The opening to Chapter Eight of the Hanfeizi is a bit of an oddity. While the rest of the chapter is a highly abstract explanation for why a ruler should conceal his preferences in order to compel his advisors to better performance, the opening sentences are a lush description of a sybaritic harem lifestyle, with an observation that this can be bad for one’s health.
Here is the original classical Chinese:
天有大命,人有大命。夫香美脆味,厚酒肥肉,甘口而病形;曼理皓齒,說情而捐精。故去甚去泰,身乃無害。
The full chapter, along with an English translation can be found here, but for ease of access W.K. Liao translates it as, “Heaven has its destiny ; human beings have their destiny, too. Indeed, anything smelling good and tasting soft, be it rich wine or fat meat, is delicious to the mouth, but it causes the body illness. The beauty having delicate skin and pretty white teeth pleases feeling but exhausts energy. Hence avoid excesses and extremes. Then you will suffer no harm.” Watson gives it as, “Both Heaven (Nature) and man have their fixed destinies. Fragrant aromas and delicate flavors, rich wine and fat meat delight the palate but sicken the body. Fair lineaments and pearly teeth warm the heart but waste the spirit. Therefore renounce riot and excess, for only then can you keep your health unharmed.” Harbsmeier’s unpublished version has, “Nature has its mandated fixed rule system, and man has his mandated fixed rule system. Aromatic delicacies and crisp titbits, thick undiluted wine and fat meat, these are sweet to the mouth but harmful to the body; dainty features and white teeth, these will give satisfaction to the feelings but impair one’s subtle physical spirits. If, on the other hand, one shuns indulgence and one shuns excess, then one’s person will suffer no harm.”
All three give a reasonable interpretation of the sense, but what does the passage mean? The question recently came up on Twitter, and the responses were so diverse and so interesting, that I asked a selection of educated respondents to write up their thoughts for publication here. The goal is not necessary to spur competition over who can produce the best, most literary or most creative reading, but rather to show just how open to interpretation these texts are.
In the context of the passage, it’s very very tempting to read it as analogous to the Aristotelian doctrine of the mean. The basic thrust of the idea being: “Heaven has its intrinsic principles, humanity also has its intrinsic principles. Pleasure in food and sex is natural and good, but when taken to excess it becomes unnatural and harmful.”
- Anon
This paragraph amplifies the idea of wuwei (literally, "non-action") in a practical fashion that could accommodate the actual working of a polity and harmonize the desire for action with the maintenance of order. These are accomplished, according to this amplification of wuwei, by drawing the boundaries of what is essential (or constitutional) to the ruler; and by delineating the proper scopes of action for subjects (esp., ministers) in relation to the positions that they respectively occupy. These boundaries and scopes would then establish a condition in which everyone can act in accord with their own talents without interfering with one another. This amplification of wuwei is thus a positive interpretation of action by allowing one to act within the proper scope defined by one's relative position in this world. More significantly, as an amplification of wuwei, this positive interpretation of action is done without reference to virtue ethics.
The "grand command" is meant to emphasize the relative importance of things and introduces a principle of priority. The following lines hence point out that delicious food appeals to the month but damages the body, and that charming figures amuse yet enfeeble. Rather than advocating the idea of discipline or moderation, I believe they draw the boundaries of what is central and essential. According to the statement 權不欲見,素無為也 (“the sceptre should never be shown, for its inner nature is non-assertion” per W.K. Liao), the goal of drawing such boundaries is to establish a condition in which the sage's wielding of power could remain unseen by abiding by the principle of wuwei. Next two lines contrast the essential at the center and the trivial at the periphery, and specify that the sage must seize the essential and meanwhile allow people to act according to what is appropriate to the positions they occupy. Thereby those in the upper tiers and those in the lower will act without transgression 上下無為 (“both superior and inferior will not have to do anything”).
In a gnomic style, the first couplet supplies the ensuing argument with passionate eloquence and general validity. If the idea of ming (命) is difficult to grasp with certainty, given the variety of its appearances in early Chinese texts, the notion of da (大) demands even more invention from readers as it requires us to introduce a system of measuring with which the value of largeness can be determined. But regardless of how we read it, this couplet juxtaposes Heaven and Man, and declares the existence of a structural symmetry between the two distinct realms, the gap between which is sometimes and elsewhere considered insurmountable.
Readers can of course explain this couplet in concrete terms and in relation to specific things. The earliest received commentary on this line (likely a Song-dynasty one), for example, infuses it with a kind of naturalism. Therein, "the great destiny of heaven" refers to cosmic patterns such as the cycle of day and night and the seasonal cycle. "The great destiny of man" refers to prime social relations such as the hierarchical one between rulers and ministers. But this explanation only betrays the particular interest that the reader has in this couplet. An exposition of this couplet is thus often misled by the reader's intellectual investment in it, and I would argue, is unnecessary to read the remaining lines and understand the gist of this paragraph.
To start with what I agree is a most curious aspect of the paragraph, namely, the rather evocative reference to sensual goods - I think these verses are a really clever way of highlighting a prominent theme of the chapter, namely, limitations incumbent upon the ruler and the need to take them into serious consideration - while supplying/reinforcing the more immediate motivation for adopting the "ascesis of government" prescribed in the chapter.
