《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 12

There was a man named Ai Taituo, Zhi Li Wushun, who went to counsel Duke Ling of Wei. The duke took a great liking to him and felt he was no different from someone whole in body. Another man, whose neck was as thick as a great jar and who bore a large goiter, went to counsel Duke Huan of Qi. That duke too was very fond of him and felt he was no different from someone whole in body.

All these men had short, thick necks. This shows that when a person’s De has advanced, others set aside their outward form. Someone who does not forget what should be forgotten—the body—but forgets what should not be forgotten—De—that is what is called true forgetting.

Therefore the Sage rests at ease in the realm of spontaneity. He knows that cleverness invites trouble, that constraint makes one stiff, that De ties people to one another, and that skill drives people toward profit and exchange. The Sage does not scheme—so what need is there for cleverness? He does not carve and polish—so what need is there for constraint? He does not lose his original nature—so what need is there for De? He does not take things to market—so what need is there for exchange? Cleverness, constraint, De, and skill—these four are all nourished by the natural. What “nourished by the natural” means is being nurtured by Heaven. Once one has received that nurture, why still depend on human contrivance?

A human being has a human form yet is not ruled by worldly feelings. Because he has a human form, he lives among others; because he is not ruled by worldly feelings, gain and loss and right and wrong cannot unsettle him. How small the part of him that belongs to convention; how large the part in which he alone fulfills his natural endowment!

Huizi asked Zhuangzi, “Are people originally without feeling?” Zhuangzi said, “Yes.” Huizi asked, “If people have no feeling, how can they still be called human?” Zhuangzi said, “The Dao gives them their face; Heaven gives them their form—how can they not be called human?” Huizi said, “If they are called human, how can they have no feeling?” Zhuangzi said, “That is not the ‘feeling’ I mean. What I call being without feeling is not letting likes and dislikes wound one inwardly, always following the natural course and not piling on extra schemes for nourishing life.”

Huizi asked, “Without piling on extra schemes for nourishing life, how does one keep one’s body?” Zhuangzi said, “The Dao gives you your face; Heaven gives you your form—do not wound yourself inwardly through likes and dislikes. Yet now you spend your spirit on external things and wear down your essential Qi, leaning on a tree to chant and sprawling on a withered parasol tree in a daze. Heaven gave you this form, and you use it to argue the ‘hard and white’ sophistry.”

Guo Xiang commented: When someone’s De consists in complying with the myriad things, others forget his ugliness; when it consists in opposing the myriad things, others forget his beauty. What people hold in mind is De; form does not enter the account of what matters. Forgetting form is not a deliberate act of forgetting; when even De is no longer held in mind, that is true forgetting. To rest at ease in self-sufficiency and let things run their course without failing to reach everywhere—that is the person whose talent and De are complete. Cleverness, constraint, De, and skill arise from one another in the natural way; the pattern within is already there.

Therefore sages do not use their fixed views to dominate the myriad things. Nothing among the myriad things is the way it is without cause; all move along the direction that ultimate principle tends toward, and people need only comply and let things run their course. The sage’s outward form is the same as ordinary people’s, yet inwardly he is like a withered tree, unmoved by external things. He carries vast, unobstructed Qi within and defers to everything without exception, and so alone preserves his innate nature.

Human life is not produced by emotion; how could emotion fully know life? Huizi still did not understand that bodily form is not shaped by emotion, and went on questioning. Zhuangzi said: If you treat right and wrong as emotion, then someone without right and wrong or likes and dislikes, though he has human form, is only an individual—where could emotion lodge? Not letting likes and dislikes harm the body, going straight ahead in what should be followed—this is not acting from emotion but following nature, not piling extra burden on life, resting only where it is fitting.

Huizi still did not grasp that life arises naturally and that the Dao is complete from the start. Zhuangzi told him further: The principle of life lies in human form and from the outset is enough to sustain itself; defer to it and life is naturally maintained. Feelings of like and dislike only wound oneself. “Leaning on a tree, resting against a parasol tree” means that those who have emotion instead trap themselves. This is what the world calls emotion; Zhuangzi calls it “heaven’s allotment” to show that emotion is not the root of life—still less other things.

