漁父
莊子
漁父
孔子遊乎緇帷一作「惟」之林，休坐乎杏壇之上。弟子讀書，孔子弦歌鼔一作「鼓」琴，奏曲未半，有漁父者，下船而來，須一作「鬢」眉交白，被髮揄袂，行原以上，距陸而止，左手據膝，右手持頤，以聽，曲終，而招子貢、子路二人俱對。客指孔子曰：「彼何爲者也？」子路對曰：「魯之君子也。」客問其族。子路對曰：「族孔氏。」客曰：「孔氏者，何治也？」子路未應，子貢對曰：「孔氏者，性服忠信，身行仁義，飾禮樂，選人倫，上以忠於世主，下以化（於）齊民，將以利天下。此孔氏之所治也。」又問曰：「有土之君與？」子貢曰：「非也。」「侯王之佐與？」子貢曰：「非也。」客乃笑而還，行言曰：「仁則仁矣，恐不免其身，苦心勞形，以危其眞。嗚呼，遠哉，其分於道也！」
子貢還報孔子，孔子推琴而起，曰：「其聖人與？」乃下求之，至於澤畔。方將杖挐而引其船，顧見孔子，還鄉而立。孔子反走，再拜而進。客曰：「子將何求？」孔子曰：「曩者先生有緒言而去，丘不肖，未知所謂，竊待於下風，幸聞欬一作「咳」唾之音，以卒相丘也。」客曰：「嘻！甚矣，子之好學也！」孔子再拜而起，曰：「丘少而脩學，以至於今，六十九歲矣，无所得。聞至教，敢不虛心？」客曰：「同類相從，同聲相應，固天之理也。吾請釋吾之所有，而經子之所以。子之所以者，人事也。天子、諸侯、大夫、庶人，此四者自正，治之美也；四者離位，而亂莫大焉。官治其職，人憂其事，乃无所陵。故田荒室露，衣食不足，徵賦不屬，妻妾不和，長少无序，庶人之憂也。能不勝任，官事不治，行不清白，羣下荒怠，功美不有，爵祿不持，大夫之憂也。廷无忠臣，國家昏亂，工技不巧，貢職不美，春秋後倫，不順天子，諸侯之憂也。陰陽不和，寒暑不時，以傷庶物，諸侯暴亂，擅相攘伐，以殘民人，禮樂不節，財用窮匱，人倫不飭，百姓淫亂，天子有司之憂也。今子，旣上无君侯有司之勢，而下无大臣職事之官，而擅飾禮樂，選人倫，以化齊民，不泰多事乎？且人有八疵，事有四患，不可不察也。非其事而事之，謂之揔。莫之顧而進之，謂之佞。希意導言，謂之諂。不擇是非而言，謂之諛。好言人之惡，謂之讒。析交離親，謂之賊。稱譽詐僞，以敗惡人，謂之慝。不擇善否，兩容顏適，偷拔其所欲，謂之險。此八疵者，外以亂人，內以傷身，君子不友，明君不臣。所謂四患者：好經大事，變更易常，以挂功名，謂之叨；專知擅事，侵人自用，謂之貪；見過不更，聞諫愈甚，謂之很；人同於己則可，不同於己，雖善不善，謂之矜。此四患也。能去八疵，无行四患，而始可教已。」
孔子愀然而歎，再拜而起，曰：「丘再逐於魯，削迹於衞，伐樹於宋，圍於陳、蔡。丘不知所失而離此四謗者，何也？」客悽然變容，曰：「甚矣，子之難語一作「悟」也！人有畏影惡迹而去之走者，舉足愈數而迹愈多，走愈疾而影不離身，自以爲尚遟一作「遲」，疾走不休，絕力而死。不知處陰以休影，處靜以息迹，愚亦甚矣！子審仁義之間，察同異之際，觀動靜之變，適受與之度，理好惡之情，和喜怒之節，而幾於不免矣！謹脩而身，愼守其眞，還以物與人，則无所累矣。今不脩之身而求之人，不亦外乎？」
孔子愀然，曰：「請問：何謂眞？」客曰：「眞者，精誠之至也。不精不誠，不能動人。故强哭者，雖悲，不哀。强怒者，雖嚴，不威。强親者，雖笑，不和。眞悲，无聲而哀。眞怒，未發而威。眞親，未笑而和。眞在內者，神動於外，是所以貴眞也。其用於人理也，事親則慈孝，事君則忠貞，飲酒則歡樂，處喪則悲哀。忠貞以功爲主，飲酒以樂爲主，處喪以哀爲主，事親以適爲主。功成之美，无一其迹矣。事親以適，不論所以矣。飲酒以樂，不選其具矣。處喪以哀，无問其禮矣。禮者，世俗之所爲也。眞者，所以受於天也，自然不可易也。故聖人法天貴眞，不拘於俗。愚者反此，不能法天而恤於人，不知貴眞，祿祿而受變於俗，故不足。惜哉，子之早湛於人僞，而晚聞大道也！」孔子又再拜而起，曰：「今者丘得過一作「遇」也，若天幸然。先生不羞，而比之服役，而身教之。敢問舍所在，請因受業，而卒學大道。」客曰：「吾聞之：『可與往者，與之至於妙道。不可與往者，不知其道，愼勿與之，身乃无咎。』子勉之，吾去子矣，吾去子矣！」乃刺船而去，延緣葦間。
