《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 91

This passage comes from Volume 93 of the Nanhua zhenjing yihai zuanwei (Collected Commentaries on the Meaning of the True Scripture of Nanhua), a compiled and annotated edition of the "Rang Wang" (Yielding the Throne) chapter of the Zhuangzi. It was produced by Chu Boxiu, a Daoist of Wulin (present-day Hangzhou) in the Southern Song dynasty. The chapter tells of those who declined the seat of rulership, valuing life above the whole world.

Yao yields the world. Yao wished to hand the world to Xu You (a legendary hermit), but Xu You would not accept it. Yao then offered it to Zizhou Zhifu (a hermit), who replied: "I could be the Son of Heaven, I suppose. But I happen to suffer from a melancholy of the heart and spirit (shen), and I am tending to it. I have no leisure to govern the world." The world is the most precious thing there is, yet he would not harm his own life for its sake, still less for any other external possession. Only one who does not take the world to heart can be entrusted with it.

Shun yields the world. Shun offered the world to Zizhou Zhibo (a hermit akin to the one named above), who likewise said that he was afflicted with melancholy, must first recover, and had no time to govern. The world is a vessel of the greatest magnitude, yet he would not exchange his life for it. Here lies the difference between one who possesses the Dao (the Way) and the common run of people.

Shun also offered the world to Shan Juan (a hermit). Shan Juan said: "I live between Heaven and Earth. In winter I wear furs, in summer fine hemp cloth. In spring I plow and sow, and my body gets its exercise; in autumn I harvest, and my body gets its rest. I work when the sun rises and rest when it sets. I roam free between Heaven and Earth, content at heart and satisfied with myself. What would I want with the world? How sad that you do not understand me!" With that he departed and hid in the deep mountains, and no one knew where he had gone.

Shun further offered the world to a friend, a farmer of Shihu (a place name). The farmer said: "You are a diligent man, one who toils and strains." He judged that Shun's De (Virtue) had not yet reached the highest realm. So the farmer and his wife, carrying their belongings on their backs and atop their heads and leading their children, went off to an island in the sea and never returned in their lifetimes.

Danfu the Great King (an ancestor of King Wen of Zhou, also known as Taiwang). He dwelt in Bin (a place name) when the Di people invaded. He offered them furs and silks, but they would not accept; he offered dogs and horses, but they would not accept; he offered pearls and jade, and still they would not accept. What the Di wanted was land. Danfu said: "To live alongside a man's elder brother while letting others kill his younger brother, to live alongside a man's father while letting others kill his son: this I cannot bear. All of you, stay here and live in peace! What difference is there between being my subjects and being subjects of the Di? I have heard that one must not harm those one nourishes for the sake of the land that is meant to nourish them." So he leaned on his staff, took his divination stalks (yarrow stalks used for divining), and departed. The people followed him one after another, and at the foot of Mount Qi they built a new state.

Danfu may be said to have understood how to honor life. One who honors life, even when rich and noble, will not harm the body through the indulgence of being well provided for; even when poor and lowly, will not burden the body by chasing after profit.

Those who prize wealth and status should not harm themselves in the name of caring for their bodies. Even in poverty and lowliness, people should not let their minds and bodies be burdened by the pursuit of gain. Today, people hold high office and prestigious titles, yet are terrified of losing them. At the sight of profit, they readily risk their lives. Is this not foolish?

In Yue, three successive rulers were murdered by their ministers. Prince Sou was troubled by this and fled to hide in the Cinnabar Grotto. With no ruler in Yue, the people wished to install Prince Sou, but could not find him. Eventually they tracked him to the grotto, but he still refused to come out. The people of Yue smoked him out with mugwort and welcomed him with a jade chariot. Prince Sou grasped the chariot’s reins and climbed aboard, crying out to the sky, “The throne, the throne! Can it not leave me alone?” Prince Sou did not hate being ruler; he hated the misfortunes that came with ruling. It can be said that a man like Prince Sou did not sacrifice his life for the state. This was precisely why the people of Yue wanted to make him their ruler.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says little on this matter.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary holds that at the end of each of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, fathers, sons, and brothers harmed one another in their struggle for the realm. Some so-called scholars risked their lives and treated life as worthless simply to obtain favor and profit. The “Yielding the Throne” chapter of the Zhuangzi was written in response to this. Figures such as Xu You and Zhi Fu would not trade their lives for the realm. Yang Xiong believed that the ancient sage Yao gave the throne to Shun only after careful consideration, and so Yao was no more rash than Xu You. But what does it mean to say that Yao was careful? Does it mean he first examined and tested Shun, then handed the realm over to him? In fact, Yao’s choice of Shun did not depend on such examination and testing. That kind of testing was merely the usual procedure, the same as with ordinary people: placing Shun before the people and observing him. If Xu You had not been intent on declining Yao’s offer, how could we know that Yao’s examination of him would not have surpassed his examination of Shun?

