《庄子集解》Vol. 2

Plain-Language Reading of an Excerpt from Collected Explanations of the Zhuangzi

Commentary on the Butcher Ding Cuts an Ox Passage

The commentary quotes the line “interlacing and clustering into clumps”—meaning sinew and bone cross and bunch together; when cutting an ox, the knife must follow that structure.

Butcher Ding says: wherever I see a hard place to cut, I immediately become alert and pull back. The eyes fix only on the spot where the blade should go (Guo Xiang: do not let the gaze wander). The movement slows (Guo: the hand must be steady and slow). The knife moves lightly; with a huo sound it opens—huo is the same idea as zhe, describing flesh and bone parting and loosening at once, as naturally as a clod of earth falling. Then he lifts the knife and stands, looks all around, inwardly calm and satisfied (what Guo calls “easy steps, composed ease, self-content”). The commentators also compare the phrasing “about to hesitate, about to look in four directions” in the Tian Zifang chapter. Finally, “well cared for knife and put away”—the gloss says shan here means “wipe,” i.e. clean the blade before storing it.

Lord Wen-hui says: Well said! Having heard Butcher Ding’s words, I understand how to yang sheng (nurture life).

The collected commentary then states the theme: however many oxen, the blade is not harmed; however mixed the outer world, the spirit-mind is not disturbed—both are the logic of yang (nurturing). This is the first parable in the book (set against “form maimed, spirit complete” later).

(Textual note: the character for “interlace” was once wrongly written as “road”; corrected following Yu Yue.)

Duke Wen of Gong Sees Right Master

A man of Song, Duke Wen of Gong (surname Gong-wen, personal name Xuan), saw someone called “Right Master” and was startled. He asked: Who is this? Why only one foot? Was he born so, or did people make him so?

Someone answers (or he asks and answers himself): Heaven (tian) gave it—not human (ren) doing. Heaven made him “du” (single—one foot). Sima Biao glosses: du means one foot.

The commentators add: this differs from the three “wu” figures (maimed, footless men) in De Chong Fu—jie (single foot) is from birth; wu (severed foot) mostly from human misfortune. Ordinary people’s bodies are naturally paired (Guo: two feet walking together is “having a pair”), hence Right Master is from tian, not caused by ren.

Form maimed yet spirit complete; one who knows tian can rest in accord. This is the second parable—echoing Butcher Ding’s image of not harming the blade and not wearing out the heart-mind in the yang sheng lesson.

Plain Reading

A marsh pheasant takes ten steps to peck once and a hundred steps to drink once; it does not want to be shut in a cage. (Here qi means “to hope or count on”; fan is the fence or cage used to hold birds and beasts.)

The commentary adds: even if, in the cage, it is fed and kept in high style—as if its spirit were “king”—that still is not good for it; the point is that inwardly it is not at ease and not in its proper place. A bird belongs in the marsh; once it enters a cage it is constrained. If a person is bound by wealth and rank, they too lose the “nourishment” they originally had in freedom—the real sustenance body and mind need. Three kinds of comparison are used here to make the point.

[Textual note: In one place the original reads zhi (pheasant) where another reads “bird”; yu was wrongly written as a homograph meaning “thousand” and has been corrected according to the traditional commentary.]

The later line “When Laozi died, Si nourished him” does not connect cleanly with the passage above; it may be a separate snippet wrongly inserted. If it refers to Zhuangzi’s account of Laozi’s death, that needs to be read against the Zhuangzi original and interpreted on its own.

Gain and loss, coming and going—what is meant here is life and death: life is when the “time” gathers in one body; death is when one follows the natural course and disperses into heaven and earth. One who can accept the time and follow the natural course will not let joy or grief enter the heart; the ancients called this “xuán jiě” (release from suspension)—loosening what keeps the heart hanging. Guo Xiang’s commentary on De chong fu also says: life is my “time”; death is my “following”; when time gathers, there is life; when following disperses, there is death. Heaven gives birth to humans and also endows them with feeling and knowing, so the heart hangs in suspense; quieting feeling and following the natural course is heaven’s release from suspension.

“The Master is already dead—why should I still mourn!” This is the fourth analogy: the sage has already followed death in the natural course; there is no need to cling to mourning.

“When the finger is exhausted as fuel, one uses the finger to split wood for fuel; the fuel has an end, but the fire is passed on—you do not see it exhausted.” When the finger is used up splitting wood to burn, the wood runs out, but the fire is transmitted onward and seems never to end. The bodily form may pass away, yet spirit and intention can continue—this is where nurturing life (yǎng shēng) leads: the fuel is finite; the fire is not. This is the fifth analogy.

The title Rénjiān shì (Man in the World): it treats how to conduct oneself in the present age—serving a violent ruler, living in a turbid world, dealing with others: not contending for fame, keeping one’s virtue concealed—the way to preserve oneself whole. At the end it cites Jie Yu’s song: “The age to come cannot be waited for; the age past cannot be pursued.” Zhuang Zhou (Qī Yuán) uses this to voice his lament, hence the chapter name Man in the World.

The Dao must be single-minded and pure; once other things are mixed in, affairs multiply, and when affairs multiply the heart is disturbed. Disturbance gives rise to worry, and when worry accumulates deeply, even oneself cannot be saved. Cheng Xuanying says: “Cun means to stand firm and settle.” The ancients’ “perfect person” first establishes himself in the world, and only then helps others stand firm. If you yourself are not yet established, how can you have surplus strength to manage the conduct of a violent ruler (Lord Wei of Wei)?

Do you also understand why De (virtue) is lost and distorted, and why Zhi (cleverness) oversteps and goes out of bounds? De is lost because of striving for reputation; Zhi oversteps because of striving to excel. Reputation is something by which people undermine one another; cleverness is a tool for contention. Both are ominous instruments and cannot be taken as a complete method for getting through the world. Cheng says: “Ya means to harm.” Su Yu says: To govern the state well is a fine name; to cure illness is conspicuous cleverness. With such a mind one goes— the impulse to undermine is already there, hence they are called ominous instruments. This is the shallower layer; there is a deeper layer below.

Even if inwardly one does not employ cleverness and does not contend for name, yet still goes with the language of benevolence, righteousness, and law to admonish the ruler, in chaotic times one can hardly guarantee escaping harm— how much less when one goes carrying these two ominous instruments, “name” and “cleverness”? Moreover, though De is deep and trust is solid (gang is the appearance of sincere earnestness), one still does not understand human feelings; though one does not contend for name, one still does not understand people’s hearts. If you forcibly set the discourse of benevolence, righteousness, and measuring cords before a violent person, it is tantamount to making people resent you for being “too perfect.” The Shiwen notes: qiang is read in the departing tone. Shu is the same as shu (narrate); Guo Songtao cites the Jiyi passage “er shu sheng zhi,” with Zheng Xuan glossing shu as shu.

Main point: Zhuangzi, through the story of Yan Hui going to see the ruler of Wei, urges one to “first establish it in oneself”— if you are not established, do not lightly enter the situation of violent rule; name and cleverness can both be ominous instruments, and teaching of benevolence and righteousness, if tinged with display and quest for name, instead invites disaster.

On how “thinking oneself admirable” invites disaster

If someone constantly shows off their strengths and performs everywhere, others will dislike them. Such a person is called a zai ren—one who brings calamity upon themselves. A zai ren will surely turn and harm you; you may well become a scapegoat for such people. Cheng Xuanying says: “Ming here means to name or to call.”

On not needing to stand out in Wei

Moreover, if the ruler merely favors the worthy and dislikes the unworthy, why must you deliberately seek difference and show how unlike others you are? The “you” in what follows refers to you. If the lord of Wei already distinguishes good from bad and upright people already fill the court, why would he need you to stand out through strange talk and odd doctrines?

On how “only staying silent” still cannot be kept

If you simply refuse to speak or offer counsel, the prince (the lord of Wei) will still find a chance to seize on you and match wits with you in the kind of sharp debate he excels at. Your gaze will be thrown off (ying means dazzled and confused); your expression will unconsciously submit and shrink; your mouth will keep explaining; your manner will grow ever more deferential; and in your heart you will gradually accept his errors and abandon your own view. That is like fighting fire with fire or water with water—it only adds more and more, which is called “increasing the excess.” Yield to him at first and there will be no end to it afterward.

On “not being trusted yet speaking heavily”

If you are still not trusted yet use weighty words to speak bluntly (bu xin hou yan), you will surely lose your life before a tyrannical ruler.

On the lessons of Guan Longfeng and Bi Gan

Long ago Jie killed Guan Longfeng and Zhou killed the prince Bi Gan. Both cultivated themselves and humbled their bodies before their rulers in order to pity and soothe the people (yufu means to pity and comfort; ren here means the ruler). Yet they were still killed—which shows that relying on this posture of “placing oneself below” is not enough before a tyrant.

(Note: This passage comes from commentary on the relevant section of Zhuangzi’s “Human Affairs in the World,” on the many dangers of Yan Hui’s plan to go to Wei and speak before a violent ruler.)

This passage describes Yan Hui preparing to go to Wei and asking Confucius for guidance. Confucius says the trip is dangerous: the ruler of Wei is young yet insists on deciding everything himself and keeps state affairs in his own hands. He acts recklessly without examining himself, sends troops lightly without regret, and if you go, you will likely be scorched or drowned—as if facing fire or pouring water on yourself. Confucius also cites Ye Gonggao and Duanmu Zigong to show that even men of talent and virtue can be used or harmed before a tyrannical lord.

Confucius adds: in the past, some who loved worthiness recruited the worthy; some who loved reputation used the pretext of “cultivating a good name” to push others aside. Yao attacked Congzhi and Xu’ao; Yu attacked Youhu. Those states survived in name only—the land became wasteland, the people became resentful ghosts, and the rulers themselves suffered punishment—yet they still did not stop waging war or cease grasping for profit and concrete gain. When Yao and Yu destroyed them, it looked like seeking fame and seeking reality, but it was the same path as “loving reputation” and “crowding others out.” Su Yu explains: Longfeng and Bigan cultivated virtue, but Jie and Zhou said they “loved reputation” and harmed them; Jie and Zhou feared upright ministers’ good names and felt ashamed as muddle-headed rulers—that too is “loving reputation.” States like Congzhi never stopped using force for gain; when Yao and Yu attacked and wiped them out, that was likewise “seeking reality.” So all of this is contention over name and reality. Have you not heard? Name and reality—even sages find them hard to master completely; how much less you? Confucius then repeats what he has heard: the lord occupies the high name of position and holds the real power of authority; even if a minister is a sage, he must still submit—how much less you! Even so, since you must go, you ought to have some approach—try telling me your plan.

Yan Hui says: I will be upright yet empty-minded, diligent yet single-minded—will that work?

Confucius says: Alas, no! The lord of Wei is full of yang energy inwardly and flaunts himself outwardly; his face and manner shift unpredictably, and ordinary people dare not oppose him. He relies on his inner qi being full and his outward bearing being forceful…

(When the text continues with phrases such as yin an ren zhi xing and similar lines, the interpretation can still follow only what the original already gives.)

Plain-Language Commentary

Unsettled expression; what shows outwardly is unreliable

Outward bearing and mood cannot be pinned down; the face one turns to the world is untrustworthy and keeps shifting.

What ordinary people do not go against, and what common folk dare not resist

This is the sort of conduct that most people will not oppose and that nobody in the street feels bold enough to defy.

Pressing on how others feel when moved, to indulge their hearts

(Cheng Xuanying: an means to press down and go along with someone; rongyu means to let them have their way and suit their mood.)

The idea is to track how people react once they have been advised or stirred, then either push back or flatter them so their private wishes feel a little more “satisfied.”

Called “soaking in virtue day by day still does not succeed”—what of great virtue?

This is the pattern named “drip-feeding small virtue and still failing to form any”; if even petty de (virtue/power) cannot take shape this way, how could one speak of great de?

Even if one drenches them in de every day, it still will not succeed—how much less advancing toward great de?

Even daily soaking and steeping in de cannot produce real substance, let alone progress toward “great de.”

Clinging without transforming; aligned outside but not measuring within—how could that be acceptable?

(Cheng: taking oneself as right and refusing to change. Guo Xiang’s line in some traditions: seeming in step on the outside while not examining oneself inwardly. Yao Nai: zi is to weigh and measure—hearing the noble person’s words, not contradicting them outwardly yet not weighing inwardly whether they are sound.)

