《庄子集释》Vol. 5

What is meant by “what life has no need to make use of” is that some things in life need not be pursued or “done” in the first place. One who truly understands ming (fate/destiny) does not obsess over what fate never granted and over which one is helpless—one simply follows nature to the end.

(Commentary) Here yu means “together, jointly.” Human form walks on two feet together—that is what creation bestows. From this one sees: that one of my feet should suffer such impairment is likewise nothing but tianming (Heaven’s decree). Understand that success and failure, smooth and blocked times, foolishness and wisdom, wholeness and loss—all lie in hidden dingshu (fixed allotment); they cannot be altered by cleverness or clumsiness. Only one who reaches this principle has truly preserved life.

(Textual note) In one place “suo wu” is emended to “suo yi” following the Daozang Chu Boxiu edition.

“The marsh pheasant pecks every ten steps and drinks every hundred; it does not ask to be kept in a cage. Even if its shen (spirit) seems kingly there, that is not good for it.”

(Annotation) Qi means to seek or pursue; fan is the cage for wild fowl. The pheasant in the marsh pecks once every ten paces and drinks once every hundred—it will not seek to be shut in a cage and fed. Even if its shenqi (spirit-vigor) flourishes mightily in the cage, for the bird that is still not good.

(Commentary) The marsh pheasant follows its wild nature, eating and drinking as it will, free and at ease—why would it enter a cage to be fed? It is like the person who nourishes life: quietly withdrawn, content only with woods and springs—why envy glory and rank? Another reading: ze (marsh) resembles the pheasant but is not the same—the ze bird has a long tail, the pheasant a short one; the line speaks of birds like marsh-fowl and pheasant.

(Pronunciation) Zhuo (peck): she-jiao fan. Qi: qi sound, to seek. Fan zhong: fan sound; Li Yun said it is fan (enclosure) for caging pheasants—Xiang and Guo agree; Cui said it is the garden enclosure.

(Annotation continued) One who was in shi (fitness/ease) from the start and never knew unfitness has forgotten what “being at ease” means. The pheasant’s mind stays vigorous for long, its will full and settled—yet it releases itself in open wilds and suddenly does not feel it is “doing good” or “acting virtuously.”

Plain-language summary

This passage from the Zhuangzi teaches accepting fate and preserving life: do not busily chase what fate never gave you; whether the body is whole or impaired is all ming—the enlightened do not force outcomes. The marsh pheasant is the image: in the wild, peck every ten steps, drink every hundred; it does not ask to be caged. Even if spirit seems “kingly” in the cage, for the pheasant that is not good. Those who nourish life should be like the wild bird—follow nature and roam freely, not envy the cage’s feeding. Those who always dwell in shi forget they are “being at ease”—that is the Zhuangzi’s naturalness and true good.

Commentary: The pheasant feels “at ease” because it has forgotten what “being at ease” means. Living in mountains and marshes, its spirit settled and its vital energy full, it stays freely in open country—and in that moment it does not suddenly think that only when things feel “good” are they “good.”

Commentary: The pheasant dwells in hills and wetlands; drinking and pecking follow its own mind. Its spirit is at ease and its qi is full. In that state it does not suddenly feel that only when something is “good” is it “good.” Once it is shut in a cage, its temperament no longer fits, and only then does it look back on its former life and find it wonderfully free. Birds are like this; people should grasp the point too: the lesson is that the most comfortable state is when you forget comfort, and the highest good is when you forget goodness.

Gloss on the text: In the phrase “although king,” “king” is read as in the fanqie spelling kuang; the gloss is the same elsewhere. In “long king,” “king” is read ding liang fan, also zhi liang fan.

Textual note: (1) The two characters rendered as “it as” follow the Shide Hall edition.

Laozi died. A man named Qin Shi came to offer condolences, wailed three times, and left.

Annotation: Others mourned, so he mourned; others wailed, so he wailed.

Commentary: Lord Lao is Laozi—surname Li, given name Er, style Bo Yang, also styled Lao Dan—a great sage. Tradition says he was born in Kuxian in Chen, left the Zhou realm in the time of King Ping, crossed the western sands, and went as far as Jibin. In inner and outer scriptures of every sort there is no record of his “death”; only here is he said to have died, to show that the principle of life and death is one substance and that the way of ordinary people and sages is fundamentally the same. This is probably Zhuangzi’s allegorical device. Laozi is the patriarch of the Dao and the root of heaven and earth and the myriad things—how could he have life and death? So “the sage too dies” is used to speak about the principle of life and death. Laozi’s birth, teaching, and ascent are recorded in various classics; they are not rehearsed here. Qin Shi, surname Qin, given name Shi, is a man who cherished the Dao; his homeland is unknown. If one comes to mourn only after someone has died, why must one wail three times? Outwardly he was like other people, but when the business was done he departed.

What the notes say:

“La Dan” is Laozi (Lao Dan). In some editions “Qin Shi” is written with a character homophonous with “yi” (often given as “lost” or “Yi” in variant readings). In “san hao,” “hao” is read in the falling tone and means wailing aloud.

A disciple asked Qin Shi:

“Was he not the Master’s friend?”

(Note: The disciple is puzzled—if they were close companions beyond the ordinary world, why not stand at the door and watch the transformation of the body, as is usual, instead of wailing like this?)

Qin Shi answered:

“Yes.”

The disciple asked again:

“If he was a friend, is it fitting to mourn him like this?”

Qin Shi said:

“It is fitting. At first I thought he was someone who had truly attained the Way; now I see he had not. When I went in to offer condolences, I saw the elders weeping for him as for their own sons, and the young weeping as for their own mothers. Among those gathered, there were surely people who had not meant to speak yet spoke, and had not meant to cry yet wept.”

“That goes against Heaven’s order and doubles human feeling—it forgets the portion each receives from Heaven and Earth. The ancients called this ‘the penalty of turning away from Heaven’ (dun tian zhi xing).”

“(Laozi) came when it was time to come—that was the turning of the times; he went when it was time to go—that was yielding to the natural. Settle in the timely and rest in what is natural, and neither sorrow nor joy can enter the heart. The ancients called this ‘the Sovereign’s release from suspension’ (di zhi xian jie)—as when one who was hung up is finally unbound and slips free of emotional fixation.”

A few terms in passing:

• Friends beyond the square (fang wai zhi you): companions who meet in the Way, outside ritual propriety and the chase for reputation.
• Leaning on the door to watch transformation (yi hu guan hua): a familiar Zhuangzi motif of calmly observing the body’s change at death—“accepting transformation.”
• Not intending to speak yet speaking, not intending to cry yet crying (bu qi yan er yan, bu qi ku er ku): the heart has no real need to speak or weep, yet outer circumstances pull one into it against one’s will.
• Turning from Heaven and doubling feeling (dun tian bei qing): straying from the pattern of nature and inflating human emotion until it distorts what is true.
• Settling in the timely and abiding in the natural / the Sovereign’s release from suspension (an shi er chu shun / di zhi xian jie): birth and death have their seasons; follow them and you do not cling to joy or grief; the ancients likened “the Sovereign unfastening the suspension” to loosening the rope of obsession about life and death.

Section One

Commentary: The perfected person (zhiren) does not cling with the sticky emotional fixation of the mundane world; they merely weep a few times along with the crowd—and that is acceptable.

Sub-commentary: “Ran” here means “acceptable.” Movement and stillness mirror and unite with each other; inner and outer connect in the dark without obstruction—hence this conduct is acceptable.

Section Two

Sub-commentary: When Qin Shi first entered to offer condolences, he took the mourners for followers who had left the world (fangwai) in pursuit of the Way. Once he saw grief carried to excess, he realized they were not disciples in the lineage of Lord Lao (Laozi).

Section Three

Commentary: Qin Shi faulted them for showing kindness in concrete affairs rather than leading people by principle—and so drew out this excessive emotional attachment.

Sub-commentary: “Qi” means to seek or request; “bi” refers to the crowd. The sage keeps an empty heart in responding to things: when there is a stir, there is a response; he pities the people and cares for the living without waiting to be asked before teaching. Thus when (Laozi) died, the crowd assembled and wailed as if they had lost their parents. That is the fixation of ordinary people, who mistakenly treat birth and death as absolutely real and grieve out of gratitude for the sage’s grace. From this one can tell they were indeed not disciples of Lord Lao.

Phonetic notes: In “the younger ones,” “shao” is read as in the Shijing reverse of “zhao”; in “before things,” “xian” is read xi jian fan, or as the character suggests.

Section Four

Commentary: What inborn nature bestows, each person has his allotted share—nothing can be evaded, and nothing should be added beyond it.

Sub-commentary: “Shi” points at those who mourn at the funeral; “bei” means to add or double. The text is rebuking those who go against innate endowment and pile on conventional emotion, wrongly treating death as something to lament, and thereby forgetting each person’s proper allotment.

(Continuing “When it is time to go, the Master goes in accord…” etc.)

Section Seven: “When (life) is due to depart, one departs—the Master (Laozi) follows what is natural.”

Section Eight: “At ease with the times and dwelling in accord—joy and sorrow cannot enter (the heart).”

Section Nine: “The ancients called this ‘the Di’s suspended release’ (di zhi xuan jie).” Xuan jie is like the loosening of bonds from which one hangs suspended—a figure for release from the fetters of life and death, “unbound” by Di (the natural order): following Heaven and dropping fixation.

On readings and textual variants (explanatory notes)

The character rendered as dun in “dun tian” (turning away from Heaven) was formerly glossed with a sound close to xun (yielding, retiring). For bei qing (“doubled feeling”), some read bei as pei with the sense “to add to”; other manuscripts write bei as bei (“back, contrary”), so pronunciation and wording differ slightly among commentators.

Commentary on section [5]

When one’s contact with things runs too deep and emotional reactions overshoot what is fitting, that is called “turning away from Heaven and doubling one’s feelings” (dun tian, bei qing). If the heart races constantly between sorrow and joy, even before any formal punishment, the nature is already worn out—as if under the lash. How is that not a kind of “punishment”?

Subcommentary

To evade or violate Heaven’s order and to pile extra force on worldly feelings, with sorrow and joy always on the mind and inner distress like being whipped—is that not a “punishment” in its own right? People in antiquity who understood affairs saw it this way.

Commentary on section [6]

When the shi (proper season, right moment) arrives, life arises of itself.

Commentary on section [7]

By principle, when the time to die has come.

Subcommentary

Here fu zi (the Master) means Laojun (Lord Lao, Laozi). Qin Shi laments: Laojun was a great sage who fully penetrated the root source, hence “shi er sheng lai”—he appears when it is time to be born; “xiao ran si qu”—he withdraws calmly when number and principle call him back to true origin.

