《庄子注》Vol. 4
About this page. The original text of 《庄子注》 Vol. 4 (Zangwai Daoshu 藏外道書, 5 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Godners/DaoZang edition. An English interpretation of the 1 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Source text (with commentary)Interpretation
“If you recognize what you do not know, then you have knowledge. But once you think you know, it is hard to let each of your abilities take its own course.”
“Then do none of the myriad things have awareness?” Wang Ni said, “How would I know? Still, let me try to explain. How do I know that what I call ‘knowing’ is not really not knowing? And how do I know that what I call ‘not knowing’ is not really knowing?
“Let me ask you: when people sleep in damp places, their backs ache and they may even become half-paralyzed. Does this happen to loaches? People are afraid when they live in trees. Are apes afraid there? Of these three, which knows what place is suitable to live in? People eat meat, elk eat grass, centipedes—creatures like the jiangqu—like to eat snakes, and owls like to eat mice. Of these four, which knows what tastes right? Apes mate with macaques; elk mate with one another; loaches and fish live together in the water. Mao Qiang and Xi Shi are regarded as beautiful women, but fish see them and dive beneath the water, birds see them and fly high into the sky, and elk see them and flee. Of all these creatures, which knows what beauty is right for the world?
“As I see it, the beginnings of benevolence and righteousness, and the boundaries between right and wrong, are tangled and confused. How could I tell them apart?”
Precisely because no one can determine who is right and who is wrong, one can leave the myriad things to unfold freely, each in its own way. Here, “not knowing” means not treating one’s own standards as the only correct ones. Fish swim in water, so people think they know how to swim. But from a bird’s point of view, what people call “knowing” may be “not knowing.” The dung beetle excels at rolling dung into balls, while those who laugh at it think that frankincense is more precious. So even knowledge that everyone agrees on cannot be treated as an absolute standard.
Nie Que asked, “If you do not know what is beneficial and what is harmful, does the Perfected Person also not know about benefit and harm?”
Wang Ni said, “The Perfected Person is beyond all reckoning. A fire in a great marsh cannot make him feel hot; the Yellow River and the Han River freezing cannot make him feel cold; thunder shattering mountains cannot harm him; a gale stirring up the sea cannot frighten him. Such a person rides the clouds, harnesses the sun and moon, and wanders beyond the four seas. Neither life nor death can alter his mind—how much less could benefit and harm?”
The Perfected Person has no fixed attachments, and so can respond to the transformations of the myriad things. One whose spirit is whole and whose body and mind are connected with all things can pass through all kinds of change and remain at ease, with not the slightest burden in the heart. To dwell among the myriad things and move with their transformations is not to insist on making something happen by oneself. Life and death are simply part of change; to him, they are like the alternation of day and night. Compared with life and death, benefit and harm are even less worth taking to heart.
Qu Quezi asked Changwuzi, “I heard our teacher say that the sage does not devote himself to chasing after affairs, does not seek profit, does not deliberately avoid misfortune, is not consumed by desire, and does not cling to reason. He does not cling to words, yet can still say something; he stands apart from the world. Our teacher thinks this is absurd, but I feel it expresses a subtle truth. What do you make of it?”
Changwuzi said, “Even the Yellow Emperor would be perplexed to hear such words. How could Confucius understand them? You are in too much of a hurry. You see an egg and want it to crow at once; you see a slingshot and want a roasted owl to eat. Let me speak as I please, and you listen as you please.
“Move alongside the sun and moon, embrace the whole cosmos, and let the myriad things come together of themselves. Set aside turmoil and confusion, and let go of distinctions between high and low, one and another. While the crowd busies itself, the sage seems simple and dull. He gathers ten thousand years of change into one and returns it to purity. All things are like this: they collect and mingle with one another in this state.
“Affairs come of themselves, and understanding responds of itself; one does not deliberately chase after things to make them happen. The sage lets things be as they are, meeting what is before him directly. He neither avoids it nor forces it. ‘Speaking’ and ‘not speaking’ are simply names for different things. Each thing has its own view, so there is no need to cling to who said what or who said nothing. Whatever does not arise from one’s nature is like dust and grime.
“Each thing has its own nature, and each situation has its limits. Follow these directly, and you will naturally fit with them; there is no need to explain further in words. That is why the speaker seems to be talking wildly, and the listener is easily confused. Even the Yellow Emperor could not remove every confusion from the myriad things. The sage keeps the mind that responds to affairs beyond the dust and grime of the world, attuning it to the Dao behind appearances seen and heard. He observes with the clarity of nature, without planning in advance, and lets things be as they are without deliberately probing them.