To stay stubborn and unchanging, or to match others on the surface while failing to reflect within—can that work?

“Then I will be straight within and bent without; complete my case and align upward.”

(What follows ranze is Yan Hui speaking again.)

“Then I will keep inner directness and outward tact; finish what I say and harmonize upward (or: match others in form while presenting my view).”

Inner directness: walking as companion of Tian (Heaven).

To be straight inside is to keep company with Tian—to move in line with the natural order.

As companion of Tian: knowing that the Son of Heaven and oneself are alike children of Tian—must one beg people to praise one’s words or fear their blame?

(Guo Xiang: among people there is no high or low; all are born of Tian. Good and ill repute belong to the public standard; there is no need to court others’ approval.)

One who walks with Tian sees that ruler and subject alike are Tian’s children; why should one rely on one’s own words to win praise or dread censure?

Then people call one a tongzi (childlike person)—this is what ‘companion of Tian’ means.

Spoken of as pure as a child: that is “walking with Tian”—following Tian’s principle without selfishness, like an infant.

Outward bending: walking as companion of other people.

To be tactful outwardly is to keep company with the human world and follow its forms.

Qing, ji, and ququan (holding the tablet, kneeling, bowing with clasped hands)—the etiquette of ministers; everyone does it—how dare I not?

(Xuan: qing is holding the court tablet; ji is kneeling formally; ququan is bowing with fists folded.)

These are a subject’s rites; when all perform them, how could I refuse?

Plain-Language Explanation

Yan Hui asked Confucius whether he could serve Duke Ling of Wei by “doing what others do”—matching how people around the ruler act and speak. Confucius said no. Duke Ling, he explained, indulged in pleasure on the surface yet was stubborn and self-willed within; he saw affairs as if through frosted glass—blurred and unclear—and his moods swung wildly, so those close to him felt they were in paradise while those at a distance felt they were in hell. He silenced others’ counsel yet decided everything himself; even worthy men could not win his trust. Before such a ruler, if you simply “did what others do”—whatever others did, you did the same, so no one could fault you—that is yu ren wei tu (going along with contemporary people’s ways and rules).

Another approach is cheng er shang bi (completing the matter at hand and comparing upward). Cheng Xuanying explains that what a loyal minister should remonstrate about must be brought to completion in the present, while the logic between ruler and minister should be measured against the ancient sage-kings. The words sound like teaching from the ancients, but in fact they are fengjian (indirect remonstrance)—on the surface “instruction,” in substance ze (reproof). What you set forth may be ancient teaching, yet it carries criticism of the ruler. Things the ancients had, you may not have; you borrow their words to say what cannot be said straight out. Then even blunt speech need not bring disaster—Guo Xiang says: when you lodge “straight talk” in the ancients, you do not harm yourself. That is yu gu wei tu (acting as companion to antiquity—speaking through the ancients and ancient meaning).

Yan Hui asked: would that work? Confucius said: no. If you duo da zheng (“da” here read like “tai”—meaning you make governance and rules too fragmented, too many separate items; Guo Xiang: the principles that should be upheld are originally one, yet you split them into several points to correct him—that is duo da zheng), then even if you fa er bu die (have standards and measure, yet are not crooked or slick—“die” matches “bian pi,” meaning slippery evasion), you may seem stubborn but will not necessarily be punished; though not grand in scope, you may still escape harm. But zhi shi er yi—that only gets you as far as “not making things worse”; fu hu keyi ji hua—how can that reach transforming and changing him? It is still not enough to guide others; you remain shi xin (teaching from your own heart alone—trusting only your own calculations and your private scheme; Cheng Xuanying: believing only in one’s own mind).

Yan Hui said: I have nothing left to advance with; may I ask what path remains? Confucius said: you must first qi (same as zhai—single-minded purification of the heart, not ordinary “neatness”) before I can speak with you. Is it easy to act while carrying fixed views and a mind full of “how I will proceed”? Whoever finds that easy does not accord with the fitting order of Haotian (the clear qi of Heaven; in the Xia, Heaven was called Haotian, suggesting lucid, open atmosphere).

Commentary: This does not accord with the principle of empty clarity and naturalness. Su Yu says: “What is called ‘changing the method’ is still using the heart-mind to fabricate; once one loses the original heart, that is called going against the Dao of Heaven.” From the perspective of principle, this also holds.

Yan Hui asked: “My family is very poor. I have gone several months without wine or pungent, strongly flavored foods. Does that count as being able to practice heart-mind fasting (xin zhai)?”

(Cheng Shu: Hun refers to pungent, strongly flavored dishes.)

Confucius said: “That is the fasting used for sacrificial rites, not heart-mind fasting.”

Yan Hui asked again: “May I ask what heart-mind fasting is?”

Confucius said: “First make your will single—do not let miscellaneous thoughts mix in.” (Xuan: “Single” means not mixed.)

“Do not listen with the ears; listen with the heart-mind.” (Cheng Shu: When the faculty of hearing is stilled and empty, spirit can unite with the heart-mind.)

“Do not listen with the heart-mind; listen with qi.” (Cheng Shu: The heart-mind knows and clings to external things; qi has no emotional calculation—it is empty, soft, and responsive to things. Therefore one must set aside knowing perception and take up this empty softness, stripping away layer by layer, only then can one gradually enter the subtle mystery.)

“Hearing stops at the ears.” (Xuan: Stops at the bodily form. Yu Yue says: It should read “the ears stop at hearing”—a reversal in transmission. This explains “do not listen with the ears”: the function of the ear is merely to hear, so one need not “use the ears to listen.”)

“The heart-mind stops at matching things.” (Yu: This explains “do not listen with the heart-mind”: the function of the heart-mind is merely to match with things, so one need not “use the heart-mind to listen.” Fu means to match; matching things is not the state of being empty and awaiting things.)

“Qi is empty and awaits things.” (Yu: This explains qi. Xuan: Qi has no fixed thread—that is emptiness.)

“Only the Dao can gather in emptiness. Emptiness—that is heart-mind fasting.” (Cheng Shu: Only this true Dao gathers in the empty heart. Therefore emptiness is the subtle Way of heart-mind fasting.)

Yan Hui said: “I have not yet begun.”

Cheng (the commentator) says: this one true Dao is entirely realized in “xuxin” (emptying the heart). Thus “empty” means the state in which heart and mind and the subtle Dao are aligned as one.

Yan Hui said: Before I received your instruction, I had not truly learned the method of “xin qi” (making the heart even)—back then there was still a solid “me, Yan Hui”; I could feel a Yan Hui standing there. After receiving your teaching, there is no longer a fixed Yan Hui; having acted according to the instruction, I can set aside both outer things and the self. Does this count as “empty”?

The Master (Confucius) said: That is enough. Cheng adds: the subtle point of xin qi has been fully explained here. Let me tell you more: if you can move within the name-and-rank rules of the state of Wei yet not be pulled by reputation—enter Wei and work only inside their ritual and legal bounds; do not move people with empty fame. Speak only when you should speak; when you should not, hold your tongue. Repeat what I say only after you have grasped it; if you have not grasped it, do not rush to speak.

On “wu men wu du” (no gate, no harm/poison), the various schools explain as follows. Cheng Xuanying says: do not open a crack, do not prescribe medicine at random. Guo Xiang says: letting each thing rest in its place is called “wu men”; returning the realm to its own settling is called “wu du.” Li Zhen holds that “men” and “du” are not the same kind of character; “du” may be a borrowed form for a character meaning “to preserve” or “high earth” in the Shuowen lexicon, whose pronunciation resembles “du,” matching Guo’s gloss “self-settling.” Zhang Xingfu offers a similar view in Shuowen Fayi (Doubts on the Shuowen).

This passage mainly explains the meanings of “men” (gate) and “du” (poison/safety), several layers of meaning in xinzhai (heart fasting) and xujing (empty stillness), and assorted scholarly notes on variant readings.

“Lei” and “du”

“Lei” refers to piling earth to build a high platform used for signaling—what the Lüshi Chunqiu describes as setting up an altar on high ground to pray, erecting a terrace on the royal way, and placing drums so that near and far can hear. Some take the word read as “dao” (prayer) in that text to be a corrupted form of “lei.” Because “lei” originally meant a place for defense and watch, it also carries the sense of “to guard” or “to protect.” In the Yijing, “yi ci du tianxia, er min cong zhi” (by this [du] secure the realm, and the people follow), in Laozi’s “ting zhi du zhi” (nurture and secure them), and in “wu men wu du” (no gate, no [du]) here, “du” is the same semantic layer. The Guangya glosses “du” as “an” (peace, settle)—the same line of interpretation. Wang Xianqian notes: “lei” is the original graph for “du,” paired in the same category as “men,” hence “men” and “du” as parallel phrases; read with the sound “du hao qie,” a phonetic shift. He also holds that Xuan Ying’s reading is forced exegesis, less apt than Li Yi’s gloss “du, an ye” (du means to settle or make secure). “Men” can naturally be read as path, going out and coming in; “du” can be read from afar as a mark or something to rely on. “Wu men wu du” means giving people nowhere to peep in and no signpost to fix on.

One dwelling and “when you must”

“Yi zhai er yu yu bu de yi, ze ji yi” (dwell in one abode and lodge in what cannot be avoided, then you are close). Cheng Xuanying says: zhai is where one dwells; keeping the heart-mind in one place and responding only when unavoidable—not scheming in advance—that is close to ji (nearness to the Way).

Tracks and ground

“Jue ji yi, wu xing di nan” (doing away with tracks is easy; not walking on ground is hard). Guo Xiang says: while one is in the world, not walking is easy; to walk yet leave no trace is hard.

Human envoy and heavenly envoy

“Wei ren shi, yi yi wei; wei tian shi, nan yi wei” (serving as a human envoy, falsity comes easily; serving as a heavenly envoy, falsity is hard). Cheng Xuanying says: driven by human sentiment, the work is shallow and easy to fake; following natural operation, the doing is hard to counterfeit.

Wings and knowing

“Wen yi you yi fei zhe yi, wei wen yi wu yi fei zhe ye; wen yi you zhi zhi zhe yi, wei wen yi wu zhi zhi zhe ye” (We have heard of flying with wings, not of flying without wings; we have heard of knowing with knowing, not of knowing with non-knowing—the first “zhi” as intelligence, the second as cognition.) Guo Xiang says: this is moving by spirit-intent and illumining things through still silence.

Que, empty room, auspiciousness

“Zhan bi que zhe, xu shi sheng bai” (Gaze at that empty gate-tower; the empty room gives birth to white light). Sima Biao says: que is emptiness; shi (room) stands for the heart. When the heart can be empty, pure white light arises on its own. Cheng Xuanying says: bi is the scene before one; seeing the myriad things as empty and still, one can empty the heart’s room and illumine the true source.

“Jixiang zhi zhi” (auspiciousness stops, stops). Cheng Xuanying says: auspiciousness and good fortune rest in the concentrated still heart and can also draw favorable responses. Yu Yue says: reading “zhi zhi” in sequence does not work in meaning. The Huainanzi, Chuzhen xun, has “xu shi sheng bai, jixiang zhi ye” (the empty room gives birth to white light; auspiciousness stops)—he suspects the lower “zhi” here is likewise a mistaken “ye” (particle). The Liezi, Tianrui pian, Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says… (the original breaks off here; the following sentence is not preserved.)

This passage explains lines in the Zhuangzi on “heart fasting” (xinzhai), “when the empty room gives birth to white light” (xu shi sheng bai), and “auspicious stopping, stopping” (jixiang zhizhi), and along the way records how Lord Gao of She (Ye Gongzi Gao, Shen Zhuliang) sought Confucius’s advice before going as envoy to Qi.

On “stopping, stopping” and “sitting while galloping”

Some scholars hold that in “auspicious stopping, stopping,” the second zhi (“stop”) may be a scribal error for zhi (“it/him”). Others say the lower zhi might likewise be a mistaken zhi. When the heart cannot truly settle and cease, that is zuochi (“sitting while galloping”): the body sits, yet the spirit runs outward and finds no peace—form is seated, but the mind is racing.

