《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 95

In the past, King Wen of Zhao was fond of swordsmanship and gathered more than three thousand swordsmen at his court. Day and night they crossed swords before him, and more than a hundred were killed or wounded each year. King Wen never tired of watching. After three years, the state of Zhao grew steadily weaker, and the other feudal lords began plotting to attack it.

The crown prince, Kui, King Wen’s heir, was deeply worried. He offered a reward to those around him, saying, “Whoever can persuade the king to stop his fondness for swordsmen will receive a thousand gold pieces.” His attendants said, “Zhuangzi should be able to do it.”

The crown prince sent someone to take a thousand gold pieces to Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi refused the gift and went with the messenger to see the crown prince. He said, “What do you wish to ask Zhou”—Zhou was Zhuangzi’s own name—“to do, Crown Prince? You send me a thousand gold pieces; what task do you want me to undertake?”

The crown prince replied, “I have heard that you are wise and discerning. I respectfully offer you a thousand gold pieces as a gift for you and your attendants. Since you refuse it, I dare not press the matter.”

Zhuangzi said, “I have heard that the crown prince sent for me because he wants to put an end to the king’s fondness for swordsmanship. If I advise the king and go against his wishes, then fail to satisfy yours, I will be put to death. How could I accept the thousand gold pieces then? But if I persuade the king and also satisfy you, what could I want in the state of Zhao that I could not obtain?”

The crown prince said, “That is true. But the only people the king sees are swordsmen.”

“Very well,” said Zhuangzi. “I am skilled with the sword.”

“That is so,” said the crown prince. “The swordsmen the king sees all have their hair hanging loose, their hats tilted, coarse cords tied around them, and short-tailed garments. They glare and speak in rough, booming voices, and the king likes them. If you go to see him dressed as a Confucian scholar, you are sure to fail.”

“Let me prepare an outfit worn by swordsmen,” said Zhuangzi.

Three days later, the crown prince took Zhuangzi to see King Wen of Zhao. The king was waiting with a sharp, unsheathed sword in his hand. Zhuangzi entered the palace gate without hurrying forward and did not bow when he met the king.

The king asked, “What do you wish to teach me?”

Zhuangzi let the crown prince answer first. “I have heard that Your Majesty is fond of swordsmanship, so I invited Zhuangzi to present himself to Your Majesty as a swordsman.”

The king asked Zhuangzi, “How can your swordsmanship prevail over others?”

“With my sword,” Zhuangzi replied, “I can kill a man within ten paces, and travel a thousand miles without meeting anyone who can stand against me.”

The king was delighted. “There is no one in the world who can match you!”

Zhuangzi said, “A swordsman must first reveal an opening and lure his opponent into striking. Then, after the opponent moves, he acts and arrives first. Allow me to demonstrate.”

The king said, “Go back to your lodging and await my summons. I will arrange a sword contest and have you take part.”

King Wen then selected swordsmen to compete. Over the next seven days, more than sixty were killed or wounded. At last, he chose five or six men and had them…

The swordsmen waited in the hall below, and King Wen summoned Zhuangzi and said, “Today I ask you to try having the swordsmen demonstrate their art.”

Zhuangzi said, “I have looked forward to this day for a long time.” The king asked, “Sir, as to the sword you use—what length do you prefer?” Zhuangzi replied, “The sword I use may be long or short as needed. However, I have three kinds of sword; let the great king choose among them. Please hear me first, then try the swords.” The king said, “I would like to hear about these three swords.” Zhuangzi said, “There are the sword of the Son of Heaven, the sword of the feudal lords, and the sword of common people.”

The king asked, “What is the sword of the Son of Heaven like?” Zhuangzi answered, “The sword of the Son of Heaven takes the mountain stone of Yanxi and Shicheng as its point, Mount Tai in Qi as its blade, Jin and Wei as its spine, Zhou and Song as its guard, and Han and Wei as its hilt. Its body embraces the four borderlands and holds within it the changes of the four seasons; it encircles the Bohai Sea and takes Mount Chang as its belt. It is balanced by the Five Phases, judged by punishments and virtue, unfolded through the interplay of yin and yang, moved by the qi of spring and summer, and applied in accord with the seasons of autumn and winter. Pointed forward, nothing blocks it; raised up, nothing reaches its height; pressed down, nothing matches its depth; in motion, nowhere is beyond its reach. Upward it can split drifting clouds; downward it can sever the roots of the earth. Once this sword is wielded, it can set the feudal lords right and bring the world to submission. This is the sword of the Son of Heaven.”

