《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 11

In the state of Lu there was a man whose feet had been cut off; his name was Shu Shan Wuzhi. He went on tiptoe to see Confucius. Confucius said, “You were not careful before and have already suffered such misfortune—what can coming now possibly make up for?”

Wuzhi said, “It was only because I did not understand what matters most and treated my body lightly that I lost my feet. I have come to see you now because there is something in me still more worthy of respect than my feet, and I wish to preserve it as best I can. Heaven covers nothing it does not cover; earth bears nothing it does not bear. I took you, sir, to be like heaven and earth—how could I have known you would receive me like this?”

Confucius said, “I am shallow in my understanding. Why do you not come in, sir? Please let me hear the understanding you have gained.”

After Wuzhi left, Confucius said to his disciples, “Strive diligently, all of you! Wuzhi, though his feet were cut off, still studies earnestly to make up for his past conduct—how much more should those whose virtue is whole!”

Later Wuzhi said to Laozi, “Is Kong Qiu still far from being a true person? Why is he always busy learning and shaping himself into someone broad in learning and wide in hearing? He still hopes to make a name for himself through strange and marvelous reputation, without realizing that the true person regards these very things as fetters that bind him.”

Laozi said, “Why not simply let him take life and death as one path, and approval and disapproval as a single continuous matter? Perhaps then his fetters could be loosened.”

Wuzhi said, “This is a punishment imposed by heaven—how could it be undone?”

Guo Xiang commented: “‘Heel’ here means going on tiptoe. Human life is not something arranged by human effort to be born; it grows by following what is natural. Those who value the body and know what is important, if they forget that life grows of itself and instead are cautious everywhere and deliberately protect themselves, end up treating the body lightly. When Wuzhi says there is something still worthy of respect, he means that though one foot is gone, virtue is not harmed; to set aside stiffness and forced caution and let life unfold naturally is truly to preserve oneself as best one can. If one takes heaven and earth as intentionally covering and bearing all things, then they too would have moments when they stop.”

Guo Xiang also said that Wuzhi left as soon as he heard Confucius’s words because he still found it strange that Confucius would go on to study with Laozi and treat learning from others as the way to gain true knowledge—which amounts to abandoning oneself to imitate others, seeking only an unusual reputation. Learning in itself is not for the sake of producing strangeness, yet strangeness may arise from it; ritual in itself is not for the sake of pursuing ornament, yet ornament may follow. Therefore the true person regards these as fetters and wishes to use genuine principle to bring the heart into accord with all things. Confucius was not incapable of grasping this principle, but by going along with outward things he established name and trace, and in the end could hardly escape being bound by reputation—who could loosen those fetters for him?

The Lü commentary says: Although Shentu had lost his feet, the root on which he relied for “walking” was not lost. What is meant here by “walking” is treating the feet as something honored. Confucius wished to enter and speak of what he had heard concerning the dual cultivation of nature and life and the Way of Heaven—not to offer vague instruction to ordinary seekers. Shentu left without a word, which shows a certain mutual understanding between them; words were no longer needed.

Binbin (the person the annotator names) thought: Has the perfected person not yet reached the ultimate state? If one takes “cutting off learning” as the highest attainment, then everything people in the world study looks, to the perfected person, like bizarre and illusory tricks; in that case learning becomes a shackle that binds. Only when one sees life and death as one road, and “permissible” and “impermissible” as flowing into each other, can the fetters be released. Why not let people reach this? Because what can be released is human punishment; heaven’s punishment (tianxing) is imposed by fate and cannot be removed.

The Yidu commentary says: “Not knowing what to pursue” means failing to grasp the root; “forgetting things” means not being dragged by external objects; “using one’s body lightly” means not overvaluing the physical form—that is, “forgetting form.” “Honoring the feet” refers to the Dao (the Way). Shentu did not seek to preserve the body but to preserve the Dao; by forgetting the self, the self was instead made whole. Confucius’s virtue was fit to match heaven and earth, yet he still reproached Shentu for lack of caution—from outward conduct one might say so; from the inner view, Confucius first declined on the ground of his own shallowness, then asked to enter and relate what he had heard—that was the movement of his heart. Shentu was silent, but Confucius grasped his meaning, and therefore urged his disciples to remember the encounter.