The line on “xun” and ear and eye

Li’s commentary takes xun as “to make serve, to drive.” A Guo Xiang–style reading runs: ears and eyes belong outside the body, yet one must gather them inward for the heart’s use; knowing belongs inside, yet it is pushed outward to turn with things. Cheng Xuanying adds: with an empty heart like a valley, letting things be as they are, even ghosts and spirits will draw near and dwell—how much more so among people?

Relation to Yu, Shun, and Fuxi

This is the hinge by which the ten thousand things are nurtured and transformed, the pivot of Yu and Shun’s responding to things and governing the world, and the ultimate in what Fuxi and Jiqu—the rulers of the age before the Three Sovereigns, when there was no writing— practiced and where they stopped. How much more, then, could scattered, fragmented ordinary people fail to be transformed by it? Su Yu offers another reading: grasping this principle suffices to be a king and order the realm—how much more for someone whose bodily form is only a scattered shell? That reading also works.

Lord Gao of She questions Zhongni (Confucius)

Lord Gao of She (Shen Zhuliang), about to go as envoy to Qi, asked Confucius: the ruler has charged me with this mission and treats it with great weight… (Cheng Xuanying notes: the task is arduous and heavy.)

The weight of the commission

This mission carries enormous responsibility.

How Qi treats envoys

Guo Xiang says: outwardly they are very deferential, yet in practice they proceed without urgency. Even an ordinary person must not be provoked lightly—how much more so a feudal lord of a whole state! That is why I am deeply afraid; the “li” here means dread.

What Zichang once said to Zhuliang

Whether the matter is large or small, it rarely succeeds unless one follows the Dao and acts from a fitting state of affairs. If it fails, trouble from human affairs and official rank is sure to follow, and the ruler will punish you; if it succeeds, there is still the “affliction of yin and yang”—Guo Xiang explains this as joy and fear warring inside, yin and yang qi disturbed, so illness easily arises. Whether you succeed or fail, only someone of deep virtue can afterward avoid being crushed by worry. Cheng Xuanying says: entrust success and failure to what lies ahead, and do not let joy and sorrow tug at the heart—only a person of great virtue can do that. Su Yu says: the point is that before success or failure is even settled, one can already avoid being weighed down by later harm—only great virtue suffices. Note: Cheng’s reading somewhat resembles later writers applying the story to Zhang Jun’s defeat at Fuli; it should not be taken as Zhuangzi’s original meaning. Su’s reading fits the text more closely.

The contrast between my daily life and this moment

When I eat, I am content with plain food and do not despise what is coarse—Guo Xiang: willing to accept the rough and simple, not chasing refinement. When I cook over the fire, I do not seek someone far from the stove to stay cool—Cheng: “qing” means coolness; with a small fire there is little heat to escape anyway. Yet now, having received my orders this morning, I must drink ice by evening—I must have “internal heat,” the kind anxiety and burning urgency produce.

Before the task has truly begun, the heart is already ill

I have not yet entered the scene where the business is actually done—Guo Xiang: not yet arrived at the place of action—yet the affliction of yin and yang has already come; if I fail again, the affliction of human affairs still waits ahead.

Before you even reach the place where the real business is to be done, there is already the threat of harm from yin and yang forces; if the mission fails, there will surely be trouble on the human level as well. A minister cannot bear both kinds of pressure alone on his own strength—you had better tell me the whole truth.

Confucius said: Under Heaven there are two supreme laws (jie). Cheng Xuanying explains: “Jie means rule or principle.” One is ming (what is fated or given—here, the bond to parents), and one is yi (duty or righteousness—here, loyalty to the ruler). To cherish your parents is ming: it cannot be undone or set aside in the heart; Heaven has given it, and it holds as firmly as nature itself. To serve the ruler as a minister is yi: wherever you go you are the ruler’s subject; under Heaven there is nowhere to escape. Cheng Xuanying says: “There is no country without a ruler.” This is what is meant by the great jie.

Therefore one who serves parents does not pick a place—only seeks to make them at ease; whatever the circumstances, that is the height of xiao (filial devotion). One who serves the ruler does not pick the task—whether easy or hard, accepts it in peace. Cheng Xuanying says: “Whether the affair is smooth or perilous, one is at peace with ming (one’s lot).” That is the summit of zhong (loyalty). One who keeps to one’s own inner ground does not let joy or grief change one’s bearing before outward events; knowing what cannot be helped and resting in ming—that is the height of de (virtue).

As minister or as child, there are things one simply cannot refuse: to follow the true circumstances of the affair and forget oneself—here “qing” means the actual state of things, not mere emotion. What room is left to cling to life or dread death? What room to worry about yin-yang harm? Master, you may go on this journey. I, Qiu, will tell you again what I have heard before.

Yu Yue said: “Liang” and “bi” do not balance each other in the wording; “liang” is probably a mistaken character for “zhu.” “Zhu” should be read as “du”—in the “Shi Di” chapter there is ‘Song has Meng Zhu,’ and the “Shiji · Xia Benji” writes it as ‘Ming Du’; that is the same usage. The original text should read ‘It begins in the du and often ends in bi’: ‘du’ (the capital, prominence) and ‘bi’ (the backwater, the end of the road) are a natural pair. Because “zhu” was written as another character and then wrongly copied as “liang,” the meaning was lost. The “Huainanzi · Quanyan Xun” has ‘Therefore what begins in the du often ends in bi’—it follows the “Zhuangzi” passage and can be used to emend the text; there ‘da’ (great) is actually a mistake for ‘zu’ (end), as Wang Niansun notes in “Duzhi Zazhi.”

(Continuing the gist of the main “Zhuangzi” passage) Things at first are often simple; as they near the end they often swell greatly. Speech is like wind, like waves—when wind rises and waves stir, there is unrest. Action involves “shi” and “sang”: “shi” is holding on and not letting go; “sang” is releasing and letting go—together they are like gain and loss. Wind and waves easily stir people up; gain and loss easily pull people into danger—hence “what is easy turns dangerous.” So anger often has no other root; it mostly comes from clever talk and one-sided words. How does anger arise? Very often because speech is too clever, too partial, and loses the middle way.

When a beast is dying it no longer cares whether its cry sounds good; its breath is rough and heavy, and at that moment a fierce, biting urge can rise in the heart. If a person presses the “he” (kernel, core) too hard and scrutinizes too exhaustively, the other person’s heart will also produce a “buxiao”—unworthy, uncooperative—response, and often without realizing it. If even this “fighting back without noticing” is not seen clearly, who knows how far things will go? (Cheng Xuanying says: here “da” carries the sense of “severe, excessive.”)

Brief notes on terms

• Zhuangzi Jijie: Wang Xianqian’s Qing-dynasty collected commentary on the “Zhuangzi,” citing commentators through the ages.
• Du / bi: Here not “capital / vulgar,” but “a place of success and prominence / hardship and the end of the road,” paired with “beginning / end.”
• Shi sang: Guo Songtao glosses as gain and loss, holding and releasing.
• Ke he: Excessive scrutiny, nitpicking details.
• Xin li: A fierce, wounding impulse in the heart.

If you violate these principles, misfortune is sure to follow. An old maxim says: “Do not alter the ruler’s command on your own”—Cheng Xuanying explains that once the sovereign’s order has been issued, one must not privately change it. “Do not force completion”—meaning do not use persuasion or rewards to push an outcome through. When you overstep your role or act excessively, you are in effect “adding” to words and deeds: altering the command on your own and pressing to finish by persuasion often drives matters into danger.

What turns out well usually rests on long, steady accumulation; what turns out badly, once done, is often too late to fix—success in what is good does not come in a day; success in what is evil often leaves no time to “make it right again.” How could one not be cautious? Moreover, to let the mind wander with outer things and, in situations where one “has no choice,” use that to nurture inner equilibrium—this is the utmost reach. Cheng Xuanying says: to wander with things and lodge the heart in them; to respond because one must, without initiating from private intent, thereby nurturing the unmoved “center” in the heart—this is the highest norm of the Dao.

Why fixate on calculating returns? Guo Xiang says: let outcomes follow naturally—why insert your own scheming into the business of Qi (or into the matter at hand)! It is better to transmit the ruler’s command alone, without mixing in private aims—that is the hard part. As for troubles brought on by human contrivance, they are not the true “trouble” in the deepest sense.

Yan He, a worthy man of Lu, was about to become tutor to the crown prince of Wei—the crown prince being Kuai Kui—and asked Qu Boyu for advice: “There is a man whose nature is inclined to kill. If I let him run wild without rules, he will harm the state; if I restrain him with law and measure, he will endanger me first. His cleverness is only enough to pick out others’ faults; he cannot see where he himself goes wrong.” (Here “zhi” is read as wisdom.) “In a situation like this, what should I do?”

This passage comes from the “Human Affairs” chapter of the Zhuangzi, on the minister carrying out the ruler’s command, acting in accord with nature, and Yan He’s perilous appointment as tutor to the crown prince; the glosses attributed to Cheng Xuanying and Guo Xiang are woven into the plain-language sense above. Proper names such as Qu Boyu, Kuai Kui, and Duke Ling of Wei are kept in standard romanization.

Qu Boyu said: A good question! Be watchful and careful: straighten yourself first, and do not start by demanding that others be without fault.

Outwardly, it is best to seem close and accommodating; inwardly, it is best to keep harmony and ease. Commentators explain that this means showing closeness on the surface while holding thoughts of harmony within. Even so, both ways still hide dangers and are not yet fully perfect. When you defer, do not sink in too deep; when you harmonize, do not wear it on the outside. Do not cling too tightly when deferring, lest the other person grow reckless; do not make compliance too plain, lest you fail to hold their course in check. If you defer without limit and sink in, you invite disasters such as overturning, rupture, collapse, and falling flat. If you display harmony outwardly, you draw reputation, clamor, even demons and mishap—commentators say that showing off your amiability invites talk of “harboring filth,” and that helping the other win fame while they resent you for outdoing them gives rise to vain demons. If the other is as unknowing as an infant, you go along like an infant; if they lack clear bounds and slip a little past the line, you go along without fixed furrows; if they have no cliff-edge and set no boundary, you go along without a bank. Follow their intent and move with it—only then can you enter wuchi (no blemish): a state without fault and free from blame.

Do you not know the mantis? It spreads its arms in fury to block the wheel, unaware that its strength cannot match the task, yet trusting in its own supposed excellence. Be watchful and careful! If you amass and parade your “excellence” to affront the crown prince, you will be close to the mantis. That is the first parable.

Do you not know those who keep tigers? They dare not feed them live prey, for fear of rousing the tiger’s killing rage at feeding time; they dare not give them whole large chunks of meat, for fear of rousing the tiger’s tearing and deciding rage. Commentators say: they use dead meat when feeding the tiger… (the original text continues here with the warning about keeping tigers.)

This passage uses three analogies to show that in dealing with people and things one must follow their nature and suit the timing—one cannot act arbitrarily according to personal preference.

First analogy (feeding a tiger)

You must not throw a whole carcass directly to a tiger, because the tiger will tear at the prey first; if it cannot tear it open, it grows angry. Cheng Xuanying says: even when feeding a tiger with dead prey, you should help tear it open first; otherwise it cannot use its strength effectively. You must also gauge when it is hungry or full and grasp its state of mind at that moment. Tigers and humans are not of the same kind, yet a tiger will draw close to someone who feeds it—because that person follows its nature; when it bites someone to death, that is going against its nature. Go against a tiger and it kills; nurture it in accord with its nature and it becomes friendly. This illustrates that in dealing with people you must not provoke them recklessly.

Second analogy (loving a horse)

Someone who loves a horse uses bamboo baskets for dung and large clam shells for urine—servicing the horse to the utmost. Then gadflies land on the horse’s body (Wang Niansun: pu means fu, “to attach”; gadflies attach to the horse; in the Book of Odes, “Jing ming you pu,” Mao’s commentary: pu means fu, “attached”). The owner goes to pat the horse at the wrong moment (Cheng Xuanying: tuo is patting; bu shi means the horse did not expect it). The horse startles, drops the bit, injures its head, and shatters its chest (Cheng Xuanying: xian is the bridle bit). The intention was to rid the horse of gadflies, but fixating on one aim turns “love for the horse” into harm—hence one must be cautious. Cheng Xuanying says wang means loss: wanting to remove gadflies for the horse, yet through partial fixation causing harm.

Third analogy

This belongs with the second under “when love reaches an extreme it reverses into loss.” It stresses: when the heart is right but the method is wrong, love can become harm; one must be careful.