“Qu Quezi had only just heard these words when he called them a practice of the wondrous Dao. He was like someone who sees an egg and demands that it crow, or sees a slingshot and asks for a roasted owl. If you cannot be at ease with the moment and respond to change, yet rush to investigate change; if life is still before you but you worry about death; if you cling to one view in order to dispute another, these are the actions of someone who plans in advance.
“How do I know that loving life is not a delusion? Death and life are part of a single transformation. To love life alone is like trying to resist change.
“How do I know that hating death is not like someone who, as a child, wandered into a foreign land and forgot the way home? Li Ji, the legendary beauty, was originally the daughter of a border lord. When she was first taken to Jin, she wept until her sleeves were soaked. But after she arrived at the ruler’s palace, slept with him on a splendid bed, and ate fine meat, she regretted having wept. How do I know that the dead do not regret having been so intent on living?
“During a person’s life, feelings change in just this way. While living in one condition, we do not know what another condition is like. How much less can we know in advance the transformation between life and death? ‘Seeking’ means pursuing. Someone who drinks wine in a dream may wake up in tears; someone who weeps in a dream may wake up and go hunting. While dreaming, we do not know that we are dreaming; we may even consult an oracle about the dream, and only after waking do we know it was a dream. Perhaps only a true Great Awakening can show us that the life before us is itself a great dream. The ignorant think they are awake and firmly decide who is ruler and who is shepherd. Confucius and you are both dreaming; when I say that you are dreaming, I too am still in a dream. This is called an utterly extraordinary saying. If, in some distant future, we meet a great sage who understands this, it will be as easy as meeting morning and evening.
“If you and I argue, and you win, that does not prove that you are right and I am wrong. If I win, that does not prove that I am right and you are wrong. Perhaps one of us is right and the other wrong; perhaps both of us are right, or both wrong. If we cannot truly understand one another, whom can we ask to judge? If someone who agrees with you judges, how can they judge, since they agree with you? If someone who agrees with me judges, how can they judge, since they agree with me? If someone who differs from both of us judges, how can they judge, since they differ from us? If someone who agrees with both of us judges, how can they judge, since they agree with us? So you, I, and everyone else cannot judge one another. Must we wait for someone else?”
Zhuangzi says that arguments over right and wrong are sounds that arise with change. Neither side’s claims are enough to prove itself right. To “harmonize things by following their natural distinctions” is to be at ease with the differences that naturally exist among things, without relying on someone else to judge them. Arguments over right and wrong are made in relation to one another, yet cannot validate one another. Let go of attachment to age and status, and let the mind merge with boundless change; then one can dwell in the infinite Dao. Forgetting age allows one to see life and death as one; forgetting fixed status allows one to pass through right and wrong.
The shadow’s faint outline asked the shadow, “Just now you were walking, and now you have stopped; just now you were sitting, and now you have risen. Why do you have no principles of your own?” The shadow replied, “Am I like this because I depend on something? And does what I depend on act this way because it depends on something else? Do I depend on a snake’s scales or a cicada’s wings? How would I know why things are this way, or why they are not?”
If one keeps asking what things depend on, the questioning has no end. It eventually leads to the principle that there is nothing to depend on, and that the myriad things each transform in their own way. The myriad things seem to depend on one another, yet each also comes into being on its own. No ruler creates them; each comes into being by itself and need not rely on anything outside it. Form and shadow appear together, but that does not mean either absolutely controls the other. Understanding this, one lets each thing return to its own nature, without placing its source in external things or clinging to an inner master. The myriad things grow and come into being naturally, without knowing why they are born or what they receive.
Once, Zhuang Zhou dreamed he had become a butterfly, fluttering freely and feeling entirely content, with no idea that he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke and found that he was Zhuang Zhou. He did not know whether Zhuang Zhou had dreamed of becoming a butterfly, or the butterfly had dreamed of becoming Zhuang Zhou. There must be some distinction between Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly. This is called the “transformation of things”: the myriad things turn into one another through change.
Zhuangzi, Inner Chapters, Chapter Three: “The Essentials of Nurturing Life”
My life has limits, but knowledge has none. To pursue the limitless with a limited life is dangerous. To know that it is dangerous and still pursue it relentlessly is even more dangerous. Do good without craving fame; do wrong without violating the law. Follow the natural middle course, and you can preserve your body and life, care for your family, and enjoy the years allotted to you.
Each person’s inborn endowment has its limits. How could we avoid hardship if we use a limited life to pursue limitless knowledge? Once worn down by the pursuit of knowledge, to refuse to stop and try to make up for it with still more knowledge is like harming life in the name of nourishing it. Forget the labels of good and evil, settle in the place that suits you, and let things follow their own nature. When the heart does not cling to fame or punishment, life can be preserved. Nurturing life does not mean seeking excessive pleasures, but preserving body and mind and fully living out one’s allotted years.