Confucius also once visited Old Lao (Laozi). Yidu holds that Confucius’s repeated seeking of teachers may have been an attempt to make a name through strange and extravagant doctrines, without realizing that the perfected person would treat such pursuit of fame and learning as a shackle. Why not find a way to release it? In fact, Confucius’s study with Laozi was also something fitting in the world; it was not for gain or reputation. Laozi thought Shentu had not yet understood his own mind, and so had him release his fetters; Shentu, however, held that since the shackles were wrought by heaven’s decree, they could not be removed.

The Xiangdao commentary says: Shentu of Shushan and Wang Tai were both men with maimed feet; yet Shushan’s attitude toward his impairment differed from Wang Tai’s. Shushan and Shentu both devoted themselves to learning, but their aims and methods also differed. In concrete affairs, reputation is tied to teaching and transformation, and so is said to be honored; from the perspective of the Dao, reputation becomes a burden on the self. Therefore the ancients who attained the Dao treated gain and loss as one, and returned merit and fame to the multitude—this is called “the Emperor’s suspension of bondage” (di zhi xuanjie). Who could still sway them with honor and disgrace?

Ordinary people scramble for momentary empty fame and chase posthumous glory, toiling and wearing themselves out without knowing how to return to the authentic, trapped and bound without ease—how is that different from a prisoner in heavy irons? Yet Confucius did not delight in novelty for the sake of fame. If he detested such shackles and sought to cast them off, then this would amount to…

Having gone against the Mandate of Heaven and yet still wanting to act forcefully—how can there be any principle in that?

Bixu’s commentary says: “Honoring the feet” (zun zu) refers to human nature (xing). When nature suffers no loss, one may be called whole. Confucius invited Wuzhi (Shu Mountain Wuzhi, who had lost his foot to punishment) in to expound the Way. Wuzhi glanced at Confucius; his mind was already clear, and he left without speaking. Confucius used Wuzhi’s example to instruct his disciples. Wuzhi said to Laozi: “Why is Confucius so deferential? He is recruiting students and hopes to make a name by strange and bizarre renown, yet he does not know that the perfected person (zhiren) would take that as punishment and disgrace. Why not try to undo those bonds? Speaking upward, he could share life and death with creation and transformation (zaohua)—the principle of life and death is ultimately one thread; speaking downward, he could regard all things and himself alike, holding that what may be and what may not are originally continuous. The punishment Heaven decrees cannot be undone, because he has not yet erased the traces of fame.”

Zhao’s commentary says: The exchange between Shu Mountain Wuzhi and Confucius matches the meaning of the earlier passages on Shentu Jia and Zichan. Confucius transmitted the Way and spread teaching so that seekers throughout the world came following him with provisions—that is what Wuzhi meant by “hoping to make a name by strange and bizarre renown.” Laozi had Wuzhi ask: “Why not have Confucius find a way to undo his fetters?” The point is that whoever understands this principle will not be dragged down. Wuzhi held that as long as one has a physical form, one cannot avoid being entangled; since one still dwells in the world, how can one soar utterly above it? Hence he said that punishment decreed by Heaven cannot be undone.

Yanzhai says: “Not knowing what to pursue” means not understanding how things should be done; “honoring the feet” means nature—those two words are used with wonderful precision. “Binbin” describes a respectful, cautious manner; “zhuogui huanguai” refers to chasing odd and bizarre fame. What is called “fetters” (zhiguo) is fame turning into a burden on oneself. “Heaven’s punishment” (tianxing) is like a penalty sent down from Heaven. All of this is parable (yuyan). Wuzhi was a man with a severed foot who still studied diligently to make up for past faults—how much more should those whose virtue is whole do so? These words are of great benefit to worldly teaching.

The opening chapter of the Nanhua Jing treats Wang Tai as attaining the Way and resting in Heaven’s mandate; the next treats Shentu Jia as possessing virtue and understanding Heaven’s mandate; this chapter treats Wuzhi as studying hard to remedy error. These three levels of virtue correspond to what Renjian shi (In the Human World) sets out. Confucius thought Shu Mountain Wuzhi had not been cautious enough and thus brought disaster and lost his foot; Wuzhi likewise held that in the past he had not understood how to act, had rashly harmed his body, and now knew his fault. Precisely because he knew his fault, he could make amends—so the sage’s school did not reject him. “Honoring the feet” is what the earlier text calls “that which gives form to the body,” namely the nature that governs the physical form. Wuzhi strove to preserve nature fully and then sought to attain the Way. He regarded Confucius as like Heaven and Earth, with the power to cover and support all things…