Commentary on section [8]

Sorrow and joy often spring from a mind caught in “having gained” and “having lost.” One who understands the subtle principle and is one with change has no moment in which they cannot rest in the present, no circumstance in which they cannot abide; merged with creation-and-transformation, everywhere is “self”—what gain, what loss? How distinguish death from life? Then, whatever the situation, sorrow and joy no longer disorder the heart.

Subcommentary

Abiding in the time of living, one does not loathe life; standing in the situation where death is due, one does not hate death. Through myriad changes, there is never a moment that is not “where I am”; wherever one arrives is where one rests—sorrow and joy do not stir the breast. (Later subcommentary repeats the same point, stressing shi qi suo shi—suited to what is suited.)

Explanatory notes (pronunciation)

In tai shen (“great depth”), tai is read near tai (great/peaceful), not da (“big”). In you le (“sorrow and joy”), le is read near luo; the same holds in the following text and notes. In suo cuo (“what is misplaced”), cuo is read by the fanqie sound associated with qi and lu (the traditional spelling-pronunciation hint).

[Nine] Note

A state in which one is still attached and tethered by outer things is called “suspension” (xuan, as if hung up and unable to move freely). When that tether is gone, it is called “release from suspension” (xian jie). Only after such release can the true condition of one’s xing (nature) and ming (life-destiny) appear—this is the crux of yangsheng (nurturing life).

Commentary

Here “Di” (the Sovereign) means Heaven. To be bound by birth and death is “suspension” (xian); not to be bound by birth and death is release from suspension. When birth and death cannot tie you and neither sorrow nor joy can get in, the ancients called that natural release. Laozi, as a great sage, had already merged with the unity of life and death—how could he be someone who only dodged “Heaven’s punishment” (tian zhi xing) and busied himself in sorrow and joy? Cheng Xuanying’s gloss here misses the mark. On his reading, what would “resting in the times and following what is fitting—Di’s release from suspension” even mean? The flow of the passage contradicts itself. Clearly “dodging Heaven’s punishment” (dun tian zhi xing) refers to people sunk in grief, not to Laozi.

Notes on the Received Text

(1) A mistaken quotation is missing in the received text; in the Ruhai edition “qi” appears as “zhi.” (2) The character “dun” follows the Shide Tang edition. (3) In Zhao Jianyi’s edition it reads “zhu” (to abide).

When the Finger Reaches the End of the Kindling, the Fire Passes On—Who Knows That It Never Runs Out?

Note

“Qiong” means “exhausted.” “Wei xin” (serving as fuel) is like the previous stick of kindling used for a torch. When the old stick has burned to where the fingers hold it, the principle of that stick as fuel is spent at the fingertips, yet the fire transfers to fresh kindling and does not die out. When the heart-mind can take in and hold nurturing, ming (life-destiny) continues without break. From this we see: yangsheng is precisely the principle of “how life keeps producing life.”

Commentary (Yishu)

“Qiong” means exhausted, at an end; “xin” means firewood; “wei” in this line means to push forward, to add fuel ahead. The image is someone tending a fire by pushing the sticks forward. Whoever truly grasps how fire burns sees that though the front section of wood is consumed, the next piece is fed in, link after link, so the fire does not die.

The same holds for the art of nurturing life: one who is skilled at preserving vitality transforms with changing circumstances, lets things follow their course, and turns with outer things—so the “old me” and the “new me” succeed one another without clinging or attachment. There is no fixed, unchanging “self”; hence life is like passing a torch, stick after stick, without break.

Textual Notes (Shiwen)

In “zhi qiong yu wei xin,” “wei” is read as in the character itself, with the pause in the line here. “Wei” here has the same sense as “qian” (adding fuel forward). In “huo chuan ye,” “chuan” is read zhuan (direct-special reverse for pronunciation), matching the gloss that speaks of transforming with change, turning with things together… hence continuing without end.

Plain-Language Reading of “When the Finger Reaches the End of Gathering Fuel”

On pronunciation: In wei xin (gathering fuel), wei is read as written. The line zhi qiong yu wei xin should be parsed as one phrase. In huo chuan (fire passing on), chuan is read with the zhi zhuan fan cut—the same as in the commentary.

Chuan means succession from one moment to the next, without break. Cui’s note says: fuel-and-fire means a small torch (jue huo); chuan means to extend and continue.

Yu Yue held that Guo Xiang’s gloss—“wei xin means the previous stick of fuel,” i.e. the finger points at the stick in front and exhausts the meaning of that stick, so the fire passes on and does not die—is unclear. Explaining wei as “previous” is also hard to justify. Guo’s reading misses the mark.

Guangya (Shigu) gives “qu, wei ye”—so wei can mean “to take” or “gather.” “Zhi qiong yu wei xin” should be read as “when the finger, in gathering fuel, reaches its limit”: finger by finger you take sticks to kindle the fire, and the fuel must run out; if you let the fire “pass on” by itself, you may suddenly fail to notice that the fuel is already gone. Guo Xiang got the phrasing right but not the sense.

The Shiwen citation of Cui—“fuel-and-fire is jue huo”—gets even the phrasing wrong.

Jia Shifu said: When the fuel is spent yet the fire still passes on, something that does not perish remains. The coming-and-going qi in the Great Void—people live by it as fuel passes the fire on. What arrives should not be forcibly rejected; what departs should not be forcibly kept; when the fuel is gone, it stops. Yet fuel originally comes from fire; fire passes fire to itself—hence the talk of “never ending.” If you clutch fuel to hunt fire, or clutch fire to hunt “passing on,” how can that match?

In “zhi zhong”, zhong is read ding zhong fan.

(Guo Xiang–style) note: Seasons do not return; this instant does not stand still—so a human life is one breath linked to the next, one moment to the next. The prior inhalation is not this inhalation, so drawing breath nourishes qi and life continues; the prior flame is not the later flame, so adding fresh fuel lets it pass on; fire passes and life continues because nourishment reaches its fullness. How could ordinary people know that after “exhaustion” there is again “renewal”?

In brief: The passage unpacks Zhuangzi’s “when the finger reaches the end of gathering fuel, the fire passes on.” Commentators dispute whether wei xin means “the stick in front” or “gathering fuel,” and how the image of adding fuel to keep the fire alive relates to the continuity of life and *qi. Yu Yue revises the philology; Jia Shifu stresses fire passing of itself without clinging to fuel to seek fire—the ebb and flow of birth, death, and *qi.

Commentary

When one can “cease” (regulate the breath and draw in qi), life can continue in succession. The flame on the former piece of firewood is not the flame on the latter piece—when the wood is changed, the fire is transmitted onward; when fire is transmitted, life continues in succession, because “nourishing” has been carried to its utmost. How could people in the world know that the old self is fully gone and a new self is born again?

Those who are deluded and cling to the sense of “I” are driven by emotional consciousness and hold fast to what they take as fixed. They do not know that the new never stays put and thought after thought flows on—the “I” of yesterday has already ended by today; the “I” of today is what comes into being again afterward. Older commentaries split this chapter into seven lecture sections, which by the flow of the text seems overly fragmented. “Doing good” is now merged into the first section, and “When the finger is exhausted” into the Laojun section, for five sections in all, so readers need not suspect redundancy or grow weary.

Collation: In Zhao Jianyi’s edition, the two characters “fire transmission” (huo chuan) do not appear twice.

Inner Chapters · Human Realm, Chapter Four

Inner Chapters · Human Realm, Chapter Four [1]

[1] [Commentary]

Living among others, one cannot leave the human community. Yet the turns of fortune in the human realm differ from age to age, each with its own fitting response; only one whose heart is without fixation and who does not act from private will can adapt wherever change leads, and need not be crushed by such burdens.

Text notes: Human Realm treats how a person conducts himself in the world—what people commonly do in daily life. Qingfan’s note: [Wenxuan], Pan Yue’s “Rhapsody on Autumn Stirrings,” commentary citing Sima Biao: it explains how to dwell fittingly among people and how to live through chaotic times; those who live with others cannot separate from others. The accidents of the human realm and the times differ in what is appropriate; only the heartless, who do not act from self-will, can follow change wherever it goes—what is there to weigh one down? (The text notes are incomplete.)

“Leave others” (li ren): li, zhi fan.

“Not burdened” (bu he): hu wo fan, also read he.

“The burden” (qi lei): li wei fan.

Yan Hui went to see Zhongni (Confucius) and asked permission to go on a journey [1].

[Commentary] This passage refers to Yan Hui—family name Yan, given name Hui, courtesy name Ziyuan—who was from the state of Lu; among Confucius’s three thousand disciples, he belonged to the group in the “Four Categories” who could enter the inner room (i.e., his closest disciples). Zhongni is Confucius—family name Kong, given name Qiu, courtesy name Zhongni, also from Lu; tradition says he was a descendant of King Tang of Shang and was born when the Zhou house was in decline; he possessed sage virtue and was Yan Hui’s teacher. The lives and deeds of both men are recorded at length in Confucian histories; here the text is explaining Zhuangzi, with emphasis on arcane principle, so those biographical details are not spelled out again. Human affairs are inherently tangled and hard to straighten out; receiving people, handling things, and benefiting others are truly not easy—so the author uses Confucius and Yan Hui to discuss methods of guiding and transforming others, and uses sages to clarify cultivation practices such as xin zhai (heart-fasting). The Confucius and Yan Hui spoken of here are the Confucius and Yan Hui of the Confucian tradition.

[Text with gloss] Yan Hui: a disciple of Confucius—family name Yan, given name Hui, courtesy name Ziyuan, from Lu.

(Dialogue) Confucius asked: “Where are you going?”

[Commentary] Xi means “what”; zhi means “to go, to depart.” He is asking where Yan Hui intends to go.

Yan replied: “I am going to the state of Wei.”

[Commentary] Wei was originally the region of King Zhou of Yin’s capital; it was also the fief of Kang Shu of Zhou, roughly in the area of present-day Jijun and Weizhou in Henan. Here Yan Hui answers Confucius and states his destination.

Confucius asked again: “What will you do there?”

[Commentary] You are going to Wei—what do you plan to do? Confucius presses Yan Hui again on the purpose of the journey.

Yan Hui said: I have heard that the ruler of Wei, though still young, acts on his own judgment and runs affairs in a high-handed way—he does not share weal and woe with the people but each goes a separate path. He deploys the state’s strength rashly yet cannot see his own faults. He sends people to their deaths lightly; the dead are so many it is as if the whole country were poured into a great marsh or piled into scorched earth, and the common people are simply at their wits’ end with nowhere to turn. I once heard the Master say: “When a state is well governed, leave it; when it is in disorder, go to it.” (Like a physician’s door where the sick gather—in a chaotic state there is work to do and your skills can be put to use.) I want to use the principles I have heard from him to think through a course of action, so that perhaps the state of Wei might be improved a little.