Yidu’s commentary holds that worry hidden in the heart is called “hidden sorrow.” Zhi Fu would not let the realm damage his life, and Zhi Bo would not trade his life for the realm. Though they differed from worldly people, neither had yet freed his heart from all attachment. The story of Shan Juan illustrates the depth of his grasp of the Dao; the story of the farmer of Shihu shows his skill in concealing himself and holding firmly to what is fundamental. Shan Juan’s words focus on cultivating oneself and seeking to preserve one’s life. The farmer of Shihu, in turn, points out that later generations might judge his De to be incomplete. From this, we can see that neither had reached the state of being at ease in every circumstance.

King Danfu, in fleeing the Di, could not bear to harm the people for the sake of land. It can be said that he understood the importance of honoring life. A person with a body cannot do without nourishment; a person who is alive cannot avoid being burdened by life. The wealthy and powerful take pleasure in providing for themselves, but excessive indulgence harms the body. The poor and lowly are driven by the pursuit of gain, but excessive striving burdens both mind and body. Those who can… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Avoiding these two kinds of calamity is what it means to honor life. Prince Sou of Yue, a member of the royal house, evaded the throne and fled the state. One could say that he refused to let affairs of state damage his life. Yet although he was not entangled by external things, he had not forgotten his love for the people or his care for himself. His heart was still attached to things, and he still left traces behind. These are only the remnants of the sage’s state, not the true Way of the sage. The true sage forgets life, and life is thereby fully preserved; forgets what sustains him, and his sustenance is thereby fully provided. Even if the whole realm were entrusted to him, it would simply come at the right time. How could it harm his life?

Bixu’s commentary: Keep the realm at a distance, and its many calamities cannot intrude; value life, and other things cannot confuse you. Only someone whose heart is open, still, and unimpeded can entrust himself to all within the four seas. The deepest De of Heaven and Earth lies in nurturing the myriad things. The Perfected Person, too, regards life as the most precious thing, and so would never trade it for the realm. Who among those content with coarse clothes and thin gruel would sacrifice their nature for external things? Thus, the upright and high-minded refuse to submit to others; those of deep virtue, by contrast, can value people of low status. To hold fast to one’s integrity and preserve one’s strength is to accomplish great deeds; to let oneself drift and lose self-command only feeds greed and baseness. The land sustains the myriad things, and the myriad things sustain the people. Yet today people seize the resources by which the land sustains the myriad things, thereby harming the people whom the land nurtures. The sage cannot bear to do this. The wealthy and powerful fear losing what they have, and often harm their bodies through excessive provision; the poor and lowly disdain life, and often damage their bodies in pursuit of gain. Therefore, it is better to withdraw and preserve oneself than to become a ruler and invite calamity.

Luzhai says: “The illness of hidden sorrow” is like a concealed disease. “One who does not take the realm seriously can be entrusted with the realm” means that he possesses the realm without treating it as his private affair. “Juanjuan” is read as “quan” and describes ceaseless toil; “baoli” means to labor strenuously. The passages about Yao and Shun have no concluding statement because their meaning is the same as that of the preceding text. “What the land sustains” refers to the people. To honor life is to value oneself and regard external things lightly. This passage criticizes those of the time who feared losing their power and position: only someone who has no desire for the throne can be entrusted with the state. That is why the people of Yue wanted Prince Sou to become their ruler.

The Guanjian commentary by the Chu family says: Heaven brings sages into the world to carry on the Dao, clarify human relationships, and assist Heaven and Earth in nurturing the myriad things. Whether they hold the throne is beside the point. Yet when the people’s praise, allegiance, and petitions converge on someone, at times he cannot refuse the throne; he merely accepts it in trust for a time. Even if he occupies the exalted position of a ruler of ten thousand chariots… (The original text ends here.)

Even with the wealth of the Four Seas at their command, Yao and Shun still lived in humble huts with earthen steps, wore coarse clothes, and ate plain food. They did not consider power and status important, because these were not what they sought in their hearts. So even when they occupied the highest position, they felt no pride in it, and gave it up as easily as taking off a shoe.

Nothing in the world is greater than ruling all under Heaven. If even that can be given away, what could be worth fighting over? How can the depth of their inner vision be measured? And when someone offered them all under Heaven and they refused to accept it, that was not something a person without firm convictions could do. The virtue and achievements of Yao, Shun, and the Great King need no praise; only Zhuangzi could see clearly the noble integrity of those who yielded all under Heaven.

A close examination of their words of renunciation shows that their meaning is simply this: they regarded external things lightly and life as precious; they thought little of what lay outside themselves and cherished what was within; they took joy in the Way of the sage and loathed the calamities that come with being a ruler. The ancients disdained even to accept all under Heaven when it was offered to them. Could they really have been like later people who were conceited and deceitful, relied on force, defied what was right, exceeded their proper bounds, and grasped greedily for power?