After hearing this, the king looked dazed, as if he had lost his spirit, and said, “What is the sword of the feudal lords like?” Zhuangzi answered, “The sword of the feudal lords takes men of wisdom and courage as its point, men of integrity as its blade, worthy men as its spine, loyal and enlightened men as its guard, and heroes as its hilt. Pointed forward, nothing blocks it; raised up, nothing reaches its height; pressed down, nothing matches its depth; in motion, nowhere is beyond its reach. Upward it takes the round heaven as its model, following the sun, moon, and stars; downward it takes the square earth as its model, following the four seasons; at the center it reads the hearts of the people and brings peace to the four directions. Once this sword is wielded, it is like thunder shaking the land—within the four borders, no one fails to submit. This is the sword of the feudal lords.”

The king asked, “What is the sword of common people like?” Zhuangzi answered, “The sword of common people is the sort used by men with unkempt hair and bristling temples, hats worn low, coarse hat cords, and short coat tails. They glare at each other, speak harshly, and slaughter one another face to face—cutting throats from above, piercing livers and lungs from below. This is the sword of common people; it differs little from cockfighting. Lives are ended in an instant, and it is of no use to the affairs of state. Now the great king occupies the position of Son of Heaven yet delights in the sword of common people—I venture to think this diminishes your dignity.”

The king then took Zhuangzi by the hand and led him up to the hall. The steward brought food, and the king walked three circuits around Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi said, “Great king, please sit calmly and settle your breath—the matter of swordsmanship has been fully explained.” Thereupon the king did not leave his palace for three months, and the swordsmen each took their own lives where they lodged.

When Lü Huiqing commented on the Zhuangzi, he said that Zhuangzi used the image of preferring to drag one’s tail through the mud rather than become a sacrificial victim in the ancestral temple to illustrate how people harm themselves for the sake of external things. As for Zhuangzi’s discussion of the “sword,” this interpretation is indeed rarely heard. Zhuangzi uses the sword to show that the Dao’s workings are everywhere, and that anything can be handled through the Dao.

How small could Zhuangzi’s beneficence have been, when he was able to curb a ruler’s predilections and steer the state from danger to safety? Thus, a person of the Dao sometimes steps forward and acts. Zhuangzi agreed to speak about swordsmanship, but declined the gifts offered to him. He put on the appropriate attire and observed the proper rites, matching the setting of his conversation with the ruler, and only then offered his counsel. The Son of Heaven’s sword is forged from the whole world as its material. Through this, Zhuangzi shows that the world is a great vessel and must not be handled arbitrarily. First, reveal the Dao of emptiness and stillness to the ruler, then guide him through what benefits him. Let him act in accord with circumstances, while preparing for those circumstances in advance. This is how one makes use of the great vessel that is the world: because the world cannot be forced into submission, one must govern by following its tendencies.

If one understands the relative importance of beginnings and ends, of what is weighty and what is slight, as well as the right time to formulate and carry out policies, then governing the world through the Dao will bring the world into accord. From the ravines of Yan and Mount Tai in Qi to the Bohai Sea and Mount Heng, these places illustrate that the Son of Heaven’s sword is forged from the whole world. From the Five Phases, punishments, and benevolent government to what reaches up to Heaven and down to the veins of the earth, these illustrate that the wondrous Dao is not limited by time, space, or direction. Only a sage who has attained the Dao can wield the great vessel that is the world. Thus Zhuangzi assisted the feudal lords and brought the world into accord. This was the way of governing that Tang Yao, Yu Shun, and the rulers of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties had practiced with success. This is what Zhuangzi meant by the “sword.”

After hearing this, King Wen of Zhou was bewildered and at a loss. Only then did he realize that what he had loved was not the true sword. A feudal lord takes his own state as his sword, so Zhuangzi turned to speak of the “scholar.” Scholars are the people in whom the common people place their hopes. Wisdom and courage come first, like the sword’s point; uprightness and integrity come next, like its edge. Worthy and good people rely on them, like the sword’s spine; loyal and enlightened people establish themselves upon them, like the guard at the base of the blade. Those of exceptional talent and insight are what a ruler depends on when wielding the sword—that is, its hilt. Anyone who governs a state can judge whether the state is strong and sharp, and whether its political order is stable, simply by examining whether these elements of the “sword” are properly in place.

