《庄子集释》Vol. 7

“From this, one reaches the utmost”

The reason people follow him is precisely this one thing—not because he picks auspicious days or puts on a show, but because of his empty-still, detached mind that lets go of gain and loss, benefit and harm, honor and disgrace.

What the commentary says:

That Wang Tai (Wang Tai, the realized figure in Zhuangzi) would hardly need to wait for a “lucky day” before ascending to the subtle Way. Of course not. He simply abides in emptiness and stillness, in wanting nothing and forgetting the outer world, in accord with the Dao. The perfected person has no contrived heart; the heart is clear as still water, reflective as a mirror that shows things without clinging—and the vain, artificial people of the world precisely from this place (from this quiet indifference and naturalness) are willing to follow him.

“Because he is quiet and detached, he is whole”

The note explains: precisely because Wang Tai silently merges with the true Dao and is calmly indifferent, vain things naturally turn toward him; he would never treat “getting people to follow” as a skill to manage and cultivate.

How the exegesis explains “dengjia” (to help when reading the original text):

“Dengjia” and “dengge” were interchangeable in antiquity; both carry the sense of ascending and rising upward (as in the Erya: ge, zhi, deng, sheng all mean to climb or rise). Here it is not the “jia” of “borrowing from others,” but rising up to the Dao; different editions read the graph differently, but the meaning always settles on advancing upward into the Way.

On the same page, the opening of Zhuangzi’s “De chong fu” follows (the original has collation marks in the middle; here the usual sense is given):

Shentu Jia was a man whose feet had been cut off (“wuzhe” refers to someone who underwent foot amputation as punishment), yet he studied under the same teacher Bo Hun Wufen as Zichan of the state of Zheng.

Collation note (not scripture):

The final “jiao” (collation) entries record variant graphs in different editions (e.g. guan/gong, zhong/zhong, and similar). When reading the story you can skip them; they do not change the main sense.

Plain-Language Interpretation

Shentu Jia had suffered foot amputation as punishment and had only one foot left. He studied under a teacher named “Bo Hun Wu Ren” together with Zichan, a senior minister of Zheng. “Bo Hun” suggests holding a senior place while staying hidden and dissolving the sharp edges between self and others; Zichan and Shentu Jia—one in office, one outside it—were fellow disciples asking about the Way. Zhuangzi uses their three-way dialogue to unfold the meaning of “De chong” (virtue that truly fills and completes a person).

Zichan once said to Shentu Jia: “If I leave first, don’t walk with me; if you leave first, I won’t leave yet.” (Behind the words is shame at walking side by side with someone who had been punished—Zichan studied the Way too, but still struggled to let go of rank and face.)

The next day the two sat together again in the same class. Zichan spoke to Shentu Jia again: “I said before: when I go out, you stay; when you go out, I stay. Now I’m about to leave—can you stay and not walk with me? Or still not understand and not do as I asked? And when you see someone in high office you don’t step aside—do you think yourself equal to a minister?”

Cheng Commentary says: Zichan still had fame and disgrace on his mind, while Shentu Jia had already let go of both high and low status. Though reasons had been given before, Gongsun still would not listen, so they shared one room and sat on the same mat. When Gongsun saw him like that, he confronted him to his face.

Guo Xiang’s Commentary says: Gongsun often took his role as a minister as his identity and thought highly of himself, so he bluntly said “Ziqi holds office,” intending to show that Shentu was insubordinate (bùxùn).

Cheng Commentary says: “Yield” (wéi) means to give way. The path of serving in office and the path of living in seclusion are not the same, and high and low rank are not the same either. I hold the reins of government and ought to be honored as greater; you are maimed in body and low in station and ought to respect me. You refuse to step aside yet still want to sit as my equal.

Shentu Jia said: “Under the Master’s tutelage, were there always people in office like you? Did you first boast of your power and then treat others as your juniors? I have heard: the brighter a mirror, the more clearly dust and filth show; if you see them but do not wipe them away, the mirror no longer shines. Stay long with the worthy and you make fewer mistakes. What you ought to respect most now is the Master—yet your words go this far. Is that not excessive?”

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: Here the issue is virtue, not official rank.

Cheng Commentary: The Master is Bohun, a person of the Way who deeply understands subtle principle, treats honor and disgrace as one, and takes life and death as a single whole. Under the Master’s tutelage, must those who hold office necessarily act this arrogant?

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: He mocks Gongsun for leaning on his position in office and wanting to press others down everywhere.

Textual note: In Zhao Jianyi’s edition, the character after “bùxùn” (insubordinate) is followed by an extra final particle “yě.”

(Commentary) You still cling to rank and glory, boast of yourself in public affairs, and push others back while putting yourself forward. With a mind like that, how can you speak of learning the Way?

(Note) You have already drawn near to an enlightened teacher, yet stinginess and calculating have not been cast off—that is the real fault.

(Commentary) “Mirror” (jian) means a looking-glass. A mirror must be bright before dust and grime show clearly; if you only pursue “stilling” without clear reflection, that is not a true bright mirror. Likewise, only by staying long with the worthy do faults grow few; if faults of this kind remain, you have not truly followed the wise. What you now treat as weighty and supreme is, in essence, the Master’s Dao. The Master’s Dao is yielding, emptying the self, and forgetting attachment; you instead exalt yourself—a deep betrayal of the subtle intent—and still say such things. Is that not fault?

Zichan said: “You are already like this, yet you still want to compare your virtue with Yao’s? Weigh it: your virtue is probably not enough to make up for the lack in your body, is it?”

(Note) “Like this” refers to being so physically impaired. (Another note) The point is: without self-examination, you wish to slight those in high office and stand equal with the virtuous; with your virtue, you were never enough to offset the fault of bodily mutilation.

(Commentary) “Fan” here means “return, cover over.” Shentu Jia is so maimed yet unaware of it, and would walk shoulder to shoulder with me—truly contending in goodness with Yao. Even if you had some virtue, it would not be worth mentioning here; using virtue to patch mutilation still would not level it out.

Shentu Jia said: “Those who speak out their faults and think they should not be punished are many; those who do not speak them out and think they should not be kept are few. To know there is nothing to be done yet accept it in peace, as if fixed by fate—only one of virtue can do that.”

(Quoted again) Wandering within the range where Hou Yi (the ancient master archer) draws the bow and sets arrows—manuscripts differ here, but the general sense is living in perilous, constrained circumstances.

Shentu Jia said: “Many people parade their faults yet feel they do not deserve to die; few quietly know they are at fault yet feel they do not deserve to go on living. To see that things cannot be helped and still accept them calmly—this is called ming (fate/destiny); only one with De can do it. We all live within the range of Hou Yi’s bow: hitting the bull’s-eye is the center of the earth; missing the mark—that is ming. Many laughed at me for being incomplete because I lack a foot, and I once flared up in anger; but as soon as I came to the Master, that anger drained away again. Could it be that the Master washed my heart with goodness? I have kept company with him for nineteen years, and he has never treated me as a ‘cripple.’ Now you and I meet in what is within the form, yet you pick at me from outside the form—is that not going too far?”

Notes to aid reading: Shentu Jia is the foot-punished man in this Zhuangzi chapter; he studied under Bo Hun Wuren (the “Master”) together with Zichan, prime minister of Zheng. “Wandering in Hou Yi’s target zone” is a metaphor for living in peril or within the bowshot of ming; whether one hits center or not is not entirely within human control. “Washing me with goodness” means guiding and transforming through virtue until anger subsides. “Within the form / outside the form” means one should judge by character and spirit, not by whether the body is mutilated. Zichan avoided sitting beside Shentu Jia because he was a punished amputee; Shentu Jia answers with this rebuke.

Yi was an archer of antiquity famed for his skill; whatever lay within the reach of his bow and arrow was called gouzhong—the target, the range of the shot. When benefit and harm collide, everyone under heaven seems to stand inside Yi’s bullseye. People who cannot forget body and forget cleverness, who drift with things in the same current, are still moving within Yi’s range—whether one goes abroad like Zhang Yi or lives apart like Dan Bao, one can hardly escape being “in the middle.” Hit or miss, in the end belongs to ming (fate, what is allotted), not to skill or awkwardness.

Small folk each meet their own turn of events, yet fail to see that ming is simply how things are. Those who by luck avoid the arrow think themselves clever and quietly congratulate themselves; when they still cannot escape being struck, they blame their own misjudgment and wound their will and shame their spirit—that is still not having understood what ming means.

That “I” live is not something “I” give life to. Through a hundred years of sitting, rising, walking, stopping, choosing and refusing, temperament and capacity—for all one has or lacks, all one does or encounters—nothing is truly at “my” command; it is only what must be so. Yet within that one adds joy and grief—that is again turning against nature and losing the Dao.

The commentary adds: Yi was a renowned archer in Yao’s time; his shots did not miss, and whatever fell within the bowshot was wounded; birds and beasts could scarcely escape. To avoid injury by chance rested on tianming (Heaven’s decree). Shentu Jia’s lost foot was like taking one of Yi’s arrows; Zichan’s intact body was merely the accident of not being hit—since neither is settled by human power, there is no call for self-congratulation.

Plain-Language Commentary

Textual notes (pronunciation and meaning)

“Yi” is read as yì. Tradition holds he was a master archer who could “shoot people”; such figures appear in both Tang and Xia times. Another account makes him lord of Youqiong, who usurped the Xia throne. “Gou” is read as gòu and means to draw and fully tension a bow.

A family elder said: per the Yuxian, gou means to draw a bow or crossbow—as in the Hanshu, biography of Zhou Yafu: “drawing crossbows until fully drawn.” If one roams within Yi’s archery range, danger is everywhere. To fancy oneself skillful enough always to stay in the “safe zone” where no arrow lands is wishful thinking: once the string is drawn and the bow full, the arrow groove lines up on the body, and one may even be hurt by the rebound. Roaming the same ground, hit or miss is largely chance; since nothing else avails, better to rest in ming (fate)—that is what “ming” is about here. Below it adds that losing one’s feet is not that person’s fault.

“Zhong” here is level tone; “yang” had several old fanqie readings. Guo’s note: the zone arrows can reach is called gouzhong. “Zhong” in zhongdi (the zone one is “in”) is departing tone; the same applies below to bu zhong, zhu zhongdi, and zhong yu bu zhong. “Dan Bao”: “Bao” is read shàn.

[5] [Commentary]

They do not understand tianming (Heaven’s decree/fate) yet still give that kind of mockery (as above, mocking those with maimed bodies).

[6] [Commentary]

Seeing others flare up because they do not know ming, and getting angry oneself, is likewise not knowing ming.

[Commentary / Exegesis]

Furan means violent, suddenly enraged. Not knowing ming, one vainly tries to keep the body whole; because one’s own looks are fine, one sneers at the maimed. Such a person, seeing others ignorant of ming and blowing up, also rages in anger—still not having awakened to ming.

Textual note

For furan, “fu” is read fú (fanqie fu fu fan).

[7] [Commentary]

(Zichan) saw that the zhiren ( perfected person ) knew ming and forgot the body, so he dropped his earlier anger toward the maimed and returned to an ordinary, calm mind.

[Commentary / Exegesis]

Zichan went to Boyin Zixiu, received wordless instruction, set aside his former anger, and returned to the normal state of his original nature.

Note: This passage belongs to the Zhuangzi Jishi commentary on “roaming in Yi’s gou” and Zichan’s meeting Boyin Zixiu. The core points: gouzhong figures a place where danger is everywhere; hit or miss is mostly accident; only zhiming (knowing ming) and wangxing (forgetting the body) can quell anger and restore the ordinary. If your copy continues, paste the rest for further translation.

【8】 Note: I do not know whether it is because the master washed me with the way of goodness, or because I was able to examine myself—either way, I forgot my physical form and cast off my entanglements.

【Commentary】 Having entered the master’s gate and come to the empty, still inner chamber, I set aside anger and returned to the ordinary. I do not know whether it was my teacher who washed my heart with clear, good water, or whether my nature was able to turn inward in self-examination. Going back and forth I pursued the matter and could not pin down the reason. Thus I also forgot the attachment in my heart to seeking the Way and freed myself from bondage.

【9】 Note: This is because one has forgotten the physical form.

【Commentary】 Master Tui and I wandered within Dào and Dé, and so could exhaust the essentials of yīn and yáng and the finest points of ultimate principle. They had already discarded cleverness and forgotten form—how could they notice that my appearance was marred and my bearing awkward?

