《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 96

Collected Subtleties of the Meaning of the True Classic of Southern Florescence, Volume 98 (Part One)

Studied by the Daoist priest Chu Boxiu of Wulin

The Old Fisherman, Chapter One

Confucius was strolling through the grove of Black Gauze when he sat down to rest on the Apricot Altar. His disciples were reading, while Confucius played the zither and sang. Before he had finished the piece, an old fisherman stepped ashore and came toward him. His hair and eyebrows were already streaked with white. With his hair loose and sleeves rolled up, he walked along the bank and stopped some distance from the water. He rested his left hand on his knee and supported his chin with his right. After listening to the piece, he beckoned Zizigong and Zilu to come over.

The two went to him together. Pointing at Confucius, the fisherman asked, “What does that man do?”

Zilu replied, “He is a gentleman of the state of Lu.”

The fisherman asked, “What is his family name?”

Zilu replied, “His surname is Kong.”

“What does Master Kong study?”

Before Zilu could answer, Zizigong said, “Master Kong takes loyalty and trustworthiness as his nature and conduct. He practices benevolence and righteousness, studies ritual and music, and distinguishes the relationships among people. Above, he is loyal to the ruler of the age; below, he instructs the people. He hopes to use these principles to benefit all under Heaven. These are the principles Master Kong studies.”

The fisherman asked, “Is he a ruler with his own domain?”

Zizigong replied, “No.”

“Is he an adviser to a lord or king?”

“Neither.”

The fisherman laughed, turned, and walked away, saying, “He speaks of benevolence, and one might say he does indeed speak of benevolence. But I fear he cannot preserve himself. He exhausts his mind and wears out his body, thereby endangering his original nature. Alas, how far he is from the Dao!”

Zizigong returned and told Confucius what had been said. Confucius pushed aside his zither and stood up. “Could he be a sage?” he said, then hurried after the fisherman to the waterside. The fisherman was holding an oar, preparing to push off. He looked back, saw Confucius, and turned to face him. Confucius hurried up and bowed twice, saying, “A moment ago, sir, you left before you had finished speaking. I am dull by nature and do not understand your meaning. I venture to stay by your side in the hope of hearing your instruction and receiving your guidance.”

The fisherman said, “Ah, you are truly eager to learn!”

Confucius said, “I have studied since childhood, and now I am sixty-nine. I still have not heard genuine instruction. How could I dare not ask humbly to learn?”

The fisherman said, “Those of the same kind draw close to one another, and sounds of the same pitch answer one another: this is the way of Heaven. Allow me to set aside my own views and assess what you do. What you speak of concerns human affairs. When the Son of Heaven, the feudal lords, the great officers, and the common people each remain in their proper place, that is good governance. If these four classes leave their respective places, there is no greater disorder under Heaven. Officials attend to the duties of their offices, and the people concern themselves with their livelihoods; then no one oversteps their authority and intrudes upon others. Thus, fields may lie waste, houses may leak, and clothing…”

What the common people worry about is that there will not be enough food, that they will be unable to pay their taxes, that their wives and concubines will not get along, and that the young and old will not observe their proper order.

What officials worry about is being unable to fulfill their duties, mismanaging government affairs, having a questionable character, seeing their subordinates grow lax, failing to distinguish themselves through their achievements, and losing their rank and stipend.

What ministers worry about is the lack of loyal officials at court, disorder in the state, the poor skill of artisans, tribute goods that fail to meet standards, and the spring and autumn sacrifices being held at the wrong time.

What the Son of Heaven and the feudal lords worry about is that an imbalance of Yin-Yang will harm the myriad things; that rebellious lords will slaughter the people; that rites and music will be improper, resources will be scarce, ethical relationships and social norms will collapse, and the people will give themselves over to excess and debauchery. These are the concerns of the Son of Heaven and the officials responsible for them.

Now, you have no authority above you over rulers, feudal lords, or the officials in charge, and below you hold no ministerial post or office overseeing government affairs. Yet you take it upon yourself to refine rites and music, put human relationships in order, and use these to instruct ordinary people. Is that not meddling too much?

Moreover, there are eight faults in people and four troubles in their conduct; these must be examined.

