《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 97

Lie Yukou, also known as Liezi, was on his way to the state of Qi. Halfway there, he turned back and met Bohun Wuren. Bohun Wuren asked, “Why did you turn back before reaching your destination?” Lie Yukou replied, “I was frightened.”

“What frightened you?”

“I once stopped to eat at ten places that sold soup and drinks. At five of them, the owners hurried to serve me first.”

“If that is so, why were you frightened?”

“My sincerity within has not yet fully revealed itself, but my outward appearance and manner already shine with distinction. They awe other people and easily stir in them a feeling of respect for their elders, even disrupting the lives they had before. Those who sell soup and drinks make their living from it, with only a little surplus in their goods. Their profits are meager, and their means are limited; yet I was treated this way by them. What, then, of a ruler who commands ten thousand chariots? Such a person would wear out his body with affairs of state and exhaust his mind with government duties. He might well entrust me with some task, then judge me by my achievements. That is why I felt afraid.”

Bohun Wuren said, “Well said! You have seen your own situation. People will gather around you.”

Before long, Lie Yukou went to visit Bohun Wuren again. He saw shoes crowded outside the door, clearly showing that many people had come to visit. Bohun Wuren stood facing north, leaning on his staff with its top against his chin. He stood there for a while, then left without saying a word. The gatekeeper told Liezi what had happened. Liezi picked up his shoes and ran barefoot to the entrance. “Since you have come, Master, why not prescribe a remedy for me?”

Bohun Wuren said, “There is no need now. I told you long ago that people would gather around you. Now they have. It is not that you can call people to protect you; you simply cannot prevent them from doing so. Since that is the case, why concern yourself with it? You are moved by other people and take pleasure in displaying what sets you apart. You are bound to be affected and unsettled by this, and your nature will be disturbed. No one among your companions will offer you counsel. Their scattered words are enough to poison everyone, yet no one notices or wakes up. How could they understand one another?

“Those with skills wear themselves out; those with clever schemes worry. A person who does nothing has nothing to seek. Once full, they wander at ease, drifting like a boat with no mooring line. This is the wandering of emptiness, stillness, and freedom from desire.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Here, “soup and drinks” refers to the shops that sold them, and “served first” means that the owners hurried to bring the food before others. His sincerity within had not yet fully revealed itself, while outwardly he had already adopted a reserved, solemn bearing; his movements and manner shone with distinction. Though his appearance could awe people, inwardly he was not yet substantial enough to truly convince them. If a person’s inner substance can command others, their respect for elders will be deep. But if others are moved only by an attractive appearance and manner, trouble will follow. The soup sellers had little influence and limited profits, so there was no obvious reason for them to seek help from Lie Yukou. Yet if he did not restrain his outward display, people would gather around and protect him wherever he went. Here, “protect” means that they assembled around him to guard him.

Once change becomes apparent, people respond to it and pursue it. Once they respond and pursue, they can no longer live together in peace. When things offer favors, those who receive them may not respond. But offering a favor in advance is at odds with nature. As soon as a response is stirred, it touches people’s nature. Even subtle, artful words can influence others. Only the sage can keep such ability from showing at all. Everyone else, from human beings down to insects, cannot forget their own abilities and let others act as they will.

Lü’s Commentary: The sage wears coarse cloth and keeps a jade in his heart. This means that he does not display himself outwardly and guards what is within; he preserves his life by keeping himself hidden. If he cannot free himself from attachment to what is deep and subtle, his inner sincerity cannot be at rest. If that sincerity shows in his outward form, becoming a radiance that others can spy on, they will see what lies within him. This is not a way of keeping himself hidden. Someone went to ten sellers of fermented drink asking for a drink, and five of them offered him one before he asked. This was because he had displayed something that could command people’s hearts, leading them to look down on the respected elders and value him instead. People’s hearts then grew lax and confused, bringing trouble upon him. “Ji” means broken and disorderly.

Only by responding after being moved, preserving one’s nature and cultivating one’s spirit, and moving among ordinary people can one prevent them from becoming dependent on or gaining a hold over oneself. Displaying one’s distinction in advance keeps one’s inner workings from being securely guarded; stirring a response before it arises unsettles one’s nature. These are major taboos in nourishing the heart and preserving the spirit. To guide others with subtle words they do not notice is like administering poison without their awareness. In this way, people cannot live together in peace. “Shu” means to steam and permeate until something takes shape. Those who study add to their knowledge each day; those who cultivate the Dao diminish it each day, shedding cleverness and returning to a state in which they have nothing to show off. Thus, a Dao cultivator should be like a boat with no mooring rope, empty and at ease as it drifts.

