The Old Fisherman莊子 雜篇 漁父

Confucius wandered in a grove dark as a black curtain, and he sat down to rest on the apricot mound. His disciples read their books, and Confucius played the zither and sang. The tune had not run half its course.

There was an old fisherman who came down from his boat. His beard and eyebrows were all white, his hair hung loose, and his sleeves trailed. He walked up the bank and stopped where the dry ground began. He propped his left hand on his knee, rested his chin in his right hand, and listened. When the tune ended he called Zigong and Zilu, and the two of them came before him.

The stranger pointed at Confucius and said, "What does that man do?"

Zilu answered, "He is a gentleman of Lu."

The stranger asked what his clan was. Zilu answered, "His clan is Kong."

The stranger said, "What does the man of Kong set in order?"

Zilu did not answer, and Zigong answered, "The man of Kong by his nature holds to loyalty and good faith. In his own person he practices benevolence and rightness. He adorns the rites and music, and he sorts out the bonds between people. Above, he is loyal to the rulers of the age. Below, he transforms the common people. By this he means to bring benefit to the world. This is what the man of Kong sets in order."

He asked again, "Is he a lord who holds land?"

Zigong said, "He is not."

"Is he the aide of a feudal lord or a king?"

Zigong said, "He is not."

At this the stranger laughed, turned away, and said as he walked, "Benevolent he is indeed, but I fear he will not keep his own body from harm. He wears out his heart and wearies his body, and so he puts his own truth in danger. Ah, how far he has parted from the Way!"

Zigong went back and reported to Confucius. Confucius pushed his zither aside, rose, and said, "That man is a sage!"

Then he went down to seek him. He came to the edge of the marsh, where the man was just setting his pole to draw his boat away. The man looked back, saw Confucius, turned to face him, and stood still. Confucius stepped back, bowed twice, and came forward.

The stranger said, "What is it that you seek?"

Confucius said, "A little while ago you left your words unfinished and went away. I am unworthy and did not know what you meant. I have waited quietly downwind. I hope to hear even the sound of your coughing, so that in the end you may help me."

The stranger said, "Ah. How deep is your love of learning!"

Confucius bowed twice, rose, and said, "From my youth I have cultivated learning, and I have come to this day, sixty-nine years of age, and I have never heard the highest teaching. How could I dare not to empty my heart?"

The stranger said, "Like kinds follow one another, like sounds answer one another. This has always been the pattern of Heaven. Let me set aside what I hold and put in order what you do. What you do is the affairs of men.

The Son of Heaven, the feudal lords, the great officers, and the common people: when these four are each correct of themselves, that is the beauty of good order, and when the four leave their places, there is no disorder greater than that. When each officer governs his own duty and each man attends to his own business, then nothing is encroached upon.

So it is. When the fields run to weeds and the roof leaks, when clothing and food fall short, when the taxes do not come in, when wife and concubine do not agree, when elder and younger keep no order, these are the cares of the common people. When ability does not match the office, when the business of office is not managed, when conduct is not clean and white, when the underlings are slack and idle, when there is no merit and no good name, when rank and salary cannot be held, these are the cares of the great officer. When the court has no loyal ministers, when the state and the house are dark and disordered, when the craftsmen have no skill, when the tribute goods are not fine, when one falls behind in the spring and autumn audiences, when one does not obey the Son of Heaven, these are the cares of the feudal lord. When yin and yang do not agree, when cold and heat come out of season and harm the things of the world, when the feudal lords are violent and unruly and seize and attack one another as they please and so ruin the people, when the rites and music keep no measure, when goods and money are used up, when the bonds between people are not set in order, when the hundred families run wild, these are the cares of the Son of Heaven and his officers.

Now you have neither the power of a ruler or an officer above, nor the post of a great minister with duties below, and yet you take it upon yourself to adorn the rites and music and to sort out the bonds between people, so as to transform the common people. Is this not to meddle in far too much?

Moreover, men have eight faults and affairs have four troubles, and you cannot fail to look into them.

To take up what is not your business is called officiousness. To press yourself forward when no one looks to you is called fawning. To watch a man's wishes and lead your words by them is called flattery. To speak without choosing right from wrong is called toadying. To delight in speaking of another's faults is called slander. To break up friendships and part kin is called doing harm. To praise a man falsely so as to bring him down is called malice. To make no choice between good and bad, to wear two faces and please them both, and to draw out in secret what you want, is called treachery.

These eight faults bring disorder to others outside and harm to your own body within. The gentleman will not befriend such a man, and the enlightened ruler will not take him as a minister.

As for what are called the four troubles. To love the managing of great affairs, to alter and change what has long been constant, and so to hang merit and a name upon it, is called grasping. To keep knowledge to yourself and handle matters as you please, to encroach on others and use only your own way, is called greed. To see your own fault and not mend it, and to grow worse when you hear a remonstrance, is called stubbornness. To hold a man right when he agrees with you, and, when he does not agree with you, to call him bad though he is good, is called conceit. These are the four troubles.

