《南華真經註疏》Vol. 33

Nan-hua Zhen-jing Zhu-shu (Commentary and Sub-commentary on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence), Scroll 33

Guo Xiang, commentary; Xuan-ying, Master of Western Florescence, sub-commentary

Miscellaneous Chapters: The Fisherman (Yufu), Chapter 31

Confucius was touring in the Black Canopy Grove and rested at the Apricot Altar. His disciples were reading; Confucius played the zither and sang, but had not finished the piece.

Sub-commentary: “Black” here means dark silk (zi). Confucius (personal name Qiu, style name Zhongni) traveled through the realm teaching the Odes and Documents. Sometimes he rested by the river. The trees were dense enough to block sun and sky; thick leaves and drooping branches hung like curtains, hence “Black Canopy Grove.” An altar (tan) is a raised spot in marshy ground; many apricot trees grew there, hence “Apricot Altar.” Music can harmonize the mind and nurture character, so Confucius played.

A fisherman came ashore, his temples and brows already grizzled. With hair loose and sleeves swaying, he walked to higher ground, stopped, pressed his left hand on his knee, propped his chin with his right hand, and listened to Confucius play until the piece ended.

Sub-commentary: This fisherman is Fan Li of Yue (minister who aided King Goujian of Yue in the Spring and Autumn period). After helping Goujian conquer Wu, he took a small boat through the Three Rivers and Five Lakes, changed his name, and called himself “Fisherman.” Later he sailed to Qi and was known as “Master Gull-Float”; in Lu as “Master White Jade”; in Tao as “Lord Zhu.” He hid his name and talent, avoiding the world and shifting identity as needed. Fan Li also left a letter to the grandee Wen Zhong. Yu means to wave; mei is sleeve; yuan is high, level ground; ju is to reach. The text says the fisherman looked across the plain, waved his sleeves, climbed to a height and halted, then listened to the zither song with chin on hand and knee drawn up.

The fisherman beckoned Zigong and Zilu (both disciples of Confucius); the two came before the guest together. The fisherman pointed at Confucius and asked, “What does that man do?”

Sub-commentary: He was asking what sort of person Confucius was.

Zilu answered, “He is a gentleman of Lu.”

Sub-commentary: Zilu said he was a man of virtue in Lu.

The guest asked, “What is his surname?”

Zilu answered, “Kong.”

Sub-commentary: Asked his surname, Zilu said Kong.

The guest asked again, “By what does the Kong clan cultivate the self and govern affairs?”

Sub-commentary: He further asked what method the Kong family used to refine themselves and handle business.

Before Zilu could reply, Zigong said, “The Kong clan holds loyal faith as their nature, practices benevolence and righteousness, adorns themselves with ritual and music, selects suitable people to order human relations; above they are loyal to the ruler of the age, below they transform and instruct…”

What Confucius teaches is to civilize the people and bring them into orderly harmony, ultimately for the benefit of the whole world. That is precisely what the Kong family devotes itself to.

Commentary: To go along with human nature in humility and gentleness; to follow the deeds of the sages and put rites and music in order; to select and employ the capable so that human relations are rightly arranged; to serve the ruler with loyal sincerity and thereby transform all things and treat people as equals—this is roughly the spirit in which Confucius sought to benefit the people.

The guest asked again: “Are you a ruler with a fief?” Zigong said, “No.” “Are you an aide to a lord or king?” Zigong said, “No, neither.”

Commentary: The guest was asking whether Confucius was a ruler with allotted territory, ranked among the five grades of nobility, or a minister and counselor at the side of lords and kings. Zigong answered that he was neither.

The guest then left with a laugh and, as he walked, said: “Confucius’s benevolence truly deserves the name, yet I fear he cannot escape suffering in his own person. He wears out heart and body and harms his authentic nature. Alas—he is far indeed from the Dao!”

Commentary: To weary mind and body and to injure or lose one’s authentic nature, while stressing only the practice of benevolence, is to stand far from the root and equally far from the subtle, profound Dao. Hence the guest laughed as he turned away and sighed.

Zigong returned and reported this to Confucius. Confucius pushed aside his zither, stood up, and said, “That must have been a sage!” He then went down to look for him. When Confucius reached the lakeshore, the guest was punting with a pole. Seeing Confucius, he brought the boat back to shore and stood there. Confucius stepped back several paces, then bowed and came forward.

