1
In the Northern Ocean there is a fish, the name of which is
Khwän,--I do not know how many lî in size. It changes into a
bird with the name of Phing, the back of which is (also)--I do
not know how many lî in extent. When this bird rouses itself and
flies, its wings are like clouds all round the sky. When the sea
is moved (so as to bear it along), it prepares to remove to the
Southern Ocean. The Southern Ocean is the Pool of Heaven.
There is the (book called) Khî Hsieh,--a record of marvels. We
have in it these words:--'When the phäng is removing to the
Southern Ocean it flaps (its wings) on the water for 3000 lî.
Then it ascends on a whirlwind 90,000 lî, and it rests only at
the end of six months.' (But similar to this is the movement of
the breezes which we call) the horses of the fields, of the dust
(which quivers in the sunbeams), and of living things as they
are blown against one another by the air. Is its azure the
proper colour of the sky? Or is it occasioned by its distance
and illimitable extent? If one were looking down (from above),
the very same appearance would just meet his view.
2
And moreover, (to speak of) the accumulation of water;--if it be
not great, it will not have strength to support a large boat.
Upset a cup of water in a cavity, and a straw will float on it
as if it were a boat. Place a cup in it, and it will stick
fast;--the water is shallow and the boat is large. (So it is
with) the accumulation of wind; if it be not great, it will not
have strength to support great wings. Therefore (the phäng
ascended to) the height of 90,000 lî, and there was such a mass
of wind beneath it; thenceforth the accumulation of wind was
sufficient. As it seemed to bear the blue sky on its back, and
there was nothing to obstruct or arrest its course, it could
pursue its way to the South.
cicada and a little dove laughed at it, saying, 'We make an
effort and fly towards an elm or sapan-wood tree; and sometimes
before we reach it, we can do no more but drop to the ground. Of
what use is it for this (creature) to rise 90,000 lî, and make
for the South?' He who goes to the grassy suburbs, returning to
the third meal (of the day), will have his belly as full as when
he set out; he who goes to a distance of 100 lî will have to
pound his grain where he stops for the night; he who goes a
thousand lî, will have to carry with him provisions for three
months. What should these two small creatures know about the
matter? The knowledge of that which is small does not reach to
that which is great; (the experience of) a few years does not
reach to that of many. How do we know that it is so? The
mushroom of a morning does not know (what takes place between)
the beginning and end of a month; the short-lived cicada does
not know (what takes place between) the spring and autumn. These
are instances of a short term of life. In the south of Khû,
there is the (tree) called Ming-ling, whose spring is 500 years,
and its autumn the same; in high antiquity there was that called
Tâ-khun, whose spring was 8000 years, and its autumn the same.
And Phäng Zû is the one man renowned to the present day for his
length of life:--if all men were (to wish) to match him, would
they not be miserable?
3
In the questions put by Thang to Kî we have similar
statements:--'In the bare and barren north there is the dark and
vast ocean,--the Pool of Heaven. In it there is a fish, several
thousand lî in breadth, while no one knows its length. Its name
is the khwän. There is (also) a bird named the phäng; its back
is like the Thâi mountain, while its wings are like clouds all
round the sky. On a whirlwind it mounts upwards as on the whorls
of a goat's horn for 90,000 lî, till, far removed from the
cloudy vapours, it bears on its back the blue sky, and then it
shapes its course for the South, and proceeds to the ocean
there.' A quail by the side of a marsh laughed at it, and said,
'Where is it going to? I spring up with a bound, and come down
again when I have reached but a few fathoms, and then fly about
among the brushwood and bushes; and this is the perfection of
flying. Where is that creature going to?' This shows the
difference between the small and the great.
Thus it is that men, whose wisdom is sufficient for the duties
of some one office, or whose conduct will secure harmony in some
one district, or whose virtue is befitting a ruler so that they
could efficiently govern some one state, are sure to look on
themselves in this manner (like the quail), and yet Yung-dze of
Sung would have smiled and laughed at them. (This Yung-dze),
though the whole world should have praised him, would not for
that have stimulated himself to greater endeavour, and though
the whole world should have condemned him, would not have
exercised any more repression of his course; so fixed was he in
the difference between the internal (judgment of himself) and
the external (judgment of others), so distinctly had he marked
out the bounding limit of glory and disgrace. Here, however, he
stopped. His place in the world indeed had become indifferent to
him, but still he had not planted himself firmly (in the right
position).
There was Lieh-dze, who rode on the wind and pursued his way,
with an admirable indifference (to all external things),
returning, however, after fifteen days, (to his place). In
regard to the things that (are supposed to) contribute to
happiness, he was free from all endeavours to obtain them; but
though he had not to walk, there was still something for which
he had to wait. But suppose one who mounts on (the ether of)
heaven and earth in its normal operation, and drives along the
six elemental energies of the changing (seasons), thus enjoying
himself in the illimitable,--what has he to wait for'? Therefore
it is said, 'The Perfect man has no (thought of) self; the
Spirit-like man, none of merit; the Sagely-minded man, none of
fame.'
4
Yâo, proposing to resign the throne to Hsü Yû, said, 'When the
sun and moon have come forth, if the torches have not been put
out, would it not be difficult for them to give light? When the
seasonal rains are coming down, if we still keep watering the
ground, will not our toil be labour lost for all the good it
will do? Do you, Master, stand forth (as sovereign), and the
kingdom will (at once) be well governed. If I still (continue
to) preside over it, I must look on myself as vainly occupying
the place;--I beg to resign the throne to you.' Hsü Yû said,
'You, Sir, govern the kingdom, and the kingdom is well governed.