The eight faults are these: taking charge of matters that are not yours to manage is called “overreaching”; approaching people uninvited when they have paid you no mind is called “intrusiveness”; guessing what others think in order to steer your words is called “flattery”; speaking without distinguishing right from wrong is called “sycophancy”; taking pleasure in discussing other people’s faults is called “slander”; sowing discord in relationships and alienating friends and family is called “treachery”; using false praise to ruin someone’s reputation is called “deception”; and, unable to distinguish good from bad, catering blindly to another’s expression while secretly pursuing what you want is called “craftiness.” These eight faults disturb others outwardly and injure oneself inwardly. A noble person will not befriend anyone with these faults, and an enlightened ruler will not employ them as ministers.

The four troubles are these: delighting in meddling in important affairs and arbitrarily changing established practices to win fame is called “presumption”; hoarding knowledge and responsibilities, intruding on others and showing off one’s own abilities is called “greed”; seeing one’s own mistakes but refusing to correct them, and becoming more stubborn when admonished, is called “obstinacy”; and deciding that something is right when others agree with you, but calling it wrong even when it is done well if they disagree, is called “arrogance.”

Only after you can cast off these eight faults and avoid these four troubles can you begin to receive instruction.

Confucius sighed mournfully and said, “I have twice been driven out of Lu. In Wei, my tracks were wiped away; in Song, someone cut down a tree over me; and between Chen and Cai, I was surrounded. I do not know what I have done wrong to deserve these four accusations.”

The visitor said, “You are truly slow to wake up! There was once a man who feared his shadow and hated his footprints, so he tried to outrun them. The faster he walked, the more footprints appeared; the harder he ran, the less his shadow would leave him. Thinking he still was not fast enough, he kept running until he was exhausted and died. He did not know that stepping into the shade would make his shadow disappear, and keeping still would stop his footprints. You are just as confused. Think carefully…”

When people sincerely follow the way of benevolence and righteousness, discern what is alike and what is different, understand the changes between movement and stillness, find the proper measure in taking and giving, bring their feelings of liking and disliking into harmony, and restrain joy and anger, they come close to the Dao. They carefully cultivate themselves and firmly preserve their original nature. Then they can give external things to others without being burdened by them. If people do not cultivate themselves but seek things from others, have they not placed what is fundamental outside themselves?

Confucius, his expression grave, asked, “May I ask what is meant by ‘the Real’?”

The visitor replied, “The Real is sincerity brought to its utmost. Without sincerity, nothing can be moved. So someone who forces themselves to weep may seem grief-stricken, but does not truly mourn; someone who forces themselves to rage may seem fierce, but has no real authority; someone who forces themselves to be affectionate may wear a smile, but is not kind at heart. True grief need not find expression in tears, yet it is genuine grief. True anger has authority before it is shown. True warmth is felt as kindness before a smile appears. What is true in the heart reveals itself outwardly. This is why the original nature is precious.

“When the Real is put into practice in human relationships, one serves one’s parents with loving devotion and one’s ruler with loyalty and steadfastness; when drinking, one gives oneself over to enjoyment; when in mourning, one feels genuine sorrow. The aim of loyalty is to accomplish what is entrusted to one; the aim of drinking is to enjoy oneself; the aim of mourning is to feel grief; the aim of serving one’s parents is to put them at ease. The excellence of accomplished service does not lie in leaving behind some fixed display. In serving one’s parents, all that matters is their comfort, so there is no need to cling to particular methods. In drinking, all that matters is enjoyment, so there is no need to be particular about the drinking vessels. In mourning, all that matters is grief, so there is no need to inquire whether every ritual detail has been observed.

“Rituals are devised by people of the world; the Real comes from Heaven, arising naturally and unalterably. Thus, sages model themselves on the Way of Heaven and honor the Real, without being bound by worldly conventions. Fools do the opposite: unable to model themselves on the Way of Heaven, they care only about pleasing others. They do not know how to value the Real, but busily run about, changing with the customs of the world. Is that not truly lamentable? In your youth you were deeply immersed in human contrivance, and only in your old age have you heard of the Great Dao.”