Commentary: “Na” means a boat pole. Stepping back before advancing is a posture of reverent courtesy.

The guest asked, “What have you come for?” Confucius said, “Just now the master spoke a few words and left. I am not clever and do not understand their meaning, so I have ventured to wait behind you, hoping to hear even a phrase or two that might in the end help me.”

Commentary: “Nang” means “earlier”; “xuyan” is the lingering sense left in conversation; “zu” means “in the end”; “xiang” means to help. Confucius said he was not sharp enough to grasp the master’s reasoning, and therefore waited respectfully, hoping for a few words that would make up his lack.

The guest said, “Alas, how devoted you are to learning!” Confucius bowed again, then rose and said, “I have studied since youth; I am now sixty-nine, and I have still not heard the highest teaching. Now that I may inquire, how could I dare not be humble?”

Commentary: “Xi” indicates laughter. Confucius said that from youth he had studied benevolence and righteousness, and in old age had still not heard the supreme Dao; therefore he was reverent and cautious and sought instruction with an open mind.

The guest said, “Like kinds keep company; like voices answer one another—this has always been the way of nature. Now I shall set aside what I know and speak of what concerns you.”

Commentary: When the tiger roars, wind rises; when the dragon soars, clouds gather—these too are natural principles.

It is indeed so. For this very reason, the Fisherman (a sage dwelling by the waters) and Xuan Ni (Confucius), though each had his own station in life, could nonetheless resonate with one another and respond in kind. The Fisherman spoke of the ways he had mastered beyond the secular world (principles that transcend worldly affairs), while Confucius devoted himself to ordering human affairs in the world.

What Confucius undertook was the governance of human society. The four stations—Son of Heaven, feudal lord, minister, and commoner—each holding their place and fulfilling their duties: that is the beautiful order of proper rule. When these four depart from their proper stations, there is no greater disorder. Officials govern their own domains of duty; the people attend to their own affairs—then they do not encroach upon one another.

Commentary: Here “ling” (overstepping) also carries the sense of disturbing order. Though human affairs are manifold, when reduced to essentials, they hinge on nothing more than these four stations. When each keeps its place, teaching and governance flourish; when superiors and inferiors mutually overstep their bounds, disorder becomes extreme. Therefore officials each perform their offices, and the people each pursue their livelihoods without mutual interference—this is the constant way of governance.

Fields lie waste, roofs leak, food and clothing run short, tax collection cannot be sustained, wife and concubines fall into discord, elders and juniors lose all order—these are the troubles of the common people.

Commentary: Wasted fields, leaking houses; taxes that cannot be collected on schedule; disorder between wife and concubine in rank, and no proper order among elders and juniors—these are all the troubles of the common people.

Officials cannot meet the demands of office, public affairs are poorly administered, conduct lacks integrity, subordinates grow negligent and idle, achievements cannot be spoken of, rank and salary cannot be properly maintained—these are the troubles of ministers (dafu).

Commentary: Being unable to bear office, handling affairs poorly, letting the people’s lives fall into disorder, and seeing every trade grow slack—these are the troubles of ministers.

The court has no loyal ministers, the state falls into chaos, craftsmen’s skills are crude, tribute goods fail to meet standards, and the order of covenant assemblies in spring and autumn is disrupted—these are the troubles of the Son of Heaven and feudal lords.

Commentary: Disloyal subordinates, feudal lords failing to present tribute as required, and at covenant assemblies of the spring and autumn period, lords forming alliances and ranking one another improperly—these are the troubles of the Son of Heaven and feudal lords.

Yin and Yang fall out of balance; cold and heat no longer follow the seasons, harming all things; feudal lords grow violent and rebellious, launching attacks and plunder on their own authority, ravaging the people; ritual and music lose all measure, wealth is exhausted, human relations break down, and the people’s conduct turns licentious—these are the troubles of the Son of Heaven and his chief ministers.

Commentary: “Rang” (攘) means to exclude or seize by force. Yin and Yang in disorder, seasons out of joint, wars breaking out in succession, all things suffering harm—these are the troubles of high officials such as the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers.

Yet you, above, lack the rank of Son of Heaven, feudal lord, or chief minister; below, you are not a minister in office—yet you presume on your own to polish ritual and music, fix the order of human relations, and thereby teach and transform the common people. Is what you are doing not far too much?