The phrase “the affliction of hidden anxiety,” according to Gao You’s commentary when the Lüshi Chunqiu quoted this chapter, means that “hidden” is something concealed, as in the Book of Odes: “As though there were a secret sorrow.” Here it means that they were concerned that they had not yet put themselves in order; how could they have time to govern all under Heaven? This is precisely what set them apart from ordinary people.

The Great King fled from the Di people because he could not bear to harm his subjects. Prince Sou fled from the people because he feared they would harm him. To fear harming one’s subjects shows care for them; to fear being harmed oneself likewise shows care for oneself. The people of Yue wanted Prince Sou to become ruler because his virtue was outstanding. When he refused to stay, the people of Yue admired him as ants are drawn to a fishy smell. As for “The highest De does not consider itself to be De”: when virtue is at its highest, it does not claim to be virtuous, and the people cannot even name it. Such virtue can bring no profit, nor can it cause harm; this is a still higher level. Zhuangzi did not spell out the whole meaning, but there is a profound point here, which becomes clear on reading what follows.

Han and Wei were fighting over land, each seizing territory from the other. Zihuazi went to see Marquis Zhaoxi and found him looking troubled. Zihuazi said, “Suppose someone wrote this in front of you: ‘If you reach out with your left hand to seize it, your right arm will be crippled; if you reach out with your right hand, your left arm will be crippled. But if you seize it, you will gain all under Heaven.’ Would you reach out to seize it?”

Marquis Zhaoxi said, “I would not.”

Zihuazi said, “Good. This shows that your two arms are more precious than all under Heaven, while your body is more precious than your two arms. Compared with all under Heaven, Han is of little consequence; and the land you are fighting over now is of little consequence compared with Han. You originally…” The original text ends here.

Marquis Zhaoxi of Han was contesting a border territory with the state of Wei. Though little land had been lost, he was deeply troubled. Wei’s ministers repeatedly tried to counsel him, but he would not listen. Zihuazi came to see him and explained how to judge the relative importance of things.

Zihuazi asked Marquis Zhaoxi, “Suppose your left hand held a deed by which you could gain all under Heaven, but your right arm would have to be cut off; or your right hand held the deed, but your left arm would have to be cut off. Which would you choose?” The marquis replied, “I would not take all under Heaven.” Zihuazi pointed out that a person would not give up even one arm in exchange for all under Heaven, which showed that both arms mattered more than the realm; the body, in turn, mattered more than the arms. Han was less valuable than all under Heaven, and the border territory in dispute was less valuable than Han. To grieve over land he could not obtain, to the point of distressing his body and damaging his life, was that not giving up something of great worth to fight for something of little worth?

The marquis quickly understood. He praised Zihuazi, saying, “Many people have tried to teach me this principle, but I have never heard it put this way. Zihuazi truly knows how to weigh what matters.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary passes over this passage without discussion. Lü Huiqing argues that Marquis Zhaoxi listened to Zihuazi’s advice and stopped placing such value on the territory he was fighting over. Though he had not yet reached the point of valuing life above all under Heaven, he had learned how to choose and let things go. Yiduzizi explains that “to give up” here means to cut off: if a person would not sacrifice an arm to gain all under Heaven, how could he trade Han for it? This shows that both arms are more valuable than all under Heaven, and the body more valuable than the arms; Han is less valuable than all under Heaven, and the disputed territory less valuable than Han. Bixuzi draws on the Huainanzi to give examples of failing to distinguish what is weighty from what is trivial: killing a warhorse just to hunt a fox, finding two turtles but losing a sacred tortoise, cutting off the right arm to fight over a single hair, or breaking the treasured sword Moye to fight over a small knife and an awl—all are cases of giving up what is valuable for what is not.

Yanzhai says that “inscribed token” means a credential or deed. A person who cherishes their body would not damage an arm for the sake of such a token; how much less should one do so for Han, which is worth less than all under Heaven? Yet Marquis Zhaoxi was distressed because he could not win the border territory, harming his body in the process. What he stood to lose was worse than losing an arm.

All these commentaries stress the need to weigh benefits and harms carefully, to know what is worth fighting for and what should be let go. The marquis quickly grasped the principle after hearing the advice, so the commentators praise his insight as well as Zihuaizi’s skill in giving counsel.

The final sentence turns to a new story: The ruler of Lu heard that Yan He was a person who had attained the Dao, so he first sent someone to visit him with gifts.

Yan He lived in a humble hut, wore coarse clothes, and fed his ox with his own hands. The ruler of Lu sent an envoy to find him. Yan He received the envoy himself. The envoy asked, “Is this Yan He’s home?” Yan He replied, “This is Yan He’s home.” The envoy offered him gifts. Yan He said, “I fear the messenger may have made a mistake and caused you to incur blame. It would be better to check again.” The envoy returned to make inquiries and then came back to find Yan He, but by then he was nowhere to be found. A man like Yan He truly detested wealth and status.