Yidu’s Commentary: When the heart has not yet been freed, what lies within shows outwardly, becoming a radiance that others can spy on. “Die” means to observe secretly. If one cannot keep De hidden within, one leaves traces of one’s power to command others. People then chase external things and look down on the respected elders. “Ji” means broken and jumbled. It describes a state in which De has not yet reached complete release, while the impulse to observe secretly has also shown itself. Trouble arises from this and confusion continues without end.

The seller of fermented drink has little profit and little authority, yet people were already vying to attach themselves to me. How much more so for a ruler of ten thousand chariots, weary in body and mind and drained of intellect, who summons me to help him in his search for worthy men. He would surely demand results from me; this is what makes people fearful. Those who observe well do not merely see others; they also turn their gaze back on themselves. According to ritual, when visiting a person of high rank, one removes one’s shoes before entering the hall. If the area outside the gate is filled with shoes, it shows that many have come to attach themselves to the host. In truth, people are following and supporting him.

“To administer medicine” means to teach others with good advice, like treating illness with medicine. Liezi had already fulfilled his natural capacity, but had not yet reached an understanding of Heaven’s decree. He could not yet forget his body or leave no trace, and so… [the original text ends here unfinished]

People respect and depend on Liezi, though he does not deliberately make them do so; yet he cannot prevent them from coming to depend on him. Another scripture says, “It is difficult to make everyone under Heaven forget me.” This is indeed so. Only by forgetting both things and self can one achieve it.

When something outside us moves us, we respond. Why deliberately display unusual conduct in advance and draw the outside world into responding to you? Once something responds, it stirs your nature and gives external things a chance to enter. Among those who associate with you, no one offers advice; instead, they flatter you with pleasing words. This is poison to you. If you cannot recognize that you have fallen into confusion, how can you understand one another and offer each other counsel? The word shu means “to know”; to know one another is to be familiar with one another. Those skilled in artifice and eager to show off their cleverness cannot escape worry and toil. If you use no artifice and make no display of cleverness, you have nothing to do: simply eat your fill and roam at ease, like an unmoored boat drifting with the current.

Bixu’s Commentary: When sincerity within has not yet merged with nature, one’s outward appearance and bearing shine with radiance and dignity. People use this outward dignity to command others’ hearts, making them stand in awe of its radiance. If you slight people who are older and more honored, yet make others respect you, you may well invite calamity and disorder. Even merchants, who earn only a modest profit, treat me with such respect—how much more so would a ruler of ten thousand chariots, the Son of Heaven, do so? If a ruler esteems the worthy, the expectations placed on them and the responsibility of appointing them are weighty; that is why it inspires fear.

The doorway is crowded with visitors; people have indeed come to depend on you. You leave them your teachings and urge them earnestly, like a doctor prescribing medicine to cure an illness. But this also leaves a conspicuous trace, which is why people come to depend on you. If you were without intention and left no trace, people would not notice you. Liezi could preserve his De, but he had not yet made his De hidden and imperceptible. Being moved by external things and feeling joy, deliberately displaying unusual conduct—these all stir your nature. How could you bear it? Those who associate with you are all less capable than you, so you hear no honest counsel; they can only use artifice and flattery to poison you. Who can see through this and urge you to mend your ways in time? Besides, people do not come to depend on you because they hope you will practice Wuwei and seek nothing; they will certainly learn artifice and cleverness from you. Only a sage understands this. So keep your heart open and empty, unbound by external things. Let people use their abilities to the full, while you yourself remain free of toil and worry, simply eating your fill and roaming at ease.

Yanzhai’s Commentary: Sincerity gathers within, but has not yet merged with nature; one’s appearance and bearing therefore reveal radiance and dignity, and people respect one for it. The Chan master Zhaozhou said, “This old monk has no power in his practice; the spirits have seen through me.” That is what he meant. People who are older and more honored are naturally the ones everyone should respect. But if you slight them and respect me instead, the traces of what has happened gather together and become ever more conspicuous; so you cannot escape the disrespect and criticism of your age. Even vendors who make their living selling drinks treat me with such respect—how much more would a ruler do so? A ruler who exhausts himself and wears out his intelligence will surely want to appoint me and have me accomplish things on his behalf. That is exactly what I worry about: people will turn toward you and come to depend on you.

In the state of Zheng, there was a man named Huan who repeatedly recited and studied in the area of Qiu. After three years, he became a Confucian scholar. His learning nourished the land like a river, influencing the surrounding nine li, and its benefits reached three clans. His younger brother, however, followed Mohism, so Confucian and Mohist teachings coexisted in their household.