Past mistakes are already behind us; to try to make amends now—how could there still be time? Wuzhi (the man in Zhuangzi who lost his toes to punishment) sighed, it seems, with something like this in mind. In that frame of mind he felt dissatisfied, yet he did not grasp that Confucius’s words were precisely about how Heaven and Earth embrace and sustain all things. If Wuzhi only thought of repairing his former fault and making his mutilated body whole again, what could be added or taken away? From this we can see that the sage teaches the myriad things so that each may fulfill its nature without being left out; human kinds and endowments differ, and so achievements naturally range from high to low. The people listed in this chapter are just such cases.

Duke Ai of Lu asked Confucius: “In Wei there is a man of frightful appearance named Ai Taita. Men who keep company with him miss him and cannot bear to leave; women who see him go to their parents and say, ‘Rather than be another man’s wife, I would rather be this gentleman’s concubine.’ There are already dozens like this, and more keep coming. He never takes the lead in stating his views—he only echoes others; he has no ruler’s position and cannot relieve the people, nor stored stipend to fill anyone’s belly. His ugliness is enough to startle the world. He always concurs and never initiates, and his insight does not go beyond what lies within the four seas—yet he can draw men and women to gather around him. He must have something that sets him apart.

“I summoned him, and he was indeed shockingly ugly. He had not been with me a month before I began to notice his character; before a year was out, I trusted him. The state had no chief minister, so I entrusted the government to him. He hesitated a while before accepting, as humbly as if declining. I felt I had done wrong, yet in the end I gave him the state. Before long he left me. I was desolate, as if I had lost something, and felt that no one in the state could share my joy with me. What sort of person is he?”

Confucius said: “Once when I was envoy to Chu, I happened to see a litter of piglets nursing at their dead mother. Presently they all fled in alarm, because they found the mother could no longer respond to them. What they loved was not the mother’s form but whatever it was that made the form alive and responsive.

“War dead are buried without ornate coffins; men whose feet were cut off no longer cherish shoes, for such things have lost their original use. Palace women in the sovereign’s service do not trim nails or pierce ears; a man who has taken a wife no longer has her serve in the palace. Merely keeping the body whole is already enough—how much more when De (Virtue/Power) is whole?

“Now Ai Taita has not yet spoken, yet people trust him; he has not built achievement, yet people draw near; he can make people…” (The original text ends here.)

When he offered the state to him, he feared the other might not accept; this must have been because his talent and nature were complete and his virtue did not show itself outwardly.

Duke Ai asked, “What is meant by having one’s talent and nature complete?” Confucius said, “Life and death, survival and extinction, obscurity and prominence, poverty and wealth, worth and unworthiness, slander and praise, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—these are all transformations of things and expressions of the way fate moves. They alternate before one’s eyes day and night, yet human wisdom cannot determine in advance when they will begin. Therefore, do not let these changes disturb the peace within, and do not let them enter the depths of the mind. Keep the inner heart harmonious, joyful, and unobstructed; do not lose delight because of change. Day and night, without cease, meet all things so that the inner heart can always nourish the myriad beings as spring does. This is called having one’s talent and nature complete.”

Duke Ai asked again, “What is meant by virtue not showing itself outwardly?” Confucius replied, “Still water is most full in its state of rest, and so it can serve as a standard. It keeps stability within, and the outer world cannot make it turbulent. De is the cultivation of a compliant nature; that virtue does not show outwardly means that the myriad beings do not wish to leave him.”

Later, on another day, Duke Ai told Minzi, “Formerly I thought that to rule the realm, hold the reins of the people, and worry over their life and death was to be thoroughly penetrating. Now, having heard the words of the utmost person, I fear I in fact have no true De. I lightly mishandled my own person and nearly endangered the state. Between me and Kong Qiu there is not the relation of ruler and minister, but the friendship of those who meet in De.”

Guo Xiang commented: One who does not force the realm by power yet makes people willingly attach to him—those who follow him do not do so for food and drink, nor are they drawn by his appearance. One whose talent and nature are complete does not harm the myriad beings: enter a herd of beasts and you do not disturb the herd; enter a flock of birds and you do not disturb the flock. Thus one can become a place where the myriad beings dwell in peace.

Duke Ai was with Confucius less than a month and already perceived how lofty his aims were; in less than a year he entrusted him with the government of the state. Confucius met this calmly, declining in accord with the natural course, neither stirred within by favor nor by humiliation.