Thus, the true substance of the Dao is used to cultivate oneself. What flows from it can be used to govern a state, and even its roughest, most insignificant remnants can be used to govern the world. It follows that the achievements of rulers are incidental to the sage’s cultivation of the Dao and nurturing of the self; they are not a means of preserving oneself and nourishing life. Those whom the world today calls gentlemen often harm their bodies and abandon their lives in pursuit of external things. Is this not lamentable?

Whenever a sage acts, he examines the reasons for acting and the ends he seeks. Suppose someone used the Marquis of Sui’s pearl—a legendary precious gem—to shoot at a sparrow high in the sky. Everyone in the world would laugh at him. Why? Because what he used to shoot was far too precious for what he hoped to gain, which was far too trivial. Is life’s preciousness really no greater than that of the Marquis of Sui’s pearl?

Guo Xiang’s commentary omits this passage and offers no discussion. Lü Huiqing’s commentary also gives no detailed explanation.

The Yidu commentary says: Yan He lived in straitened circumstances yet understood the true principle of the Dao. He truly detested wealth and status, which is why Zhuangzi chose him as an example. The true state of attaining the Dao cannot be measured by life and death; hence the saying, “If one hears the Dao in the morning, one may die that evening without regret.” Cherishing oneself and acting for the world as if it were oneself, however, are the sage’s outward traces. Threads of silk and scraps like bits of grass are all insignificant things. When the sage governs the world, he responds to the world’s entrustment and simply lets things follow their own course. That is why it is called an “incidental matter.” “The reasons for acting and the ends one seeks” means that before doing anything, one must first consider whether it accords with reason, then respond accordingly. Shooting a sparrow with the Marquis of Sui’s pearl is a metaphor for trading one’s life for wealth and status: abandoning what is precious to pursue a paltry gain.

The Bixu commentary says: “What flows from it” and “dregs and scraps” mean that the farther something is from oneself, the coarser and more superficial it becomes. When the sage governs himself, he is humble and does not force things. When rulers establish their achievements, they labor with their own hands until their palms and feet grow callused. Compared with self-cultivation, establishing achievements is merely an incidental matter. Yan He understood that the reasons for acting might not be trustworthy and that the ends sought might not be appropriate, so he refused the gifts. Some scholars willingly eat plain, coarse food and think little of wealth and status: the body may endure hardship, but the Dao must not be made to yield. They value themselves as they would the Marquis of Sui’s pearl, while regarding profit and rank as lightly as sparrows.

Yan Zhai said, “‘The remnants’ and ‘the chaff’ are the sages’ teachings for governing the state and the world.” Zhuangzi’s words can easily lead people to think that he divided things into two categories, the subtle and the crude. His point, however, was simply that those who understand the Dao are not inwardly burdened by external things. Even if they possess the world, they do not set their hearts on it; only then can they fully put Wuwei (non-action) governance into practice.

Zhuangzi’s forceful turns of phrase can invite misunderstanding, though that was not what he had in mind. “The remnants” and “the chaff” refer only to things that arise from other affairs, as when one speaks of dust and husks. In recent times, Lord Jing (Wang Anshi) did indeed treat these words as drawing a sharp division between two kinds of things; he therefore often cited “the remnants and the chaff” in putting his ideas into practice. Zhu Wengong (Zhu Xi) offered a forceful correction, comparing it to “using a pearl to shoot at a sparrow.” His point is clear.

On close examination, Yan He truly despised wealth and rank, far beyond the understanding of ordinary people. Unfortunately, he did not speak plainly about his true feelings. Instead, he was not candid with the envoy, which seems to have slightly diminished his unadulterated De (Virtue/Power). The envoy had already arrived at his home and met him in person, yet failed to press him to enter public service and simply returned after accepting his refusal. Was this not excessive in its adherence to the unadulterated? To avoid entering office lightly, and to withdraw readily once in office, is the usual way of a gentleman. Yan He had cultivated himself for a long time and grown ever more steadfast in his conduct; there is little need to dwell on this. But the ruler of Lu was eager to find worthy men, and it was rare to encounter someone like Yan He. Having had the good fortune to meet him, yet letting him slip away without joining him in governing the state and bringing about a peaceful age, was truly the result of the envoy’s mishandling of whether to persist in recruiting him. The point is repeated here to warn later generations.

Moreover, among the achievements possible in the world, surely none is greater than the work of an emperor. Yet Zhuangzi still regarded it as a kind of “remnant,” an external affair. How, then, could ordinary people hope to glimpse the true state of a sage?

