illustration/Ryan Maher
Little Fish lived in a pond, a freshwater pond. (This is written in the form of a fable, so pay attention; it might be the only fable you read all day.) Little Fish didn’t know he lived in a pond, freshwater or otherwise. He didn’t know he lived in water at all. Least of all did he know he was a fish, diminutive or otherwise. When you go down the list of facts of which Little Fish was ignorant, it’s quite impressively long.
This lack of knowledge contrasts markedly with the knowledge of people, of course, who are the ones who name the things. It is not the fish who decides whether he lives in a lake or a pond, especially if it seems to be a rather large pond or a rather small lake. But certainty is what is called for in this situation, and certainty will be achieved.
This is not to say Little Fish possessed no knowledge. He knew bugs were good to eat and they appeared on the water’s surface just after the sun came up. Little Fish knew that when the water became uncomfortably warm from the sunshine, it felt good to swim deeper. It’s just that Little Fish didn’t know bugs were a thing, let alone what surface, sun, swim or deeper meant.
One day Little Fish had what people would call an “adventure.” He swam toward the bugs like he did every dawn, but got distracted by something shiny and alluring. Next thing he knew, he was face-to-face with what appeared to be a 10-year-old boy, though he couldn’t be sure of his age. “Too small,” said a voice, and suddenly Little Fish was back in the water with the Mother of All Toothaches.
Little Fish was shaken by this encounter. The water was warming, so he did what he always did and the cooler, deeper water helped revive him. Then he heard another voice. “Hello, Little Fish,” it said.
“Who are you?” replied Little Fish.
“I am the other fish in the title of this tale. I am Big Fish. Do not be alarmed, but if I had not already eaten my fill of bugs, I would just have eaten you.”
Little Fish pondered this. “It would seem prudent of me to keep my distance from you, Big Fish,” he said.
“Yes, Little Fish, but we live in something called a pond, which means it has no corners in which to hide. I can lay in the deeper water unseen by you until the day my belly is not full of bugs. Then it is only a matter of time before you wind up on my menu.”
Little Fish grasped the seriousness of these words, and his brain took another small step in its evolution. “Big Fish, I know your impulse is to eat me and that is understandable,” he said. “I just want you to know that if you do, you will lose your only guide to the supernatural Other World, from which I have recently returned alive.
“I have witnessed marvelous sights in the Other World and I am sure this experience would be of great interest to an intelligent fish such as yourself,” Little Fish continued. “If you let me live I will show you the way to this Other World.”
Big Fish was intrigued. “I have often wondered about the existence of such a place,” he said. “If you show me what I need to know, I should be grateful to you, Little Fish.”
“Follow me,” said Little Fish, swimming into the warmer, shallow water. Big Fish initially held back, but his curiosity got the better of him and he swam along.
“Over there, look!” shouted Little Fish. “There’s the portal — shiny and alluring!”
“Yes, Little Fish, I see it,” said Big Fish, and just like that, he was gone. Big Fish was not “too small.” Big Fish was a “keeper.”
Little Fish lived on for many years and became Big Fish himself. He stayed in the deeper water and was never tempted to visit the Other World again. The new Little Fish in the pond often asked him for advice, and sometimes he told of his experience in the Other World. Some listened and became more prudent. Others — being fish, after all — not so much.
The moral of this fable: It is often a mistake to accept spiritual guidance from a fish.