While alive, one draws near to the myriad beings through talent and De; when one dies, talent and De vanish, and the root of drawing near to the myriad beings is lost—then distance arises and feeling changes. As long as the root of drawing near remains, even with different bodily forms, neither side will harm the other. If the inner feeling of drawing near disappears, then even between mother and child, one may not be able to make the other’s heart firm. What allows the bodily form to stand securely is talent and De. A warrior fights relying on weapons; if after death in battle there are no weapons, what use can weapons still serve? Choosing consorts and holding wedding feasts all value appearance—thus appearance is enough to sway the mind of the honored, and enough to shake the constancy of a chaste woman. That one of complete De is loved by the myriad beings is simply how things ought to be.

As for life and death, survival and extinction, hunger, thirst, cold, and heat—their principle is originally thus; people cannot escape them…

Life does not appear by some accidental error, nor is everything it possesses produced from empty illusion. Though Heaven and Earth are vast and the myriad things are numerous, I happened to be born among them and to encounter Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things just as they are. No amount of effort or ingenuity can change this.

The course of fate and the changes in things continue without pause, day and night. At the outset, they were never something that wisdom could plan; nor, then, can human feelings hold them back. Once we understand that fate must run its course and things must change, why dwell on the ending, scheme over the beginning, or cling to what is new and yearn for what is old?

If we understand that the nature of life and the course of fate each have their own fixed measure, then amid death or life, hardship or success, and transformations without end, we can remain calm and at ease. The principle that brings harmony to body and mind lies within us. The “spirit’s abode” is where the spirit rests. Do not let troubles disturb the spirit, or damage the natural harmony of your inborn nature. Then the spirit’s abode can remain tranquil and untroubled, its joy undiminished. Let all things pass without resistance, changing together with the four seasons.

Of all the calm states in the world, none is better than still water. Preserve clarity within, and let no artifice or falsehood intrude from without. Like a deep, lucid mirror, discern all things and treat them without bias. Then you can maintain balance and act in accord with the natural order; nothing will be beyond your ability to accomplish, and nothing will fail to find harmony. This Virtue does not show itself outwardly, so people throughout the world are glad to esteem its possessor and do not reject him.

Lü’s Commentary: Without the position of a ruler, the most noble Virtue cannot be measured by rank; without accumulated stipends, the most abundant undertaking cannot be compared in terms of wealth. Everyone in the world tries to seek it through feeling, yet never succeeds. They therefore regard this state as profoundly mysterious and try to fathom it as something beyond comprehension. The Dao has no fixed location, yet is present everywhere; its wisdom is therefore not confined within the four directions.

All things turn their backs to Yin and face Yang, and thus distinctions arise. Male and female unite, yet accord with the mysterious and unfathomable Dao within Yin-Yang. People therefore suppose that he is unlike ordinary folk. Unattached and without fixed aims, he drifts freely and has no desire to make external things his concern. Later, when someone entrusted him with a state, he merely lodged there for a time. Before long he departed; in leaving, he was as deep and natural as though he had forgotten everything he had once possessed.

When a piglet dies, its mother no longer cares for it. This metaphor means that while the spirit is within the mother’s body, mother and child are connected and of the same kind. Once the spirit leaves the mother’s body, that connection ends, and the sow no longer cares for the piglet. In battle, one wears protective coverings for self-defense; after being killed in battle, those coverings are of no use. A man whose feet have been cut off no longer treasures his shoes, because he has lost what they depend on. The spirit enables the body to be a body, so the body is the spirit’s foundation.

Even concubines and newly married wives are valued because their bodies are intact; how much more so is a person whose Virtue is complete? To be trusted without having spoken, and to be welcomed without having accomplished anything, must come from a nature that is complete and a Virtue that does not show itself outwardly.

For human beings, death and life, existence and extinction are names for changes in affairs; for Heaven, they are the course of fate. Day and night alternate without cease; wisdom cannot…

What preconceptions can the heart hold? Harmony is what the spirit loves; the spirit’s dwelling is the inner chamber of the mind (lingfu). When spirit and harmony are at ease, penetrating without losing joy, the mind has no barrier and does not feel day and night as separate; meeting all things, it is like spring making things grow. This means that when the heart meets outer things, it acts in accord with the right moment as it arises.

