《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 28

Therefore, if the fashion of exalting sages is cut off and artificial cleverness is discarded, great robbers will cease; if jade and pearls are cast aside, petty thieves will not arise.

If talismans and credentials are burned and seals are smashed, the people will become plain and sincere; if measuring vessels are destroyed and steelyard beams are broken, the people will stop contending.

Only when the sages’ laws that disorder the world are thoroughly abolished can the people begin to discuss things on equal terms. If the six pitch standards that confuse harmony are scattered, the yu and se are melted down, and Music Master Kuang’s ears are stopped up, then everyone under heaven can keep their own hearing intact.

If ornament is erased and the five colors are dispersed, if Li Zhu’s eyes are covered, then everyone under heaven can keep their own sight intact. If the plumb line and marking cord are destroyed, the compass and square are cast away, and Artisan Chui’s fingers are broken, then everyone under heaven can bring forth their own native skill. Hence the saying: “The greatest skill looks like clumsiness.”

If the conduct upheld by Zeng Shen and Shi Yu is abolished, if the words of Yang Zhu and Mo Di are sealed off, and if benevolence and righteousness are discarded, then the virtue of all under heaven will return to depth and uniformity. When each person keeps intact the power to discern clearly, nothing in the world will wear them down; when each keeps intact their hearing, the world will not drag them about; when each keeps intact their innate knowing, the world will not bewilder them; when each keeps intact their innate virtue, the world will not lead them astray.

Zeng Shen, Shi Yu, Yang Zhu, Mo Di, Music Master Kuang, Artisan Chui, and Li Zhu—all these were people who set their powers of virtue on display outside themselves and thereby disturbed the world; their standards and methods were of no real use to the world.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Remove what people rely on to do evil—there is no need to forbid it—and evil will stop of itself; lower what they prize—there is no need to impose punishments—and contention will quiet down. Remove the conditions on which artifice depends, and cunning deceit will have no way to operate. Small disorder is produced by greater disorder; when outwardly there is nothing left that calls for artifice, inwardly one can preserve natural simplicity and will not be harmed by losing one’s true self.

Sound and color are what Music Master Kuang and Li Zhu value—but each person’s innate allotment has its limits. Chasing after what they prize damages one’s nature and life. Destroy the external things people prize, let each settle in their proper place, and hearing and sight can preserve the genuineness heaven endowed.

Spiders and dung beetles, though tiny, can spin webs and roll balls; these abilities were not learned from craftsmen. Each thing has its own capacity; though what they can do differs, they should not be forced to learn another’s skill. In doing this, it looks as though one has ability yet appears clumsy.

Therefore those who are good at employing people follow each person’s capacity and put them to use; they do not demand that the common people all reach Artisan Chui’s level of craft. The various skills cannot be identical—they seem clumsy by comparison—but when everyone under heaven can bring forth their own abilities, that is the greatest skill. Letting each develop their innate capacity is why the compass and square would also…

If people abandon the ingenious skills held up as models, the fingers of the craftsman Chui—the legendary artisan—would no longer be what everyone under heaven rushes to imitate. Remove the rules of conduct that disturb innate nature, and people everywhere will each return to simplicity and together come home to xuande—the deep, natural virtue that arises of itself.

Zeng Shen, Shi Qiu, Yang Zhu, Mozi, Shi Kuang, Li Zhu, and Gong Chui each had a different endowment. If you made everyone under heaven run after imitating them, they would lose their nature in the act of imitation; nature is lost because of external models. Those people, in turn, became sources of disorder for the world.

As for the use of laws and standards: let vision not go beyond what one can see, so everyone can see clearly what is before them; let hearing not go beyond what one can hear, so everyone can hear distinctly what reaches them; let action not go beyond what one can manage, so everyone can bring their capacity into play; let knowing not go beyond what one can know, so each person’s innate nature can be at ease; let virtue not go beyond what one can embody, so each person’s conduct can be fitting. Why set up standards outside nature and one’s proper place, driving everyone under heaven to chase after them while they cannot return to themselves?

