《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 93

Collected Subtle Interpretations of the True Classic of Southern Florescence, Volume 95

Composed by Chu Boxiu, a Daoist of Wulin

Robber Zhi, Chapter One

Confucius and Liu Xiajì, also known as Liu Xia Hui, were friends. Liu Xiajì’s younger brother was named Robber Zhi. He commanded a band of nine thousand and roamed unchecked throughout the land, invading and oppressing the feudal lords. His men broke through walls and entered homes, forced open doors, drove off other people’s oxen and horses, and abducted women. They were insatiable in their greed and showed no regard even for their own relatives; they did not even make offerings to their ancestors. Whenever they passed through a city, the great states shut their gates and mounted defenses, while the small states took refuge in their forts. The people suffered terribly at their hands.

Confucius said to Liu Xiajì, “A father ought to be able to teach his son, and an elder brother ought to be able to teach his younger brother. If a father cannot teach his son, or an elder brother his younger brother, then the affection between father and son, or between brothers, cannot be regarded as precious. You are a man of talent and virtue in this world, yet your younger brother has become Robber Zhi and brings harm upon the land. Since you cannot teach him, I feel ashamed on your behalf. Please allow me to try to persuade him for you.”

Liu Xiajì replied, “You say that a father ought to be able to teach his son, and an elder brother his younger brother. But if a son will not heed his father’s instruction, or a younger brother will not accept his elder brother’s guidance, what can you do, no matter how eloquent you are? Besides, Robber Zhi’s mind surges like a spring and his thoughts shift like a gale. His legs are strong enough to resist an enemy, and his tongue is skilled enough to cover his faults. If you go along with his wishes, he is pleased; if you oppose them, he grows angry. He can also readily humiliate people with his words. Please, do not go.”

Confucius ignored this advice. He had Yan Hui drive the carriage, with Zigong seated on the right, and together they went to meet Robber Zhi. At the time, Robber Zhi was resting his men south of Mount Tai and eating human liver. Confucius got down from the carriage and approached the gatekeeper. “I am Kong Qiu of Lu,” he said. “I have heard of the general’s noble character and have come to pay my respects.”

The gatekeeper went in to announce him. When Robber Zhi heard the message, he flew into a rage. His eyes shone like stars, and his hair stood on end as if it would lift his cap. He said, “Isn’t this that deceitful Kong Qiu from Lu? Tell him for me: he invents sayings and talks nonsense, falsely praising King Wen and King Wu. He wears a cap made of wooden branches and a belt of dead oxhide, and he speaks at length while getting everything wrong. He eats without farming and wears clothes without weaving. He wags his tongue and pronounces what is right and wrong on his own, confusing the rulers of the land. He also keeps the scholars of the world from returning to the source of things, and makes empty boasts about filial devotion and brotherly affection in the hope of winning a noble title and wealth. This is your great crime…”

After Zhi the Robber heard his followers’ report that Confucius had come to visit, he said: “If he comes back to pester me, I’ll gouge out his liver and serve it at my midday meal.” Confucius sent another messenger to announce: “I have been fortunate enough to know Master Ji, and I hope to pay my respects under your canopy.” When the messenger reported again, Zhi the Robber had Confucius admitted.

Confucius hurried forward. Zhi the Robber gripped his sword, glared with wide eyes, and roared like a nursing tiger: “Kong Qiu, step forward! If what you say suits my mind, you live; if it goes against my mind, I die.”

Confucius said: “I have heard that in the world there are three kinds of virtue. To be born tall and sturdy, with a handsome face unmatched by anyone, so that young and old, high and low alike are pleased at the sight—this is virtue of the highest kind. To have wisdom enough to penetrate heaven and earth and distinguish the ten thousand things—this is virtue of the middle kind. To be fierce and bold, resolute and daring, able to gather multitudes and command armies—this is virtue of the lowest kind. Whoever has even one of these can face south and style himself king. General, you unite all three: you stand eight feet two inches tall, your face is bright, your lips red as cinnabar, your teeth white and even as shells, your voice in tune with the Yellow Bell (the first of the twelve pitch standards)—yet you are called Zhi the Robber. In my heart I pity you, General; I do not think you should keep to what you are doing now.

