日者列传 — Shiji

The two men then rode together in the same carriage to the market and wandered among the divination stalls. The sky had just rained, and few people were on the road. Sima Jizhu was seated at his ease, attended by three or four disciples, expounding on the ways of heaven and earth, the movements of the sun and moon, and the foundations of fortune and misfortune in yin and yang.

Sima Jizhu burst out laughing, covering his belly with mirth. "I see that you, my lords, appear to possess the Way and its arts," said he. "Yet what vulgar words you speak! What uncouth expressions! What do you consider worthy? Whom do you esteem? Why do you call us humble and base?"

Sima Jizhu said: "Do sit down, gentlemen. Have you observed children with disheveled hair? When the sun and moon shine upon them, they run about; when they are not illuminated, they stop still. Ask them about the flaws of the sun and moon or about fortune and misfortune, and they cannot explain. From this we may see that the ability to distinguish the worthy from the unworthy is rare indeed.

"The conduct of the worthy is this: they employ uprightness to remonstrate directly. If their counsel is not heeded after three remonstrances, they retire. When they praise a person, they do not expect repayment; when they condemn a person, they do not concern themselves with enmity. They devote themselves to advancing the interests of the state and benefiting its people. Thus they will not accept an office for which they are unqualified, nor receive wages they have not earned. When they observe a person of improper conduct, they do not honor him even if he is honored; when they observe a person of base character, they do not serve beneath him even if he is elevated. They are not elated by gain, nor grieved by loss. If they have committed no crime, they bear no shame even under accumulated disgrace.

"But the ones you call worthy nowadays are fit only for shame. They bow and scrape before their superiors, fawn and flatter and speak in honeyed tones. They lure one another with displays of influence, guide one another with promises of profit. They form cliques to displace the upright, seeking only honor and reputation and personal emoluments. They serve private interests, pervert the lord's laws, and prey upon the farmers. They use their offices as instruments of intimidation and make tools of the law to pursue selfish gain and go against righteousness: this is no different from holding a bare blade to rob people. When they first test for office, they exert every effort at clever deception, feigning accomplishments and grasping at empty writings to deceive their sovereigns, so that they rise to positions of favor. When tested for office, they do not yield to the worthy or present their achievements, but when they see falsehood they amplify it, turning what is nothing into something, what is little into much, all to secure advantageous and prestigious positions. They feast and drink, drive about in carriages, consort with singing girls, giving no thought to their parents, breaking the law and harming the people, and squandering public resources: these are the ones who commit robbery without wielding spear or bow, who attack without using bow or blade, who deceive their parents though innocent of crime and murder their lords without open assault. How can such people be called noble or worthy? When bandits arise they cannot stop them, when foreign tribes do not submit they cannot control them, when corrupt officials rise they cannot check them, when disorder spreads in the government they cannot govern it, when the seasons are discordant they cannot harmonize them, when the year's harvest fails they cannot regulate it."

"Having ability yet not exercising it is disloyalty. Lacking ability yet claiming office, enjoying the ruler's bounty while obstructing the worthy—this is theft of position. Those with connections advance; those with wealth receive honor: this is hypocrisy.

"Have you not seen how the owl and the phoenix do not fly together? Orchid and sweet basil are abandoned in the wilderness while artemisia grows into forests, causing the gentleman to withdraw and hide his brilliance among the multitude. Such are you, my lords. To transmit without innovating is the way of the gentleman. But now the true business of divination is this: it must follow the patterns of heaven and earth, emulate the four seasons, accord with benevolence and righteousness, determine hexagrams and arrange the lots, spin the astrolabe and correct the gnomon—only then may one speak of the advantages and disadvantages of heaven and earth, the success or failure of affairs.

"In ancient times, when former kings established their states, they first consulted the turtle and the milfoil about the sun and moon, and only then dared to act in their stead. They fixed the auspicious days and hours, and only then entered their households. When a child was born, they first divined its fortune, and only then acknowledged it. From when Fuxi created the eight trigrams, to when King Wen of Zhou elaborated the three hundred and eighty-four lines, the world was governed in peace. King Goujian of Yue disseminated King Wen's trigrams and shattered the enemy state, becoming hegemon of all under heaven. Judging from this, what fault lies with divination?

"Zhuangzi said: 'Within, the gentleman has no worries of hunger or cold; without, he has no fears of robbery or plunder. To revere those above and harm no one below—this is the way of the gentleman.' Now consider the diviner's profession: there is no accumulated wealth to store, no treasury needed to hold it, no supply wagon required to move it, no heavy burden when bearing it. When he stops and uses it, there is no end to what can be consulted. To take what cannot be exhausted and wander through worlds without limit—even the conduct of Master Zhuang could add nothing to this. Why, then, do you say divination cannot be practiced?

After three days, Song Zhong met Jia Yi outside the palace gate. They drew one another aside, whispered together, and sighed, saying: "The loftier one's virtue, the greater one's safety; the more dazzling one's power, the greater the peril. Dwell in awe-inspiring influence and you will soon lose your life. When a divination is imprecise, no one confiscates the offerings; when a plan laid before a ruler is unsound, there will be no place left for your own body. The distance between these two fates is vast—like the difference between heaven's crown and earth's sandal. This is what Laozi meant when he said, ‘The nameless is the origin of all things.’ Heaven and earth stretch boundlessly, and all creatures teem in profusion; some find peace, some find danger, and none knows where to settle. How could people like you and me be qualified to interfere in such affairs? Those who withdraw from the world grow more and more secure as time passes; even compared with the righteous principle upheld by Master Zeng, there is no difference."

"You are a group of whisperers—how could you understand the ways of the worthy?"

Three days later, Song Zhong met Jia Yi outside the palace gates. They drew each other aside and spoke privately, each lamenting to the other: "The higher the virtue, the more secure; the greater the power, the more precarious. While one dwells in brilliant prominence, the day of one's downfall approaches. If one divines without accuracy, one forfeits no offering of grain; if one advises the ruler without precision, one has no place to rest. There is a great distance between these—indeed, like heaven's crown and earth's sandals. This is what Laozi called 'the nameless as the origin of all things.' Heaven and earth stretch vast, the myriad things are lively—some at peace, some in peril, none know where they will rest. What am I, that I should presume to judge such matters? The longer one persists, the more secure one becomes; even the righteousness of Zengzi could add nothing to this."

After some time, Song Zhong was sent as envoy to the Xiongnu. He turned back before arriving and was convicted of a crime. Jia Yi became tutor to the Prince of Huainan, who fell from a horse and died. Jia Yi would not eat, and in his bitter resentment died. Thus they were those who flourished the blossoms but severed the roots.