Zhai and Huan’s dispute: Huan’s father had helped Zhai for ten years, so Huan took his own life. He appeared to his younger brother in a dream and said, “Since you have become a Mohist, you should examine what your nature is really like. What you are doing now is like insisting that the fruits of the catalpa and cypress trees are something else.”

The Creator—the natural power that brings all things into being—does not reward people in response to actions they deliberately perform, but in response to their nature. The Creator lets each person act in accordance with their own nature. Huan, however, believed his achievements set him apart from ordinary people, and so looked down on his family. When people in Qi went to draw water from a well, they often shoved one another. This shows that people in the world today all act like Huan, going against their nature.

If those who possess De (Virtue/Power) do not understand this principle, how much less can those who possess the Dao (the Way)? The ancients called this kind of departure from one’s nature “punishment for fleeing Heaven.” The sage rests in what accords with their nature and does not force themselves to rest in what does not. Ordinary people, by contrast, rest in what does not accord with their nature, yet cannot rest in what does.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Zhai was Huan’s younger brother. Huan resented their father for helping his brother and, in anger, took his own life. After death, he appeared in a dream and said that he could become a Confucian, while urging his younger brother to become a Mohist. His brother was influenced by him, but failed to regard him as a good teacher, so Huan died resentful. Huan’s mind was too fixed on its intentions; after death, he became the fruit of a catalpa or cypress tree.

Zhuangzi goes on to say that the effects formed by accumulated habits are nature’s response to people. What nature responds to is a person’s inborn nature, not deliberate effort. The work of learning ultimately serves only to bring a person’s nature to fulfillment; it does not depend entirely on human contrivance. Huan had his own nature, which is why he developed the habits of a Confucian. But he took those habits to be the achievement of his own accumulated effort, not realizing that natural endowment also played a part.

When people attach great importance to their own achievements, they look down on others and may even disregard family bonds. But if they let go of attachment to the self and regard things equally, they will not upend the order of closeness and distance, rank and lowliness. A well is dug to bring forth spring water; chanting gives expression to one’s nature. Without spring water, there would be no reason to dig a well; without nature, there would be nothing to express through chanting. People in the world forget that spring water and nature already exist. They see only the outward efforts of digging wells and chanting, then boast of their achievements. Is this not confusion?

Huan’s mistake was to credit his becoming a Confucian to learning, without seeing that his father had simply followed his nature and had not tried to change him by force. To take what comes from the power of nature and claim it as one’s own achievement is to go against nature, and so invite punishment. The sage has no fixed attachment to what is comfortable or uncomfortable, but follows whatever each person finds comfortable. Since people each find comfort in different things, they naturally differ from one another.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Huan became a Confucian, while his younger brother became a Mohist; the two then argued over their father’s help for Zhai, and Huan took his own life. All of this belongs to what is done by people. But Huan’s becoming a Confucian and Zhai’s becoming a Mohist arose from each one’s own nature.

When it comes to how people conduct themselves, fathers and sons, and brothers, each have different temperaments and choices; Confucians and Mohists likewise hold different views. Yet as far as human nature is concerned, people have only one nature.

Huan’s father dreamed that someone advised him to have Huan’s younger brother study Mohism. His father followed this advice, and the younger brother took the Mohist path; this, too, accorded with the brother’s nature. He did not become a Mohist because someone could force him to learn it, but because that was his nature. People are born with an innate good heart and ability; they do not acquire these through learning either. These, too, come from nature.

Huan believed that his brother’s becoming a Mohist was his father’s doing, while taking his own innate suitability for Confucianism as only natural. In this way, he forgot the bonds of affection that should exist between father and son, and between brothers. One who studies Confucianism becomes a Confucian; one who studies Mohism becomes a Mohist. Huan eventually died, and his younger brother later became the fruit of a catalpa cypress: all this happened as Heaven decreed. Yet people do not understand what power makes them as they are, nor do they understand that when they help others, their natures are no different from one another’s. Instead, they imagine that they alone possess some special strength that sets them apart. That Huan should therefore have looked down on his own family is truly lamentable.

This is like the people of Qi who claimed a well as their own and ended up fighting one another. Those who do not understand how to follow their nature, and who look down on others while elevating themselves, will all follow Huan’s path. Huan lost his nature because he thought he knew something. A person of De (Virtue/Power) does not cling to what they think they know, and so can preserve their nature; how much more so can a person of the Dao (the Way). To think oneself knowledgeable is to go against one’s nature. Once one turns against nature and departs from one’s true feelings, one cannot help but suffer the consequences. The ancients called this “Heaven’s punishment for fleeing from nature.”