【10】 Note: The physical form is outward; virtue is inward. Now you join me in wandering the Way through virtue—you are not joining me through the physical form—yet you come demanding my outward “good appearance” (bearing and looks). Is that not going too far?

【Commentary】 Guo Xiang’s note says: The physical form is outward, virtue inward; now you wander the Way with me through virtue, not through bodily union, yet you come seeking my outward “good” (appearance and bearing)—is that not excessive? This note is already sufficient; there is no need for a separate explanation.

(Commentary)

Someone did not practice self-cultivation with enough care and ran afoul of the law (in some commentaries “wang” is read as “net,” meaning the net of the law). He had already suffered official punishment before and been through great hardship, until his body was maimed to this degree. Now he comes again to ask instruction of the master—what can he still hope for?

(Phonological and textual notes are omitted here, as in the original: for example, “zhong” is read like “pin,” “jian” like “xian”; there are differing ways to punctuate “zi bu jin qian”; a certain “yi” follows the received text.)

Wuzhi (Toeless) said:

It is only because I did not know what the root is that ought to be kept that I lightly wasted and used this body of mine, and so I lost my foot.

(Note: Human life originally arises from li itself; there is no need to force or fabricate. Simply follow it and let it be natural, and one will cherish this body and know what to “wu” (devote oneself to). If one forgets this self-arising li and is constrained and self-important everywhere, that is using the body lightly without knowing what to devote oneself to—then within the five viscera turn against one another, and outwardly hands and feet may be maimed.)

I come now because I still believe that something more “noble” than the foot remains, and I want with all my strength to keep it whole and intact.

(Note: Cutting off one foot is not enough to impair his virtue—so the bodily form is only a temporary inn on the road. To set aside self-importance in due measure and let life arise naturally is what is called “wu quan” (devoting oneself to wholeness).)

Heaven covers nothing that it does not cover; earth bears nothing that it does not bear—I took the Master to be as vast and inclusive as heaven and earth. How was I to know the Master would still be like this (unable to embrace me as heaven and earth fully do)?

(Notes [1] through [4] as above; here [5] in the original connects with “taking the Master as heaven and earth, how did I know the Master would still be like this”: the gist is that Wuzhi had taken Kongzi (Confucius) to be as all-embracing as heaven and earth, but found him still bound by ritual and physical appearance, unable truly to “cover and bear” him.)

[Commentary] In his dealings with others, Wu Zhi (Footless) was respectful and cautious; he valued De (virtue) and treated the physical body lightly. He wanted to make a name for himself in the world, yet did not understand that he ought to preserve life and live out the full way of being alive—so he broke the law and was punished with amputation of the foot. Though his form was maimed, his De remained; therefore he repeatedly sought out Confucius, wishing to preserve his moral standing. Comparing De with the physical form, the text says “he whose foot is honored still remains”—“remains” means he is still here, not yet lost.

[Note] Heaven does not deliberately set out to cover the ten thousand things, and so it can keep covering them; earth does not deliberately set out to bear them, and so it can keep bearing them. If heaven and earth “covered and bore” in order to cover and bear, there would always come a moment when they stopped; if a boat can sink but a person insists on floating, there would always come a moment of sinking. Therefore, when external things are forced by deliberate artifice and driven against their nature, they are not enough to sustain a person through a whole lifetime.

[Note] Blaming Wu Zhi for lack of caution means comparing him with heaven and earth—and he cannot measure up to them.

[Commentary] Heaven and earth nurture the ten thousand things, covering and bearing without partiality; the sage’s De accords with the two poles of heaven and earth, and ought to spread broad kindness and abandon no one. Who would have thought the Master (Confucius) still would not cast aside one whose form was maimed? Can such a will to save truly be like this?

Confucius said: “I am indeed shallow and narrow. Master, why not enter and tell us what you have heard?”

[Commentary] What Zhongni (Confucius) spoke was merely the traces left by the sage; Wu Zhi came to learn the way to preserve life. Answering what is deep with what is shallow truly shows narrowness.

Wu Zhi took leave and went away. Confucius said: “Disciples, exert yourselves! Wu Zhi is a man who lost his foot, yet he still strives to learn in order to make up for the wrong path he once took—how much more should those whose De is complete!”

[Note] Having heard what should be heard, he withdrew—in order to preserve his original wuwei (non-action).

Plain-Language Commentary

[1] Annotation

When you have heard what should be heard, withdraw—that is how you keep to the role of wuwei (non-action).

[2] Commentary

“Master” (fuzi) refers to Wuzhi; hu means “why.” Confucius felt his learning and virtue fell short, was ashamed in his heart, and so lowered himself, inviting Wuzhi in to speak on fang nei—human ritual and self-cultivation within the world. Later, after staying too long in the humble lodging (Quya), he went over what had already been taught again (like bringing out the straw dog once more after the rite), and Wuzhi did not want to listen further, so he left in silence.

[3] Annotation

Someone whose virtue is complete almost forgets from birth what it means to be “alive”—not indifference to life, but freedom from being dragged by birth and death.

[4] Commentary

Mian means to exhort. Wuzhi, though maimed in limb, still cherished and preserved life, made up for what was lacking, and regretted his former conduct. How much more should worthy gentlemen, whose form and spirit and virtue are relatively whole, live without being chained to “being alive,” with virtue filling the inner self. Disciples and people of that sort ought to take someone like Wuzhi as their model for encouragement.

Textual note

In qian xing (“going forward”), xing is read with the xia meng fanqie pronunciation.

Wuzhi said to Laozi: “Compared with the True Person (zhiren), Confucius is probably still a notch short, isn’t he? Why is he so deferential, like a disciple coming to you for learning? He probably still wants to spread a far-flying name through odd, deceptive, crowd-pleasing tricks—and does not know that the True Person treats such things as fetters locked onto the body.”

[5] Annotation

(Laozi or the commentator) finds it strange: on one side Confucius has just been learning from Laozi, on the other he still plays the sage.

[6] Commentary

Binbin describes a respectful, diligent bearing. One who penetrates profound virtue exhausts principle to the limit, forgets words and cuts off artificial learning, follows nature, and comes close to knowing from birth. Confucius, by contrast, clings to written traces and the comportment of a sage, binbin in diligence, asking Laojun about ritual. Measured by your (Wuzhi’s) standard, one can see he has not reached the True Person; if so, what is the point of still “playing the disciple”?

Textual note

In yu lao (“speaking to Laozi”), yu is read with the yu ju fanqie. Binbin: Sima Biao says it is the look of respect; Zhang says “like xianxian” (still acting the worthy); Cui says it implies drawing distinctions of closeness and distance.

The Essential Meaning of “The Great Master”

Zhuangzi says: Though heaven and earth are vast and the myriad things are richly endowed, what they honor and take as their model is in fact “no-mind”—the way of aligning with nature and not holding fast to contrived action.

To grasp what Heaven does and what human beings do is to reach the furthest point of understanding. What Heaven does is to be so of itself, spontaneously thus; what human beings do is to use the bit of understanding they already have to care for what they still do not understand, completing their allotted years without dying halfway—this is what it means to use knowledge to the utmost.

Commentator Cui Yuan says: “The Great Master” teaches forgetting the bodily form and forgetting attachment to life, taking this approach as the “great root” for learning.

Cheng Xuanying explains: Here “Heaven” means nature; “ultimate” (zhi) means reaching the furthest limit. What Heaven does includes the bright and dark of sun and moon, the killing and growth of the four seasons, the rise and fall of wind and clouds, thunder, rain, cold and heat. What human beings do includes the movement of hands and feet, seeing and hearing with eyes and ears, and in the mind distinguishing clever from clumsy—everything that involves intentional doing falls under this. When one sees that Heaven’s work is entirely self-so, not relying on human contrivance or forced cleverness, then inwardly one releases the body and outwardly merges with things in oblivion; the heart opens and shares one body with the myriad things, probing principle to the end and fulfilling nature to complete virtue—hence it is called “ultimate.”

He adds: To know Heaven and to know human doing—in the end both are nature. Inwardly releasing the body and outwardly merging with things, returning with the multitude to deep sameness, following the course of things until nothing fails to reach this—that is the point. Again: “Heaven” is nature. What one tries to “do” on purpose cannot truly be doing; it is only its own doing. What one tries to “know” on purpose cannot add an extra measure of knowing; what is known is this same natural order alone.

Note

“Heaven” here means nature—what is so of itself. Those who set out deliberately to “act” in fact achieve little; things simply happen on their own. Those who set out deliberately to “know” in fact do not reach genuine knowing; understanding simply shows itself. What is called knowing of itself is really “not-knowing”; it is precisely by resting in not-knowing that true knowing arises from within not-knowing. What is called acting of itself is really “non-action”; it is precisely through non-action that action arises from within non-action. Because action arises from non-action, non-action is taken as the root; because knowing arises from not-knowing, not-knowing is taken as the guiding aim. Therefore the True Person (zhenren) relinquishes deliberate pursuit of knowledge yet still has knowing, does not deliberately act yet still has action, follows what arises naturally, and through zuowang (sitting in forgetfulness—quiet sitting in which distinctions and fixations drop away) gains what is to be attained; then the names and forms of “knowing” are utterly cut off, and the names and forms of “acting” are dispelled along with them.

Commentary

Clouds drift and rain falls; rivers and mountains take their forms—all without human contrivance, but as they are given by nature. Knower and known alike revert to the natural. This explicates the earlier phrase “what Heaven does”: spontaneous and inherent, not something anyone arranges on purpose.

People live in the world with bodies barely seven feet tall, yet none of the Five Constants—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—can be left out. So though the frame is small, one must still draw in the myriad things of heaven and earth to sustain oneself. Among all things in the cosmos, whatever has life cannot get through a single day without the rest. Leave out any one piece and life cannot arise; fail in any one principle and you will not live out your allotted years.

What the body holds includes what you are aware of and what you are not. Yet whatever the body must have, not one item can be missing for a day. The Way that dwells within sometimes moves you to act and sometimes not. Thus what people know is very little, while what the body needs is very much; what people do with their own hands is very little, while what the Way encompasses is very broad. Even those in high position cannot supply everything and satisfy every need. People’s understanding need not be identical, yet in what they do they dare not capriciously set themselves apart—once you set yourself apart, falsity takes hold; and there has never been a case where falsity is established yet the natural true self does not slip away.

Some wear themselves out in endless seeking for knowledge, loving only one “branch” while ruining the “root” as a whole. That is using what you know to harm what you do not know.

As for when “knowing” is used well: knowing that each person’s proper tasks have their limits, one therefore lets things follow their nature without forcing; knowing the bounds of what a person can know, one therefore applies knowledge without excess. If you do not treat what you know as boundless and use it to trap yourself, then within the same body, “knowing” and “not-knowing” will meet in the dark and complete each other—this is using what you know to nourish what you do not know.

Commentary: What is meant here by “what humans do” refers to the hundred parts of the body and the four limbs, each with its own function. “What knowing knows”—for example, when the eyes can distinguish colors, colors count as what can be known. “What knowing does not know”—for example, when the eyes can know color but cannot know sound, sound is what is “not known.” Then the eyes look on behalf of the hands and feet, and the feet walk on behalf of the ears and nose—though there is no “heart-mind” deliberately ordering them to help one another, the help that should happen still gets done. So eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and the four limbs mutually employ one another, each managing its own share. The bright and dark sides of the heart-mind also have boundaries: use only what lies within one’s role, and never force knowing of what one cannot know. Using “what is already known” to nourish “what one ought not to force oneself to know” allows one to live out one’s natural span and not die prematurely. To achieve this is the utmost flourishing of “knowing.”

Textual notes (pronunciation and variants): Readings such as “bu sang” according to the Xilang fan notation; “huo” read as hubao fan; “bu qiang” read as qiliang fan. Lu Wenchao notes that in the present text the character for “qiang” appears as “qiang” (strong)—these are matters of pronunciation and variant readings; readers need only be aware in passing.

Yet there is a problem. Even when knowing is at its finest, there is still a lingering trouble; it is not as good as forgetting knowing and simply trusting what is natural.

Fu zhi you suo dai er hou dang—knowing often has to rely on something else before it counts as “correct,” and what it relies on is not necessarily reliable.

