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Chapter 31 of 33
庄子
Confucius was strolling through the Silk-Weaver Forest and sat down to rest on Apricot Terrace. His disciples were reading, and Confucius was playing the zither and singing. Halfway through the piece, an old fisherman stepped down from his boat. His beard and eyebrows were completely white. With hair loose and sleeves flapping, he walked up along the high bank until he reached a flat area, where he stopped. Pressing his left hand on his knee and resting his right hand on his chin, he listened quietly. When the piece ended, he beckoned Zilu and Zigong over to ask them a question.
Pointing at Confucius, the fisherman asked, "What sort of man is he?" Zilu replied, "He is a gentleman of Lu." The fisherman asked about his surname and family. Zilu said, "His surname is Kong." The fisherman asked, "What does Mr. Kong devote himself to?" Zilu did not answer, so Zigong took over and said, "This man Kong is by nature simply and faithfully devoted to loyalty and trustworthiness, personally practicing benevolence and righteousness, cultivating ritual and music, and regulating human relations. Above, he is loyal to his ruler; below, he educates the people, wishing to benefit all under heaven. This is what Mr. Kong devotes himself to."
The fisherman asked again, "Is he a feudal lord with territory?" Zigong said, "No." "Then is he an advisor to a marquis or king?" Zigong said, "No." The fisherman laughed, turned around, and walked back, saying, "Benevolent indeed, but I fear he will not escape harm himself. He labors his mind and exhausts his body, and in doing so endangers his genuineness (the natural essence received from Heaven). Alas, he is far, far from the Dao (the fundamental principle from which all things arise)!"
Zigong went back and told Confucius. Confucius pushed aside his zither and stood up, saying, "This may well be a sage!" He then walked down to the water's edge, where the old fisherman was just poling his boat. Turning around and seeing Confucius, the fisherman turned to face him and stood still. Confucius stepped back a few paces, bowed twice, and came forward.
The fisherman asked, "What do you seek?" Confucius said, "Just now, sir, you left before finishing your words. I, Kong Qiu, am unworthy and did not grasp your meaning. I humbly waited here below, hoping to hear a few words from you to help me gain some understanding." The fisherman said, "Ah, how fond you are of learning!" Confucius bowed again and rose, saying, "I have studied since childhood, and at sixty-nine years of age, I have still not had the opportunity to hear superior teachings. How dare I not be humble?"
The fisherman said, "Things of the same kind naturally draw together; sounds of the same pitch naturally respond to one another. This is the natural principle of things. Allow me to set aside my own fixed views and analyze what it is you do. What you do concerns human affairs. Son of Heaven, feudal lords, high ministers, and common people—when these four kinds of people each abide in their proper station, that is the admirable state of governance; when the four leave their stations, no calamity is greater. When officials fulfill their duties and everyone attends to what ought to be done, there is no mutual encroachment. Thus, fields going to waste, houses leaking, clothing and food insufficient, taxes not delivered, wives and concubines not harmonious, and elders and juniors out of order—these are the worries of common people. Not being equal to one's abilities, handling official business poorly, conduct not being clean, subordinates being lazy and negligent, merit and reputation unattained, and rank and salary not preserved—these are the worries of high ministers. The court lacking loyal ministers, the state being dark and chaotic, craftsmen being unskilled, tribute being unimpressive, falling behind in the seasonal court audiences, and displeasing the Son of Heaven—these are the worries of feudal lords. Yin and yang out of harmony, cold and heat untimely, harm to all creatures, feudal lords in revolt, attacking one another without authorization, harming the people, ritual and music without restraint, resources exhausted, human relations disordered, and the people dissolute—these are the worries of the Son of Heaven and the governing officials. Now you, on the one hand, hold no authority as a ruler or official, and on the other, have no office as a minister—yet you presumptuously cultivate ritual and music, regulate human relations, and wish to educate the people. Is this not overstepping your bounds? Moreover, there are eight defects in people and four calamities in affairs that you must clearly examine."
