《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 23

Is it possible that benevolence and righteousness do not accord with human nature? Then why do benevolent people have so many worries?

Someone whose toes are joined weeps when the webbing is cut apart; someone with an extra finger wails when the surplus digit is bitten off. One person feels something is lacking, another feels something is excessive—yet their sorrow is the same.

Today, benevolent people worry over the world’s calamities and bustle about like wild grass; unbenevolent people cast off the natural feelings of their inborn nature and greedily pursue wealth and rank. Seen in this light, are benevolence and righteousness truly human nature?

Since the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, why has the world become so noisy? Using compass, square, and inked line to make things straight is to pare away things’ native character; using cord and lacquer to make things hold together is to harm their original De (Virtue/Power). Then using ritual and music to correct people’s bearing and benevolence and righteousness to soothe the hearts of all under Heaven—these practices all make people lose their original constant state.

All things under Heaven each have their natural constant state: what is crooked need not be squared with a carpenter’s square; what is straight need not be lined with ink; what is round need not be traced with a compass; what is square need not be ruled with a square—joining things need not use lacquer, binding things need not use cord. Thus all things under Heaven grow of themselves yet do not know why they live; likewise each gains what it gains yet does not know why it gains. This natural condition has been the same from antiquity to the present and is never diminished. Why must benevolence and righteousness, like lacquer and cord, be wound tightly through the bonds of morality? Doing so only bewilders the world. Small bewilderment makes one mistake the way; great bewilderment changes human nature. How do we know this is so? From the time Yu Shun began to promote benevolence and righteousness and thereby disturb all under Heaven, there was no one who did not run about pursuing them. Is this not using benevolence and righteousness to alter human nature?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Benevolence and righteousness are originally human nature and should be left to themselves. If one worries that benevolence and righteousness are not human nature, such worries can be said to be all too many. One whose toes are joined feels something lacking and weeps while cutting apart; one with an extra finger feels something excessive and wails while biting it off. In this way, since the myriad things are each different, there is no place where a person can escape worry. Only when each inborn nature is allowed to unfold at ease without injury is there anything left to worry about?

When the conduct of “universal love” (loving all people without distinction) becomes a model held up for praise, judgment throughout the world is thrown into confusion. People worry because such conduct is praised, then worry again over that worry—and this is what leads people into confusion.

People only rush to help others when matters have already grown desperate; yet people today treat this as humaneness and virtue. If there were no deeds worth parading as benevolence, people could rest content in their proper stations—who would then abandon their own nature, imitate others, and grasp for what they were never meant to have?

Each thing has its own natural condition. When you comply with nature and do not force intervention, all things can find their place without even knowing it. In this way you merge with the myriad things without drawing distinctions among them, and always preserve what is genuinely real. Following the Dao and acting accordingly, you settle where you belong; holding to plain simplicity and walking your own path, nothing artificial like humaneness and righteousness is mixed in. When humaneness and righteousness rise up in clamor, they only bewilder the myriad things and make them lose their true nature.

Even if east and west were swapped, the body itself would not be harmed for that reason; but if you deliberately flaunt humaneness and exalt righteousness, you lose your natural nature. To end up in distress from this path is truly deep confusion. Living among the myriad things without harming them is not done in order to win the reputation of “humaneness”; yet deeds of benevolence can still spread through the world. Acting in accord with reason is not done in order to win the reputation of “righteousness”; yet fitting conduct of righteousness can still appear. When affairs are fitting and the myriad things are unharmed, that is not an outcome produced by humaneness and righteousness. Yet people under heaven rush about in pursuit, casting off themselves to follow others, and so lose their natural nature.

What disturbs the heart is not always ugliness—often it is beauty that unsettles the mind. What throws the world into disorder is not always evil conduct—often it is humaneness and righteousness. Humaneness and righteousness thus become tools for disturbing all under heaven. Using humaneness and righteousness to alter human nature—even if the House of Yu (the legendary ancient sage-king Yu Shun) had never intended to change the nature of all under heaven, the nature of all under heaven would already have been changed.