Lü’s commentary says: Wushun, who was said to have a defective appearance, had a large wen on his neck yet won two rulers’ esteem through lofty De, because he had forgotten his physical form. Those who do not know how to preserve spirit are driven by seeing, hearing, and thought; they fail to forget what should be forgotten and forget the root they must not forget—this is true forgetting, not merely forgetting one’s appearance. Truly to forget is the sage’s realm of roaming among the myriad things: the myriad things nowhere escape, and each preserves itself in its own way.

On this view, treating cleverness as harm is taking branches for the root; treating constraint as sticking is gluing what could stay loose; taking De as a tie is joining separate individuals; using skill in trade is not the original point of making things. The sage does not scheme—why would he need cleverness? He does not carve and polish on purpose—why would he need glue? Never having lost, why seek? Not treating things as goods—why trade? These four are all naturally given, so there is no need to seek them outside.

The sage has human form but not what the world calls emotion, because what he roams in is “sincere forgetting” (cheng wang—true forgetting). Living among others is dwelling in the worldly realm; when right and wrong cannot touch oneself, that is embodying “heaven’s equalization” (tian jun—the evenness of the Dao of Heaven). The smaller share gained belongs to the human; the larger share belongs to Heaven. Human face and bearing in deportment are none at odds with the Dao; the human body is given by Heaven, the six limbs and nine orifices complete—enough to be a person. Why doubt that a person can be without emotion? Huizi only assumed that without emotion one cannot be human…

Making one’s emotions like wood and stone cannot be called being “without emotion.” The “emotions” Zhuangzi speaks of are thoughts of right and wrong, gain and loss, that do not linger in the heart. Being “without emotion” means not letting feelings of liking and disliking injure oneself from within. Only then can one preserve oneself. Why, then, deliberately add to life?

Huizi did not understand that stillness could arise naturally amid the activity of thought. Instead, he leaned against a parasol tree and sat beside a table made of parasol wood, deliberately seeking quiet. He did not know that this only left him unsettled. He let Heaven arrange his physical form, yet sought fame through the doctrine of “hardness and whiteness.”

Lin Xiyi’s commentary: People are unwilling to forget their physical forms, yet readily forget their Virtue. If one can remember the Virtue that people forget and forget the names and forms to which they cling, then both wisdom and Virtue can be preserved. This is called true forgetting. Liezi says of the realm in which sages roam: “To observe the transformations of things without being constrained by them—this is the highest form of roaming.”

Cunning is the source of schemes and plans, and so becomes a source of trouble. Restraint is a bond imposed on a person by external things, and so becomes entanglement. If Virtue serves only to perfect oneself and deal with external things, it becomes social intercourse. If craftsmen make objects to seek profit, it becomes commerce. These four are all things people do. Sages do not scheme or carve; they do not grieve over loss or covet goods. Why insist on doing these four things?

Though these four belong to human affairs, they are also ways Heaven provides for people. Since we receive our nourishment from Heaven, why depend on human contrivances? The sage’s physical form is like everyone else’s, so he lives among people. Yet his inner nature differs from theirs, so right and wrong, gain and loss cannot trouble him. The physical form is limited, and thus belongs to the human realm; nature is vast, and thus can fulfill one’s innate nature.

Huizi understood emotion but not the source of the nature that gives rise to it. Zhuangzi’s point is not to let feelings of liking and disliking injure oneself from within. Following the inherent course of nature and life is how one fulfills one’s innate nature. Feelings of liking and disliking may arise in response to external things, but one need not be ruled by them. By not deliberately adding to life, one can fully realize its natural principles, without having to force one’s feelings into place. When one’s bearing accords with nature and one’s physical form follows its innate course, it is enough to preserve oneself without being harmed by likes and dislikes.

Now you exhaust your spirit and wear out your mind, leaning against a tree and sitting beside a table made of parasol wood. These are signs of being burdened by your feelings. Heaven gave you a physical form that sets you apart, yet you still deliberately add to life and confuse people. Like Gongsun Long, a leading figure of the School of Names, showing off his skill through arguments about “hardness and whiteness,” you may win a verbal dispute, but you cannot persuade people’s hearts. You do not understand the inherent course of nature and life; instead, you let the transformations of creation control you.