Master Carpenter Shi was on his way to the state of Qi when, near Quyuan, he came upon an oak tree consecrated to the earth god. The tree was so vast that it could shade thousands of oxen; measuring its trunk took a hundred arm-spans around, and its height nearly reached the mountains—ten ren above before the branches began. Branches thick enough to serve as boats numbered a dozen or more. Sightseers crowded around it like at a market fair, yet Carpenter Shi did not so much as glance at it and walked straight on.

When his apprentice had seen enough and caught up, he asked, “I have followed you with axe in hand and never seen timber this fine. Why did you not even look and walk on?”

Carpenter Shi said, “Enough of that. This is useless timber—make a boat from it and it sinks; make a coffin and it rots quickly; make vessels and they break easily; make doors and windows and they weep sap. It is good for nothing at all, and that is why it has lived so long.”

“Mán” (resinous pine heartwood): Originally this denotes the resin found in the heartwood of pine, and also names a kind of tree; here the sense is “resin oozing from the pine core.”

If such a tree were used as a pillar, worms would eat it. It counts as wood that “does not become timber”—good for nothing in practical use—a point already spelled out in passages such as “Free and Easy Wandering” (Xiaoyao You) in the Zhuangzi. Precisely because it is “useless,” it can live so long.

When Craftsman Shi (a carpenter named Shi) went home, that great oak tree spoke to him in a dream: “What are you going to compare me with? Are you comparing me with those ‘wen mu’—‘ornamental’ or ‘useful’ timbers (wood that can be fashioned into tools and has a role to play)?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: any wood that can be put to use is called wen mu—it can be made into vessels and has a patterned, serviceable value.

Things like the wild pear (zha), cultivated pear, orange, and pomelo, along with melons, gourds, and the like—Cheng Xuanying explains that guo here means melons and gourds of that sort—once the fruit ripens it is picked; being picked is a kind of indignity. Large branches are broken off, small ones torn away (Yu Yue holds that xie should be read as ye, “to drag or snap off”; the “Against Physiognomy” (Fei Xiang) chapter of Xunzi has “when receiving people one uses ye,” and Yang Liang’s gloss takes the same sense).

Ye means to pull or drag. Xiao zhi ye refers to small branches being pulled off and taken for use.

Because it made itself live in hardship, it could not complete its natural span and died midway—equivalent to being struck down and worn away by worldly people. Pou ji (beating and striking) was also something it brought upon itself. Things are often like this. Moreover, I (the tree) had long wished that no one would find me useful; many times I nearly died from being cut down, many times nearly died from being felled, and only now have I finally made it through. Guo Xiang says: again and again people looked askance at me and wanted to act on me; only today’s Carpenter Shi understood me. Cheng Xuanying says: only then was the whole body preserved—and for me that was the greatest use. If I had truly been useful, could I have grown this large? Besides, you and I are both things (wu); treating each other as “things”—what can that change? That fellow who nearly lost his life, the “scatterbrained man” (san ren), how would he understand the “useless tree” (san mu)!

Er means “you.” Ji means “close to.” Carpenter Shi woke and told the dream to his disciple. Wang Niansun says: zhen should be read as zhi; the Erya says zhi means to inform—that is, to relate the dream to the disciple.

The disciple asked: if one urgently seeks “uselessness” to preserve life, why take on the role of a shrine tree and seek honor?

Carpenter Shi said: Mi!—meaning, do not speak of this. Yao Nai says: mi is the same as mo (silent). In the “Tian Zifang” chapter Confucius says, “Mo! You—say nothing!” In “Dasheng,” “The duke kept silent and did not reply.” As if he had said nothing! It only lodges there for a time, so that those who do not understand it may revile and attack it. Bi yi zhi ji yan: it too merely entrusts itself there for a while, letting the uncomprehending revile it without answering. Sima Biao says: li means illness, li gou—being reviled and blamed.

Bu wei she zhe, qie ji you jian hu: if it were not a shrine tree, would it not still risk being cut down? The point is that it might have been split for firewood. Qie ye, bu ci ye: moreover, it does not refuse (either serving as shrine tree or enduring abuse).

Bi suo bao, yu zhong yi: what it preserves differs from ordinary people—it preserves itself in the wilds and ultimately differs from the crowd; it is not like the city fox or shrine rat that survives by clinging to power. Yi yi yu zhi, bu yi yuan hu: to praise it with ordinary principle (yi) is not that wide of the mark? Xuan Ying says: yi means ordinary principle. Note: it does not rely on the shrine god for self-glory; to praise it with common reason is far from the actual situation in both feeling and logic.

Nan Bo Ziqi traveled in Shang zhi qiu. Li Yi says: this is Nanzi Ziqi; bo is an honorific for an elder. Sima Biao says: Shang zhi qiu is present-day Suiyang County in Liang. He saw an exceptionally large tree: jie si qian sheng, yin jiang bi qi suo lai—a train of a thousand chariots would hide beneath its shade to rest and take shelter. Xiang Xiu says: [commentary on the line].

This tree could grow so large precisely because it was wood that “did not become useful timber”—useless, so no one cut it down; only then could it live so long and grow so thick that an army of a thousand chariots could take shade beneath it. Alas! Those who attain the Dao likewise preserve themselves through this kind of “not becoming useful timber.”

(Cheng Xuanying: Not becoming useful timber is in fact the great timber that preserves life; what seems useless is precisely the wonderful function that assists the myriad things. That is why the axe never reaches it, and it can still shade hosts of a thousand chariots.)

From the tree one turns to people. (Guo Xiang: The spirit person likewise does not display “talents of use,” so in the world there is nowhere others can exploit him; only Heaven can fully preserve him intact.)

In the state of Song there was a place called Jing. There they cultivated catalpa, cypress, and mulberry. When a trunk was only as thick as two hands could span around it, they cut it for posts to tether monkeys; when it was three or four “wei” around (wei is the unit for measuring a trunk; one tradition takes eight chi as one wei), they cut it for the main beams of lofty houses; when it was seven or eight wei around, wealthy and noble families cut it for the side boards of coffins (zhuan bang refers to the large planks used on one side of a coffin). So these trees never lived out the years nature allotted them—the axe cut them off midway. That is the disaster of being “timber that becomes useful.”

Therefore at the ritual of jie (dispelling calamity), oxen with white foreheads, pigs with upturned snouts, and people afflicted with hemorrhoids could not be sent down to be drowned in the river as offerings. (Guo Xiang: Jie is the ceremony performed by wu and zhu to remove misfortune. Cheng Xuanying: Sǎng is the forehead; kàng means projecting upward. These three kinds could not be sent to the spirit river for sacrifice. In antiquity people drowned victims to sacrifice to the river; Magistrate Ximen Bao of Ye abolished such practices.)

From these rules the wu and zhu also understood: what did not become useful timber, what did not fit standard use, could still be preserved intact. What the world calls “ill omen,” for the spirit person is instead the greatest good fortune—because to preserve life wholly is the greatest blessing. (Lu Deming notes that the graph for yi and the graph for yi were variant forms of the same word.)

This passage is collation and commentary on the old annotations to the section on Zhi Li Shu in Zhuangzi Jijie—not the story itself. It helps readers with the wording and with how earlier commentators understood this figure’s grotesque body.

Zhi Li Shu: Sima Biao’s note (Three Kingdoms period) says zhi li means a body that is incomplete or misshapen; Shu is his personal name.

Yi yin yu qi, jian gao yu ding (“cheeks hidden at the navel, shoulders higher than the crown”): Sima Biao says the spine is bent and the head drawn down, so the chin sits near the navel while the shoulders rise above the top of the head. A similar image appears in the Huainanzi, where the spinal column is said to rise above the crown.

Hui cuo zhi tian (“gathered tuft pointing at heaven”): Sima Biao takes hui cuo as the hair knot; normally the topknot sits at the nape, but with a curved spine and lowered head, the knot seems to point upward toward the sky. Cui’s note identifies hui cuo with the xiang zhui (cervical vertebrae). Later scholars such as Li Zhen cite Da Zong Shi (“gou zhui zhi tian”), the Suwen, bone manuals, and the Nanjing to show that hui cuo / gou zhui usually refer to the cervical region or the dazhui (great vertebra) area—consistent with medical talk of “the three upper thoracic vertebrae” and the like. Commentators also disagree on the exact character forms (e.g. cuo and variant graphs), but the shared point is a deformed neck with prominent vertebrae, so the figure looks as if something is “pointing at heaven.”

Wu guan zai shang (“five tubes/pipes above”): Li’s note says guan means shu points (acupuncture points on the back); the shu points associated with the five viscera lie on the human back, hence “five guan on top.”

In sum, Zhi Li Shu is someone severely hunched, head and neck sunk low, shoulders above the crown, with the five viscera’s back shu points exposed on his upper back. The annotators debate whether hui cuo is the hair knot or the cervical spine, and cite medical and osteological texts to ground Zhuangzi’s hyperbolic description.

Chin and shoulders belong to the category of what is spoken of as “outer”; the meeting of the orifices (where the openings converge) and the five sense organs belong to the category of what is spoken of as “inner.” Both thighs correspond to the flanks (the sides of the rib cage). Sima Biao’s commentary: when the spine is bent and the spleen stands upright, they are discussed together with the flanks and ribs.

Using needle-mending (sewing) and treating hempen thread (washing cloth) is enough to feed one’s mouth—Sima Biao says: cuozhen is mending clothes, xie is washing laundry. Beating the winnowing basket and sifting the fine grain (shaking chaff from rice in a tray) is enough to support ten people—Sima Biao says: gu is the winnowing tray, the small basket is ce, and the sifted rice is jing; Cheng Xuanying says: bo means shaking off dust and chaff.

When the state recruits soldiers, Zhili simply rolls up his sleeves and wanders among the crowd—Guo Xiang says: relying on his being “useless,” he neither hides nor avoids. When the state has a great public works project, Zhili, because of his fixed deformity, is not assigned labor—Cheng Xuanying says: he bears no corvée duty. When the ruler distributes grain to the sick, he receives three zhong of rice and ten bundles of firewood—Sima Biao says: six hu and four dou make one zhong.

A person whose form is this fragmented and disabled can still support himself and complete his allotted years—how much more so for those who “fragment their De” (deliberately impair and forget form, name, and virtue)! Cheng Xuanying says: if even forgetting the body can still avert harm, how much more forgetting De as well!

When Confucius went to Chu, the Chu madman Jie Yu wandered before his gate and said: “Phoenix, O phoenix—how can De have declined to this!”

When Confucius went to Chu, the famous “Madman” Jie Yu wandered in front of his gate and sang:

“Phoenix, phoenix—how faded your virtue has become! The future offers no hope; the past cannot be recovered.” (Guo Xiang explains: one can only fulfill one’s duty in the present.)

“When the world is in order, the sage can achieve merit; when the world is in disorder, the sage seeks only to preserve life. In this age, not being touched by punishment is already enough.”

“Good fortune is as light as a feather, yet no one knows how to carry it on the shoulder—what should be taken is not taken; misfortune is as heavy as the earth, yet no one knows how to avoid it—what should be shunned is not shunned.”

“Enough, enough—do not parade virtue in people’s faces! Danger, danger—like someone who only runs inside a circle drawn on the ground!”

“Wild thorns, wild thorns”—wild thorns are the brambles of the hills; stepping on them hurts the feet, and Chu charioteers still say “wild-thorn kick”—“do not block my path! My path must wind and turn—do not hurt my feet!”

Jie Yu was using his song to wake Confucius: in bad times, preaching virtue loudly and walking the straight path easily invites disaster; better, like avoiding thorns, to save oneself by winding and turning.

Trees in the mountains are cut down because they have made themselves useful as timber; grease and tallow are burned because they have made themselves fit to be lit. Sima Biao explains: wood becomes an axe handle, yet in the end it is still used to chop trees; grease is set alight and ends up consuming itself. The cassia tree is felled because its fruit is edible and its heartwood is pungently fragrant; the lacquer tree is gashed because its sap is useful. Cheng Xuanying says that both cassia and lacquer die under axe and knife precisely because they possess “talent” and utility. People all know the benefits that come from being “useful,” yet few understand that “uselessness” is itself a kind of use.