(Commentators differ on who “the ruler of Wei” is here: some identify him as Kuaikui, Duke Zhuang, son of Duke Ling of Wei; others, noting that the dates do not fit Yan Hui’s death, point to Duke Chu. “Acting alone” (duxing) means deciding arbitrarily and not sharing the people’s desires. It is also said that when the ruler is angry corpses lie across the land, and when he is pleased rewards fill the roads—national power must not be wielded lightly; the people are the root of the state, and if their strength is spent recklessly, disaster and collapse are not far off.)

Commentary: When a ruler’s authority is so great that he can shut down remonstrance, and his eloquence is enough to paper over faults and dress up wrongdoing, the people live in fear and hold their tongues; even when wrong is plain, they dare not speak up.

Note on [4]: Recklessly driving the people into situations where death is all but certain.

Commentary: With no steady rule in what he does or refrains from doing, yet trusting in his own safety, he lightly spends the lives of the nation and hurls them into deadly ground.

Note on [5]: The people of the whole realm are pushed toward death in numbers beyond counting; in his eyes they are no more than weeds.

Commentary: “Jiao” here means worthless grass. Whether through unending campaigns or crushing levies, the dead pile up; reckoned across the whole country, the toll is more than can be told at once. Such a ruler indulges himself alone, cares nothing for the people, and treats his subjects like reeds in a marsh—mere fodder to be cut down.

Note on [6]: The people have nothing to lean on and nowhere to belong.

Commentary: When the ruler is without the Way and the people hunger and suffer, they are not only used up like mown grass; they also have no refuge and no place to call home.

Commentary: When those in power do not walk the right path, officials and common people sink into famine and distress. They are not only helpless; they have nowhere to flee and nothing to lean on.

Section 7 — Commentary: Shu (hope), ji (to draw near), and chou (to be cured) are glossed here. When the realm is at peace, it stays secure on its own without outside propping; when it falls into chaos, it stands alone in peril, and only then does loyal remonstrance become necessary. Yan Hui (Master Yan) is about to go and transform the state of Wei, so he first repeats what he once heard from Confucius and intends to act by the rule he received, hoping to come close to the good Way (Dao). Just as physicians in general can treat disease, a worthy man like this ought to be able to rescue a crisis; perhaps the rampant debauchery afflicting Wei might still be cured.

Note: The approach he describes is not enough to deliver Wei from its calamity.

Commentary: Xi is an exclamation of startled disbelief—a laugh that says “that won’t do”; ruo means “you”; dai means “on the verge of, about to.” Confucius laughed because the plan was too shallow to reform a cruel ruler. If you actually go to Wei, you will likely be put to death.

Phonetic glosses: Omitted for plain reading (fanqie pronunciations for graphs such as those in “governing the state” and “physician’s gate,” and glosses such as ze as “method” and you chou as “recovery,” belong to phonological collation and may be skipped in a vernacular reading).

Note: The Way (Dao)—the root of personal cultivation and of ordering the realm—must not be mixed with other concerns.

Commentary: Mixing multiplies tasks; multiplicity stirs agitation; agitation breeds anxiety; with anxiety, one cannot save even oneself. The Perfect Person (Zhiren) of old first took a stand within themselves, then went on to aid others.

Note: One must first find the right person and apply the right method.

Commentary: If the stand you take in yourself is not yet firm, what spare strength do you have to govern how a violent man behaves?

【2】【Note】

If one does not meet the right person, even a hundred physicians attending the patient will only deepen suspicion and will not cure a single bout of illness.

【Undecided—how could one spare the effort to follow what a tyrant does!】

When one has not yet settled one’s view or found one’s footing, how could there be spare strength to imitate the conduct of cruel and violent men!

【1】【Note】

One should first properly find and settle the right person—or first settle oneself in the right way.

【Commentary】

The Dao that opens to numinous responsiveness lies above all in a single-minded will undistracted by miscellaneous affairs. When one lives amid clamor and complexity, tasks multiply; when tasks multiply, the heart is disordered; when the heart is disordered, worry and harm arise. Medicine and illness do not match, both sides are trapped, and one cannot even stand firm oneself—how then can one save others?

【3】【Note】

Only after one has the requisite conditions and integrity may one engage with people and affairs in the world and respond to things to benefit others.

【Commentary】

Here zhu is used in the sense of “in” or “upon,” and cun means to establish and settle. The ancients of utmost virtue wandered through the world with empty-hearted ease; they had to make their own Dao firm before they went on to deliver others. There is no precedent for failing to establish oneself first yet going out to succor the myriad things. The ancients are cited here as a mirror and warning.

【4】【Note】

Instead of meeting affairs with an empty heart, one enlists scheming thought to court danger and risk—From this one may know that what one establishes and keeps within oneself is still unsettled. Only by outwardly relinquishing clever knowledge to nourish the genuine, entrusting the subtle message to the talented multitude, and assigning fame and merit to outer things so that worry stays far from oneself can one then go where a tyrannical ruler acts and take up the task.

【Commentary】

Only by responding to affairs with an empty heart, forgetting cleverness to nourish the genuine, entrusting due measure to the people, and letting fame and merit belong to outer things so that worry stays far from the self can one move through the human world and teach the multitude according to circumstance. Now Yan Hui wishes to establish himself, yet his inner heart is still not at rest; right and wrong, joy and anger struggle in his breast—how could he have leisure to go to the state of Wei and remonstrate with a tyrannical lord? This journey is not yet feasible.

Do you not know why De (Virtue/Power) slips away and Zhi (cleverness) surfaces? De is lost because one chases ming (reputation); Zhi appears because one competes over who is shan (good/right).

Ming is mutual harm and mutual injury; Zhi is the tool of contention. Both are xiongqi—dangerous implements—and you cannot complete the practice of the Dao (the Way) by relying on them.

Cheng Xuanying explains: Do you know where the loss of De and the overstepping of Zhi come from? De is lost and one’s original nature abandoned because one clings to reputation; Zhi oversteps its place and goes beyond what is fitting because one fights over who is more good or more right. Only someone who lets go of both sides of good and evil and does not cling to either name or reality can keep supreme De from leaking away and supreme Zhi from issuing wrongly.

Guo Xiang comments: Ming and Zhi are what people in the world commonly use. Yet once there is ming, mutual injury arises; once Zhi is deployed, rivalry flares. Therefore one must discard ming and release Zhi before practice can be whole.

Cheng Xuanying’s commentary says: “Ya” means to harm. When one holds fast to reputation, people tear each other down; when cleverness is displayed, contention spreads along the road. Thus ming and Zhi are both xiongqi—dangerous implements—not paths by which one can fully carry out the Dao.

You think your virtue runs deep and your faithfulness is solid and reliable (xin gang), but you have not yet grasped the tempers and habits of ordinary people; though your reputation spreads and you do not scramble for advantage, you still have not seen through the human heart. Yet you insist on taking the language of benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety before a brutal ruler— that is like showing off before others that you are the better person. That is what is meant by “one who harms others.” Someone who harms others will surely be harmed in return; you may well become disaster for others first.

Again, if you simply love the worthy and dislike the unworthy, why must you make a show of being different from everyone else? If you go only to “preach,” the ruler is sure to use your eloquence against you in sharp exchange and one-upmanship. Then your gaze will turn evasive, your face will take on a pleasing look, your words will smooth things over, and your bearing will bend to please— and inwardly you will slowly warp as well. That is like fighting fire with fire and water with water; it can only get worse. At first you go along with him; afterward there is no end to it. If you try to persuade with “weighty words” he does not trust, you will mostly die before this tyrant.

Background from the collected commentary (Shu): “Xin gang” means faithful and reliable. Here it says Yan Hui’s virtue is thick and he does not contend, but the ruler of Wei is dull and obstinate and cannot see it; he does not understand Yan Hui’s intent to set things right and takes it as boasting.

Note

If you toss a night pearl to someone, few will not at once reach for their sword—because they have not yet understood your good intent. Duke Ling of Wei had not truly grasped Yan Hui’s virtue or his fame for non-contention; if you insist on measuring and correcting him with the yardstick of benevolence and righteousness, he will only feel that Yan Hui means to step on others in order to lift himself up.

That is why the perfected person does not tie their ambition to “governing the world.” They meet things with an empty, receptive mind: sincerity shows of itself between Heaven and Earth, and a spirit of non-contention runs through the ten thousand things. Then the ten thousand things turn toward them, and Heaven and Earth do not work against them. When the tone of virtue goes forth, the world answers; when virtuous conduct stands clear, the four directions respond together. Only at that point can one pass through cold and heat, through order and chaos, without touching the inverse scale or going toe to toe with violent people.

Section Four: Commentary

If one can draw close to the worthy and shun the foolish, and trust words that accord with the Way and its norms, that is a clear-sighted ruler. When the ruler is clear-sighted, there is no need to fret over a lack of worthy ministers; your going to the state of Wei would hold no special meaning. If the Marquis of Wei is not such a person, you will surely come to harm if you go. Therefore, to go carrying the private aim of “I must set things right and make my mark” is to find obstruction everywhere; to go without deliberate intent, responding as circumstances arise, so that what should respond naturally does—then any destination will do.

Exegesis

“Dài” means to approach; “fū” is an exclamatory particle. If you go to Wei, you will likely approach ruin and be harmed by violent men—a matter truly worth lament. Moreover, if the Marquis of Wei can delight in the worthy and loathe the unworthy, the court will naturally abound in gentlemen and drive away petty men, with loyal ministers already at his side—why should he look to you? When you arrive, you will be no different from those others; since you are the same, going brings no benefit.

(“Zāi fū” is read like fú; “bù xiào” is read like xiào, meaning “not like, not up to standard”; “wù yòng”’s “wù” is read wū, meaning “how, where.”)

Section Five: Commentary

In Wei it is best that you remain silent and do not speak. Once you open your mouth to remonstrate, the Marquis will surely rely on the sovereign’s authority and use sharp wit in debate to overpower you, rejecting remonstrance and covering his faults.

Exegesis

Here “zhào” means to offer counsel or to speak; “wáng gōng” refers to the Marquis of Wei. If you go to Wei, you should keep silent. Should you have words of admonition, the Marquis will certainly wield the ruler’s power to match wits with you, using that to conceal errors and refuse counsel.

The Marquis leans on the prestige of a state with a thousand chariots and the dignity of a feudal lord of the fifth rank, covering faults and rejecting remonstrance while showing off in argument and cleverness. Once you are afraid, how will you have any strength left to set him right or support him?

Commentary: Even when one wishes inwardly to remonstrate, one dare not outwardly show disagreement; one’s bearing stays fully submissive and keeps a surface harmony with the other person.

Note (8): One is so busy excusing and defending oneself that there is hardly a moment to spare.