Xiangdao’s commentary: The Way of the sage has no fixed location, yet is everywhere; it has no fixed form, yet can accomplish anything. Therefore, wherever the sage’s heart may be, it is as though he were roaming freely. To “roam” means…

Carefree wandering—roaming freely without constraint—means that the heart is free of attachment and bondage. Zhuangzi’s phrases “why use knowledge,” “why use glue,” “why use virtue,” and “why use commerce” mean: why apply clever stratagems in everything, why cling to emotional ties, why deliberately display kindness, why traffic in goods and profit?

It is only by scheming that one devises methods; only by carving and polishing that one makes things like glue and lacquer; only when wealth is lost does so-called kindness show; only through buying and selling do merchants operate. These four are all means by which people support and sustain one another in life. One whose De is full has no need of them—one simply lives in accord with nature. This is called “Heaven’s nourishment” (tian shi): being sustained by the natural order.

The sage’s body is the same as ordinary people’s, so outwardly he seems plain and slight; yet his disposition differs from others’, and so he alone can fulfill his inborn nature. The sage is not without feeling—what he loves, he loves from natural affinity; what he dislikes, he dislikes from natural aversion. He follows his nature and does not deliberately add to life; calling this state “without emotion” (wuqing) is also acceptable.

Humans are born with a bodily form—that is heaven’s gift; the mind is sharper than that of most other things. Originally no one lacks sufficient virtue; it is only when pulled by external things that something damages it. Remove that damage, and virtue can be made whole. Huizi (Huishi) loved disputation and many words—that is an especially serious way of damaging virtue—so this chapter ends by criticizing him.

Master Bixu’s commentary says: Both figures spoke of forgetting the body, but they had not yet forgotten De. The sage roams within the mind, transcending fixation on body and outward virtue; even when he daily uses wisdom and practices De, he does not boast. Thus contention and turmoil have nowhere to arise. Neither plotting gain and loss nor applying cleverness; not clinging to disposition and feeling, so why stick to emotional bonds? Not losing anything to externals, so why deliberately display kindness? Not dealing in goods, so why engage in trade? These four ways are all modes of mutual sustenance in accord with nature.

Dung beetles roll dung and spiders spin webs without scheming yet possess their skills; dragon and cloud respond to each other, wind and tiger answer each other, pine and cypress with dodder vine rely on each other—all without artificial carving and polishing. Birds and beasts dwell in forests, fish and turtles live in rivers and lakes—this is De shown without possessing property. Each thing gains for itself and makes its living without buying and selling. All this is the way nature nourishes the myriad things; hence “Heaven’s nourishment.”

Things with form may look as if they have no feeling, yet can be as still as the wooden cock. Human faces differ—that is what the Dao endows; the inner structure of the human body is largely the same—that is what Heaven endows. None of this is decided by human intent. Heaven simply lets you receive such a form—what special purpose is there? It is only spontaneous generation.

Now you have a human form, no different from the crowd, yet you insist on noisy debate over “hard and white,” “sameness and difference,” and the like before others, and think yourself gifted. That is like throwing metal into a smelting furnace and forcing it to look strange—how could people not find it odd?

Zhao’s note mentions “lips split and a great wen on the neck”—someone mutilated at the mouth with a huge growth on the neck, ugly in appearance. Yet the two figures loved and stared at him…

People of genuine virtue often forget their own outward appearance and set more store by inner moral character. What is there in looks worth clinging to? The world ought not to forget virtue, yet forgets it—that is the real “forgetting.”

Sages live in the midst of society. Seeing that human cleverness can go off course and even turn into deceit, one might set up restraints to ward that off; fearing that virtue alone cannot sway the crowd, one might use trade and the balancing of surplus and shortage to gather the wealth of the realm. That sages are sages is precisely because they do not practice these four things. Hence the saying: “Do not scheme, do not carve and polish; do not lose, do not treat things as merchandise.” How small the human form, how vast virtue!

Huizi (Zhuangzi’s friend) still could not see how being “without qing (emotion/desire)” could still count as being human. Zhuangzi replied: “The qing I mean is not having no feelings at all, but not letting likes and dislikes from within harm you.” Zhuangzi stated this plainly, yet Huizi still wanted to argue on other topics. Zhuangzi then reminded him: “You wear out your spirit, strain your mind, and exhaust yourself in disputation. As you are, when heaven takes your body back, will you still have a mouth to debate ‘hard and white’ and ‘sameness and difference’?”