Confucius said, “Today I have been fortunate enough to meet you, sir. It is as though I have received a gift from Heaven. You have not rejected me, but have treated me as a student you can call upon, and have instructed me in person. I venture to ask where you live. Please let me follow you and study until I have mastered the Great Dao.”

The visitor said, “I have heard that those who can travel together are brought along to the wondrous Dao; those who cannot travel together do not understand the Dao. Take care not to force someone to travel with you; then you yourself will avoid error. Take good care of yourself. I am leaving now—I am leaving.”

With that, he poled his boat away, gradually disappearing along the waterway through the reeds. Yan Yuan turned the carriage around, and Zilu handed over the reins. Confucius did not look back until the ripples had subsided and the sound of the oars could no longer be heard. Only then did he dare to climb into the carriage. Zilu walked beside it and asked, “I, Zhong You (Zilu), have followed you and served you for a long time, yet I have never seen you treat anyone as you treated that man…”

The ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots and the ruler of a state with a thousand chariots would both receive Confucius as an equal, observing the same rites; at times, Confucius even showed a haughty air. Yet now the Fisherman stands leaning backward, holding an oar, and Confucius bends low in a deep bow, his body curved like a qing, an ancient musical instrument bent upward at one end and downward at the other. When the Fisherman says, “Bow,” Confucius bows at once. Is this not going too far? All the disciples found it strange. What could give the Fisherman such power to command Confucius’s respect?

Confucius leaned on the crossbar at the front of his carriage and sighed. “You, You (Zilu, a disciple of Confucius), are truly hard to teach! You have been immersed in ritual and righteousness for a long time, yet you still have not shed your crude, unrefined heart. Let me tell you: to meet an elder without showing respect is a breach of ritual; to see a worthy person without honoring them is inhumanity. Unless someone is a Perfected One, a person who has reached the highest state, they cannot treat others with humility. And if they are humble toward others but not wholehearted, they cannot attain the true Dao. Inhumanity, then, does great harm to people. How sad! No calamity is greater than inhumanity, yet you have made it your own.

“The Dao is the source from which all things arise. When things lose the Dao, they die; when they obtain it, they live. Actions that go against the Dao fail; those that accord with it succeed. Therefore, wherever the Dao is found, a sage must honor it. The Fisherman can surely be said to have attained the Dao. How could I dare not respect him?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: This chapter shows that even someone who lives beyond rivers and seas may treat those who dwell among them with humility. What did Confucius follow and allow to unfold naturally? It was more than just the Fisherman. He would roam freely through the six directions of empty space, reaching everywhere without limitation, enabling even the smallest living creatures to express themselves fully, investigate the principles of things, and rest content with their heavenly allotment. This is the way of the Perfected One.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Confucius understood his nature and guarded his spirit while acting in the world. How, then, could he have invited the Fisherman’s criticism? The story is written this way because most people who study Confucius learn only his outward conduct. Through the Fisherman, Zhuangzi illustrates that what Confucius truly valued was beyond the understanding of ordinary people. The Confucius whom Zigong describes to the Fisherman is precisely the Confucius known to conventional Confucian scholars. Though vast, the world is still only one among the myriad things. Would Confucius, in becoming Confucius, really have made the myriad things his foundation? The true essence of the Dao is used to cultivate oneself; only what remains is used to govern the state and the world. If Confucius had really done what Zigong says, taking on such tasks without holding the proper office, would he not have been far from the Dao? Seen in this light, it would hardly be surprising for him to incur the “Eight Faults and Four Ills”—the eight failings and four ills described by Zhuangzi. Look at later generations who acquired only Confucius’s outward conduct, and examine what they did: Zhuangzi’s words seem to have been written from direct observation a thousand years later. How could such a person not be called a spirit-like being?

Master Yidu draws on the parable in the “The Old Fisherman” chapter of the Zhuangzi to explain that Confucius was not able to follow his heart until he reached the age of seventy, and that this brought him to a state of accepting his fate. Before the age of sixty-nine, Confucius was occupied with governing worldly affairs and promoting moral instruction. The “eight flaws and four faults” mentioned in the text are also part of human nature and hard to avoid. Sages establish rules in accordance with human nature, and so follow those standards in their words and actions; inwardly, however, they have already gone beyond them.