Commentary: The Marquis of Wei held high rank and great prestige, and his authority inspired fear. Yan Hui (Yansheng) feared harm to himself and was full of worry, so he kept talking in circles to justify himself and had almost no rest.

Commentary (9): Here “form” (xing) means what shows outwardly. Because he feared disaster, he had to comply on the outside and follow the other to his face—kneeling with knees gathered, body bowed and curled—so that fawning posture was fully on display.

Textual note: “Rong jiang xing zhi” refers to the deferential posture of kneeling with the knees gathered (qing ji).

Note (10): This means temporarily setting aside one’s own position and going along with the other.

Commentary: It is not only outward compliance but inner agreement as well. The upshot is that one cannot lead the other toward what is good and instead strengthens his wrongdoing—that is exactly what is meant.

Note (11): One not only fails to save the situation but can even add to the other’s power and prestige.

Commentary: “Yi” here means to use or to act. Using fire to fight fire only makes the blaze burn hotter; using water to “rescue” water—stirring it up—only makes the waves rise higher. Yan Hui’s way perfectly suited the Marquis of Wei’s cruelty: it could not correct or remonstrate with him, and the harm could be said to be all the greater.

Note (12): One habitually sticks to old habits and will not change one’s approach.

Note (13): If you remonstrate before the other trusts you, however earnest your words, you will invite disaster.

Commentary: Those loyal, earnest words of yours—if he does not trust you, then even when you sincerely offer faithful counsel, you will surely be punished or killed before a tyrannical ruler.

In ancient times, Jie of Xia executed Guan Longfeng, and King Zhou of Shang killed Bigan. Both men cultivated themselves and practiced righteousness, caring for the people below them—yet they offended the rulers above. Those rulers used the very labels “too worthy” and “too upright” as pretexts to push them aside and destroy them. Tragedies of this kind are often tied to the pursuit of a good name: seeking to establish oneself through virtue can instead bring disaster.

Similarly, Yao attacked the states of Congzhi and Xuao, and Yu attacked Youhu: the wars left their countries hollowed out and ruined, and the rulers themselves ended up punished or killed—yet they could not stop resorting to force. Their craving for name and substance—reputation, territory, and achievement—had no end. All of this was contention over name and reality. Have you never heard of such things? In struggles over name and reality, even sages do not always prevail—how much less could you?

Background from the commentary notes (to help read the exegesis): Guan Longfeng and Bigan are loyal ministers of old: though they stood as subjects, they worried for the state and the people; when their lords were without the Way, they remonstrated bluntly and touched the dragon’s scales—with the result that one was beheaded and the other had his heart cut out. Commentators use this to show that someone in a subordinate position who “worries for the ruler on behalf of the people” and acts against the will of those above may not succeed; Yan Hui’s wish to go to Wei to practice benevolent government may likewise be hard to carry through in principle—this can be read alongside the passage where Yan Hui fears trouble before he has even set out.

Explanatory text (pronunciation and terms)

Guan Longfeng was a worthy minister of Jie of Xia. Prince Bi Gan was King Zhou of Shang’s uncle (the king’s uncle). Commentators disagree on how to read several characters in the line “below them” and on yu and tuo; yu tuo is read either as tender care and comfort or, like ou xu, as nurturing and cherishing. Fu qi means to go against or resist (some read the sounds differently).

Commentary

(A tyrant) will not allow a subject’s fame to outshine the ruler’s.

Subcommentary

Ji can mean falling, entrapment, or harm. Tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, overestimating themselves, still craved a fine reputation; they used their worthy ministers’ virtue and remonstrance as pretexts to ruin and entrap them. Their hearts were set on competing for name and chasing profit—that is why it came to this.

Commentary (continued)

Tyrants do not only indulge private desire; they also compete for reputation—but the reputation they want is not on the upright path.

Subcommentary (continued)

The lords Yao and Yu were already discussed above. Congzhi, Xu’ao, and Youhu were names of states; Youhu lay roughly in the area of today’s Huyi in Shaanxi. A dwelling with no people is called xu; a ghost with no descendants is called li. The rulers of these three states were all without the Way and fond of raising armies to attack others. They sought not only solid gain but also empty fame, until their lands lay waste, their people were wiped out, they themselves suffered punishment, and their ancestral temples collapsed. To chase a name and grasp real profit they went this far—known in every age; have you truly never heard of it?

On Pronunciation and Place Names

“Congzhi” is read by the fanqie formula for cai. Lu Wenchao notes that some editions write “zhi” instead. “Youhu” is read hu; Sima Biao identifies it as a state name in Shiping commandery—roughly the Hu county area west of present-day Xi’an in Shaanxi. “Xuli” is read xu; Li Yi explains that a dwelling with no occupants is called xu, and one with no descendants to perform sacrifice is called li. Guo Qingfan holds that “xuli” is the same as “xuli” (li and li in the punitive sense): the classics often interchange them, as in the Mozi, the Strategies of Zhao, the Classic of Poetry, the Mencius, the Salt and Iron Discourses, and similar passages where li and li cross-check each other.

The gist of Guo Xiang’s commentary and Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary

A ruler who cherishes reputation and craves concrete profit—even if he were as sage as Yao or Yu—could not be “overcome” by others through moral instruction; that is why everyone would band together to attack him. Do you imagine you can go empty-handed and transform him by the Dao?

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary states it more bluntly: ordinary people and brutal lords, greedy for profit and fame, would not be won over even if Yao and Yu came to embrace them with virtue; they would still raise armies to punish them. Yan Hui, a lone commoner, going unarmed to convert such a man—the reasoning does not hold; there is little room for doubt.

(Collation note: the Zhao Jianyi edition lacks a certain zhi particle.)

Main dialogue

(Confucius said:) Even so, if you must go, you ought to have some rationale—try to tell me your plan!

Cheng subcommentary: Chang means “to try.” You wish to go convert Wei; though your case is not yet complete, since you mean to go, you must have grounds—please set out your thinking.

For yu wo (“tell me”), yu is read by the fanqie yu ju; the same applies below.

Yan Hui Asks About Going to Wei

The gloss says chang means “to try” or “to test.” You are cultivating the Way to transform others; your practice is not yet very deep, but since you have come to ask leave to go, you must have a plan—first lay out your intentions clearly and tell me what you have in mind.

Yan Hui Proposes Two Approaches

Yan Hui said: “If I keep my bearing correct, my mind empty and still, and strive with single-minded devotion—would that do?”

Note: straighten the body and empty the heart. The commentary adds: outwardly show reverence and fulfill a subject’s duties; inwardly be open and remonstrate with undivided intent; also to exert body and mind in loyalty to the state, careful in speech and action with no second heart. He asks again: with these two methods, can it succeed?

Confucius Rejects the Plan

Confucius said: “No! How could it work?”

Note: e e means “still not good enough.” The commentary: the second e is read wu, meaning “how” or “why”—it marks something as impermissible.

The note continues: the ruler of Wei is inwardly swollen with overbearing yang energy and outwardly wildly aggressive—hard and fierce to the extreme; his face and mood shift without fixed pattern; he does not violate ordinary people (he goes along with the world); he also probes others’ likes and dislikes to flatter their inclinations. With that, even “virtue that grows day by day” cannot be achieved, let alone greater virtue. You would cling to your own views and fail to transform and adapt; you would agree on the outside without truly examining and correcting yourself inwardly—how could that work?

On the Character of the Lord of Wei

The commentary says: joy and anger follow no fixed pattern. The explication adds: when things accord with his wishes he is pleased; when they go against his intent he grows angry—his expression and mood never stay steady.

No One Dares to Oppose

Commentary: no one dares to defy him. Explication: his nature is fierce and overbearing by habit; how could remonstrating scholars and worthies dare to contradict him?

Using Pleasing Matters to Dominate Others

Commentary: he is obstinate to the extreme—when others use what suits him to move him, he turns the occasion into humiliation and suppression of the other, so as to indulge himself and satisfy his extravagant desires. Explication: an here means to check or suppress; rongyu is indulgence. When others try to move him with loyal and good remonstrance, he instead uses the remonstrance to crush and frustrate the remonstrators, seeking quick pleasure and license, and following his dissolute heart.

Many Words, No Victory

Commentary: however much is said, it cannot overcome or change him. Explication: the Lord of Wei’s waylessness is of long standing. Even gradual moral influence cannot succeed—how much less can one expect him to be sage like the Hongfan?

Clinging to His Original Intent

Commentary: therefore he clings to his original mind. Explication: a ruler who covers faults and is muddled cannot accept remonstrance like flowing water; he holds fast to his inner intent—who would turn evil into good?

Outward Accord, Inward Disapproval

Commentary: outward agreement without inner assent—like the earlier discussion of duanxu (emptying the mind) and mianyi (single-minded effort)—shows these are still not enough to transform him. Explication: (same sense as the commentary, echoing the note.)

(Commentary) Outwardly one shows respect and bends the knee to the utmost in ritual propriety; inwardly one is compliant and dares not slander. To ask leave to travel in this way—what good can travel do? To carry out teaching and transformation in the state of Wei—is that really feasible? This amounts to rejecting those earlier empty, showy methods as unfit to put into practice.

(Textual note) In Bu zi (“not slandering”), the character read zi by Xiang Xiu and Xu Miao; Cui’s commentary glosses it as “to slander” or “to destroy.”

(Collation) In one recension, kuai (“quick”) appears as shi (“envoy”).

(Main text) Yan Hui then sets forth these three points. Kongzi’s note: Yan Hui again presents these three.

(Commentary) The first two points had already been refuted by Kongzi; now three are offered in the hope they will hold. The items are listed first and explained below—Yan Hui is reporting his own approach to Kongzi.

(Commentary) Same as above: Yan Hui is still explaining his practice to Kongzi.

Then I would be “straight within and bent without, formed and upwardly aligned with antiquity.” “Straight within” means being of the same kind as Tian (Heaven). One who is of Tian’s kind knows that the Son of Tian and oneself are alike sons given life by Tian—so why deliberately chase others’ praise or dread others’ blame? If one did, people would say one behaves like a child; that is what “of the same kind as Tian” means.

“Bent without” means being of the same kind as other people. Clasped hands and bent knees are the rites of a subject; when everyone observes them, how could I dare not? Doing what others do, others find no fault in it—that is “of the same kind as people.”

“Formed and upwardly aligned with antiquity” means being of the same kind as the ancients. What one says may sound like reproof, yet when traced to its root it is solid. These are principles the ancients already had—not inventions of one’s own. In that case, even blunt speech brings no harm; that is “of the same kind as the ancients.” Would that not be acceptable?

Commentary on [2]

All things are inherently neither noble nor base; simply being alive makes them alike. Whether one is good or not good, leave it to impartial heavenly principle—there is no need to demand anything from others.