Yanzhai Kouyi (a commentary on the Zhuangzi) says: When virtue has something to commend, appearance may be forgotten. To cherish virtue and forget looks is for the world to see only the body and not know virtue—that is true “forgetting.” What sages roam in is the ease of the inner life; they handle affairs with wisdom and check themselves with restraint, and when facing things they do not let the heart be dragged along. Merchants still pursue reputation throughout the world, yet sages know that scheming, carving and polishing, losing, and treating things as goods all become burdens, so they do not take them as grounds for action. Here the earlier praise of “Heaven’s nourishment,” “Heaven’s emolument,” and the like is turned around and called not good—the brush runs freely and perhaps at the cost of some care.

From “the human form” onward is a kind of remark Zhuangzi often makes. Huizi uses it to ask: Heaven gives us a body, so there is such a concrete thing as form; the Dao endows us with appearance, so concrete things must each have their norm. The “no qing” Zhuangzi speaks of is forgetting likes and dislikes so they do not harm you, following nature without adding extra artifice. Huizi instead wears out his spirit arguing “hard and white” and “sameness and difference,” so Zhuangzi asks: Since Heaven gave you a body, why torment yourself like this?

To excel in virtue is to appreciate someone’s moral character and not look only at his face; to forget appearance is to release attachment to the outer form and align with the inner self. That is why these two worthies won the regard of their two rulers and their names endure. The realm sages travel in is not apart from the world; they simply dwell at ease in ordinary human life.

To observe the transformations of all things in free and easy wandering—acting without being bound to one’s feet, seeing without being bound to one’s eyes. Thus nothing in the world can hide its form, and no human feeling can stay concealed; yet the heart that broods over worldly affairs has never, for a single day, been laid down.

Reputation is like a strange calamity that disorders one’s native endowment. People take the chase for fame as cleverness, and greed and deceit arise. Knotting cords to record things and fixing agreements began when the wind of simplicity was lost; people then clung to those agreements as if glued, and fraud and falsity appeared. Craftsmen made tools to meet daily needs; later came trade in goods, and with it cunning and pretense. These are all ailments of worldly custom.

The True Person still hoped to lead people back to simplicity, and so declared plainly: “Without scheming, what need is there for cleverness? Without carving and cutting, what need is there for glue? Without losing the genuine, what need is there to parade De? Without buying and selling goods, what need is there for merchants?” The intent is earnest: it is a cardinal teaching of returning to depth and recovering plainness. Even if a sage were to appear again, this account would not change. If one can shake off the troubles that stick and entangle oneself, one may keep company with the Way of Heaven—what harm in the world could then touch one?

A person has a human body, eating and resting like everyone else; yet no worldly passion moves him—right and wrong, like and dislike, do not stir the inner mind. How small the human form is between heaven and earth, and how vast De dwells within one’s xingqing (dispositional nature)! To restore one’s original natural state through one’s own disposition—what need is there to lean on others?

The Dao gives one one’s features; whether fair or plain, accept them in peace. Heaven gives one one’s bodily form; whether long-lived or short-lived, preserve it. Constantly follow nature and do not add to life; knowing not to add, one will not be harmed. In that case, where would feelings still need to be placed?

Today Huizi does not work to fill his inner De, but relies on disputation in words, trying to please the hearts of all under heaven—only to spend spirit and wear out mind, dozing while leaning on the parasol tree. He is driven by his own cleverness and talent and is truly in distress. So Zhuangzi tells him: Heaven gave you a body and made you the chief among the ten thousand things—was it only so you could win a name in the human world through the “hard and white” debate? You could have climbed step by step, entered the subtlety of xingming (nature and life) and virtue, and reached a sage-like, spirit-like realm—that was within reach.

Alas, Huizi was dragged down by talent, drowned in argument, lost his native nature, and was bewildered by emotion. This is exactly the ailment of losing De through chasing cleverness. Those who study the Dao should especially understand: genuine human feeling originally has no likes and dislikes; likes and dislikes arise only after contact with outer things. When both feeling and things are forgotten, one transforms together with the ten thousand things. Constantly follow nature and do not add to life—this is what is called …

True affection is affection free of private bias and partiality—how can one tell? When Huizi (惠子) awakens fully, returns to simplicity and genuineness, and enters a state unconstrained by crafty knowledge, De can be fulfilled and innate nature restored. Then why worry whether others share your intent, or whether outer things respond to you?