Qi suo dai zhe te wei ding ye—what it relies on is inherently unsettled.

Yong ju zhi wu suo wei tian zhi fei ren hu? Suo wei ren zhi fei tian hu?—How can we be sure that what we call “Heaven” (tian) is not really “human” (ren)? That what we call “human” is not really “Heaven”?

[3] Commentary

Where there is dependence, there is no fixity.

As soon as mind and consciousness still lean on external things and circumstances (“you dai,” having what one depends on), one cannot speak of lasting peace.

[3] Exegesis

Knowing must face objects (what is cognized) before it can arise; without objects, knowing has no footing. Objects both arise and perish and are not fixed; knowing likewise shifts with grasping and letting go of objects and has no constant nature. Only when objects and knowing are both forgotten, and both the knower and the known are cut off, can one say “nothing is unacceptable and nothing is unacceptable”—then there is no calamity.

[4] Commentary

My life has a limit—that is Heaven; the heart wishing to extend it—that is the human.

Life span is limited—that is Tian (what nature gives); in the heart one still wants to prolong it—that is ren (human contrivance). Yet what people call “human” and “thing” ultimately comes down to Tian (nature). Tian is ziran (what is so of itself). Since people all belong to nature, order and disorder, success and failure, meeting opportunity or not—are not fully in human hands; all are simply how nature is.

[4] Exegesis

Looking near at oneself and far at the ten thousand things, the exercise of zhi and neng is nothing but ziran. From this one knows Tian and ren are not two in principle—hence to speak of Tian is to speak of ren, and to speak of ren is to speak of Tian. Ordinary folk—how would they understand this! Here wu (I) is Zhuangzi referring to himself. This is the meaning of blending ren and Tian, mixing thing and self.

Phonetic gloss: “Yong ju” (ordinary how)—Xu reads qi shu fan. “Ze zhi” (then govern)—zhi li fan.

Textual note: (1) The two characters “tian ye” are supplied from the Shide Hall edition.

Main text: Only when there is a zhenren (true person) is there zhenzhi (genuine knowing)

Only when there is a zhenren is there zhenzhi.

First there is a zhenren (true person), then there is genuine knowing.

What is meant by zhenren?

What is a true person?

The zhenren of old did not go against fewness, did not vaunt success by force, did not scheme to be a shi (office-holder).

The true persons of antiquity: did not resist their naturally few lot, did not rely on force or display to accomplish things and grab credit, did not plot the path of the shi (entering office, making a name).

If so—past errors without regret, what is fitting without self-congratulation.

If such: what is past without regret, what is appropriate without smug satisfaction.

If so—climbing high without trembling, entering water without soaking, entering fire without burning.

If such: climbing high without fear, entering water without getting wet, entering fire without feeling heat.

This is knowing able to ascend and borrow upon the Dao to this degree.

This is knowing able to rise by and borrow upon the Dao (“deng jia yu Dao”) to this extent.

According to the commentary: when the right moment for action has passed, the true person (zhenren) does not regret it; when fate places one in a given situation, one does not swell with pride because one has “acted exactly as one should.” Yu Yue explains: guo means having committed a fault; dang means acting appropriately. Ordinary people regret mistakes and congratulate themselves when they get things right; the true person is not like that. Hence the main text says: having faults without regret, and what is fitting without self-congratulation. The main text clearly speaks of guo (fault), yet Guo Xiang’s commentary takes it as “perfectly fitting, without fault”—which misses the point.

Commentary on section seven: when we say that “knowing” can ascend all the way to the realm of the Dao, the distance is just that great. The Way is originally complete in itself; this is not a stance taken from fear of death. So when the true person walks on land, it is not to escape damp; keeping away from fire is not to flee heat; being without fault is not deliberately lining every act up correctly. Thus, though one does not treat heat as something to dread, one still does not jump into fire; though one does not treat damp as something to dread, one still does not step into water on purpose; though one does not treat death as something to hide from, one still does not throw life away. Then—is “life” produced by the concept of “being born”? Is “completion” completed by the concept of “completion”? What follows nature and reaches everywhere without forcing is the true person—how could such a one hold a fixed opinion about what one meets?

In the sub-commentary: li means fear, ru means dampness or wetness, deng means to rise, jia means to arrive or reach. The true person sees that life and death are one body, and security and danger are one body, so entering water or fire does not trouble the mind, and climbing high or crossing peril does not cause panic. Only someone with real wisdom has this capacity and can ascend to the subtle Dao—hence what is said above.

The phonetic glosses (fanqie) for characters such as those read in the tradition as li, ru, deng jia, yuan huo, you gai, and similar, are chiefly of interest to specialists; modern readers may simply use the usual pronunciations in standard dictionaries.

In ancient usage, the “True Person” (Zhenren)—someone who has attained the Dao and become one with nature—does not have confused dreams in sleep, and on waking carries no surplus anxiety. At meals they do not cling to fine flavors; their breathing is deep and even. The True Person’s breath seems to rise slowly from the “root,” as from the heels, as if qi were threading up from the depths of the body. Ordinary people’s breath, by contrast, stops in the throat—shallow and rushed. Those who bow to external things and diminish themselves speak as though they might retch the moment they open their mouths: qi runs counter and the voice is strained. The heavier one’s desires and indulgences, the shallower one’s inborn clarity and understanding.

[1]

Note: One who has become one with “transformation”—the natural unfolding of change.

Commentary: When Qi gathers, there is life; being born is simply a phase one is meant to pass through. When Qi disperses, there is death; dying is simply a course one is meant to follow. Once one has truly understood transformation, the heart no longer weighs life and death with liking and disliking.

[2]

Note: Settled and at ease, leaving things to their own nature.

Commentary: When the time to be born arrives, one is born—there is no need to stir the feelings with joy. When the time to enter death arrives, one enters death—why would one deliberately resist or shrink from death?

[3]

Note: Body and mind are entrusted to the highest principle, so the alternation of life and death is not felt as hardship.

Commentary: “Xiāorán” describes a state free of entanglement and at ease. To be xiāorán and “transform alone” is to wander in accord with principle; even as death and birth come and go, one never clings or holds on.

[4]

Note: Beginning and end—and every change—are forgotten; this goes beyond merely forgetting birth while still trying to grasp what death is about.

Commentary: Beginning is birth, end is death. Life and death are released together, without any blockage. This is not forgetting birth only to turn and seek death. Beginning and end are held on the same level; whatever one meets, one is equal to it.

[5]

Note: (This entry continues the commentary above.) It is not a matter of forgetting birth while leaning toward death; beginning and end are even, and what is encountered is simply what fits.

Notes on pronunciation and meaning

The character read as fù in yóu fù (“still again / once more”) is given in old fanqie notation as “fú yòu fǎn.” The same notation applies to fēi fù (“no longer / not again”) below.

[5] Guo Xiang’s commentary

There is no need to ask what one has received; whatever one meets, one can dwell with it in peace and fit with it.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary

This means: one gladly accepts whatever one encounters.

[6] Guo Xiang’s commentary

This “return” (responding to things in a natural cycle) does not come from deliberate planning; even when one has “arrived there” in that natural way, it is still so.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary

Conversely, the mind that “deliberately acts” has not yet arisen.

[7] Guo Xiang’s commentary

People are born into quiet—that is nature (xing) as heaven gives it; being moved by contact with things is desire arising from that nature. Things stir people without end; people chase desire without limit, and so heavenly principle (tianli) is obscured and lost. The True Person (zhenren) understands: once one uses scheming and cleverness, one turns away from the Dao; if one tries to “help” nature and add something extra, one instead harms life—so such things are not done.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary (first part)

Shì wèi (“this is called”) points to the passage above and sums up the point. Juān here means to discard or give up. The earlier text says that cleverness can forget clinging to life—that can be put as: if one misuses cleverness, one harms life; therefore the True Person deliberately does not do (those acts of adding or discriminating).

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary (second part)

Again, shì wèi summarizes what came before. Juān is still “discard.” The earlier line says that cleverness can forget life; one can also say: without a mind of picking and choosing, one discards estrangement from the empty, penetrating Dao; and without human partiality, one does not extra “help” the boundaries nature already has. Only one who can do this is called a True Person.

Notes on pronunciation and meaning

Juān: Xu Miao reads it with fanqie “yǐ quán fǎn.” In Guo’s text it is written yī (bow); one reading is “yī rù fǎn.” Cui Yi said: in some versions it is written jí (oar).

(Textual note) Lu Wenchao held that yī was wrongly written for jí. Since the note says “or written jí,” the original here should be yī. Yu Yue thought juān was a wrong character; the pronunciation text says Guo has yī and Cui says or jí—neither fits the sense; the original in all lines was probably bèi (“turn the back,” i.e. “turn against”). So Guo’s note “The True Person knows: using the mind turns one against the Dao; helping heaven harms life” may rest on a text reading bèi rather than juān. “Then turn against” (zé bèi) is read bèi like “to carry on the back.”

Brief textual notes

(1) In Zhao Jianyi’s edition, shòu (“receive”) is written ài (“love”).

(2) For the line “not using the mind to juān the Dao,” following Yu Yue and others, it is best read in the Guo commentary tradition as “if one uses the mind, one turns against the Dao; if one helps heaven, one harms life”; Guo’s base text may read bèi (“turn against”) rather than juān.

Brief collation note

Some versions write shou (to receive) as ai (love). Bu yi xin sun dao should read bu yi xin sun dao (do not harm the Dao with the heart)—in transmitted texts sun (harm) was wrongly written as juan (to abandon). The Shiji, Biography of Jia Yi, Suoyin commentary quotes this passage with sun.

Main meaning of the text

If it is so (as said above: not harming the great Dao with private intent, not letting external things drag down the self), then the inner mind is settled and single-minded (one reading has xin wang, the heart not caught by stray thoughts); the expression is quiet and still, the brow shows an air of plain, unadorned simplicity. When stern, like autumn; when mild, like spring; joy and anger follow the natural rhythm of the four seasons; in dealing with the ten thousand things each finds its place—yet no one can say where the boundary of such a person’s realm lies.

Further understanding from commentaries

Guo Xiang on suo ju er an wei zhi—some hold it should read qi xin zhi (his mind’s aim): in the Shuowen, zhi is what the heart turns toward; ancient texts speak of “like archery having a zhi”—the heart has a master, one must hit the mark. Buddhist teaching says “nature and marks are alike, constantly abiding without shifting”—this connects to the inner stillness meant by qi xin zhi / xin wang here. Lu Deming’s Shiwen takes zhi as a graphic error for wang and reads qi xin wang (his heart forgets [attachment]).

Qi rong ji (his bearing is still): outwardly he may act, yet the inner stillness is not harmed. Some manuscripts have rong □ with a missing character in the Cui text; the usual reading is ji (still, silent).

Qi sang kui (his brow kui): sang is the forehead; kui describes a great simplicity, an unpretentious appearance. Cheng Xuanying’s commentary says when a zhenren (true person) descends into the world, temperament differs from ordinary people, hence this quiet, plain bearing.

Commentary. Sang refers to the forehead; kui describes the plain, unadorned look of the great simplicity (da pu). When a zhenren (True Person) comes into the world, their bearing differs from ordinary people: not only is their wisdom clear and penetrating in emptiness and brightness, and their will and strength vast, but their dignified ease and solemn appearance also stand apart. A broad forehead and square mouth belong in this category.

Textual notes on pronunciation and meaning (abbreviated). Sang is read as in the sidang fan (traditional fanqie notation); various schools read kui differently—some gloss it as quan (authority) or plainness without ornament, others as “the appearance of great simplicity,” where da (great) and pu (simplicity) share the same sense.

Note [4]. Killing things is not done to display authority.

Note [5]. Giving life to things is not done to perform benevolence.

Note [6]. One who embodies the Dao and can change with things is warm or stern like cold and heat, yet inwardly does not harbor deliberate intent to “be warm” or “be stern.” Warmth and sternness appear only in outward bearing; the rhythm of killing and giving life appears only in action—hence such phenomena are spoken of under the names “joy and anger.”

Commentary. The sage has no fixed heart: when touched, they respond; kindness and severity follow the affair; lenience and severity follow the occasion. Like autumn’s frost descending, there is originally no heart set on “being killing”; like spring’s giving birth, there is originally no intent to “bestow kindness.” Thus the zhenren is like thunder moving and wind stirring, like grass and trees flourishing and flowering: covering and bearing the myriad things in accord with the two poles of Heaven and Earth, the display of joy and anger in step with the four seasons— all response to things, not clinging of the heart.