Cook Ding was carving an ox for Lord Wenhui. He pressed a hand against the ox, leaned his shoulder on it, planted a foot and braced a knee against it. His movements came together perfectly, and the sound of his knife followed a rhythm like the dance of “Sanglin” or the music of “Jingshou.” Lord Wenhui exclaimed, “Excellent! How can skill reach such a level?”
Cook Ding set down his knife and replied, “What I love is the Dao, and I have gone beyond ordinary skill. When I first began carving oxen, I saw nothing but the whole ox. After three years, I no longer saw the whole ox. Now I meet the ox with my spirit, rather than merely looking with my eyes. The work of my senses stops, and my spirit moves along the ox’s natural structure. I follow the ox’s original form, guiding the blade through the spaces between its tendons and bones, and through the natural openings. Where sinews join and bones meet, I never let the blade encounter even the slightest obstruction—much less a large bone.
“A skilled cook changes his knife once a year because he cuts meat with it. An ordinary cook changes his knife once a month because he chops bones with it. I have used this knife for nineteen years and carved several thousand oxen, yet its edge is still as if it had just come from the whetstone. There are spaces between the ox’s joints, and the knife’s edge has no thickness. When something with no thickness enters a space, there is plenty of room, and the blade naturally has space to spare. That is why, after nineteen years, its edge is still as if it had just been sharpened.
“Even so, whenever I reach a place where the sinews and bones are tangled, I remain cautious and alert. I focus my gaze, slow my movements, and guide the knife gently. Then the ox parts with a sudden opening. It does not even realize that it is dead when its body falls to the ground like clods of earth. I stand with my knife, look around, and feel satisfied. Then I wipe the blade clean and put it away.”
Lord Wenhui said, “Excellent! From Cook Ding’s words, I have understood the principle of nurturing life.”
Through Cook Ding’s skill, Zhuangzi shows that following the natural grain of things, without forcing one’s way, reduces wear and allows one to preserve oneself.
Gongwen Xuan saw the Right Master, an official whose foot had been cut off, and asked in astonishment, “What sort of person is this? Why does he have only one foot? Was he born that way, or did someone cause it?” Someone replied, “He was born that way; it was not caused by anyone. Some things that happen to the human body cannot be changed by knowledge or ability. Insisting on changing them only harms oneself.”
The Right Master had only one foot, and so was called “One.” Those with two feet who can walk are called “Those with Two.” Someone who understands the facts of life does not force life to do what it cannot naturally do. Someone who understands the facts of fate does not try to change what fate cannot change, but simply preserves their nature.
A wild pheasant in the marsh must walk ten paces to peck at food and a hundred paces to drink, yet it does not want to be kept in a cage. Though a caged pheasant may be lively, it does not feel free. For the pheasant, moving freely between heaven and earth is the marvelous way to nourish life. Why seek a cage and another’s care? Someone who is truly free even forgets that they are free.
When Lao Dan died, Qin Shi went to mourn him. After weeping three times, he left. A disciple asked, “Wasn’t he your friend? If so, was this an appropriate way to mourn him?” Qin Shi replied, “Yes. When I first went in, I thought he was a Perfected Person. But now I see that he was not. The old people there were weeping as if they had lost a son, and the young people as if they had lost a mother. Those gathered there may not truly have wanted to speak, yet they spoke; they may not truly have wanted to weep, yet they wept. This is to go against nature and depart from one’s original nature. The ancients called it evading the punishment that follows the laws of nature.
“Lao Dan came in accordance with his time and has now gone in accordance with his time. Be at ease with the moment and respond to change, and grief and joy cannot invade the heart. The ancients called this release. When a person is bound by emotions, it is as if they are suspended and fettered. When those bonds fall away, life’s original nature is released. This is the key to nurturing life.”
The fingers may run out, but the firewood passes the flame on; no one knows when it will finally burn out. The image of the flame being passed on suggests that one generation’s life comes to an end, while life continues, as fire passes from one piece of wood to the next. We should respond to change and accept the limits of life, without clinging to the question of when it will end.
Zhuangzi, Inner Chapters, Chapter Four: “In the Human World”
Yan Hui went to see Confucius and asked permission to travel to the state of Wei. Confucius asked, “What will you do there?” Yan Hui replied, “I have heard that the ruler of Wei is in his prime and acts arbitrarily. He governs the state recklessly and cannot see his own faults. He carelessly sends the people to their deaths, and the dead lie across the countryside like grass and trees. The people have nowhere to turn. I have heard you say that one should leave a well-governed state and go to a chaotic one, like the many sick people who gather at a doctor’s door. I want to put what I have learned into practice there, in the hope of making Wei better.”