Neither answerable above to the Son of Heaven or the feudal lords, nor accountable below to chief ministers or high counselors, yet presuming on one’s own to revise rites and music, choose talent, instruct the common people, and put all things in order—such a person is one who meddles in affairs that are not his to manage.

People have eight kinds of moral flaw, and affairs have four kinds of calamity; neither can be left unexamined with care.

To take charge of what ought not to be one’s business is called zong (overstepping one’s post and grasping others’ duties). To press forward with counsel when others ignore you is called ning (forcing one’s words upon others to curry favor). To probe another’s mind and then speak along the lines of his wishes is called chan (fawning compliance). To speak without distinguishing right from wrong is called yu (mere ingratiation). To delight in spreading others’ faults is called chan (slander). To sunder others’ friendships and break apart those who are close is called zei (injuring others’ bonds). To praise what is false in order to belittle and harm someone is called te (depraved malice). To praise those who are close even when they are at fault, and to defame those who are distant even when their conduct is good—falsifying facts and harming others in this way—is the conduct of the devious and corrupt. To show an agreeable face toward both good and evil without distinction, while in secret pursuing only what one desires for oneself, is called xian (insidiousness)—that is, outwardly accepting and treating both sides with equal cordiality, then acting according to one’s own desires; such a person is insidious and perverse.

These eight flaws disturb others externally and injure oneself internally. Therefore the gentleman does not befriend such people, and the enlightened ruler does not employ them as ministers.

The so-called four calamities are these:

To love interfering in great affairs, altering established norms amid change in order to seek reputation and merit, is called tao (greedy seizure of credit and achievement). To monopolize tasks and act on one’s own authority, overriding others and doing only as one pleases, is called tan (greed). To see one’s faults yet refuse to reform, and when one hears remonstrance to become all the more extreme, is called hen (obstinate ferocity). When others agree with oneself one deems them acceptable; when they disagree, even if they act well one regards them as wrong—this is called jin (self-importance and stubborn partiality).

All things that match oneself—even what was originally repugnant—will be seen as lovable; all things that differ from oneself—even what was originally lovable—will be seen as repugnant. A person like this is called one who boasts and flatters himself.

These four faults are the four afflictions. Only when one can remove the eight defects and no longer commit these four afflictions may one teach others.

Confucius looked worried and fearful; he sighed deeply, rose, and bowed twice, saying: “In Lu I was twice driven out; in Wei my office was stripped away; in Song men felled the tree under which I taught; between Chen and Cai I was besieged. I do not know what I did wrong to meet with these four kinds of censure.”

The commentary says: “愀然” (qiaoran) describes a look of shame and reverent fear. “罹” (li) means to encounter or suffer. Confucius felt he had done no wrong yet met these four reproaches; he had not yet grasped the earlier teaching, so he raised his question.

The guest’s face turned sorrowful and his color changed as he said: “You are truly hard to enlighten! Someone who fears his own shadow and hates his own footprints runs to shake them off. The more steps he takes, the more footprints there are; the faster he runs, the more closely the shadow follows. Thinking he is still not fast enough, he runs until he collapses from exhaustion and dies—never realizing that if he simply stayed in the shade, the shadow would vanish, and if he kept still, there would be no new footprints. How foolish!”

The commentary says: Dwelling between benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) to gather disciples; inspecting sameness and difference to wait for opportunity; gauging movement and stillness in hope of windfall gain; measuring giving and receiving in hope of fame; clinging to likes and dislikes and treating the regulation of joy and anger as mastery of the Dao, then using all this to instruct others—is to adorn one’s innate nature; one is already not far from calamity.

Carefully cultivate the self and duly guard the authentic root; let reputation and profit gained be returned to others and to outer things, and one will not be dragged down.

The commentary says: Carefully tend the body and guard the nature; return reputation and profit to others and to outer things so that self and things are both preserved—hence no entangling calamity.

Nowadays, if one does not cultivate oneself but seeks something from others, is that not putting the root outside oneself?

The commentary says: Unable to cultivate oneself yet asking it of others—is that not forsaking what is near, seeking what is far, and placing the root outside?

Confucius looked worried and fearful.

The commentary says: “愀然” (qiaoran) here means a self-alerting, reverent fear.

Confucius said: “May I ask—what is meant by ‘authentic’ (zhen)?”