Subcommentary on [2]

What follows is an explanation. Qí means “to seek.” The point is: when the inner mind is plain and sincere and one acts in the same vein as the natural order, emperor and commoner alike receive their nature from Heaven. Thus one can forget rank in the relation of ruler and subject and forget good and bad in honor and disgrace. Why rely on priding oneself on a name, shunning what is bad, and seeking approval from others? Only with this empty, receptive mind does one come close to what is fitting.

Commentary on [3]

Follow heavenly principle, trust fate by extending from oneself, and go straight ahead like an infant.

Subcommentary on [3]

Rán means “thus.” Tóngzǐ (the “infant”) means a baby. If, as said above, one advances in accord with principle and moves and stops like an infant, people call that person a tóngzǐ. This wraps up the earlier passages, hence “a companion of Heaven” (yǔ tiān wéi tú).

Subcommentary on [4]

Those whose outward form is bent and who go along with the world treat human roles as their kind. Raising the hands, kneeling long, bowing the body, curving the fists, bowing down—these are the rites of a subject. Harmonizing with the world’s grime, rising and falling with things, acting as things require—everyone does this; would I alone refuse? Precisely because one does what others do in human affairs, others bear no resentment.

Commentary on [5]

Outward bending means doing whatever human affairs properly require.

Subcommentary on [5]

This summarizes the meaning of the passages above.

Commentary on [6]

What is accomplished now can be compared with the ancients.

Phonetic notes (from the gloss)

Shǎng read like zhǎng (same below); qí hū qí; qíng qí jīng; jì qí lǐ (Shuowen: long kneeling); qū quán quán; wú cī cái sī.

Loyal remonstrance of the kind described only truly took shape in our own time; the moral bond between ruler and minister can be measured against the ancients—hence the sense of “three” in the passage above.

Note: It took shape in the present yet can be compared with antiquity.

Commentary: Once loyal remonstrance has taken shape in the present and the ruler–minister bond can be set beside that of the ancients, one stands in the same line as loyal ministers of old such as Bi Gan—that is the point.

[7] Note: Outwardly it looks like ordinary moral instruction, but in intent it carries satire and implicit rebuke.

Commentary: “Zhe” means to censure. What is said may sound like teaching; judged by intent, it really holds ironic blame.

[8] Commentary: Such loyal remonstrance has existed since antiquity; it is not that admonitory norms arise only today.

[9] Note: Because blunt remonstrance is put in the mouths of the ancients, one need not treat frankness itself as a fault.

Commentary: The way of loyal remonstrance has always been there; if I am sincere and direct today, I may hope to avoid entanglement and worry.

[10] Commentary: This sums up what came before.

[11] Commentary: I set out these three points—are they acceptable?

Zhongni said: “Can one know (that this is how to remonstrate)?”

[1] Note: The principle should be one, yet policy is split into three articles; that cannot quietly match how things really are.

Commentary: “Die” here means orderly and fitting. When law accords with reason, one need not multiply clauses; three articles of policy is too heavy. It also sits ill with reason and is hard to rest in, hence the question “in what respect is it acceptable?”

Zhongni said again: “Alas! How can it be! Too many policy lines—there is law, but it does not fit orderly principle; clinging to it is not a grave fault, but that is all, and how could one reach transforming the people and shaping custom? It is as if one relied only on shi xin—one’s own fixed mind alone.”

[4] Shi xin means trusting only one’s private view, not taking the people and the Great Way as guide, so one cannot attain transformation.

Plain-Language Commentary

On Pronunciation and Textual Variants (Textual Notes)

Regarding “daduo” (“mostly” or “greatly”): da is read like tai. Some editions (Cui’s version) simply write tai. Regarding “fa er bu die”: die is pronounced like die in jiandie (“to spy”); Xiang Xiu gives another reading. Li Yi says it means at ease or comfortable. Cui says it means to spy or eavesdrop. Yu Yue holds that the character zheng should be parsed at the end of the preceding clause. “Daduo zheng” is what Guo Xiang’s commentary calls the situation where there ought to be one consistent principle with no double standard, yet three norms are put forward as standards for governing or acting. “Fa er bu die” should stand as its own sentence. In the “Lie Yukou” chapter there is “xing die cheng guang”; the textual notes say die means crooked and evasive (clever shortcuts, lack of uprightness). Die here has the same sense: there are laws and rules, yet one does not take devious paths or play tricks. Li Yi’s gloss as “peace” and Cui’s as “spying,” Yu Yue argues, do not fit the wording in this passage.

[Two] [Commentary]

Although one has not yet reached hongda (great breadth—the power to nourish and transform the world), at least one has not yet invited blame or censure.

[Exegesis]

Even if one holds only to these three methods, though they seem narrow and not lofty, since one has not actually gone to Wei to put them into practice, one might still escape being faulted.

[Three] [Commentary]

Guilt can be avoided, but transforming others and changing the situation is still out of reach.

[Exegesis]

Hu means “how” or “why.” Yan Hui wishes to transform Wei with only these three points—at most he perfects himself alone and cannot rescue the age, so how can that count as true “transformation”?

Another reading: if one only talks and does not act, the argument can still hold on the level of doctrine; if one really goes to Wei, one will surely bring danger on oneself.

[Four] [Commentary]

Carrying three fixed formulas into another state is not emptying the heart and entrusting affairs to the natural course of the world—it is not the level of “no deliberate mind, handing everything over to the world.”

[Exegesis]

The sage empties the self (releases fixation on ego), responds to the moment (changes with circumstances), and is without deliberate intent (no advance scheming, no clinging to fixed views)—like a clear mirror reflecting things, like an empty valley receiving sound. Now Yan Hui works out a set of speeches in advance and turns over again whether they will work—this is not the detached, unclinging forgetfulness of wangji. So we know Confucius considered Yan Hui still “with mind”—still employing stratagems and written rules, not purely following transformation.

Textual notes: In “xie san”, xie is read hu die fan (near the sound xie, “to carry under the arm”).

Yan Hui said: “I have no further method to offer (or to propose); I venture to ask what should be done (the proper way).”

[One] [Exegesis]

Yan Hui rejected all three of his earlier proposals at once. To transform Wei, there is no fixed routine left; he can only ask the sage teacher again, hoping to hear a higher teaching.

Zhongni (Confucius) said: “First ‘fast’ (here meaning quieting stray thoughts and preparing for heart-fasting—not merely abstaining from meat), then I will speak to you. If you deliberately act while holding on to a ‘calculating mind’ (carrying schemes like ‘I must walk the Way’), is that really easy? To treat walking the Way as something you can finish lightly does not accord with Haotian (the clear, natural Heaven) and is not fitting.”

[Commentary] Guo Xiang says: Anyone who first sets up an intention of ‘I must do it this way’ and then walks the Way will indeed find it not easy to truly unite with the Way.

[Sub-commentary] Cheng Xuanying explains: Yan Hui asked earnestly; Confucius then spoke of heart-fasting (xin zhai). Only if one empties the mind and releases fixation is one fit to hear what follows. If one already has a ‘calculating mind’ in seeking the profound Way, one has already strayed from the subtlety of heart-fasting; therefore seeking the profound Way with a fixed, scheming mind is truly not easy.

[Commentary] Treating youwei (deliberate, contrived action) as an easy path shows no proper ground for doing so.

[Sub-commentary] The Erya says the Xia called Heaven Haotian, describing its qi as clear and bright. Someone who walks the Way with a youwei mind yet thinks it very easy—under Haotian, nothing about that looks fitting. The point is: one should not use a youwei mind to practice heart-fasting.

(Textual note) In the main text, the two words “you xin” (having a scheming mind) are supplied from lacunae and from Zhang Junfang’s version and the commentary; a certain Zhao Jianyi edition lacks the particle “zhi.”

Yan Hui said: “My household is very poor; I have gone many months without wine or meat. Does that count as fasting?”

Note: This passage opens the heart-fasting dialogue in the “Human World” chapter of the Zhuangzi: Confucius first rejects acting with a scheming mind and treating the Way as an easy task; Yan Hui then mistakes ordinary fasting (no wine, no meat) for heart-fasting. Later Confucius will explain that heart-fasting is gathering only the Way in emptiness—not formal dietary abstinence.

Section One (Commentary)

“Ru” means to eat; “hun” refers to pungent vegetables such as scallions and garlic. “Zhai” means “qi” (to align): the mind and conduct are not tainted by worldly dust. Yan Hui’s household was very poor, yet he was versed in the Confucian classics. He had no wine to drink and no meat or strong flavors to eat, and lived for many months on bamboo baskets, gourds, and plain food. He asked whether living like that counted as fasting and purification.

Textual notes

In Bu Ru, Xu Miao read “ru” as ru, meaning to eat. In Hun, Xu Miao read “hun” with the fanqie xu-yun. In Shu Yue, Xu Miao read “yue” with the fanqie se-zhu.

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

Section One (Wei Zhai Bu)

(Continuing from Yan Hui’s question above about whether it counts as zhai.)

Section One (Commentary)

Confucius replied: that is the kind of preliminary fasting used in the world when offering to spirits and honoring the ancestral temple—not the heart-fasting spoken of here.

Yan Hui said: “May I ask what heart-fasting is?”

Section One (Commentary)

Having just mentioned poverty at home and the need to perform sacrifice, he now asks the master to explain the method of heart-fasting.

Confucius said: “First make your mind single (ruo yi zhi); do not listen with your ears—listen with your ‘heart’; then do not listen with your ‘heart’—listen with Qi. The ears stop at hearing sounds; the heart stops at matching the Dao. Qi is empty and therefore able to receive things from outside. Only the Dao gathers in emptiness. Emptiness—that is heart-fasting.”

Section One (Guo Xiang’s note)

To cast off heterodox thoughts and hold to one straight path alone (du yi)—that is roughly the meaning.

Commentary

The mind’s aim is unified and no other thoughts arise; one settles in stillness, emptiness, and forgetting, merging with “spontaneous transformation alone.” What follows is a detailed exposition of the gate of heart-fasting to Yan Hui.

Textual notes

In Qu Yi, “qu” is read qi-lü fan. Same below.

Plain-language walkthrough (for easier reading)

This passage is commentators’ explanation of the dialogue between Yan Hui and Confucius in the Zhuangzi. Yan Hui was very poor, ate plain food for a long time, and had no wine or meat; he asked whether that counted as “zhai.” Confucius said that was only ritual fasting for sacrifice, not “heart-fasting.” Yan Hui then asked how to practice heart-fasting. Confucius taught: first unify the mind; when attending to things, do not stop at the ears—use the heart; go further still and do not stop at the heart—use Qi. Qi is empty and can receive things; the Dao only gathers where there is emptiness, and that “emptiness” is heart-fasting. The note further explains “ruo yi zhi” as clearing stray thoughts and holding to one path; the commentary states that what follows unfolds the concrete discipline of heart-fasting for Yan Hui. The interwoven Shiwen entries are Liu-dynasty phonologist Xu Miao’s readings of characters, for use when reading classical texts aloud.