The Zhuangzi uses parables to criticize worldly conduct, holding that everyone, from the Son of Heaven to the common people, has a proper order to observe. The various failings and faults described in the text do indeed reflect reality. Confucius said that even at sixty-nine he had not yet attained anything. Was this not because he had still been unable to “follow his heart”? At the point when one can truly follow the heart, practicing benevolence and righteousness, loyalty and trustworthiness, observing ritual and music, and ordering human relationships—all the practices needed to govern the world—are no longer a person’s fundamental nature. It is like seeing the moon by following a pointing finger: the finger itself is not the moon. Once Confucius reached this point, he no longer needed instruction, and the Old Fisherman no longer needed to speak. That is why he said, “I’m off, I’m off.” In the end, the two forgot each other in silence.

Master Bixu says that when scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants each focus on their own work, they are not disturbed by worldly gain. By responding to things as they arise, they can live comfortably and without worry. Those with narrow ambitions lack the capacity to plan for great undertakings; those who have lost the ability to command lack the means to grasp and hold on. As a result, they cannot establish achievements or secure their stipends.

Plans that fail to suit the times and words that lack credibility lead to trouble. Excessive labor makes craftsmanship crude, while too many nobles cause tribute goods to decline in quality. Going against what is reasonable provokes resentment; delays and broken promises bring trouble afterward. Changing things from their proper state creates discord; altering established norms at will harms them. Excessive anger can lead to rebellion, and anger pushed to its extreme leads to conflict and attack. A cumbersome system of ritual and music makes people unruly; excessive levies and grain taxes drive the people into poverty. If one can turn back and correct these practices, these failings and faults can be avoided.

Confucius traveled among the states, hoping to escape criticism. This was like running through dust while hoping to keep one’s clothes clean, or walking in the rain while hoping one’s headcloth would stay dry. To be among things without being burdened by them, and to encounter other people without being bound by human ties: cultivate oneself and preserve one’s true nature, and there will be no entanglements between people. “True” means one’s natural inborn character. Inwardly, it is sincerity; outwardly, it can resonate with Heaven, Earth, and human affairs. In human relationships, loyalty, filial devotion, grief, and joy all find their proper measure. Even when achievements are accomplished, they leave no trace of deliberate contrivance.

Ritual is the standard for worldly instruction; the true is one’s inborn nature. The foolish worry about how others judge them and change themselves to suit convention, and so fall short of the Dao. The Dao spoken of by the Old Fisherman depends neither on deliberate cultivation nor on elaborate action. It is calm and free of desire, and all forms of goodness gather there naturally. This is why Confucius paid reverence to the Old Fisherman.

Liu Gai’s commentary says: People consider what is like themselves to be right. Thus the King of Zhao regarded Zhuangzi as a worthy man. They consider what differs from themselves to be wrong. Thus Bao Zhi, said to have been a great bandit, regarded Zhongni (Confucius) as a thief. In fact, neither similarity nor difference should serve as the standard for judgment. What matters is whether something accords with the Dao (the Way). I shall fully explain what deserves respect. This is the purpose behind the “Fisherman” chapter, which must therefore use Confucius’s name to convey its argument.

Natural authenticity and the ways of human society are far apart, yet root and branch, beginning and end, have never been mutually exclusive. When true nature is accumulated within, spirit appears outwardly; the functions of penal codes, names, and ritual law are still more external expressions. Zhongni understood distress and its causes, and so shared the people’s worries, hoping thereby to benefit all under Heaven. Those who preserve their authenticity, too, cherish and care for themselves. Laozi once said that only one who cherishes and cares for himself can be entrusted with governing the world. From this we can see that there is, from the outset, a way to benefit the world through a form of governance that does not rely on deliberate rule. This is precisely what Confucius approved.

As for Chang Ju and Jie Ni, recluses from the Spring and Autumn period who withdrew from the world to preserve their integrity, they nevertheless violated the bonds of human relationships. Confucius never shied away from criticizing and refuting them. This shows that the intent conveyed through the parable has a purpose of its own.