“If the General will hear me out, I can go south as envoy to Wu and Yue, north to Qi and Lu, east to Song and Wei, west to Jin and Chu, and have built for you a great city hundreds of li around, with settlements of tens of thousands of households, install you as a feudal lord, and let you begin anew. You can stop waging war, let your troops rest, cherish your brothers, and sacrifice to your ancestors together. That is what sages and men of talent do, and what all under heaven desire.”

Zhi the Robber said: “People who can be lured with profit and talked around with words are only the stupid, shallow masses. Today my body is tall and my looks are fine; everyone who sees me is pleased—that is what my parents gave me. Even if no one praised me, would I not know it myself? Besides, I have heard that those who love to flatter your face love to slander your back. You offer me a great city and a huge population to tempt me with gain and treat me like an ordinary commoner—how could that last?

“The largest city is still no bigger than all under heaven. Yao and Shun held the empire, yet their descendants later had not even space to stick an awl; Tang and Wu became Son of Heaven, yet their line died out. Is that not because what they grasped was too great? I have also heard that in ancient times beasts were many and people few, so people lived in tree nests to escape them. By day they picked acorns; by night they roosted in the trees—such people were called the people of Nest-builder. They did not yet know clothing; in summer they piled firewood, and in winter they warmed themselves by it.”

In the age of Shennong, people knew who their mothers were but not their fathers. They lived alongside the elk, farmed for food, and wove cloth for clothing. They harbored no desire to harm one another. This was an age when De was at its fullest.

But the Yellow Emperor could not preserve this De. He went to war with Chiyou in the wilderness of Zhuolu, and blood flowed for a hundred miles. When Yao and Shun rose to power, they appointed ministers. Tang of Shang drove out his ruler, and King Wu of Zhou attacked Zhou, the tyrant of Shang. From then on, the strong oppressed the weak, and the many bullied the few. Since Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou, all such people have been the kind who throw the world into disorder.

Now you study the ways of Kings Wen and Wu, command the words of the world, and use them to instruct later generations. You stitch yourself a wide robe and tie on a pale sash; you polish your words and disguise your conduct, hoping to mislead the rulers of the world and secure wealth and status. Who could be a greater thief than you? Why do people throughout the world not call you “Robber Qiu,” but call me “Robber Zhi” instead? (Robber Zhi was a legendary bandit.)

You persuaded Zilu with your pleasing words. He took off his tall hat, unfastened his long sword, and accepted your instruction. People everywhere said, “Confucius can stop violence and put an end to evil.” Yet Zilu tried to kill the ruler of Wei. The attempt failed, and he himself was hacked into mincemeat at Wei’s east gate. That is what your teaching achieved.

Do you think yourself a talented worthy, a sage? You were driven out of Lu twice, erased from the records in Wei, reduced to hardship in Qi, and besieged in Chen and Cai. You traveled the world and found nowhere to settle. Above, you could not protect yourself; below, you could not help others succeed. What is there in your Dao worthy of reverence?

Of all those whom the world esteems, none surpasses the Yellow Emperor. Yet even he could not preserve his De: he fought at Zhuolu, and blood flowed for a hundred miles. Yao was not benevolent, Shun was not filial, Yu was left with paralysis on one side of his body, Tang of Shang drove out his ruler, King Wu attacked Zhou, and King Wen of Zhou was imprisoned at Youli. These six are all held in high regard by the world. Look closely, and you will see that every one of them let self-interest cloud their true nature and forced themselves to go against what was natural to them. Their conduct was truly shameful.

Among those the world calls worthy were Boyi and Shuqi, who gave up their positions as rulers of Guzhu and starved to death on Mount Shouyang, their bones left without burial. Bao Jiao cultivated a show of virtue and denounced the world, then died embracing a tree. Shentu Di’s advice went unheeded, so he tied a stone to himself and plunged into a river, where fish and turtles devoured him. Jie Zitui was utterly loyal: he cut flesh from his own thigh for Duke Wen of Jin to eat, but the duke later abandoned him. In anger, Jie Zitui went away and was burned to death while embracing a tree. Weisheng arranged to meet a woman beneath a bridge. She did not come, but the floodwaters rose…

As long as they did not let go of the beams supporting the house, they would not have died clutching them, as those six people did. Like the dismembered dog, the driven-off pig, and the person who carried a dipper through the streets begging, they all abandoned reputation and scorned death, neglecting what is fundamental and failing to understand how to preserve life.