The world and a single state differ in scale, but in both cases the key to putting them to use lies in directing the spirit and the way of governance. Later, when King Wen asked about the people’s sword, Zhuangzi pointed directly to the ruler’s predilections and used them to correct his errors. The swordsmen were all subdued and fell where they stood. This shows that the way to prevail over the strong and forceful lies precisely here.

The commentary of Yidu (Yídú) says: If the things a person is most attached to and fond of cannot be taken away by external forces, how much less can one who holds high rank, wields great power, and has an arrogant and extravagant will be deaf to the guidance of the Dao (the Way) and unable to be transformed by it?

For this reason, King Wen of Zhao (that is, King Huiwen of Zhao) was fond of swordsmanship, and Zhuangzi presented himself to him as a swordsman. By following what the king loved, Zhuangzi conveyed his deeper meaning through it. He spoke of the principles of Tian Dao (the Way of Heaven) and Ren Dao (the Way of Humanity), and of the proper duties of the Son of Heaven, the feudal lords, and the common people. In the end he moved the king, who gave up his excessive love of swords.

Zhuangzi said that the sword of the Son of Heaven takes the strategic barriers of neighboring states and the mountains and seas as its edge. Its guard and hilt enclose it, and it is wrapped with a sash. Its making follows the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and the principles of punishment and virtue, and its use accords with the Yin-Yang (Yin-Yang) and the four seasons. Thus, when thrust forward, nothing can block it. When swung to the side, nothing can evade it. Raised upward, it can cut through the floating clouds, and driven downward, it can sever the great bonds of the earth. Unless one is a person of supreme spiritual power under heaven, who could accomplish such things?

As for the sword of the feudal lords, it relies on men capable of governing the state. Wisdom, courage, purity, integrity, loyalty, sagacity, and heroism serve as its edge and blade. When such a sword is wielded, it strikes like thunder, and none fail to submit and obey.

As for the sword of the common people, Zhuangzi replied that it is no different from the fighting cocks that people favor. Such men exhaust their strength and spirit and die. This shows that relying only on such minor skills is insufficient for governing a state.

This is similar to the matter of King Xuan of Qi and his fondness for courage. Mencius answered him with the notion of "great courage," and the principle is the same. When King Xuan heard this, he felt shame and self-reproach. He stopped eating and dared not take a meal, and for three months he did not leave the palace gates. The swordsmen, too, were convinced and submitted, and they each fell upon their swords where they stood. From this we can see that King Xuan was able to repent and renew himself only because he heeded Zhuangzi's words.

The commentary of Bixu (Bìxū) says: Those who win battles in the temple, that is, through strategy before any fighting, may be called emperors. Those whose power is divinely transformative may be called kings. Winning in the temple follows the pattern of Heaven and Earth, and divine transformation follows the four seasons. Therefore, when government is well ordered within the realm, people from distant lands also admire its virtue. When victory is secured before any battle is fought, the feudal lords submit to its authority. Hence, if one regards the whole world as a single sword, how could famous swords such as Taiá or Ganjiang be compared to it?

King Wen of Zhao loved swordsmanship, and Zhuangzi, speaking as a swordsman, aimed his counsel at honoring divine martial power that does not kill. In ancient times there was a precious sword called Hanguang (Hidden Radiance). When one looks at it, one cannot see it. When one touches it, one cannot feel it. Its shadow has no curve or straightness, and its echo has no clarity or murkiness. If it is kept in the ancestral hall, it can awe the barbarians of the four quarters. If it is used when fighting an enemy state, even a boy who carries it can make the three armies retreat. If it is displayed in a manner of emptiness within, opened in a manner of stillness without, employed in a manner of formlessness, and released in a manner of non-action, then its advance and retreat resemble phoenixes dancing. This is the Way of divine martial power. Without resorting to slaughter, it still brings all under heaven to submit.

The qilin (a legendary auspicious beast) leaps and stretches; the phoenix soars high; the horned dragon bounds about. Why, then, cling to the length of weapons or the speed of thrusts and blows, competing and fighting, slashing waists and necks, and killing without end? Weapons are inauspicious things. The sage uses them only when there is no other choice. Swordsmanship is merely one person’s martial prowess, like cockfighting. Once a life is lost, nothing remains. What use is that to a king who commands ten thousand chariots?

