《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 49

When the autumn floods arrived on schedule, many rivers flowed into the Yellow River. Its waters spread so wide that cattle and horses on opposite banks, or on either side of the sandbars, could no longer be distinguished. The Earl of the River, the god of the Yellow River, was delighted, believing that all the finest sights in the world had gathered before him. He followed the current eastward until he reached the North Sea. Facing east, he looked out, but could not see where the water ended.

Only then did the Earl of the River turn around and gaze up at the boundless sea. He sighed and said, “There is a saying that if someone hears a hundred teachings, they think no one can equal them. That describes me. I once heard people say that some considered Confucius poorly informed and looked down on Boyi’s sense of duty. At first I did not believe them. Now that I have seen your vastness with my own eyes, I realize I nearly made a grave mistake. If I had not come to your threshold, I would probably have gone on being laughed at by those with broader understanding.”

The Lord of the North Sea said, “You cannot speak to a frog in a well about the sea, because its dwelling is too confined. You cannot speak to a summer insect about ice, because it is limited by its season. You cannot discuss the Great Dao with someone of narrow understanding, because that person is bound by existing doctrines. Now you have left the riverbanks and seen the sea; you know how shallow your understanding was. That means I can speak with you about the Great Dao.

“Of all the waters in the world, none is greater than the sea. Thousands upon thousands of rivers flow into it, and no one knows when they will stop, yet the sea does not overflow. Its waters flow out through the Tailgate, the legendary place where seawater drains away, and no one knows when they will stop, yet the sea does not run dry. Whether the seasons change or droughts and floods come, the sea is unaffected. Its volume far exceeds that of the rivers, beyond calculation. But I never boast of this, because I know that I am only one form among Heaven and Earth, formed by the Qi of Yin and Yang. Between Heaven and Earth, I am like a pebble or a small tree among great mountains. Once I have seen how small I am, what is there to boast about?

“Seen from the space between Heaven and Earth, are not the Four Seas like a small hollow in a great lake? Seen from within the Four Seas, is not China like a single grain of rice in a great storehouse? The many kinds of things in the world are why we call them ‘the myriad things.’ Humans are only one kind among them. Within the Nine Provinces, people live together, grow grain for food, and use boats and carts to travel; yet humans, too, are only one kind among them. Compared with the myriad things, are people not like a single hair on a horse?

“The Five Emperors who successively governed the world, the Three Kings who contended for it, the humane people who worried over it, and the capable people who labored for it—all were concerned with these same things. Boyi, however, declined to take the world…”

When the river swelled in flood, countless streams flowed into the Yellow River, whose waters became vast and powerful. The River Earl grew proud, believing that all the beauty in the world belonged to him. Then he followed the current eastward to the North Sea. Only when he saw the sea stretching without end did he turn his face toward it and sigh. He said to the sea god Ruo, “As the saying goes, ‘Once you know a little of the Way, you think no one can compare with you.’ That must describe me. I once heard people praise Zhongni (Confucius) for his extensive learning, and I also heard that Boyi thought little of his own conduct. At first, I did not believe them. Now that I have seen the vastness of the sea with my own eyes, I know how limited my understanding was. If I had not come here, I might have gone on being laughed at by those who understand the Great Way.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says that when the river grows so wide that one can no longer tell a cow from a horse on the opposite bank, this describes its vastness. Yet I was still laughed at by those whose understanding is truly broad. To recognize the limits of one’s understanding without becoming complacent is to accord with reason. Each thing has a place where it is at home, and each has its own limits. Only when we understand our own place can we speak of things as they are. The waters of the countless streams flow into the Yellow River; the Yellow River’s waters flow into the sea; and the sea, in turn, lies between Heaven and Earth. Each thing has its own capacity.

On the surface, this seems to use the observation of great and small to explain their differences. But on closer examination, that is not its point. People commonly make the mistake of failing to regard all things on equal terms. Those with large bodies think they are full and abundant; those with small bodies think they already have enough. So they boast and compare themselves with one another, losing their sense of how to advance or withdraw. This is where people go astray. To correct this bias, it is better to take the differences to their furthest extent, then follow each thing’s own account of itself. What is “great” is already complete; Heaven and Earth cannot add anything to it. What is “small” has nothing to spare; Heaven and Earth cannot take anything away from it. In this way, each understands its own limits, and all things rest content within their proper bounds. The free and easy person keeps to the natural rhythm of things and lives at ease.

