《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 82

Confucius arrived in the state of Chu and lodged beside a wine shop at Ant Hill. At a neighbor’s house, a married couple and several servants had climbed to a high place to look out. Zilu said, “Why are they gathered there? What are they trying to do?” Confucius replied, “There is a sage whose outward appearance is that of a servant. He buries himself among the people and hides at the edge of the fields. He does not seek to make his name known, yet his aspirations have no limit. Though he speaks, in his heart he never takes worldly talk seriously. He is about to forget the ways of the world, and inwardly disdains to go along with the crowd. This is what is called ‘sinking on dry land’—being in the world yet as though submerged beneath the earth, unknown to others. Could that man be Yiliao from the south of the city?”

Zilu asked to go and invite him over. Confucius said, “Let it be. He knows that he has left a reputation in my heart, and he knows that I have come to Chu. He thinks I must be trying to get the King of Chu to summon me. He will take me for someone skilled at currying favor. People like him are ashamed even to hear a flatterer’s words, let alone see the flatterer in person. How could we make him stay?” Zilu went to look and found that the man’s house was already empty.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Burying himself among the people” means blending in with the common folk. “Hiding at the edge of the fields” means that when advancing into public life, he does not seek wealth and honor, and when withdrawing, he does not fall into hardship and withering. “His name fades” means diminishing his reputation; “his aspirations have no limit” means seeking long life. What he says aloud is worldly talk, but inwardly he is unlike the world. This is like someone submerged where there is no water: his traces are visible, but the truth of his situation is hard to discern. “How could we make him stay?” means that it is better to let the matter go and follow his wishes. His house was indeed empty, showing that he had fled.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: When Yiliao saw Confucius arrive, he climbed to a high place to show that he did not wish to meet him and intended to move somewhere higher and more remote. “A sage who looks like a servant” means that he possesses a sage’s Virtue (De), yet takes the posture of a servant. Burying himself among the people means doing nothing conspicuous; hiding at the edge of the fields means not occupying a prominent central position. He does not seek to make his name known, yet his aspirations are deep and boundless. He withdraws into hidden places and wanders beyond the world’s customs. Though he speaks, it is as if he had said nothing; he would prefer to remain silent, but cannot refrain from speaking altogether. He runs counter to the ways of the world and disdains to go along with the crowd, so he intends to flee the world and leave.

He carries a sage’s Virtue into the world, yet is not understood, like someone sinking on dry land. Judging by Confucius’s conduct, he traveled tirelessly, taking the whole world as his responsibility. On the surface, he might seem like someone skilled at currying favor. Yet if everyone avoided the world as Yiliao did, who among the people would save the world’s ways? The sage’s Way would fall to the ground, with no one to pass it on. Long ago, Weisheng Mou said that Confucius was skilled at currying favor, and Confucius replied that he did not do so deliberately. Now, in front of Yiliao, Confucius calls himself… (The original text ends here.)

“Become a flatterer to show that this is what you value; busy yourself like this, and you still gain nothing.”

Commentary by Yidu: “Ant Hill” is a place name. A family that sold fermented drink climbed to a high place and looked into the distance, seeing only a dense crowd. Some people buried themselves among the common folk, living in seclusion beside the fields just as they did, leaving no trace. Their reputations faded, but their aspirations knew no bounds. Their minds were devoted to the Dao (the Way); they did not cling to words, but merely responded to things as they arose. Inwardly they were at odds with worldly ways, yet outwardly they were like everyone else. The sage hides amid the dusty world, on dry land yet seemingly sunk without a trace. Those who live in seclusion in the marketplace are probably like this.

Through Confucius, Zhuangzi speaks of Yiliao, saying that he left no trace of a sage’s presence and that his dwelling was empty and still—in other words, no sign of him could be found. These words reveal that Confucius was willing to share the people’s hardships. Yiliao, by contrast, had left the human world and returned to nature.

Commentary by Bixu: “Climbing to the peak” means ascending to the roof ridge to look out. Confucius took on work such as driving and serving, thereby attending on a sage, much as Gengsang Chu had once served Lao Dan. To bury oneself among the crowd is like Liezi living near the vegetable gardens in Zheng, where no one recognized him; to hide beside the fields is like Changju and Jieni, who withdrew to farm. In this way, their reputations faded and their aspirations found room to unfold. They spoke, yet inwardly did not cling to words. They scorned going along with worldly customs; on dry land, they vanished as if sunk beneath the water.