Liu Gai’s commentary: In the affairs and principles of the world, people mostly disdain what is different and value what is the same; they discard what is small and admire what is great. They often act the same way when avoiding harm and seeking advantage. If something goes against their views, they will not accept it even when it benefits them. If they cannot see the benefit, they will not admire it, even when the benefit is great.

This chapter of the Zhuangzi speaks of persuaders and skilled rhetoricians, entrusting subtle principles to indirect words. Principles often need words to be understood. People’s ordinary inclination is to value themselves and look down on others, to think themselves right and criticize others. If you try to win someone over with a view different from theirs, even a sage like Confucius can be refuted by a violent outlaw like Robber Zhi. But if you begin from what you have in common and use that to prevail, a single sentence from Zhuangzi can put an end to King Zhao’s lifelong fondness for swordsmanship. This is simply in keeping with human nature.

King Zhao liked men with disheveled hair, tall caps, coarse clothes, short backs to their garments, and eyes wide as they argued. This was not Zhuangzi’s own nature. Now Zhuangzi changed King Zhao’s usual tastes and put on clothes unlike his customary dress, so the king would respect what he said. He spoke first of the Son of Heaven, then of the feudal lords, and finally disparaged the common people; the king would then admire the great figures Zhuangzi praised. A person in the highest position can make all under Heaven submit; next in rank, one can make the lords of the four quarters yield; as a commoner, one can only end up with head severed from body. King Zhao would choose the course that benefited him. This is, in broad terms, how things work. The sage responds to circumstances and brings them into harmony, making use of things in keeping with their own qualities. So how could there be no sense in the monkeys’ accepting the “three in the morning and four in the evening” scheme—first being told they would get three nuts in the morning and four at night, then being told they would get four in the morning and three at night, with the total unchanged but the monkeys delighted?

As for bending oneself out of shape, that does not necessarily make others behave properly. Zhuangzi’s discussion of swordsmanship may therefore seem to pander to King Zhao. Yet the stories of Robber Zhi, the Old Fisherman, and others are not things Zhuangzi experienced firsthand. Their speeches, in broad terms, consist of mutual attacks, but the principles within them are subtle. If you interpret them only by following the surface events, how can you claim to have truly understood the speaker?

Yanzhai’s commentary: “Drooping cap” refers to a low hat, like what people call a “martyr’s headcloth.” “Manhu” describes a rough, uncouth appearance. “Short-backed” means a garment with a short rear hem, unlike the formal style of dress. “Verbal contention” means challenging one another with words. Zhuangzi showed King Zhao the way of emptiness and stillness, then guided him by appealing to advantage. When King Zhao came forward to listen, Zhuangzi spoke from behind him, getting to the key point first, then was about to strike…

The "Shuojian" (Discourse on the Sword) passage describes a style of swordsmanship: one conceals one's form and waits for the right moment, then strikes suddenly, with a blow powerful enough to split the sword's guard (tan, the ring-shaped guard), the blade, and the jia (the joint where hilt meets blade).

The hilt symbolizes the four seasons and the Five Phases, the sun and moon, and Yin and Yang, and the sword follows the pattern of zaohua (the transforming processes of creation and natural generation). Raised upward, it can cleave floating clouds; pointed downward, it can sever the bonds that order the earth. The sweep of the sword is vast, able to circle the body three times, and everything within its reach falls under its power. King Zhao was deeply moved and no longer indulged in this contest-game of swords. The swordsmen withdrew, submitting in heart and word, and some took their own lives in their lodgings out of shame.

Chu Shi's general commentary says that the Nanhua Jing (Scripture of Nanhua) establishes its teaching and illuminates the Dao (the Way), soaring above the nine heavens and probing the nine depths of the earth. It expounds the processes of creation so profoundly that ghosts and spirits cannot fathom it. Although it borrows human affairs as analogies, it does not go beyond the discourse of the human world, yet its subtle mysteries and wondrous meanings lie hidden within, enough to awaken the human mind and remedy the ills of the age. The "Shuojian" chapter is vigorous in style and subtle in meaning, resonant in sound, and after a thousand years it still echoes. Could this be an empty clamor? The Book of Han records that the Sima family won fame in Zhao by transmitting theories of swordsmanship, showing that such discourse on the sword has a long history. Zhuangzi used it to give voice to the marvelous ideas in his breast. Some, fixated on superficial resemblances, regard it as a persuader's argument of the Warring States diplomats. This misses the original intent, much like mistaking a night-shining pearl for a fish's eye.