The collected commentary also notes that here metaphor drives the point home to its conclusion; it need not be forced into seamless continuity with the Song of Jieyu above—the song has rhyme, while this passage of discussion does not.

Inner Chapters, Volume Two, “De Chong Fu” (Virtue Full as a Sign), Section Five

When De (Virtue/Power) is full within, it naturally shows forth in corresponding signs (“fu”) in one’s form and conduct.

In the state of Lu there was a man whose feet had been cut off, named Wang Tai. The number of people who went to study with him was nearly equal to those who studied with Confucius.

Chang Ji asked Confucius: “Wang Tai’s feet have been mutilated, yet those who travel with him to learn almost rival your following in Lu. Standing, he does not open his mouth to teach; sitting, he does not debate with others—yet students go in empty and come out full, each gaining something. Could there really be a kind of teaching without words, a way of completing people in the heart alone with no fixed outward form? What sort of person is he?”

Confucius said: “This master is a sage. I, Kong Qiu, was simply born late and have not yet been able to go and learn from him. I intend to take him as my teacher—and how much more should those who are not my equals! Why limit this to the state of Lu alone? I, Kong Qiu, would lead everyone under heaven to study with him.”

Chang Ji said again: “He is a man whose feet were cut off, yet he is called Master Wang and speaks as if he truly were Master Wang—the gap between him and ordinary people is enormous. Someone like this, turning inward in solitude—what is really going on in his mind?”

Confucius said: “Seen from the great checkpoint of life and death, he has already gone along with transformation, so life and death can no longer pin him down. Even if heaven and earth overturned and collapsed, he would not lose himself along with them—nor would his words be lost with external things. He scrutinizes his inner mind and finds no flaw; he does not drift with outward things. He lets the myriad things change as they will, yet holds fast to his own root.”

Chang Ji asked, “What does it mean to be the one who governs the changes of the myriad things and holds the pivot of their turning?”

Kongzi (Confucius) said, “Seen from the angle of difference, the liver and the gallbladder are as far apart as the states of Chu and Yue; yet they belong to the same body, while ordinary people treat them as two separate things. Seen from the angle of sameness, the ten thousand things are fundamentally one body—each is a single mode of being between Heaven and Earth. A person like that does not fuss over what the ears and eyes ought to hear or see; though ears and eyes are naturally fitted to sound and color, he is as if oblivious to them. His mind roams in the harmony of the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power). Guo Xiang glosses this: he sets his mind in the space between dao and de and feels vast ease with no strain. He views the myriad things as one and does not pick out what is gained or lost; when others see that he has lost a foot, he is as unconcerned as if he had dropped a clod of earth.”

Chang Ji said, “He attends only to cultivating himself—using his intelligence to recover his heart, using genuine knowing to return to the original heart; with the heart he reaches the constant heart, and with his own heart he fathoms the heart that does not change from antiquity to the present. Why do people all gather and follow him?”

Kongzi said, “A person cannot get a clear reflection from water that flows; only still water gives a clear image—only by being still can one make those who seek stillness become still.” Cheng Xuanying explains: the mirror is reflection. Xuan Ying adds: water does not actively invite being mirrored; people come of themselves to mirror themselves in it. Only by stopping oneself can one stop the hearts of all who come seeking a place to stop.

“Receiving one’s mandate from the earth, only the pine and cypress endure”—the line ties to what follows: green through winter and summer alike.

This passage explains that among those who receive Heaven’s mandate and stand alone in uprightness, only Shun qualifies. Guo Xiang comments that among things in low places, only pine and cypress stay green through frost; among those in high places, only the sage holds to the Way. So whatever is not upright turns toward what is upright. If all things were equally whole and undifferentiated, pine and cypress would not be singled out; if everyone were upright on their own, no one would admire the great sage and flock to follow him.

Cheng Xuanying uses “upper head” and “lower head” as a metaphor: the human head is on top—without what is above, a person cannot live; a tree’s roots are below—without what is below, the tree cannot live. So people are called the “upper head” and trees the “lower head”: the upper head feeds on the side head (people eat animals), and the side head feeds on the lower head (animals eat plants). This uses the hierarchy in heaven and earth to illustrate uprightness and dependence.

Zhuangzi says Shun “was fortunate enough to rectify his own life and thereby rectify the lives of the multitude”: fortunately Shun could first set his own life straight and thus lead all beings back to uprightness. Guo Xiang sums it up: when Shun rectified his own nature, the nature of the ten thousand things was naturally straightened through him.

The text then asks: by what is “the sign of preserving the beginning”—guarding one’s original life and nature—verified? The answer is “the reality of fearlessness”: truly not being afraid is the proof. It cites “one brave man enters alone into nine armies” as an example—someone who enters danger yet is inwardly unafraid— as one way “preserving the beginning” shows up in actual life.

Even if the Son of Heaven commanded six armies and each feudal lord led three armies—nine armies in all—the scale would already be immense. People who chase reputation and still puff themselves up can manage at most that much; those who chase merit and fame and talk themselves into believing it are no better. How much more so someone like Taoluo, who treats Heaven and Earth as his charge and the myriad things as his storehouse—Cheng Xuanying explains this as taking the two poles (Heaven and Earth) as the warp and woof and the cosmos as what he holds. He treats the six limbs (head and limbs) as mere lodging—Cheng Xuanying: the six limbs are the body and its four limbs; he treats ears and eyes as no more than signs—Cheng Xuanying: the ears and eyes are only outward marks. He lets “one knowing” operate solely within what it knows—above it points to mind, below to the field of experience, pure and without a second. His heart never turns toward death or life because of death and life—Cheng Xuanying: he has the constant heart and does not change with death and life. He even chooses a day to “ascend in departure,” borrowing the phrase from the Liji’s “Treatise on Ritual”: “The Son of Heaven ascends in departure,” meaning to leave the world and stand apart; choosing a day means the day is at hand. As the commentators take it, it is like the Yellow Emperor roaming in the Great Clarity. Ordinary people can only imitate from behind—Cheng Xuanying: they themselves cannot bring themselves to drop all this. How then could he treat outer things as what must be busied over?

This passage answers because Chang Ji doubted that Taoluo meant to stir up the crowd.

Shen Tujia had suffered foot amputation (yue punishment) and lost one foot. He studied under Bo Hunzi (in the Miscellaneous Chapters the name is “Man of Wu”) together with Zichan of Zheng. Zichan said to Shen Tujia: “When I go out first, you stay; when you go out first, I stay.” Guo Xiang’s note: this relates to Zichan’s shame at walking beside a punished man. The next day they sat opposite each other in the same hall on the same mat. Zichan said again to Shen Tujia: “When I go out first, you stay; when you go out first, I stay. Now I am about to go out—can you stay? Or will you not?” Guo Xiang: Zichan confronted him face to face, trying to force him to remain seated. Zichan repeated the same words to Shen Tujia—I go out first, then you stop; you go out first, then I stop; now I am going out—can you stop, or have you not stopped?

Guo Xiang explains that Zichan confronted Shentu Jia face to face because he wanted to show that he absolutely could not treat the other as his equal.

Zichan also said: “When you see someone in office you do not step aside—is that not putting the officeholder on the same level as yourself?” Here “holding office” is how Zichan refers to himself; “avoid” means to step aside or evade; “also equal” means treating the other as the same as oneself. This is a rebuke for lack of deference.

Shentu Jia said: “In our Master’s school, was there ever someone who put on airs of office like you?” The point is: under Bo Hun Tai Ren—the accomplished teacher in Zhuangzi’s story—everyone should honor one another through virtue; how could there be someone who, because he holds office, looks down on others and speaks like this? You take pleasure in your own rank and slight others; you are infatuated with and show off your role as officeholder, and in being human you end up falling behind others. I have heard: “When a mirror is bright, dust cannot stick; once it sticks, it is no longer bright. Stay long with the worthy, and you will not go wrong.” Here “stick” means to gather or adhere—when the mirror is clear there is no dust; when you stay close to the worthy, faults are few. Now what you ought chiefly to take as your model is the Master, yet you still talk this way—is that not a fault?

Cheng Xuanying says: “Take the greater” means to seek broad understanding; on this reading, “take the greater” is to take the weighty as teacher and rely on the Master.

Zichan said: “You are already like this—your body maimed—and you still want to measure yourself against Yao in goodness?” (Cheng Xuanying: Yao stands for the utmost in goodness, hence the comparison.) “I reckon your virtue is not enough for you to turn inward and examine yourself, is it?” (Cheng Xuanying: I reckon you must have had guilt in the past that led to foot amputation—surely that is enough to make you reflect?)

Shentu Jia said: “Those who confess their faults yet feel they should not have lost their feet are many; those who do not confess yet feel they should not have kept their feet are few.” “Confess” means to bring wrongdoing into the open. Many who openly admit guilt still feel they should not have been maimed; few who do not confess can instead look within and feel they should not have kept their feet. To know there is nothing to be done and to accept it peacefully as fate—only someone of virtue can do that. (Cheng Xuanying: Treating foot amputation as natural fate and not minding it—only the virtuous can.)

On “wandering within Yi’s range of bowshot”—people live inside the arc where Yi strung his bow; whether one is hit or missed often turns on chance and fate. The text uses this to show that whether one is preserved or punished is not always in one’s own hands, so one must accept fate. The closing line “those who feel they ought not to have kept their feet are few” echoes what came before: those who can turn inward and see that they “ought not to have kept their feet” were never many in the first place.

Knowing what cannot be helped and resting in it as fate is something only a person of de (virtue) can manage. Xuan Ying comments: to treat one’s incompleteness as an innate allotment and not carry it in the heart—none but the virtuous can do that.

To “play within Hou Yi’s target” means the bull’s-eye is the place of true center (the first zhong read in the level tone); yet failing to hit the mark is fate (the second zhong read in the departing tone). Hou Yi’s target stands for the net of punishments: everyone alike lives inside that net—who can swear never to slip? To escape the penalty is merely the luck of one’s allotted lot.

Many have laughed at me because my foot is not whole. I once flared up in anger; when I came to the Master, that anger drained away and I went home calm again. Guo Xiang glosses feiran as setting aside the earlier rage and returning to one’s ordinary state. Perhaps the Master had cleansed my heart with the good Dao—using the Way to wash away what weighed on my mind.

I have kept company with the Master for nineteen years, and he has never treated me as a maimed man—I never heard him reject me because my body was incomplete. “Now you and I meet within the form, joining in de and the Way; yet you step outside the form and try to bind me by outward appearance—is that not going too far?”

Zichan at once changed countenance and said, “Please do not speak like that!” Curan describes rising to make amends. Nai here means “thus” or “in this way”; zi wu nai cheng is “Sir, do not put it that way.” The Da Chong Shi (Great Ancestral Master) chapter’s “not knowing why it is nai so” likewise means not grasping why things should be as they are.

In the state of Lu there lived a man who had lost his toes. His name was Shushan Wuzhi—“Shushan” was his surname, and “Wuzhi” (“Missing Toes”) was a nickname because his toes were gone. He came to see Confucius walking on his heels.

Confucius said, “You were careless before and brought this misfortune on yourself. What good is it to come only now?”

Wuzhi replied, “It was because I did not know how to cherish myself and acted rashly that I lost my feet. Yet I come now because there is something more precious than feet—something more important than the body: that wholeness worth preserving. That is what I have come to safeguard. Heaven covers all; earth bears all. I took you, Master, to be as vast as heaven and earth—how could I know you would still see me this way!”

Confucius said, “I, Qiu, have been too shallow. Why did you not come in, sir? Please tell us what you have heard!” Wuzhi left without entering. Confucius then told his disciples, “You must exert yourselves! Wuzhi is a man punished and maimed, yet he still studies diligently to make up for past faults—how much more should those whose virtue is whole!” The commentary adds: one who has already harmed virtue through wrongdoing must still rely on learning to repair it; how much more those who have no such wrongdoing and whose virtue is already complete!

Wuzhi said to Laozi, “Is Kong Qiu still far from the perfected person? Why must he so often and so humbly place himself on the side of the learner?” (“Binbin” means repeatedly, again and again; in ancient texts “bin” and “pin” were near in sound and could interchange. The Guangya says “pinpin” carries the sense of drawing close and attaching oneself. Guo’s note “yi xuezi wei” means Confucius too much resembles someone asking students for instruction, lowering his own standing.)

Plain-Language Commentary

Someone wondered why he had just left and then returned to study under Laozi.