Lu’s commentary holds that humaneness and righteousness were originally within human feeling all along; the doctrine of the five viscera also lists them among their functions. The sayings “the greatest humaneness is not humaneness” and “the utmost righteousness is not righteousness”—how then can one say they violate human feeling? The problem is that some people deliberately go too far and do not follow the correct path of the Dao and De, and only then do people begin to doubt that humaneness and righteousness accord with human feeling. That humane persons worry excessively is precisely a sign of going too far.

An extra or missing finger on hand or foot is a surplus or shortfall beyond the natural count; even if the extra part is cut away, people still worry over it. Today’s humane persons worry over the affairs of the world just like an extra finger; those who harm their lives in greed for wealth and rank are like a missing finger. Yet they do not realize that these practices depart from human natural nature; even if they cling to such ways, it is only like weeping when a finger is lopped off or wailing when a finger is bitten away.

Using compasses and plumb lines to straighten things and glue and lacquer to bind them is to pare away human nature, invade human virtue, and turn away from the natural state. The natural state needs no compasses or glue and lacquer to be upright and firm; it does not know how it comes to be or how it comes to be possessed. In antiquity it was so and did not decay; today it is so and does not grow stale. This is what is called “constant naturalness,” and it is the correct path of the Dao and De. Why should humaneness and righteousness twine about like glue, lacquer, and cords, bewildering everyone under heaven?

When orientation shifts, east can be taken for west; when human nature is altered, what was never there is imposed upon people. People are born in innate stillness, yet doctrines of benevolence and righteousness (renyi) are summoned to disturb them—this is using rrenyi to reshape human nature.

The Yidu Zhu (Commentary on Doubt and Solitude) says: Benevolence and righteousness were originally rooted in human disposition. Yet now one particular virtue is elevated, the natural disposition is blocked, and the result is labeled rrenyi—clearly this is not spontaneous. Hence Zhuangzi held that it goes against human feeling; otherwise, why would Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu, famed for practicing rrenyi, have been so burdened with care?

The ancients practiced rrenyi from the root of nature, letting it fill out naturally; later people chased the outward show of rrenyi and fell into deliberate artifice, and only then did worry become conspicuous. If one does not follow the course of Heaven (tian), the natural endowment is treated as superfluous branches that obstruct being human, something to wound and cut away—hence weeping and grief. Here those superfluous branches stand for rrenyi: when they accord with innate nature, rrenyi merge with Dao and De (daode) and cannot be separated; when they do not, and one merely pursues the external forms of rrenyi, people who see those forms want to strip them away—and that is the source of anxiety.

Today those who preach rrenyi fret over the world, their faces drawn; inward sorrow clouds the eyes. When all things follow their natural course, they rest at ease; when their vital nature (xingming) is harmed, worry follows. Superfluous branches are also part of nature—yet now people want to cut and bite them away, like the humane person who grieves over a decaying age and tries to save it, only adding more worry. The inhumane person splits his own xingming and grasps for wealth and rank, often under the cover of rrenyi’s outward forms, and thus finds room for fraud. That is why Zhuangzi doubted that rrenyi sprang from natural disposition.

After the Xia, Shang, and Zhou, the wind of simplicity was lost and could not be restored—why must people still clamor and contend so? They insist that squareness and straightness come only with carpenter’s square, ink line, and compass—such “correctness” is not natural correctness, and is called paring away innate nature. They insist that firmness depends on cords and lacquer—such “firmness” is not natural firmness, and is called violating De (virtue-power). The elaborate trappings of rites and music and the outward display of rrenyi, meant to settle the hearts of all under Heaven, instead make people lose their original constant nature (changxing).

The constant nature of the world—what need has it of props to become straight or firm? People do not know why they live, yet live naturally; do not know why they possess, yet possess naturally. Then they can thread through past and present, look lightly on life and death, suffer no harm from outer things, and know no loss. Why then should the external forms of rrenyi act like lacquer and cord, layer upon layer, binding person and daode? This passage means that people like Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu cannot avoid a mind of deliberate effort, and therefore cannot roam freely within daode.