顏淵還車，子路授綏，孔子不顧，待水波定，不聞挐音，而後敢乘。子路旁車而問曰：「由得爲役久矣，未嘗見夫子遇人如此其威也。萬乘之主，千乘之君，見夫子，未嘗不分庭伉禮，夫子猶有倨傲一作「敖」之容。今漁父杖挐逆立，而夫子曲要磬折，言一作「再」拜而應，得无太甚乎？門人皆怪夫子矣，漁父何以得此乎？」孔子伏軾而歎曰：「甚矣，由之難化也！湛於禮義，有間矣，而樸鄙之心，至今未去。進，吾語汝：夫遇長不敬，失禮也。見賢不尊，不仁也。彼非至人，不能下人；下人不精，不得其眞，故長傷身。惜哉，不仁之於人也，禍莫大焉，而由獨擅之！且道者，萬物之所由也。庶物，失之者死，得之者生；爲事，逆之則敗，順之則成。故道之所在，聖人尊之。今漁父之於道，可謂有矣，吾敢不敬乎？」
الصياد
تجوّل كونفوشيوس في غابة من الأشجار الخضراء الكثيفة، واستراح جالسًا فوق هضبة أشجار المشمش. كان التلامذة يطالعون كتبهم، وكونفوشيوس يعزف ويغني وينقر آلة القيثارة، ولم يكمل بعد نصف المقطوعة، حتى جاء شيخ صيّاد سمك، فنزل من قاربه وأقبل، شعيراته وحواجبه متشابكة كلها شيبًا، وشلّت شعره وجرّ أكمامه، وصعد من السهل حتى بلغ المرتفع فتوقف. أسند مرفقه الأيسر على ركبته، ورفع يده اليمنى مسندًا ذقنه، يستمع. ولما انتهت المقطوعة، نادى على تلميذي كونفوشيوس تزونغ غونغ وزي لو فأتياه معًا.
أشار الزائر إلى كونفوشيوس وقال: "من هذا الرجل؟" أجاب زي لو: "سيّد من مملكة لو." سأله الزائر عن عشيرته. قال زي لو: "من عشيرة كونغ." قال الزائر: "عشيرة كونغ، ما شأنها وما تُصلح؟" لم يُجب زي لو، فتكلّم تزونغ غونغ: "عشيرة كونغ، بطبعها تلتزم الإخلاص والأمانة، وبأفعالها تجسّد الإنصاف والفضيلة، وتُزيّن الطقوس والموسيقى، وتختار العلاقات الإنسانية. تُعلي الإخلاص للحاكم في الدنيا، وتُعلّم الشعب العادي في الأسفل، غايتها أن تُنفع العالم أجمع. هذا هو ما تُصلحه عشيرة كونغ."
سأل الزائر مرة أخرى: "أهو ملك يملك أرضًا؟" قال تزونغ غونغ: "لا." "أهو وزير لمسؤول كبير؟" قال تزونغ غونغ: "لا." فابتسم الزائر وأدبر، وهو يمشي قال: "لطيف ما تقول من فضيلة، لكن أخاف أن لا يسلم من الأذى. يشقى قلبه ويتعب جسده، معرّضًا حقيقته للخطر. يا للأسف، ما أبعده عن الطريق!"