The sage is at ease with the circumstances arranged by nature; ordinary people are at ease with circumstances arranged by human contrivance, which turn away from nature. What the former are at ease with is nature; what the latter are at ease with is human contrivance.

The commentary by Yidu says: “Groaning and reciting” refers to the sound of chanting. “Qiu” is a place name. For a Confucian to become renowned, they must reach a level of understanding that encompasses Heaven, Earth, and humanity. What three years of chanting brings is only a superficial gain. Truly enlightened Confucians were already hard to find in those days. Zheng employed Huan, and “the river’s nourishing waters” means that his beneficence could extend far and wide. The “three clans” refers to one’s parents, wife, and children.

Huan became a Confucian, while his younger brother became a Mohist. Perhaps each developed in keeping with their own nature, yet each argued over right and wrong on the basis of his own doctrine. Their father helped Di—that is, the younger brother—and Huan consequently took his own life. Huan then appeared to his father in a dream and said that the one who had taught his son to become a Mohist was his father. Di could not follow Huan, and their father had helped Di; this, Huan said, was why he had died with resentment. Huan’s true nature had already changed, and he had become the fruit of a catalpa cypress.

Here, “good,” as in “good heart” and “good ability,” refers to innate goodness and capacity. The heart, knowledge, and ability all arise from one’s true nature. Catalpa cypress wood is hard and durable, and its leaves fall late. The commentary uses this to explain that a person’s innate Confucian nature does not change easily, and that each person has their own nature.

Each person has an inborn nature received from Heaven. Learning serves only to develop what each person loves and excels at. No one can force themselves to acquire a nature that the Creator did not give them, nor can they forcibly erase a nature the Creator did give them.

Huan and Di (the figures in this text) each devoted themselves to Confucianism and Mohism. Even the authority of a stern father, the affection of a loving elder brother, and the counsel of friends could not change them. This was because each had a nature of their own. Some people, because their views differ from others’, even look down on their own relatives; the root of this lies in scholarly dogmatism. Though these people are human, their nature still governs them.

The people of Qi drew water at a well, jostling one another as they filled their vessels, yet they did not know where the water came from. The Confucians of that time, fixated on details and arguing over right and wrong, were just like them. If learning does not reach an understanding of Heaven’s mandate, it cannot grasp the root. A truly virtuous person can admit that what they do not know is unknown to them, without claiming to be right. How much more should this be true of someone cultivating the Dao? “Heaven’s punishment” means the natural order of Heaven’s mandate, which no one can escape. Huan wanted to escape that mandate, so Zhuangzi did not approve of his course.

To be at ease in a particular situation is called benevolence; to be unable to feel at ease in it is called a lack of benevolence. These are standards of the human world. From the perspective of the Dao of Heaven, there is no distinction between being at ease and not being at ease: one simply follows the nature of things and moves with the times.

Bixuzi’s commentary says: Huan killed himself out of accumulated resentment, while his father dreamed because of deluded thoughts. In the dream, the catalpa and cypress trees over the grave had borne fruit, signifying that the trees were solid and unchanging; this also served as an image of the dead man’s steadfastness. Liju and Shikuang were naturally gifted with keen senses, so the Creator made their perceptiveness manifest. People’s natures differ from the outset: Huan did not choose to become a Confucian, yet he was able to teach his younger brother Mohism. Scholars who argue over different doctrines and jostle one another are no different from people drawing water at a well; in both cases, the urge to prevail is at work. Only a virtuous person is not eager to make others recognize them, and this is even more true of someone cultivating the Dao.

“Escaping Heaven’s punishment” means turning away from the principles of Heaven, only to end up facing punishment. The sage accepts that a crane’s legs are naturally long and does not cut them short, nor does the sage lengthen a wild duck’s short legs. Ordinary people do the opposite, thereby setting the principles of Heaven against human contrivance.

Yanzhai’s explanation is that the river waters nine li, meaning its beneficence extends far and wide. The father used his surplus means to provide for his son and let him study with the Mohists. The brothers followed different doctrines, so their arguments differed as well. The father loved and supported Di, while Huan resented him. Later, Huan killed himself and appeared to his father in a dream, saying, “The money you used to support your son’s Mohist studies came from what I left behind. Now your dispute has cost a life. Why not look at the pines and cypresses over my family’s grave? They have already borne fruit.” This meant that he had been dead for a long time.