Among the loyal ministers praised by the world, none are more typical than Prince Bigan and Wu Zixu. Wu Zixu was drowned in the river; Bigan had his chest cut open. The world called them loyal ministers, yet in the end they were mocked by all under Heaven. From a higher point of view, neither Wu Zixu nor Bigan deserves praise.

Confucius, the words you just wanted to use to persuade me: if you were telling me about ghosts and spirits, I truly know nothing of that. If you were speaking about human affairs, they amount to no more than this. I have already heard and understood them. Now I will tell you about human nature: the eyes want to see beauty, the ears want to hear sounds, the mouth wants to taste fine food, and the heart and mind are always seeking satisfaction.

A person who lives to a hundred is considered long-lived; eighty is a middle span, and sixty a short one. Even setting aside illness, weakness, death, mourning, sorrow, and misfortune, the days in a person’s life when they truly laugh aloud amount to no more than four or five a month. Heaven and Earth are boundless, but human life has an end. Entrusting a finite life to the vastness of Heaven and Earth is like watching a fine horse flash past an opening in the wall. To be unable to satisfy one’s heart and mind or preserve one’s life is not the way of someone who understands the Great Dao.

All those things Confucius said are things I have cast aside. Leave at once and run back; do not speak of them again. Your doctrines are wild, unfounded, and changeable. They speak of deceit, embellishment, and falsehood. They cannot preserve one’s inborn nature—what is there worth discussing?

Confucius hurried out, climbed into his carriage, and took the reins. Three times in succession his face turned ashen. Leaning on the crossbar at the front of the carriage, he bowed his head and could hardly catch his breath. When he returned to the eastern gate of Lu, he happened to meet Liu Xiajì. Liu Xiajì said, “I haven’t seen you these past few days. Today you’re driving at such speed, as if something urgent has happened. Did you go to see Robber Zhi?”

Confucius gazed up at the sky and sighed. “Yes.” Liu Xiajì asked, “Did Robber Zhi defy you, as he did before?” Confucius said, “I was like someone with no illness who went and burned himself with moxa. I rushed off to stroke a tiger’s head and braid its whiskers. I nearly died in its jaws!”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: This chapter uses an incident to show that one should act in accord with the common wishes of the people. Anyone the people all wish to remove—even King Zhou—may be removed. If one does not follow the people’s wishes and instead acts only on one’s own, then even when facing Robber Zhi, one cannot bring him under control.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Confucius and Robber Zhi represent good and evil, standing opposed like fortune and misfortune, right and wrong. The transformations of all things under Heaven take the Dao as their root. Only those who understand that things may stand opposed to one another while their root returns to unity can be said to understand the Great Dao.

If one cannot rise above these ideas, then Sainthood and wisdom, benevolence and righteousness cannot truly overcome one another. Consider the reasoning Thief Zhi uses to challenge Confucius, and you will see: this is more or less what people throughout the world who disregard benevolence and righteousness and pursue only profit say. How, then, could one discuss the Great Dao with them?

Anyone who cultivates the mind and nature but cannot fully let go of ideas such as sage wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness will remain caught in a conflict of mutual competition, pursuing clever schemes and profit. Thus, the Perfected Person understands the full extent of the difference between good and evil: neither praising Yao nor condemning Jie, they forget both judgments and let themselves follow the transformations of the Dao, returning to a state in which the myriad things have not yet been divided into distinctions. This is the state in which the human mind reaches its limit and returns to the Dao’s original substance.

If the text were to speak directly about the Dao, rather than entrusting its teaching to the story of Confucius and Thief Zhi, people would find it harder to understand. So it argues repeatedly and poses questions in layers, bringing the true situation to light.

Commentary by Lin Yidu: The sages and worthy ones established their teachings to support the moral order of the world. But as the times changed, those teachings inevitably developed flaws. As a result, people of that era no longer saw the true meaning of benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and filial devotion. In their daily conduct, they did little more than use these names to pursue reputation and profit.