Confucius supposed that Yiliao did not wish to see him, just as Yan Xi was ashamed to meet Xu You. Why, then, keep this man here? The question means: “On what grounds do you keep him here?”

Oral Commentary by Yanzhai: “Peak” means the roof ridge; “servant” means an attendant. “Burying oneself among neighboring households” means hiding among one’s neighbors, living close by without being noticed. “Letting one’s reputation fade and fleeing fame” means concealing one’s name; “on dry land yet sunk” is a metaphor for living in seclusion in the marketplace. When Confucius says, “Become a flatterer,” he is pointing out that Yiliao talks too much. “On what grounds do you keep him here?” means that he will surely leave and will not stay.

In ancient times, customs were simple and people did not visit one another, even into old age. Each was content with their own lot, lived self-sufficiently, and sought nothing outside. Now Confucius travels from state to state, urging his teachings everywhere. He wants to transform the world through benevolence and righteousness and to bring people under the constraints of ritual and music, thereby making them lose their ease and joy in their natural disposition. Those noble men who hide their virtue and conceal their radiance should move to places more remote and elevated, fearing only that they might not leave soon enough.

Yet the sage’s love for people has no limit. Whether he himself is in hardship or good fortune, he always keeps the welfare of all under heaven in mind. This cannot be compared with those who withdraw from the world and seek only to cultivate themselves. Confucius knew that Yiliao was a sage’s attendant, though he had not yet entered the inner chambers. Such a person, too, shuns fame and pursues his own aspirations; he must be “Shinan…” (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Xiong Yiliao, a hermit from the state of Chu, refused to take office. The Sage understood human affairs with remarkable insight. Zilu wanted to summon him, but Confucius knew he would certainly not come, so he sent Zilu back to tell him, “Your house is empty now.” On hearing this, Xiong Yiliao came to see Confucius; once he arrived, however, he left again. This episode especially shows how clearly Confucius could foresee what people would do. As for those who withdraw from the world and seek only to cultivate themselves, they cannot avoid limits in how they engage with it. This is simply because people differ in their understanding and their preferences, and each chooses the way of life they favor.

The border official of Changwu asked Zilao, “When governing a state, do not be careless or cursory; when governing its people, do not act perfunctorily. In the past, when I grew grain, I plowed carelessly, and the crop repaid me with poor yields. I weeded perfunctorily, and the crop repaid me in kind. The following year, I changed my methods: I plowed the land deeply and carefully harrowed the fields. The grain then grew lush and thick, and in the end it kept me well fed throughout the year.”

After hearing this, Zhuangzi said, “Today, many people who tend their bodies and govern their minds are just as the border official described. They turn away from nature, depart from their inborn nature, damage their feelings, and dissipate their spirit. They simply follow their many desires and treat their own nature carelessly. Greed and aversion grow like weeds, becoming a scourge to one’s nature. At first they seem like weeds sprouting among young shoots, apparently supporting the body; over time, however, they injure one’s nature, until everything breaks down and drains away, spreading in every direction, with no one knowing where it began. Such ailments as carbuncles, scabies, abscesses, internal heat, and oily urine all arise in this way.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “‘Careless’ and ‘perfunctory’ mean neglectful and lax, failing to do the work one ought to do. If one fulfills one’s proper duties, these consequences do not follow. Turning away from nature, departing from one’s inborn nature, damaging one’s feelings, and dissipating one’s spirit are all caused by following many desires. If each thing could follow its own nature and reach its proper measure, what cause for worry would there be? Weeds harm the grain, while greed and aversion damage one’s nature. When the body is excessively extended and indulged, the spirit and vital energy are harmed. To let greed and aversion pull one’s nature along so that it cannot function properly is the consequence of treating one’s nature carelessly.”

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “Cultivating the Dao means gradually diminishing until one reaches Wuwei (non-action); this is how one tends the body and governs the mind. But if one instead turns away from nature, departs from one’s inborn nature, dissipates one’s spirit, loses one’s feelings, and follows many desires without knowing when to stop, then one is gravely careless with one’s nature. The Daodejing says that what is settled is easy to maintain, and what has not yet emerged is easy to plan for. The desires and aversions within the mind are like weeds; the many desires outside are like reeds and rushes. They seem to support the body, but over time they injure one’s nature, and the principles of Heaven disappear. Once this has happened, is there still time to put things right? The breakdown, draining, and spreading mentioned here, along with the various ailments that follow, are all harms caused by greed and aversion, which rob one of the functioning of one’s true nature.”