Then the fisherman explained the eight defects: Doing what is not one's own business is called meddling (overstepping one's role); forcing words upon those who will not listen is called glibness; speaking to please the other's fancy is called flattery; praising without regard to right and wrong is called sycophancy; delighting in speaking ill of others is called slander; sowing discord among kin and friends is called treachery; hypocritically praising falsehood to ruin those one dislikes is called malice; and being unable to distinguish good from evil, pleasing both sides, while secretly pursuing one's own desires is called dangerous cunning. These eight defects, when turned outward, disturb others; when turned inward, harm oneself. The gentleman does not befriend such a person, and the enlightened ruler does not employ such a man as his minister.
The so-called four calamities: Delighting in great undertakings, altering established ways to hunt for fame, is called presumption; being headstrong and self-willed, encroaching upon others, and stubbornly self-opinionated is called avarice; having faults and not correcting them, only worsening upon hearing remonstrance, is called obstinacy; approving only of those who agree with oneself, and disparaging even what is good when it comes from those who differ, is called arrogance. These four are calamities. Only when one can remove the eight defects and refrain from the four calamities can one begin to receive instruction.
Confucius sighed with deep distress, bowed twice, and rose, saying, "I was expelled twice from Lu, forbidden to stay in Wei, suffered the insult of the tree being cut down in Song, and was besieged between Chen and Cai. I do not know what fault I committed—why have I met with these four misfortunes?" The fisherman looked solemn and said, "How truly difficult it is to awaken you! There was a man who feared his own shadow and hated his own footsteps, and tried to run away from them. The more often he lifted his feet, the more footprints there were; the faster he ran, the more his shadow would not leave him. He thought he was going too slowly, so he ran ever faster without stopping, and at last exhausted his strength and died. He did not understand that by going into the shade to rest, his shadow would naturally vanish; and by becoming still, his footprints would naturally cease. How utterly foolish! You examine the boundaries of benevolence and righteousness, distinguish the differences between sameness and difference, observe the changes of movement and stillness, grasp the measure of giving and receiving, regulate the feelings of liking and disliking, and harmonize the degrees of joy and anger—and yet you almost still cannot escape harm. Carefully cultivate yourself, solemnly guard your genuineness, and return external things to others. Then you will have no entanglements. Now you do not cultivate yourself but seek outward—is that not being excessively exterior?"
Confucius said, with deep sorrow, "May I ask what genuineness means?" The fisherman said, "Genuineness is the utmost of sincerity. Without sincerity, one cannot move others. Thus, the person who forces tears may seem sorrowful but is not truly grieving; the person who forces anger may seem fierce but has no real authority; the person who forces affection may smile but is not truly warm. True grief makes no sound yet brings sorrow; true anger does not erupt yet carries power; true affection does not smile yet brings warmth. When the genuine is within, the spirit naturally manifests without—this is why genuineness is precious. Applied to human relations: serving one's parents shows kindness and filial piety; serving one's ruler shows loyalty and devotion; drinking together brings joy; mourning brings grief. Loyalty is primarily concerned with accomplishments, drinking with joy, mourning with grief, and serving parents with comfort. The fulfillment of accomplishments is beautiful without being confined to one form; serving parents seeks comfort without being limited to particular means; drinking seeks joy without requiring particular vessels; mourning seeks grief without insisting on particular rites. Rites are created by the conventional world; genuineness is received from Heaven, and cannot be altered by nature. Thus the sage emulates Heaven and cherishes genuineness, unconstrained by convention. The foolish are the opposite: they cannot emulate Heaven, yet are anxious about human affairs; they do not know to cherish genuineness, and busily drift, altered by convention, so they are forever dissatisfied. What a pity—you sank early into the false, and heard of the Great Dao too late!"