Second passage (commentary)

The root of hearing should be empty, quiet, and still, without fixation on pitch and scale or other musical distinctions. Turn instead toward inner listening until even “no sound” is heard; let spirit settle and the heart align with the Dao (fu, “accord” or “matching”).

Third passage (commentary)

The heart can perceive and still clings to the outer world; qi has no knowing mind—it is empty, yielding, and moves with things. Therefore one relinquishes the heart’s knowing and takes up qi’s emptiness and softness, letting go layer by layer, so that one may gradually enter the subtle and mysterious.

Fourth passage (commentary)

Do not cling to the dust of sounds; let listening stop at listening itself. This explains “do not listen with the ear.”

Fifth passage (commentary)

“Fu” means accord. When the heart rises to grasp, it necessarily accords with the object; one must make the heart still and silent so it no longer accords with objects. This explains “do not listen with the heart.”

Sixth passage (annotation)

Abandon the functions of ear and eye, drop the heart’s deliberate intent, and accord with the self-so realm of qi’s nature—that is “being empty in order to respond to things.”

Sixth passage (commentary)

Only when qi is soft, empty, and yielding, and the heart is still and free of grasping, can one respond to things. This explains “listen with qi.” Scholars such as Yu Yue hold that where the text above says “do not listen with the ear… listen with qi,” the phrase here rendered as “listening stops at the ear” is likely a scribal error for “the ear stops at listening”—meaning the ear’s role ends at hearing, hence one does not listen with the ear; “the heart stops at fu” is analogous. Guo Xiang took “fu” and “qi” as a single compound, which does not fit the original punctuation.

Seventh passage (annotation)

When the heart is empty, the utmost Dao gathers within the breast.

Commentary: There is only this one true Dao (the Way), gathered in “xūxīn” (the empty heart). What is called the empty heart is precisely the wondrous Dao toward which xīnzhāi (heart-fasting) points.

Textual note: (1) The two characters read as “zhě hū” are omitted following the Shide Hall edition. (2) “Yí” is emended following the Shide Hall edition and Zhūzǐ Píngyì.

Yanhui said: “Before I had learned xīnzhāi, I really felt there was still a ‘Yanhui’; once I did as you taught, I no longer felt there was a Yanhui—is that what counts as being empty?”

Note 1: Before one applies the method of xīnzhāi, one still holds that there is a body and an “I.”

Commentary: Before receiving instruction in xīnzhāi, the mind still has blockages; one cannot shed attachment to the physical form and forget the body, and still treats “Yanhui” as something real.

Punctuation note: Wèi shǐ dé shǐ is punctuated with a break here. Cui’s commentary breaks after “shí.”

Note 2: Once one has the guidance of xīnzhāi, there is no longer a fixed “body-I.”

Commentary: After the Master’s teaching, one is led to act with the mind of empty fasting; then one can forget both things and self and no longer feel that the “I” called Yanhui is something to hold on to.

The Master said: “You’ve said it completely. I tell you: if you can move at the ruler’s side without being pulled by rank and title; speak when he will listen and stop when he will not; do not look for bypaths or use means that harm others; keep the heart in one place and lodge the body in bùdéyǐ (what cannot be avoided—only what necessity demands), then you are close.”

Commentary 1: The wonder of xīnzhāi that the Master spoke of earlier is fully stated in this passage.

Note 2: (In transmitted versions, commentary and sub-commentary may be interleaved; the gist is) to rest the heart in self-so attainment and truly stop where stopping is due.

Commentary 1 (repeated strand in the text): What the Master said earlier about the wonder of xīnzhāi is exhausted in this.

Note 5: “Lodge the body in bùdéyǐ”—only do what the situation forces one to do, what one cannot not do.

Note 6: In that way one is close to the goal (of xīnzhāi and entering the Way).

Commentary

Confucius tells Yan Hui the gist of going to Wei to guide and transform: do not cling rigidly to the decisive point or insist on controlling the situation; move also in the margins and borderlands, stay hidden and quiet, and do not rely on reputation or cleverness to move or convert the other. Fan here is the same idea as fan (enclosure): the outer edge, the periphery.

Note on section three

Like the notes gong and shang harmonizing—response without a fixed intent, hence it is called ming (to sound). To respond without a contrived mind is to let the other be as they are and not force one’s own response.

Commentary

Only when you can already meet the lord of Wei through the Dao may you speak up to set things right; if remonstrance never reaches his ears, you should stop talking. Forcing a show of loyalty is sure to bring harm.

Note on section four

Let the ten thousand things each rest in its own nature—this is called wu men (no gate); hand the realm back so it settles itself—this is called wu du (no “poison”). Here du means to govern or manage.

Commentary

Du means governing or meddling. Be like water, like a mirror: respond when touched, keep the mind empty and clear, and do not decide beforehand on your own what to do.

The Reading of “Du” in the Explanatory Text

Here du is read in the sense of hou (“thick”—thick nurture, thick covering), not “poison.” In Cui’s version the character is written as mei, glossed as meaning “greed.”

Jia Shifu’s Explanation

The Shuowen says the original meaning of du is “thick.” Laozi’s “ting zhi du zhi” (nourish and thickly settle them) carries the same sense.

Wu men (no fixed gate): there is no fixed doorway—those who enter cannot pin down its direction. Wu du (no “poison”/no hard frame): there is no rigid boundary—acting within it does not bind one to labels or traces. Follow what naturally ought to respond, and one can enter and move within without being led by names such as “gate” or “du.”

Li Zhen’s Supplement (whether “du” is a loan for “dao”)

“Gate” and “du” are paired in the text; if du really meant a harmful plant, it would not belong in the same category as “gate.”

He holds that du is actually a loan character for dao. The Shuowen: “Dao, to protect; also said: high earth,” with a pronunciation close to du. In antiquity, piling earth to build a platform for signaling (as in the Lüshi chunqiu, where drums on a high terrace could be heard far and near) had the sense of guarding and watching; hence du was borrowed to express protecting and gathering people in peace.

In several places in the Yijing, Zhuangzi, and Laozi, Li Zhen reads du in this sense—for example Laozi’s “ting zhi du zhi” and the Zhouyi “with this du the world and the people follow”—all as settling and gathering the world in stability. The Guangya also glosses “du, peace.”

Dao (the character for the high earth/platform sense) is the original form behind du, hence it can be paired with “gate” as men and du. It is read like du (in the Qieyun tradition, du with the du rhyme), by sound shift.

[5] Commentary: “Budeyi” (Having No Choice)

Budeyi means that when the Way has reached that point, things cannot be otherwise—not forced by private will.

Such a person takes returning to the One as the dwelling of the spirit, and can align with what must inevitably respond.

[Exposition]

Zhai (dwelling) means where the heart resides: placing the heart in the Way of ultimate Oneness. When response is called for, respond; when stopping is called for, stop—this is being moved and then penetrating (gan er su tong), not something calculated in advance.

[Explanatory Text]

The two characters “er yu” (and lodge): in Cui’s version they appear as “ru yu” (like simplicity/foolishness).

[6] Commentary

Li jin yu si: the measure of how one meets affairs ends here.

[Exposition]

Here ji means jin (exhausted, complete): following the disposition of things and principle, what can be responded to has been fully responded to; one stops at this level and does not go further.

Leaving no trace is easy enough: sit still and there were never footprints on the ground in the first place. But to walk yet never let your feet touch the earth—that cannot be done. Likewise, to follow nature, practice Wuwei (non-action), and rest in stillness sounds simple; to act when action is needed yet never harm your original nature is extremely hard.

Acting before others, putting on a show or faking it, is relatively easy, because people mostly see the surface. Following Heaven, responding to things, and letting nature take its course is hard to counterfeit, because Heaven’s response is subtle and exact: cheat a little, and something is missing; cheat a lot, and the loss is great—retribution always matches the weight of what you did. To go against the Dao of Heaven and force a false front is very difficult indeed.

We only hear of flying by means of wings, never of flying without wings; we only hear of knowing by means of cleverness, never of knowing without cleverness—that refers to the state after xinzhai (heart-fasting) and empty stillness, not something you can perform.

Consider that wide-open doorway: when the heart is empty and still, it is like “an empty room gives birth to white light”—in the dark, light appears of itself; good fortune also stays only where it ought to stop—when the heart settles, blessing can truly dwell there.

If the heart never stops, that is sitting with the body still while the mind gallops away—called “sitting in hurry” (zuochi).

If you turn ear and eye inward, not chasing outer things, but joining with the inner clarity, even ghosts and spirits will draw near—how much more so people!

This is the root of transforming and nurturing the ten thousand things, the pivot that Yu and Shun grasped, the path that Fuxi and Jiqū carried through to the end—how much more so for us whose hearts are scattered and thoughts in disarray!

[Commentary] Human Disposition and What Is Natural

Cheng Xuanying’s Commentary: When human disposition is driven by external things, one’s conduct tends to be coarse and shallow, and one is easily deceived; when one governs and applies oneself according to natural innate nature, the principle is extremely subtle, and pretense is hard to sustain. From this one knows that in dealing with affairs in the world, one must follow one’s nature and be true (shun xing ren zhen—live according to innate nature and be genuine).

[Three] [Commentary] Without the Proper Means, the Task Cannot Be Done

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: To do anything, one must first have the appropriate support before the task can be completed; if there is no dwelling of utmost emptiness (zhixu—the mind’s clear, empty state), there is no basis for the reality of transforming things (huawu).

Cheng Xuanying’s Commentary: If a bird lacks six pinions (liu he—the six wing feathers), it cannot soar into the sky; if a person lacks twofold knowing (er zhi—here, the kind of knowing that belongs to utmost emptiness and clear illumination, not ordinary cleverness), they cannot truly engage with things.

[Four] [Commentary] Viewing Being as Non-Being—The Empty Room Gives Birth to Whiteness

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: To regard “being” as “non-being” is the empty room (xushi); once the empty room is established, pure whiteness (chun bai—the clear and luminous Dao) arises naturally.

Cheng Xuanying’s Commentary: Zhan means to contemplate; bi means the object before one; que means empty. Contemplating the ten thousand things, all are seen as empty and still; thus one can empty the room of the heart, illuminate the true source, and wisdom becomes clear and arises as needed. Bai refers to the Dao.

Phonetic and lexical notes: Que is read kuixue fan. Sima Biao says: empty. “The empty room gives birth to whiteness”—Cui says: bai is what sunlight illuminates; Sima Biao says: the room is a metaphor for the heart; when the heart can be empty, pure whiteness alone is born.