Boxiu (Chu Boxiu, self-referring), not presuming on his shallow learning, privately examined the purpose of the Nanhua and offers the following exposition. Zhao stands for the whole human body, and King Wen of Zhao's fondness for swords stands for the shen (spirit) entangled in profit and desire. Crown Prince Kui was worried about this, as though he had already perceived it in his heart yet could not restrain the faults of his mind. So he asked Zhuangzi to stop the king's favorite pursuit and subdue him through reason. The three kinds of swords presented in the text differ in rank according to principle, and those with discerning eyes will naturally distinguish their grades. "One man in ten steps" speaks of a blade no one can withstand, and "not leaving a traveler behind for a thousand li" speaks of swiftness in using the sword. These resemble the state of nourishing the spirit and preserving one's original nature. The Son of Heaven takes neighboring states as screens, the feudal lords take worthy scholars as aides, and commoners rely merely on the courage of a common man. Yet King Zhao, of noble station, delights in the sword of commoners. This is being blind to the supreme nobility of De (Virtue) while inclining toward the utmost baseness of material desire. Day and night, clashing before one's eyes, how can one ensure one is not harmed oneself? The metaphor of cockfighting lowers such conduct even further.

If one wishes to remedy this error and return to the original beginning, one cannot do so without restraining it by the ultimate principle. But if principle prevails over desire, what is preserved is the pure original nature, and then transforming the poisonous blade into a divine instrument no longer requires scheming calculation. All of this comes from losing the original mind.

When something is obtained only by force of outside means, it inevitably comes through hardship; even if successful, it is still a forced achievement. Though the three kinds of sword differ in rank, they are metaphors for people’s differing innate qualities and aspirations, and thus for the varying worth of their achievements. The rulers of old who governed all under Heaven with divine authority and martial might, yet did not kill recklessly, all knew how to wield this sword and bring its wondrous power to bear. How could it be compared merely with famous swords such as Tai’e and Ganjiang?

At this, the King of Zhao grew restless and could not even eat. The inward joy that comes from rites and righteousness made even the rarest delicacies seem tasteless. Zhuangzi asked the king to sit calmly and settle his spirit, saying, “The discussion of swords is finished.” This means that when thoughts stir, they injure one’s nature; only by returning to stillness can one preserve it. To preserve one’s nature is to recover one’s original true nature, and this does not come from deliberately seeking anything.

For three months, the King of Zhao did not leave the palace. In stillness, he guarded his original mind; in emptiness and quietude, he nurtured his nature, allowing it to endure unchanged. All the swordsmen were content to submit, as though they had died where they stood. This means that as cunning and skillful contrivances fade from the mind, the desire to prevail also subsides. Looking back, even the so-called wondrous swordsmanship dissolves with them. At this point, what distinction remains between the sword of the Son of Heaven and the sword of the commoner?

Zhuangzi accepted the Crown Prince’s request but declined the gifts offered to him. In this, he was like Lu Zhonglian, who stayed in Handan to save Zhao yet refused a thousand pieces of gold. In the end, Zhuangzi stopped the King of Zhao from becoming obsessed with swordplay and helped bring stability to Zhao. This story also conveys a way of governing the state; it is not merely about swordsmanship.

Zhuangzi deeply pitied people who become immersed in material desires and lose their nature without realizing it. He therefore wrote this discussion to show that recovering one’s nature depends on having an inner guide: desires must be guarded against as one would guard against an enemy, and as soon as a thought is noticed, reason should be used to restrain it. There is no need to wait until swordsmen are fighting day and night at the gate and then call on a skilled persuader to stop them.

Zhuangzi uses swordsmanship to clarify the Way. Later readers, however, have often forced interpretations onto the surface story alone. As a result, its broad and profound meaning has long remained obscured; some have even confined Zhuangzi’s highest teachings to verbal disputation. This is truly regrettable. After studying the passage repeatedly, I finally understood that its purpose is to lead people back to their roots and origins. I hope this accords with the intention behind Zhuangzi’s words.

When Guo Xiang, courtesy name Zixuan, interpreted the Nanhua Zhenjing, he grasped its essence. His writing was expansive and his arguments profound, worthy of standing alongside Zhuangzi. Yet for this chapter alone, he left not a single word, seemingly wishing readers to ponder it deeply and reach their own understanding. Fearing that this might leave some readers perplexed, I have had to offer this clarification.

Collected Subtle Commentaries on the Meaning of the Nanhua Zhenjing, Volume 97