Zhuangzi uses the story of Confucius and Thief Zhi to criticize people who cling to the outward conduct of the sages. Yu the Great, Tang of Shang, King Wen of Zhou, and King Wu of Zhou had already inherited the ways of Yao and Shun. As for Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Bao Jiao, Shentu Di, Jie Zitui, Bi Gan, and Wu Zixu, they too imitated the sages but learned only partial traces of their conduct. The more conspicuous these traces became, the greater the harm they caused. This was what deeply concerned Zhuangzi. He opens by setting Confucius and Thief Zhi—extremes of good and evil—against each other, using allegory to express his meaning, just as the Book of Changes uses hexagrams to clarify its principles. Those who study well should grasp Zhuangzi’s intent to correct these flaws and not become attached to the wording or to outward conduct.

Commentary by Chen Bixu: Ordinary people treat life lightly, even going to their deaths like dogs or pigs led to slaughter. Some flee into exile out of resentment; others wander from place to place as if carrying a ladle. They do all this to seek a reputation after death, yet in the process they lose the life they could have nurtured day by day.

Those who devote themselves to pursuing an outward reputation worry that their names will not be remembered after death. They are willing to sacrifice themselves and refuse to turn back. Those who seek only inner ease pursue happiness while alive, regarding this as the true way to fulfillment; when faced with life’s end, they accept it as it comes and make no effort to embellish it.

Heaven and Earth are vast, and the sun and moon shine with what seems boundless light. A human life, however, is brief, passing in an instant, and the breath is as faint as a whisper. Dwelling between Heaven and Earth, people ought to live in accord with their nature. Instead, they torment body and mind just to win a reputation after death, thereby losing the simplicity of the ancient Way. So even though Thief Zhi was violent and incorrigible, if some of his arguments were sound, Confucius could not refute them.

“Gushing spring” uses the image of spring water bursting forth to describe the breath; “king” describes something drifting lightly in the wind. “Yu was lamed on one side” refers to Yu’s hands and feet becoming covered in calluses from his toil. “Dismember” means to cut a corpse apart; “boil” means to cook; and “pig” means a pig. These words describe people who would rather be killed like dogs and pigs for the sake of fame. “Attach” means to cling to or become stained by something. Here it means that people who become absorbed in fame and disregard what is fundamental lose their original nature. “Jí” is the same as “jí” in “draw water”; “could it be?” means “can it be that there is not?”

Chu’s Guanzhi says: A father unable to teach his son, or an elder brother unable to teach his younger brother, is a misfortune for human relationships. Roaming the world unchecked, harming others and never knowing when to stop, is a misfortune for the people. Confucius used morality, benevolence, and righteousness to guide the world, and everyone responded and followed him. Yet these teachings could not be put into practice with the robber Zhi, and Confucius was humiliated by him. This was a misfortune for the sage. But Confucius was like the sun or moon briefly crossing paths with an ill-omened star, momentarily beset by harmful influences. What harm could that really do him?

The general point of this passage from the Jing is probably that, without setting the extremes of good and evil against each other or describing striking deeds and events, one cannot fully express an argument or make its meaning clear. This is precisely where the sage differs from the madman. Confucius began by listing three kinds of virtue, using the most superficial one to caution his opponent. This is like the point of King Zhao of Zhao’s discussion of three swords. A close reading of the robber Zhi’s words shows that, although he argues by force, some of what he says has a point. We should not dismiss everything a speaker says simply because he is not a gentleman. Still, his argument concerns only outward conduct and does not reach the inner mind; that is why it contains these inconsistencies.

This chapter’s prose is vigorous and its force unrestrained, like a rushing flood that cannot be held back. It is therefore difficult to sum up in just a few words. After the third chapter, Guo Xiang gives a brief account of its main idea, and the underlying meaning becomes clear on its own. Readers should not let the wording get in the way of understanding the meaning.

“Shuhù” should be “kōuhù.” “Kōu,” read like “hook,” refers to a crown made from branches of tender tree bark. “A garment stitched beneath the arms” refers to a loose-sleeved, unlined robe. “Stretch out his corpse” means to dismember the body. “Boil” means to cook. “Attached to fame” should be “profiting from fame.”

Zizhang asked Man Goude, “Why don’t you cultivate virtue? Without cultivating virtue, you will not gain people’s trust; without their trust, you will not be appointed; without an appointment, you will have no benefit. So, when examining reputation and calculating profit, if you act in accordance with what is right, that is truly correct. But if you set fame and profit aside and look inward instead, can a scholar really go even one day without practicing virtue?”

