《南華真經循本》Vol. 30

In ancient times, King Wen of Zhao was obsessed with swordsmanship, attracting swordsmen from all regions to flock to his court. Over three thousand swordsmen gathered under his patronage. These men dueled day and night before the palace gates, with hundreds killed or injured each year, yet the king remained utterly enthralled.

Three years passed in this manner, and the state of Zhao weakened. Neighboring lords began plotting invasions. Crown Prince Kui grew deeply concerned and told his attendants, "Whoever can persuade my father to abandon this obsession and dismiss these swordsmen will receive a thousand pieces of gold." The attendants recommended Zhuangzi as the man for the task. The prince sent an envoy with the gold to invite him, but Zhuangzi declined the payment, instead accompanying the envoy to meet the prince.

The prince said, "I have heard of your wisdom and prepared this gold for your attendants. Since you refuse it, I dare not press further." Zhuangzi replied, "I understand the prince wishes me to sever the king's passion. But if I anger the king in my remonstrance and fail in your charge, I would face execution—what use would gold be then? If I succeed in persuading the king and fulfilling your request, what could I not obtain in Zhao?"

The prince said, "Yet my father only receives swordsmen." Zhuangzi claimed mastery of swordsmanship. The prince cautioned, "The swordsmen my father sees wear disheveled hair, wild sideburns, low caps, coarse belts, and short jackets, speaking with bulging eyes and stuttering tongues. If you appear in Confucian robes, you will surely provoke his wrath." Zhuangzi then asked for swordsman's attire. Three days later, dressed accordingly, he met the prince, who escorted him to the king.

King Wen stood waiting with drawn sword. Zhuangzi entered unhurriedly and did not bow. The king asked, "What instruction do you bring me?" Through the prince, Zhuangzi replied, "Hearing of Your Majesty's love for swordsmanship, I come as a swordsman." The king inquired, "What distinguishes your skill?" Zhuangzi answered, "My blade strikes down one in ten paces, leaving no trace across a thousand miles." The king, delighted, exclaimed, "This is peerless in all the world!"

Zhuangzi continued, "The Dao of the sword begins with feigned weakness, seizing the opportune moment to strike last yet arrive first. I wish to demonstrate." The king said, "Retire to the guesthouse, Master, while I arrange a tournament." For seven days, the king tested his swordsmen to select the finest.

When summoned for an audience, King Wen of Zhao asked Zhuangzi: "What kind of swordsmanship does the master specialize in?" Zhuangzi replied: "I can wield any sword, but there are three special swords I'd like to describe before demonstrating."

He explained: The first is the Sword of the Son of Heaven (symbolizing supreme sovereignty), with the crags of Yanxi forming its tip, Mount Tai of Qi its blade, the lands of Jin and Wei its spine, the territories of Zhou and Song its hilt ring, and the domains of Han and Wei its grip. This sword is sheathed within the four borders, adorned with the four seasons, wrapped by the Bohai Sea, and belted with Mount Heng. It follows the patterns of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), balances punishment with benevolence, and harmonizes with the transformations of Yin-Yang. When raised, it can cleave floating clouds; when lowered, it can sever the earth's veins. Once employed, it compels feudal lords to submit and brings all under heaven to their knees.

The second is the Sword of Feudal Lords (symbolizing regional governance), with wise and courageous men as its tip, incorruptible officials as its blade, virtuous scholars as its spine, loyal sages as its hilt ring, and outstanding heroes as its grip. This sword above emulates the round heavens in following sun, moon and stars; below mirrors the square earth in obeying the four seasons; at center reconciles popular will to pacify the realm. When wielded, its thunderous authority leaves none within the borders daring to disobey the ruler's command.

The third is the Sword of Commoners (referring to vulgar dueling) - practiced by those with disheveled hair, bristling sideburns, tilted caps tied with coarse tassels, wearing short-backed garments, glaring fiercely while exchanging insults before hacking at each other. Such swordsmanship differs little from cockfighting, where lives may end at any moment, being utterly worthless to the state.

Zhuangzi concluded his admonition: "Your Majesty now holds the position of Son of Heaven, yet favors the Sword of Commoners. I privately consider this beneath your dignity." Deeply moved, King Wen led Zhuangzi up to his hall, ordered food served, then paced around the banquet table three times in visible agitation. Zhuangzi remained composed, saying: "May Your Majesty be seated and calm your spirit. What needs saying about swordsmanship has been said."