Lüzhai says: By the late Spring and Autumn period, the order of court audiences had already fallen into confusion. “Praising” means commending those who do not deserve praise, thereby encouraging wrongdoing. “Slandering” means disparaging those who do not deserve disparagement. “Using one’s expression to cater to another’s wishes” means watching the other person’s face and accommodating their preferences; “making one’s face compliant” means displaying an obedient expression; and “showing both sides a pleasing face” means pretending to agree with everyone. These are all great afflictions of human life. Only after casting off these faults can one speak of the Dao.

The “Fisherman” says that everything Confucius did was for others, and so he could not avoid the world’s criticism. If one can cultivate oneself and preserve natural authenticity, without clinging to the opposition between self and external things, one will not be entangled. To neglect oneself and rush single-mindedly about for others—is that not also to direct one’s thoughts outward? Without purity and sincerity, one cannot move others. This accords with the saying that utmost sincerity can move the spirits. Forced tears, forced laughter, and forced displays of affection are all inferior to genuine feeling.

When “truth” resides within, spirit appears outwardly; ritual is an external ornament. What worldly people call “truth” is in fact the principle endowed by Heaven and formed naturally. They do not understand the value of the Heavenly Nobility—that dignity which comes from virtue—but instead regard worldly stipends as true blessings. They willingly let common customs change them, and so are always dissatisfied. Those of low status whose intentions are impure, too, cannot attain true nature. This point is also addressed to students. The fisherman is a person of the Dao. I honor his Dao, and therefore respect him.

The Chu family’s Guanjian (Observations) says: “Some believe the Fisherman is the transformed appearance of Fan Li, the late Spring and Autumn statesman of Yue, sailing across the Five Lakes; Qu…” [The original text ends here.]

The original text says that there is no need to insist on identifying the fisherman Confucius met beside the marsh. People such as Jiang Taigong, Yan Ziling, Zhang Zhihe, and Lu Guimeng were all recluses of the rivers and lakes who concealed their virtue and talent. There may also have been others whose names were hidden. How could anyone establish every identity with certainty?

“Black Canopy” describes a place where the trees grow so thickly that their shade is dark as a curtain; it was used as the name of that place. The Nanhua Perfect Scripture (another name for the Zhuangzi) conveys its meaning through the exchange between the fisherman and Confucius. Its purpose is the same as in the story of Jieyu, the madman of Chu, singing as he passed Confucius. Confucius cared deeply for the world and was eager to make a difference, so his visible activity in public life was conspicuous, and people could judge him by it. The fisherman therefore urged him to remove his own flaws, keep clear of danger, cultivate body and mind, preserve his original nature, and leave worldly things to the world.

Reputation, too, is an external thing. The Master of Creation cuts down what exceeds its proper measure; excessive display invites envy. What is truly precious lies within oneself. External things are not worth comparing with others. If one does not know how to cherish one’s original nature, the heart has no guiding center. It is hardly surprising, then, to drift with the current and be reshaped by worldly custom.

The two analogies—“fearing one’s shadow and hating one’s footprints,” and “forcing oneself to cry, forcing oneself to grow angry”—are especially apt. The passage beginning “In serving one’s parents, be kind and filial” is also of great help in governing the world. It shows that the fisherman was not concerned only with cultivating himself in isolation; there is simply a proper time to enter public life and a proper time to withdraw. Confucius understood something from these words and was even willing to set aside what he had learned, ultimately accepting the fisherman’s teaching. Those who seek to govern the world and act energetically must, on hearing the benefits of Wuwei (non-action), acknowledge it as their guiding principle.

The fisherman’s departure by boat shows that he had imparted his teaching without leaving a trace. Confucius waited until the ripples had settled and the sound of the oars had faded before daring to climb into his carriage. This shows how completely he was moved by hearing words of ultimate truth: although the fisherman had gone, reverence remained in his heart.

What the fisherman said simply made clear the Confucius seen by ordinary people: they saw only the traces of his activity in the world. The Nanhua Perfect Scripture alone truly understood Confucius’s inner thoughts. It pointed out his actions and criticized them so that readers might silently grasp what he called the “true.” People often blame this scripture for criticizing Confucius. In my view, however, the Nanhua Perfect Scripture understood best how to honor him. It speaks by turning the conventional meaning upside down; that is probably what this means.

Collected Subtle Interpretations of the Nanhua Perfect Scripture, juan 98