Confucius said, “Alas! You are probably going there to meet your death. The Dao must not be made disorderly. Disorder gives rise to turmoil; turmoil brings distress, and distress cannot be resolved. The Perfected Ones of old first settled themselves before trying to settle others. You are not yet settled yourself. How could you face a tyrant?
“Virtue is burdened by the pursuit of reputation, and knowledge often arises from trying to win arguments. Reputation sets people against one another; knowledge becomes a tool for fighting. Both are dangerous and cannot be used to put the Great Dao into practice. Even if your virtue is profound and your words sincere, you may not reach his heart. Even if you do not seek fame, he may still fail to understand you. If you display the standards of benevolence and righteousness before a tyrant, you are showing off your strengths in a way that makes others feel inferior. This is called inviting trouble. He will certainly retaliate and harm you.
“If he admires the worthy and despises the unworthy, there is nothing special about your going. If he does not, you will be harmed as soon as you go. The moment you speak, the ruler will use his power to argue with you and dazzle you. You will rush to explain yourself, your expression will change, and in the end you will yield to his wishes. This is like trying to put out a fire with fire or a flood with water: it will only make matters worse. If he does not trust your advice, however sincerely you speak, you may die at the hands of the tyrant.
“In the past, Xia Jie killed Guan Longfeng, and Shang Zhou killed Bi Gan. They cultivated themselves and their virtue, and took on the people’s hardships; for this they offended their rulers. Yao attacked Cong, Zhi, Xu, and Ao, and Yu attacked Youhu. As a result, states were destroyed and people died. Even people like Yao and Yu could not use their reputations and achievements to subdue everyone. How much less can you?”
Yan Hui asked, “Then would it be acceptable for me to make myself upright, approach him with an open mind, and try to remain single-minded?”
Confucius said, “No. The ruler of Wei is forceful and arrogant, his temper sharp and unpredictable. No one dares to contradict him. He uses other people to flatter him and indulge his excesses. If you do this, you will be compliant in outward appearance while keeping your own plans inside. How could that change him?”
Yan Hui asked again, “Then could I remain inwardly upright, outwardly adapt to human relations, and use the teachings of the ancients to advise him?”
Confucius said, “No. These approaches are too deliberate and cannot accord with the natural course of things. Even if you avoid being punished, that does not mean you will influence him. If you approach him with your own methods, you are no longer responding to the world with an open mind.”
Yan Hui said, “I have no other way. Please tell me what to do.”
Confucius said, “Fast, and then I will tell you. If you deliberately set your mind on doing something, how could it be easy? To regard it as easy is to depart from the natural Dao.”
Yan Hui asked, “My family is poor, and for several months I have not drunk wine or eaten meat. Does that count as fasting?”
Confucius replied, “That is the fasting of ritual sacrifice, not fasting of the mind.”
Yan Hui asked, “May I ask what fasting of the mind is?”
Confucius said, “Make your intention single. Do not listen only with your ears; listen with your mind. Do not listen only with your mind; listen with your Qi. The ears can hear sounds; the mind can understand things. Qi is empty and can wait upon the myriad things. Only emptiness can receive the Dao. Emptying the mind is fasting of the mind.”
Yan Hui said, “Before I began fasting of the mind, I certainly felt there was an ‘I.’ After beginning, I felt there was no ‘I.’ Is that what you mean by emptiness?”
Confucius said, “That is enough. If you can enter the world without being moved by reputation, speak when it is appropriate to speak and stop when it is not; do not deliberately open a path or force the myriad things into order. Stay single-mindedly with what is naturally unavoidable, and you will be close.”
Confucius continued, “It is easy to leave no footprints; it is hard to walk without touching the ground. It is easy to pretend to act for others; it is hard to pretend to act for Heaven. People know that wings are needed to fly, but they have not heard of flying without wings. They know that knowledge is needed to understand, but they have not heard of understanding through not knowing. Look at the realm of open clarity: an empty room gives rise to light, and good fortune settles there. If the mind does not remain in its proper place, it is like sitting still while the spirit runs away. If the ears and eyes can turn inward and open through, without being controlled by the mind, even spirits will come and dwell there—how much more so will people! This is the hinge of the transformations of the myriad things and the principle followed by Yu and Shun.”
Ye Gong Ziga was about to go as an envoy to Qi and asked Confucius, “The king of Chu has entrusted this mission to me. Qi will probably receive me with respect but will be slow to grant our request. Ordinary people are not easy to persuade. How much harder will it be with rulers of states? I am very worried. You once said to me: ‘Whether a matter is large or small, it is rarely accomplished without words. If it fails, it can bring trouble in human affairs; if it succeeds, it can bring inner distress, with joy mixed with fear. Only a person of virtue can remain free from such distress, whether a matter succeeds or fails.’ In ordinary times I eat simply and do not seek cool food. But this morning I received the order, and by evening I was drinking cold water to quench the fire in my heart. I fear my mind is already anxious. I have not yet understood the practical circumstances of the mission, yet I am already burdened by inner distress. If I fail, I will face trouble from outside as well. I cannot bear both burdens. Please guide me.”