Confucius bowed again, rose, and said, "Today I have encountered you, as if by heaven-sent grace. If you do not disdain me, sir, treating me as a follower and personally instructing me, may I presume to ask where you reside, so that I may request to follow you and complete my learning of the Great Dao?" The fisherman said, "I have heard that those who can walk the same path may journey together to the wondrous Way; those who cannot walk the same path will not understand that Way. Be careful not to associate with them, and you will not bring fault upon yourself. Strive onward. I am leaving you now, I am leaving you now!" Then he poled away, drifting slowly along the rushes.
Yan Hui turned the carriage around, and Zilu handed up the mounting strap. Confucius did not look, waiting until the water grew calm and the oar sounds were no longer audible before he dared to board the carriage.
Zilu, standing beside the carriage, said, "I have served you, Master, for a long time now, and have never seen you treat anyone with such reverence. Rulers of ten-thousand chariots and lords of a thousand chariots meet you on equal footing, and you often wear a proud expression. Yet now, when the fisherman stood facing you holding his pole, you bent like a ritual vessel, exceedingly respectful. You bowed before even speaking—is this not excessive? All the disciples find it strange. By what merit does a fisherman receive such deference?" Confucius leaned on the crossbar and sighed, saying, "You, you are terribly hard to transform! You have been steeped in ritual and righteousness for so long, yet your rough and rustic heart has not been removed to this day. Come here, and let me tell you: To encounter an elder without respect is to lose propriety; to meet a worthy without reverence is to lack humanity. Unless one is a perfect person (one who has attained the highest realm), one cannot make others humble before them. If one is humble without sincerity, one will not attain the genuine, and so will often harm oneself. What a pity! For humans, there is no calamity greater than the lack of humanity, yet you particularly harbor this defect. Moreover, the Dao is the root from which all things arise. Lose it, and all things die; attain it, and they live. Act against it in affairs, and they fail; follow it, and they succeed. Thus wherever the Dao is present, the sage reveres it. As for this fisherman, of the Dao he may truly be said to possess it—how could I dare not revere him?"
The core of this chapter is the relationship between genuineness and ritual, and the primacy of self-cultivation. The fisherman's criticism of Confucius does not negate benevolence and righteousness as such, but rather points out: if one focuses solely on outward cultivation of ritual, music, and instruction while losing the inner genuineness, one ends up "laboring the mind and exhausting the body, endangering one's genuineness"—the busier one becomes, the farther one drifts from the Dao.
"Genuineness is the utmost of sincerity" is the eye of this entire chapter. Genuineness is not a manufactured moral performance but the natural sincerity received from the way of Heaven. It is not mechanical submission to external standards but a natural flowing through of inner spirit and outer behavior. True grief, true anger, true affection—in all these, the inner moves first, the outer follows naturally. Rites are what the conventional world creates; genuineness is what Heaven bestows. The two are not the same. The sage "emulates Heaven and cherishes genuineness, not constrained by convention"—not rejecting rites altogether, but refusing to let rites cover over genuineness.
The fisherman also introduces the "eight defects and four calamities," diagnosing many illnesses of human relationships: overstepping one's role, flattery, sycophancy, sowing discord, self-will, obstinacy, arrogance, and so forth. These are not simple moral admonitions but diagnostic descriptions of deviations in the heart-nature. Only when the eight defects are removed and the four calamities are not practiced can a person "begin to receive instruction" and approach the Dao.
The parable of "fearing one's shadow and despising one's footprints" points to the Daoist core insight: the problem is often not the external situation but the person him- or herself. The more one escapes outward, the more anxious one becomes. Only by "staying in shade to let the shadow cease, and staying still to let the footprints stop"—by returning to stillness and one's proper place—do the shadow and footprints naturally come to rest. This represents a fundamental reorientation of every escapist strategy for living.