The items Han Feizi mentions appear to be the targets of both conventional moralistic and ascetic critics of excess. However, we know that both sumptuous feasts and harems were customary perquisites of rulers, and, I'd venture to say, that's precisely (pardon the jargon) the formality or aspect Han Feizi is interested in here, as the sort of politics he is going to advise against can also be said to have been expected of a proper ruler.
I think that Han Feizi is rhetorically assuaging the worries possibly prompted by his proposed regimen, making it clear that enjoyment of feasts and women - things that made rulership worth their while for many men - are not the prerogatives he's after; as the reader is quick to find out, it is rather the misplaced expectations of many a moral theorist that Han Feizi aims to have the ruler abstain from. Conversely, feats of wisdom and courage, exalted reputation for virtue etc. can become subject to the same consideration as sensual delights: they may seem worthwhile to the ruler, but all indulgences have a cost, and Han Feizi is going to argue that the cost of these is ruinous.
As regards the 大命 (given as “destiny” above, literally “great order” or “great fate”), reading the chapter I was almost immediately reminded of the Wen Wang ode, particularly these lines: 假哉天命 (“Great is the appointment of Heaven!”) and 駿命不易 (“The great appointment is not easily [preserved].”) As both 假 and 駿 seem to be used in the sense of 大 (great), I suppose that 大命 may be an efficient way of referencing the ode, which I think would be entirely appropriate, given its themes, like the impermanent and contingent nature of the ruler's enfeoffment and - for the ruler - sudden and calamitous nature of its revocation (tying in neatly with the mention of the perks to be lost, in the next sentence?), as well as wuwei-ing numenous sage rulers generally (prescinding from, or perhaps playing on, the differences between the conceptions of numen and wuwei, of course). Addionally, given the almost “different-natural-kinds” treatment the various roles people can have vis-a-vis government, opening with 命 (order or fate), I would say (not that it matters too much) may well be a reference to nature(s), as in the opening lines of the Doctrine of the Mean and associated works like the Xunzi, and so introduce the topic of governance in accordance with them.
I'd translate the sentence "天有大命,人有大命" as either "Heaven has its grand calling, and men have their grand calling too" or "Heaven has its grand tasks, and men have their grand tasks too".
This starting sentence lays down an immediate separation of Heaven (天) and its subjects in regards to tasks. The high and the low have different tasks to complete, and therefore things work best if each do the task he is assigned by the Dao (道).
In this separation of tasks it could be placed in parallel with what Confucius says in Analects 12.11., which is 孔子對曰:「君君,臣臣,父父,子子。」 ("Kongzi replied so: Let rulers be rulers, let servants be servants, fathers be fathers, sons be sons.") In my opinion it's a quite interesting case of Legalists and Confucians agreeing on the value of a ruling method, and probably the rhetorical device that allows for a post-hegemonic state that practices Legalism to switch to Confucianism as a ruling method.
This division of tasks and letting people doing what they are naturally meant to do according to their status in society and the cosmic order is very much in accordance with the wu-wei doctrine of ruling as described in the Hanfeizi's 20th chapter.
In essence, this sentence tells us that the greatest value a post-hegemonic ruler may posess is that of stability and consistency with the Dao.
We see that the first line, viz. “Heaven has its destiny ; human beings have their destiny”, bears a heavy resemblance to the idea of Karma found in the Upaniṣad-s and other Hindu scriptures. Though Han Feizi’s worldview, despite being derived from a Daoist core, has a very political and worldly outlook, this section nevertheless merits an interpretation through the Hindu metaphysical worldview, owing to the resemblance which the first sentence and the rest of the section carries to the Hindu worldview.
To begin, we will take up Manusmṛti, where the composer expounds the laws of karma. The foundation of this is the fact that all deeds are conducive to bearing fruit, or in other words, every action will have a consequence. These actions are performed by the body, mind and voice. The consequences are experienced in the same medium of action through which the corresponding action was performed. So deeds performed by the body will have consequences manifest in the body, and so on (Manusmṛti 12:3,12:8).
Apart from this, we have three sufferings. The first is of one’s own doing, called Ādhyātmika, that which comes from other living beings is Ādhibhautika, and Ādhidaivika is that which comes from nature itself. What has been spoken about consequences in body, mind and voice, all may be subsumed under the Ādhyātmika sufferings (Viśṇu Purāṇa, 6:5).
And finally, we have the four kinds of karma which are Prārabdha, Kriyamāṇa, Āgāmī and Sañcita. Though some do not differentiate between Āgāmī and Kriyamāṇa, holding them to be the same,encompassing all present and future actions, while some take Āgāmī as future actions and Kriyamāṇa as present actions, we shall go with the former way, for the sake of convenience, treating Āgāmī and Kriyamāṇa as the same entity. That being said, Prārabdha is a part of Sañcita karma, viz. all the karma ever performed, and is that part which is bearing fruit in one’s life, but of past actions, and these past actions extend beyond the current life too (Devī Bhāgavatam, 6:10).
Now having laid out the basic principles, we see that Han Fei’s words point us to bodily Karma, to Prārabdha and Kriyamāṇa, and to the three types of sufferings as the closest resemblances in the Indian tradition.