People were instead bound by benevolence and righteousness (renyi) and could not free themselves. Why did people throughout the world compete to admire the reputation of benevolence and righteousness, only to have their minds thrown into confusion? To change one’s original direction is still easy to wake from; to change one’s innate nature is to lose the way and be unable to return. This is the distinction between the small and the great. Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu inherited the practices of benevolence and righteousness, so one may criticize them. The benevolence and righteousness of the Youyu clan (the polity associated with Shun) filled their very nature—yet Zhuangzi still criticized them. Why? Probably because Zhuangzi traced benevolence and righteousness back to their beginning, so he had to speak as he did. The ancient kings promoted benevolence and righteousness in order to help the people complete their nature and return to the great Dao (the Way). Later ages took the small remnants of what those kings had left as their standard, reverently honoring these outward traces and believing that the utmost of Heaven’s mandate lay entirely in them. Once people grasped methods for completing their nature, they took the methods themselves for their nature—how then could they be made to abandon reputation and delight in the substance of benevolence and righteousness? What Zhuangzi criticized was the traces Shun left behind; what he affirmed was the intention Shun kept in his heart. The Classic says, “Receiving mandate from Heaven—only Shun was unique in this.” That refers precisely to the purity of Shun’s mind.

Bixu (a commentator) explains: “carving and kneading into shape” means damaging the innate nature; forcing things to fit means harming De (virtue/power). All of this goes against how things are in themselves. The crookedness or straightness of cogongrass and hemp—why must hook and line be used to straighten them? The roundness or squareness of pearls and jade—why must compass and square be used to trim them? Pine and cypress with wisteria—who used lacquer and glue to bind them together? Joined branches and ears of grain growing as one—who used rope to tie them? The material and innate tendencies of all things are naturally so. Therefore the myriad things are born naturally and each finds its place naturally; from antiquity to the present it has been thus, with no rise or fall of change. To abandon the Dao and De and chase benevolence and righteousness is to change direction; to chase profit, salary, and fame until life is harmed is to change one’s nature. From the time the Youyu clan raised the worthy and banished the vicious, advocating benevolence and righteousness to stir up the world, there was no one under Heaven who did not run in pursuit—and the loss of life came from this. Exaggeration, ornament, and stubborn refusal to awaken arose from it as well.

Yanzhai’s oral exegesis says: webbed fingers and extra digits are malformations of the hands and feet, yet they cannot be forcibly removed; forcible removal would only bring distress. “Haomu” (eyes half closed, lashes thick) suggests sitting alone in sorrow. Worrying over worldly affairs and greedily seeking wealth and rank are all self-inflicted torment, which is why these are grouped together. The author sighs again: Is benevolence and righteousness not human feeling? The point is that benevolence and righteousness do not spring from human nature. Since the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, this talk has flourished—how noisy it has been! Human nature and character arise from the natural; they are not produced by artificial fabrication. If one must wait until after “cultivation” to be upright, that is self-mutilation. Hook, line, rope, lacquer, and glue are all metaphors for human artifice—hence the forced bending…

The body is bent, breath is exhaled and inhaled to comfort all people under heaven—and as a result everyone loses their original natural state. What is curved, straight, square, or round need not be corrected by human effort; what is formed naturally is what is truly right.

“Enticement” and “rank weeds” are alike—both are unwanted plants; yet each grows on its own—who makes them grow? The same nature in all things—who bestows it on them? People do not know where things come from into being, nor do they know how they themselves receive life. Therefore from antiquity to the present the nature of things has been one and the same, neither increased nor diminished.

“Linked and unceasing” describes entanglement without end; like lacquer and glue they stick to themselves, like ropes they bind one another. To leave one’s nature and pursue benevolence and righteousness, and to keep at it without stopping, is to fall into fixation and bondage—how then can one roam freely in the realm of Dao and De? Doing this only confuses the people under heaven. Small confusion turns the four directions upside down; great confusion alters the nature of heaven and earth. To set up the names of benevolence and righteousness and thereby disturb the world is to drive everyone under heaven to rush and compete in pursuit. To know only benevolence and righteousness and not know Dao and De is to let external things change one’s own nature.