According to Lü’s commentary, when Zhuangzi speaks of “rejecting the sage and abandoning knowledge,” he is not calling for burning the classics or abolishing government and teaching, but for not letting sagacity and cleverness become things the heart deliberately pursues. “Discarding jade and destroying pearls” does not mean taking them out of the treasury and throwing them on the mountains; it means not regarding them with a mind of preciousness. “Burning talismans and breaking seals” is not literally burning and smashing fu and seals, but dealing with one another in good faith; then the people are plain and no longer depend on seals. “Smashing bushels and breaking balances” is not really destroying measures and steelyards, but treating people fairly; then the people do not contend and need not rely on bushels and balances. When this is achieved, the people can recover their innate nature and the truth of life; only then can one discuss the Way with them.

Stopping Shi Kuang’s ears is meant to turn him to listening within; if I can turn and listen inward, everyone under heaven can keep their native intelligence. Veiling Li Zhu’s eyes is meant to turn him to looking within; if I can look within, everyone under heaven can keep their native clarity of sight. Discarding Gong Chui’s craft lets everyone under heaven show their own abilities; cutting away the moral standards represented by Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu and restraining the doctrines of Yang Zhu and Mozi lets the virtue of everyone under heaven return to mysterious unity. The key is for oneself to abandon cleverness and not let outer things stir up desire.

Those who set up standards of virtue in the open and disturb the world do not understand how to nurture intelligence and character, nor how to return to innate nature and the truth of life; the norms they advocate are not truly necessary. Yet some think Zhuangzi really wanted to attack the sages, indulge thieves, and destroy law and order entirely. How could such people discuss fine points with Zhuangzi?

According to the Yidu commentary: the great thief steals the law; the small thief steals goods. The law is used to stop those who steal goods, while the Way is used to transform those who steal the law. Fu and seals were originally for establishing trust; bushels and balances were originally for seeking fairness—but once abuses appear, establishing trust turns into something greatly contrary to….

Systems built on honesty and fairness can in fact produce great unfairness. That is precisely why Zhuangzi advocated burning, dismantling, and breaking apart ritual and legal institutions: so that people’s eyes are not drawn by colors, their ears tugged by sounds, or their hearts stirred by external things; so that myriad outward forms are shut out and human nature and life are taken as the root. Restrain the gaze, harmonize the hearing, do not envy the skills of Lizhu (who sees sharply) or of Shi Kuang (who hears and discriminates finely), and guard one’s innate nature—this is what is meant by “great skill appears clumsy” (dazhuo ruo zhuo).

The doctrines of Zeng Shen, Shi Qiu, Yang Zhu, and Mozi threw the world into disorder, so Zhuangzi wanted to pare away their codes of conduct and clamp down on their words, so that all under heaven would return to unity. Then the virtue of everyone could again return to the Dao and merge mystically with the myriad things. If each person nourishes his own inherent clarity, then everyone’s clarity can be used to see oneself; if each nourishes inherent keen hearing, then everyone’s keen hearing can be used to hear oneself; if each nourishes inherent wisdom, then everyone’s wisdom can be used to know oneself; if each nourishes inherent virtue, then everyone’s virtue can be obtained from oneself. Thus the spirit-mind is not dazzled, burdened, confused, or pulled askew. The abilities of Zeng Shen, Shi Qiu, Lizhu, and Shi Kuang do not consist in enriching the innate nature that everyone already has; to make all under heaven strain their minds to follow them is to disorder the world, and the norms they establish are of no real use.

Xiangdao commentary: Xunzi said that tallies and contracts are meant to secure trust; when those above love stratagems, those below use them to deceive. Lots and hooks are meant to seek fairness; when those above show partial favor, those below use them to be partial. Scales and weights are meant to measure fairness; when those above love crushing deception, those below use them to take risks. Bushels, pecks, and the leveling bars on measures are meant to secure evenness; when those above crave profit, those below use them to become base. Law arises from the sage’s reluctant expedient arrangements and is meant to be faithfully kept by later kings. With persons but no law, antiquity could still be called well governed; with law but no suitable persons, the late age still cannot escape chaos. Zhuangzi’s discussion does not fully account for how persons and law should work together. He says that measures are set up to weigh things and laws to correct people, yet some turn these very institutions to private gain. Therefore Zhuangzi’s call to burn, break, and scatter institutions aims to gather in scattered hearts and bring them back to unity, to strip away ornament and return people to what is real, and to restore the root of the Dao and virtue.