In the phrase “that by which,” the word “by” means “the source from which” or “that in which one rests”—that is, what one relies on and what one finds contentment in. Many passages in the current editions may mislead readers. The character “者” should read “真”; the “治” in “cultivating the self” should read “持”; the character “聖” in “all the actions of the sages” is superfluous; and the “侯” in “the weight of Marquis Sui” should read “珠,” “pearl.” This chapter’s contents can all be found in the Lüshi Chunqiu, which confirms these readings. Lü Buwei lived not long after Zhuangzi, so his record probably preserves the facts.

Ziliezi’s family was poor. His face was gaunt, and he looked hungry. Someone reported this to Ziyang of Zheng, saying, “Lie Yukou is surely a man of the Dao. He lives in your state, yet is so destitute. Could it be that you do not care for worthy men?” Ziyang of Zheng then ordered an official to deliver grain to him. When Ziliezi saw the envoy, he bowed twice and declined the gift. After the envoy left, Ziliezi went back inside…

His wife looked at him, beat her chest, and sighed: “I have heard that the wives and children of people who possess the Dao can live in comfort and happiness. Yet now you look hungry. When the ruler passed by, he sent you grain, but you refused to accept it. Could this not be fate?”

Liezi smiled and said to his wife: “You do not understand me. The ruler sent me grain because he had heard what someone else said. When someone speaks ill of me, he will also listen to what others say and punish me. That is why I refused to accept the grain.” Later, the people indeed rose in rebellion and killed Ziyang.

Guo Xiang’s commentary mentions this matter briefly, without discussing it in detail.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary does not treat this matter in detail.

Yidu, a commentator, says: “A scholar establishes himself through upright conduct, and when others come to know him, they also examine his actual circumstances. If their examination is accurate, then when I am understood, I have nothing to reproach myself for. Ziyang served as chancellor of Zheng and had never associated with Liezi. Then, suddenly, he sent him grain because of what someone else had said. Since he came to know Liezi by listening to another person, he would surely also listen to another person and blame Liezi. This is precisely why Liezi refused to accept the grain.”

Bixu, a commentator, says: “A scholar willingly lives in seclusion and obscurity, seeking no fame or advancement. Why would he compromise his aspirations for an allowance without proper cause? Would he linger in a snare of danger simply out of concern for his wife and children?”

Yanzhai, a commentator, says: “Ziyang sent Liezi grain because he had heard what others said; this does not mean he truly understood Liezi. If he believed people when they praised Liezi, he would also believe them when they spoke against him.

“Ziyang served as chancellor of Zheng and held the power to decide the standing of the people of the state. How could he not know that worthy men were living among the people? He heard that Liezi possessed the Dao and sent him grain, which shows that when he encountered a worthy person, he could show respect. Yet Liezi reasoned that Ziyang had sent him grain because he had listened to others. How could he know that Ziyang would not listen to others and punish him? So Liezi declined the gift. This is an example of how a noble person detects signs in small things and infers what may come from what has gone before.

“The words Liezi’s wife spoke while beating her chest reveal the shallow outlook of worldly people. Who would have guessed that even the wife and children of a person who possesses the Dao could think this way? The actions of a perfected person may not be fully understood even by his own wife and children, much less by others. This passage shows that worthy people, like those who wear coarse clothes while concealing jade, are not easily recognized. Even when someone does recognize them, they should be treated appropriately. Only then can their talents be put to full use. The ‘Fisherman’ chapter says: ‘If you cannot treat people with humility, you will not win their trust; without their trust, you cannot learn what they are truly like.’ This is indeed well said.

“When King Zhao of Chu lost his state, Tuyang Shuo followed him into exile. After King Zhao regained the state, he prepared to reward those who had accompanied him, including Tuyang Shuo. Tuyang Shuo said: ‘When Your Majesty lost the state, I…’ The original text breaks off here.

Tuyang Shuo refused the reward offered by King Zhao of Chu. He said, “The king’s loss of his state was not my fault, so I dare not accept punishment for it. The king’s recovery of his state was not my achievement, so I dare not accept a reward.”

King Zhao of Chu said, “Please let me meet him.” Tuyang Shuo replied, “The laws of Chu stipulate that only those who have rendered great service and received a generous reward are entitled to meet the ruler. My abilities were not enough to preserve the state, and I lacked the courage to die fighting for it. When the Wu army entered Ying, I fled because I feared the turmoil; I did not deliberately follow the king. If Your Majesty were to discard the laws and break the rules just to meet me, that is not something I would want the people of the world to hear about.”

King Zhao of Chu said to Sima Ziqi, “Tuyang Shuo is low in status, yet his reasoning is profound. Please invite him on my behalf and grant him a position among the Three Banners.” The Three Banners refers to high-ranking, prestigious offices. Tuyang Shuo replied, “I know that a position among the Three Banners is more honored than a butcher’s stall, and that a stipend of ten thousand measures is greater than what I earn from selling sheep. But how could I covet rank and stipend, and give the king a reputation for bestowing favors arbitrarily? I dare not accept. Please let me return to my stall.” In the end, he refused the reward.