Man Goude replied, “People without a sense of shame can become rich, and people who keep their word can rise to prominence. The greatest fame and profit, perhaps, lie precisely in being shameless and keeping one’s word.”

People judge things by fame and profit, and come to believe that whatever they themselves approve of is true and right. If they can set fame and profit aside and return to their original nature, then when scholars act, they are safeguarding their own nature.

Zizhang said, “In the past, Jie and Zhou were honored as Son of Heaven and possessed all the wealth under Heaven. Yet today, if you tell a lowly person like Zang Ju, ‘Your conduct is like that of Jie and Zhou,’ he will look ashamed and feel indignant. This is precisely what petty people despise. Confucius and Mozi were destitute, mere commoners. Yet today, if you tell a prime minister, ‘Your conduct is like that of Confucius and Mozi,’ he will change expression and say he is unworthy of the comparison. This shows that scholars truly are esteemed. So occupying the position of Son of Heaven does not necessarily make one noble, and being an impoverished commoner does not necessarily make one base. The difference between noble and base lies in the goodness or badness of one’s conduct.

“Goude, a man who covets private gain, said, ‘Petty thieves are arrested, but great thieves become feudal lords, and their courts are even attended by men of honor.’ In the past, Duke Huan of Qi, Xiaobai, killed his elder brother and married his sister-in-law, yet Guan Zhong became his minister. Tian Chengzi Chang killed his ruler and usurped the state, yet Confucius accepted gifts from him. If we judge them by their words, we consider them base; if we look at their actions, we consider them vile. In this way, the true state of their words and deeds conflicts within our minds. Is that not a grave departure from reason? Thus an ancient book says, ‘Who is good and who is bad? Those who succeed become leaders; those who fail become subjects.’

“Zizhang said, ‘If you do not speak of standards of conduct, then how can relations between close and distant kin be regulated, distinctions between noble and lowly be governed by right, or the order between elders and juniors be maintained? On what basis can the Five Bonds and Six Ranks—the fundamental human relationships and social distinctions—be distinguished?’

“Goude said, ‘Yao killed his eldest son, and Shun banished his younger half-brother. Can relations between close and distant kin still be said to have rules? Tang of Shang drove out Jie, and King Wu of Zhou attacked Zhou. Can there still be a moral order between noble and lowly? Ji, King Wen’s father, displaced his elder brother as heir, and the Duke of Zhou killed his elder brother. Can there still be order between elders and juniors? The Confucians speak in empty, deceptive words; the Mohists preach universal love without distinctions. Can the Five Bonds and Six Ranks still be differentiated? Besides, you are trying to uphold fame, while I am seeking profit. The actual pursuit of both fame and profit departs from reason and fails to understand the Great Dao. To argue about these things with you day after day is simply futile.’

“The Wuyue says, ‘Petty people pursue wealth; gentlemen pursue fame. Though their reasons for altering their feelings and changing their nature differ, in the end they both abandon what they were meant to do and pursue what they ought not to pursue. In this, they are alike.’ Therefore, do not act as petty people do; return to your nature. Do not act as gentlemen do; follow the natural order. Whether bent or straight, accord with the utmost of nature; look out in all directions and change as time shifts. Whether something is so or not so, grasp the moment for change, fulfill your own purpose in solitude, and travel in company with the Great Dao. Let your actions take no deliberate turns, and do not cling to achieving results in the practice of right conduct. What is about to be lost need not be forced; wealth and rank that are about to come need not be pursued; fame and achievement that are about to be attained need not be sought at the cost of abandoning your nature.”