Note [7]. Toward things there is no private heart, so one does not go against what each thing properly requires; when the myriad things each obtain their proper fit, the reach of that state is so deep that no limit can be measured.

Commentary. The zhenren responds to the world and meets influence as the moment demands; in dealing with things, they always fit the timely fit. Inwardly they are empty and still, compassionate, ever apt to save people; their measure is like the great void—so no one can fathom its limit.

Therefore when sages employ military force, they may destroy an enemy state yet do not lose the people’s hearts. The benefits and grace they extend can reach ten thousand generations, but this does not come from deliberately “loving others” in the sense of ren (benevolence).

Thus: one who takes “delighting in penetrating all things” as delight is not a shengren (sage); one who favors only kin and has private partiality is not ren (benevolent); one who speaks only of aligning with Heaven’s seasons and seizing the moment is not xian (worthy); one who cannot see through benefit and harm is not a junzi (gentleman); one who chases reputation and abandons what is authentic is not a shi (scholar-official); one who sacrifices life yet not from genuine feeling is also not one who can command others or bear great affairs.

People such as Hu Bujie, Wu Guang, Boyi, Shuqi, Jizi, Xuyu, Jita, and Shentu Di were fulfilling another’s service and following another’s direction—they did not “make their own suitability suitable for themselves”: they did not settle their lives according to their own authentic nature.

The commentary adds: Yao attacked Congzhi, Yu attacked Youhu, Cheng Tang overthrew Xia, and King Wu of Zhou attacked Yin—all aligned with Heaven above and human affairs below, hence they raised armies to succor the people and punish wrongdoing; though they destroyed enemy states, they did not lose the people’s goodwill. Cui’s note that “destroying a state without losing people’s hearts” means destroying the state while winning the hearts of that state’s people. It also says: sages, following where the people’s hearts incline, destroy states that ought to perish, and thus do not lose hearts; sages in the world are like spring sun harmonizing of itself and autumn frost falling of itself—bestowing grace like the straw dog used in sacrifice to Heaven, treating the common people equally without partial love; a mirror hangs high—when things come it reflects, neither welcoming nor sending away—not specially “loving people” in order to reflect them.

(3)

Commentary: The sage does not deliberately pursue “joy”; he simply does not block the myriad things, so that affairs may run their natural course.

Exegesis: It is like hanging a mirror on a high terrace: whatever comes before it is reflected; there is neither welcoming nor seeing off—where would partiality come from? The great sage responds to circumstances in the same way. He harmonizes without advertising himself; this is not called using “joy” to force a way through. From this we know that one who imposes subjective intent upon external things is not a sage.

(4)

Commentary: Utmost benevolence (zhì rén) knows no partial closeness or distance; one nurtures oneself by following the Way as it naturally is.

Exegesis: Utmost benevolence never meant “favoring only certain people”; once partial favor appears, it is no longer utmost benevolence.

(5)

Commentary: One skilled at reading the heavens and choosing the right moment is still inferior to the worthy person who forgets “timing” and naturally accords with Heaven and Earth.

Exegesis: Watching stars for wax and wane, waiting for the season to decide advance or retreat—that is small cleverness, not the mark of a great worthy.

(6)

Commentary: If one cannot on a single path treat right and wrong alike and balance benefit and harm, one damages virtue and also drags down whether name and reality match.

Exegesis: Unable to view poverty and success with one even measure, to balance gain and loss, yet picking and choosing by honor, disgrace, like, and dislike, rigid about right and wrong—such a person cannot even settle himself; how could he govern or transform others?

(7)

Commentary: One who is truly good as a scholar lets go of empty reputation and finds sufficiency in himself; thus name matches reality, and blessings rest on his own person.

Exegesis: Affecting conduct to chase fame and losing one’s nature—that is the crowd of the vulgar, not one who cultivates the Way.

(Phonetic note: in xíng míng (making name match reality), xíng is read háng; in fú yìng (blessings answering the person), yìng is read yìng, meaning fortune corresponding to the body.)

(8)

Commentary: Having lost one’s nature yet forcing oneself to follow external things, the places where one is enslaved multiply—how then can one command others?

Exegesis: Affected action that loses the true self, seeking name while forgetting oneself—one will only be driven by others; how could one drive others?

(9)

Commentary: All of these are ways of abandoning oneself, taking others as model, deferring to external things, and harming oneself.

Hu Buxie: Surnamed Hu, styled Buxie, said to be an ancient worthy; some say a worthy of Yao’s time. When Yao tried to yield the realm to him, he refused, threw himself into a river, and died.

Wu Guang: Some say a man of the Yellow Emperor’s age, seven feet tall; others say a man of Xia who took drugs to nurture life and loved the zither. When Cheng Tang tried to yield the realm to him, he would not accept, loaded a stone on his back, and sank into the Lu River.

Boyi and Shuqi: Two sons of the Lord of Guzhu in Liaoxi, descendants of Shennong, surname Jiang. After their father died, each yielded the succession to the other and neither would take the throne. Hearing that the Western Earl (King Wen of Zhou) had the Way, they went to observe. On the way Wen had already died; King Wu campaigned against Zhou. The two clasped his horses’ reins to remonstrate; Wu did not listen, so they withdrew to Shouyang Mountain east of the Yellow River, ate no grain of Zhou, and in the end starved to death.

Jizi: A worthy minister of King Zhou of Yin; he remonstrated but was not heeded and was imprisoned as a slave. Xuyu is also given as another name for Jizi. Another interpretation takes “Xuyu” as Wu Yuan (Wu Zixu), son of the Chu grandee Wu She, a minister of King Fuchai of Wu—his loyal remonstrance was rejected, his eyes were gouged out, and his body was cast into the river.

Ji Ta: Surname Ji, personal name Ta, a recluse in Cheng Tang’s time. Hearing that Cheng Tang meant to yield the throne to Wu Guang, fearing he too might be drawn into it, he led his disciples and drowned in the Kuan River. Shentu Di, on hearing of this, also threw himself into a river.

The commentary holds that these people artificially shaped their feelings and staged their conduct, deliberately elevating resolve and building reputation, doing more than duty required until they came to such ends—starvation or drowning, lives cut short—while fair fame lingered in the histories. In truth they were driven by “name”; how could they turn around and rule others? They only pleased the crowd’s ears and eyes; how could they truly settle their own nature?

This passage is explanatory commentary (shiwen) in Zhuangzi Jishi: it clarifies several ancient names that appear in the scripture and records how various scholars understood them.

Hu Bu Xie

Sima Biao says he was an ancient worthy.

Wu Guang

Huangfu Mi says he lived in the age of the Yellow Emperor and had ears seven cun long.

Boyi and Shuqi

The two sons of the lord of Guzhu.

Jizi Xuyu

Sima Biao says “Xuyu” was Jizi’s name, as in Shizi; Cui Zuan agrees.

It is also said that Shizi records Jizi Xuyu smearing his body like a leper and letting his hair hang loose to feign madness.

Others, again following Shizi, take the figure to be Bi Gan, with “Xuyu” as his name.

Qing Fan notes that the Shujing commentary on “Weizi,” the Zuozhuan commentary on Duke Xi’s fifteenth year, and the commentary on Lunyu chapter 18 all cite Sima Biao as saying Jizi’s name was Xuyu—which differs from what this shiwen records here.

Ji Tuo

The character read as tuo (in fanqie notation: initial t plus rhyme uo).

Shentu Di

A man of the Yin dynasty who embraced a stone and drowned himself in the river. In Cui Zuan’s text the name is written Situ Di.

“All abandon” (jie she)

She is read she in the sense of “to leave behind” or “to renounce”; the same applies in the passages below.

In ancient times, what was meant by the “True Person” was someone whose bearing was dignified yet who did not form factions; who seemed to lack something yet did not force himself to take on what was not his; who was at ease as if square yet not stiff, open as if empty yet not adorned with show; whose expression was calm, as if touched by a quiet joy, yet also as if pulled along by something he could not refuse; whose vital fullness advanced and whose De (Virtue/Power) rested and held; who looked stern, as if about to enter worldly affairs, yet whose spirit was lofty, as if nothing could press him down; who flowed inward in continuity, as if fond of closing in; who in a daze even forgot what he had just said.

They took penal sanction (the natural execution of life and death, the principle of dying and being born) as the root of the body, ritual and law as the wings for flight, wisdom as a response to the moment, and De as the path to follow. “Taking penal sanction as the body” means that killing and giving life, severity and leniency, are broad and natural. “Taking ritual as the wings” means that only thereby can one move in the human world. “Taking knowledge as the timely” means using intelligence only when affairs arrive and there is no alternative. “Taking De as the path to follow” means that one who has De can walk to the hilltop together with those who have feet, while people in the world truly take him for one who toils at cultivation.

Therefore, for the True Person, what is liked and what is disliked all return to the One; his “oneness” is one, and his “not-oneness” is also one. One who wanders with Heaven is the side of oneness; one who wanders with humanity is the side of not-oneness. Heaven and humanity originally do not conquer each other; only one who can hold to this state is called a True Person.

[Commentary]

“Zhuang” refers to outward form or appearance; “yi” here should be read as “e” (the sounds are close enough to allow this substitution), describing a lofty, towering look—not “yi” in the sense of “fitting” or “appropriate.” “Peng” should be read as “beng” (collapse), not “peng” as in faction or clique. The whole line means: its form is lofty and does not collapse. Yu Yue pointed out that Guo Xiang took “yi” as “fitting” and “peng” as “party”—that is reading the graph without context. The passage is about “qi zhuang” (outward appearance), not about moral character. In the “Tiandao” chapter, “er zhuang yi ran” is the same as “e ran”—a towering mien. “Peng lai wu jiu” in the Hanshu “Wuxing zhi” appears as “beng lai wu jiu,” which shows “peng” is “beng.” Its form is lofty and does not collapse—that is, the appearance stands tall and grand without toppling. The Guangya glosses “e” as high; “e e” also means a lofty look; height and largeness are close in meaning, hence in the Xijing fu “shen shan e e,” Xue Zong’s note is “lofty and grand.” “Yi ran” in the “Tiandao” chapter works the same way. Guo Xiang did not know “yi” is a loan graph for “e”; here he glossed it as “fitting,” there as “tiqi zichi zhi mao” (standing on tiptoe, self-conscious posture)—both cling to the written form and miss the point.

[Annotation]

(The sage) empty and still, plain and unadorned, as if wisdom were insufficient; dwelling below and not contending for what is above, as if something were lacking and not looking up to receive from anyone.

[Commentary]

Hiding sharp edges and keeping an empty, still bearing, alone as if talent were not enough; acting as feeling moves, broadly at ease and pleased with oneself, hence nothing to receive from above, nothing to depend on.

[Phonetic notes]

(On pronunciation: “bu cheng” follows the usual reading of the graph; Li Yi said “cheng” can mean to welcome or take up, with an alternate reading “zheng.” “Bu shang” read “shi zhang fan.”)

[Annotation]

Constantly roaming in “du” (the realm of solitary transformation), without rigidly clinging or holding fast.

[Commentary]

“Gu” stands for “du”; “jian” means fixed or firm. Wandering freely, easy and self-possessed, roaming in the realm of solitary transformation without… (the original text breaks off here.)

Vernacular Explanation

Subcommentary (Explanation of Meaning and Principle)

Here “gu” refers to “alone” (du)—being by oneself, not depending on others—while “jian” refers to “fixedness” (gu)—rigid, woodenly stubborn, holding to something unchanging.

The general sense is that a person can wander and let himself go between heaven and earth, calm and self-possessed; one can roam in the realm of duhua (independent transformation), in which the ten thousand things each change naturally, yet one does not nail oneself to a fixed position—neither stubbornly clinging to one’s own views nor rigidly insisting on some “correctness.”

Explanatory Notes (Pronunciations and Glosses from Various Scholars)

“Yu-hu” is read according to the common pronunciation, though some read it as “yu”; one account takes it as synonymous with “an appearance of hesitation.”

Lu Wenchao thinks the character “tong” should be an error for “xiang.”

For “its gu,” gu is pronounced like the word for “alone.” Wang Bi says: gu is standing out independently within a group; Cui says: gu is having edges and corners.