Guo Xiang held that the story’s central point was Tuyang Shuo’s steadfastness in upholding the Way, and that it needed no further explanation.

Yiduzi believed that in Zhuangzi’s time people often failed to be content with their proper place and pursued wealth and status by sheer luck. Zhuangzi therefore told the story of Tuyang Shuo to warn people. Though Tuyang Shuo worked at a butcher’s stall, he understood his proper place so clearly that his example could help reform the customs of the age. The Three Banners were prestigious posts such as those held by the Three Dukes. Tuyang Shuo knew they meant wealth and status, but refused to obtain them by an unrighteous means.

Bixuzi believed that every age has both people who study the Odes and Documents and enlighten their minds, and people who work in butchery and trade yet remain true to the Way. Those who seize power, claim others’ achievements as their own, and use their influence to demand lavish rewards should feel ashamed when they hear Tuyang Shuo’s story.

Yanzhai held that after King Zhao of Chu recovered his state, he wanted to reward Tuyang Shuo, while Tuyang Shuo kept to his own place. The Three Banners refers to the offices of the Three Dukes, and may also refer to the insignia on a carriage and clothing that distinguished a person’s rank.

The final passage develops the point further: King Zhao of Chu wanted to reward Tuyang Shuo as a way of showing favor after recovering his state; Tuyang Shuo declined in order to uphold the Way and keep the reward within proper bounds. When King Zhao lost his state, he was not punished for his own failings; after its recovery, Tuyang Shuo therefore should not receive a reward without having earned one. Many people in the world receive emoluments without merit, so Tuyang Shuo’s contentment with his proper place and his refusal of office and stipend deserve approval.

The ruler of Chu sent someone especially to visit Tu Yangshuo, a butcher in Chu, because he considered him a man of lofty character and wished to know him. Tu Yangshuo recalled that he had earlier made an agreement with the king of Chu: if he accepted an appointment, he would seem to break his promise. So he continued to decline, refusing office and sparing the ruler the reputation of handing out favors indiscriminately. His refusal to deceive others is something even an exemplary gentleman finds difficult; Tu Yangshuo, however, managed it with ease. If everyone could influence the world through virtue as he did, why should we worry that people could not support one another and flourish together?

Yuan Xian lived in the state of Lu. His home was a single small hut, its roof thatched with wild grass, and its door was old and broken. He made the door’s pivot from mulberry wood, used a broken jar as a window, and stuffed the gaps in the walls with grass mats. Though rain leaked through the roof and the floor was damp, he sat upright, playing his zither. Zigong, a disciple of Confucius, rode in a grand carriage and wore dark blue robes beneath a white outer garment. His carriage could not even squeeze into the narrow lane where Yuan Xian lived.

When Zigong went to visit him, he saw Yuan Xian come out to greet him wearing a battered cap and shoes with their heels coming loose, leaning on a goosefoot staff. Zigong said, “Ah, sir, how have you fallen into such hardship?” Yuan Xian replied, “I have heard that lacking possessions is called poverty; to have studied the Dao but be unable to put it into practice is called affliction. At present, I am merely poor; I am not afflicted.” Zigong stepped back, his face showing shame.

Yuan Xian smiled and said, “To act in order to please the world, to form factions and pursue private interests in making friends, to study in order to win other people’s approval, and to teach in order to show oneself off—these are afflictions of benevolence and righteousness. To adorn carriages and horses and pursue outward splendor is something I cannot bring myself to do.”

Zengzi lived in the state of Wei. He wore an old cotton robe with no outer garment, his face was haggard, and his hands and feet were covered in calluses. He had gone three days without lighting a fire to cook, and for ten years had not made himself any new clothes. When he straightened his cap, its strap broke; when he lifted his robe, his elbow showed; and when he put on his shoes, his swollen feet split the uppers. Dragging his loose shoe straps, he sang the “Hymn of Shang.” His voice rang through heaven and earth, like the sound of metal and stone instruments. A man like this could not be treated as a subject by the Son of Heaven or as a friend by the feudal lords.

Thus, those who cultivate the mind forget outward appearance; those who cultivate the body forget private advantage; and those who realize the Great Dao forget attachment to distinctions.

Confucius said to Yan Hui, “Yan Hui, come here. You are poor and of low status. Why not go out and serve in office?” Yan Hui replied, “I do not wish to serve in office. Outside the city, I have fifty mu of farmland, enough to provide me with porridge. Inside the city, I have ten mu, enough to grow mulberry and hemp and supply me with clothing. Playing the zither gives me enough joy, and studying the Dao you have passed down gives me enough contentment. I do not wish to serve in office.”