If we see only what is great and cannot be content with what is small, or see what is small and think ourselves remarkable, we will rush about trying to outdo one another and feed people’s vanity. How could we then grasp the purpose of the Nanhua Jing, the Daoist name for the Zhuangzi? Great and small each have their own distinctions, and there is no need to compare them. The deeds of the Five Emperors, the Three Kings, the benevolent, and those who devoted themselves to service all remained within the bounds of their respective circumstances. Every thing has its fixed limits, which even the wisest person cannot overstep. The distinction between great and small is raised to show that the highest principle needs no argument.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says that the autumn floods, when the countless streams flow into the Yellow River, symbolize learning accumulated from outside, which has not yet reached the Great Way. When one can no longer tell a cow from a horse on opposite banks, this shows that although one has sought the Way, one’s view remains confined by the riverbanks and has not yet reached a vision that sees all things. Following the current to the North Sea symbolizes seeking along the course of things and eventually finding one’s destination. Turning to face the boundless sea and looking up at the sea god Ruo symbolizes turning the mind and body toward the Great Way and roaming through the realm without end. Those who remain confined within their own small world are bound by the distinctions between great and small.

In matters of time, people are often constrained by distinctions of long and short, far and near. In matters of teachings, they are also limited by various techniques. This is why people under Heaven cannot roam freely and at ease. When the Earl of the River stepped beyond the riverbank and looked out at the sea, he cast off his former limitations and gained a vision without fixed boundaries. Only then could he speak of the great principles.

The sea gathers all the streams, yet does not overflow. The Tail-Gate—the legendary seabed passage through which seawater drains away—lets the water out, yet the sea does not run dry. Neither distinctions of long and short, far and near, nor distinctions of great and small can dictate or constrain this. The sea’s condition is already close to the Dao (the Way).

Viewed from between Heaven and Earth, the Four Seas are only a part of it; China is only a part of the lands within the seas; and a human being is only one among the myriad things, so tiny as to seem almost absent, almost there and almost gone. The concerns and labors of the Five Emperors, the Three Kings, the benevolent, and those who took responsibility for public affairs amounted to no more than this. Yet some people make a show of yielding to gain a reputation, or display their learning by speaking at length. From the boundless perspective of the Great Dao, the moral principles they prize are slight, and what they have heard is limited. Can this really be empty talk?

Lin Yidu’s commentary: Those trapped in narrow understanding cannot go beyond their immediate circumstances; those who cling to a particular age cannot adapt to change; those bound by teachings cannot follow the Dao. The Dao runs through the ages, while sages adapt to the times. If one clings to the practices of a single age and uses them to doubt the Dao that runs through past and present, one will never hear the Dao.

A sage’s words change with the times; what changes is the language, while the Dao does not. The Dao branches out into various teachings, and each school in turn promotes the views of its own teacher. Over time, teachings accumulate faults, and people become rigid and constrained, unable to grasp what runs through them all. Today, Confucians reject the Buddhists, and Buddhists reject the Daoists. They do not understand that the three sages originally shared the same purpose in establishing their teachings. Those who fail to understand this are all constrained by teachings.

When the Earl of the River stepped beyond the riverbank and looked out at the sea, he was no longer obscured by the view from a single corner and could speak of the great principles. The North Sea gathers all the streams and is never full; the Tail-Gate drains its waters, yet it is never empty. The sea is vastly greater than the rivers—how could its scale be calculated? Yet the sea never boasts of this. If we compare a person’s physical form with Heaven and Earth, and the Qi (vital energy) received at birth with Yin-Yang, we are constrained and driven by them. Our bodies stand between Heaven and Earth as a small tree or stone stands on Mount Tai. Caves in the mountains, anthills, grains of broken rice, and millet seeds are all tiny things. Viewed among the mountains and marshes, they are as small as the North Sea is between Heaven and Earth.

People often use “ten thousand” to count the myriad things, meaning simply that they are numerous. A human being is one among the myriad things. China is a place within the Nine Provinces where people live; compared with a single hair on a horse, how is it any different? The Five Emperors succeeded one another… (The original text ends here.)

Following the earlier discussion of rulers who dealt with one another through ritual deference, the Three Kings who fought to seize territory, benevolent people who worried for the common folk, and committed officials who worked diligently at their duties, we may say that although these people pursued different endeavors, in the end they were all confined to what was small and limited.

Bo Yi yielded the throne in order to win a reputation. Confucius arranged the classics to display his extensive learning and vaunt himself in his own age. This was like the Earl of the River, who took pride in himself because his waters were abundant.