Bixu touches on this only briefly and does not develop the point.

Yanzhai says that Zhuangzi’s talk of “plucking jade and smashing pearls” and of “smashing bushels and breaking scales” is extreme language meant to cut off completely every institution the sage established.

The talk of “discarding knowledge” does not mean that people should stop reasoning altogether. It is close in spirit to what Laozi meant when he said that if one does not prize rare goods, the people will not become thieves—only the wording is pushed further. Su Shi wrote, “In life, learning characters is where trouble begins.” Did he want everyone in the world to remain illiterate? “Stirring chaos and pulling apart what is tangled” refers to things that are tangled and confusing and that unsettle the mind; “melting away and burning up” means getting rid of such things completely. Outer things make people value externals and lose their true heart; confused affairs also scorch the spirit like smoke and fire. This passage only elaborates what came before and comes round to the idea of cutting off sagely wisdom and discarding cleverness: letting people keep their innate nature and unite with the Great Dao. Commentators from various schools have already explained this in detail, so there is no need to repeat it here.

Do you not know what the “age of utmost virtue” (a time when moral character was pure and the realm was at peace) was like? In antiquity there were leaders of clans such as Rongcheng, Dating, Bohuang, Zhongyang, Lulu, Lichu, Xuanyuan, Hexu, Zunlu, Zhurong, Fuxi, and Shennong. Then people kept records with knotted cords; they found their food sweet, their clothes comfortable; they loved their customs and were content in their dwellings. Neighboring states were within sight of one another, and the crowing of cocks and barking of dogs could be heard across borders—yet the people lived out their lives without traveling back and forth. A time like that may be said to have reached the utmost in governance.

Nowadays people are made to stretch their necks and stand on tiptoe, eager to hear where a worthy person may be; as soon as they hear of one, they pack provisions and hurry to see him. So they leave kin at home, abandon their proper work abroad, their footprints reaching to the borders of other states and their cart tracks running a thousand li. This shows only that those above have grown too fond of cleverness. When those above pursue cleverness and do not follow the Dao, the realm falls into great disorder.

Why is this so? The more skill goes into making bows, crossbows, nets, and bird bolts (arrows with attached cords for shooting birds), the more birds are disturbed. The more fishhooks, bait, seine nets, dip nets, and fish traps are used, the more fish are disturbed. The more pit-falls, snares, and hunting nets are set, the more beasts are disturbed. The more fraud, trickery, sophistry, and debate over “hard and white” and “sameness and difference,” the more the world is misled by disputation.

Thus the realm is often plunged into great disorder because people are excessively fond of cleverness. Everyone in the world knows how to chase after what they do not know, but no one thinks to seek what they already know; everyone knows how to criticize what they regard as wrong, but no one thinks to examine what they already approve. Then the realm is in chaos. Above, the brightness of sun and moon is disturbed; below, the essence of mountains and rivers is drained; in between, the rhythm of the four seasons is broken. Whether tiny soft insects or light-winged creatures, nothing fails to lose its innate nature. The harm done by cleverness is indeed severe.

Since the Three Dynasties, esteeming cunning and ingenuity has thrown the world into disorder. People have abandoned peaceful, self-sufficient lives in their own places and instead come to admire those who bustle about for advancement and flatter with clever words; they give up quiet, detached lives in harmony with nature and turn instead to liking endless preaching. In this way the world is thrown into turmoil.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: When the common people used knotted cords to record things, it was only for what mattered—enough sufficed. People were content with old customs, so they found daily food sweet and ordinary clothes lovely. The crowing of dogs and chickens could be heard from one another, yet the people did not need to visit back and forth; each dwelling in sufficiency, there was nothing more to seek. Nowadays people travel with dry rations chasing so-called worthies, leaving kin and lord—even if the original aim was great order, such ills follow; this is the fault of those above who esteem cunning and ingenuity.