Thus, taken as a whole, the section, interpreted according to the Hindu theory of Karma, is this:
To “have destiny (有大命)” is different for Heaven and humans. Heaven is something which delivers destiny, but man is someone who shapes destiny, and lives out his destiny, which has been partly shaped by him, and partly by Heaven.
This destiny here may also be called the fruit of Karma. While all fruits are due to actions of man, whether in the past or present, whether in a previous life or this life, the ones whose enjoyment is outside man’s control, are fruits which are from Heaven. These fruits are due to Ādhidaivika and Ādhibhautika factors. The former is always related to the supernatural and to meteorological phenomena, in short, to Heaven (天 - tian) and its entities; the latter is related to physical, biological and chemical factors like animals, plants, the five elements, and in short, to Earth (地 - di) and its entities.
Similarly, the fruits whose enjoyment is under man’s control, that is to say, where man can have agency in deciding which outcomes he wants, are due to Ādhyātmika factors; These are always related to the self, and these are experienced in body, mind and voice. Thus, destiny, though it largely is due to the actions of man, which are called Kriyamāṇa, is still delivered by Heaven, through the flowering of the fruits of Prārabdha, but what fruit one will get in his life due to Prārabdha, is never known, unless one is to remember all his past lives with the employment of rites and meditation.
So, one sees this: Heaven’s destiny, is to deliver outcomes of actions, and it manifests these in Earth and in man’s life; man’s destiny is to shape the future, according to what his innate desires are, which are also shaped by what Heaven delivers to him.
To move to the next part, we see that Han Fei says that the finest of wines and most luxurious of meat dishes are pleasing to the tongue but they cause illness. In the same way, a beautiful woman being enjoyed for amorous dalliances may please man, but tire him out.
By such words, Han Fei wishes to tell us that being a sovereign, one gets many luxurious privileges. Yet these luxurious privileges, though they give pleasure, are ultimately a drain on the vitality of the sovereign.
This has parallels to Kauṭilya’s Arthaśāstra, where Kauṭilya advises the restraint of senses, explaining what happened when one succumbed to the six enemies of the mind. Elsewhere in the same work, remedies are given to cure addictions of the crown princes to luxuries, and these always involve fear (Arthaśāstra 1:6; 1:17).
The restraint is explained as avipratipatti, which means the absence of confusion among the perceptions. This means that the senses are well rectified, and do not give any conflicting perception, hence allowing the sovereign to have immense clarity in knowing the truth. So, addictions to these luxuries are held to be potentially dangerous to the stability of a state by both Han Fei and Kauṭilya, and a possible reason is that it leads to clouding of the sovereign’s judgement.
And finally, Han Fei advises that by avoiding excesses and extremes the sovereign suffers no harm. This too, has parallels with what Kauṭilya and Vātsyāyana say regarding the three aims: That one should pursue all three together, pursue two together, or pursue one, but never one in such a way that it hurts the other two. Kauṭilya further says that one carried to excess destroys the other two, as well as itself. This implies that enjoying any luxury in excess, is only going to deprive you of the luxury sooner or later (Arthaśāstra 1:7, Kāmasūtra, 1:2:40).
We may thus conjecture that Han Fei is not really against the sovereign enjoying his luxuries, and this is seen elsewhere too (Han Feizi, Chapter XLIV), when he cites the example of Marquess Jing of Zhao, who, despite being extravagant in lifestyle, maintained his state well. But Han Fei advises that the luxuries can cause undesirable effects. We see that these effects are Ādhyātmika, and as we have seen, one’s ability to enjoy luxury is born of Prārabdha Karma as well as Kriyamāṇa Karma, which is, destiny. So, this being the case, we see that you get to enjoy luxuries as a result of your deeds, but these very rewards are also a drain on your vitality. Yet, by keeping to a degree of moderation, avoiding excessive indulgence, you may suffer no harm, and also get to enjoy the pleasures of life.
Thus, Han Fei seems to tell us that the sovereign’s position is an outcome of a combination of factors outside his control and within his control. This gives him access to luxuries which are not something that many others get to enjoy. But these very luxuries are a potential source of harm, in body, and certainly can be harmful to his other enterprises. Thus, he should take care and not indulge excessively, to protect himself from harm.
In this passage, Han Fei cautions the reader that, just as avoiding health problems is tied to never indulging too much in sensual pleasures, retaining authority depends upon making impartial appointments. A ruler must not allow their preferences for certain favorites to interfere with employing the best people for each role; employing the wrong people will both aggravate those better suited for the job and run the risk of the job not being done well at all. The ruler must not incline towards any particular faction, but must consider that the right person for a role could come from anywhere and must be in a position to receive such people when they emerge; their reputation for impartiality will induce all such hidden talents to come seeking employment of their own accord.
Han Fei does not mention such fuzzy qualities as "worthiness" in these instances, thus one could interpret this as a reaction against a more Confucian ethos of employing people of the best general character and virtue, trusting that they will be able to handle whatever role is granted them. He puts forth a more meritocratic vision, where the suitability of talent is the primary and perhaps only consideration for any given appointment; the correctness of this view will be adapted into the intellectual background of the coming imperial age. Lastly, since Han Fei was himself frustrated in his ambitions for office in his home state and later sought to gain high office in Qin, one could see this argument as a means of his own-self interest to convince the Qin ruler (the future First Emperor) not to overlook him simply because of his foreign origin.