Chen Xiangdao’s commentary says: Laozi often used water as a metaphor for the Dao (the Way). The Dao depends on having a foundation; water is prized for having a source. The Zhuangzi therefore uses the North Sea to represent the Sage’s great Dao, and the rivers swollen by autumn rains to represent the teachings of the various schools. In that age, the great Dao had split into a hundred schools, and worldly habits had submerged people’s natural, unspoiled nature. Yet scholars who clung to one-sided views were pleased with themselves, believing that all the finest principles in the world belonged to them. This is like a frog at the bottom of a well, with whom one cannot speak of the sea, or an insect that lives from summer to autumn, with whom one cannot speak of ice.

Only after they awaken do they look up at the heavens and see how low the roofs of the world are; only after climbing Mount Tai do they realize how small the other mountains seem. The “Autumn Floods” chapter was written for this very reason. The learning of the hundred schools takes the expansion of knowledge as its strength, so the Earl of the River serves as its image. The Sage’s Dao takes responding to all things as its function, so Hai Ruo, the sea spirit, serves as its image. The sea does not fill up when a hundred rivers flow into it, nor does it dry up when its waters drain away through the Tail Gate, the legendary channel through which the sea discharges its waters, because the Great Void, the legendary unfathomable abyss beneath the sea, has no end.

If we compare things as greater or lesser, we become burdened by thoughts of having more or less. If we can forget the distinction between great and small, the feelings of looking down in self-congratulation or looking up in astonishment will also disappear. Zhuangzi does not ask people to forget all distinctions between great and small at once. Instead, he first has them compare things, thereby guiding narrow teachings toward the broad and proper Dao.

Chen Bixu’s commentary says: “Looking out over the vast waters” describes the sight of immense waters. Before the Earl of the River had even reached the sea, his limited understanding was already apparent, and he was mocked by the boundless Dao. Thus, understanding change and responding to the times is the broad view. Gentlemen and petty people each have their own limits of understanding; to go beyond one’s proper bounds and presume to pass judgment only makes one ridiculous. Only by recognizing one’s own limitations can one discuss the Dao. Those called ignorant and confused are not necessarily ignorant and confused forever.

No body of water is greater than the sea, yet the sea never boasts, because it takes humility as its model and places itself last. The states of Qi and Wei fought over a space as small as the tips of a snail’s horns, while their people lived within this tiny world: both are metaphors for greedy contention. “The succession of the Five Emperors” means the handing down and continuation of benevolence and righteousness.

Lin Yanzhai’s Oral Commentary says: “‘Jing’ means turbid. When the Yellow River swells violently, its waters become muddy and batter the banks, almost filling the riverbed. Hence the phrase ‘the great flow of the Jing.’” (The source text breaks off at “Jing and Wei,” so its meaning is not presented in full.)

This passage primarily discusses the relativity of size and quantity, along with the limitations of human cognition.

The dialogue between the Sea Spirit (Ruo) and the River Earl (Hebo) illustrates how those who have seen the ocean are no longer amazed by small streams, just as those who have studied with sages remain unmoved by ordinary words. The River Earl initially considered himself vast, but upon encountering the Northern Sea, realized his insignificance. The Sea Spirit uses the metaphors of a frog in a well and summer insects (with their brief lifespans) to represent those with limited perspective, explaining that while the Northern Sea's immensity defies measurement, the Four Seas are but a single hair on a horse's body within the cosmos—let alone the potentially greater realities beyond Heaven and Earth.

Through their exchange, the text reveals how all measurements are relative. The Sea Spirit explains: material quantities are boundless, time flows ceaselessly, boundaries between things constantly shift, and life-death cycles endlessly revolve. The truly wise perceive these truths—they neither belittle small things nor overvalue large ones; understanding time's eternity, they avoid excessive joy or sorrow over gains and losses; comprehending life-death as natural law, they neither cling to life nor fear death.

The passage concludes by observing how human knowledge pales against the unknown, and our living years dwindle compared to pre-existence. Attempting to explore the infinite cosmos with our finite understanding only leads to confusion. How then could we possibly use the fineness of a hair to determine what constitutes ultimate smallness?

Through vivid analogies and progressive reasoning, this text unveils the constraints of human perception, teaching us to embrace the world with open-mindedness rather than self-limiting assumptions.

And what gives us grounds to know that Heaven and Earth are so vast as to encompass everything that is great?

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Each thing has its own limits. Life and death, fortune and misfortune, gain and loss all have their bounds, beginnings, and endings. The principle of daily renewal—the ceaseless transformation of all things—allows each thing to be complete in itself, with nothing lacking. From this we can see that things near and far, small and great, each have their own limits. This is what the earlier passage means.

