《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 41

What people value as the Dao is all recorded in books. What books record, however, is only words. Words certainly have value, but their value lies in the meaning they express. What that meaning points to cannot be conveyed through words alone. Yet people value words and record them in books to pass down from generation to generation. Even if people cherish these books, they may not truly understand what makes them valuable, because what they cherish may not be what is truly valuable in them.

The eyes can see shapes and colors; the ears can hear names and sounds. How sad that people think shapes, colors, names, and sounds are enough to understand the true nature of things. In fact, these outward appearances cannot bring true understanding. Those who understand the principle may not speak of it, and those who speak of it may not truly understand. How, then, can people see it clearly?

Duke Huan of Qi was reading a book in his hall while Wheelwright Bian was making a wheel below. Bian set down his hammer and chisel, went over to Duke Huan, and asked, “May I ask what book you are reading?” Duke Huan replied, “The words of the sages.” Bian asked, “Are the sages still alive?” Duke Huan answered, “They are dead.” Bian said, “Then what you are reading is nothing but the dregs left behind by the ancients.”

Duke Huan said, “I am reading a book. What right does a wheelwright have to make such a judgment? If you can explain your reasoning, you may live; if you cannot, you will die.” Wheelwright Bian replied, “From my own work, I know that if I carve a wheel too slowly, it turns out loose and weak; if I carve it too quickly, the wood feels rough and the pieces will not fit. Only when I work neither too slowly nor too quickly does the result come out just as I intend. This knack cannot be put into words; it has its own measure. I cannot explain it to my son, and my son cannot learn it from me. That is why, at seventy, I am still making wheels with my own hands. Whatever the ancients could not pass down vanished when they died. By that reasoning, what you are reading is nothing but the dregs left behind by the ancients.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says that what is truly valuable in books and words often lies beyond words and writing. To understand the true nature of things, one must therefore forget words and avoid clinging to books. Wheelwright Bian’s inability to explain his craft to his son shows that each thing has its own nature, and that teaching and learning alone are of no use. Things of the past have vanished; even if someone passes down an account of them, that cannot bring the past back to the present as it was. The circumstances of the past are not those of today, and things today have also changed. One should therefore set aside rigid learning, follow one’s nature, and adapt to changing times in order to reach what is fitting.

At the start of his commentary, Lü Huiqing says that Zhuangzi tells this story to encourage learners to let go of their attachment to words and books, and not to… (The original text ends here.)

Does the Dao exist in physical forms, colors, names, and sounds? Wheelwright Bian, an ancient craftsman skilled in making wheels, considered wheel carving a rudimentary craft. Yet the right measure of speed and force, of sweetness and bitterness, must be grasped by the hands and matched by the heart. Even a father and son cannot explain this experience clearly or pass it on to each other. If so, transmitting the Dao as a way of being must be far more difficult than teaching someone to carve a wheel. Unless one understands it through the heart, simply reading books makes the metaphor of “dregs” no idle figure of speech.

The Commentary on Doubting What Stands Alone says: “The Book of Changes says that writing cannot fully express speech, and speech cannot fully express what is in the mind. What we call books are merely traces left behind by those who came before. People think books are enough to exhaust the principles of the Dao because they do not understand the Dao. Speech values what is in the mind, and the mind moves with the Dao, which has no limit. If speech cannot convey it, what is there to value in books? What people value is not truly worthy of their regard.

“The Dao in its entirety cannot be expressed in words; words can express only a part of it. The Dao arises naturally from one’s nature and life. To understand it, one must go beyond physical things and follow the most fundamental principles. One must listen in stillness and perceive in the depths. People abandon their constant, natural nature and instead pursue the old traces left by the former kings. The more they pursue them, the farther they move from the Dao.

“What the ears and eyes can hear and see amounts only to physical forms, colors, names, and sounds. Books are no different. People lose their true nature and believe that forms, colors, names, and sounds can reveal the true inner reality of things. This is truly lamentable. If one can forget forms, colors, and sounds, and avoid clinging to words and books, then understand through the heart and grasp through intention, the most fundamental principles of Heaven and Earth and the deepest realities of nature and life can be understood without being spoken.