Confucius said, “There are two great principles in the world that cannot be avoided: fate and duty. A child’s love for a parent is natural and cannot be severed from the heart. A subject’s service to a ruler is a duty that must be fulfilled; wherever one goes, one remains under the ruler’s authority. These are great principles. In serving one’s parents, one does not choose where to live, but seeks only to make them comfortable. This is the highest form of filial devotion. In serving one’s ruler, one does not choose which task to undertake, but accepts it calmly. This is the highest form of loyalty. In caring for one’s mind, one does not let grief or joy easily sway it; one understands that some things cannot be helped and accepts them peacefully. This is the highest form of virtue.
“As a subject, you are in a position where you cannot avoid this. Act according to the facts of the situation and forget your own gain or loss. What room is there to crave life and fear death? Go.”
Confucius continued, “When dealing with those close to you, treat them with sincerity. When dealing with those far away, you must convey your meaning in words, but words often have to be relayed through others. Relaying another person’s words of joy or anger is difficult to do well. Words spoken in joy are easily exaggerated in praise; words spoken in anger are easily exaggerated in blame. Anything said beyond the facts becomes distorted, and distortion can make people suspicious, bringing trouble to the person who relays the message. So an old teaching says: ‘Pass on only the ordinary facts; do not repeat words that go too far. That is the safest course.’
“Matters are often simple at first but become complicated later. Words are like wind and waves; actions bring real gains and losses. Waves are easily stirred up, and gains and losses readily bring danger. Anger often has no other cause than clever but biased words. When urging someone to act, do not hurry them toward success, and do not alter an order on your own initiative. Push too hard, and the matter becomes dangerous. A good result takes time; a bad result, once brought about, is difficult to undo. How could you not be cautious?”
“Set your mind at ease by following the changes of things, and take what cannot be avoided as your foundation. This is the highest course. Why deliberately scheme for a reward? Just complete your mission truthfully. The hardest thing is not to let joy, anger, gain, or loss weigh on your mind.”
Yan He was about to become tutor to the crown prince of Duke Ling of Wei. He asked Qu Boyu, “There is a person with a naturally violent temperament. If I let him do as he pleases, he will endanger the state; if I restrain him, he will endanger me. He sees only other people’s faults and does not understand how faults arise. What should I do?”
Qu Boyu said, “That is a good question. Be cautious and make yourself upright. Outwardly, you may as well adapt to him; inwardly, remain gentle and calm. But watch your limits. Do not adapt so far that you become complicit, and do not let your calmness show as self-righteousness. If you comply outwardly and get drawn into his actions, you will fall together with him. If your inward calm is too obvious, you will invite both a reputation and trouble.
“If he acts like a baby, you too should meet him with the manner of a baby. If he ignores all rules, do not show your sharp edges. If he is boundless, follow the state he is in. In time, you will find your way through and avoid wrongdoing.
“Have you never seen a praying mantis? It raises its forelegs to stop a cartwheel, not knowing it cannot withstand it. If you rely on your talent and good name to confront him, you will be like a mantis trying to stop a cart. The danger is great.
“Those who raise tigers do not give them live animals to eat, for fear the hunt will make them angry. Nor do they give them whole carcasses, lest tearing at them make them angry. They must understand when the tiger is hungry or full, and what makes it angry. Though tigers are a different kind of creature from humans, they become attached to their keepers because the keepers follow their nature. If someone goes against it, even someone close to the tiger may be attacked.
“Someone who loves horses uses fine vessels to collect their dung and urine. If a mosquito or gadfly lands on the horse and he swats it at the wrong moment, the horse may be startled, break the reins, and injure itself. Good intentions that ignore the other party’s response can destroy the very goodwill they were meant to express. In dealing with people, too, one must carefully judge when to adapt and when to resist.”
The carpenter Shi was traveling to Qi when he saw a huge oak beside a village altar at Quyuan. It was large enough to shade several thousand oxen. Its trunk measured a hundred arm spans around, and it towered over the hills. Its lower branches were thick enough to make boats. Crowds gathered to look at it, as if at a market, but carpenter Shi did not even glance at it and walked straight past. His apprentice asked, “Since I began following you with an axe in hand, I have never seen such fine timber. Why won’t you even look at it?”