This passage depicts a famous scene from the "Fisherman" chapter of the Zhuangzi:

Confucius and his disciples were resting beneath the apricot altar in the Ziyou Forest, with the disciples studying texts while Confucius played the zither and sang. Suddenly, an elderly fisherman (representing the Daoist recluse archetype) with flowing white hair and beard approached. After disembarking, he sat on the bank, left hand resting on his knee and right hand supporting his chin as he listened to the music. The fisherman summoned Zigong and Zilu to inquire about the musician's identity.

Zilu identified him as Confucius, the noble scholar of Lu. Zigong elaborated on Confucius's teachings: his inherently loyal and trustworthy nature, his practice of humaneness (ren) and righteousness (yi), his establishment of ritual and music standards, his ordering of human relationships, his service to rulers above and education of commoners below, all aimed at benefiting the world. When the fisherman asked whether Confucius served as ruler or ministerial advisor, receiving a negative reply, he laughed and departed with the critique: "Though benevolent, he'll likely fail to preserve himself. Such mental toil and physical strain instead harms human authenticity—alas! How far he strays from the Dao (the Way)!"

Hearing this, Confucius rushed to the riverbank and respectfully bowed to seek the fisherman's wisdom. The fisherman pointed out that when the four classes—Son of Heaven (emperor), feudal lords, officials, and commoners—each fulfill their proper roles, this constitutes ideal governance. When all overstep their bounds, chaos ensues. Officials should attend to their duties and commoners to their affairs, preventing disorder. Here the fisherman voices Daoist philosophy, viewing Confucius's promotion of humaneness, righteousness, and ritual as artificial constructs violating natural spontaneity.

This dialogue vividly illustrates the contrast between Confucian and Daoist thought: Confucianism advocates active engagement in worldly affairs to promote moral education, while Daoism emphasizes following nature's course and maintaining proper roles. The fisherman's concluding concept of "the four correcting themselves" embodies the Daoist political ideal of "governing through non-action (wuwei)."

In the Nanhua Zhenjing (True Classic of Southern Florescence), chapter "Following the Root," Zhuangzi employs a progressive exposition to reveal the anxieties of people at different social strata. Commoners worry about barren fields, dilapidated houses, insufficient food and clothing, unpaid taxes, family discord, and disorder among elders and juniors. Ministers (officials) fret over incompetence, neglected governance, misconduct, lax subordinates, poor administrative achievements, and the loss of official positions. Feudal lords and rulers are preoccupied with the lack of loyal ministers at court, national chaos, inferior craftsmanship, substandard tributes, and improper court rituals. As for the Son of Heaven (the emperor) and his officials, they must contend with imbalances of Yin-Yang, abnormal weather, damage to all living things, rebellions among feudal lords, mutual warfare, the decline of people's livelihoods, the collapse of rites and music, financial shortages, ethical disorder, and moral corruption among the populace.

Zhuangzi then criticizes those who, lacking the authority of rulers or the office of ministers, presumptuously establish rites and music or select talents to "educate" the people—such meddling, he argues, is unnecessary interference. He particularly warns against eight human flaws and four types of calamities that must be guarded against:

The eight flaws are:

1) Meddling in affairs beyond one’s authority—this is called usurpation.

2) Offering advice when no one listens—this is called sycophancy.

3) Speaking to suit others’ inclinations—this is called flattery.

4) Speaking without regard for right or wrong—this is called obsequiousness.

5) Delighting in slandering others—this is called defamation.

6) Sowing discord—this is called treachery.

7) Praising falsely to harm others—this is called deceit.

8) Playing both sides to secretly pursue selfish gains—this is called duplicity.

These flaws disrupt others externally and harm oneself internally. A noble person (junzi) does not associate with such people, and an enlightened ruler does not employ them.

The four calamities are:

1) Craving grand achievements and novelty to seek fame—this is called greed.

2) Acting autocratically and stubbornly—this is called tyranny.

3) Refusing to correct mistakes and rejecting advice—this is called obstinacy.

4) Approving only what aligns with one’s views, dismissing even truths that contradict them—this is called arrogance.

Upon hearing this, Confucius appeared downcast and sighed, lamenting that he had been expelled from Lu, ignored in Wei, humiliated in Song (where his followers’ tree was chopped down), and besieged between Chen and Cai—yet he did not know what mistakes he had made. Zhuangzi responded with the metaphor of "fearing one’s shadow and hating one’s footprints": like a man who, terrified of his shadow and despising his footprints, runs desperately only to leave more footprints while his shadow clings relentlessly, exhausting himself by assuming he simply isn’t running fast enough. The implication is that Confucius’s problem lies in his excessive concern for worldly judgment—the more he strives to escape criticism, the deeper his predicament becomes.