(Commentary) He was probably still trying to win fame through strange, outlandish notoriety, without seeing that for the perfected person such reputation is like shackles on the body.

Chù guǐ means bizarre and uncanny. Àn appears in the Lüshi Chunqiu essay “On Injuring Music,” where the text uses chù guǐ instead. Zhì is the foot-fetter; gù is the hand-stock. Qí is the same as qī, “to hope or aim for.” The point: he wanted a name unlike anyone else’s to spread under heaven, yet the perfected person treats fame like fetters on oneself.

Laozi said: “Why not have him take life and death as one continuous line, and what is admissible and what is not as a single consistent principle, and so loosen the shackles on his mind—would that work?”

That is: life and death and right and wrong can be seen as one thread; using that view to clear his confusion might still help.

Wuzhi said: “Heaven has already punished him like this—how can that be undone?”

That is: his native endowment is fixed, as if heaven had already marked him; a few words cannot free him.

Duke Ai of Lu asked Confucius: “In our state of Wei there is a man of extremely ugly appearance named Ai Taituo. When men spend time with him, they cannot get him out of their minds; when women see him, they tell their parents, ‘Rather than be another man’s lawful wife, I would rather be this gentleman’s concubine.’ Such requests come in by the dozen and more. No one has heard him actively recruit anyone—he only responds when others speak. He never pushes ahead of others; only after someone else has already been moved does he answer. He has no ruler’s throne from which to rescue people in crisis, and no salary with which to fill others’ bellies. Yet with ugly looks he stirs the whole realm—not by beauty that charms. He only harmonizes and never leads; he never takes the initiative to draw people in. His reputation does not spread beyond the four borders of his own country. Still, men and women alike come to him of their own accord. He must be unlike ordinary people. I summoned him and looked—he was indeed shockingly ugly. After he stayed with me less than a month, I felt there was something in him worth valuing; before a year was out, I trusted him. When the state had no good chief minister, I handed the government over to him. For a long time he seemed downcast and only slowly agreed, as if it did not suit his heart, and then at last accepted—yet his manner was vague, as if he were declining. I felt ashamed of myself, but in the end I still gave him the state. Before long he left me and went away. I was as grief-stricken as if I had lost something, as if nothing in this country could make me happy again. What kind of person is he?”

Confucius said: “Once when I was on a mission to Chu, I saw piglets suckling beside their dead mother. After a while they started as if in fright and all ran off. They looked at the face and heard the voice—still the same mother as before—but the breath had changed. People look at the face and hear the voice and still see the same person, but the breath has changed. Ai Taituo is probably like that.”

Note: This passage comes from “De Chong Fu” (Signs of Full Virtue) in the Zhuangzi. The image of piglets not recognizing their dead mother illustrates how people are often led by outward appearance and reputation, while Ai Taituo, though ugly, draws others—and even wins trust to run a state—through inner De, the spiritual presence that fills him within. He accepts no office and no stipend; he harmonizes without contending, and in the end still chooses to leave, which is why Duke Ai feels “as if something were lost.” “Harmonize without leading” (he er bu chang) means he only echoes along and never takes the starring role; “knowing does not go beyond the four domains” (zhi bu hu hu si yu) means his wisdom and fame do not extend past his own country’s borders.

The other monkeys fled in panic, abandoning their mother. Shun and xun are borrowed characters for words meaning fear and alarm. The Shuowen says they are exclamations of surprise. At first the young still came to nurse at their mother’s side; before long they found she was dead and all scattered in fright.

“Cannot see oneself anymore” and “no longer have one’s kind”—Guo Xiang glosses: the living classify one another by talent and virtue; when a person dies, talent and virtue are gone, so the living feel they have “lost their kind” and run away. In this passage’s context, the young monkeys left because their mother could no longer “see them or respond to them,” because they were shaken by her death, and because they could no longer receive the same living fellowship—they no longer had their kind.

What truly bound them to their mother was not attachment to her physical form but attachment to what made that form live and move. Cheng Xuanying says: this “what makes the form move” is shen (spirit).

When soldiers who died in battle were buried, no sha was used in the funeral. Guo notes: sha is ceremonial gear for martial occasions. A soldier who died in battle no longer had martial prowess—so for whom would the sha be displayed? Cheng’s commentary: sha is martial regalia; tradition says the Martial King or Duke of Zhou devised it—it looks like a square fan hung on both sides of the carriage. When a general marched out and fell on the field, on burial day no sha escorted the bier. From this we see sha depends on “martial display”; without martial valor the sha has no use—an analogy: without spirit, no one cherishes the body either. Li Yun: zi here means funeral implements.

The shoes of a man whose feet were cut off need no longer be prized—what was loved was the feet; once the feet are gone, the shoes lose their root. Sha depends on martial prowess, shoes on feet—both lose what they rested on.

Palace attendants in the inner court did not trim their fingernails or pierce their ears; maidservants wore no cosmetics—so that their original nature might stay whole.

The Analogy of Taking a Wife and Preserving the Whole Body

By ancient rites, after a man took a wife he stayed in the outer quarters and was no longer sent out for corvée labor; when commoners married, they ceased going abroad, and the authorities did not press them into service, so the body could rest in ease. If even an intact body (xing quan) deserved such treatment, how much more one whose De (Virtue/Power) is complete?

Ai Taituo

Before Ai Taituo had spoken, people trusted him; without merit he was close to others; they offered him the throne and feared he would refuse—such a person must be one whose talent is whole while De does not take visible form (cai quan er de bu xing).

Duke Ai Asks What “Talent Whole” Means

Duke Ai asked: What is meant by talent whole?

Zhongni (Confucius as voiced by Zhuangzi) said: … (here the text repeats the earlier point—still referring to Ai Taituo’s being trusted before speaking, intimate without achievement, and causing others to cede the state while fearing he would not accept.)

Duke Ai asked again: What is meant by talent whole?

Zhongni’s Answer: Talent Whole and Ming (Fate/Decree)

Zhongni said: Life and death, survival and loss, poverty and success, wealth and poverty, worthiness and unworthiness, praise and blame, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—all are changes of things and the circulation of Tianming (Mandate of Heaven/destiny) (Cheng Xuanying: discussing together the transformations of things and the running course of Tianming). The alternation of day and night unfolds before the eyes, yet wisdom cannot trace where any of it begins (Xuan Ying: though there be the wise, they still cannot interrogate the starting point). Therefore these outer conditions are not enough to upset inner harmony, and must not disturb the storehouse of spirit (ling fu—the chamber of the spirit; Guo Xiang: ling fu is the domain of spirit; Xuan Ying: for this very reason one should let things be naturally, neither sliding (disrupting) Heaven’s harmony (tian he) nor agitating the ling fu).

Harmonious Ease and “Being Spring with Things”

One should let harmonious ease (he yu) flow freely without losing joyful nature (Li Shan: dui is joy; xi is gap/opening). So that day and night know no break, one dwells in spring-like harmony together with the ten thousand things (Xuan Ying: harmonious ease circulates, joy is not lost, day and night without gap, wherever things are, roaming together in spring harmony). This is meeting outer things and in the heart giving rise to timely, adaptive vitality: qi flows without losing ease and joy, day and night without interruption, roaming with things in spring harmony, on the mind’s summit receiving the ten thousand things and producing responses suited to the season.

Vernacular Interpretation

Xuan (here referring to a certain teacher of the Way) said: “The four seasons are not something set apart from Heaven and Earth; the spring in my heart never breaks off—it is the seasons arising one after another within the mind.” This is what is meant by “complete endowment” (cai quan).

Asked again: “What is meant by ‘De that does not take outward form’?” The answer: “Ping (levelness) is the state when water has gathered and stilled to the full.” Guo Xiang commented: “In the world, nothing is more fully level than still water.” It can serve as a norm. Guo Xiang also said: “Without partiality, yet reaching ultimate levelness—therefore the world takes it as the standard.” Keep that levelness within, and outwardly you are not stirred by things. To be stirred is to be shaken. Keep clarity within, and outwardly you are not moved by things.

De is what comes from cultivating “harmony” (he). Xuan Ying said: “Only when one has fully cultivated the Way of supreme harmony (tai he) is it called De.” “De that does not take form” means things cannot leave it, and cannot leave you either. When one’s De runs deep, others naturally wish to stay close.

One day Duke Ai told this to Minzi (Min Ziqian), saying: “At first, when I faced south as ruler and governed the realm, holding the reins of the people’s lives, I also feared their death.” Cheng Xuanying said: “Holding the threads of order, worrying for the myriad people—in every aspect of food and teaching—fearing they would die young.” I thought I had already reached the utmost. Now, having heard the words of the zhi ren (perfected person)—Xuan Ying said: “That is, what Confucius said about Ai Taituo”—I fear my name and reality do not match, that I lightly wear myself out and ruin the state. Confucius and I are not lord and minister; we are simply friends who meet through the Dao.”

Someone named Yuan Zhi Liewu Shun—a name that describes his body (yuan means bent or curved: legs drawn up, walking on tiptoes; zhi originally meant “lips,” but here suggests a body split and misshapen, hunchbacked and crippled, without proper lips)—went to advise Duke Ling of Wei. The duke took a strong liking to him. When Duke Ling looked again at people who were whole and sound, he found their necks (dou) oddly narrow and puny (jianjian). Commentator Li Zhen cites the Kaogong ji (Artificers’ Record) on “counting e and dou,” taking e as a long-necked look, close in sense to “jianjian,” and suggesting jian may be an abbreviated form of e. The point: once the ruler treats deformity as beautiful, ordinary people’s necks look scrawny and inadequate by comparison.

Another man, Weng Da Ying (ying is a wen, a swelling or goiter; weng suggests a huge wen on the neck like a jar), went to advise Duke Huan of Qi. Duke Huan admired him too; when he looked at the sound-bodied, their necks again seemed jianjian—thin and small.

The two episodes say the same thing: if a ruler is charmed by the extraordinary in person and appearance and takes that as the standard, the whole person looks lacking everywhere. This is a Zhuangzi-style fable mocking the taste for grotesque novelty in beauty and in choosing ministers; shuo here is read yue, meaning to delight in or esteem someone.

Therefore, each kind of virtue has what it excels at, while attachment to the physical form ought to be released—this is the general point. When someone forgets what should be forgotten and holds on to what should not be forgotten, that is called “true forgetfulness” (zhen wang): one should forget fixation on the body, but not forget the root of virtue (de); only when one reverses the usual mistake does one truly forget.

Thus the sage has something in which he “wanders”—he wanders in the emptiness and stillness of the heart. He treats cleverness as a baleful growth: when wisdom stirs recklessly, it only sprouts side issues and trouble. He treats ritual and law as glue: when ritual and trust are used to bind people, they stick together and cannot easily part. He treats broad displays of virtue as a way to win connections—using moral conduct to draw people into exchange. He treats craft and skill as commerce—using technique to nurture things and to conduct trade.

The sage does not scheme—why use cleverness? With nothing sought in the heart, there is no need for artifice. He does not carve and polish—why use ritual and law as glue? Nature need not be ornamented; why constrain it? He has nothing originally to lose—why use virtue to summon others? “De” means “to obtain”; when there is nothing to lose in the first place, why recruit people through virtue? He does not prize goods and profit—why engage in trade? There is no need for commerce.

Cleverness, constraint, virtue, and craft—these four are what Heaven uses to nourish people; what is called “Heaven’s nourishment” (tian yu) is precisely Heaven’s provision for human life. Since one is fed by Heaven, why mix in human contrivance? To have human form but no human sentiment is to cut off vulgar emotion. With human form, one lives among others (heguang tongchen—harmonizing with the crowd while dimming one’s light); without human sentiment, right and wrong do not lodge in the person— the roots of dispute are severed.

How small is the part that belongs to “being human”! How vast is what alone merges with Heaven! Huizi asked Zhuangzi: “Can a person really be without sentiment?” Zhuangzi replied (the text continues with “Therefore it is said,” and so on): Zhuangzi answers with “having human form but no human sentiment”—the form remains in the crowd, while sentiment accords with Heaven; the small belongs to humanity, the great completes itself with Heaven alone.

Selection from Zhuangzi, “The Great and Venerable Teacher”: Huizi and Zhuangzi on “No Sentiment”

Huizi asked, “If a person has no sentiment (qing), can they still be called a person?”