Benevolence and righteousness originally arise from human disposition; those who do not accord with their nature will parade them outward. Extra finger-joints and fleshy wattles on the hands and feet are part of the body’s form, yet people find them burdensome. Zhuangzi saw the world honor benevolence and righteousness and abandon their own nature to imitate others, following appearances and forgetting the root—hence his lament: can benevolence and righteousness truly be human nature? If benevolence and righteousness are made by correcting the nature and forcing it, rather than practiced with ease and contentment, that is to take the world’s troubles upon oneself.

Some worry that the world cannot be governed and rush about to save it, yet still cannot manage the task; they knit their brows and fret with anxiety—is this not like forcibly cutting off extra fingers or gnawing away wattles? The unbenevolent harm their nature and life without regard, greedily seeking wealth and refusing to stop; when disaster strikes and punishment falls, in the end person and goods are often lost together.

In benevolence and righteousness there is sincerity that accords with nature, and there is falsity that borrows their name. Zhuangzi detested those who, under false benevolence and righteousness, were greedy and cruel and used such labels to harm the people—so he sighed again and again: can benevolence and righteousness truly be human nature? From the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou onward, why have those who proclaim benevolence and righteousness so often been noisy and shallow?

The original disposition of things is upright and firm, arising from nature. If one must wait for external force to make it upright, it is not truly upright; if it depends on external force to be firm, it is not truly firm. This is like injuring the nature and encroaching on De, losing the original constant state—no different from extra fingers and wattles on the hands and feet.

The so-called natural constant state need not rely on the carpenter’s square, inked line, compass, or angle-measure to decide what is curved, straight, square, or round. Each thing grows of itself and receives its own fate and life; people need not reckon over differences between past and present, nor care about success and failure. When Dao and De are merged as one, benevolence and righteousness become superfluous; why then must one…

Must we stubbornly cling to these old traces and use them to mislead the people of the world? A small delusion can send people in the wrong direction, like making them unable to tell east from west. Such confusion does not seriously hinder what they do. A great delusion, however, can alter their nature and make them lose their normal state.

The harm caused by betraying the Dao (the Way) and going against De (Virtue/Power) is beyond words. Its roots had been spreading gradually for a long time. From the time of Yu the Great, people began advocating benevolence and righteousness, using them to throw the world into confusion. When people replaced their natural nature with benevolence and righteousness, their nature ceased to be genuine, and benevolence and righteousness became false. People throughout the world still rush after these doctrines and obey them, content to have lost their nature without realizing it. This is what grieves the True Person—the one who has realized and follows the Dao.

Let us consider the matter. Since the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, no one in the world has escaped having their nature altered by external things. Common people sacrifice themselves for profit; scholars sacrifice themselves for fame; high officials sacrifice themselves for their clans; and sages sacrifice themselves for the world. Their pursuits differ, as do their reputations and titles, but they are alike in harming their nature and sacrificing themselves in pursuit of something.

Zang and Gu went out to herd sheep together, but both lost their flocks. Asked what he had been doing, Zang said he had been reading bamboo slips. Asked what he had been doing, Gu said he had been playing a game of chance to pass the time. Their activities differed, but the outcome—the loss of their sheep—was the same. Boyi died beneath Mount Shouyang for the sake of fame; Robber Zhi died atop Mount Dongling for the sake of profit. What they gave their lives to pursue differed, but both destroyed their lives and injured their nature. Why insist that Boyi was right and Robber Zhi was wrong?

Everyone in the world is pursuing something. Those who pursue benevolence and righteousness are called gentlemen by worldly convention; those who pursue wealth are called petty people. They are distinguished as gentlemen or petty people because what they pursue differs, but they are alike in pursuing external things. If we consider how they harm life and injure their nature, Robber Zhi is no different from Boyi. On what basis, then, should we distinguish between them as gentleman and petty person?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Before the Three Dynasties, there truly were examples of governing through Wuwei (non-action), so later people who acted deliberately held them in high esteem. But once they deliberately revered them, they lost their natural nature. Even sages sometimes have no choice but to replace a state of effortless ease, in which one simply lets things follow their course, with practices that cause harm. As for dwelling like quail, foraging like nestlings, and moving like birds without any fixed rules, where in all this is there no pursuit of something? Thus sages always engage with worldly affairs and respond as things change; their conduct, too, adapts to the conduct of the world.