عاد تزونغ غونغ فأطلع كونفوشيوس على ما جرى. فدفع كونفوشيوس القيثارة ونهض وقال: "لعلّه حكيم حقًّا!" ثم نزل يبحث عنه، حتى بلغ حافة المستنقع. كان الصيّاد على وشك أن يتناول المذودة ويسحب قاربه، فالتفت فرأى كونفوشيوس، فعاد إليه ووقف باستقباله. تراجع كونفوشيوس خطوة ثم سجد وتقدّم. قال الزائر: "ماذا تريد؟" قال كونفوشيوس: "آنفتًا تفضّلت بكلام ثم غادرتُ، وأنا لست فطنًا، لم أفهم مرادك، فترقّبت من بعيد، عسى أن أنعم بصوت صوتك ليهتدي قلبي."
قال الزائر: "آه! ما أشد حرصك على التعلّم!" سجد كونفوشيوس ونهض وقال: "منذ صباي وأنا أطلب العلم، حتى بلغت الآن تسعًا وستين سنة، وما ظفرت بشيء. ولأنني سمعت منك التعليم الأسمى، فكيف لا أستمع بانفتاح؟"
قال الزائر: "الأشياء المتشابهة تتبع بعضها، والأصوات المتشابهة تتجاوب، هذا قانون السماوات. سأطرح ما عندي لأصلح ما عندك. ما عندك هو شؤون الناس. الإمبراطور، والأمراء، والوزراء، والعامّة، هؤلاء الأربعة إذا استقام كلٌّ في موضعه، فذلك حسن الحكم. وإذا خرجوا عن مراتبهم، لم يكن اضطراب أعظم من ذلك. المسؤول يؤدي واجبه، والمرء يهتم بشأنه، فلا عدوان. فإن أجدبت الأرض وخربت الدار، ولم يكفِ الطعام واللباس، وتعذّرت الضرائب، ولم تنسجم الزوجات، واضطرب ترتيب الكبار والصغار، فذلك همّ العامّة. وإن لم يُحسن أداء المهام، ولم تُدار الشؤون كما ينبغي، ولم يصفُ السلوك، وتكاسل الأتباع، ولم يُحفظ الجدارة والإنجاز، ولم تثبت المراتب والرواتب، فذلك همّ الوزراء. وإن خلت البلاط من المخلصين، وغشيت المملكة الفوضى، وساءت الحرف، وقلّت الهدايا الجيّدة، واضطرب ترتيب الأجيال ولم يُطاع الإمبراطور، فذلك همّ الأمراء. وإن اختل توازن الين واليانغ، ولم تأتِ الحرارة والبرد في أوقاتهما، فأضرّت بالأشياء جميعًا، واضطرب الأمراء وعتوا، فاعتدى بعضهم على بعض، وأهلكوا الناس، ولم تُنظم الطقوس والموسيقى، ونفدت الأموال، ولم تُهذّب العلاقات الإنسانية، وفسد الناس، فذلك همّ الإمبراطور وأعوانه.