Yu Yue points out that Guo Xiang’s commentary says “constantly roams in solitude yet does not stubbornly hold fast,” reading gu as “alone”; but this does not match the following “not hard.” The explanatory notes quote Cui’s gloss “gu = edge/corner,” which also does not fit “not hard.” He suspects that gu is the same as the “gu” in “great gu” in “The Secret of Caring for Life”: Cui’s note says “bones not knotted”; knotted bones are the hardest of all; “gu yet not hard” is what makes a true person. Cui may not have realized that the two gu are the same character, and so his glosses are inconsistent.

Li Zhen says: “Yu-hu, its gu” is parallel to “Zhang-hu, its xu”; the character gu seems out of place here. According to the commentary and subcommentary, gu is glossed as “alone,” and the explanatory notes quote Wang’s saying “gu = standing independently without leaning on anything,” both meaning “alone, standing apart.” The text they relied on probably had the character for “alone,” and gu is a loan character. In the “Shidi” chapter of the Erya, in “Guzhu, Beihu,” the explanatory notes say the original also writes “alone,” which shows the two can interchange. A person who stands alone is often square and rule-bound, with edges and corners, so the meaning “alone” could also be written with gu. The two characters “yu-hu” duplicate “yu-hu stops my virtue” in the next sentence and may be a transcription error. The commentary says “constantly roams in solitude”; if one infers from the meaning of “roam,” the original text may have been “□” (to walk at ease) or “□” (to hasten one’s steps), both of which fit the meaning of “roam.”

One-sentence Summary of the Subcommentary

Zhuangzi’s sentence is saying that the true person can roam freely in the world of independent transformation, yet the heart is neither stiff nor fixed; one is neither so isolated as to cut oneself off from the world, nor does one weld some opinion permanently onto oneself.

[4] (Commentary)

On the line “wo de ye fu” (“my virtue also again”), the commentator suspects a textual error. The gloss says “chang you yu du” (“constantly roaming in solitude”); if one works from the sense of “you” (to roam), the original may have read “an xing” (to walk at ease) or “qu” (to hasten one’s steps)—both close in meaning to “you.” In the Shuowen, “an xing” means to move at ease; “qu” means to step quickly—each in the same semantic field as “you.”

(Commentary) Only when the heart-and-mind is vast and unburdened does one arrive at what is genuinely real and not hollow.

(Exegesis) “Zhang” describes a vast, expansive aspect. When the lingfu (the inner storehouse of the spirit) is broad and at leisure, and is weighed against empty space as equal, wisdom and virtue are authentic—so one does not drift into mere show.

[5] (Commentary)

The perfected person has no joy in the heart to begin with; there is only free, harmonious ease—so it merely looks as if there were joy.

(Exegesis) “Bingbing” is the aspect of joy. Following things as they change and letting transformation nurture them, whatever one meets is fitting; joy and anger are already forgotten—hence the text says only “as if joyful.”

(Pronunciation) “Bingbing”: Xu’s reading bing; Guo’s fanqie pu-xing; Xiang glosses it as the look of joy; the abbreviated text says the look of brightness.

[6] (Commentary)

Movement and stillness, going and stopping, always stand at the extreme of what is “necessary.”

(Exegesis) “Cui” refers to movement; “yi” to stopping. The true person concentrates the spirit in silent illumination and responds to things without fixed method—moving only when pressed, not acting beforehand on one’s own initiative; hence response as last resort.

(Pronunciation) “Cuihu”: e.g. yu-qian-zui fan; Xiang says the look of movement; the abbreviated text says the look of swiftness.

[7] (Commentary)

One does not harm oneself because of outer things.

(Exegesis) “Chu” has the sense of gathering and increase. The heart is like still water, so it can gather and hold all living beings. Thus one responds without emotional entanglement and benefits without expenditure; though things may enrich or suit one, the countenance and spirit are never diminished.

(Pronunciation) “Chuhu”: sometimes written with another graph, chi-liu fan; Sima glosses it as the look of flushed color; Wang says “full of de and replete”; the abbreviated text says gathering.

[8] (Commentary)

There is nowhere one must hurry off to.

Plain-language reading

Although the true person (zhenren) also moves with the times, meets the outer world, and takes hold of opportunity, inwardly they always keep ease and wuwei (non-action). Everything comes from true de (Virtue/Power)—what people call “active yet always still”: movement on the outside, constant quiet within.

The ninth section’s annotation says: the sage is not actually inside danger; they only walk the same road as everyone else and go through the same affairs, so it can look as if they too are taking risks and running into peril.

Commentary explains: “li” means danger. The true person treats safety and danger as one whole, does not draw fortune and misfortune apart too sharply, heguang tongchen (blend with the world’s light and dust) and live among people—on the surface they sometimes seem to be in peril. Confucius when surrounded at Kuang, King Wen when held at Youli: though hardship came, they did not drop wuwei conduct—not thrown off by disaster, but the de and the course to keep were upheld as before.

(Note: In the commentary the same point appears twice in the source; one line has “the peril of wuwei,” another has “the work of wuwei.” In sense the latter fits better—“not abandoning the work of wuwei”—i.e., even in danger, still holding to the way of wuwei.)

This passage is a Qing-dynasty scholar’s note on textual collation and glossing in a Zhuangzi passage, centered on how characters such as li, guang, shi, and tai were borrowed or written in early manuscripts and how they should be read for the line to make sense.

The Shiwen (an old reference work that gives pronunciations and glosses for canonical texts) reads: li is read in the usual way; the version used by Cui Hao has guang instead, with the explanation that baoluo means “vast and all-embracing.”

Yu Yue held that Guo Xiang’s commentary does not work. On Yu’s reading, the pattern of the original should be “shi hu qi si li,” not the other way around as if it were “qi si shi.” He further argued that shi here is a loan character for tai. He cited the variant in Xunzi, “Rongru” chapter, where qiao xie appears as jiao tai, showing that in old texts xie could be read like tai; the xie in lou xie rhymes in old phonology with characters such as wai, da, hai, and bai, with the same reading as tai. He also adduced Jia Yi’s line “jian xie cannot obtain scholars” and similar examples. Thus reading shi as tai is parallel to reading xie as tai; “fierce and stern” (meng li) and “proud and grand” (jiao tai) match each other in meaning.

The Shiwen also records that in Cui’s text li is written guang, and “vast and great” (guang da) likewise fits tai (large, flourishing). If one insists on the graph shi and glosses it as “like the world” (si shi), the line fails to cohere before and after.

Qing Fan argued that li should indeed be emended to guang following Cui’s text. Guo’s note takes li as equivalent in sense to shi, meaning “moving in the world,” which does carry a nuance of “vast,” but the classic says both “without li” and “as if li”; on that gloss the wording contradicts itself. In transmitted texts li and guang are often confused or miscopied. For example, Liji, “Yueling,” has “the Son of Heaven then li adornment,” while Huainanzi, “Shize,” has “guang adornment”; Shiji, biography of Pingjin Hou, “li the worthy and grant stipends,” with Xu Guang’s note that li is also written guang; Rulin zhuan, “to guang talented men,” with Hanshu sometimes writing li; Hanshu, “Dili zhi,” Qi commandery “guang,” and the note in Shuowen, “Water” section, where guang is corrupted to li—all mutually support the interchange.

Yu also said shi is a stand-in for tai, which is acceptable. In high antiquity there was no separate tai character; the sense was usually written with da (great). Da and shi were connected in old sound and sense and could be used interchangeably. Liji, “Quli,” “dare not share a name with the heir (shi zi),” with a note that shi is sometimes written da; Chunqiu, Duke Wen’s thirtieth year, “the great hall’s roof collapsed,” with Gongyang “shi hall”; Wei “Granduncle Yi” as tai shu yi, Gongyang “shi shu yi”; Song “Yue da xin,” Gongyang “Yue shi xin”; Zheng “Master da shu,” Lunyu “Master shi shu”—all are evidence.

[10] [Commentary]

When one’s standing is high and the mind is open and free, ease comes of itself.

[10] [Exegesis]

The sage’s virtue is vast: it rises far above ordinary people and stands apart from the mundane world, so it cannot be forced into line by fixed rules and measures.

[10] [Textual notes]

Ao hu (“ lofty and vast”) — in fanqie notation, “wu-gao fan”; Xu Miao gives “wu-dao fan.” Sima Biao: the bearing of far-reaching aspiration. Wang Bi: transcendent and lofty amid the common world.

[11] [Commentary]

(Whether Dao or sage virtue) stretches far and runs deep beyond measure; one cannot see where its gate lies.

[11] [Exegesis]

Lian (“continuous”) carries the sense of lasting and unbroken extension. Sage virtue extends far and long and cannot be fathomed. The path the heart knows seems cut off—who can see its door? Silent and dim, as if the door were shut: outsiders hear nothing and see nothing.

[11] [Textual notes]

Lian hu — read as the characters suggest. Li Yi: long and unbroken. Cui Zhan: jian lian, with lian near the sound of nian. Si hao — hu bao fan, same below.

[12] [Commentary]

Without carving at consciousness or forcing knowing, the natural faculty (tianji) stirs by itself—hence the state called man ran (“easefully unburdened”).

[12] [Exegesis]

Man is the look of being without deliberate mind and letting things be. Following things and trusting the course, wuwei and empty stillness—like finding the dark pearl in red water (a metaphor for awakening to the Great Dao)—and therefore forgetting words. Up to here, the text has set out in order the true person’s benefit to self and others, and virtue inward and outward; from here on, it explains how the true person governs for the people’s good and the method of ordering the world.

[12] [Textual notes]

Man hu — wang ben fan, or written mian. Li Yi: without rival or opposition. Wang Bi: discarded forgetting, not clinging. Cui Zhan: gentle compliance.

[13] [Commentary]

Punishment is the backbone and root of governing the state—not something “I” (the sage) privately set up for myself.

[13] [Textual notes]

Zhi zhi — zhi li fan (fanqie reading).

[14] [Commentary]

Ritual is what people in the world use in their dealings with one another—not something “I” devised.

[14] [Exegesis]

Take penal law as the foundation of government; take ritual and music as the pattern for ordering and transforming the myriad things.

[15] [Commentary]

“Zhi” (expedient knowing, crafty stratagem) is likewise not something “I” devised.

[15] [Exegesis]

Take penal law as the foundation of government; take ritual and music as the pattern for ordering and transforming the myriad things.

Note on [15]

“Zhi” (wise discernment, reading the moment) means acting in step with the times—not letting “I” alone strike the high note and set the tune.

Note on [16]

“De” (De, Virtue/Power) means the standards others naturally follow—not rules “I” invent and force on people.

Commentary

“Xun” means to follow, to go along. Use wisdom to see what fits and not miss the right moment; use De in meeting and handling others, yielding to and following how things actually are. The lines above only mark the theme; what follows explains it in full. (Ancient manuscripts differ between reading “xun” and “xiu”; here the sense “xun—to follow along” is taken as correct.)

Note on [17]

When rule is carried out so that punishment and execution are used when they should be, then even where there is killing, the whole still feels ample and not unduly harsh.

Commentary

Here “chuo” means lenient and plain. Making penal law the root of governing means using “killing” to stop killing: one execution warns the many—so though there is capital punishment, policy should stay lenient and plain. Hence remarks like “favor as if toward the people’s enemy, law as if toward the people’s father”: sheer kindness can turn into popular resentment, while law restrains and protects the people like a father.

Note on [18]

Go along with what the world is already doing, and nothing fails to get through.

Commentary

Though ritual is called “the thinning of loyalty and trust,” it is the first task of ordering the world—hence “without learning ritual one cannot stand,” “do not move or speak against ritual,” “a person without ritual—why not hurry to die,” and the like. Ritual is vital to governance: it upholds human relations, so it prevails widely in the world.

[19] Commentary (Guo Xiang)

High and low take up from one another in succession—this is the natural direction that cannot be reversed. Large and small each form their own kind; that too is the pattern circumstances impose, the way things must be. One who is truly broad-minded and free of private attachment is the place where the wisdom of the multitude gathers. Standing where countless currents meet, occupying the utmost position that guides the many—what more is there to do? One need only align with what the age already understands and leave what must happen to the world to run itself.