Confucius grew solemn and said, “Yan Hui, you speak well! I have heard that those who know contentment are not burdened by gain; those who truly know how to satisfy themselves are not afraid even when they lose something; and those whose inner cultivation is complete feel no shame even without official rank. I have recited these words for a long time, but today I have seen them embodied in Yan Hui. Yan Hui has taught me something.”

The central meaning of these three chapters is consistent throughout, but Guo Xiang and Lü Huiqing do not explain it in detail.

Yuan Xian was poor but did not complain; Zengzi was poor but knew how to console himself; Yan Zi (Yan Hui) was poor but delighted in seeking the Dao. “Nurturing one’s aspirations” means not setting one’s heart on the needs of the body, as Yuan Xian did. “Nurturing the body” means not coveting wealth and profit, as Zengzi did. “Attaining the Dao” means forgetting self-interest, as Yan Zi did.

Commentary by Bixuzi: Zigong served as a minister in the state of Wei. Riding in a carriage drawn by four horses and accompanied by attendants, he passed through a narrow, out-of-the-way lane to visit Yuan Xian. Seeing how poor he was, he sighed and asked, “How did you become so ill?” Yuan Xian replied, “I am poor, not ill.” Zigong felt ashamed for having spoken wrongly.

Yuan Xian mocked those who pandered to worldly tastes, coveted fame and rank, sought influential connections, and formed factions. They refused to cultivate themselves, yet used teaching to acquire wealth; they spoke of benevolence and righteousness on the surface while harboring treacherous intent within, and dressed themselves in splendid clothes and rode in fine carriages. How could someone seeking the Dao bear to act this way? Yuan Xian studied the Dao and put its principles into practice; he held fast to what was right and refused to yield. Zengzi focused on cultivating his aspirations, so he did not seek office. He did not covet wealth and profit, so he kept little company with others. He forgot self-interest, and so was in accord with the Dao.

Those who know contentment will not suffer disgrace; those who know when to stop will not fall into danger. To suffer no disgrace means to have fully cultivated one’s inner character. To fall into no danger means to have a clear conscience even without holding office. This was a teaching Confucius often recited; now we can see it embodied in Yan Zi.

Yanzhai says: Yuan Xian’s house had only four walls. Earthenware jars served as windows, and he plugged them with clothes to keep out the wind and rain. He made a hat from coarse hide, and when his shoes wore through, he dragged his feet as he walked. To hide treachery beneath benevolence and righteousness is called “te” (evil). He wore a coarse robe and a padded jacket, its outer layer torn so that the stuffing showed. “Zhongkuai” means puffed-up and insubstantial. The melodies sung in the Book of Songs’ “Hymns of Shang” seem to ring like bronze and stone; the phrase describes singing with a measured rhythm. “Attaining the Dao” means forgetting self-interest; without self-interest, one draws close to the Dao. Learning the Dao is enough to bring a person joy in themselves. The two Cheng masters often taught people to seek out the source of Yan Zi’s joy, and not to read too hastily. I have recited this passage for a long time. In the past, I had only heard people speak of such a person; now I have seen one.

Yuan Xian was content with poverty. He played the zither, recited poems, studied, cultivated himself, and put what he learned into practice. Though he lived in a cramped, humble house, it was as if he sat in a grand hall, for benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music were always present in him. Zigong was wealthy and held high office. Though it was an age of decline and disorder, the ruler still humbled himself enough to drive a carriage to visit him; this shows that Zigong had not forgotten the bonds of friendship. Yet when he asked Yuan Xian, “How did you become ill?” it showed that he did not understand Yuan Xian’s state of mind. Both men had studied under a sage, yet their understanding differed so greatly. Yuan Xian therefore explained one by one the distinction between poverty and illness.

From chasing worldly fame and profit to fussing over carriages and clothes, all of this is a grave failing among students. Zigong himself was already deeply caught up in it without realizing; fortunately, Yuan Xian pointed it out to him in no uncertain terms.

Bian—possibly Zengzi’s teacher in this passage—was both his friend and his teacher. Zengzi had a tumor on his body, calluses all over his feet, a worn-out robe, and elbows showing through his sleeves: clear signs of his poverty. Yet he remained focused on cultivating his mind, paying no heed to his physical appearance. His singing rang out with the force of metal and stone, and his vast, noble energy filled Heaven and Earth. Even a ruler with ten thousand chariots could not win his friendship, much less make him a subject.

Yan Hui was content with little and delighted in the Dao. He felt no shame at holding no office. Following Confucius’s path, he grasped his teacher’s intent but had no desire to pursue worldly achievements; even with only a basket of rice and a ladle of water, he was content. How could this be compared with wearing a red official seal and carrying gold and silver?

These three were all outstanding disciples of Confucius and had personally received a sage’s teaching. Their cultivation, however, differed in depth, and so did the depth of their joy. Zigong traveled among the states, won high office, amassed wealth, and astonished the world with his success. What he took pleasure in was different from what Zengzi and Yan Hui enjoyed. The Nanhua Perfect Scripture, another name for the Zhuangzi, cites these examples as warnings.