This chapter is virtually a psychological diagnosis written for the contemporary person. 🌆 The hallmark of modern society is role overload: a person is simultaneously employee, parent, child, spouse, social-media persona, and workplace image. Confucius's "adorning ritual and music, regulating human relations" has become today's meticulous maintenance of personas, performance metrics, labels, and image management. The fisherman's admonition is direct: if these outward operations lack inner genuineness, they become "laboring the mind and exhausting the body, endangering one's genuineness."
The "eight defects and four calamities" appear everywhere in the workplace: overstepping duties, forcing oneself into the spotlight, flattering superiors, praising indiscriminately, spreading ill words, sowing discord, hypocritically attacking those who differ, and pleasing both sides. These are interpersonal toxins. Modern people are not often lacking in effort—they labor hard in the wrong direction: too eager to be seen, too eager to control outcomes, too eager to prove themselves through external display.
"Fearing one's shadow and despising one's footprints" corresponds precisely to the psychological mechanism of the anxious age. Many people use busyness to escape unease and running to escape anxiety, only to find that the busier they become, the emptier they feel, and the more they run, the wearier they grow. The fisherman's prescription is not "work harder" but "dwell in shade" and "remain still." This is not lying flat but stopping ineffective outward chasing and returning first to one's own place and own genuineness.
"Emulating Heaven and cherishing genuineness, unconstrained by convention" is especially important today. Conventional standards are constantly shifting, but the value of the natural and the sincere remains more stable. If a person follows only external evaluation, one becomes "busily altered by convention, forever insufficient." Returning to genuineness is the only way not to be swept along by the noise of the times. 🌱
Several applicable directions can be drawn from this chapter:
First is abiding in one's proper place without overstepping. The fisherman says that when the Son of Heaven, feudal lords, high ministers, and common people each take their proper positions, governance attains its beauty. This is not to defend hierarchy but to remind each person to attend properly to their own domain. Modern people may ask themselves: How much of my anxiety comes from over-involvement in matters not my own?
Second is examining the eight defects and four calamities. These can be treated as a mirror: Am I forcing myself forward for attention? Am I flattering to please without regard for truth? Am I unwilling to hear criticism? Can I only accept those who agree with me? This kind of self-examination is more valuable than pursuing technique.
Third is cultivating sincerity. Genuineness cannot be performed. Rather than forcing a smile, first care for inner harmony; rather than pretending empathy, first acknowledge your own real feelings. When genuineness is within, spirit moves without. Without genuineness, all social skills are hollow shells.
Fourth is dwelling in stillness to cease the footprints. When caught in the cycle of "the harder I try, the more anxious I become," the answer is not to accelerate but to stop, to withdraw from the spotlight, and return to a quiet environment. Even reducing external stimuli a little can fade the inner shadows. 🍃
On the surface, this chapter is a dialogue between Confucianism and Daoism, but it is actually a deep debate about "how human beings are to live." Confucius represents cultural construction: benevolence, righteousness, ritual, music, and instruction. The fisherman represents natural origin: Heaven, genuineness, and Dao.
The question is: Without ritual and music, would genuineness become brutish? Without genuineness, would ritual and music become hypocrisy? The fisherman does not wholly deny ritual—he says "rites are what the conventional world creates"—but he places ritual in second position. The Daoist critique does not seek to abandon human order but to ask whether the ground of that order is still alive.
"Genuineness is received from Heaven; it cannot be altered by nature" suggests a way of seeing the human being: one's essence is not fundamentally a social role but a natural reality continuous with the Dao of Heaven. You can lose position, reputation, and status, but you cannot lose this Heaven-given genuineness—unless you yourself obscure it.
"Things of the same kind draw together; sounds of the same pitch respond to one another—this is indeed the principle of Heaven" also suggests a resonant connection: the depth of connection between persons and between a person and the Dao depends not on force but on mutual resonance of the same quality. True communication arises from sincerity rather than control. This philosophy remains a bracing reminder for a world overdependent on institutions, rhetoric, and performance metrics. 🌊
This content is based on classical Daoist texts and is provided solely for cultural learning and personal reflection. It does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice. — Buguā