1
Under the sky is perfect enjoyment to be found or not? Are there
any who can preserve themselves alive or not? If there be, what
do they do? What do they maintain? What do they avoid? What do
they attend to? Where do they resort to? Where do they keep from?
What do they delight in? What do they dislike?
What the world honours is riches, dignities, longevity, and
being deemed able. What it delights in is rest for the body,
rich flavours, fine garments, beautiful colours, and pleasant
music. What it looks down on are poverty and mean condition,
short life and being deemed feeble. What men consider bitter
experiences are that their bodies do not get rest and case, that
their mouths do not get food of rich flavour, that their persons
are not finely clothed, that their eyes do not see beautiful
colours, and that their ears do not listen to pleasant music. If
they do not get these things, they are very sorrowful, and go on
to be troubled with fears. Their thoughts are all about the body;--are
they not silly?
Now the rich embitter their lives by their incessant labours;
they accumulate more wealth than they can use:--while they act
thus for the body, they make it external to themselves. Those
who seek for honours carry their pursuit of them from the day
into the night, full of anxiety about their methods whether they
are skilful or not:--while they act thus for the body they treat
it as if it were indifferent to them. The birth of man is at the
same time the birth of his sorrow; and if he live long he
becomes more and more stupid, and the longer is his anxiety that
he may not die; how great is his bitterness!--while he thus acts
for his body, it is for a distant result. Meritorious officers
are regarded by the world as good; but (their goodness) is not
sufficient to keep their persons alive. I do not know whether
the goodness ascribed to them be really good or really not good.
If indeed it be considered good, it is not sufficient to
preserve their persons alive; if it be deemed not good, it is
sufficient to preserve other men alive. Hence it is said, 'When
faithful remonstrances are not listened to, (the remonstrant)
should sit still, let (his ruler) take his course, and not
strive with him.' Therefore when Dze-hsü strove with (his ruler),
he brought on himself the mutilation of his body. If he had not
so striven, he would not have acquired his fame:--was such (goodness)
really good or was it not?
As to what the common people now do, and what they find their
enjoyment in, I do not know whether the enjoyment be really
enjoyment or really not. I see them in their pursuit of it
following after all their aims as if with the determination of
death, and as if they could not stop in their course; but what
they call enjoyment would not be so to me, while yet I do not
say that there is no enjoyment in it. Is there indeed such
enjoyment, or is there not? I consider doing nothing (to obtain
it) to be the great enjoyment', while ordinarily people consider
it to be a great evil. Hence it is said, 'Perfect enjoyment is
to be without enjoyment; the highest praise is to be without
praise.' The right and the wrong (on this point of enjoyment)
cannot indeed be determined according to (the view of) the world;
nevertheless, this doing nothing (to obtain it) may determine
the right and the wrong. Since perfect enjoyment is (held to be)
the keeping the body alive, it is only by this doing nothing
that that end is likely to be secured. Allow me to try and
explain this (more fully):--Heaven does nothing, and thence
comes its serenity; Earth does nothing, and thence comes its
rest. By the union of these two inactivities, all things are
produced. How vast and imperceptible is the process!--they seem
to come from nowhere! How imperceptible and vast!--there is no
visible image of it! All things in all their variety grow from
this Inaction. Hence it is said, 'Heaven and Earth do nothing,
and yet there is nothing that they do not do.' But what man is
there that can attain to this inaction?
2
When Kwang-dze's wife died, Hui-dze went to condole with him,
and, finding him squatted on the ground, drumming on the basin,
and singing, said to him, 'When a wife has lived with her
husband, and brought up children, and then dies in her old age,
not to wail for her is enough. When you go on to drum on this
basin and sing, is it not an excessive (and strange)
demonstration?' Kwang-dze replied, 'It is not so. When she first
died, was it possible for me to be singular and not affected by
the event? But I reflected on the commencement of her being. She
had not yet been born to life; not only had she no life, but she
had no bodily form; not only bad she no bodily form, but she had
no breath. During the intermingling of the waste and dark chaos,
there ensued a change, and there was breath; another change, and
there was the bodily form; another change, and there came birth
and life. There is now a change again, and she is dead. The
relation between these things is like the procession of the four
seasons from spring to autumn, from winter to summer. There now
she lies with her face up, sleeping in the Great Chamber; and if
I were to fall sobbing and going on to wail for her, I should
think that I did not understand what was appointed (for all). I
therefore restrained myself!'
3
Mr. Deformed and Mr. One-foot were looking at the mound-graves
of the departed in the wild of Khwän-lun, where Hwang-Tî had
entered into his rest. Suddenly a tumour began to grow on their
left wrists, which made them look distressed as if they disliked
it. The former said to the other, 'Do you dread it?' 'No,'
replied he, 'why should I dread it? Life is a borrowed thing.
The living frame thus borrowed is but so much dust. Life and
death are like day and night. And you and I were looking at (the
graves of) those who have undergone their change. If my change
is coming to me, why should I dislike it?'