Gongzi Mou of Zhongshan said to Zhanzi, “My body is among the rivers and seas, but my mind still lingers in the court of Wei. What should I do?” Zhanzi replied, “If you value life, wealth and profit will seem less important.” Gongzi Mou said, “I understand this, but I still cannot overcome myself.” Zhanzi said, “If you cannot overcome your selfish desires, your spirit will be unsettled. To know that you cannot overcome them, yet force yourself not to give in to them, is called suffering a double injury. Those who suffer this double injury are little better off than the short-lived.”

Wei Mou was a prince of a state with ten thousand chariots. For him, retreating to live in mountain caves was harder than it would be for an ordinary person. Though he had not yet attained the Dao, he could be said to have the intention of doing so.

Guo Xiang and Lü Hui passed over this passage without comment.

The Yidu Commentary says: Prince Mou of Wei was enfeoffed in Zhongshan, and Zhanzi was a worthy man of Wei. Because the prince held high rank, the hardest thing for him to overcome was his attachment to wealth and status. So although he lived among the rivers and seas, his thoughts still dwelled on the court of Wei; he admitted that he could not yet let go of his concern for riches and rank. Zhanzi replied that valuing life makes one regard profit lightly; once profit is taken lightly, one naturally stops longing for the court. Although Gongzi Mou understood that life was precious and external things could be treated lightly, he could not overcome his own desires. Zhanzi therefore warned him: if he could not overcome his selfish desires, how could his spirit be at peace? The spirit should arise from emptiness and stillness. Gongzi Mou’s mind was not yet empty and still; unable to overcome his selfish desires, he was also forcing himself not to obey them. This would injure his desires and his nature, leaving him like someone with a short life. As the son of a feudal lord, Gongzi Mou would indeed find it difficult to withdraw to the mountains and live as an ordinary person. But since he had this intention, there was still hope that, over time, he might attain it.

Bixu says in his commentary that although Lord Mou had once experienced the flavor of the Great Dao’s detachment, he could not resist the pleasures of music and fine food. Following what one enjoys can nourish the body, but if it obstructs the mind and spirit, it harms the spirit. To lose the pleasure of caring for the body and also take on the trouble of an obstructed mind and spirit—is that not a double injury?

Wei Mou, also known as Lord Mou, admired the reputation of withdrawing from the world, yet never truly secluded himself. His intentions were easily swayed, and he struggled to maintain his principles. Still, he was quite different from those who gave themselves over to wealth and status.

Yanzhai says: When you understand how precious life is, external things naturally seem less important. If reason alone is not enough to help someone restrain themselves, then for the time being let them follow their own nature rather than forcing them to suppress it. Forcing suppression instead harms the mind and spirit, making them recoil. This is neither a true way of nourishing life nor the practice of someone who lives long. Wei Mou may be called a person with an aspiration in his heart who is striving to put it into practice.

“Xiangwei” refers to the towers beside the gates of a ruler’s palace. The Huainanzi writes it as “Guique,” with the same pronunciation and explanation. Xu Shen’s commentary says these were watchtowers on either side of the Son of Heaven’s palace gates.

“Unable to master oneself, then follow” can be understood to mean: if one cannot restrain oneself, follow one’s nature rather than forcibly suppressing it. Some also connect “follow” with “spirit,” interpreting the phrase as following what the spirit finds agreeable. Yet those who study the Dao should reduce their passions and desires, aspiring to stillness and emptiness. Here, however, the text says to follow one’s nature so that the mind and spirit may be at ease, as if it were acceptable not to restrain oneself. It also says that forcibly suppressing oneself and refusing to follow one’s nature causes a double injury. This seems to encourage people to indulge their feelings and pleasures and treat that as the Dao, much like Guan Yifu’s claim, recorded in the Liezi, that “the way of nourishing life lies in letting things run their course without suppression.”

The underlying intent of this passage was probably that Lord Mou came from a wealthy and powerful family, so it would truly have been difficult for him to withdraw to the mountains and forests. Excessive suppression of his feelings and nature might have harmed his innate character, so he was guided gently and led forward step by step. So long as he ultimately achieved something, it did not matter if the method differed. The Nanhua Zhenjing quotes these words to encourage people of wealthy backgrounds who wish to study the Dao, so that they do not lose heart as soon as they see how difficult cultivation can be.

Guan Yifu’s words are different. He was concerned with assisting a hegemonic state and strengthening its military, so his argument was inevitably biased and cannot be compared with Lord Mou’s. Zhanzi’s words, too, should not be treated as a rule for everyone who studies the Dao. It is like a skilled physician treating an illness: the physician must first assess the patient’s condition and then prescribe a remedy. The only aim is to cure the illness.