What is present will eventually become past, and the distance between past and present is great. Regard what is distant as close at hand, and you will not be troubled by the long span between them. Fix your thoughts on what is fleeting and pursue it deliberately, and you will become impatient. Taking past and present as evidence, we can see that change never ceases; it does not occur only between life and death. So we need not be troubled by a long life or impatient over a short one. By observing things wax and wane, we see that the bounds between gain and loss are never fixed.

To forget sorrow and joy, life and death: this is the true principle of daily renewal. Understand that things are always renewing and changing, and you will know that what has passed cannot be held back. Then new things will not startle you, and letting go of old things will not alarm you. Even if the changes of life and death seem alike, what people can know remains limited in different ways; each person, too, receives a different measure in life. It is better to be content with the bounds of what one has received. Then the great and the small can each be complete in themselves.

If even a fine autumn down does not depend on Heaven and Earth for its achievements, then for that down Heaven and Earth are, in effect, something extraneous. Heaven and Earth do not appear vast to it; it need only attend to its own form and it feels complete. And what gives us grounds to say that the small must be small and the great must be great?

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: The Dao has no distinction between great and small; how could it have any fixed form? We regard Heaven and Earth as immensely great, yet the reach of our understanding cannot encompass them. So is what we call “great” truly great? Is what we call “small” truly small? The small does not thereby become smaller, nor the great greater. This shows that the scale by which we measure all things has no limit.

I call the past “past” and the present “present”; before I have finished speaking, the present has already become the past. Where, then, is there any fixed boundary between past and present? Understand that both past and present will eventually become past, and you will not be troubled by the distance of time or impatiently seize a fleeting moment, for you know that time does not stand still.

How can I wait gloomily for a ruler who will come a hundred years from now? That would be to suffer over a wait that is too long. Pengzu was famed for his longevity. When people compare themselves with him, they are placing too much weight on their brief lives and impatiently seeking long life. The sun leans west once it reaches midday, and the moon wanes after it is full. See clearly how things wax and wane, and you can gain without delight and lose without sorrow, knowing that your own bounds are never fixed.

Where there is a beginning, there must be an end; where there is an end, there must also be a new beginning. Investigate the beginnings and endings of things, and you will understand the way of equanimity within them. So there is no need to rejoice wildly at being alive or regard death as a calamity, for beginnings and endings cannot be fixed or grasped. Seen in this light, can the fortunes, bounds, beginnings, and endings attributed to the myriad things truly be known and grasped? (The original text continues beyond this point.)

Without true and penetrating understanding, what one already knows is indeed inferior to what one has yet to know. After birth, people have awareness; before birth, they do not. Thus the state after birth is indeed less still and free of awareness than the state before birth. Human understanding is extremely limited, while the realms of the myriad things are vast and boundless. To use limited understanding to exhaust an infinitely vast realm can only lead to confusion and bewilderment, leaving one unable to find ease.

Commentary by Yidu: When we observe the myriad things through physical forms and external measures, we distinguish large from small. When we observe them through the Dao (the Way), there is no such thing as large or small. That things each take what they need and balance one another is their ordinary state; that the seasons and cycles continually change is their transformation; that they each have their distinctions is their differentiation; and that they have beginnings and ends is their life and death. From the perspective of “great understanding”—a penetrating and expansive grasp—none of these provides grounds for judging the distance or size of the myriad things. One who understands how past and present continue into one another will not feel, even on a long journey, that the way ahead is beyond reach. When taking what is needed, even if one merely picks up what is close at hand, there is no need to strive for more. This is what it means to understand that the cycles of time have no end.

By observing changes in fullness and decline, one can avoid becoming fixated on gain and loss. By understanding that each thing has its own bounds, though these are never permanent, one sees that the gains and losses people worry over are not burdens one must take upon oneself. Let everything follow its own nature, and gain and loss will bring neither sorrow nor joy. Understand the open road of life, and life and death will no longer unsettle the heart. Then life can renew itself day by day, unbound by old assumptions.

Once people have awareness, they are easily ruled by it: they exhaust the body, disturb the heart, chase after external things, and forget themselves. Better to be still and natural, at ease in one’s proper place, as when there was no awareness. After birth, people are constrained by life and beset by ceaseless turmoil; better the stillness and emptiness of the state before birth. Human understanding is extremely limited, while the realms of the myriad things are boundless. How could seeking the infinite with what is limited fail to bring confusion?