“Lang” is read as “浪” and means a grave or burial mound. Zhuangzi then makes his judgment: Huan, the man’s name, believed he had the ability to make his younger brother a Mohist, but did not understand that the workings of creation and transformation—the power of nature—have their own principle of recompense. What creation and transformation return to people is not the result of human ability, but what people receive from Heaven as part of their nature. The younger brother’s study of Mohism and identification with it were creation and transformation responding through his nature; they were not brought about by Huan’s efforts to support and shape him. In the passage, “that” refers to creation and transformation in the preceding sentence, and to Huan’s younger brother in the following one.

The people of Qi who fought over well water and tried to claim it for themselves held the same view as Huan. If even a person of De (Virtue/Power) recognizes that the principles of creation and transformation cannot be fathomed, how much more so should one who has attained the Dao (the Way)? “Turning away” means rejecting the principles of Heaven; “incurring punishment” means offending creation and transformation.

Everyone has a nature bestowed by Heaven, and that nature cannot be changed. Huan became a Confucian, and Di, the man’s name, became a Mohist: both were following what had always been their nature, which they expressed through study. Confucians took Yao and Shun as their teachers, while Mohists took Yu the Great as theirs; both studied the sages. Confucians advocated the mean, while Mohists went so far as to extend their love to everyone, exceeding what was fitting. For this reason, the Confucian school did not accept them. In that era, both Confucianism and Mohism were influential, and each could bring its adherents honor and status. Huan therefore boasted that he had the ability to become a Confucian and to make his younger brother a Mohist. The two schools had different aims, yet their father could not mediate between them fairly by appealing to reason. Instead, he favored Huan and blamed Di. He should have followed each son’s temperament and guided him patiently. There is no reason that a person’s nature cannot be restored. Why, then, should Di have resented his father so deeply that he took his own life? The harm he suffered was indeed severe.

After Di died, he remained resentful. He appeared to his father in a dream and said, “Why don’t you try looking at what is growing on my grave?” His vital essence had transformed into the fruit of the Chinese catalpa and cypress trees. “Fruit” also suggests something firm in substance, showing that his true nature remained steadfast and unchanged. Zhuangzi thus concludes that what creation and transformation return to people is not their outward conduct, but their nature; here, “return” means restoring nature to its original state. Although Di had become something different and no longer had human form, he could still appear in a dream and express his thoughts. This shows that his nature had not been extinguished.

The phrase “that caused that” continues the argument above: the human body cannot endure forever and must eventually return to something, but a thought held in the heart does not thereby disappear. Di died in resentment, yet his nature was not extinguished; he transformed into trees that remained steadfast. From this we can see that if one can nourish life in accordance with the Dao, live out one’s allotted years, set aside burdens, follow change, and return to one’s original nature …

Where does the "true nature" (zhenxing, a person's original innate disposition) ultimately return? After Huan of Zheng died, he is said to have been transformed into a catalpa tree and a cypress (see the "Lie Yukou" chapter of the Zhuangzi; Huan was a man of Zheng who studied Confucianism and then took his own life), which sounds rather strange. Yet Kua Fu's staff turned into the Deng Forest, so perhaps such legends really did exist. Beings with feeling and beings without it undergo endless birth, death, and transformation, and none of them can escape the changing forms of material things. People live within this flux without realizing it, and so they change along with it. But if one understands that there is something formless and unchanging, one will not be transformed by external things, and can instead master all things.

The line "Everyone who comes is a Huan" rebukes the shallowness of the world's Confucians: if their understanding goes no further than this, how can anyone expect them to penetrate the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, or to govern the myriad things? The person of De (Virtue) describes Huan as "not knowing" because the loss of the Dao (the Way) lies precisely in having knowledge and thereby creating distinctions. Only by being utterly unknowing, in a state of undivided wholeness, can one preserve one's innate nature.

Interpretations of "fleeing from Heaven's punishment" have always varied, as the later references to "what one is at ease with" and "what one is not at ease with" plainly show. Some have split it off as a separate chapter, but then the meaning of the scripture no longer flows coherently. The point here is this: Huan fled from the principle of nature and turned his back on the natural affection among fathers, sons, and brothers, which means he was not at ease with what he should have been at ease with. In his resentment he brought punishment and death upon himself, which means he was at ease with what he should not have been at ease with. In ending the matter of Huan with the phrase "fleeing from Heaven's punishment," the Nanhua Jing (Scripture of Nanhua, i.e., the Zhuangzi) offers a warning to later generations of those who are not at ease with the natural order and who harm themselves through stubborn willfulness.