Zhuangzi replied, “The Dao (the Way) gives them their appearance, and Heaven gives them their form—how could they not be called a person?” (The phrase “the Dao gives appearance” means that the empty, pervading Dao shows up as human form; the order of nature does not treat bodily shape as the whole of what a person is.)

Huizi pressed on: “If they are called a person, how can they be without sentiment?”

Zhuangzi said, “The ‘sentiment’ you mean is not what I mean.” (Huizi had already taken qing as ordinary desire and likes and dislikes—that is where the talk goes wrong.) “What I call ‘no sentiment’ (wu qing) is that one should not use likes and dislikes to harm oneself from within, but should constantly follow what is natural, and not use human contrivance to ‘nourish life’ (yi sheng)—that is, not to add extra boosts or ‘pull up seedlings’ to hurry life along.” (The way life is given from the start does not depend on people adding to it by artifice.)

Huizi asked, “If one does not nourish life, how can there be this body at all?”

Zhuangzi answered, “The Dao gives appearance, Heaven gives form; do not use likes and dislikes to harm the body from within—having a body is simply this. As for you, you spend spirit-consciousness (shen shi) outward and wear down vital essence (jing qi) inward: when you walk, you lean on a tree and chant; when you sit, you doze against a withered paulownia desk.” (Huizi scatters spirit-consciousness outside and exhausts essence-spirit, so in walking he leans on a tree to recite, in sitting he talks leaning on a desk—body weary, mind tired, sleeping from sheer fatigue.)

“Heaven has already chosen and granted you this bodily frame (xuan here can be read like the ‘choose and give to the son’ in the Mencius). Yet you trumpet ‘hard and white’ (jian bai) arguments under heaven—you make yourself heard in this way; how is that different from Gongsun Long’s debate over hard and white? It is exactly the end described in ‘Discourse on Evening Things Out’ (Qi Wu Lun): ‘to finish in the obscurity of hard and white.’” (See the related commentary in the earlier chapter.)

This chapter says that people still take it as their model—xiao means to emulate and take something as teacher—and also says “My teacher! My teacher!” treating the Dao as teacher. Zong means what is sovereign and fundamental.

To grasp what “Heaven does” and what “the human does” is to reach the utmost. Knowing what Heaven does means that the myriad things are born of nature itself, and one should follow nature in acting. Knowing what the human does means using what one already knows to nurture what one does not yet know, thereby completing one’s allotted years without dying before the Dao runs its course—this is applying zhi (wisdom) to the extreme. (Here zhi is read like zhi [intelligence].) Without forcing cleverness, wisdom can be preserved. Guo Xiang said: knowing what the human does means each person has limits to their role, so one entrusts things to their nature and does not force; knowing what one can know has a boundary, so one uses it without dissipation. Thus one does not trap oneself with boundless knowing.

Even so, there is still hidden danger. Cheng Xuanying said: though knowing may be splendid, it still brings trouble and burden—better to forget knowing and rely solely on nature. Knowing must wait on outer circumstances before one can speak of “fitting or not”; the circumstances waited upon are inherently unsettled. Cheng Xuanying said: knowing must face circumstances; without circumstances it cannot be “fitting”; since circumstances arise and perish without fixity, knowing also shifts and abandons with circumstances in flux. Only when both circumstances and knowing are forgotten is there no trouble.

And how can we be sure that what I call Heaven is not human, or human is not Heaven? Cheng Xuanying said: the exercise of knowing is nothing but the natural; thus the principle of Heaven and human is originally not two—we may say Heaven is human and human is Heaven. Here wu is Zhuangzi speaking of himself. This is blending Heaven and human and merging things with self. First there is the zhenren (true person), then there is true knowing. Guo Xiang said: when there is a true person, the world’s knowing each attains its truth without disorder.

What is a true person? The true persons of old: they did not despise fewness, did not resist being few and small (empty-minded, entrusting themselves to things); they did not vaunt success; they did not use stratagems to win followers (through emptiness and stillness people came of themselves—not through scheming). Thus they did not regret the past—what fit the moment they did; what passed was past.

Cheng Xuanying (a Tang dynasty Daoist and commentator on the Zhuangzi) remarks: When the mental state is empty, still, peaceful, and even, the multitude naturally attaches to one; this is not brought about by scheming. In this way, having made a mistake, one does not regret it, and when handling matters aptly, one is not self-satisfied. Cheng Xuanying also says: When the heavenly timing has passed, one has no heart of regret or stinginess; when the allotted destiny fixed by one’s share happens to coincide, one does not regard self-satisfaction as a fine thing. Such a person climbs high without fear, enters water without getting wet, enters fire without feeling heat. This is so only because his wisdom can ascend and attain to the Dao (“Dengjia” means “to ascend and attain”). Calamity, danger, life, and death do not weigh on his mind; that he can ascend to the Dao is not the kind of knowledge known by the ordinary world.

The Zhenren (True Person, the Daoist ideal of one united with the Dao) of antiquity sleeps without dreaming (Cheng Xuanying says: he cuts off thought and deliberation, and so his sleep is quiet and bland), wakes without anxiety (Guo Xiang, a Western Jin xuanxue thinker, says: he is at peace wherever he lodges), eats and drinks without finding them sweet (Cheng Xuanying says: he does not sink into flavors), and breathes deeply (Li Yun, an old commentator, says: this is the appearance of internal breath). The True Person’s breath reaches down to his heels (Cheng Xuanying says: the heel is the root of the foot; Xuan Ying, a Qing dynasty commentator on the Zhuangzi, says: the breath penetrates to the Yongquan [Bubbling Spring] acupoint on the sole of the foot), while ordinary people’s breath reaches only to the throat (Xuan Ying says: it stops between the throat and the epiglottis). When someone has been refuted and submits, his words are swallowed and spat in the throat, as if he is about to vomit (“ai” refers to the throat; when sound has not yet emerged it is ai, and once it has emerged it is speech; in the moment of swallowing and spitting it is as if about to retch—describing how an uncultivated person looks when his arguments are defeated by others). Those whose cravings and desires are deep and heavy have a shallow and dull natural spiritual mechanism (when desires are deep and heavy, the mechanism and spirit are shallow and dull).

The Zhenren of antiquity does not regard life as joy or death as loathing (Guo Xiang says: he is of one body with the transforming power of creation); he does not rejoice at being born and does not resist entering death (the Jingdian Shiwen, Explanation of Classics and Texts, notes that the received “ju” was originally the graph meaning “to resist”; Li Yun says: to rejoice at birth is to scheme for life, and to resist death is to loathe death). He goes unfettered and comes unfettered, that is all (Cheng Xuanying says: “xiaoran” is the appearance of having no ties). He does not forget the source of life, nor does he force the destination of death (Xuan Ying says: he knows the source of life and lets death take its destination). The True Person receives whatever he encounters and joy arises in his heart.

Once a person is born, they can always remain self-sufficient. Forget death and return again to nature (Heaven)—this is called not using private intent to turn away from the Dao, and not using human effort to “help” Heaven. Such a person is called a True Person (Zhenren)—one who is united with the Dao and does not rely on artificial contrivance.

What is a True Person like? In the heart there is no deliberate scheming (“no contrived thought”); the expression is quiet (“Wuwei, non-action”); the forehead looks plain and unadorned. Toward things, at times like autumn qi in its austerity, at times like spring qi in its warmth—killing is not for showing power, and nurturing life is not for deliberately performing benevolence. Joy and anger rise with events, as naturally as the seasons turn; with the ten thousand things each finds its fit, yet no one can fathom his depths.

Therefore when the sage uses the army, he can destroy an enemy state without losing the people’s hearts (Cui’s note: destroy the enemy state while hearts still turn toward oneself). He extends benefit and grace to the ten thousand things, not in order to display “loving others.” He follows benevolence and righteousness in action, rather than putting on the appearance of “practicing benevolence and righteousness.”

Hence: to take delight in penetrating all things is not to be a sage (the sage does not seek to penetrate things; when things’ situations open by themselves, that is the sage); to have partial closeness and distance is not to be ultimate benevolence (ultimate benevolence is without private partiality); to move only when the moment is right and to reckon success and failure is not to be a true worthy; to see profit and harm without seeing them through and only to chase or avoid is not to be a gentleman; to act solely for reputation and lose one’s original nature is not to be one who possesses the Dao; to abandon the body yet not guard the true is not to be one who can command external things.

Cheng Xuanying explains: these people merely gave up their lives without guarding their innate true nature (zhenxing); driven by worldly affairs, they could not turn back and master circumstances instead.

Hu Buxie (Cheng Xuanying): surname Hu, courtesy name Buxie, a worthy man in Yao’s time who refused Yao’s offer of the realm and drowned himself in a river.

Wuguang (Cheng Xuanying): a man of the Xia dynasty who took drugs to nourish life and loved playing the zither. When Cheng Tang tried to yield the realm to him, he refused, shouldered a stone, and sank into the Lu River.

Bo Yi and Shu Qi: hermits at the transition from Shang to Zhou who starved to death rather than eat Zhou grain (listed here with the other fame-martyrs without separate note).

Jizi and Xuyu (Sima Biao): Xuyu was Jizi’s name. The Shizi says Jizi Xuyu smeared his body with lacquer to feign a foul disease and let his hair hang loose to play the madman.

Jita (Cheng Xuanying): a recluse in Cheng Tang’s time. Hearing that Cheng Tang would yield the realm to Wuguang, he feared being drawn into the same situation, took his disciples, and drowned in the Kuanshui. Shentu Di (Shiwen: a man of the Yin period who embraced a stone and sank himself in a river), on hearing this, also cast himself into the river with a stone.

All of these people were working for others and matching others’ ways; none returned to a state of being at ease in what they originally were. Guo Xiang says they all abandoned themselves to imitate others and followed external things to harm themselves. Cheng Xuanying says: being ordered about and pleasing others—what good does that do for true nature?

The ancient True Person (zhenren)—regarding bodily form, lofty and grand without collapsing: here commentators disagree. Guo Xiang takes it as being suitably aligned with things yet not forming factions. Yu Yue holds Guo’s reading wrong: the line is about appearance, not virtue—“yi” should be read as “e” (towering), and “peng” as “beng” (to collapse). The Yijing’s “peng lai wu jiu” (no blame when companions come) appears in the Hanshu Wuxing zhi citation as “beng lai wu jiu”—thus “yi er bu peng” means the figure’s aspect is majestically tall and will not topple or break apart.

This passage explains a set of parallel lines in the Zhuangzi that depict the bearing of the perfected person (zhiren) and the sage, along with how commentators across the ages have understood those phrases.

“Like one who is insufficient yet does not defer upward”

Commentator Xuan Ying says this portrays a person who keeps humble and self-restrained (cultivating and holding oneself in check)—not someone who deliberately places themselves below others or puts on an air of inferiority.

“Easy and at ease, like a gourd vessel yet not rigid”

Gu originally names an angular wine vessel; commentators diverge here:

• The Wang Bi line reads it as standing apart without blending in;
• Cui Zhuan takes it as having sharp corners;
• Li Zhen holds that gu is a loan for gu (solitary, alone), citing the Shidi passage where guzhu also appears as guzhu (Gu Zhu).
• Li Zhen also argues that yu in the line should be a loan for an (to go at ease, to move comfortably).
• Per the editorial note: “not rigid” (bu jian) does not mean lacking strength; it means not stubborn or obstinate.

“Open and expansive, like emptiness yet not showy”

Cheng Xuanying says zhang suggests breadth and opening outward. Per the note: the mind is spaciously clear and empty, without flashiness or empty display.

“Bright and bright—almost as if pleased!”

Xiang Xiu: bingbing is the look of joy.

Guo Xiang: the perfected person has no contrived joy within; there is only harmonious ease, so the face seems to show delight.

“Urgent—as if compelled!”

Xiang Xiu: cuicu is the look of movement.

Cheng Xuanying: one moves only when pressed by circumstances—not taking the lead in speech or action—hence acting only when there is no alternative.

“Gathering—advancing my complexion”

Emperor Jianwen’s gloss: chu means gathering.

Xuan Ying: when water pools it gains luster; the image is a harmonious, moist countenance that draws others near.

“At ease—resting my virtue”

Yu here carries the sense of drawing near, joining with.

Xuan Ying: easy, unhurried virtue that makes people want to turn toward and rely on that person.