The tighter the stratagems against wild beasts, the cleverer the beasts’ evasions; if even beasts cannot be fully controlled by cunning, how much more so people? When those above desire more, those below find it hard to be content with less. What human nature needs is not much, yet in chasing after more one becomes lost. Abandoning what one can know and pursuing what one does not know is forsaking oneself to imitate others—not holding to one’s own station. Each promoting what one holds good, contention for fame and victory arises from this.

Fortune and misfortune, regret and hardship—all come after action; and action driven by cunning is enough to shake heaven and earth and drive all living beings. As one who rules, how can one fail to lay aside one’s own cunning?

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: When the sage governs the world, he constantly keeps the people from scheming minds and from excessive desire. The people do not practice cunning, so knotted cords suffice for record-keeping; the people have few desires, so they find daily food sweet and ordinary clothes lovely, delighting to follow custom, dwelling in one place until old age without needing mutual visits. This is the age of thick virtue.

When all under heaven know what beauty is, ugliness appears; when all know what goodness is, not-goodness appears. Once people distinguish what should not be liked and what does not count as good, the distinction of good and evil is born; conversely, if one does not cling to one’s own notion of good and beauty and returns to wuwei (non-action), then even beauty and goodness may not be the true state of human nature as it originally is.

The people each dwell together, forming their own clans—this is the “myriad settled peoples.” Where people travel with dry rations chasing worthies, that is the “toiling flatterers.” Some teach the people with words like a father admonishing children; some admonish the people with speech like children persuading a father—this is the “tut-tut intent,” meaning repeated preaching and endless nagging. All these are results of esteeming worthiness and delighting in cunning taken too far. First there is knowledge of craftiness, then there are sages; with sages come great thieves. Sages and great thieves alike spring from cunning—therefore this chapter consistently takes abandoning cunning as its main theme.

Yidu’s commentary says: In the age of the twelve ancient emperors, the people found whatever they ate sweet, whatever they wore comfortable, and were content with their dwellings and customs…

Choose a suitable place to settle and live in peace; let chickens and dogs hear one another’s calls yet never cross paths to mingle. People multiply and thrive without reaching outward for anything.

Laozi said: “If you do not exalt the worthy, the people will not contend.” Today people chase illustrious fame, carrying dry provisions and fearing no distance on the road—all because fame and gain have disturbed their innate nature. This comes from rulers who favor cleverness and overuse intellect. What follows—from bows and crossbows, nets and hunting gear, to people’s disputes and sorting things into sameness and difference—further shows that when those above love cleverness excessively, fish and birds, people and beasts alike are thrown into turmoil and lose their true nature.

What people do not yet know is mostly crafty knowing; what they already know is true knowing. What they deem bad, they do not want; what they have already judged good, they strive to obtain. Zhuangzi wished people to forget outward pursuit, be content with their natural endowment, and not treat humanly designated “goods” as goals worth chasing. When those in high place love cleverness without following the Dao, the sun and moon lose their proper order, the essences of mountains and rivers fall into disorder, and the patterns by which the four seasons run are broken. Even tiny insects and small creatures lose their nature—then the condition of all things is easy to imagine. The common people each live according to their inborn nature, originally simple and undivided. Now they abandon simplicity and instead delight in busyness; they abandon quiet ease and instead delight in much talk and dispute—naturally the realm falls into chaos.

Xiangdao’s commentary notes: When military orders multiply, armies fall into disorder; when words multiply, contention arises. Thus the more crafty knowing, the more affairs; the more affairs, the more calamities. This is precisely why one who governs the realm should value reducing petty cleverness and displaying the great Dao. If people only chase what they do not know and do not reflect on what they already understand, then the clever knowing used to exhaust principles becomes surplus. If they do not know how to negate what they have already judged good, they harm the benevolent virtue that fulfills their nature. When benevolent virtue is harmed, clever knowing becomes a burden—then what is known is not true knowing, and what is rejected may not be rightly rejected.