All things come into being through the endowments they receive—this is called De. De is the pure, beautiful allotment Heaven gives each thing, and the root of how things take form. To honor life and thereby continually enrich De is to apprehend innate nature and the Heavenly Dao. De springs from Heaven, yet its fulfillment depends on the human person—how could one fail to cherish and esteem one’s own De?

That outer things and the person correspond is only a small-scale mutual resonance, a sign confirming that De is full. As for accomplishing the great work between Heaven and Earth, that belongs to one who can harmonize Heaven and Earth and assist the transformation and nurturing of the myriad things. Wang Tai (王骀)—the disabled man whom Confucius revered in the*Zhuangzi*—was enough to earn Confucius’s respect; to lead all under Heaven to follow him, his cultivation must far exceed the ordinary. He neither lectured nor debated, yet those who came to learn arrived empty-handed and left with their minds full. If this were not mind imprinting mind, how could it be done? He regarded life and death as no change, rested in the Mandate of Heaven and the root of things, with transformation arising from within—how can one reach such a state?

From what people prize and what they discard, one can see that the person who has attained the Dao has forgotten the bodily form: content merely to cease restless striving, he can also settle the multitude, and with a vacant, still heart mirror the myriad things. These are all paths to fulfilling De. One whose De is full will be sought by all things, like the pine and cypress among trees, or Yao and Shun among the people. His worth lies not only in rectifying his own life, but in rectifying the lives of the many. As for his own life and death, fortune and misfortune, he gives them no thought. Thus whether he chooses a day to ascend to Heaven or to remain below is entirely his own decision—how would he treat outer things as a burden?

Shentu Jia (申徒嘉) did not demean himself because his foot had been cut off; instead he scorned those who viewed him through the lens of disability: in his eyes, a mutilated body was still whole. Zichan (子产), though a chief minister, treated the foot-amputee Shentu Jia with arrogance; though high in rank, he was low in De. Wuzhi (无趾—“No Toes”), who had his toes removed, was honored because he preserved what was more worth cherishing; whether the feet were whole was not what mattered most. Even when one suffers an irreversible heavenly sanction (天刑), if one rests in the Mandate of Heaven, one is no different from the bodily whole.

Ai Taituo (哀骀它)—ugly in form yet moving in virtue in the*Zhuangzi*—was drawn close by men and women alike, until Duke Ai of Lu forgot his ugliness and even wished to entrust him with the state. This was not love of his looks, but love of the inner De that made him what he was. When inner harmony and balance operate, outer flaws and illness cease to obstruct; as De renews day by day, one can connect with the Dao and transform with spirit-like ease. When affairs succeed, he does not claim the credit; therefore wherever he goes, the myriad things gather to him.

Duke Ai of Lu took Confucius as a friend because Confucius’s De was lofty—then status no longer mattered. Duke Ling of Wei treated the lipless Wusun (无脤) as a person of complete virtue; because De was lofty, defects of form no longer mattered. The realm in which the sage moves is one of communion with the myriad things…

The spiritual realm is truly vast. When one alone preserves one’s innate nature and can forget what ordinary people find impossible to forget, pure and radiant De gathers of itself, and there is no refusing it. Hui Shi prized cleverness and slighted De, so he pressed the question of how people feel likes and dislikes toward things. The reply, grounded in the truth of innate nature and life (xingming), was meant to correct his bias in depth: so that one’s bearing and original nature are not swayed by likes and dislikes, that one has a body yet is not tugged about by moods, and always moves with the natural order.

At this level, De fills the person, and all things fall into accord with it; self and others each keep their proper place, and disputes over right and wrong and over likes and dislikes melt away without a word. Why should one still spend spirit outwardly and weary the mind, then parade oneself with the “hardness and whiteness” debate—the puzzle over whether hardness and whiteness can be separated?

The Daodejing speaks of “highest De,” “ultimate De,” “great De,” and “mysterious De” (xuan de); all are ways of saying that De is full and complete. One who binds well needs no cord yet can hold the world together; the world yields of itself; without being called, people come on their own. The person of De who “keeps the tally” (si qi) is the one who holds the contract so that parties match and nothing is broken.

The Zhuangzi (Nanhua Zhenjing) unfolds this theme with special care. It even lifts up figures whose bodies are maimed and whose faces are homely to show the root teaching—likely to warn those who fix on outward form and neglect inner De.