天有大命,人有大命
“Heaven • has • wide • fate, • men • have • wide • fate”
Man’s fate is “wide” in that destiny is always recalculating, probabilities are unfolding, ways are shifting, and if you as the ruler are not careful you may end up a causality of those probabilities.
And even heaven has a wide fate? One of the moderns, Wang Fuzhi, said: “By 天命 (tianming - the mandate of Heaven) is not meant that Heaven gives the decree only at the moment of one's birth. In the production of things by Heaven, the process of transformation never ceases. It is not that at the moment of birth there is no decree. (There is, but) Heaven gives decrees to man every day and man receives decrees from Heaven every day. Therefore we say that by nature is meant the principle of growth. As one daily grows, one daily achieves completion. Since the mandate is never exhausted and is not constant, therefore nature repeatedly changes and is perpetually different.”
Thus a doubly hazardous shifting terrain for the potential ruler to traverse. If 命 is a command given at the beginning, or a fate known at the end, either way it is wide (大): with both man’s (人) and even nature’s (天) unfolding ways (道). It’s tempting to understand this as both bottom-up Confucian “waiting for destiny while doing what you can,” and top-down Darwinian-Daoism: nature wants you to make it, and nature wants you dead—both outcomes serve to test paths and find functional ways. The potential ruler is a 芻狗 (straw dog). As Laozi said: “Of old those who were the best rulers were…cautious, like crossing a frozen stream in the winter” (古之善為士者…豫兮若冬涉川).
- Sol
Due to the supposed teacher-student relationship between the two, Han Fei’s lines here remind me of three passages of the Xunzi. In chapter and passage notation I will follow John Knoblock’s editing and translations. All examples come from the “Discourse on Nature” (天论) chapter.
The first one is 天行有常,不为尧存,不为桀亡: “The course of nature is constant: it does not survive because of the actions of a Yao, it does not perish because of the actions of a Jie.” This quote already clearly separates the course of nature from that of man, with relegating man to the passive role. Whatever man may do, he will not be able to even influence, let alone change the course of nature. It may damage of even destroy an entire year’s crops, but crops will start all over the next year: man’s influence on the course of nature is minimal at best, but more likely completely ineffective. On the other hand, man will only be successful if his actions are in accord with the course of nature.
The second, 天不为人之恶寒也辍冬,地不为人之恶辽远也辍: “Nature does not suspend the winter because men dislike cold weather. Earth does not reduce its broad expanse because men dislike long distances.” (I have modified Knoblock’s use of Heaven for 天 here to make it consistent with the previous example.) Again, we see here that the course of nature continues regardless of man’s wishes, which at the same time reminds one of the “straw dogs” line in Chapter 5 of the Daode Jing. In this passage as it goes on, a parallel is drawn between nature being immutable and the gentleman being immutable in their pursuits: 君子不为小人之匈匈也辍行: “The gentleman does not interrupt his pattern of conduct because petty men rant and rail.”
The final example is long, but I think is necessary: 雩而雨,何也?曰:无佗也,犹不雩而雨也。日月食而救之,天旱而雩,卜筮然后决大事,非以为得求也,以文之也。故君子以为文,而百姓以为神。以为文则吉,以为神则凶也。: “If you pray for rain and there is rain, what of it? I say there is no special relationship, as when you do not pray for rain and there is rain. When the sun and moon are eclipsed, we attempt to save them, when nature sends a drought, we pray for rain and before we decide any important undertaking, we divine with bone and milfoil. We do these things not because we believe that such ceremonies will produce the results we seek, but because we want to embellish such occasions with ceremony. Thus, the gentleman considers such ceremonies as embellishments, but the Hundred Clans consider them supernatural. To consider them embellishments is fortunate, to consider them supernatural is unfortunate.” I don’t think I need to add anything here, the message is quite clear.
Now, back to Han Fei’s lines. The above quotes are the reason I think 天命 and 人命 here ought to be taken as “course of nature” and “course of human life”. Not only was Han Fei himself quite adamant in his pragmatism, he only saw in “metaphysics” an instrumental use even more so than Xunzi or the anonymous authors of the Guanzi. Think of how the book constantly berates “sages” who talk a lot, but have little actual advice on how to solve people’s problems. If we take the full scope of the Hanfeizi into consideration, I think metaphysical concepts like “destiny” are quite alien to its central message.
- 翁仲
It may be that 大命 ( da ming) is something like natural law, and that the sense of the paragraph is simply that if you have too much fun 大命 will ensure that you will suffer appropriate karma. However, this raises two questions:
1. Why is this being emphasised here of all places? (The paragraph precedes a dry and technical discussion of the incentive structures a ruler should establish to manipulate his underlings into serving his interests.)
2. Why is the author clearly enjoying himself so much?
We weren't thinking about rich wine and delicate skin until he brought them up and made us want some, and this does not feel like an innocent mistake. The description doesn't read like it was written by a man who's never had to adjust his collar to hide a hickey, so we must conclude that either he already failed at the task he's setting us, or the intended message is something other than wholehearted asceticism.