أما أنت، فليس لك من فوقك سلطان حاكم أو وزير، وليس لك من تحتك منصب مسؤول، لكنك مع ذلك تتدخّل في تزيين الطقوس والموسيقى، وتختار العلاقات الإنسانية، وتُعلّم العامّة، أليس ذلك إفراطًا في التدخّل؟ ثم إن في الناس ثمانية عيوب، وفي الأمور أربعة آفات، لا بد من تمييزها: أن تتدخل فيما لا يعنيك، وهذا تعدّي. أن تُلحّ من غير أن يُطلب منك، وهذا تطفّل. أن تتبع الأهواء وتنسّق الكلام معها، وهذا تملّق. أن تتكلّم من غير تمييز الصواب من الخطأ، وهذا مجاملة مذمومة. أن تُفشي مساوئ الناس، وهذا نميمة. أن تُفرّق بين الأصدقاء وتُبعد الأقارب، وهذا خيانة. أن تُزيّف الحقائق وتُزيّن الباطل لتشويه الآخرين، وهذا فساد. أن لا تميّز بين الخير والشر، بل تلوّوجهك للجميع، وتسرق لنفسك ما تريد، وهذا مكر. هذه العيوب الثمانية تُفسد الناس من الخارج وتؤذي النفس من الداخل، فلا يصادقها النبلاء ولا يستخدموها الحكام. أما الآفات الأربع: أن تحب التدخل في الأمور الكبرى، وتُغيّر القواعد الثابتة لتحقيق الشهرة، وهذا طمع. أن تُمسك بالوحد وتستبد، وتتعدّى على الآخرين وتستأثر، وهذا جشع. أن ترى الخطأ فلا تُصلحه، وتسمع النصيحة فتزداد إصرارًا، وهذا عناد. أن ترضى عمّن يُطابقك فقط، ولا ترضى عمّن يختلف عنك حتى لو كان محسنًا، وهذا تكبر. هذه هي الآفات الأربع. من تخلّص من العيوب الثمانية، وتجنّب الآفات الأربع، عنده فقط يُمكن التعليم."
تنهّد كونفوشيوس وقال: "طُردت من لو مرتين، ومُحيت آثاري في وي، وقُطعت الأشجار من حولي في سونغ، وحوصرت في تشن وتساي. لا أدري ما خطيئة ارتكبتها لأستحق هذه المصائب الأربع؟!" تغيّر وجه الصيّاد وقال: "يا لك من رجل عسر الفهم! كان رجل يكره ظله ويفرّ من أثره، فكثرت خطاه فكثرت آثاره، وأسرع المشي فلم يفارقه ظله، وظنّ أن المشي بطيء، فاستمرّ يركض حتى أُعي وهلك. لو عرف أن يجلس في الظل يُريح ظله، وأن يسكن السكون يُطفئ أثره، لما فعل ذلك! يا للحماقة! أنت تتأمل حدود الإنصاف والفضيلة، وتُميّز نقاط الاتفاق والاختلاف، وترى تغيّرات الحركة والسكون، وتُقدّر حدود العطاء والأخذ، وتُنظم مشاعر الحب والكبح، وتُنسّق فترات الغضب والرضا، ثم مع ذلك لا تسلم من الأذى! التزم بتهذيب نفسك، واحرص على حقيقتك، وردّ الأشياء إلى أهلها، فلا يكون عليك ثقل. أما أنت فلا تُصلح نفسك وتطلب من الناس الإصلاح، أليس ذلك إعراضًا عن الجوهر؟"
غير متوفر
The Old Fisherman
Youzi wandered in the forest of Zhiwei, and rested beneath the Apricot Altar. His disciples were reading their books, while Youzi strummed his zither and sang, beating time on the qin. Before the piece was half finished, there came an old fisherman, who descended from his boat and approached, his beard and brows white and mingled, his hair disheveled, his sleeves pushed back. He crossed the plain and climbed up to the higher ground, then stopped. His left hand resting on his knee, his right hand propping his chin, he listened. When the piece was finished, he beckoned to Zigong and Zilu, and the two came forward to face him.
The stranger pointed at Youzi and asked: "What manner of man is that?"
Zilu replied: "A gentleman of Lu."
The stranger asked his clan. Zilu said: "The Kong clan."
"And what does this Kong concern himself with?" asked the stranger.
Zilu did not answer. Zigong spoke up: "This Kong—in his nature he cleaves to loyalty and good faith; in his conduct he practices benevolence and rightness. He adorns himself with ritual and music, he orders the relationships between men. Above, he is loyal to the lords of the age; below, he transforms the common people. He seeks to bring benefit to all under Heaven. This is what Kong devises himself to."
The stranger asked again: "Is he a lord who possesses territory?"
Zigong said: "No."
"Is he an assistant to a marquis or king?"
Zigong said: "No."
The stranger then smiled and turned away, muttering as he walked: "Benevolent he may be, benevolent indeed—but I fear he will not preserve his own person. His mind labored, his body wearied, he endangers his authentic nature. Alas, how far he is from the Way! How far he is from the Way!"