Only when a man can put away the eight faults and not walk in the four troubles can he begin to be taught."

Confucius changed his face and sighed. He bowed twice, rose, and said, "Twice I was driven out of Lu. My tracks were wiped away in Wei. The tree was felled over me in Song. I was surrounded between Chen and Cai. I do not know what I did wrong. How is it that I have met with these four slanders?"

The stranger looked sorrowful and changed his face. He said, "How hard it is to make you understand!

There was a man who feared his own shadow and hated his own footprints, and who ran away to be rid of them. The more often he lifted his feet, the more footprints there were. The faster he ran, the closer his shadow clung to his body. He thought himself still too slow, so he ran faster and faster without rest, until his strength gave out and he died. He did not know that in the shade his shadow would rest, and that in stillness his footprints would cease. His folly too was great.

You look into the space between benevolence and rightness. You examine the border of sameness and difference. You watch the changes of movement and stillness. You fix the measure of taking and giving. You set in order the feelings of liking and disliking. You bring the beats of joy and anger into harmony. And still you barely escape harm.

Cultivate your own person with care. Guard your truth with caution. Give things back to other men, and nothing will burden you. Now you do not cultivate your own person, but seek it in others. Is this not to look outside?"

Confucius changed his face and said, "May I ask what is meant by truth?"

The stranger said, "Truth is the utmost of purity and sincerity. Without purity and sincerity a man cannot move others.

So the man who forces himself to weep may look sad, but he does not grieve. The man who forces himself to anger may look stern, but he carries no awe. The man who forces himself to be close may smile, but there is no warmth. True grief makes no sound and yet it grieves. True anger does not show itself and yet it awes. True closeness does not smile and yet it warms.

When truth is within, the spirit moves without. This is why truth is held precious.

Put to use in the ways of men, it is this. In serving parents it is kindness and filial care. In serving a ruler it is loyalty and uprightness. In drinking wine it is gladness and joy. In mourning it is sorrow and grief.

Loyalty and uprightness take success for their aim. Drinking wine takes joy for its aim. Mourning takes grief for its aim. Serving parents takes their comfort for its aim. Where the beauty of success is reached, there is no one fixed path to it.

If you serve your parents so that they are content, you do not argue about the means. If you drink wine in joy, you do not choose the vessels. If you mourn in grief, you do not ask about the rites.

The rites are what the customs of the age make. Truth is what is received from Heaven. It is so of itself and cannot be altered. So the sage takes Heaven for his model and holds truth precious, and he is not bound by custom.

The fool does the opposite. He cannot take Heaven for his model, and he frets over men. He does not know how to hold truth precious, but drifts along and is changed by custom, and so he is never enough. What a pity that you sank early into the falseness of men and have heard of the great Way so late!"

Confucius bowed twice again, rose, and said, "That I have met you today is like a blessing from Heaven. You did not think it shameful to count me among those who serve you, and you have taught me in person. I dare to ask where you dwell. Let me receive your instruction there and finish my study of the great Way."

The stranger said, "I have heard it said, 'Go with the man you can go with, and reach the subtle Way. The man you cannot go with does not know that Way. Take care and do not go with him. Then your body will bear no blame.' Do your best. I leave you now. I leave you now."

With that he pushed off his boat and went away along the reeds.

Yan Yuan turned the carriage about and Zilu held out the mounting cord, but Confucius did not look back. He waited for the waves on the water to settle, and only when the sound of the pole could no longer be heard did he dare to mount.

Zilu asked from beside the carriage, "I have served you a long time, but I have never seen the Master meet anyone and be so overawed.

The lord of ten thousand chariots and the ruler of a thousand chariots have always divided the courtyard with the Master and bowed to him as an equal, and even then the Master had a proud look about him. Now this old fisherman stood facing you with his pole in his hand, and the Master bent at the waist like a chiming stone and bowed at every word he answered. Is this not going too far? Your disciples all think it strange of you. How does a fisherman come by such treatment?"

Confucius leaned on the crossbar of the carriage and sighed. He said, "How hard it is to change Zilu! You have been steeped in rites and manners this long while, and still your rough and mean heart has not left you. Come forward. I will tell you.

To meet an elder and not respect him is to lose the rites. To see a worthy man and not honor him is to be without benevolence. If that man were not a perfect man, he could not bring others to humble themselves before him. And if a man humbles himself before another without purity, he does not reach his own truth, and so he harms his own body for a long time.

What a pity. For a man, no calamity is greater than to be without benevolence, and you alone take it upon yourself.

Moreover, the Way is that by which the ten thousand things come to be. The things of the world die when they lose it and live when they gain it. In doing a task, to go against it is to fail, and to follow it is to succeed. So wherever the Way is, the sage honors it. This old fisherman may be said to have the Way. How should I dare not to respect him?"