This resolves itself if we read 大命 as a an overriding natural imperative, a vector describing both an incentive and the response to that incentive - a desire and the focus of that desire. The author wants you, as you read, to want the rich wine, fat meat, and pale beauties with white teeth, but he also wants you to question why it is that you want them. Apparently you were 大命-ed into it. By whom and for what purpose?
Answer: Nature, like a good legalist ruler, has provided her subjects with incentives to direct them towards particular goals - 大命. Sex and food feel good because she wants you to want them, and yet, just like a legalist ruler, her interests do not necessarily align with yours. She too is under authority, subject to her own 大命. She is pushing you to fight for these things, not because she wants you to attain them and be happy, but because the Darwinian competition that results maintains the dynamic equilibrium upon which her systems rely. Just as a legalist ruler offers rewards to to spur his advisors on to ever greater efforts and then selects the best among them, Nature tells you to enjoy food and sex because she benefits from your struggle to acquire them, even when you fail.
This would explain why this passage is where it is. We're not supposed to eradicate our desires - this is impossible and the author has just proven as much by raising everyone's blood pressure - but we are supposed to question them. Why am I being forced to want these things, and how does it alter my behaviour? And, more importantly, if I can't rely on my instincts to ensure a good outcome even in something as basic as this, why should I trust them on more complicated matters, such as making political decisions? If I follow my instinct, it will feel pleasant in the short run, but in the longer term it is likely that the evolutionary competition that prevails in politics as in nature will replace me with someone who has the same desires but a cleverer approach to attaining them - one such as is described in the paragraphs that follow.
My position is that any interpretation of 大命 (“da ming”) in Han Feizi’s “Yangquan” (Chapter 8) argument has to be in accordance with three frameworks: (1) it has to be relatable to the metaphorical character of its conception; (2) it has to be relatable to the wider discourse on 大命 in early Chinese thought; and (3) it has to be relatable to the argument of the “Yangquan” chapter itself.
As to (1), this means foremost that we have to understand 命 (“ming”) fundamentally as a political act, specifically a political speech-act, and concretely as similar to the communication of an order from a superior to their subordinate. But here we should be careful not to define ‘order’ as necessarily a command prompt of sorts – a line of code to be executed as given. Rather命, in distinction from “command 令,” is an assignment; a delegation of power. When I give you the order to do something, it is up to you to actually do it, and fulfil the order by yourself. 命 is much more an act of authorization than of subjugation, when understood as a transfer or delegation of power; and as the investment of one’s agency in someone else (“I want you to do this for me”). This is how a translation of 命 as “mandate” can be justified: a decreed transfer of agency.
Which brings us to (2). The early Chinese discourse on 大命 makes clear that 大命 has to be understood in the context of 天命 (“tianming”, usually given as “the Mandate of Heaven” in English), that is the communication of Heaven’s agency, by which It delegates It’s power. The conception of 大命 as tianming can be traced back as early as the Odes, but I would still say that it is not tianming that is the source of 大命, but rather that it is the other way around. The Book of Documents, Book of Rites and Zuozhuan show how 大命 more likely originally was a strictly human affair of political authorization, in which a family head/King charges his successor/people with a certain political motivation. Regardless the genealogy, it is clear to me that the “Yangquan” author was aware of both connotations (metaphysical and political) in 大命 and that Han Fei’s own conceptualization of it is constructed in relation to both aspects. Furthermore, the content of the “Yangquan” chapter shows such strong connections with the Dao De Jing, Zhuangzi and Xunzi in particular, that we should consider the meaning of 命/ming in those texts when interpreting Han Fei'’s conception of it.
Finally (3), how 大命 is actually argued in the “Yangquan” chapter itself. There are four instances in the Han Feizi’s “Yangquan” chapter where it mentions 命, all in the first three passages of the chapter: 1. 天有大命,人有大命 (“Heaven has great 命; man has great 命”); 2. 故聖人執一以靜,使名自命,令事自定 (“therefore the sagely person holds on to oneness to be still, making names 命 themselves, commanding affairs to settle themselves”); 3. 謹脩所事,待命於天 (“attentively taking care of what is being done, awaiting 命 from Heaven”); and 4. 道者、下周於事,因稽而命,與時生死 (“The Way, under it accommodating all affairs, relying on verification to 命, and with the occasion letting them live or die.”). Just by themselves, these formulations already reveal a great deal as to how this text conceptualizes 命.