Commentary (Cheng Xuanying)

Responding to things as conditions arise, one applies knowledge that reaches the supreme principle to meet changing times. Principle in itself has no form or sound, yet affairs often take shapes one cannot avoid. Hence the person who serves as Master Teacher keeps the heart empty and unburdened, entrusts affairs to the collective intelligence, stands where convergence is inevitable, and moves through it by riding the momentum.

[20] Commentary (Guo Xiang)

“Qiu” denotes the root, the origin; speaking in terms of xing (nature), it is the root of nature. The ten thousand things each attain what suffices for them—they are complete at the origin. Returning each de (virtue/power) to its own course is the same as “those with feet reach the root”: when the origin is reached, principle is exhausted.

Commentary (Cheng Xuanying)

Qiu means the root. Meeting things through de, following each thing’s xing; each xing has its own boundary, and stopping at one’s proper share is self-sufficiency. Going along with each innate nature is therefore “reaching qiu”—the root.

[Commentary on 21]

All of these are accomplished through mutual conditions and causes; the accomplishment does not lie on one side alone. Therefore even at the extreme of myriad affairs in turmoil, one remains at ease and free; suddenly one is unaware that business has already passed by, vaguely unaware that words are already on the lips. Yet people in the world are deeply deluded and take it that the Perfect Man is also someone who toils without rest.

[Sub-commentary]

The Perfect Man moves like clouds drifting, rests like the Valley Spirit (empty and still, responding to things); realm and wisdom are both transparent—forgetting and releasing; with empty mind he responds to things in dark mystery—how would he keep “doing such-and-such” or “saving sentient beings” on his mind! Ordinary folk cling everywhere; seeing boats ferry the multitude and nurture all life, they think the sage toils without slackening. How would they know that above the Fen River he is only concentrated, tranquil, and far in silence? Hence the earlier text says “who takes things as his task.”

[Commentary on 22]

Always without deliberate mind, he follows along with the other side; therefore good and bad, what is favored and what is disliked, are not two from the other’s perspective.

[Sub-commentary]

Having already forgotten beauty and ugliness, he also sweeps away love and hate. Good and bad arise from ordinary feeling, while sage wisdom is empty and fused—never not one.

[Commentary on 23]

The “one” is what belongs to Heaven (the natural); the “not-one” is what belongs to the human (the artificial). The True Person is the same as Heaven-and-human, equalizing other and self—he does not oppose “not-one” because of “one.”

[Sub-commentary]

“One” means sage wisdom; “not-one” means ordinary feeling. Once ordinary and sage are not two, all “not-one” returns to one.

[Commentary on 24]

Being without partiality and without opposition yet still being one—that is Heaven.

[Commentary on 25]

Other-as-other and self-as-self, dividing other and self—that is the human.

[Sub-commentary]

Same as Heaven-and-human, equalizing other and self—no longer each clinging to “other” and “self.”

Commentary

When one is united with the Way of Heaven and level with the ten thousand things, one belongs to the same kind as mysterious Heaven. “That” and “I,” “I” and “that”—ordinary people are all treated as traveling the same road.

Note [26]

The perfected person can be one with Heaven and level with all kinds of beings. The myriad kinds do not negate one another; Heaven and human beings do not lord it over each other. Hence nothing is excluded in vast openness, nothing is absent in silent depth, and “that” and “self” are mysteriously blended.

Commentary

Although Heaven in itself has no “that” and “I,” people do have views of right and wrong; if one speaks strictly, all returns to emptiness and stillness. If one said Heaven wins and the human loses, how could that be called “making equal”? Here again Heaven and human are blended and victory and defeat are merged in obscurity. Whoever can embody this meaning may be called a perfected person.

Textual notes

(1) Missing text wrongly cited: in Ru Hai’s edition, Cheng Xuanying’s edition, and Zhang Junfang’s edition, “xi hu” is written as “xi ye.” (2) Also cited from Wencheng Zhang’s edition with a duplicated “Cui”; “yi hu” as “yi ye.” (3) Also “shi hu” as “shi ye.” (4) In Zhao Jianyi’s edition, “qun” as “jun.” (5) In the Song edition, “zai” as “ren.”

Main text

Life and death are fate—like the constancy of day and night—that is Heaven. What people cannot take part in or control belongs to the real situation of things.

If they still take Heaven as father and yet cherish their own bodies, how much more the One that towers above the ten thousand things! If people still honor a lord above themselves and die for him, how much more the True (Heaven, the Dao)!

Note [1]

Day and night have their constancy—that is the Way of Heaven. Thus one knows that life and death are the limit of ming (allotted life)—not arbitrary—like day and night; what is there to be tied to?

Commentary

Light and dark, night and dawn, are Heaven’s constant Way; coming and going of life and death are human allotted fate. Heaven cannot do without day and night; how could human beings be without life and death? Therefore follow change, go with the flow—I need not cling!

Phonetic gloss

“Ye dan” (day and night): read as usual. In Cui’s edition a variant graph is given, pronounced da.

Main Meaning of the Scripture

[2] The true person (zhenren) rests in the daytime when it is day, and rests in the night when it is night. To treat life and death as no more than the alternation of day and night—what could there be that one cannot obtain or cannot let go of? Ordinary people often fail to do this.

[Explanatory Text] In “ye dan” (night and day), “dan” is read in the usual way. Cui’s annotated edition writes a character homophonous with “da” (same pronunciation as “da” in the sense of attachment or sincerity in some readings).

[2 · Commentary · Exposition] The commentary says: Life and death and day and night are constant patterns shared by Heaven and humankind; originally there is nothing that is “not oneself,” so why be bound by them? Worldly people go against transformation (zaohua); they cannot settle in the times and follow what comes, yet they crave life and fear death, hanging joy and grief on the heart—this is the stuck feeling of vulgar things, not the penetrating wisdom of the true person.

[3 · Commentary] “Zhuo” (standing out, singular) refers to duhua—each thing transforms from its own root nature, without relying on external causes. Mutual dependence never goes as far as duhua. What people depend on is Heaven (Tian); what Heaven “gives birth to” is precisely this duhua. All take Heaven as father, so toward the turning of day and night and the seasons of cold and heat, they dare not casually loathe them—they can only follow the season of Heaven and rest in it. How much more the utmost Dao (Dao) that stands apart and duhua in the dark mystery (xuanming)—how could one not wholly entrust oneself to it? Once one has entrusted oneself, then birth, death, and change mean only following fate and going along.

[3 · Exposition] “Zhuo” is the meaning of duhua. Ordinary multitudes receive qi (vital energy) from Heaven and still take Heaven as father; they even cherish and value the body. As for day, night, cold, and warmth, they dare not go against them. How much more the place where the utmost Dao dwells—the deep hidden realm, the extreme of natural duhua: giving birth to Heaven and Earth, opening yin and yang (Yin-Yang)—one should only settle and entrust oneself; how could one refuse and not follow?

Pronunciation and the meaning of zhuo (textual notes)

In “qi zhuo” (Its Surpassing Excellence), the character read as xue fan (pronounced like zhuo). Guo Qingfan notes in commentary that zhuo means surpassing, absolute, singular, the same as “chuo.” The Guangya says “chuo” means transcendence / cutting off. The Yupian also writes “chuo” (here chuo as alternate graph), with reading chi jiao qie, meaning lame, one-legged, hence extended to walking alone, not following the crowd. Li Shan glosses “chuo li” in the Xidu fu as surpassing and transcending. The Kuangmiu zhengsu says “chuo” means overstepping order, not going in sequence; it is also written “chuo.” Hanshu: Hejian Xianwang zhuan has “chuo er bu qun” (stride apart, not with the herd), and Shuoyuan: Jundao has “chuo ran du li” (stand apart, alone)—all in this sense. Per Shuowen, the original graph should be □ (he radical); Xu Kai says: “te zhi, zhuo zhi ye” (*specifically stopping—zhuo stopping*)—zhuo, chuo, chuo, chuo□ were interchangeable in sound in antiquity.

“Gan wu” is read wu lu fan; “zhi jing” is read yin jing (jing interchangeable with jing border/realm).

Commentary: zhen and ziran

Zhen (true self, authentic being) does not rely on forcing external things, but is as it originally is, naturally so.

The principle of ziran (spontaneity, naturalness) cannot be resisted—how could that apply only when the ruler’s command leaves one no choice but to obey!

Sub-commentary: duhua and ziran

“Yu” here means surpass / excel. “Zhen” is the layer of duhua (independent transformation) spoken of earlier: people who still treat the ruler as more honored than themselves, as able to surpass them, nonetheless give body and life, not daring to flee; how much more when the profound Dao reaches ultimate depth, and the principle of ziran—who could refuse to follow! Arranging oneself and entrusting oneself to change is what ought to be in the first place.

Scripture: dried springs and forgetting each other in rivers and lakes

When the spring dries up, fish on dry land huddle together, moistening each other with damp (xiang xu yi shi), wetting each other with spit (xiang ru yi mo)—better to forget each other in the great rivers and lakes, each in its proper place.

Rather than praising Yao and condemning Jie, better to forget both and return together to the transforming nurture of the Dao.

The great clod (da kuai—heaven, earth, and transformation) gave me a body, uses life to wear me out, uses old age to ease me (yi wo yi lao), uses death to give me rest.

So what is good at letting me live is precisely what is good at letting me die (life and death are one body—both are the arrangement of transformation).

Commentary (on the passage above)

Rather than loving each other by force when strength falls short (like fish on land), how does that compare to each having enough and forgetting each other in rivers and lakes!

Rather than honoring Yao and condemning Jie, better to forget both and transform into the Dao.

The commentary on “da kuai … xi wo yi si” and “gu shan wu sheng zhe, nai suoyi shan wu si ye” aligns with sub-commentary on entrusting to transformation, the unavoidable natural: revering the ruler can still cost one’s body; how much more the naturalness of the great Dao—thus accepting fate and treating life and death as good are both following transformation, without ranking high and low or forcing connection in Yao and Jie, damp and spit.

Commentary

This passage opens with a parable. Rivers and lakes are vast; fish swim freely in the water, each finding its place in the deep, with no need to visit one another—they forget one another, and ties of affection fade. When the spring runs dry and sturgeon and carp are stranded on land, their tails rub together and their gills dry out; they can only moisten one another with foam and breath, and then affection and contact return, closer than kin—yet that is far inferior to each having its own place in the rivers and lakes.

The age of the Great Dao is like this: the ten thousand things each keep their place; the crowing of cocks and barking of dogs can be heard, yet there is no need for people to come and go. When the wind of simplicity and honesty fades and the wind of shallow cleverness rises, teaching then grows from “principle,” and the traces of the sage begin; tiptoeing is taken as benevolence (ren) and long strides as righteousness (yi), and even between father and son, elder and younger brother, hearts turn to scheming and deceit. That the sage should feel shame at this is only right. So understand: fish need mutual foam only when they have left the water; people need “close affection” to hold things together only when they have left the Dao.

Textual notes on the wording

For quan he (“the spring runs dry”), Lu Deming gives the fanqie reading hu ge, and Guo Pu hu ge. The Erya says: he means exhausted, dried up. For xiang xu (“moistening one another”), there are fanqie readings kuang yu and kuang fu. One manuscript reads xiang ru for xiang xie (“drenching one another”), with pronunciation ru, or read like shu. For yi mo (“with foam”), mo is pronounced mo. For xiang wang (“forgetting one another”), wang is pronounced wang, same below.

Annotation

Praise and blame both arise from something being lacking. One who is truly self-sufficient forgets good and evil, lets go of life and death, and merges with change as one—vast and at ease everywhere—so how could one still rank Yao above Jie or Jie below Yao?

Commentary (closing the parable)

Here the parable is drawn together. Tang Yao was a sage ruler and Xia Jie a benighted one, so some praise Yao’s goodness and condemn Jie’s evil, looking back to Yao and Shun to exhort later ages—the rise of benevolence and righteousness takes root here. How does that compare with having neither good nor evil, forgetting both good and evil, neither rejecting the “is not” nor clinging to “is and is not”! Only then can one be born and die, wander with transformation; neither going nor coming, tread the mysterious Dao and find joy in oneself—how could that be spoken of in the same breath as affection like fish on dry land moistening one another, or ties kept up by the traces of the sage?

[Commentary 3]

The arising of form, the span of life, aging, and death all belong to the self as one whole. Given that, how can one be put on the same level as those who only warm and flatter by imitating the sage’s words and deeds, leaving behind a trace of “sagehood”?

