that God likes such people more than those who show a finicky taste, as though they were invited to pass judgment on the dishes God has to offer them. A Ningponese enjoys the gift of life as a hungry school boy in America would enjoy a hot dog.
There is something rugged and untamed about a Ningponese. He is not sissy and suspicious. He is full of animal faith, full of horse sense. He is humorous, although his humor takes the form of practical jokes rather than subtle stories. He is attached to the good earth, and smells of the soil. He finds himself at home in the universe. Nay, the sun, the moon, the stars, the winds and rains, the dogs and cats, the birds and flowers, seem to be more human in Ningpo than anywhere else. They seem to constitute familiar members of each household. In my childhood, one often heard such talk as: “Look, the sun has already walked down the third step, it is about time to cook the lunch”; or “The chickens have entered their cage, your Daddy will come home soon”; or “Look at the red clouds, tomorrow will be hotter than today”; or “Hark! the magpie has cried three times just over your head, tomorrow there will be some good news for you.” If it happened to be a crow that cried above you, it was a warning that some misfortune was coming, and the most effective way for you to ward it off was to spit on the ground and say, “P’ei!” Why, your very body was one divining rod. If you sneezed, it was a sure sign that some friend in a far-distant place was speaking kindly of you. If, on the other hand, your ear was itching, you might be sure that someone was backbiting you. We had invented a system of psychical communications long before radio was heard of in the West.
(excerpted from chapter 1)