“Stern—as if vast in the world!”

Cui Zhuan’s text wrote li as guang (broad); that reading is preferable.

Yu Yue: shi should be a loan for tai (great peace, ease), matching the sense of guang.

Guo Qingfan: li and guang were interchangeable in antiquity; tai has the sense of greatness, and shi and da were also used interchangeably in old usage. The overall picture is one of vast, settled ease.

“Lofty—yet not to be controlled!”

Cheng Xuanying: loftily remote, beyond the dust of the world—not something the mundane can bind or regulate.

“Lian lian, as if fond of staying tightly closed”

The appearance of “lian lian” is like something that has long been shut tight.

Li Yi says: “Lian” means extended, unbroken continuity.

Guo Xiang says: Deep and remote—you cannot see where its gate or path lies.

Cheng Xuanying says: Like a closed door in stillness; from outside you neither hear nor see movement within.

(Here “hao” is read in the departing tone, meaning a tendency or preference for that closed state.)

“Man man, as if forgetting what was said”

The manner of “man man” is as if one has forgotten words once spoken. (“Man” is related by fanqie to the character for “forget”; it carries the sense of no deliberate mind, of letting go.)

Cheng Xuanying says: What precedes describes the True Person’s virtue; what follows explains how the True Person governs and benefits things.

“Take punishment as the body, ritual as the wings, knowledge as timeliness, and virtue as the path one follows.”

• Take punishment as the body: Treat xing (punishment and law) as the root of governing the realm—but not as something “I” invent subjectively.
• Take ritual as the wings: Treat li (ritual) as auxiliary wings—ritual is the order by which the world runs on its own, not something “I” forcibly manufacture.
• Take knowledge as timeliness: Treat zhi (knowing/wisdom) as a tool for the right moment—knowing is a response that fits the times, not a solo performance by “I.”
• Take virtue as the path: Treat de (Virtue/Power) as the track one follows—de flows naturally from that side; it is not something “I” contrive.

“One who takes punishment as the body relaxes into the punitive effect itself”

When punishment is the body, one gives ample room for penal force to work by its own nature—the “cutting down” of rule belongs to punishment itself, so even when punishment is applied it seems lenient. Guo Xiang says: Let the governing body’s punitive function operate on its own, so though there is “killing,” it feels broad and mild.

“One who takes ritual as the wings does so in order to move through the world”

Ritual as wings means going along with the world; by following the ritual people already practice, nothing fails to get through.

“One who takes knowledge as timeliness deploys knowing only when affairs leave no choice”

Knowledge as timeliness means bringing out wisdom toward external matters only when unavoidable; knowing serves the moment—you act on worldly affairs only when you must, and then you hand things over as fits the case.

“One who takes virtue as the path means that wherever there is de, those with feet can reach the hill—and I merely follow”

Virtue as the path means: where de is, anyone with feet can arrive at the mound (qiu); I only walk along with them. It is like a hill standing there—people with feet can all climb it; I climb together with others, not by setting up a separate system or showing off something new.

A note adds: It is not deliberate “going”—one naturally arrives, hence “together with those who have feet, one reaches (the hill).”

Yet people in the world really believe he got there only by bitter effort and deliberate striving.

Some (Guo Xiang) say: Ordinary people look at the “True Person” (zhenren) and think he is tireless in cultivation, but they do not realize that the True Person does not take “self” seriously even in the smallest matters. Thus liking and disliking both settle into sameness for him. Cheng Xuanying explains: He neither fusses over beauty and ugliness nor is dragged about by love and hate—preference and aversion belong to ordinary feeling; sage wisdom is empty and penetrating, and is never not one.

“That oneness” is one, and “that not-oneness” is also one. The Cheng commentary says: “Its oneness” refers to sage wisdom, “its not-oneness” to ordinary feeling; the ordinary and the sage were never two, so “not-oneness” too is gathered within “oneness.” The side that walks with the Way of Heaven and the side that walks among humans—Heaven and human do not overpower each other; this is what is called the True Person. The Cheng commentary also stresses: In Heaven there is originally no you-and-me, yet among humans there is right and wrong; once that is seen through, all returns to empty stillness. If one says Heaven wins and humans lose, how can that still be called equalizing? Here again is the blending of Heaven and human and the merging of victory and defeat; one who can embody this meaning may be called a True Person.

Life and death are fate, like night and day—part of Heaven’s constant Way. What people cannot force belongs to each thing’s own disposition. Life and death, like night and dawn, are ordained by fate and cannot be swapped at will by human power; such “dispositions of things” are truly not worth clinging to. People already take Heaven as father and still cherish themselves—how much more what stands utterly beyond the common run! People already deem a ruler more important than themselves and still die loyally for the body—how much more what genuinely belongs to the “true”!

When the spring dries up, fish stranded on land huddle together, moistening one another with dampness and wetting one another with spittle—nothing like returning to the water and forgetting each other there.

How much more so for what is “true”! If the body itself knows to cherish the lord, how much more should those whose bond with the lord is genuinely close!

When springs run dry, fish are stranded on dry land and keep each other alive by sharing damp and spitting on one another. That strained mutual dependence is not as good as each returning to the rivers and lakes, leaving one another in peace and letting each go its own way. (The image warns against clinging to life out of fear and dragging one another down; better to follow nature and “forget” one another in freedom.)

Rather than praising Yao and condemning Jie, it is better to let go of both sides of right and wrong and dissolve into the Dao. Commentators say the word Dao here is used in a lighter sense—the way of dispute over right and wrong: rather than getting stuck in honoring Yao and rejecting Jie, forget both; rather than craving life and hating death, forget those entanglements as well. (A similar line appears in the “Outer Things” chapter, where the wording runs “shut up what you praise.”)

The Great Clod (heaven and earth, the maker and transformer) gives me a body, uses being alive to wear me with toil, uses growing old to grant me ease, and uses death to give me rest. Thus the way to treat my life well is also the way to treat my death well. Commentators say: fully yielding to nature is living well; then death is not bitter either.

The “Heaven’s Gifts” chapter of Liezi likewise says: people often know the joys of life but not its labors; they know the weariness of old age but not its leisure; they know death as hateful but not its repose.

Hide a boat in a valley and a mountain in a marsh and it seems secure—yet in the middle of the night a powerful agent may carry them off while the dull-witted still do not know. A boat can be moved; a mountain can be shifted. Commentators say: transformation works in the dark; what was hidden is still thought to lie where it was. Things hidden, large or small, each have a fitting place, yet loss and change still occur; if one “hides the world” by returning it to the world itself, nothing can flee—that is the great constant truth of the ten thousand things. Hiding has its proper scale for each thing, but nothing is exempt from change; commentators add: fleeing arises from attachment to “hiding”; if one sees that the principle of the world is not private property and hands the world back to the world, then though principle may be subtle and each thing finds its fit, still nothing escapes change.

Xuan’s explanation: To take dun (withdrawal, hiding away) as “hiding too thoroughly”—once you see that the world’s principles are not anyone’s private property but belong to the world, that truth is with you everywhere; where is there left to “withdraw”? That is how things really are.

Editor’s note: “The great constant disposition of things” (heng wu zhi da qing) is the truth all enduring things share. Getting a human body, people are glad; yet human form in endless change never runs out, so joy from it cannot be counted. “Fan” aligns with fan (scope, transgression): seeing others get human form and being glad—if birth goes on without end, who would not be glad for their own body? So the sage roams where the ten thousand things “nowhere escape,” and stays with them. Xuan says: the sage wholly joins creation and change; the body is born and dies, but this principle already moves with Heaven and Earth—hence “all are preserved.”

To honor the short-lived and the long-lived, the start and the finish—people still take that as a model; how much more the Dao, which the ten thousand things depend on and each transformation rests on! Commentary: “Yao” is also written yao (early death). Cheng says: not fussing over long or short life, youth or age; though one may not forget birth and death, having no dislike is enough to be a teacher for things—people can follow that. How much more to blend with the ten thousand things and merge with each change as the pattern of things—is that not right?

The Dao has disposition (qing) and trustworthiness (xin), is wuwei (non-action) and formless. Xuan says: qing is movement in stillness; xin is what confirms movement. Cheng says: quiet emptiness and solitude is wuwei; you look but do not see—formless. It can be handed on but not possessed—Guo says: it is passed down through the ages and kept in the world, yet no one can own it alone. It can be attained but not seen—Cheng says: in the heart alone one can attain it; apart from form and color it cannot be seen.

Beyond form and color, and therefore not visible to the eye

Cheng Xuanying explains: Dao transcends shape and hue, so it cannot be seen with the eyes.

Self-rooted from the beginning

Xuan Ye says: Dao is the root of the myriad things; nothing is more fundamental than Dao, which is why the text says it is “self-rooted from the beginning.”

Before heaven and earth existed, it was firmly there from antiquity

Cheng Xuanying follows Laozi’s “There was something confusedly complete, born before heaven and earth”: before heaven and earth took shape, Dao was already there, unchanged since ancient times.

The spirit of ghost and god, and of the Emperor

The figures named below include Kanhui and Pingyi on the side of “ghosts,” and Xiwei and Fuxi on the side of “Emperors”; the wonder each embodies can be read as a different level at which the wonder of Dao shows itself.

It gives birth to heaven and gives birth to earth

Cheng Xuanying again cites Laozi—“When heaven obtains the One it becomes clear; when earth obtains the One it becomes still”: Dao enables heaven to be clear and earth to be settled—that is, it generates heaven and earth.

It is before the Supreme Ultimate yet does not count itself as high; below the six extremes yet does not count itself as deep

Before yin and yang were distinguished, that state is called Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate); the four directions plus above and below together are the six extremes (liuhe, the six directions). Cheng Xuanying says: Dao is prior to the formation of Taiji, yet does not pride itself on being lofty; it is beneath the six directions, yet does not pride itself on being deep—it does not raise or lower itself because of “position.”

It is born before heaven and earth yet does not treat itself as long-lived; it is older than high antiquity yet does not treat itself as aged

Dao is prior to heaven and earth, yet does not take itself to “have lasted long”; it is more ancient than high antiquity, yet does not take itself to be “old”—stressing that it is beyond measures of time and duration.

Xiwei obtained it and thereby embraced heaven and earth

Xiwei (also written Shiwei) is a legendary ancient ruler. Cheng Xuanying notes that “qie” (to grasp, to hold together) is also written as “qi” (to fit, to tally): having obtained Dao, one can merge the myriad things and align with, and hold together, the two poles of heaven and earth.

Fuxi obtained it and thereby took up the mother of qi

“Xi” means to join or continue; “qi mu” is the root of primordial qi. Because Fuxi attained the utmost Dao, he could draw the eight trigrams, develop the six lines, regulate yin and yang, and align with the root of vital energy.

Weidou obtained it and from beginning to end was never in error

The stars of the Northern Dipper take it as their axis, hence the name Weidou (lit. “the Dipper as warp/cord”). Having obtained the utmost Dao, it can sustain the movement of heaven and earth through all cycles without deviation (“te” means error or slip).

Sun and moon obtained it and from beginning to end never cease

Sun and moon obtain Dao, so day and night turn, light shines, and from antiquity to the present they never stop.

Kanhui obtained it

Kanhui (a mountain spirit in tradition, associated with tales of contending with Gong Gong and striking Mount Buzhou) also obtained Dao—here the scripture only names him; the collected commentary does not yet spell out his particular role in this passage.

Those who obtain the supreme Dao can sustain heaven and earth, so that from beginning to end their turning never goes awry.

The sun and moon obtained the supreme Dao, and so from ancient times to the present their shining has never ceased. The spirit named Kanhuai (one reading gives “Cuihuai”; the Huainanzi has “Qinfu”) obtained the supreme Dao and was able to enter Kunlun (Kunlun is the name of the mountain spirit; xi here means to enter). Feng Yi obtained the supreme Dao and was able to roam in the great river. According to the Qingling Zhuan, Feng Yi was a man of Dikou in Tong Township, Huayin; he took the Eight-Stone Powder and became a water immortal—that is, the River Lord (He Bo). Another account says he drowned on the gengzi day of the eighth month while bathing in the river. Jian Wu obtained the supreme Dao and was able to dwell long in the great mountains. Sima Biao says he was a mountain spirit who did not die and was still alive in Confucius’s time.