The “Heavenly Revolutions” (Tianyun) chapter says that the clever knowing of the Three Sovereigns violated the brightness of sun and moon above, turned against the vital essences of mountains and rivers below, and in between wrecked the movement of the four seasons—clever knowing more poisonous than a scorpion’s sting, so that even small beasts could not peacefully keep their lives and natures. This matches the present passage’s meaning that all kinds of coiled and winged creatures lose their native nature. An old saying runs: “Many affairs are the enemy of life; many words are the injury of virtue.” Busyness is many affairs; chattering is many words. How could the realm not fall into chaos?

Bixu’s commentary notes: The Nanhuazhenjing (Authentic Scripture of Southern Florescence) cites the cases of the ancient Rongcheng clan, the Datingshi, and eleven other lineages governing through non-action (wuwei), to expose the failings of present-day rulers. Knotting cords to record events was the beginning of establishing laws and standards; affairs cannot stay forever still—after long stillness, change arises…

The more people flaunt their cleverness, the more the world falls into disorder. Birds, beasts, insects, and fish can no longer live in peace—how much more so for human beings? The poison of cunning and deceit rises up to violate the harmony of Heaven and Earth, so even plants and insects are harmed. The Laozi says, “Governing a state through cleverness brings calamity upon it; governing a state without cleverness brings it good fortune.” This is indeed true.

Yanzhai says: Of the twelve ancient rulers mentioned in the Zhuangzi, only Fuxi, Shennong, and Xuanyuan appear in the classical records; the others are unknown to us. Some may come from ancient legends, while others may have been invented by Zhuangzi—just as Buddhist scriptures say, “In a certain kalpa in the past, I…” Looking across the history of Heaven and Earth, the period since Fuxi for which written records can be examined spans no more than three thousand years. Before Fuxi, there must have been a history unrecorded in the Six Classics. We cannot therefore conclude that nothing existed then.

A worthy from a certain place came seeking refuge, carrying provisions with him. The text alludes to Confucius and Mencius as being among such people. Jiehua, Jianbai, Jiegu, and Tongyi were topics debated by the disputants of that time. Zhuangzi places fishing and hunting alongside the disputants’ debates, and satirizes Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu by mentioning them together with measures of capacity and standards of weight. His point is that pursuing what one does not know often means chasing outward things and deliberately seeking the unusual, while what one already knows is the clear and evident principle of nature. I recognize what is wrong in others, and should also recognize what is good in myself. This is what the Qiwulun means by “affirming what he affirms and denying what he denies.” In other words, one sees only what is wrong with others, without realizing that one’s own judgments may also be mistaken.

From things as vast as the sun, moon, mountains, and rivers to living creatures that breathe, wriggle, or fly, all may lose their natural dispositions. The disorder that flaunting cleverness brings upon the world is truly lamentable! This sentence brings the chapter to a close, after which the conditions of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties are offered as evidence. The earlier mention in the Xiaoyaoyou of Tang of Shang asking about Ge opens the discussion; the mention here of the world after the Three Dynasties brings it to an end. The opening and the ending differ, but the underlying principle is the same.

This chapter describes the age of Perfect Virtue, an ideal era in which virtue was at its purest: those above and below made no demands of one another, and the people were each content with their lot. This shows that the present age is different. Some of the twelve rulers may have left no trace in the classical texts; events after Zhurong’s time gradually become easier to verify. I privately believe that before Fuxi, people’s customs were so simple that they had not yet devised the method of tying knots to keep records. Their food all tasted good, their clothes were all comfortable, and they took pleasure in their customs and lived at ease. Why would they have asked about the achievements of rulers? Neighboring states could see one another, yet people had no fear of raids or plunder. The cries of chickens and dogs could be heard across the borders, and the people lived in abundance and contentment. They grew old and died without ever visiting one another, farming and digging wells…

“Being self-sufficient and seeking nothing outside oneself”—these words depict the simple customs of the most ancient times and draw on the meaning of the chapter “A Small State with Few People” in the Dao De Jing.