Gan (Bi Gan, a minister of the Shang dynasty) had his heart cut out, and Zixu (Wu Zixu) had both eyes gouged out: loyalty brought them calamity. Zhigong (a man famed for upright conduct) informed on his own father, and Weisheng (an ancient figure famed for keeping his word) drowned while clinging to a bridge pillar: honesty brought them harm. Bao Zili (a man who upheld his integrity) was killed, and Shen Zi (Shentu Di) refused to defend himself: integrity brought them injury. Confucius never saw his mother, and Kuang Zi never saw his father: these were losses caused by what is called righteous conduct. Such stories have been passed down from earlier generations and discussed by later ones. People cite them to argue that a scholar should speak correctly and make words and deeds agree—and so bring calamity upon himself and fall into disaster.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: This chapter explains that when conduct is held in high esteem, people will put on a show of good conduct; when scholars are accorded high status, people will pretend to be scholars. One should therefore look lightly on contrived conduct and regard the status of scholars as low, preserving one’s inner nature. Then conduct can truly be noble, and the worth of scholars can truly be precious.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Good and evil stand opposed, which is why Confucius could not transform the robber Zhi. Reputation and profit also stand opposed, which is why Zizhang could not make Goude (a person who seeks only private gain) obey him. Goude argued for “no agreements”—that is, not binding oneself to promises or contracts—because Zizhang treated the pursuit of a stipend as learning and understood the importance of reputation, while Goude understood only profit. “No agreements” means perceiving the Great Dao and keeping faith naturally.

From the human point of view, those who do evil in pursuit of profit are called petty people, while those who do good in pursuit of reputation are called noble people. From the point of view of the Dao of Heaven, however, a noble person in the human world may still be petty in the realm of Heaven’s Dao. If one follows Heaven’s Dao and the natural patterns of things, noble and petty people cannot be sharply distinguished. To judge what is crooked and what is straight, one must look from the balanced center of Heaven’s Dao. Surveying all directions and adapting to the moment, one may accord with the middle way without clinging to the conviction that one has grasped it. In this way, the Great Dao extends in every direction and is present everywhere.

Right and wrong can both be brought together as one, without end. By grasping the pivot of change, one can respond to everything. Accomplishing something on one’s own while letting one’s mind move freely within the Great Dao makes it possible to handle affairs with ease and bring them to success time and again. All such ways of acting follow Heaven’s Dao: one acts without altering one’s nature, and even setting aside certain ways of acting in the end accords with Heaven’s Dao. This is what it means not to abandon Heaven’s Dao because of human affairs.

Loyalty, faithfulness, integrity, and righteousness are qualities the world praises as fine reputations and good conduct, yet none can prevent calamity. People know only that chasing profit and doing evil bring entanglements; they do not understand that pursuing reputation and doing good may also fail to accord with the Great Dao. That is why the text returns to the claim of “no agreements.”

The commentator Yidu says: Zizhang modeled his walk on Yu and his bearing on Shun, and so may be suspected of deliberately following the traces of the sages. Zhuangzi uses this to criticize the imitation of sagehood and to develop his argument. When someone pursues perfection single-mindedly and is also set on seeking profit, his deliberate effort to establish a reputation reveals the pattern of his conduct. Conduct is the outward expression of De. Once a person has such conduct, others trust him, and profit follows. Reputation and profit both arise from trustworthy conduct; trust and conduct, in turn, come from righteousness…

Zizhang, a disciple of Confucius, spoke about human conduct with a primary focus on righteousness, so he always judged matters in terms of reputation and gain. True righteousness should be examined by returning to one’s original mind: a scholar must not go a single day without integrity in how he conducts himself. Those who take conduct seriously feel ashamed when they have done something that weighs on their conscience, and they value brevity in speech. If, for the sake of gain, one claims that shamelessness is acceptable and treats speaking at length and winning people’s trust as a path to advancement, then one is merely using words to secure others’ confidence. There is no genuine trust in one’s own heart.

Those without a sense of shame become greedy when faced with wealth; those bent on winning others’ trust polish their words and scheme for advancement. By this reasoning, action matters less than speech. But if one abandons reputation and gain and turns instead to examining the heart, one may end up merely guarding one’s inborn nature, without understanding human relationships and worldly affairs. Those in the world who rush after reputation and gain often use artificial conventions to suppress their nature; that is why they argue this way.

Zizhang said that Jie and Zhou lacked virtue, so even petty people would be ashamed to imitate them; Confucius and Mozi possessed virtue, so even the powerful and eminent honored and deferred to them. The distinction between high and low does not depend on whether one’s circumstances are prestigious, but on whether one’s conduct is good or bad. Goude offered a different account: a petty thief who steals property is punished, while a great thief who steals a state becomes a feudal lord and goes unpunished—indeed, he steals sagehood, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness along with it. In the past, Duke Huan of Qi and Tian Heng were both great thieves, yet Guan Zhong served Duke Huan as a minister, and Confucius accepted gifts and voiced his opinions. If we judge them solely by the label “thief,” we must consider them base; yet if we examine what they actually did, we find that gifts were accepted and service rendered. Do these two judgments not conflict in one’s mind?