This passage comes from the Nanhua Zhenjing (the Zhuangzi) discussing the concept of "Zhen" (authenticity). Confucius asks a hermit about the meaning of "Zhen," and the hermit offers a profound response.

The hermit first criticizes those who exhaust themselves to death without knowing to rest in the shade—foolish as a shadow unaware that stillness makes it vanish. He points out that obsessing over external norms like benevolence and righteousness, sameness and difference, movement and stillness, gain and loss, or regulating emotions like love and hate, joy and anger, only leads to entanglement. What truly matters is cultivating oneself, preserving one’s innate authenticity, and following nature’s course—only then can one avoid being burdened by external things. Yet people today neglect self-cultivation while demanding it of others—isn’t this putting the cart before the horse?

Confucius, solemn, asks what "Zhen" truly is. The hermit explains: "Zhen" is the utmost sincerity. Without this sincerity, one cannot move others. Forced weeping may seem sorrowful but lacks grief; forced anger may appear stern but lacks awe; forced affection may smile but lacks harmony. True grief moves without sound, true awe precedes outbursts, and true harmony needs no smile. "Zhen" resides within, and the spirit naturally manifests it outwardly—this is its preciousness.

Applying "Zhen" in human relationships: Serve parents with filial devotion, rulers with loyalty, drink with joy, and mourn with sorrow. Loyalty aims at achievement, drinking at pleasure, mourning at grief, and serving parents at their comfort. Those who embody this need not cling to external forms. Rituals are devised by custom, but "Zhen" is bestowed by heaven—unalterable and natural. Thus, the sage follows nature, treasures authenticity, and is unbound by convention. Fools do the opposite: they fret over human affairs instead of emulating nature, neglect their innate "Zhen," and let the mundane world reshape them—hardly worth lamenting.

Confucius sighs, admitting his early obsession with artificial rites and only learning the great Dao (Way) in later years. Humbly, he asks to study with the hermit. But the hermit replies: "Those who can walk the same path, I guide to the profound Dao; those who cannot, I do not force—this way, I avoid error." With that, he poles his boat away, vanishing into the reeds. Yan Yuan turns the carriage around; Zilu hands Confucius the mounting cord. But Confucius gazes at the water until the ripples still and the oars fade from hearing.

This passage describes a dialogue between Confucius and his disciple Zilu. At the time, Confucius displayed unusually reverent behavior toward a fisherman, which greatly astonished Zilu and the other disciples.

Summoning his courage, Zilu approached Confucius's carriage and asked: "Having followed you for so long, Master, I've never seen you show such deference to anyone. Even when rulers of ten-thousand-chariot states (major kingdoms) or thousand-chariot states (medium kingdoms) came to see you, you merely treated them as equals—sometimes even with an air of superiority. Yet today when this fisherman stood opposite you holding his oar, you bowed deeply and responded with utmost respect. Isn't this excessive? All your disciples find today's behavior most peculiar."

Leaning on the carriage's front crossbar with a sigh, Confucius replied: "Ah Zilu, how difficult you are to teach! Though you've studied ritual propriety for some time, that crude mentality remains unchanged. Let me enlighten you: Failing to show respect to elders violates ritual propriety (li), while failing to honor the virtuous demonstrates lack of humaneness (ren). If that fisherman weren't a man of supreme Dao and De (Virtue/Power), how could he inspire such voluntary humility? Without genuine humility, one cannot attain the true Dao. Persisting in such behavior will ultimately harm oneself—what a pity! No misfortune caused by lack of humaneness exceeds this, yet you stubbornly cling to this failing."

Confucius continued his explanation: "The Dao is the source from which all things arise. All beings perish when separated from Dao, yet thrive when united with it. Actions contrary to Dao lead to failure, while those in harmony with Dao bring success. Therefore, the sage honors wherever Dao resides. Since this fisherman has attained the Dao, how dare I not revere him?"

Through Confucius's reverential attitude toward the fisherman, this dialogue illustrates the Daoist principle of "honoring Dao and valuing De." It emphasizes that true sages should recognize and respect those who have attained the Dao, regardless of their social status. Simultaneously, it critiques Zilu's limitation of judging by superficial status while failing to perceive the greater Dao.