“In the Zhuangzi, Wheelwright Bian uses the carving of a wheel as a metaphor to show that Duke Huan, ruler of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period, was absorbed in the old traces left by the former kings but did not understand the root of the Great Dao. The key is to follow the principles of things without losing one’s nature: neither too fast nor too slow, with the hands working just right and the heart responding naturally. The ‘measure’ spoken of here is natural nature; what it contains is principle. Words cannot express it clearly, so Wheelwright Bian could not explain his craft to his son. If even the minor skill of carving wheels cannot be taught through words, how much less can one seek the Dao in books? Only those who study well, seeking the intent behind what they read rather than getting stuck on the literal traces, and using their own hearts to understand it, will avoid Wheelwright Bian’s scorn.”

The Commentary on the Detailed Dao says: “Writing conveys what is in the mind, just as forms, colors, names, and sounds convey the true condition of things. The true condition cannot be directly obtained from forms, colors, names, and sounds, and what is in the mind cannot be fully conveyed in…” The original text breaks off here.

However fully a book may express itself, it is still only words. Thus, one who is skilled at reading the Book of Changes grasps the meaning and forgets the hexagrams; once the hexagrams are understood, they no longer cling to the words. One who is skilled at reading poetry grasps its intent and forgets the phrases; once the phrases are understood, they no longer cling to their literary polish. Is this not like discarding the straw dogs after the sacrifice is over, or casting aside the dregs after drinking fine wine? This is how Duke Huan of Qi, ruler of the state of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period, learned from Lun Pian, the wheelwright, that reading books does not necessarily yield the true principle. And Wang Shou, too, danced as he burned his books because of what happened with Xu Feng.

Bixu’s commentary: The ancients have passed away, and all they left behind is words in books. What is there to value in that? Take the discussion of the five flavors: one can describe their forms, colors, and names, but words can never convey the actual taste of sweetness or bitterness. Only by setting aside forms, colors, and names can one understand the principle that cannot be expressed in words. The subtle skill with which Lun Pian’s hands and mind worked together could not be fully explained in language. It had its own methods and measures, and he practiced this craft throughout his life. As the years change with time, the Dao renews itself day by day. The ancients could not speak of this without a sigh.

Yanzhai’s commentary: Books can carry the Dao; that is why people prize them. What is truly precious is the Dao, not the books. The words in a book are precious because they speak of the Dao, but what is precious is the meaning within those words, not the words themselves. If meaning cannot be conveyed through language, then neither words nor books are worth esteeming. Forms and colors can be seen; names and sounds can be heard. But the Dao cannot be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears. It is lamentable that people insist on seeking the substance of the Dao through forms, colors, and sounds. This passage further clarifies the point made earlier: the Dao cannot be transmitted through words, and the author expresses this with a remarkably apt metaphor. Books record the words of the ancients, but the ancients are gone. How, then, can we obtain what they could not pass on? How could eating wine dregs tell us the taste of wine?

The tracks left behind by a wheel appear after the wheel has passed, but the tracks are not the wheel. A book is a place where the Dao resides, but a book is not the Dao. Those who awaken to the Dao use books to understand it; those who are deluded abandon the Dao and concern themselves only with pursuing books. Thus Duke Huan of Qi was so absorbed in the old sayings of ancient books that Lun Pian had the chance to speak. Profound principles can be illustrated through humble things and explained by concrete examples; the Dao can be found everywhere. Making a wheel requires selecting materials and shaping them so that the wheel can bear heavy loads, travel long distances, and serve all under Heaven. This is like someone who holds De in their heart and hopes to accomplish something that will benefit the world. As Lun Pian wielded his axe to make wheels, the subtle coordination of hand and mind could not be passed on even from father to son. The measures of roundness and squareness, length and shortness, the pace of each movement, and the degree of tightness and looseness felt by the hands all had to be understood for oneself. Some of the craft’s mysteries cannot be fully explained by any fixed method…

Even someone who writes an essay may be able to put their thoughts into words. How much less, then, can words convey everything about the Great Dao that speaks of spirits and ghosts, the divine emperor, and the creation of Heaven and Earth?

When Wheelwright Bian grew old, he was still making wheels. Was he merely hammering away with hammer and chisel until his sinews and bones grew tired? He worked by following the Dao, letting natural skill respond to the nature of the wood. That is why he made wheels with little effort and great effect. He used this method throughout his life and never abandoned it. By extension, reading books and understanding their words by the same principle should not be difficult.