Carpenter Shi said, “Enough. Don’t speak of it. It is useless timber. It would not make a good boat; a coffin made from it would soon rot; anything made from it would soon break. As a door, it would ooze sap; as a pillar, it would attract worms. It is of no use, and that is why it has lived so long.”
The oak appeared to carpenter Shi in a dream and said, “What sort of tree are you comparing me with? Those fruit trees suffer as soon as their fruit ripens: people pick it, break the large branches, and tear off the small ones. Because they are useful, they suffer and cannot live out their allotted years. I have long pursued being useless, and for that I was nearly cut down. Now I have finally achieved it, and this is my great use. You and I are both among the myriad things. Why judge one another? How could a useless man who is close to death understand a useless tree?”
The apprentice asked, “If it was seeking to be useless, why did it become the village altar tree?”
Carpenter Shi said, “Enough. It is merely taking refuge there. It sees those who do not understand it as insulting it. Even if it had not become the altar tree, it would almost certainly have been cut down. It protects itself in a way different from the crowd. Wouldn’t it be a long way off to try to understand it by ordinary standards?”
Nanbo Ziqi was wandering in Shangqiu when he saw a great tree whose shade could shelter a thousand chariots. He said, “What kind of tree is this? It must have some special use!” He looked up at its small branches, which were too crooked to make beams. He looked down at its large roots, which were too split to make coffins. Tasting its leaves made people’s mouths sore; its scent made them drunk and unconscious for three days.
Ziqi said, “This really is a useless tree. That is why it could grow so large. Ah, a spiritual person should be like this too, with no single specialized use.” If a ruler does not limit himself to one particular ability, then all the officials can perform their own tasks: the perceptive can observe, the keen-eared can listen, the clever can plan, and the brave can guard. The ruler need only remain still and practice Wuwei. When all kinds of talent are allowed to serve where they are suited, what seems useless becomes the foundation on which everyone’s abilities depend.
The region of Jing in the state of Song was suitable for planting catalpa, cypress, and mulberry trees. When a tree grew as thick as an arm, people cut it down to make a tethering post for monkeys. When it grew to three or four arm spans around, they cut it down to make beams for large, imposing gates. When it grew to seven or eight arm spans around, wealthy families cut it down to make coffins. Thus these trees often failed to live out their allotted years and were felled by axes halfway through life. Some animals, because of the color of their foreheads, the shape of their noses, or an illness, were unsuitable as offerings to the River God, and the ritual masters considered them ill-omened. But for the spiritual person, being “ill-omened” is a great blessing, because it allows them to escape being killed. To preserve life is true good fortune.
Zhili Shuyu was a physically disabled man, with his chin near his navel, his shoulders higher than his head, and the top of his head pointing to the sky. His internal organs were arranged differently from those of other people. He made a living by sewing and washing clothes, and supported ten people by telling fortunes. When soldiers were being recruited, he waved his arms and mingled with the crowd; when the state called up laborers, his disability exempted him from service. When the government distributed food and firewood to the sick, he received a share. Though his body was disabled, he could support himself and live out his allotted years. How much more so could someone whose virtue seems incompatible with the ways of the world?
Jieyu, the Madman of Chu, passed by Confucius’s door and sang:
“Phoenix, phoenix, how virtue has declined in this age!
The future cannot be awaited; the past cannot be recovered.
When the world has the Dao, the sage can accomplish his work;
when the world lacks the Dao, the sage can preserve his life.
In this age, all one can hope for is to escape punishment.
Fortune is light as a feather, yet people do not know how to bear it;
misfortune is heavy as the earth, yet people do not know how to avoid it.
Enough, enough! It is dangerous to demand virtue of others.
It is perilous to draw a line on the ground and make people follow it.
Thorny plants, thorny plants, do not wound my steps;
rough ground, rough ground, do not hurt my feet.”
The meaning is this: acting in accordance with one’s nature is the easiest course. If people use limitless knowledge to harm their inborn nature, and let desires and aversions disturb what is genuine, they abandon the easy Dao of nature and take on difficult burdens imposed from outside. A person may carry a heavy load that is their own and not feel its weight; a responsibility imposed from outside may feel unbearable even when it is light. To use virtue to make demands of others and force them to follow rules leaves visible traces and separates people from the myriad things.
A mountain tree is cut down because it is useful; oil is consumed because it can burn. The cassia tree can be eaten, so it is cut down; the lacquer tree can be used, so it is tapped. People know the use of useful things, but do not know that useless things can preserve life. Letting the people each preserve their own nature, so that everyone can be at ease, brings benefits that often go unnoticed.
Zhuangzi, Inner Chapters, Chapter Five: “The Sign of Complete Virtue”
There was a man in Lu named Wang Tai whose foot had been cut off as punishment. Almost as many people studied with him as with Confucius. He did not lecture when standing or discuss things when seated, yet people came to him with empty minds and left with a sense of being full. Chang Ji asked Confucius, “Can someone really teach without words and bring fulfillment to people’s minds without showing any outward signs? What kind of person is this?”