Commentary on the Detailed Way: Understand that the scope of the myriad things is without limit, and you will no longer treat large and small as absolute measures of quantity. Understand that the cycles of time have no end, and you will no longer tire of the succession of past and present. Understand that each thing’s bounds are not fixed forever, and you will no longer grieve or rejoice over gain and loss. Understand that things have no fixed form of beginning or end, and you will no longer regard life and death as calamities. People see the myriad things this way because they have understanding; they have understanding because they are alive. If one could forget the basis on which one knows things and return to the state before birth, who could say that the large cannot become extremely small, or the small extremely large?

Commentary by Bixu: The scope of the myriad things is without limit, so they cannot simply be divided into large and small. The cycles of time have no end, so they cannot simply be measured by succession. Each thing’s bounds are not fixed forever, so one cannot simply say… [The original text ends here unfinished.]

The gains and losses of things, and the ending and beginning of life, have no fixed causes. We should therefore not regard them simply as changes wholly separate from one another. The great person—the one who follows the Dao—washes the mind clean, making it clear as a mirror, and can see the long-term course of things. They do not cling to minor gains and losses before them; though they expend little, their influence is vast and without limit. Looking back, the past lies too far away to be seen clearly. If we say it is part of the present, we cannot prove that from the present alone. All things are constantly changing, but there is no need to be troubled by this. Each day brings new changes, but there is no need to pursue them deliberately; time, after all, cannot be held in place.

One who sees that abundant wealth is nothing to prize does not rejoice upon gaining it; one who sees that poverty and want are nothing to despise does not grieve upon losing them. One who understands that life and death are simply coming and going will not be led about by likes and dislikes. In meeting things, one sees no beginning; in following them, no end. Could principle have a fixed and unchanging origin? From this we can see that knowledge that distinguishes among things has its limits; only a mind that is empty, still, and open has no end.

In life, benefits and harms are tangled together; after death, all returns to silence and emptiness. To investigate a vast place like the Kunlun Mountains with the narrow vision of ants and leeches is naturally to fall into confusion. Conversely, even the smallest things have complete forms of their own, and even the tiniest places have room to spare. Even if Heaven and Earth were tilted and broken, they would still be incomplete when measured against the vastness of Heaven and Earth.

The commentator Yanzhai says: “The earlier passage speaks of the vastness of things; here it says there is no such thing as large or small. This is precisely what is meant by ‘nothing is greater than the tip of an autumn hair, while Mount Tai seems small.’ The scale of things has no limit, so it cannot be measured by fixed numbers. Time has no end, so the divisions of cold and heat, day and night, are not constant. Being and nonbeing, gain and loss, end and beginning, new and old—all are changing. Only great knowledge, the wisdom that comprehends the Dao, can understand that present and past are one. Things not yet arrived may seem far off, but there is no need to worry about them. Things that can be obtained by following their course come easily, so there is no need to pursue them deliberately. If one lives in accordance with the right way, life and death can unfold naturally. Understanding this, one sees that an ending is like a beginning and should not treat ‘the end’ as an absolutely fixed boundary.”

What people can know is what they are capable of knowing; what they cannot know belongs to the realm of Heaven. After being born, people can know what they have experienced. But how could they know what happened before their birth? Trying, from the narrow confines of one’s own self, to exhaust the vast and boundless principles of Heaven inevitably leads to confusion and a loss of ease.

If people can understand that the scale of things and the stages of time have no fixed measure, that beginnings and endings, large and small, many and few cannot be assessed by any fixed standard, and that past and present are continually changing, they can grasp the principle involved. “Distant” refers to the long passage of time one has experienced; “swift” refers to the rapid succession of change. “Not troubled” means not growing weary of the life one has experienced; “not striving” means not seeking extra years to prolong life. Each life has its own allotted span; to accept it calmly is enough.

People, of course, cannot be without life, nor can they be without knowledge. Yet the scripture says it is better to have no knowledge, better never to have been born. This is because people in the world do not seek true understanding; instead, they chase after delusive knowledge. They do not devote themselves solely to…

To preserve life while also seeking to make it more abundant is like using a finite life to pursue endless desires, forgetting its original simplicity.

When people make distinctions and calculations, hoping to gain benefits beyond what is reasonable, they are led by their own interests and harms. They can no longer see things as they are. How, then, can they judge the measure of the size and differences among the myriad things? Better to be like Wang Ni, who made no distinctions among things through knowledge. This refers to the exchange between Wang Ni and Nie Que, legendary figures of antiquity. Better to be as free of knowledge and desire as before birth. The skull, too, was unwilling to endure the toil of human life—that is the point being made.

Yet once people are born and have awareness, how can they free themselves from these burdens? The answer is this: if they can take “non-birth” as the root of life and “not-knowing” as the realm of knowing, what burdens can life still have, and what attachments can knowledge still hold?