Duke Huan of Qi stayed on the surface of the words in a book and forgot the thoughts behind them. He therefore assumed that the sages had died and that their teachings remained only as written words in books. Wheelwright Bian used the occasion to explain that words cannot contain everything the sages meant. The worthy sages learned the Dao and conveyed their thoughts. Once we grasp those thoughts, we know that something exists which does not die with the body. The Dao can be experienced and cultivated in stillness; how could it be found only in the ceaseless words on a page? This shows that sages established teachings and wrote books only because they had no other choice. Nan Che uses this idea to dispel the world’s failing of clinging to appearances and fixating on words. If scholars can see the moon and forget the finger pointing to it, returning to their own undivided nature, then when they look back at those who cling to their books, they may find it hard to keep from smiling. The main idea of this passage is close to that of “Cooking an Ox,” though it ends without Duke Huan’s reply. The author leaves these words for later generations to understand, trusting that someone will truly be able to take them to heart.

This chapter is titled “The Way of Heaven.” It begins by discussing the work of emperors, sages, mysterious sages, and uncrowned kings, taking Dao and De as its foundation to explain the constant Way of Wuwei (non-action). This Way governs Heaven and Earth, sets the myriad things in motion, and also serves in governing human society. The chapter then discusses methods for ordering the world, including instruction in De, ritual and music, benevolence and righteousness, duties and ranks, rewards and punishments. Its account is comprehensive, yet none of it departs from the constant principles of human life. Why? Those skilled at discussing the Way of Heaven must take the human way as their foundation; those who fulfill the human way can also accord with Heaven. Heaven and humanity run through one another, and root and branch are one. The Way is vast, containing all things, and so profound that it is hard to fathom. How, then, can we be certain that Heaven is not humanity, or humanity not Heaven?

With five transformations, ranks and institutions can be established; with nine transformations, rewards and punishments can be discussed. These are principles unchanged through the ages, by which standards for human relationships are established and the Way of Heaven is supported in its workings. As for the De of Heaven, it manifests naturally, without human effort: the sun and moon shine, the seasons turn, and day and night follow their regular order; clouds move and rain falls. All these are the Way of Heaven revealing itself and shining forth in its course. If so, how could the Way of Earth and the human way fail to move in accord with it?

This passage explains that methods of governing a state are not useless in themselves. The key is to understand the foundations of the Dao of governance, as well as the proper relationship between root and branch, priority and sequence, ruler and minister. Those who know only how to apply specific methods, without understanding these principles, may bring disorder to the state.

People often say that the Nanhua Jing (Classic of the Southern Florescence, or Zhuangzi) focuses on Wuwei (non-action) and gives little attention to practical methods of governance. Yet its discussion here of ritual and music, government orders, and moral instruction reveals subtle insights beyond those of the other thinkers. In the end, these methods all arise from the natural order of Heaven; they are simply expressed through human action. Understand the principles of nature, and specific methods of governance can open the way to the Dao of governance, allowing rulers and ministers, fathers and sons, and even birds, beasts, plants, and trees to each find their proper place. When the people throughout the realm live and work in peace, singing as they pound the earth, and are even unaware of the ruler’s achievements, that is what may be called “Wuwei.”

As for Confucius, he wanted to collect books and study the classics to enlighten Cheng Qi. Yet when speaking with him about self-cultivation, he seemed self-important and proud. These are all examples of imitating human words and conduct while forgetting the Dao of Heaven. Lao Dan therefore disagreed with him. Only the True Person understands that benevolence and righteousness are minor branches of the Dao, while ritual and music are its guests. Such a person understands both the Dao of Heaven and human affairs, and by holding fast to the root, keeps the spirit from becoming trapped. Even while living in the world, such a person is not burdened by worldly affairs.

The passage concludes with the story of Wheelwright Pian to show that the written words of sages are merely tools for expressing the meaning of the Dao, like dregs of wine and stale words; they are not the Dao itself. If learners follow only the traces left by words and forget the Dao those words seek to convey, they will abandon the root for the branches and drift ever farther from the Dao. They should investigate the root that the sages never lost. Learners must go beyond fixed methods to experience the Dao, while teachers must grasp the true transmission that cannot be conveyed through words alone. In this way, the heart of Heaven and Earth and the sages can be revealed. Why, then, cling to the words of the ancients?