Yidu’s commentary says: “If one governs affairs and manages the people carelessly and perfunctorily, things will be neglected and no results will be achieved. The border official uses his own experience of farming to show that the same is true of cultivating the fields. In the following year, he finally…” (The original text ends here.)

By changing unsuitable farming methods, turning the soil deeply, and tending the seedlings with care, the crops will grow vigorously and the harvest will be abundant. Eating too much and working too hard bring excessive returns. The same principle applies to caring for the body and bringing order to the heart.

If one simply defies one’s nature and turns away from the natural course, one will lose one’s original nature, damage one’s emotions, and dissipate one’s spirit. Following the habits of the crowd may lead one into danger. When reeds have only just begun to sprout, treating them as seedlings to be nurtured will eventually cause them to harm the crops. Human greed and aversion work in the same way: as soon as they begin to arise, the body follows them and keeps expanding their reach. When desires and emotions grow strong without restraint, they damage one’s nature.

Desire must therefore be restrained as soon as it begins to arise. Otherwise, once one’s nature is damaged and desire burns fiercely, Jing and Qi will disperse and leak away uncontrollably. This may eventually bring on sores, scabies, boils and swellings, internal heat, and cloudy urine. Only when the spirit has scattered and the body has declined do the ailments come to an end. Such are the consequences of governing one’s nature carelessly. “Greasy urine” refers to disorders such as cloudy urine.

In his Kouyi, Yanzhai says that Zhuangzi first uses the farmer’s work for the feudal lord as a metaphor for governing affairs of state, then extends it to the cultivation of learning. Su Shi’s Discourse on Farming makes a similar point. Changing farming methods and adjusting the limits of cultivation can make seedlings flourish. Human likes and dislikes, by contrast, are like reeds: they obstruct the openings of the heart, much as in the phrase “thatched over in the heart,” meaning that one’s understanding is obscured. When one’s nature is obscured, desire grows day by day. If human desires are treated as something that nourishes the body, they may seem to support the physical form, but in fact they lead one’s actions away from the natural order, damage one’s true nature, and cause the Heavenly principle to fade. When one’s nature and emotions are damaged, Jing and Qi also become diseased: sometimes they disperse together; sometimes they continue to leak away. Once Jing and Qi fall out of balance, illness may follow. This passage warns people against indulging their desires and harming their bodies.

The word qi in “change the qi” is interpreted in different ways. Some read it with a falling tone and take it to mean the limits or proper measure of cultivation. Others explain it as changing the method of cultivation, or as changing the farming practices of the state of Qi. Given the meaning of the text, the falling-tone reading, understood as setting limits, is the most fitting: a careless person does not cultivate according to the proper measure and therefore gets a poor harvest. Only by changing the old limits of cultivation and working with care can the seedlings flourish. This is an apt analogy for caring for the body and governing the heart. The human heart and nature originally remain within the bounds of the natural order. People lose their true nature only when they insist on defying that order; they then damage their emotions and harm their spirit without realizing it. This happens because they are immersed in the customs of the crowd. Desire and aversion damage one’s nature just as reeds harm the crops. Jianjia refers to reeds in their earliest stage of growth.

At first, he helped the young shoots so they could grow together. Later, however, they grew too luxuriantly and ended up harming one another. Desire and aversion damage people’s nature and make them lose their original character. The body, too, is depleted and weakened as a result: whatever one does, illness comes easily, and the decline continues until one is exhausted. This is what comes of tending the body carelessly. Shouldn’t we take it as a warning?

Bai Ju went to study with Lao Dan and said, “Please let me travel throughout the world.” Lao Dan replied, “Forget it. The world is still as it has always been.” Bai Ju asked again. Lao Dan said, “Where do you plan to begin?” Bai Ju answered, “I’ll begin in the state of Qi.”

When he arrived in Qi, Bai Ju saw a man who had been sentenced to death. He went up to support him, took off his own court robe and covered the man with it, then looked up to heaven and wept: “Alas, you! Alas! A great calamity has come upon the world, and you have been the first to suffer from it!”