The first formula text-structurally suggests that mankind’s 大命 can be both equated with and distinguished from Heaven’s (or Nature’s) 大命 – they stand in a perfectly parallel relation to each other. On the one hand, this implies that however we understand how human can engage with their specific 大命, the method ought to be identical to how Heaven deals with Its 大命; on the other hand it also implies that mankind is able to accomplish this on its own authority, as an enterprise distinct from the affairs of the rest of the world. As such, the Han Feizi here elegantly manages to combine two influential early Chinese worldviews on the relationship between Nature-writ-large and human subjective agency. Already in the Odes we find the conception of tianming: a 命 given by 天 to human beings. This originally was probably a theological (and subsequently metaphysical) translation of the socio-political phenomenon of leaders and patriarchs giving a 命 to their successors/offspring/people (and from there on → ancestors → Supreme Thearch → Heaven → Nature), as can be evidenced in texts like the Documents, Rites and Zuozhuan. But regardless of the order of chicken (天命/mandate of Heaven) and egg (人命/other human mandates), by the time of the mid-Warring States the natural world was commonly theorized as being organized in accordance with a Heavenly authority: 性自命出,命自天降 (“innateness comes forth out of 命, and 命 comes down from Heaven”). The Dao De Jing, who’s worldview clearly is very closely aligned with that of the Han Feizi’s “Yangquan” chapter, also identifies the nature of all things, mankind and Heaven as unified – all follow the same Way. But at the same time it also makes clear that Heaven and Its creations (all things including mankind) are fundamentally differentiated in the sense that Heaven holds a completely disinterested disposition toward individual things - treating everything like disposable items and abiding in non-assertiveness. This separates the ethical bond between Heaven and Man, and yet individual human beings can reidentify with Heaven by emulating it, and so the sages take on the same disinterested disposition toward their fellow men as Heaven – Its 天命 becoming their 人命. Xunzi follows Laozi in considering 天命 as non-negotiable and distinguishing between the affairs of Heaven and the affairs of Man. Even more so than Laozi, Xunzi theorizes that Heaven and Man have distinct responsibilities: Heaven creates and Man completes. Still, what man completes is on the basis of the principle that is created by Heaven, and ultimately mankind is to cooperate with the natural world using the same universal Way. Now, the “Yangquan” chapter’s conception of 命 agrees with Xunzi that there is a specific 命 for man that involves man alone; but it even more agrees with Laozi that this 命-by-man-for-man ought to be accomplished exactly like the 命-by-Heaven-for-everything (rather than Xunzi’s creation/completion dichotomy): 天有大命,人有大命 (“Heaven has great 命; man has great 命”)。
The second formula, 故聖人執一以靜,使名自命,令事自定 (“therefore the sagely person holds on to oneness to be still, making names 命 themselves, commanding affairs to settle themselves”), indicates that the text’s conception of 命 is intimately connected with three philosophical paradigms, one of which with Confucian roots, in particular the Xunzi, and two of which with Taoist roots in the Dao De Jing and Zhuangzi. The mention of 名 here, as well as the primacy of its theme in the rest of the chapter, points to the Han Feizi’s own adaptation of the Confucian project of 正名 (a rectification of names), in the form of 形名參同 (“form and name are verified as identical”). Mankind’s (大)命 is operated by man through the use of 名 (names), which confirms the 形 (form) of human affairs and to which human affairs will otherwise conform themselves. Concretely, 法 (laws) take on the role of 命-as-名, and punish or reward those who meet their criteria. These criteria are fully objective, there is no discernable subjective intent in them as they simply reflect what is (“correctly 正”) required of people under particular circumstances. Where the Han Feizi breaks with Xunzi and the Confucian conception of 正名 is that it argues that 名自命 (“names 命 themselves”): 名 ought to 命 themselves; their 命-as-名 being produced from themselves (whereas Xunzi argues that this requires the artificial completion accomplished by the ruler alone). This ideal of self-命 (and its offshoots mentioned in this chapter: self-usage/自以, self-settlement/自定, self-tasking/自事, self-recommendation/自舉, self-articulation/自離, self-achievement/自成, and self-conciliation/自寧 – although notably not self-indulgence/自恣, which it prohibits) is a development of the Zhuangzian idealization of 自然 (spontaneity). Heaven imparts its 命 in everything as their 性 (innateness; their nature), but from a Zhuangzian perspective this amounts to nothing more than letting things be themselves: what Heaven wants them to be is what they are of themselves. Likewise, the 大命 that the rulers of man utilize is nothing more than the 命 that their subjects already feel by themselves, there is no effort or assertion required from the ruler to communicate this 命 because it is a message that is already received from the start. Names correct themselves, according to their own standards. The management of this self-命-as-self-名 is possible with a Laozian attitude of 無為 (non-assertion or non-interference), in which the ruler 虛 (empties) their objective engagement with their subjects of any subjective considerations and tries to observe the situation under their control with a mindset that is completely 靜 (still), in that it is undisturbed by internal dispositions and can accurately reflect on and respond to external demands. As such, the ruler applies a state of 一 (oneness) to their relationship with their subjects: one’s every judgment is fully objective and impartial so that other’s can fully identify their 命 as one’s own 命, and the ruler’s 大命 becomes their subject’s 自命.