Confucius said, “He is a sage. I am merely behind him and have not yet had the chance to visit him. I intend to make him my teacher, let alone those who are less than I am. Not only the state of Lu: I would lead everyone in the world to follow him.”
Chang Ji asked, “He is only a man whose foot has been cut off. Why does he have such great influence? What is unusual about his way of thinking?”
Confucius said, “Life and death are great transformations, yet they cannot change him. Even if Heaven and Earth overturned, he would not lose his nature. He understands that things have no external support, and does not change himself when things outside him change. He responds to the transformations of the myriad things while holding fast to the root.”
Confucius continued, “Seen in terms of their differences, the liver and gallbladder are as far apart as the states of Chu and Yue. Seen in terms of what they share, the myriad things are one. A person like him does not cling to what the ears and eyes declare fitting. His spirit wanders at ease in the realm of harmony. He sees what the myriad things share and does not dwell on what he has lost. To him, losing one foot is like losing a clod of earth.”
Chang Ji asked, “Does he use his wisdom to gain his inner nature, then use his inner nature to maintain his constancy? Why do the myriad things all draw close to him?”
Confucius said, “People do not use flowing water as a mirror; they use still water. Only what is still can make other things calm. Pines and cypresses remain green through winter and summer; Yao and Shun remained upright amid the myriad things. Wang Tai can make himself upright, and so people are willing to follow him. He does not deliberately attract them; they simply return to him of their own accord.”
Shentu Jia, a man whose foot had been cut off, studied under Bohun Wuren together with Zheng Zichan. Zichan said to him, “I will leave first, so you stay here. If you leave first, I will stay.” The next day, the two were again seated together in the same room. Zichan said, “I am about to leave now. You can stay, can’t you? When you see a minister of state, you do not step aside. Do you think yourself the equal of a minister of state?”
Shentu Jia replied, “Are there ministers of state like you in our teacher’s school? Because you hold authority, you want others to fall behind you. I have heard that when a mirror is bright, dust cannot settle on it; if dust settles there, the mirror is no longer bright. If you have spent a long time with a worthy person and still have not rid yourself of your faults, then you are the one at fault!”
Zichan said, “In your condition, you still compare your virtue with Yao’s. Think about your own virtue. Shouldn’t you reflect on yourself?”
Shentu Jia said, “Many people describe their own faults but say they do not deserve their disabilities. Few refrain from defending themselves, acknowledge that some things cannot be changed, and accept them peacefully. Only a person of virtue can do that. Everyone in the world stands on the target of Hou Yi’s arrows, exposed to benefit and harm. Whether one can avoid them is ultimately a matter of fate. I used to get angry when people laughed at my missing foot. But every time I went to our teacher, my anger disappeared. I have followed him for nineteen years and have never been aware that I am a man whose foot has been cut off. Now you and I are together through our inner virtue, yet you pick at me because of my outward form. Isn’t that wrong?”
Zichan’s expression changed with shame.
Shentu Jia said, “There is no need to say anything more.”
There was a man in Lu named Shushan Wuzhi whose foot had been cut off. He came to visit Confucius, who said, “You were careless in the past and came to this state. What good can it do to come now?” Wuzhi replied, “In the past, I did not know how to value myself and acted recklessly, so I lost my foot. I have come now because there is something more worth cherishing than my foot, and I want to find a way to preserve it. Heaven leaves nothing uncovered, and Earth leaves nothing unsupported. I thought you were as broad as Heaven and Earth, Master. I did not expect you to be like this.”
Confucius said, “My understanding is shallow. Please come in. I would like to share with you what I have heard.” After Wuzhi left, Confucius said to his disciples, “You should strive to learn! Even Wuzhi, though his foot has been cut off, still wants to learn in order to make up for his past mistakes. How much more should those whose virtue is whole!”
Wuzhi told Lao Dan about this and said, “Kong Qiu is still far from being a Perfected Person. Why does he keep striving so hard to learn? Is he seeking an unusual and strange reputation, unaware that the Perfected Person regards such pursuit as a shackle?”
Lao Dan said, “Why not simply help him see life and death as one, and what can and cannot be done as one thread, so that his shackles come undone?”
Wuzhi said, “How can an inborn restraint be undone?” Confucius responds to the myriad things, and so naturally leaves a reputation and traces behind him. He does not seek a reputation, yet cannot entirely avoid one. Understanding this allows him not to cling to reputation and traces, or treat them as shackles.