The guest said: “What is called ‘authentic’ is utmost purity and sincerity. Without purity and sincerity, one cannot move others.”

The commentary says: “Authentic” (zhen) means not false; “pure” (jing) means not mixed; “sincere” (cheng) means not pretended. Therefore one who puts on affectation and falsifies the innate nature cannot truly move others.

Hence, forced weeping may look mournful but is not real grief; forced anger may look severe but has no true authority; forced intimacy…

Some people laugh outwardly while their hearts are not truly at ease; genuine sorrow has no sound yet naturally reveals anguish; true anger has not yet erupted yet already shows dignity. Genuine affection, even before it is expressed with a smile, can still be felt as warmth. The real feelings within manifest in outward expression—this is the precious authentic nature (真性).

When authentic nature is applied in human relationships, it means: being loving and filial in serving parents, loyal and steadfast in assisting the ruler, joyful in drinking, and grieved in mourning.

Commentary: The Dao is everywhere and penetrates wherever it reaches. Therefore, when it is realized in human relationships, it takes the forms described above. What follows explains each in turn.

Loyalty and steadfastness take achievement as what matters; drinking takes joy as what matters; mourning takes grief as what matters; serving parents takes mutual fitness as what matters. When affairs are complete and fine, it is not by clinging to one fixed form of behavior.

Commentary: “Steadfast” (贞) is the root of action, so loyalty and steadfastness value achievement. Drinking relaxes the disposition, so joy is what matters. Achievement appears in the outcome of affairs; it should not be confined to one particular pattern of conduct.

In serving parents, what matters is mutual fitness, not counting which specific methods are used; in drinking, what matters is joy, not picking over the vessels; in mourning, what matters is expressing grief, not examining every point of ritual.

Commentary: This further explains the four situations mentioned earlier.

Ritual norms are what secular society formulates and practices; authentic nature is the innate disposition people receive from endowed nature—spontaneous and unalterable.

Commentary: Procedural rules (the ritual articles that regulate conduct) are what the secular world establishes; true nature is received from the primordial Dao and formed naturally, so it cannot be changed.

Therefore the sage models himself on nature, treasures authentic nature, and is not bound by secular ritual.

Commentary: The sage models himself on nature and values the true Dao, so he is not constrained by worldly ritual.

Foolish people are the opposite: they cannot model themselves on nature, do not know how to treasure authentic nature, but instead rush after worldly affairs and change with worldly fashions—so they always feel unsatisfied.

Commentary: “Anxious” (恤) means worried; “busy and scrambling” (禄禄) describes frantic pursuit. The foolish and deluded turn away from the sage’s way: they cannot model themselves on nature and rest in what is fitting, nor do they value virtue and carefree ease. Instead they sink into human affairs, worry over turmoil, are pulled along by the dusty world and keep changing, chase external things without knowing satisfaction—so their hearts are always lacking.

Alas, Master Kong—you fell into the world’s falsity too early and heard the Great Dao too late.

Commentary: This laments that Kongzi’s talent was outstanding yet he long clung to traces left by sages and immersed himself in the flashy falsity of human society, without hearing the subtle Great Dao sooner.

Kongzi bowed again, rose, and said: “Today, meeting you, sir, feels like a gift from Heaven. You do not disdain me but treat me as one who may attend you and teach me yourself. I venture to ask: where do you dwell?”

"May I ask where you live? I wish to become your disciple, complete my studies, and learn the Great Dao."

Confucius rejoiced and sighed with relief, glad to have met the fisherman. He felt as if he had ascended to the celestial realm, thinking: The fisherman surely would not disdain me or refuse to teach. I ought to heed his instruction diligently, willingly accept his commands, and perhaps become his follower. So he asked again: "Where do you live? I wish to follow you and ultimately master the Great Dao."

The fisherman said: "I have heard that one who can walk the same path as another may go together with him; but the subtle Dao cannot be traveled with one who does not understand the Dao. Never transmit the Dao to one who does not understand it—only then will you avoid bringing harm upon yourself."

The commentary explains that "walking the same path" means moving from confusion toward awakening; "subtle Dao" refers to the true root; "understanding" means discerning and distinguishing. When one meets a person of superior capacity, one may discuss the fundamental Dao with him; when one meets someone of lesser capacity, one must not expound profound truths. One must observe the listener's capacity and teach at the right moment—only then will one avoid error.