[Explanatory note on the text]

The title Yu Yao (“Commending Yao”): the character read yu is written with the “speech” radical plus yu; the pronunciation note here matches that in the main text commentary.

[Commentary 3, continued]

Form, life, aging, and death are all “me.” Form is the vessel that carries “me”; life is the stretch in which “me” toils; aging is the stretch in which “me” enjoys ease; death is the stretch in which “me” stops and settles into stillness. The four may change in appearance, yet there is never a moment when they are not “me”—so why should I be stingy or afraid?

[Sub-commentary]

Dakuai (“the great clod”) means nature, heaven and earth. Form is what creation constructs; life is the phase when gestation begins; aging is entering the years of great age; death is the day when qi disperses and form perishes. It bears the embodied form, so in life one must endure labor; when old and weak, one may briefly have leisure; after extinction one returns to non-being—in principle that is stopping and rest. Though the four change, “I” remain one continuous self, so one can dwell at ease—what is there to begrudge?

[Explanatory note on the text]

Dakuai has various fanqie readings (e.g. Xu edition ku guai fan); in yi wo (“ease for me”), yi is read as yi (leisure/ease).

[Commentary 4]

Death and life are both allotted fate and the constant of nature. When conditions cannot sustain, there is death; when they can sustain, there is life—it is not that only life deserves to be called “good.” Therefore, if “life for me is good” counts as good, then “death for me” can equally be regarded as good.

[Sub-commentary]

Form, life, aging, and death all belong to “me.” If one takes shan wu sheng (“what is good is my life”) as good, then shan wu si (“what is good is my death”) can likewise be taken as good—one need not affirm only life and deny death.

People think it secure to hide a boat in a valley or a mountain in a lake or marsh. Yet if at midnight some mighty being were to carry off the boat or the whole mountain, the ignorant would never know. When storing things, one must assign large and small each to its place; in the end there are still cases where what is hidden cannot stay hidden and what is stored cannot escape.

If one hides “all under heaven” within all under heaven itself—letting everything return to the great transformation of heaven and earth—then there is nowhere left to flee. That is the great constant truth of the myriad things.

People need only receive this human body by chance to be delighted beyond measure; yet that body dwells amid endless transformations, and the joys within cannot be counted. Therefore the sage roams with the heart in the state where the myriad things cannot escape yet can abide with transformation—content in youth and vigor, content in old age and decline, able to begin well and end well. Ordinary people still wish to emulate this; how much more the root that sustains the myriad things, and the Dao upon which every transformation relies!

What this passage is saying is that the greatest kind of “force” in the world is not brute strength but change—heaven and earth keep renewing themselves, and mountains too shed their old faces; change never pauses for a moment. Before a person has even found their footing, they are already in a new situation, so nothing in heaven and earth stays fixed for a single instant.

The state of the world is new every day, yet people still treat it as if nothing had changed; day by day the parts of a boat are replaced, yet the eye still sees the same boat; the mountain changes day by day, yet it still looks like the mountain before one’s eyes. In the time it takes to turn one’s arm, the “I” of the past has already vanished into the unseen depths—the former me is no longer the me of now; I flow away together with the present moment—how could I forever cling to the old self and old things? Ordinary people do not notice this. They insist on tying down and holding onto whatever they meet in the moment, as if it could be bound to them forever—is that not deeply confused?

This commentary uses pitch darkness at midnight as a metaphor for how deep and hard to fathom the Dao is. What is meant by “those who have power” is the creative work of Heaven and Earth. Stowing a boat in a valley seems safe; hiding a mountain in a great marsh also looks like a solid choice. Yet the force of creation keeps shouldering the ten thousand things forward—change is fresh every day, as swift and unceasing as rushing water. Ordinary people, their minds dim, truly believe the mountain and the boat sit still and firm as Mount Tai. How could they know that in the hidden dark, the ten thousand things are always shifting and replacing one another, never pausing for an instant? Yesterday’s me and today’s me follow the same pattern.

Yu Yue said: A mountain cannot be hidden in a great marsh, nor is it a matter of some “powerful one” carrying it off on their back—the sense is hard to make out. He suspected that shan (mountain) should be read as shan (a type of fishing net or scoop). The Erya “Explaining Vessels” calls a certain net shan; Mao’s commentary on Classic of Poetry, “Nan you jia yu,” says shan is a dip net, and Zheng Xuan’s note identifies it with the lifting net of his day. Hiding a boat and hiding a shan may both be a fisherman’s concern—afraid of theft, so concealing gear—an everyday matter that Zhuangzi takes up as a simile.

Jia Shifu said: A ravine can hide a boat; a great marsh, being vast, can hide a mountain (or shan). But the great transformation runs without end; Heaven and Earth and the ten thousand things shift day and night, discarding the old and taking the new, never stopping briefly. Water supports the boat—when water moves, the boat moves; qi supports the mountain—when qi shifts, the mountain shifts. What is called “midnight” is operation in a realm without image or omen—people simply do not see it.

Qing Fan noted: A note in Wenxuan on Jiang Yan’s “Miscellaneous Style Poems,” citing Sima Biao, says a boat belongs to water and a mountain to land. When something is hidden in a ravine or marsh, that is not what one originally meant to fix forever—hence “secure”; yet “those who have power” can sometimes carry it away. The exegesis at this point in the text has lacunae.

Notes on pronunciation

The two syllables nai and jie are given two different fanqie (reverse-spelling) readings in the old phonology; that material is purely notational and does not bear on the doctrine.

I. On “hiding” and “change”

The commentary says: if a person cannot see himself as one with hua (transformation—the ceaseless shifting of heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things), yet tries to use “hiding” to fix things in place and stop them from changing, then however deep and secure the hiding, however neatly each thing seems to sit in its place, nothing can block day-by-day renewal and moment-by-moment replacement.

Whatever is “hidden and possessed”—truly grasped and stored—cannot ultimately be kept from dun (vanishing, slipping away into change). If one can “hide nothing and leave everything to transformation”—not clinging, but going with change—then change itself cannot trap you.

The exegesis adds: dun means change and flux. Hiding a boat in a valley or a mountain in a marsh is “great hiding”; hiding a person in a house or things in vessels is “small hiding.” Great and small differ, and each method may seem appropriate, yet mind and things still shift thought by thought and renew moment by moment. Thus the way of change offers no place that truly escapes it.

II. Hiding nothing, merging with things, one with transformation

The commentary says: when one no longer “hides” things but wholly follows transformative nurturing, one merges without exception with the ten thousand things and aligns without exception with change. Then there is no inside or outside, no distinction between death and life; taking heaven and earth as one’s body and becoming one with transformation, one can no longer find any “place to flee.” This is the “great qing” (the true feeling of the great Dao) that abides constantly within heaven and earth—not the one-sided “small yi” (worldly cleverness and petty intent).

The exegesis says: heng means constant. What is meant by “hiding the world within the world” is not really an act of “hiding” at all—it is, in truth, “hiding nothing.” Hence one can equalize death and life, merge with change, roam freely through the cosmos, and ride creation in play—this alone is “hiding the world within the world.” Since change cannot reach this level, what is there left to flee? This is the true feeling of one who embodies stillness and penetrates the great Dao—not something reachable by vulgar wanderers or the small wit of the human world.

III. Brief summary (for this passage)

The whole section develops a line of thought like that in the Zhuangzi on “hiding a boat in a ravine, hiding a mountain in a marsh”: physical “hiding” cannot hold back impermanence; only by not clinging to hiding and becoming one with transformation can one speak of “seeking where to flee and finding none”—not hiding in a place, but sharing the body of change, so that there is nothing from which to flee.

Section Five (Annotation)

The human body is only one chance configuration among countless transformations—nothing to celebrate on its own. In endless change, whatever form you meet can be treated like “being human.” Must only the human shape be joyful, and every other form joyless? (Qing Fan: Wenxuan, Jia Yi’s Fu on the Owl, note citing Sima Biao—one will change again and return to wu, nothingness. The received text here is defective.)

(Textual note)

In “wu delight” (wule), “delight” is read luo; same below and in the annotations.

Section Six

(Owl fu note citing Sima Biao: change again and return to wu. Defective in the received text.)

(Textual note)

Same reading for wule.

Section Six (Annotation)

What was not human becomes human; becoming human, you leave the old appearance. Joy comes only after leaving the original form—and that joy is in the sheer accident of “having met” this shape. Transformation never stops; what could fail to turn up? Whatever turns up, you delight in—can that delight ever end?

(Subcommentary)

Te means “only”; fan means to meet or run into. The cosmic smith’s furnace casts all things; hit human form by chance alone, and you call it joy. Human-like shapes are infinitely many; delight at every hit—who could count that joy? So “form” and “delight” pile up beyond reckoning.

(Textual note)

In “cannot be reckoned” (ke sheng), sheng is read sheng (to ascend/count).

Section Seven (Annotation)

The sage walks the way of transformation, yielding to day-by-day renewal; as the ten thousand things multiply in change, he changes with them in every way; where change has no limit, he goes limitlessly with it—who can get out? Treat life as death and death as enduring, and when is it not “enduring”?

(Subcommentary)

What nothing escapes is ziran, spontaneous nature; who escapes the way of nature? So the sage roams the path of change, yields to ever-newness—it was never not “I”; where is there not endurance?

Section Eight (Annotation)

This only seeks a kind of leveling within a hundred-year lifespan—not scorning youth and denying age, and not yet fully grasping transformation and equating life and death. Even so, such evenness and purity is enough for others to learn from.

What Is This Passage in Zhuangzi Jishi Discussing?

On Textual Collation (Explanatory Notes)

This section mainly discusses differences in the characters used in ancient editions. For the phrase shan yao, Cui's annotated edition writes it as jiao, whose pronunciation is close to yao; another edition has yao, the graph meaning "premature death." Lu Deming and others held that in the present text this "premature-death" yao should be taken as correct. In ancient usage, the "premature-death" yao and the "ominous" yao were often interchangeable; for example, in the Shiji, the compound yao-zi is also written with the other graph. Cui's reading jiao is generally not accepted. For shan shao, shao is read with the fanqie zhao fan, a traditional notation for pronunciation. For fou lao, fou sounds close to bi; some editions simply write bi. For ping cui, cui is read with the fanqie sui sui fan. These are all explanations by commentators and subcommentators of the original text, sound and meaning, and variant readings, helping readers choose the correct character and pronunciation.

Notes

"Mysteriously unifying with the ten thousand things and taking transformation as one's body": the mind communicates with the Dao, does not fixate on any one thing, and becomes one body with the changes of Heaven, Earth, and the ten thousand things. Such a person naturally becomes the master to whom the world turns in admiration; to say "fitting" means that this position suits him well.

Subcommentary (Expanded Explanation)

Here xi means belonging or affiliation.

People's cognitive nature and capacity for realization differ greatly, some bright and some dim. But even within a short span such as a single lifetime or even a hundred years, if one can be composed and plain, one will rarely be stirred by great joy or great sorrow; long life, early death, old age, and youth can also be matters of little concern. Such a person may not have completely forgotten death, but at least does not feel aversion or rejection toward life and death—this is already enough for him to serve as a model for the ten thousand things, for others to emulate. How much more so the realm of the zhiren (perfected person): blending indistinguishably with the ten thousand things, becoming one with transformation, and abiding at ease within change. This level necessarily relies on sagely wisdom to become the master craftsman of the ten thousand things—if the world takes such a one as its master, is that not entirely natural?

Collation (Edition Differences, Briefly Noted)

The Shidetang edition writes yao (the ominous graph) as yao (the premature-death graph); the Zhao edition differs from other editions in characters such as zai, nai, and fang; the character fu is emended according to the Wenxuan—all are differences in character use among different block-printed and manuscript editions, and they do not affect the main meaning of the doctrinal discussion above.

The Dao has a responsive nature and a trustworthiness one can rely on; it works through wuwei (non-action) and has no fixed shape. Its meaning can be passed on, yet it cannot be received like a tangible thing; it can be inwardly realized, yet it has no visible form. It is its own root and its own foundation, and long before Heaven and Earth existed it was already there from the beginning of time. It gives rise to ghosts and spirits and the Heavenly Emperor, and produces Heaven and Earth. It is prior to Taiji (the primordial origin and supreme pivot of the cosmos), yet does not take pride in being “higher”; it is beneath the Six Poles (the limits of Heaven, Earth, the four directions, and above and below), yet does not seem “shallower” for that; it predates Heaven and Earth, yet does not vaunt its great age; traced back through deepest antiquity, it never grows old.