He then cited an ancient book, whose meaning was roughly this: if we disregard whether conduct is good or bad and regard only those who succeed as clever, then even regicides and usurpers may profit. Zizhang, however, said that without standards of conduct, distinctions of high and low, kinship and estrangement would lose their order, and there would be no guiding principles between ruler and minister or parent and child. Goude then cited sages and worthies who had violated ethical bonds and overturned those principles as evidence.

In truth, neither the pursuit of reputation nor the pursuit of gain accords with the Dao. Each side clings to one position, arguing day after day without ever resolving the dispute. A “compact” is an agreement that both sides in an argument undertake to follow; without such an agreement, there is no need to invoke it as a standard for judgment. Gentlemen and petty people may behave differently in their pursuit of reputation and gain, but both abandon what is fundamental and chase what is secondary. The passage beginning “the petty person who does nothing” calls for setting aside disputes over reputation and gain and returning to one’s inborn nature, no longer bound by artificial agreements; it explains and admonishes what came before. The text then turns to conduct and righteousness: chasing fame is the error of seeking reputation, while pursuing wealth and striving for achievement are errors of seeking gain. Only by being drawn toward no goal and following nature does one accord with the Dao.

From the passage beginning “Bi Gan’s heart was cut out,” the text gives examples of people in antiquity who were loyal, trustworthy, and incorruptible, and who held fast to righteousness, yet consequently brought disaster upon themselves.

This passage can serve as a cautionary mirror. The Bixu commentary states that when scholars move through the world, they must first be solid in character and trustworthy (dunhou shouxin); only then can they properly take on official duties. When those duties are handled clearly, one may turn to emolument and material benefit; when the logic of salary and gain is understood, reputation can rise and righteousness (yi) can shine forth. Even if one sets fame and profit aside and turns inward to examine oneself, one must not for a single moment give up acting in accord with righteousness.

Here the word read as xin is understood as shen (“extension”), and the same reading applies below. The point is that worldly scholars endure humiliation in order to “extend” themselves, while also chasing substantial fame and profit. For that reason they may wear rough clothes and eat plain food yet still push hard to advertise themselves and refuse to stop. By contrast, those who renounce fame and profit and look back at themselves do not dress up their person to get something from others; they simply hold to Heaven’s mandate (tianming) and wait for the right moment.

Jie and Zhou held power but lacked virtue (de), so petty people were ashamed to be classed with them. Confucius and Mozi held no power but possessed virtue, and high ministers still honored them. From this it is clear that one should weigh moral quality, not rank alone.

Confucian (ru) discourse can be smooth and evasive, and cannot reliably serve as a standard to imitate. Mohist (mo) discipline deliberately straightens the self; it can answer urgent affairs of the age, yet it blurs the ordinary distinctions between ruler and minister, father and son, husband and wife. Scholars today either drown in reputation or sink into gain. When both name and profit stray from the Way (Dao), a person finds it hard to break free of their grip.

The lines beginning “I once told you…” and what follows are not meant as conventional slogans. What ought to be done, let the heart-mind (xin) do of itself; what ought not be done, meet external things in alignment without forcing a change. Do not act for profit—only return to what is natural; do not act for fame—only follow the principle of Heaven (tianli). Simply follow the allotment you received at birth, and both the crooked and the straight can be released without further dispute. Then you are not blocked by events; whether you enter public life or withdraw, you have something to stand on. Hold to your own judgment without being turned by debates over right and wrong—this is a supple, all-round intention (yi). When intention is not tugged by outer things, you can stand on your own and keep your composure while moving with the Way (Dao).

If action aims only at what is easy, it chases the external world. If righteousness (yi) aims only at “getting it done,” true nature is lost and the original point of action is lost as well. Zi Zhang treated this style as practicing righteousness. Hurrying to grow rich easily draws disaster; insisting on success often brings more failure—both are ways of throwing away Heaven’s mandate. If one cares only about reaching the goal, one may treat shamelessness as skill at “extending” oneself.