The fisherman said: "You must exert yourself. I am going, I am going." He then poled his boat away, rowing through the reeds.

The commentary explains that the fisherman was urging Confucius to strive diligently. "Through the reeds" means the boat moved along the channels between the reeds; repeating "I am going" was a solemn and earnest admonition.

Yan Yuan turned the carriage around; Zilu handed up the carriage cord (the rope used for mounting). Confucius did not look back. Only when the water had stilled and the sound of rowing could no longer be heard did he dare to mount the carriage.

The commentary explains that Confucius had met an extraordinary person and heard him discourse on the utmost Dao, and so felt even greater reverence—joy mixed with awe. When his disciples offered the mounting cord, he still did not look back; only when the boat had receded, the water lay calm, and no sound of oars remained did he dare to board.

Zilu, standing beside the carriage, asked: "I, Zhong You, have followed you, Master, for a long time, yet I have never seen you hold anyone in such awe as today. Lords of ten thousand chariots and rulers of a thousand chariots, when they receive you, you always meet them as equals in the courtyard, never lowering yourself. You even show a certain pride. Yet today this fisherman stood facing you with his pole in hand, while you bowed like a sounding stone (bent as the ancient qing instrument), answered respectfully, and bowed in thanks after every remark. Is this not excessive? Your disciples all find it strange: what gives this fisherman the right to earn such respect from you?"

The commentary explains that a Son of Heaven possesses ten thousand chariots and a feudal lord a thousand. "Kang" means to stand as equals; "meeting as equals in the courtyard" means both parties stand facing each other in the courtyard and exchange courtesies according to their respective stations, without one being above the other. When Confucius met the Son of Heaven or feudal lords, he still retained a measure of pride; yet meeting the fisherman, he was deferential in ritual, listened attentively, and bowed in thanks after each reply—because Confucius valued the Dao that transcends the mundane. He prized the "Way beyond the square" (the Dao that rises above worldly ritual and rank), while Zilu viewed matters from within the "square" (worldly order and propriety), and so felt astonished and questioned his master from beside the carriage.

Confucius leaned over the front crossbar of the carriage and sighed: "Ah, Zhong You, you are truly sunk deep in ritual and convention, hard to enlighten…"

Ritual and propriety have indeed loosened somewhat, yet a coarse and shallow cast of mind still has not been dispelled.

Commentary: This laments that the decay of ritual and propriety has gone on for a long time while people remain crude and dull—hence Confucius leaned on the chariot crossbar and sighed.

“Let me go on to tell you. Failing to respect elders is a breach of ritual; failing to esteem the worthy is a lack of benevolence (ren). Unless someone possesses the highest virtue, he cannot make others humble and yielding; and even if yielding is extracted, without sincerity one cannot grasp the true purport of the Dao (the Way). Therefore, what harms oneself over the long run is unbenevolence. For a person, there is no greater calamity than being unbenevolent—and Zhong You has taken it upon himself to act this way alone.”

Commentary: Confucius called Zhong You forward and pointed out his fault. Not respecting elders is impolite; not respecting those who deserve esteem shows a lack of benevolence in the heart. Only someone of deep virtue can make others modest; yet modesty without sincerity cannot reach the depths of the Dao. Unbenevolence and lack of love are the root of all misfortune. Confucius marveled that Zhong You should monopolize such conduct.

“Moreover, the Dao is what all things depend on for birth and for how they operate. Things that lose the Dao die; those that gain it live. Acting against the Dao fails; acting with it succeeds. Thus wherever the Dao is present, the sage honors it. The fisherman now embodies the Dao—how could I fail to respect him?”

Note: This chapter shows that even someone dwelling among rivers and seas may understand humility better than gentlemen who sit above others. The one Confucius forgave and welcomed was hardly the fisherman alone: he would travel the four quarters of heaven and earth, connecting all without exclusion, so that every kind of living being could fully express its intent, exhaust principle, and settle its allotted life—this is the way of the perfected person.

Commentary: “You” (由) here means to follow; “shu” (庶) means the multitude. The Dao generates the myriad things, hence the name Dao. All beings are born through it; following the Dao they live and succeed; turning against it or losing it they die and fail. Whether high or low, wherever the Dao dwells, it deserves respect. Since the fisherman carries the Dao within him, how could Confucius not honor him?