Zigong returned and reported to Youzi. Youzi pushed aside his zither and rose. "Could he be a sage?" he said. He went down in search of him, and found him by the marsh. The old man was just taking up his pole to push off his boat. Catching sight of Youzi, he turned back and stood facing him. Youzi retreated, bowed twice, and advanced.
The stranger said: "What do you seek?"
Youzi said: "A moment ago, you departed with some unfinished words. I am dull and did not understand what you meant. Humbly I waited below, hoping to hear the sound of your voice, however faint, so that you might complete my instruction."
The stranger said: "Ha! How exceedingly you love learning!"
Youzi bowed twice and rose. "From youth I have cultivated learning, and now I am sixty-nine years old, yet I have gained nothing. Hearing your most profound teaching, how dare I not receive it with an open mind?"
The stranger said: "Like follows like, the same sound responds to the same sound—this is the fixed principle of Heaven. I will lay out what I possess and apply it to your condition. What you concern yourself with is human affairs. When the Son of Heaven, the feudal lords, the great officers, and the common people each correct themselves, that is the perfection of good order. When these four leave their proper stations, no disorder is greater than that. When officials fulfill their duties and men attend to their tasks, there is nothing overstepped. When fields lie waste and houses are exposed, when food and clothing are insufficient, when taxes and levies go unpaid, when wives and concubines are at odds, when old and young are without proper order—these are the anxieties of the common man. When one cannot fulfill his office and duties go unadministered, when conduct lacks purity and clarity, when subordinates are idle and lax, when merit and excellence are lacking, when rank and emoluments are not maintained—these are the anxieties of the great officer. When the court lacks loyal ministers, when the state is in darkness and confusion, when craftsmanship is unskilled, when tribute and offerings are not excellent, when precedence in the seasons is disrupted and the Son of Heaven is not obeyed—these are the anxieties of the feudal lords. When yin and yang are not in harmony, when cold and heat do not come at their proper times, so that all living things are harmed, when feudal lords rise in violence and attack one another, maiming the people, when ritual and music are not measured, when wealth and resources are exhausted, when human relationships are not regulated and the people sink into disorder—these are the anxieties of the Son of Heaven and his officers. Now you, sir, above have no power of lord or officer, below have no office of minister or official, and yet you presume to adorn ritual and music, to order the relationships between men, to transform the common people—is that not vastly overreaching? Moreover, men have eight faults, and affairs have four afflictions—these must not be left unexamined.
"To attend to what is not one's affair as though it were—this is called presumption. To advance oneself when no one heeds—this is called sycophancy. To anticipate the other's intention and guide one's words accordingly—this is called flattery. To speak without distinguishing right from wrong—this is called fawning. To delight in speaking of others' failings—this is called slander. To sever friendships and estrange kin—this is called treachery. To praise fraudulent and false men in order to bring down those one hates—this is called malice. To take no account of good or bad, showing a smooth face to both, covertly advancing one's own desires—this is called dangerousness. These eight faults disorder others outwardly and injure oneself within. The gentleman does not befriend such men; the enlightened ruler does not employ them as ministers.
"As for the four afflictions: to undertake great enterprises, altering and changing what is constant, in order to hang one's name on merit—this is called greed. To monopolize knowledge and manage affairs alone, encroaching on others and using them for oneself—this is called avarice. To see one's errors and not correct them, and to grow worse when admonished—this is called obstinacy. To approve only when others agree with oneself, and when they differ, to regard even the good as not good—this is called pride. These are the four afflictions. Only when one can put away the eight faults and practice nothing that falls under the four afflictions can one begin to be taught."
Youzi's expression changed gravely, and he sighed. Bowing twice, he rose and said: "I was twice driven out of Lu, my footprints were erased in Wei, my trees were felled in Song, and I was besieged in Chen and Cai. I do not know what fault I committed that brought upon me these four calumnies. Why was it so?"