If I in these circumstances take your place, shall I not be
doing so for the sake of the name? But the name is but the guest
of the reality;--shall I be playing the part of the guest? The
tailor-bird makes its nest in the deep forest, but only uses a
single branch; the mole drinks from the Ho, but only takes what
fills its belly. Return and rest in being ruler,--I will have
nothing to do with the throne. Though the cook were not
attending to his kitchen, the representative of the dead and the
officer of prayer would not leave their cups and stands to take
his place.'
5
Kien Wû asked Lien Shû, saying, 'I heard Khieh-yû talking words
which were great, but had nothing corresponding to them (in
reality);-once gone, they could not be brought back. I was
frightened by them;--they were like the Milky Way which cannot
be traced to its beginning or end. They had no connexion with
one another, and were not akin to the experiences of men.' 'What
were his words?' asked Lien Shift, and the other replied, (He
said) that 'Far away on the hill of Kû-shih there dwelt a
Spirit-like man whose flesh and skin were (smooth) as ice and
(white) as snow; that his manner was elegant and delicate as
that of a virgin; that he did not eat any of the five grains,
but inhaled the wind and drank the dew; that he mounted on the
clouds, drove along the flying dragons, rambling and enjoying
himself beyond the four seas; that by the concentration of his
spirit-like powers he could save men from disease and
pestilence, and secure every year a plentiful harvest.' These
words appeared to me wild and incoherent and I did not believe
them. 'So it is,' said Lien Shû. 'The blind have no perception
of the beauty of elegant figures, nor the deaf of the sound of
bells and drums. But is it only the bodily senses of which
deafness and blindness can be predicated? There is also a
similar defect in the intelligence; and of this your words
supply an illustration in yourself. That man, with those
attributes, though all things were one mass of confusion, and he
heard in that condition the whole world crying out to him to be
rectified, would not have to address himself laboriously to the
task, as if it were his business to rectify the world. Nothing
could hurt that man; the greatest floods, reaching to the sky,
could not drown him, nor would he feel the fervour of the
greatest heats melting metals and stones till they flowed, and
scorching all the ground and hills. From the dust and chaff of
himself, he could still mould and fashion Yâos and Shuns;how
should he be willing to occupy himself with things?'
6
A man of Sung, who dealt in the ceremonial caps (of Yin), went
with them to Yüeh, the people of which cut off their hair and
tattooed their bodies, so that they had no use for them. Yâo
ruled the people of the kingdom, and maintained a perfect
government within the four seas. Having gone to see the four
(Perfect) Ones on the distant hill of Kû-shih, when (he returned
to his capital) on the south of the Fän water, his throne
appeared no more to his deep-sunk oblivious eyes.
7
Hui-dze told Kwang-dze, saying, 'The king of Wei sent me some
seeds of a large calabash, which I sowed. The fruit, when fully
grown, could contain five piculs (of anything). I used it to
contain water, but it was so heavy that I could not lift it by
myself. I cut it in two to make the parts into drinking vessels;
but the dried shells were too wide and unstable and would not
hold (the liquor); nothing but large useless things! Because of
their uselessness I knocked them to pieces.' Kwang-dze replied,
'You were indeed stupid, my master, in the use of what was
large. There was a man of Sung who was skilful at making a salve
which kept the hands from getting chapped; and (his family) for
generations had made the bleaching of cocoon-silk their
business. A stranger heard of it, and proposed to buy the art of
the preparation for a hundred ounces of silver. The kindred all
came together, and considered the proposal. "We have," said
they, "been bleaching cocoon-silk for generations, and have only
gained a little money. Now in one morning we can sell to this
man our art for a hundred ounces;--let him have it." The
stranger accordingly got it and went away with it to give
counsel to the king of Wû, who was then engaged in hostilities
with Yüeh. The king gave him the command of his fleet, and in
the winter he had an engagement with that of Yüeh, on which he
inflicted a great defeat, and was invested with a portion of
territory taken from Yüeh. The keeping the hands from getting
chapped was the same in both cases; but in the one case it led
to the investiture (of the possessor of the salve), and in the
other it had only enabled its owners to continue their
bleaching. The difference of result was owing to the different
use made of the art. Now you, Sir, had calabashes large enough
to hold five piculs;--why did you not think of making large
bottle-gourds of them, by means of which you could have floated
over rivers and lakes, instead of giving yourself the sorrow of
finding that they were useless for holding anything. Your mind,
my master, would seem to have been closed against all
intelligence!'
Hui-dze said to Kwang-dze, 'I have a large tree, which men call
the Ailantus. Its trunk swells out to a large size, but is not
fit for a carpenter to apply his line to it; its smaller
branches are knotted and crooked, so that the disk and square
cannot be used on them. Though planted on the wayside, a builder
would not turn his head to look at it. Now your words, Sir, are
great, but of no use;--all unite in putting them away from
them.' Kwang-dze replied, 'Have you never seen a wildcat or a
weasel? There it lies, crouching and low, till the wanderer
approaches; east and west it leaps about, avoiding neither what
is high nor what is low, till it is caught in a trap, or dies in
a net. Again there is the Yak, so large that it is like a cloud
hanging in the sky. It is large indeed, but it cannot catch
mice. You, Sir, have a large tree and are troubled because it is
of no use;--why do you not plant it in a tract where there is
nothing else, or in a wide and barren wild?
There you might saunter idly by its side, or in the enjoyment of
untroubled case sleep beneath it. Neither bill nor axe would
shorten its existence; there would be nothing to injure it. What
is there in its uselessness to cause you distress?' |