Duke Ai of Lu asked Confucius, “In Wei there is a very ugly man called Aitai Tuo. Men who spend time with him cannot bear to leave him. Women who see him would rather become his concubine than marry anyone else; more than ten women have felt this way. He never takes the initiative or makes proposals, but simply goes along with others. He has neither a ruler’s authority nor wealth to give people, and his appearance is hideously ugly. His knowledge is not outstanding either, yet men and women alike are drawn to him. I summoned him to meet me, and he truly was ugly. But before a month had passed, I liked his character; within a year, I trusted him and entrusted the state to him. He hesitated and seemed unwilling to accept, which made me feel ashamed, but in the end I still handed the state over to him. Soon afterward, he left me, and I felt empty, as if I had lost something. What kind of person could have such an influence?”
Confucius said, “When I was on a mission to Chu, I saw a group of piglets suckling at their dead mother. After a while, they suddenly fled in fright because their mother no longer looked at them and no longer had life. What they loved was not their mother’s outward form, but the inner nature that had given her life. A person killed in battle has no need to be buried with weapons; a shoe belonging to someone whose foot has been cut off is not worth treasuring, because each has lost its root. Palace maids do not cut their nails or pierce their ears. Once a newly married man has wed, he is no longer called up for military service. Even an intact body can move people’s hearts; how much more can a person whose virtue is whole? Aitai Tuo says nothing, yet people trust him; he has no achievements, yet people are drawn to him. Others want to entrust him with a state, and he fears only that he will not be able to refuse. His inner capacities and virtue must be whole, yet they do not show on the outside.”
Duke Ai asked, “What do you mean by capacities and virtue being whole?”
Confucius said, “Life and death, survival and ruin, hardship and success, poverty and wealth, worthiness and unworthiness, slander and praise, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—all are manifestations of the changes of things and the workings of fate. They alternate like night and day, appearing before us, yet human knowledge cannot grasp their beginnings in advance. So do not let these changes disturb the harmony of your heart or enter the depths of your spirit. Keep your mind calm and open, never losing its ease. Let day and night pass without a barrier between them, like spring, in contact with all things. This is called capacities and virtue being whole.
“What does it mean for virtue not to show on the outside? When water is still, it is most level, and so it can serve as a mirror. Virtue is the realization of harmony. When virtue does not show itself, the myriad things will not leave its side.”
Later, Duke Ai said to Minzi, “I used to think that being a ruler, governing the people, and worrying about whether they lived or died meant that I understood the Way. Now that I have heard the words of a Perfected Person, I fear I do not possess true virtue and may bring ruin to the state by acting recklessly. From now on, Confucius and I will not be ruler and subject; we will be friends joined by virtue.”
Yin Qi Zhilishen advised Duke Ling of Wei, who took a liking to him. Looking back at people with intact bodies, the duke thought their necks were thin and scrawny. Wengzhong, who had a large goiter, pleased Duke Huan of Qi; the duke too looked at people with intact bodies and thought their necks were thin and scrawny. When virtue has something that surpasses appearances, outward form is forgotten. If people forget the virtue they ought to remember, yet remember the outward appearance they need not cling to, they have truly turned things upside down.
The sage wanders at ease in the realm of natural freedom. Cleverness can become a source of trouble; strict adherence to rules can become a constraint; virtue can become a means of winning people over; skill can become a commodity for trade. The sage does not scheme deliberately, so why use cleverness? He does not deliberately carve and polish, so why cling to rules? He has lost nothing, so why display virtue? He does not treat ability as merchandise, so why trade? All this follows from nature, as the natural world nourishes the myriad things. A person has a human form, yet need not have a biased human heart. Because one does not bind oneself with likes and dislikes, right and wrong cannot trap one. The body makes one part of the human community; one’s boundless nature allows one to fulfill oneself in the Dao of Heaven.
Huizi asked Zhuangzi, “How can a person have no feelings?”
Zhuangzi said, “By ‘having no feelings,’ I mean that a person does not let likes and dislikes injure them inwardly, but follows nature and does not deliberately add to life. A person’s form is not created by feelings. The abilities naturally present in life are not made by feelings either. People like Liju and Shi Kuang were born with keen senses; they did not become perceptive through deliberate effort. A newborn baby does not use its eyes to search for milk, its ears to find its way, or its hands and feet to arrange its actions deliberately. The parts of its body simply each perform their own function. Feelings of liking and disliking do not add to life; they may instead harm the body, because life has its own limits.
“Now you scatter your spirit outward and tire your mind, leaning against a tree as you sing, slumping over a small table as you doze, and arguing over ‘hardness’ and ‘whiteness.’ This is what it looks like to be led around by feelings of liking and disliking. To follow one’s nature without letting likes and dislikes harm life—that is what I mean by having no feelings.”
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