The circumstances one encounters may leave a person injured or disabled, or even bald or lame. The traces left by such actions may also harm people. Yet even when the sage travels in every direction, his spirit and bearing remain unchanged, and his hands and feet…

Even if the body bears scars, as long as one dwells in the bodily form without being disturbed, what is there to chase? There was never anything to chase in the first place. If one does not chase what one chases, yet outwardly follows the same pursuits as the world, one still moves with convention. What people under heaven treasure is life; when pursuit goes too far and all harm life, whether what is pursued is right or wrong is no longer worth arguing. Why harm life and alter one’s nature? All this comes from revering the outward traces of “non-action.” Once one sees that these traces arise from non-action, one should cease revering the traces, drop excessive attachment, and return to the deep, mysterious original nature. Then one’s utmost and that of Yao or Jie (legendary sage-king and tyrant) alike rest in their own place—what difference remains between gentleman and petty man?

Commentary by Lü: When divine nature descends and becomes a sage-king, that is a realm beyond ordinary sages. From the Xia, Shang, and Zhou onward, people saw only the sage-kings’ outward traces, not their inner divinity. Da Yu wore thick calluses from controlling floods; Tang and Wu took the field in war—though compelled by necessity, outward traces still bent to the world’s ills. Zhuangzi wished to cut off such traces and return to the source of spirit and the Way of Heaven; his judgment of the sages is therefore reasonable, not a slight against them.

“The man, the son-in-law, the maid become servants; the good family’s son tends sheep”—these illustrate guarding the mind; guarding the mind is precisely the method of nourishing the heart. Some hold ledgers and read—seemingly all good deeds—yet still cannot escape what is not good; some take gambling for pleasure, act loosely and against the good path, yet may come from decent stock. Both obstruct guarding the heart; though the deeds differ, forgetting the sheep is the same.

Boyi (hermit at the Shang–Zhou transition) died for reputation, like reading books and forgetting the sheep; Robber Zhi (legendary bandit) died for profit, like gambling and forgetting the sheep. They died for different pursuits, but harming life and injuring nature were the same. This shows that those who cultivate the Way value forgetting these distinctions together and letting the heart return to the Great Dao. All under heaven chase: those who chase benevolence and righteousness do not know that the self is closer than fame; those who chase wealth do not know that the self matters more than goods. The chase is the same, yet they are split into gentleman and petty man; as for harming life and injuring nature, Robber Zhi and Boyi are no different—both suffer from the harm of pursuit.

Commentary by Yidu: Boyi sought a pure name and died for it; Robber Zhi craved gain and died for it. Neither knew whether fame or the self was closer, nor whether the self or wealth mattered more—they chased only outer dust and chaff. The fame of Mount Shouyang (where Boyi and Shuqi are said to have starved) endures, but where is Boyi himself?

Dongling’s goods piled up year after year—what could Zhi the Robber have left behind after his death? Thus, in harming life and injuring innate nature, they were the same.

If so, why must Boyi be counted right and Zhi the Robber wrong? That is precisely where the Dao (the Way) can treat all things as one.

Boyi was hailed as a lofty saint, yet Zhuangzi rebuked him sharply because Boyi’s conduct left visible tracks in the world and he was often paired with Zhi the Robber. Zhuangzi spoke in this way to correct the fault of his age—people imitating Boyi, deliberately tightening self-discipline and exalting moral conduct. Though Boyi’s reputation stood opposite to Zhi the Robber’s, his spirit aligned with Confucius’s; students must grasp this.

No one under heaven is without something to pursue: if not benevolence and righteousness for fame, then wealth to satisfy desire. People mostly fall into no more than these two—fame and profit. Those who pursue benevolence and righteousness are called junzi (exemplary persons) in the world, yet they may unknowingly be xiaoren (petty persons) from Heaven’s perspective; those who pursue wealth are called xiaoren in the world, yet they differ little from the world’s so-called junzi. Pursuing benevolence and righteousness diminishes one’s natural allotment and adds postnatal ornament; pursuing wealth injures innate nature to feed desire. Both may rest content in the truth of their ming and xing (life and nature). Therefore the junzi of Heaven’s Dao is not necessarily the world’s junzi; the “xiaoren” in the scripture means petty persons in the worldly sense.