[Five] [Commentary] Auspiciousness Gathers in Utmost Emptiness and Stillness

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: Where auspiciousness gathers is in utmost emptiness and utmost stillness (zhixu, zhijing).

Phonetic notes (brief). The character rendered xun in the received text is glossed in older commentaries with a pronunciation close to jun or lun; Li Yi explains it as “to drive” or “to compel.” In the phrase xinzhi (heart-and-knowing), the second syllable is read like zhi (wisdom, intelligence), in line with the commentators.

(8) Gloss — main sense. The myriad things have no inherent noble or base rank; whatever truly connects with things always passes through heart-mind, knowing, ear, and eye. What people call knowing is not something you get by “wanting to know”; what they call seeing is not something you get by “wanting to see.” If knowing and seeing could be produced at will, could one become a worthy or a sage just by wanting to? Clearly not. Yet people do not see that knowing arises from knowing itself (zizhi), and instead manufacture a counterfeit “knowing” to know with; they do not see that seeing arises from seeing itself (zijian), and manufacture “seeing” to see with; they do not see that life arises from life itself (zisheng), and manufacture “life” to live with. Then they demand of the eyes the sharp sight of Li Zhu, the legendary man of perfect vision, and of the ears the keen hearing of Shi Kuang, the legendary master of music—while spirit and heart-mind churn within and eyes and ears are spent without, so body and mind never settle and they cannot merge silently with things. Unable to merge, yet hoping to follow human change and answer the seasons of the world—there has never been such a thing.

Commentary — main sense. “This” (shi) is a pointer: it refers to the heart-mind fasting (xinzhai) and related methods above, which can transform the myriad things and nourish living beings. Fu Xi (Fuxi; some say surname Feng, title Taihao) rode oxen and drove horses and ordered the realm. Jü Qu was an ancient ruler before the Three Sovereigns, left without written record. This path of heart-mind fasting was the hinge by which Yu of Xia and Shun met things; Fu Xi and Jü Qu practiced it all their lives—how much less can ordinary, loose, and scattered people expect to follow it in order to transform and nourish the myriad things?

Phonetic notes. Suǒ niǔ (the tie/link): Xu’s gloss gives a reading close to nǔ jiǔ; Cui glosses “what is bound and carried out is called niǔ”; Jian Wen says “niǔ: root, basis.” Fuxi in the text is also written Fu Xi (Xi variant for xi).

Plain-Language Interpretation

Lord Gao of She was about to go on a mission to Qi. He asked Confucius: “The ruler has sent me on this assignment, and the burden is heavy. Qi will probably treat an envoy with outward respect but not actually hurry to get things done. Ordinary people are hard enough to deal with—how much more so a feudal lord! I am very afraid. You often said to Zhuliang: ‘Whether a matter is large or small, few succeed without harmony and alignment with the Way.’ If it fails, you invite trouble in human affairs; if it succeeds, you often pay with wear and tear of body and mind. Whether it succeeds or fails, to avoid both kinds of harm afterward—probably only a person of De can do that. I usually eat plain food and do not insist on a skilled cook. Yet today I received the order in the morning and by evening I was drinking ice water to cool the fire in my heart. Has my inner heat already flared up? Before I have really grasped how things stand, I already have this worry of mind and body wearing each other down; and if it fails, there will surely be trouble in human affairs. That is pressure from two sides. As a minister I truly cannot bear it. Can you tell me what to do?”

Commentary

A descendant of King Zhuang of Chu, Yin Chengzi—personal name Zhuliang, style Zi Gao—held fief at Ye (Ye County) and usurped ritual protocol by styling himself “Lord (gong).” The text’s “king,” in the original sense of the Spring and Autumn Annals, was only a viscount of Chu; here the title “king” is used. Qi was of the Jiang clan, descendants of Grand Duke (Taigong); their ancestor was one of the “Four Peaks” under Yu, some enfeoffed at Lü, hence Grand Duke is also called Lü Wang. King Wu of Zhou enfeoffed Grand Duke at Yingqiu—that was Qi. Qi and Chu were on friendly terms with constant envoys bearing jade and silk; sometimes they sought urgent aid, sometimes raised armies to demand accountability—matters were weighty and commissions heavy—so Duke of Ye (Zhuliang) was anxious and consulted Confucius.

Textual notes

In Duke of Ye, “Ye” is read like she. Zi Gao: a grand officer of Chu, magistrate of Ye County, who usurped the title lord; surname Shen, personal name Zhuliang, style Zi Gao. In will send, “jiang” is read per the fanqie suo yi; the same below for dai shi (await the envoy).

[Two] Annotation

He feared the other side would only pay lip service to courtesy yet refuse to grant what was asked when trouble came.

Commentary

The Marquis of Qi kept close contact on the surface but was not sincere at heart; though he received Chu’s envoys with great attentiveness, he delayed agreeing to what they requested. The mission was grave, and Zhuliang had this worry first.

[Three] Commentary

Even the shallow mind of a commoner is hard to move—how much more the stance of a feudal lord of the fifth rank! How easily could that be shaken! Measured by this reasoning, he was truly afraid and deeply worried.

Textual notes

In li zhi, “li” is pronounced like li (same as the character for chestnut). Li Yun: it means “fear” (ju).

[Four] Annotation

Matters great or small—few indeed allow one to win another’s heart without first explaining and speaking plainly. This is a point Confucius had already told Zhuliang.

Commentary

“Zi” refers to Confucius. “Gua” means “few.” Managing affairs naturally involves many threads; though large and small differ, none fails to take success and satisfaction as the goal. So Zhuliang cites what Confucius had said before, to open the discussion that follows.

Commentary

The character chang in chang yu is read according to the fanqie notation yu ju fan (an ancient method of indicating pronunciation). The same applies below. Lu Wenzhao notes that some editions write chang as chang (to taste/try).

[Five]

Annotation: People who make a habit of being pleased only when things succeed will grow angry when they fail—even a king like Chu could not escape this failing.

Exegesis: When human feelings clash and things do not go as wished, name and obligation in human relations are dragged in, and troubles such as punishment may follow.

[Six]

Annotation: Though outward calamity has gone, joy and fear still struggle in the chest, as if the five viscera were already frozen solid.

Exegesis: Joy spreads yang qi; worry dims yin qi. Once the affair is settled and the mind is satisfied, former worry turns into present joy. Joy and fear crowd the same heart; yin and yang clash fiercely in the five viscera (zang), congealing like ice—is that not calamity? Hence the text continues below.

Commentary on the text: Zang is read cai lang fan (here zàng, meaning the internal organs).

[Seven]

Annotation: To leave success and failure entirely to outer circumstances while the heart has nothing to brood over—perhaps only a person of deep de can do that.

Exegesis: Placing gain and loss in the inner storehouse of the spirit (lingfu), letting success and failure come and go on the road ahead without letting joy and sorrow drag the spirit—such a one is perhaps only someone whose de runs deep.

(Pronunciation of zang yi in the preceding text is as before.)

[Eight]

Annotation: Facing the fire yet not thinking of coolness shows that the food prepared is very plain.

Exegesis: Here zang means “good, fine”; qing means cool. Orders are stern, the heart is afraid, so one must eat coarse food and cannot attend to refined fare. Since what is eaten is plain, the cook (cuan ren) also has no thought of “making something cool”; the fire is small, so there is no heat to escape.

Textual notes

The transmitted versions from various lineages agree in the main. In the abbreviated manuscript, zhi (to hold) is written as re (heat). Cu is read as cu, with the alternate reading cai gu fan. In er bu zang, zang is read cai lang fan and means “good”; the phrase is punctuated at that point. Cuan is read qi luan fan and denotes cooking over a fire. In wu yu qing, qing is read qi xing fan; the graph should be taken from qing (cool, refreshing)—here it is a borrowed character: qing means cool and refreshing. Zhi ren means: people who make their living by tending cooking fires do not obsess over cool, light fare; when the flame is bright but modest, the food prepared should likewise be plain. Suo zhuan is read shi lian fan and refers to the food or meal that is set out.

Commentary note 9

Even when the food provided is spare, if inwardly one is feverish and relies on drinking ice to suppress it—that is truly anxiety over the hardship of affairs of state, not a deliberate choice to eat simply because fine food is insufficient.

Subcommentary 9

Ye Gong Zha Gao (Zhu Liang) received the royal command in the morning and was drinking ice by evening—enough to show a heart full of dread and grief, as if scorched by inner heat. His longing for the Way was urgent; Zhuangzi could see that mood and lay it bare.

Textual notes (continued)

In nei re yu, yu is read yu, with the same vocalization as shen below. Xiang Xiu said: those who habitually eat rich, refined food necessarily generate inner heat.

Commentary note 10

When the outcome is not yet fixed, one fears only that it cannot be accomplished; if it truly cannot be accomplished, dread knots within while the penal net is woven without.

Subcommentary 10

Such is human feeling: before success or failure is decided, joy and sorrow camp in the heart—this is the affliction of yin and yang (joy and anger) disturbing one another. If things go against one’s wish and the charge cannot be fulfilled, one is drawn into a minister’s accountability and the legal net follows. Inner terror and outer punishment—two layers of calamity—from what corner can guilt be escaped?

Textual notes (continued)

In ze kong ju, kong is read qiu yong fan.

Commentary note 11

(Zi Gao speaks of himself:) I am ashamed to hold a minister’s post yet have wrongly filled the role of a low-ranking envoy; my office is not humble but my virtue is inadequate—I truly cannot bear the task. You are a sage and cherish the aim of benefiting things; you must have a purpose—please instruct me!

Subcommentary 11

As above: he humbles himself—high in rank but thin in virtue, unfit for the mission—and earnestly asks this sage Zhuangzi to explain the principle and teach him.

On pronunciation: In “yi ren,” ren is pronounced like lin; yi here is pronounced like zhen.

Main text

Confucius said: Under heaven there are two great laws that must not be violated: one is ming (one’s given nature and proper role), the other is yi (human relations and what one ought to do).

Children’s reverence and love for parents come from ming—something the heart cannot undo or shrug off. A minister’s service to the ruler comes from yi—wherever one goes, one cannot step outside the bond of “ruler”; between heaven and earth there is nowhere to hide. This is what is called the great precept (da jie).

Therefore: one who serves parents does not pick a place—wherever one is, one can devote oneself to their care; that is the utmost of xiao (filial piety). One who serves the ruler does not pick the task—whatever the duty, one can undertake it with a settled heart; that is the utmost of zhong (loyalty). One who cultivates the inner self does not wear joy and sorrow on one’s face lightly, understands that some things cannot be helped, yet can accept them as calmly as accepting ming (destiny)—that is the utmost of de (virtue).

As minister or as child, there are things one simply must do. Acting according to the real situation and forgetting one’s private gain or loss—where is there room left to cling to life and fear death? Master, if you act in this way, it is fitting.