The third formula, 謹脩所事,待命於天 (“attentively taking care of what is being done, awaiting 命 from Heaven”), emphasizes however, that even though the rulers of man have the prerogative of being responsible for their own, specifically human oriented 命, and even though this human 命 is completely 自命 – by-and-for-human beings – ultimately this 命 still can be traced back to Heaven. We can understand this when we realize that for a Daoist like Han Fei, just as for Lao Dan and Zhuang Zhou, 自然 (nature or naturality) and 天 ultimately are but two sides of the same coin that is 道, the Way. Everything follows the Way in everything, and as far as their successful functioning is concerned, It can be identified as the highest and most comprehensive principle of organization, which we can conventionally call Heaven or Nature. If success is determined by the principle under which all of creation becomes organized, and we identify that principle as Heaven, then things in themselves must await becoming conform with this principle before they can be successful as well. Why not just speak solely of道 and/or 自然 (nature) then, when it comes to 人(其自命之)命? The reason would be that on the one hand, 道 combines holistically both the principle of success and failure, while on the other hand, 自然 (nature) is nothing but the natural response to initiations of success or failure. But in the case of implementing and achieving their 大命, rulers are interested in the success of the 事 (tasks) they assign to their subjects, and the exclusive principle of their successful performance can be specified as 天 (Heaven). There is one other aspect of this third formula of 命 in the “Yangquan” chapter that I think is noteworthy. 謹脩 (as-is indicating “attentiveness and cultivation”) do not strike me as typical Daoist concepts, but they are characteristic of Xunzi’s system of thought. They betray a decidedly human-centered perspective, which emphasizes uniquely human forms of agency in contrast with a purely naturalistic praxeology as we find it in the Laozi and Zhuangzi. One does not consider Heaven to be attentive to the cultivation of human affairs (straw dogs and all that, after all), but even though the Han Feizi agrees that a human ruler should refrain from all assertiveness, this does not mean that they should not be completely mentally focused on and spiritually committed to their subjects as their responsibility, and personally guarantee its perfect accomplishment, which is something the Han Feizi has in common with Xunzi. This should not come as a surprise of course, given the intellectual historical relation between the two, but it serves as significant supporting evidence that the influence of Xunzi on Han Fei’s thought reflects the formative tutoring of the latter by the former.
Finally, the fourth formula 道者、下周於事,因稽而命,與時生死 (“The Way, under it accommodating all affairs, relying on verification to 命, and with the occasion letting them live or die”) makes clear that 命 indeed is a function of a metaphysical 道 that decides who succeeds and lives or fails and dies. This 道 is identical to Heaven in Its character of 時 (timeliness); and identical with the ruler of Man in that through the latter It is able to 稽 (verify) things and give them Its 命. 道 Itself is completely non-assertive and as such, with Laozi, can be said to be 無 (non-existent) on-Its-own, as it always acts by mediated through the agency of other things (be they objects, people, rulers, Heaven). This formula suggests how the “Yangquan” chapter is able to overcome (as in a Hegelian Aufhebung) its self-necessitated distinction between the Heavenly and Human realms of 命. 道者 here can be read as referring to both Heaven, the ruler, their subjects – as those who come to possess the Way – or simply to the Way itself in how it is realized through the agency of all of them. All of Its actual agents represent an aspect of it, while It covers them ambiguously.
I hope that the above exposé shows that there is a conceptual progression in the first half of the “Yangquan” chapter from 命 as bifurcated into two (identical) kinds (Heavenly and Human); to another bifurcation of the human kind of 命 into the carefully directed 命 of the ruler and the spontaneously responsive 命 of their subjects; then to a cooperative reunion of the previously differentiated 命 of Heaven and Man; to finally their mutual suspension into the comprehensive 命 that is nothing-but-道. As such, the “Yangquan” chapter presents us with a coherent and comprehensive argument of 命, that is intimately connected with 執一 (holding onto oneness), 無為 (non-action) and 刑名 (forms and names) as the main themes of (at least the first half of) the chapter, and we therefore should definitely not regard the opening line 天有大命,人有大命 (“Heaven has great 命; man has great 命”) as some kind of performative rhetorical boilerplate or as incidental to the chapter as a whole. The way the chapter conceptualizes 命 is very much representative for the influence of Laozi’s, Zhuangzi’s and Xunzi’s influence on Han Fei’s thought and can easily be regarded as compatible with the content of other Daoist-leaning Han Feizi chapters such as the “Zhudao” (主道) and “Jie Lao (解老) chapters. The central importance of 命 to the overall narrative of the chapter should also orient our reading of the chapter’s first passage. The central message of that argument is indeed how human 命 can be managed exactly like natural 命: through 無為 (non-action), in the form of the objectified operation of government. The lines immediately following 天有大命,人有大命 (“Heaven has great 命; man has great 命”) about people’s conduct with regard to pleasurable things only serves as an analogy for this. Just like materially indulgent substances are bad for one’s personal health, expressive government is bad for the health of the state (and thereby the personal health of its ruler, of course). The point here is not that the ruler should or should not involve themselves with material pursuits and hedonistic pleasures, but that his mode and style of government should also 去甚去泰 (do away with all extremities), which is but to say that government should be non-assertive, as the rest of the passage profusely argues (notice also the connection here with Dao De Jing Chapter 29 and its theme of 無為/non-action). The conception of 命 in the “Yangquan” chapter is not concerned with a discussion of how to deal with people’s 性 (natures) or whether to regard them as innately good or bad, but rather how 命 as a function of authority can be effectively applied as a tool for government. Here I feel the Han Feizi attempts