4
When Kwang-dze went to Khû, he saw an empty skull, bleached
indeed, but still retaining its shape. Tapping it with his horse-switch,
he asked it, saying, 'Did you, Sir, in your greed of life, fail
in the lessons of reason, and come to this? Or did you do so, in
the service of a perishing state, by the punishment of the axe?
Or was it through your evil conduct, reflecting disgrace on your
parents and on your wife and children? Or was it through your
hard endurances of cold and hunger? Or was it that you had
completed your term of life?'
Having given expression to these questions, he took up the skull,
and made a pillow of it when he went to sleep. At midnight the
skull appeared to him in a dream, and said,' What you said to me
was after the fashion of an orator. All your words were about
the entanglements of men in their lifetime. There are none of
those things after death. Would you like to hear me, Sir, tell
you about death?' 'I should,' said Kwang-dze, and the skull
resumed: 'In death there are not (the distinctions of) ruler
above and minister below. There are none of the phenomena of the
four seasons. Tranquil and at ease, our years are those of
heaven and earth. No king in his court has greater enjoyment
than we have.' Kwang-dze did not believe it, and said, 'If I
could get the Ruler of our Destiny to restore your body to life
with its bones and flesh and skin, and to give you back your
father and mother, your wife and children, and all your village
acquaintances, would you wish me to do so?' The skull stared
fixedly at him, knitted its brows, and said, 'How should I cast
away the enjoyment of my royal court, and undertake again the
toils of life among mankind?'
5
When Yen Yüan went eastwards to Khî, Confucius wore a look of
sorrow. Dze-kung left his mat, and asked him, saying, 'Your
humble disciple ventures to ask how it is that the going
eastwards of Hui to Khî has given you such a look of sadness.'
Confucius said, 'Your question is good. Formerly Kwan-dze used
words of which I very much approve. He said, "A small bag cannot
be made to contain what is large; a short rope cannot be used to
draw water from a deep well." So it is, and man's appointed lot
is definitely determined, and his body is adapted for definite
ends, so that neither the one nor the other can be augmented or
diminished. I am afraid that Hui will talk with the marquis of
Khî about the ways of Hwang-Tî, Yâo, and Shun, and go on to
relate the words of Sui-zän and Shän Näng. The marquis will seek
(for the correspondence of what he is told) in himself; and, not
finding it there, will suspect the speaker; and that speaker,
being suspected, will be put to death. And have you not heard
this?--Formerly a sea-bird alighted in the suburban country of
Lû. The marquis went out to meet it, (brought it) to the
ancestral temple, and prepared to banquet it there. The Kiû-shâo
was performed to afford it music; an ox, a sheep, and a pig were
killed to supply the food. The bird, however, looked at
everything with dim eyes, and was very sad. It did not venture
to eat a single bit of flesh, nor to drink a single cupful; and
in three days it died.
'The marquis was trying to nourish the bird with what he used
for himself, and not with the nourishment proper for a bird.
They who would nourish birds as they ought to be nourished
should let them perch in the deep forests, or roam over sandy
plains; float on the rivers and lakes; feed on the eels and
small fish; wing their flight in regular order and then stop;
and be free and at ease in their resting-places. It was a
distress to that bird to hear men speak; what did it care for
all the noise and hubbub made about it? If the music of the
Kiû-shâo or the Hsien-khih were performed in the wild of the
Thung-thing lake, birds would fly away, and beasts would run off
when they heard it, and fishes would dive down to the bottom of
the water; while men, when they hear it, would come all round
together, and look on. Fishes live and men die in the water.
They are different in constitution, and therefore differ in
their likes and dislikes. Hence it was that the ancient sages
did not require (from all) the same ability, nor demand the same
performances. They gave names according to the reality of what
was done, and gave their approbation where it was specially
suitable. This was what was called the method of universal
adaptation and of sure success.'
6
Lieh-dze (once) upon a journey took a meal by the road-side.
There he saw a skull a hundred years old, and, pulling away the
bush (under which it lay), he pointed to it and said, 'It is
only you and I who know that you are not dead, and that
(aforetime) you were not alive. Do you indeed really find (in
death) the nourishment (which you like)? Do I really find (in
life my proper) enjoyment? The seeds (of things) are
multitudinous and minute. On the surface of the water they form
a membranous texture. When they reach to where the land and
water join they become the (lichens which we call the) clothes
of frogs and oysters. Coming to life on mounds and heights, they
become the plantain; and, receiving manure, appear as crows'
feet. The roots of the crow's foot become grubs, and its leaves,
butterflies. This butterfly, known by the name of hsü, is
changed into an insect, and comes to life under a furnace. Then
it has the form of a moth, and is named the khü-to. The khü-to
after a thousand days becomes a bird, called the kan-yü-kû. Its
saliva becomes the sze-mî, and this again the shih-hsî (or
pickle-eater). The î-lo is produced from the pickle-eater; the
hwang-kwang from the kiû-yû; the mâu-zui from the pû-khwan. The
ying-hsî uniting with a bamboo, which has long ceased to put
forth sprouts, produces the khing-ning; the khing-ning, the
panther; the panther, the horse; and the horse, the man. Man
then again enters into the great Machinery (of Evolution), from
which all things come forth (at birth), and which they enter at
death.' |