When water is still, it reflects clearly; human nature is the same. When the inner mind is preserved, outer things cannot shake it—do not disturb it. This shows that human nature is likewise. When all things are complete in the heart, one can accomplish all things; when one sees all things as one, there is harmony. De (Virtue/Power) is the cultivation after harmony is achieved; when De does not show its trace, it is the same as things in their first state. How could such a person leave the root from which they were born?

Lin Xiyi’s note: Ai Tuoita had no rank or salary, and a face so ugly the whole world loathed it, yet inwardly his talent and virtue were full, so everyone wished to follow him. He was not driven by what lay outside his lot, so wisdom did not stray beyond himself; he could also be one with all things, so men and women alike drew near. “Men ran ran ruo” means he was broad and without artifice, not bound by appearance. “Before long he left” means people soon parted from him; “hard to advance, easy to retreat” describes how he did not push forward easily and withdrew readily.

While the piglet lived, it took the sow as its kind; after death it no longer did. The point is that the gentleman bonds through talent and virtue, not through bodily form. “Form” means the six limbs, ears, eyes, and the like; what makes the body human is the principle of morality and fate (xingming). Corpses of the war-dead need no feather ornaments on the coffin; those whose feet were cut off need no shoes. The analogy is that the body should take talent and virtue as root—without the root, the form is useless. In antiquity some trimmed concubines’ nails and pierced their ears; when taking a wife, they did not allow such harm, because they chose bodies whole. How much more should one draw near those whole in virtue.

Changes of life and death, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—all are part of Heaven’s mandate (tianming) and the turning of day and night. Even the greatest wisdom cannot trace where they begin. Only one whose talent and virtue are complete can face gain and loss without clinging and follow nature. Thus outer things are not enough to disturb inner harmony. The heart does not lose joy; between day and night there is no gap; forgetting the extreme of change, meeting all things like spring giving birth—then naturally there is the power to make things grow.

Here it is said that creation (zaohua) has no end: things grow day after day, yet things themselves do not thereby become fixed and unchanging. “Meeting things and giving birth to the moment in the heart” means the perfected person meets outer things at each moment, responds as feeling arises, and flows with the situation. When water settles and is level, all under Heaven take it as model; when De does not show its trace, it is the same. De is cultivation after harmony is achieved; teaching happens without knowing how one teaches. One whose De does not show remains effective for all things; achievement is fulfilled without knowing how it was done.

Xiangdao’s note: Wang Chu was bodily incomplete yet could make people submit; Ai Tuoita’s appearance was ugly…

People are not dragged about by external things because they have a character within that deserves respect; even when the physical form is incomplete, what is inward remains whole. A bearing of supreme beauty also dwells within; even when the outward appearance is ugly, one may still be called beautiful. What is meant by “a bearing of supreme beauty” is that one’s capacities are complete while De (Virtue/Power) is not displayed on the outside. For this reason, both men and women admire such a person, birds and beasts draw near, and even a ruler is willing to entrust the state to him.

This is not because he deliberately makes all things attach themselves to him, but because things naturally wish to attach themselves to him. A sow cherishes her piglets because she takes them as her own young; a warrior takes courage as his root, and a traveler on the road takes his feet as his root. Ai Tuo-it (a man of ugly appearance yet profound De in the Zhuangzi) was able to preserve himself, to be employed when present, and to be missed when he departed—precisely because he possessed this inner root.

When De is complete, it shows forth as talent; when talent is complete, it merges back into De. When De is not displayed outwardly, one does not lose one’s true self amid changes of life and death, nor does one alter oneself for the sake of external things. The alternation of day and night never ceases, and life flows on within the heart—but this is not because one clings to the self and forgets externals. When the inner mind holds fast to what is genuine, one does not lose one’s substance; when external things cannot disturb the inner mind, reputation has no way to tug one about. What is called De is the cultivation of one’s nature so that it returns to wholeness and harmony.

Duke Ai of Lu and Confucius were at first in a relationship of lord and minister, and later became friends joined in De. When Duke Ai gained insight, that too surely began from something subtle.

The Bixu commentary explains: power and stipend can sustain one’s livelihood, so the multitude will attach themselves to those who hold authority; that an ordinary person can also draw the multitude to attach themselves is because his De is as deep as a mountain ridge. Here, “self” (己) refers to one’s own nature. While alive, the sow and her piglets belong to the same kind; when the sow dies, the piglets lose their kind. What the sow loses is only her own nature, whereas what the piglets lose is their kind—so when the sow departs, the piglets flee. This illustrates that Duke Ai’s De was shallow, and the perfected person therefore kept his distance from him.