to combine a Confucian inspired need for authority (命) with a Daoist inspired insight that superior authority (德) must come from its completely natural manifestation (道), which fundamentally requires the human adoption of a modus operandi of 無為 (non-action). To this we might add that the author of the “Yangquan” chapter (let’s call them Han Fei) – likely inspired by Xunzi – realizes that such an adopted ‘naturalistic’ attitude perhaps does not come so naturally to human agents in a ruling capacity after all, but in fact requires a tremendous (mental) effort to maintain, even if the actual performance of it is paradoxically enough effortless (the 名 and the 事 they steer doing all the work). I do notice that towards the second half of the chapter the proposed political modus operandi becomes progressively more interventionalist – dare I say even assertive. The fifth passage argues for the active instalment (置) and management (治) of government positions, in which subordinate functionaries should not be made self-indulgent (不使自恣); and the final sixth passage insists on the curtailment of subordinate power, in analogy with the intentional cutting (以割) and regular pruning (數披) of trees. To be honest this is a somewhat bewildering turn in the argument, where on the one hand the ruler is prescribed to maintain 神 (with 神 referring to a mysteriously operating divinely spiritual efficacy), which one supposes to mean a modus operandi of non-assertive 無為 (non-action); while on the other hand it prescribes the assertive negation of the 神 of its subordinates (the problematic relationship of this phrase in relation to the Daoist ideal of 無為 might be the reason why Burton Watson choses to read 神 here as a scribal error for “stretching out,” which I think is unnecessary, however). This at least appears to contradict or complicate the argument for the primacy and efficacy of a Daoist-Legalist concept of 自命 (spontaneous self-management under the guidance of normative government), and an unforgiving critic (not I!) might assess that the author here can’t help themselves for inserting a self-defeating, and frankly neurotic desire for authoritarian control at all costs, even if it interferes with the very Way it professes to follow. I am not yet sure what to make of this conflict of interest, whether it is in fact a coherent development of the original prescription of 無為 as an artificially cultivated (謹脩) attitude (which requires a constant higher level effort of maintaining an effective effortlessness of both one’s own and of other’s actions); or indicative of an argumentative inconsistency in the chapter that might reveal authorial interference by another (more realist-Legalist than idealist-Legalist) party, or simply an unresolved tension in Han Fei’s own conception of 道. Either way, the second half of this chapter strikes me as much more unique to the Han Feizi than its first half, which carries such strong overtones of the Dao De Jing, Zhuangzi and Xunzi (the conception of “solitariness 獨” in the third and fourth passages is a telling synthesis of its usage in these three texts). Of course there are plenty of connections with those texts in the second half as well, but it seems difficult to reconcile a phrasing like 上操度量,以割其下 (“Superiors operate standards and measures to cut short their subordinates”) with 大制不割 (“Great regulations do not cut short”) from Chapter 38 of the Dao De Jing or the generally applied Daoist metaphor of the “unhewn wood 檏”; and Han Feizi’s 填其洶淵,毋使水清 (“Fill up their outpouring founts and do not make the waters clear”) sinisterly turns the Zhuangzi’s and Xunzi’s analogy of the ideal ruler as a mirror- and source-like figure on its head.
Finally, at the end of this analysis I want to return to the original question that motivated it: what does (大) 命 in the “Yangquan” chapter actually mean? So far, I purposively haven’t translated 命, as I think its meaning becomes clear from the context of Han Feizi’s conception of government on the basis of 無為 (non-action). But to give a proper one-on-one translation of 命, not only should its immediate argumentative context and the indirect context of its contemporary intellectual history be taken into account, but also its fundamental character as a conceptual metaphor. As a metaphor, 命 refers to an orally communicated command or order, which can be categorized as a socio-political speech act. Here, we should be careful not to define 命 as necessarily a command prompt of sorts – a line of code to be executed as given. Rather命, somewhat in distinction from the more imperative “command 令,” can be understood as an assignment, in which authority and power is delegated by a superior to their subordinate. When I give you the order to do something, it is up to you to actually do it, and fulfil it according to your own judgment in its spirit, without being limited to the letter of its instruction (as is the case with 令/ling - another form of command). As such, 命 is much more an act of authorization than of subjugation, when understood as a transfer or delegation of power; and as the investment of one’s agency in someone else (“I want you to do this for me”). This is how a translation of 命 as “mandate” can be justified: a decreed transfer of agency. This is not a mandate to exercise free autonomy (doing as one pleases), but a mandate to do as one is instructed, on one’s own accord. And this metaphorical foundation is also a prerequisite for understanding 命 as “destiny” or “fate.” Only as a communicated order that allows for autonomous agency does 命 provide a destination for its object as goal or telos. Strictly speaking 命 cannot be understood as “fate” in a causal sense, but only in an authoritative sense: things are fated to happen because they are faithful to the supreme authority of 天 and Its 道. All of this put together I consider “command” and “mandate” to be the best translations for 命 in the Han Feizi’s “Yangquan” chapter, with the former being slightly more faithful to its metaphorical character and the latter slightly more appropriate for expressing its authoritative aspect. “天有大命,人有大命”: Heaven has a great command, that people will naturally feel obliged to comply with, and Mankind can likewise possess such commanding power also, if it artificially identifies with Heaven’s 無為 (non action), causing what it wishes to govern to internalize this authority as its own spontaneous 自然 (natural) motivation – a perfect delegation of authority. This is the mandate that is Heaven’s to give, and it can be the mandate that is the ruler’s to give, as well.