Later, people stretched their necks and rose onto their toes, setting out with provisions in search of worthy men. They left their rulers and families behind and traveled a thousand miles to seek out sages. Thus the custom of honoring the worthy came into view. Rulers led the people to pursue unusual things, deliberately exalting what lay beyond the reach of eye and ear. As a result, some people inevitably gained reputations greater than their actual merits. People followed one another in creating falsehoods—how could the world avoid disorder? The text goes on to say that esteeming cleverness harms all things and causes the people to lose their original nature. Even birds and beasts, insects and fish, can no longer live in peace according to the life proper to them.

“To seek what one does not know” means to reach beyond one’s proper bounds in pursuit of knowledge, as in speculating about Heaven and Earth or questioning spirits and gods. “To seek what one already knows” means to seek the innate, inner knowledge one already possesses, as in discerning subtle dangers or honoring virtue. “To seek what one is not good at” means to blame others and demand that they be flawless in every respect. “To seek what one is good at” means to boast of one’s abilities and act on one’s own authority. If we carefully distinguish these cases, choose with care, and follow the right path, we will understand that goodness arises from genuine nature and that each thing returns to its proper way. Then, even without deliberately governing the world, all under Heaven will settle into order of its own accord. If things are done in the opposite way, the sun, moon, mountains, and rivers will all fall out of harmony—and how could the people live in peace? All this stems from those in high positions esteeming cleverness too highly. “The various kinds of people” refers to those who receive the ancestors’ upright Qi and can serve as models for all under Heaven.

This chapter is titled “Prying Open the Trunk,” yet commentators rarely discuss the meaning of the word “prying.” Only Lin Yidu says it means “to open secretly.” I have consulted the Jianyun, where the word means “the side of the ribs.” Thus, “prying open the trunk” means opening it from the side to take what is inside—a form of theft.

The scripture means that when governance departs from the right path, laws and commands multiply ever more. When rulers use cleverness to guard against the people, the people in turn use cleverness to spy on the rulers. If defenses are not thorough, the people will certainly seize an opening and take what they can. Therefore, the state’s instruments of power must not be shown lightly to others. Tian Chengzi, an official of the state of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period, usurped Qi, consolidated its power, and also appropriated the sages’ methods of wisdom to secure his own position and make the state dominant. This shows that theft, too, has its methods, and that the sages’ wisdom upheld by the common world cannot be trusted. Given this, it is hardly surprising that those four men could not escape being killed.

In the world, both the paths of good and evil are established by drawing on the way of the sages. Yet those who turn toward evil are often many, while those who turn toward good are often few. Then…

It is clear that this way of doing things brings little benefit to the world and much harm. The principles of increase and decline, and of change, are like lips and teeth, or rivers and valleys: each depends on the other. If those who claim to be enlightened and clever are used to govern the world, the legendary great thief Zhi will profit even more. Make devices to restrain thieves, and the thieves will steal the devices too; establish laws to govern them, and they will steal the laws as well. What can I do? The trouble is that those who govern the world fail to uphold virtue and treat the feelings and interests of its people fairly. This gives unscrupulous strongmen the chance to seize power and pursue private gain, bringing harm to everyone.

The central aim of the Nanhua Zhenjing (the Zhuangzi) is to reject so-called enlightenment and cleverness, set aside calculation and comparison, and imagine a return to the ancient age of Wuwei (non-action) in government. Yet restoring simplicity depends on understanding what is truly known, so that people’s aspirations return to the right path; it also means returning to genuine goodness, preserving the nature with which people are endowed. To correct the ills of his age, Zhuangzi could hardly avoid speaking in sharp and forceful terms. He hoped to stir people and lead them to change course. The parable in the “Horses’ Hooves” chapter does not fully express his point; in “Rifling Trunks,” his critique reaches its extreme.

Alas, the Great Dao is vast and difficult to put into practice. Zhuangzi could only entrust it to words, proclaiming it alone at the forefront, with no one ultimately answering his call. It is no wonder that, throughout the ages, those who held fast to the Dao and right conduct chose to leave the world, withdrawing to mountains and seas and never returning. Ah, if all those entrusted with the art of governing could apply themselves as Zhuangzi, the official of the lacquer garden, did, what need would there be to fear that the world could not flourish and its honest, simple customs be restored?

Collected Subtle Commentaries on the Meaning of the Nanhua Zhenjing, volume twenty-nine.