The shà (ceremonial feather fan in the guard of honor) is used to display martial majesty; shoes adorn the two feet. A soldier who has died in battle, or a man whose feet have been cut off, has already lost his root—of what use are adornments then? The changes of life and death are like the alternation of cold and heat. What the commentary calls the “sixteen eyes” refers to the various entanglements of the dusty world; whoever involves body and mind in worldly affairs cannot escape them. To entrust these to the mandate of Heaven is what is termed “De Complete” (De chong). Even so, this still describes one who remains within the secular realm; those who roam beyond the secular, liberated and transcendent, enter a realm of mystery—hence Confucius could fall silent, and Duke Ai ceased his questioning.

The rise and fall of affairs and unceasing change mean that morning and evening may already differ. Even one skilled in calendrical reckoning and adept at measurement cannot foresee the change before one’s eyes—who, then, can calculate how matters will end? When the spirit storehouse (lingfu) is stilled, one is naturally peaceful, penetrating, at ease, and unblocked; ever cherishing joy, one maintains a mind of emptiness and mysterious subtlety without interruption. The vigorous growth of spring qi is just like the sage’s heart in nurturing all beings; the abundant stillness that water displays when it rests is also something the finest artisan may take as a model. De is stored within…

What completes the self is inner De (Virtue/Power); when De is extended outward, one can live in harmony with things. To reach such harmony is not something that can be achieved without cultivation. To hold the reins of the people yet worry over their life and death shows that one has not yet seen all things as straw dogs for sacrifice—going along with nature without clinging too hard.

Forget the affairs of state, and the self becomes full; forget power and position, and De becomes substantial.

Zhao’s commentary takes Ai Taituo—the homely man of real virtue—as that “wordless” Confucius. Confucius was then returning from Wei to Lu, and his appearance was not pleasing; hence the story of the ugly man in Wei. Men who stayed with him could not bring themselves to leave; rulers honored him, and women were willing to be his concubines—all images for disciples and ordinary people wanting to follow him. He was gentle with others yet did not boast; he transmitted the old ways yet did not claim to have invented them. Without the title of king he could still gather hearts, like one who aids the world through the Dao and becomes a king without a crown.

“What he knew did not go beyond the usual round of life; what he saw did not exceed the common feelings of husband and wife”—yet why was he still so unlike others? Duke Ai of Lu set aside outward form and valued De, handing the government to Confucius; before long, Confucius left. Confucius used the piglet at the teat: at first it clung to its dead mother, then in a moment realized she was no longer its mother and ran off. Human liking and disliking do not depend on whether the form is beautiful.

When the sacrificial meat from Duke Ai did not arrive on time, Confucius left Lu without waiting to take off his ceremonial cap—was that really what he wished? The dead in battle have no use for coffin trimmings, just as a man whose feet were cut off has no use for shoes. The point is that gifts and outward ritual mean nothing when they do not fit the need.

Concubines did not trim their nails or pierce their ears, so as to keep the body intact and avoid needless adornment; newly married men could be excused from corvée labor—such rules appear in ancient ritual texts. Here, preserving the body stands for preserving De. Change in life and death, cold and heat—what humans cannot escape—turn like day and night, with no clear beginning or end, yet they are not enough to disturb one’s tianhe, the natural peaceful qi. With ease and joy in the heart, all things seem to be in spring; meeting the outer world, one responds and grows; touched by things, one opens and flows through.

When water is still and clear, everyone under heaven can take it as a model. When De is fully cultivated, harmony is achieved; in harmony one unites with all things. If De separates from things, outward traces stand out, and it is no longer inner De. That is why Duke Ai called Confucius a “friend in De.”

Yuzhai adds: “What he knew did not go beyond the four quarters” means his knowledge did not exceed the secular world; “male and female paired before him” means he could draw near to things without startling them, like gulls that are not frightened by people. The piglet illustrates that love and hate are not about beautiful or ugly forms. The dead have no use for coffin ornaments, as the footless have no use for shoes—De is inward, not on the surface. Concubines not trimming nails or piercing ears preserves the body without ornament; exemption for new husbands appears in the Book of Rites. Preserving the body here figures preserving De. Life and death, hardship…

To perceive the changes in things is to know that the myriad beings run their course with day and night alternating and ever moving forward. Even a person of wisdom cannot trace them back to their beginning. To know these changes is not enough to disturb the peace in one’s breast; they do not enter the depths of the mind, nor can they shake the inner self.