Yanzhai remarks: Zi Zhang held that those who want fame and profit should cultivate righteous conduct; to drop fame and profit would go against one’s own heart-mind and leave no inner peace, so one would still crave them and believe righteousness is the only path to obtain them. “Duoxin” (many trustworthy words) means piling up plausible speech to win glory. “Goude” (grasping gain) means that people who chase name and profit today are mostly engaged in deception; yet if one abandons name and profit and returns to the heart-mind, allowing inward desire its course, that can still count as preserving innate simplicity without artificial polish. When what one says and what one does pull against each other inwardly, speech and conduct ignore each other and contradict—playing the righteous man in power and another person altogether when out of favor.

This passage argues that conduct such as benevolence and righteousness sometimes serves only to conceal deception, rather than arising from innate nature. The so-called “Five Canons,” “Five Constants,” “Six Positions,” and “Three Bonds” are all labels established by people. Invoking benevolence and righteousness to prove that one is acting reasonably may in fact be a way to seek gain. Neither the pursuit of reputation nor the pursuit of profit can prove that one’s conduct accords with what is truly right.

Wuyue, one of the debaters discussed in the text, offers an analogy: if one acts in accordance with nature, there is no need to distinguish between the noble and the lowly or to cling to right and wrong. Viewed from different directions, what one sees can all be understood as the principle of nature. The circulation of the four directions and the four seasons is simply the movement of a single Qi. Grasp the principle of fluid change, do not become fixated on right and wrong, and act freely; one can still walk the right path with ease. But if one turns away from the Dao and uses righteousness to achieve success, one falls into artificial contrivance. Insisting on a particular claim to moral rectitude and forcing one’s conduct to conform to loyalty, trustworthiness, integrity, and righteousness may instead bring disaster. So rather than putting on a show of virtue to gain profit and advancement, it is better to let things follow their natural course. This argument draws on Mencius’s distinction between “heavenly rank” and “human rank.”

Goude, another debater, says that righteousness is the inner mind made visible in one’s conduct, while trust and profit are results brought about by that conduct. Righteousness arises within and is revealed outwardly; trust and profit also come from outside. So if reputation and profit are used as standards, they may seem to offer a way to judge whether one’s righteousness is genuine. But if one sets aside fame and gain and instead examines the heart, a scholar who practices righteousness cannot stop for even a day. Practicing righteousness is simply what a scholar ought to do; reputation and profit come by chance and need not be deliberately pursued. This is Zizhang’s argument.

Zizhang believes that speaking at length to win other people’s trust can also bring wealth, rank, and advancement. Those without a sense of shame consider this approach correct. But if one gives no thought to reputation or profit and instead seeks within oneself, a person who practices righteousness is left guarding their own nature in isolation, unable to navigate human affairs. Goude’s argument is the opposite: Zizhang was a disciple of Confucius, while Goude was a figure like Robber Zhi, so it is natural that their views conflict.

The passage then cites examples from antiquity to show that every school of thought is partial and inevitably brings its own shortcomings. Some people hide away wealth but consider it shameful to praise Jie and Zhou; ministers of state do not dare compare themselves with Confucius or Mozi, showing that integrity is worthy of respect. Petty thieves are arrested, while great robbers become feudal lords, showing that profit is indeed tempting. Zizhang and Goude’s arguments reach no settled conclusion, and Goude once debated Wuyue. At the end of the chapter, the text says that both men cling to one side and neither accords with the Great Dao. It is better to forget the distinctions between good and evil, to be constrained by neither side, and to let things follow their natural course so that each person can live in accordance with their own nature.

What is truly upright—where is there any crookedness in it? Why should we argue over inner and outer, right and wrong? It simply fulfills itself by following nature, without relying on anything external. In this way, one can dwell at ease with the Dao without losing one’s way.

To alter the natural course of things merely to earn a reputation for “righteousness,” or to pursue wealth and gain in the hope of achieving something, is to abandon and damage the natural order, becoming immersed in material desires.

From Bi Gan’s heart being cut out onward, the examples all show the harm caused by pursuing one thing to the exclusion of all else. They could not escape calamity, yet scholars still took their words as upright teachings and demanded that they follow them without fail. They brought disaster upon themselves and still did not understand why. How sad.

Bi Gan: A virtuous minister of the Shang dynasty, he was put to death by King Zhou, who had his heart cut out after Bi Gan remonstrated with him. He is cited here to show how rigidly clinging to a particular moral principle or course of action can invite calamity.