Bai Ju continued: “Do not steal; do not kill. Once people establish standards of honor and disgrace, they notice what they find wanting in themselves. Once they amass wealth and goods, they see one another as rivals. Now the rulers have set up standards that make people feel deficient, and amassed wealth that provokes rivalry. They wear the people down until they have no rest all day, yet expect them not to fall into such a state. Is that possible?

“In ancient times, rulers who governed the people regarded what the people gained as their own gain, and what the people lost as their own fault. They credited the people with what was right and took responsibility for what went wrong. So whenever they saw someone lose their nature or act improperly, the ruler would step back and reflect, blaming himself. It is not so today. The laws conceal their purpose, making them hard to understand; tasks are made difficult, yet the people are punished for not daring to take them on. Responsibilities are made too heavy, yet people are punished for failing to meet them. Journeys are made too long, yet those who do not arrive are put to death. When the people’s intelligence and strength are exhausted, they have no choice but to resort to deceit. Deceit multiplies every day. How could the people remain content without deceiving anyone?

“When people lack the strength, they resort to pretence. When they lack understanding, they deceive. When they lack goods, they steal. Who, then, should be blamed for these acts of theft?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: The “great calamity” mentioned here refers to the matters described below. Once calamity has struck, how can people be expected to refrain from wrongdoing, even if they are admonished? If each person were content with their proper place, there would be no disputes over honor and disgrace, gain and loss. But once standards of honor and disgrace are established, people compete to boast and pursue them, rushing about in their midst. Is that not itself a sickness? If contentment were regarded as wealth, what would there be to fight over?

When a ruler has particular desires, the people cannot be content with their proper place. If the ruler does not cause the people to suffer loss, they will naturally be content with what they have. If the ruler does not wrong them, they will naturally act rightly. The forms and natures of all things become disordered because rulers disturb them. To follow one’s nature is to let it unfold on its own; when people are pushed around by external things, their nature becomes visible. Make things easy, and people will dare to take them on. Assign tasks suited to people’s abilities, and they will be able to complete them. Let the road match their strength, and they will be able to reach their destination. Once the people’s intelligence and strength are exhausted, they resort to deceit to avoid punishment.

Where should punishment be traced back to—those who gave rise to a climate of hypocrisy? And where can the true principles be found?

Lü’s commentary says: Ju once held office. He took off his official robe and covered a dead person with it, expressing his compassion in this way. Someone capable of such an act should understand that the people’s crimes often have their roots in those above them. That is why he did not hesitate to speak frankly in criticism of those in power. When rulers cannot let go of honor and disgrace, the people see what they value. When rulers cannot give up their wealth, the people see the source of their quarrels. Now rulers place before the people the very concerns over honor and disgrace that trouble them, gather the wealth that everyone fights over, and then make people suffer for it. How could they expect the people not to steal or kill, or expect those who commit capital crimes not to be put to death?

Shang Tang and King Wu of Zhou once said that if anyone under Heaven was guilty, the responsibility lay with them alone: they regarded the people’s gains and losses as their own. Yi Yin also said that if even one person lacked the means to live as they should, it was his own fault. When he saw that he had failed in some way, he stepped down and examined and blamed himself. This was how ancient rulers cared for the people and turned their scrutiny back on themselves.

Today’s rulers, however, are ignorant and unable to recognize the roots of the people’s hardship, yet they dare not impose appropriate punishments. They cannot bear to kill, but refuse to show the people the leniency of the former kings. Nor do they understand how much the people can endure: they only blame those who have no power to change their circumstances. The people know their strength is already spent, and are driven by necessity to get by through deceit. Those above practice hypocrisy in everything, yet expect those below them not to do the same. This is impossible.

Yi Du’s commentary says: As the Great Dao declines day by day, deceit and hypocrisy grow day by day, and from this the people begin to suffer calamity. “What crime have you committed to suffer this calamity first?” asks whether the people are naturally inclined to steal and kill. The great calamity spoken of here also includes the hardship caused by honor and disgrace and by wealth; these, too, damage people’s lives.

In ancient times, people did not compete for honor and disgrace, so they knew of nothing to worry about. They did not accumulate wealth, so they knew of nothing to fight over. Today’s rulers place honor and disgrace in a prominent position and keep wealth in their own hands. In doing so, they invite the very concerns that trouble the people and gather the sources of their quarrels. They then add heavy taxes, making the people suffer, while compulsory labor allows them no rest. Even if people do not wish to meet their deaths, it is hard for them to avoid that end.