The stranger's face grew sorrowful. "How very difficult you are to instruct!" he said. "There was a man who feared his shadow and hated his footprints, and tried to flee from them. The more often he lifted his foot, the more footprints he left; the faster he ran, yet his shadow never left him. He thought he was still too slow, and ran on and on without rest, until he died of exhaustion. He did not know that by seeking the shade he could put his shadow to rest, and by remaining still he could make his footprints cease. How great was his folly! You, sir, have examined the boundaries of benevolence and rightness, you have scrutinized the border of the same and the different, you have observed the transformations of movement and stillness, you have gauged the measure of receiving and giving, you have ordered the feelings of love and hate, you have harmonized the seasons of pleasure and anger—and yet you have nearly failed to preserve yourself! Diligently cultivate your own person, carefully guard your authentic nature, return to things and give to others, and you will be free from all entanglement. Now you do not cultivate yourself, yet you seek it in others—is that not a turning outward?"
Kongzi's expression changed, and he said, "May I ask: what is meant by the Genuine?"
The stranger said: "The Genuine is the ultimate of purity and sincerity. Without purity and sincerity, one cannot move others. Thus, one who forces tears may grieve but lacks sorrow. One who forces anger may look stern but lacks authority. One who forces affection may smile but lacks harmony. Genuine sorrow—unspoken, yet sorrowful. Genuine anger—unexpressed, yet commanding. Genuine affection—unsmiling, yet harmonious. When the Genuine resides within, the spirit moves without—this is why the Genuine is valued.
"As applied to the principles of human relations: serving parents brings filial devotion; serving a ruler brings loyalty and integrity; drinking wine brings joy; mourning brings grief. Loyalty and integrity aim chiefly at accomplishment; drinking wine aims chiefly at pleasure; mourning aims chiefly at grief; serving parents aims chiefly at their ease. The beauty of accomplished deeds leaves no single trace. Serving parents to give them ease requires no justification. Drinking wine for pleasure requires no choice of vessels. Mourning for grief requires no concern for ritual. Ritual is the contrivance of the worldly. The Genuine is what we receive from Heaven—it is natural and cannot be altered. Thus the sage models Heaven and honors the Genuine, not being constrained by convention. The foolish do the opposite: they cannot model Heaven and are anxious about others; they do not know to honor the Genuine, and busily they are changed by convention—hence they are never satisfied. Alas! You were steeped early in human artifice and have heard of the Great Way only late!"
Kongzi bowed twice and rose, saying: "Today I, Qiu, have encountered this—it is as though Heaven has granted me good fortune. Sir, you do not disdain me, but place yourself among my followers and teach me in person. May I ask where you dwell? I beg to receive instruction and to study the Great Way to its completion."
The stranger said: "I have heard: 'With those who can go forward, lead them to the wondrous Way. With those who cannot go forward, not understanding the Way—take care not to lead them, and you yourself will be without blame.' Strive, my good man! I leave you now, I leave you now!" He pushed his boat away and drifted among the reeds.
Yan Yuan turned the carriage around. Zilu handed the mounting strap. Kongzi did not look back. He waited until the ripples on the water had stilled and the sound of the oars could no longer be heard before he dared to mount.
Zilu, standing beside the carriage, said: "I, You, have long served you, yet I have never seen you show such deference to anyone. Lords of ten thousand chariots and rulers of a thousand chariots—when they meet you, they never fail to receive you with equal ceremony, and yet you still maintained an aloof demeanor. Now this Fisherman stood facing you with his oar, and you bowed at your waist like a chime-stone, speaking and bowing twice in response. Was this not going too far? All your disciples find it strange. How did this Fisherman deserve such treatment?"
Kongzi leaned on the carriage rail and sighed, saying: "You, You, are truly difficult to transform! You have been steeped in ritual and righteousness for some time now, yet your coarse and vulgar heart has still to this day not been put away. Come forward—let me tell you. To encounter an elder and fail to show respect is to violate ritual. To meet a worthy and fail to show reverence is to lack benevolence. If he were not a man of the highest order, he could not bring himself to be humble before others. But if that humility lacks purity, he does not attain the Genuine—and so he brings lasting harm to himself. Alas! Among the harms that befall people, none is greater than a lack of benevolence—and you, You, alone cling to it! Moreover, the Way is that by which all things proceed. If the myriad things lose it, they die; if they have it, they live. In all undertakings, to go against it is to fail; to follow it is to succeed. Therefore, wherever the Way resides, the sage honors it. Now this Fisherman—in regard to the Way, he may truly be said to possess it. How dare I not show him respect?"