Turning without cease day and night, the myriad things renew themselves daily. If a person can follow along with things as they are, as spring is full of vitality, and can meet every affair with ease, then everywhere will seem delightful. Here, “connecting” (jie) means the heart meeting external things; “timely circumstances” (shi) means the momentum of the times. The heart responds to what affairs stir in it—this is what is meant by “completeness of capacity” (cai quan).

“Completeness of capacity” means that one’s native disposition and virtuous character (de) are whole, without putting oneself forward to display them; the inner mind has something it preserves, and outwardly one is not harmed, not letting external things disorder body and heart. Inner peace makes one a standard others may emulate; this is preserving the harmonious qi within one’s nature, which is also cultivating virtue (de). When virtue does not take visible form (de bu xing), it means that wherever one is, virtue can be embodied, so the myriad things do not stand apart from one. This is not the relation of ruler and minister, but friends joined through virtue—close in meaning to what Mencius called “treating one another as friends.”

As for the passage on “male and female” (cixiong), interpretations have never agreed. Some take it to refer to birds and beasts, citing the Liezi account of male and female pairing and multiplying in flocks. But on close reading of the scripture, there are lines such as “the husband who lives with her wants to leave but cannot” and “the woman is willing to be a concubine,” which show that “male and female” here should echo the earlier “husband” and “woman”—namely, the union of man and woman, meaning that many people come to attach themselves. As for the dead being buried in war, it is not that a concubine’s goods are taken for burial.

The shà is a ritual implement used in funeral rites, shaped like a square fan, made of wood, covered with white cloth and painted with cloud patterns, placed on both sides of the funeral carriage to guard and adorn. Regarding the character zi (资), some explain it as “to use” or “to send to the grave,” while others leave it unexplained; older readings are not precise. Later, lecturers ended a sentence at shà to help explain zi, which reads more smoothly and fits the scripture’s intent better.

The Liji, “Tangong,” records that the Zhou people used shà; when Confucius’s funeral procession went out, the coffin was also adorned with coffin fittings, shà, and the like. The “Mingtang wei” also says the Zhou had “bi shà” (shà decorated with jade disks). Zheng Xuan’s commentary states that the Son of Heaven used eight shà, with disks on the shà and hanging feathers; feudal lords used six, with gui scepters; great officers used four; common gentlemen also used shà. From this it appears that ancient mourning rites widely employed shà, not solely to decorate weapons. The likely meaning in the Nanhua zhenjing is that the ancient sages instituted ritual so that people in nurturing life and sending off the dead could be without regret; the Zhou adorned burial with coffin wood, shrouds, and willow shà and other ritual goods.

The ceremonial fans (翣) used in funeral processions—those canopies held over the coffin in ancient burial rites—were graded according to the deceased’s status and the scale of the mourning rites. Each rank received what was fitting, so that the handling of death might be taken with full seriousness. If someone died in battle, that was not a death from natural old age; and since marching to war already departed from the proper way of using force, there was no need to adorn the burial with 翣. Moreover, when the body itself had not come home whole, how could one expect the full complement of funeral regalia? It is like a man whose feet have been cut off: he will no longer cherish his shoes.

This chapter begins from the image of a piglet nestling beside its dead mother, and ends with a string of metaphors for the same point: when virtue is full within, one does not need outward ornament to add luster; when inner virtue is empty, the finest outward display still does no good.

“Being spring with things” (yu wu wei chun) means meeting the world with the heart as spring’s breath moves through it, so that things may grow. This describes someone whose wisdom is complete yet whose virtue does not show on the surface: inwardly they hold a qi of peace, and in contact with things there is no barrier—as when spring spreads everywhere and all things are nourished. Because they take no-mind as mind and do not deliberately seek to be moved, they can respond naturally whenever something in the world stirs them. Master Lianxi (Zhou Dunyi of the Northern Song) would not cut the grass outside his window, saying it was “of one meaning with myself”—the same idea. Someone asked: “If you do not deliberately resonate and do not actively meet things, where is that peaceful qi?” He answered: “Like a suspended bell or chime—sound flows out of itself; nothing can block it.”