Xiwei (an ancient sage king) obtained the Dao and could lift up and hold Heaven and Earth in place. Fuxi obtained the Dao and could inherit and sustain the qi mother (the root of the vital energy from which the myriad things are born). Weidou (a spirit linked with Heaven’s guiding order and the Dipper) obtained the Dao and from of old has never gone astray. The sun and moon obtained the Dao and from of old have never stopped moving. Kanhuai (the spirit of Mount Kunlun) obtained the Dao and guards Kunlun. Fengyi (the river god) obtained the Dao and moves freely on the great rivers. Jianwu (a mountain spirit) obtained the Dao and dwells securely on the great mountains. Huangdi (the Yellow Emperor) obtained the Dao and could ascend to Heaven and walk among the clouds. Zhuanxu obtained the Dao and dwelt in the Xuangong (a deep, hidden palace of the celestial realm). Yuqiang obtained the Dao and stands at the North Pole. The Queen Mother of the West obtained the Dao and sits at ease in Shaoguang (a mythic, secluded immortal mountain), with no one knowing when she began and no one knowing when she will end. Pengzu obtained the Dao, his longevity reaching up to the time of Emperor Shun and down to the age of the Five Hegemons. Fuyue obtained the Dao, served King Wuding, and held sway over the realm; riding the Eastern Pillar (the heavenly pillar of the east) and the Ji and Wei stars (stars at the tail of the eastern constellation), he takes his place among the ranks of the stars.

Attached: gist of the annotations (aligned with the original text)

(1) “Having feeling” means the Dao is like a clear mirror reflecting things and responding to the myriad beings; “having trustworthiness” means it responds without failing. Because it has feeling, it can act through wuwei; because it has trustworthiness, it has no fixed form.

(2) “Can be transmitted”: it can be passed mouth to ear and heart to heart; “cannot be received”: it cannot be taken in the hand like a visible object.

(3) “Can be attained”: it can be grasped through inner realization; “cannot be seen”: there is no shape for the eye to behold.

(4) Self as root and self as foundation: it existed before Heaven and Earth were opened.

(5) Mysteriously unfathomable, the Dao gives birth to ghosts and spirits and the Heavenly Emperor, and also generates Heaven and Earth.

(6) Whether before Taiji or below the Six Poles, it does not boast of depth, height, long duration, or great age.

(7) “Hoisting Heaven and Earth”: lifting and sustaining Heaven and Earth.

(8) “Inheriting the qi mother”: receiving and guarding the root of the vital energy that nourishes and begets the myriad things.

(9) Weidou obtained the Dao and always accords with the Way of Heaven without deviation.

(10) Sun and moon obtained the Dao and never cease their motion.

(11) Kanhuai guards Kunlun.

(12) Fengyi moves on the rivers.

(13) Jianwu dwells on the great mountains.

(14) Huangdi ascends to Heaven and the clouds.

(15) Zhuanxu dwells in the Xuangong.

(16) Yuqiang stands at the North Pole.

(17) The Queen Mother of the West sits in Shaoguang, without beginning or end.

(18) Pengzu’s long life reached from the time of Shun down to the Five Hegemons.

(19) Fuyue assisted King Wuding and possessed the realm; riding the Eastern Pillar and the Ji–Wei stars, he is arrayed with the star hosts.

Commentary [2]

This teaching has been handed down and held in the heart from antiquity to the present, yet no one can truly “take hold” of it and claim it as their own.

Commentary [3]

Everyone may find rest within it, yet no one can see its definite shape.

Elaboration

The teaching can be passed on in words, but the body of the Dao cannot be counted or measured, so it cannot be owned like a thing. It is grasped only in the innermost heart—then alone is it truly attained. It has no form or color, so the physical eye cannot see it.

Commentation [4]

“Clarity” (ming) does not depend on “being” (you); it rests precisely on “non-being” (wu).

Elaboration

Zi means “from”; cun means “to exist.” The Dao, empty and penetrating to the utmost, has no beginning or end. Before heaven and earth existed in antiquity, before the five qi had divided, the Great Dao was already there. Hence Laozi says: “There is something confusedly formed, born before heaven and earth”; and again: “Welcome it—you do not see its head; follow it—you do not see its tail.”

Commentary [5]

How could “non-being” itself give birth to spirit? There is no need to treat spirit as spirit and worship it—spirit is numinous of itself: this is “spirit that is not spirit.” There is no need to “beget” heaven and earth—heaven and earth arise of themselves: this is “birth that is not birth.” Therefore, if you insist on making “spirit” into spirit, it is not truly numinous; when you do not fix on “spirit,” the Dao shows itself as spirit. Likewise, function need not take itself as “being,” and accomplishment need not lean on “being.”

Elaboration

The Great Dao makes ghosts and spirits efficacious and wins the trust of the Heavenly Emperor; it opens the three luminaries—sun, moon, and stars—and nurtures the two modalities of heaven and earth. With the power of “ultimate non-being” it accomplishes such effects: that is spirit without being spirit, birth without being birth—not manufacturing spirit by “spirit” or birth by “birth.” Hence Laozi says: “Heaven attains the One and becomes clear; spirit attains the One and becomes numinous.”

[6] [Commentary]

This explains that the Dao is nowhere absent: in what is lofty, it is not treated as “high”; in what is deep, it is not treated as “deep”; in duration, it is not treated as “long-lasting”; in age, it is not treated as “old.” The Dao is omnipresent, yet wherever it is present, that presence is expressed as wu—without clinging to fixed form or fixed names.

Between above and below nothing fails to connect, so it cannot be called “high” or “low”; inward and outward nothing is left out, so it cannot be named “inside” or “outside”; it shifts with transformation, so one cannot say it is “long-lasting”; it is always wu, so one cannot say it is “old.”

[6] [Subcommentary]

“Taiji” here refers to the five qi; “the six extremes” refer to the liuhe (the bounds of heaven, earth, and the four directions). The Dao is above the five qi, yet is not counted as “lofty”; below the liuhe, yet is not counted as “profound”; prior to heaven and earth, yet not counted as “long-enduring”; more ancient than antiquity, yet not counted as “aged.”

Hence it is said: the Dao is neither high nor deep, neither long nor old; the Dao is everywhere, yet every “where” returns to wu.

[6] [Phonetic notes]

In reading notes, “Taiji” is read like “tai”; one version has “prior to it, not yet”; there are fanqie glosses for “prior to heaven,” “longer than,” and similar; “cheng” (to call/name) is read like “zheng” (to verify).

[7] [Subcommentary]

Xiwei Shi is the title of an extremely ancient ruler from before writing existed. Having obtained the penetrating, numinous Dao, he could govern the myriad things and uphold the two modalities (Yin-Yang) of heaven and earth.

Where the text also uses the character read as qi: qi means “union”—being able to blend the myriad things into one and accord with the two modalities.

[7] [Phonetic notes]

In reading notes, “Xiwei Shi” has several fanqie readings; where the text also writes qi, qi means union—the idea of blending the myriad things and matching the two modalities.

On the pronunciation and meaning of terms such as “Xiwei shi”

The commentary explains that “Xiwei shi” is the name of an ancient sovereign, and commentators disagree on how to read it. “Yi qie” is read like “tie/bind”; Sima Biao glosses it as “outline” or “main point”—grasping the key to heaven and earth—while Cui’s note takes it as “cheng” (to accomplish or bring to completion).

“Fuxi yi xi qi mu” (Fuxi harmonized with the mother of qi)

Fuxi is one of the Three Sovereigns. Legend says he could tame cattle and horses and raise sacrificial animals, hence the name “Fuxi” (hidden/sacrificial). Here “xi” means to align with or penetrate through; “qi mu” is the root of primordial qi, corresponding to the Dao. Fuxi attained the utmost Dao, and so could draw the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), develop the six lines, regulate yin-yang, and accord with primordial qi.

Commentarial note

“Fuxi” is also written “Fuxi shi.” Sima Biao: “xi” means to enter; “qi mu” is the root of primordial qi. Cui’s note: to take the root of primordial qi.

“Wei dou zhong gu bu te” (The pivot-star Dipper, from antiquity to now, without deviation)

“Wei dou” is the Northern Dipper (Beidou), the pivot on which the stars depend (some texts read “of heaven”). “Zhong gu” means lasting or constant (Zheng Xuan glosses it in his Zhouli commentary as “chang,” constant). “Bu te” means without error or slip. One who obtains the utmost Dao can traverse beginning and end and uphold heaven and earth, without loss or mistake in the mind.

Sun and moon

Sun and moon take the one Dao as their warrant, and so shine from beginning to end without ever resting.

Kunlun and Kanhuai

Kunlun is a mountain name, north of the Northern Sea. “Kanhuai” is the name of the spirit of Mount Kunlun. Here “xi” means to enter: Kanhuai has a human face and beast body; after obtaining the Dao he entered Kunlun and became its spirit.

“Kanhua”

“Kanhua” is read as “xu fu mei fan” and “guo fu bei fan” (ancient phonetic glosses). In Cui Zhu’s edition the graph is written as “Pi.” Sima Biao says: Kanhua is the name of a spirit, with a human face and beast’s body. The Huainanzi has “Qinfu” instead.

“Kunlun”

“Kun” is sometimes written as “Min,” with the same pronunciation as “kun.” “Xia li men fan” is a phonetic note. Kunlun is the name of a mountain.

Commentary [12]

His surname was Feng and his given name Yi; he was a native of Dishou Village, Tong Township, Huayin, Hongnong. After taking eight shi of [elixir/stone] (a legendary Daoist dosage of medicinal elixir or stone), he became a shuixian (immortal of the waters). Dachuan refers to the Yellow River. The Celestial Emperor enfeoffed Feng Yi as Hebo (Lord of the River), so he roamed the great river in the region of Mengjin.

Exegesis

Sima Biao: The Qingling Zhuan says Feng Yi was from Dishou, Tong Township, Huayin; after taking eight shi he obtained immortality as a water spirit and became Hebo. One account says he drowned while bathing in the river on the gengzi day of the eighth month; another says he drowned while crossing the river. Dachuan means the river. In Cui Zhu’s edition Dachuan is written as “Taichuan.”

Commentary [13]

Jian Wu is the name of a spirit. Having already attained the Dao, he dwells on the Eastern Peak and serves as the god of Mount Tai (Taishan).

Exegesis

Sima Biao: Jian Wu is a mountain god who does not die and lived on into the time of Confucius. In Dashan (Great Mountain), “Tai” is a phonetic gloss and may also be read according to the ordinary meaning of the character.

Commentary [14]

The Yellow Emperor is Xuanyuan. He gathered copper at Mount Shou and cast the cauldron below Mount Jing; when the cauldron was finished, a dragon descended onto it to receive the Yellow Emperor. The Yellow Emperor then, with his ministers and seventy-two members of the inner palace, rode clouds and the dragon in broad daylight, ascended to Heaven, and departed as an immortal.

Exegesis

Cui Zhu: The Yellow Emperor attained the Dao and ascended to Heaven.

Commentary on [15]

Zhuanxu (grandson of the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi), styled the Gaoyang clan, also known as Xuan Di): at twelve he underwent the capping rite; at fifteen he assisted Shaohao; at twenty he took the throne. He is said to have taken copper from Mount Yu to cast the ding and could summon the spirits of the four seas, with many miraculous occurrences. He died at ninety-seven; after attaining the Dao he was honored as the Emperor of the North. Xuan (mysterious/dark) is the color associated with the north, so his dwelling is called the Xuan Palace.

Exegesis (pronunciation and meaning): “Zhuanxu” is read zhuān xū (fan, xǔ yù fǎn in traditional fanqie notation); “Xuan Palace” means the palace of the north—the Yueling (Monthly Ordinances) treats Zhuanxu as the god of the north, whose spirit is Xuanming.

Commentary on [16]

Yuqiang (name of a water deity, also written Yu Jing): human-faced and bird-bodied, he travels riding a dragon. Like Zhuanxu, he is a descendant of Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor). Though he also attained the Dao, he did not hold an imperial title and instead became a water god. Water’s phase is associated with the north, and its qi is firm and vigorous, hence the title water god; he is also called Yu Jing.