Notes on commentary and sub-commentary

• Sub-commentary (Cheng Xuanying et al.): “Jie” means law or rule. Though teachings under heaven are many, nothing matters more than these two: ming and yi; the text below explains each in turn.
• Commentary: Feeling toward parents is naturally tied in the heart, hence “cannot be undone.”
• Sub-commentary: The filial child serves parents with love and reverence as the root; this ming arises from what is innate and issues from the center of the person, so it is said the heart cannot undo it.

【3】 [Commentary]

When tens of thousands gather, if there is not one person as head, there is disorder; to avoid disorder there must be a head. Thus however many worthies there may be, one cannot install several rulers at once; and when there are no worthies, one still cannot do without a ruler. This is the constant principle between Heaven and humankind, and an arrangement that must be so.

[Subcommentary]

Between lord and subject, above and below, the pattern has always been thus. A loyal minister serves his lord and may even die to complete name and integrity—name and duty align; it is not something one is born with. Yet however vast the realm, there is no state without a lord; if there is blame, where can one flee? Therefore when orders come, one acts—one need not hesitate over advance or retreat.

【4】 [Commentary]

If the lord could be fled and ties to parents dissolved, there would be no need to establish precepts such as these.

[Subcommentary]

This sums up the meaning of the great precepts on lord and parents stated above.

【5】 [Subcommentary]

For a filial child, supporting parents lies chiefly in compliant adaptation; in taking office and seeking salary, one does not pick high or low rank—meeting what comes and settling in it—only then can one be called supremely filial.

【6】 [Subcommentary]

According to ritual one serves parents and lord and should exhaust loyalty and integrity; whether affairs are easy or hard, one accepts them as fate—how could one first weigh benefit and harm and then obey? To do so is the finest expression of the loyal minister.

【7】 [Commentary]

To know that what cannot be helped is fate, and to rest in it, is to be without sorrow and without joy—why apply the mind further? Therefore take what one meets as fate and do not deploy the mind in between; merge with what is utterly fitting, and in the heart there is neither joy nor grief. Though one deals with ordinary people, nothing is unsuitable anywhere one goes—how much more for lord and parents!

[Subcommentary]

One who cultivates the Dao settles his own mind: embodying opposition and compliance yet not applying the mind in between, merging with what is utterly fitting, in the heart neither joy nor grief; though one deals with ordinary people, nothing is unsuitable anywhere one goes—how much more for lord and parents!

Commentary

Those who cultivate the Dao, if they can settle the mind and sustain themselves with wisdom, will see that forward and reverse are not different and gain and loss are one whole; thus they can pass through joy and sorrow and every turn of circumstance without easily wavering. They understand that poverty and prominence are both inevitable—not something human sentiment can force—so they can rest in fate and not go against heavenly principle. Unless one's virtue has reached the utmost, who could do this?

Textual notes on the reading

In Aile, “le” is read as Luo, the same as in the commentary. Shi hu is read as the character itself (zi). Cui's note reads it as shi, meaning “to shift or move.” ◎ Qingfan's view: shi should be read as yi; “bu yi shi” means “not to shift or change.” The outer chapters of Yanzi chunqiu have “lord and minister easily shift roles” (junchen yi shi); the “Ruxiao” chapter of Xunzi has “the mutual shifting of grief and emptiness” (ai xu zhi xiang shi yi); the biography of Wei Wan in Hanshu has “what people shift and change” (ren zhi suo shi yi); in every case shi is read as yi. Stated forward it is “yi shi” (easy to shift); reversed it is “shi yi” (shift and change). (This follows Wang's Dushu zazhi.)

[8] Note

Some things happen necessarily; principle too is originally continuous. So if you let them proceed, the affair can succeed. There has never been a case where the affair succeeded yet the person could not preserve himself—so why must one worry further over one's own body?

Commentary

Ministers serving lord and father must exhaust loyalty and use all their heart; when there is business, they act and do not pick and choose. Forgetting oneself in duty is exactly what is required. If one truly cannot decline, one should accept the commission.

[9] Note

There is no point where the Way does not go through; therefore one should follow whatever one meets and keep going forward. If faith in the Way is not firm and the mind still holds notions of like and dislike—unable to advance together with utmost adequacy of principle—yet one seeks a livelihood while fearing death, I have never seen such a person accomplish anything.

Commentary

Since it says “the traveler” (one who must set out on the mission), there should be no likes and dislikes. Carrying out the lord's command, one should simply go to Qi—where is the leisure to seek a livelihood or fear death?

Textual notes on the reading

In Er wu, “wu” is read wu lu fan (same below).

Confucius said: “Let me tell you again what I have heard: in close association, people must use sincerity and good faith to align and harmonize with one another; when they are far apart, they must use words to express loyalty and devotion. Yet words are often passed on by others. To carry messages spoken when both sides are pleased or when both are angry is the hardest task in the world. When both are pleased, the words are sure to be laden with excessive praise; when both are angry, the words are sure to be laden with excessive blame. Whatever goes beyond the facts is empty and false; when it is false, no one believes it; when no one believes it, the one who carries the message comes to harm. So the ancient teaching says: ‘Transmit only their genuine intent—do not transmit what goes too far—then you will probably preserve yourself.’”

Guo Xiang commented: Those who are close can meet face to face, so they use sincerity and good faith to test and confirm each other and make mutual trust and deference prevail. When they are far apart, they use language to convey what is in their hearts.

Cheng Xuanying explained: In nearby association, let mutual trust and feeling keep you in accord; at a distance, let words and speech show your loyalty. Here Confucius cites what he has heard to admonish Zigong. When meaning is put into words that must be relayed by someone else, and the two parties are momentarily pleased or angry with each other, to serve as envoy in such a situation is truly difficult among human beings. When words of joy or anger exceed the facts, the go-between must keep both sides from losing the mean—hence the difficulty. “Excess” means going beyond what is fitting; words spoken in joy or anger often overshoot what is due.

Those who rely on scheming and brute strength often look open, upright, and friendly at first (the yang side), yet commonly end in hidden rivalry and growing resentment (the yin side). When contention hits its limit, every sort of crafty trick tends to spill out.

People who drink by ritual etiquette start with clear ranks at the seats and orderly coming and going (order), but often finish in a mess (disorder). Once the drinking goes too far, reckless and extravagant pleasures multiply.

Much the same holds for affairs in general: they tend to begin in sincerity and simplicity and end in coarseness and complexity; what starts plain and small near the end swells large and showy.

Note: In commentaries, “yang” and “yin” here usually mean outward goodwill versus anger and calculation kept in the dark. Those who compete through cleverness find it harder to hide their schemes as things go on; they aim only to beat the other side. The drinking rite was meant to honor rank and to toast in turn, but when people “drown in wine” (zhanmian, sinking into drink), ritual breaks down. Zhuangzi uses fighting with strength and drinking as examples of how people slide from a good opening to a bad finish—hence “they begin in sincerity yet commonly end in baseness.”

To speak is like wind stirring waves on the surface of water—it easily unsettles the heart. Once one acts in lockstep with words, one often loses what is genuinely real in the matter and is left with an empty shell. Wind and waves readily shake a person; losing solid principle easily leads one into danger. That is why anger so often flares up for no clear reason, and why fine phrases are so often one-sided and hard to call truly fair.

When a beast is about to die, it no longer chooses how it cries; its breath grows rough and urgent, and a fierce, hostile spirit arises between them. When scrutiny of others is pushed to an extreme, the other party is bound to respond with ill will—while the one doing it often does not even know it. If one cannot even grasp why things are this way, who can tell how far the consequences will go?

Hence the old admonition: do not change orders halfway through; do not force others to “get it done”—going too far only adds harm. Changing orders and forcing completion both push affairs toward crisis. Good outcomes need time; once something bad is fully done, it is often too late to set right—how can one fail to be cautious?

Moreover, to follow outer things while letting the spirit roam freely, and to take what cannot be helped as the ground for nurturing inner central harmony, is to reach a very high level. Why must every matter be weighed for its “payoff”? Better to rest one’s life peacefully in trust in the whole as it ought to be. The difficulty lies precisely here.

Commentary

When water rises into waves because of wind, it is like the human heart that turns to joy or anger because of words. If one follows such “wind-and-wave speech” and lets joy and anger move, one loses the true principle of things.

(Note: Here “bo” should be read as “bo” in the sense of scattering and turmoil, paired with “shi sang” (loss of what is real); it should not be limited to “waves” alone. In the Wa Wu chapter, Sima’s commentary on “bofang zhi chen” (minister of scattering and turmoil) uses “bofang” in the same sense of scattering and upheaval. In the Zuo Zhuan, “bo ji Jin guo” uses “bo” the same way; in the Yu Gong, “Ying bo ji zhu” appears as “bo” in various editions—all meaning overflow and dispersal.)

Textual note

For “shi sang,” “sang” is pronounced xi lang fan (same in the commentary).

(Jia Shifu says: “shi sang” means gain and loss. “Shi” means having grasped it; “sang” means suddenly forgetting and losing it. Sudden gain and sudden loss are a great danger in conduct, hence “wei” (danger). Guo Xiang’s gloss on “xing zhi ze shi sang” and the like, if read as “set aside wind-waves and do not act rashly, then the real is not lost,” may not match the original intent.)

[2] [Commentary]

Therefore, when one sets aside wind-waves and does not act rashly, what is real is not lost. When affairs accord with the actual situation, danger can turn to safety and turmoil can be settled.

Commentary

Wind stirs water into waves; water easily becomes unstable—an image of how, once the principle of reality is lost, danger is not far off.

[3] [Commentary]

The arising of anger has no other root: it often comes from flowery speech that exceeds the facts, or from biased words that are out of place.

Commentary

People grow angry often for no other reason: mostly because of hollow, clever talk or partial, flattering words.

Note

It is like beasts driven to a dead end: their cries grow urgent and chaotic; once strength and emotion are spent, they can no longer sound calm, and their breathing turns to disorder. Then they suddenly explode in rage, and each side picks up faults and turns against the other.

Commentary

When a beast is cornered—forced until there is nowhere to run and its life is almost gone—it no longer cares whether its cry is measured. Its qi is blocked and stagnant, harsh feeling builds in the heart, and it may suddenly lash out in fury and spring to bite. Guo Xiang is offering this image first to show that human beings, in comparable straits, behave in the same way.

On variant readings in the transmitted text (for reading the original): Some manuscripts write the word glossed as “qi (breath)” with the homophone used for “vessel” (the two were often interchangeable in older usage). Furan (sometimes read like bo) describes a sudden flare of anger. In xin li (“heart li”), some read li as lai. These are mainly differences of graph or pronunciation; the sense stays the same: pushed to the limit → qi and emotion slip out of control → mutual rage and harm.