Xiangdao commentary: Before the Three Dynasties, people used benevolence and righteousness to alter innate nature; afterward they used external things to alter it. The farther the age recedes, the more simplicity disperses. Boyi died for fame because his will would not yield; Zhi the Robber died for profit because his sinews and bones would not grow strong.

“Zang” is the finer name within righteous conduct; “gu” within sincerity and trustworthiness. A man who marries a maidservant is called zang; a woman who marries a bondman’s wife is called gu. Men prize righteousness, women trustworthiness—hence the terms. Sheep herd without faction, deferential and ritually proper; their nature was never other than good. Script makers formed shan (good) from yang (sheep) plus yan (speech), and mei (beautiful) from yang plus da (great). Zhuangzi’s image of “forgetting the sheep” for forgetting virtue also holds.

Zang and gu—one stiff, one loose—differ yet both lost the sheep; Boyi and Zhi the Robber—one good, one evil—differ yet both harmed life. Why then force a split between junzi and xiaoren among them?

Bixu commentary: Conduct that leaves tracks others can see is all pursuit. Once fame spreads, tracks are hard to hide. Losing the sheep through zang and gu is small delusion straying from the path; Boyi and Zhi the Robber harming life is great delusion changing innate nature. When all under heaven chase fame and profit, Zhi the Robber and Boyi alike belong among pursuers.

Yan Zhai says: Here heaven-and-earth, state-and-family are set alongside fame and profit—using the lesser to press down the greater, that is, using lowly matters to throw into relief what is lofty. In the Zhuangzi, this rhetorical move is used quite often. Several people may pursue different undertakings, yet the harm done to life is the same; reading books and gambling are not the same activity, yet when the sheep are lost, the outcome is identical. They are all people who are led by outer things and therefore suffer loss. Did Zhuangzi really not know that Boyi and Daotuo differ in worth and baseness? His aim was to satirize the “gentleman,” so he used the petty person to mirror the gentleman—again, the meaning of setting the low against the high.

In remote antiquity customs were simple and the people were at ease; without deliberate governance, society could still settle of itself. The people followed their inborn nature, and the ruler could govern all under heaven with robes hanging loose and hands folded in Wuwei (non-action). After the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, people were swayed by outer things, altered their nature, chased what is artificial, and lost what is genuine. Though people differed as worthy or foolish, noble or base, each took what he pursued to be right and did not see that he had already strayed from the Dao (the Way). Thus they harmed life and injured their inborn nature, with no real difference in the result.

Then rulers instituted punishments, ordinances, rewards, and penalties to guide, restrain, encourage, and admonish the people. Above and below alike were worn out, and deceit arose with it. When even penal law, government, reward, and punishment could no longer hold the people, the people ceased to be like people and the state ceased to be like a state. This in truth stemmed from the fault of ruler and ruled each chasing outer things, until both lord and subject lost their proper place. The parable of Zang and Gu watching the flock yet both letting the sheep escape fits the point very well.

If everyone under heaven single-mindedly chased outer things, all would lose their inborn nature, trapped in one-sided views, and would in turn treat those who did not chase outer things as wrong. In that case, how could one still tell gentleman from petty person?

Boyi was pure and Daotuo foul; a thousand years later they remain as distinct as black and white. Yet Zhuangzi lumped them together—from the angle that both clung to what they pursued and both left one-sided traces in their conduct; even a sage can hardly escape being judged, how much more Daotuo? Governing all under heaven is like weighing heavy and light: to press one side down and raise the other, the situation inevitably demands it; one only seeks to be as fair as possible.

If people under heaven no longer clung to chasing outer things, they would be spared the calamity of harming life and injuring inborn nature—then of course sage and Daotuo would still differ. Yet whether they are called good or evil should be seen from beyond the notions of benevolence and righteousness, sageliness and clarity, and cleverness.