Ancient rulers regarded the people’s gains and losses as their own responsibility, and withdrew to blame themselves. Today’s rulers do not. The next four lines criticize the rulers of that time: they conceal what is happening among the people, then treat as fools those who do not know the people’s circumstances. In short, they fail to go along with human feelings and instead impose their arrangements everywhere. The people know their strength is spent and that they cannot carry on, so they have no choice but to get by through deceit. Those above refuse to examine the root causes and concern themselves only with minor details. How, then, can they put a stop to these problems?

Bixu’s commentary says: “View a household from the standpoint of a household, and a state from the standpoint of a state, and all under Heaven is still the same…”

Bai Ju came to the state of Qi and saw a criminal being executed. Wearing his court robes, he stood nearby and wept. This was an ancient ritual. He wept because he grieved that bad governance and failed moral instruction had brought someone to such an end. The cause was that rulers had established ideas of honor and disgrace and amassed wealth, ultimately bringing the calamity of killing upon themselves. The custom of competing for possessions had also become widespread. Could anyone hope to avoid great disaster? Laozi said, “One who bears the calamities of the state is worthy to be ruler of all under Heaven.” Yet the practices of the present ran counter to the ancient Way: statutes and regulations were kept hidden, leaving the people ignorant; unreasonable rules were imposed, and those who broke them were punished; burdensome tasks were assigned, and people of ordinary ability were penalized; journeys were made longer, and those who were slow or weak were put to death. When the people’s strength and wits are exhausted, they will find ways to deceive their ruler. If those above have already lost the true Way, the people will be affected by it too. To make a stream clear, one must first clear its source.

The Lüzhai Kouyi explains: “Are the things people are forbidden to do not theft and murder?” Honor and disgrace, reputation, and material wealth can all become sources of calamity. It is the ruler’s greed for reputation that first brings these troubles upon him; it is the state’s eagerness to amass wealth that first gives rise to competition. The phrase in the classic, “when right and wrong are lost,” means that when the people do wrong, the ruler should hold himself responsible. Even if a single matter is handled badly, he should withdraw and blame himself. If any of the people have not received his beneficence, he should feel ashamed, as though he himself had pushed them into a ditch.

Wealth is kept hidden from the people, and those who do not know about it are instead called ignorant. People are given tasks that cannot be completed, and those who dare not undertake them are declared guilty. Heavy responsibilities are imposed without weighing people’s abilities. Long distances are prescribed without considering how far people can travel. When people are forced to do what lies beyond their strength, they can only pretend to comply; when they are forced to do what lies beyond their knowledge, they can only deceive in response. Those above make limitless demands, so the people may resort to theft in order to pay what is owed. These falsehoods, deceptions, and thefts are all driven by those above. Whom, then, can they blame?

Bai Ju asked to travel throughout the world, and Confucius too once considered taking a raft out to sea. When Bai Ju reached Qi, he saw a criminal being executed by the roadside; this revealed the state of political rule and moral instruction in the various kingdoms of the time. Wearing his court robes, he wept to express his deep compassion. Hunger and cold, illness, hardship, imprisonment, and bereavement may all be called calamities, but no destruction of life is more severe than execution. Why had you, in particular, first met with this calamity? Was it because of theft or murder? And why had you come to this end? Could it be that ideas of honor and disgrace, and the pursuit of wealth, had brought calamity and stirred up rivalry? Establishing systems that make people suffer and accumulating wealth that incites them to compete had long been the prevailing practice. How, then, could disaster be avoided? These words contain a satire of the politics of the time.

Rulers who governed the world in ancient times kept in their hearts the wish to care for and nurture the people, fearing that even one person might lose a place to live in peace. Thus their governance succeeded, and their instruction reached throughout the land. Things are different today. The passage that follows directly identifies the failings of the politics of that time: those who voiced criticism were not guilty of wrongdoing, and those who heard it had ample reason to take warning. At the end, it asks in turn: who, then, can be blamed? The words also carry a sigh that even this is not enough, in the hope that those in office will reflect on themselves and pay closer attention.

If they could truly be restrained in their own provision, root out abuses, put an end to conflict, and inspire the people through their virtue, then punishments could be set aside and left unused. Would this not be the highest good?

Note: “one form” (yixing) should read “one thing” (yiwu); the former is a copying error. This textual emendation appears in the Lüzhaizhu.