《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 54

Is there a supreme happiness in the world? Is there a way for life to find true rest and stability?

What should people do, what should they rely on, what should they avoid, where should they settle, what should they pursue and give up, what should they love and what should they dislike?

What the world honors is wealth and rank, long life, and a good name. What people enjoy is bodily comfort, fine food, splendid clothes, a beautiful appearance, and pleasing music. What they scorn is poverty and low status, a short life, and a bad name. People feel distressed when their bodies cannot be comfortable, when they cannot taste fine food, wear good clothes, see beautiful things, or hear pleasing music. When they cannot obtain these things, they grow anxious and afraid. To toil so hard for the body is truly foolish.

The rich rush about in labor and accumulate great wealth, yet may never fully enjoy it. To treat the body this way is to let external things weigh on it too heavily. The high-ranking spend day and night worrying, calculating whether they have acted rightly or wrongly. To treat the body this way is to keep it too far from oneself. At birth, it seems, worry arrives alongside us. Those who live long grow dull and confused, burdened by sorrow for a long time yet slow to die. How profound their suffering is! To treat the body this way is to stray too far from life’s purpose.

Upright people act for the sake of the world and do what others consider right, yet may not be able to preserve themselves. I do not know whether what is called “good” is truly good, or is in fact not good. If it is good, it may still fail to preserve oneself; if it is not good, it may benefit others. Hence the saying: “If loyal counsel is not heeded, withdraw and hold back; there is no need to contend.” Wu Zixu, a minister of the state of Wu during the Spring and Autumn period, insisted on arguing and as a result brought ruin upon himself. Had he not argued, he might still have failed to make a name for himself, but at least he could have preserved himself. In light of this, is there really such a thing as true goodness?

As for the things people do and enjoy nowadays, I do not know whether they truly make people happy, or whether they do not. I see people rushing after them in a crowd, hurried and tense, as though they have no choice. Everyone says this is happiness, yet I have felt no happiness in it, and cannot say for certain that it is not happiness. Is there really such a thing as true happiness?

I believe that Wuwei (non-action)—acting without contrivance and following things as they are—is true happiness. Yet this is precisely what the world regards as the greatest hardship. Hence the saying: “The greatest happiness is happiness without contrivance; the highest reputation is a reputation never deliberately pursued.” Right and wrong in the world are ultimately hard to determine. Wuwei, however, can free people from clinging to disputes over right and wrong. Of all ways to bring life to rest, only Wuwei comes close to offering a path. Let me try to explain: Heaven does not act through contrivance, and so is clear; Earth does not act through contrivance, and so is still. When the Wuwei of Heaven and Earth join, the myriad things are brought forth. They are vast and mysterious, and it seems impossible to trace the myriad things back to their source; they are mysterious and vast, and it seems as though…

All things take different forms and flourish in growth; they all arise from Wuwei (non-action). Thus it is said: Heaven and Earth act without action, yet nothing fails to come into being through them. Who among people can achieve Wuwei?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Only after delight is forgotten can happiness be fulfilled; only when happiness is fulfilled can the body be kept whole. If one takes happiness to mean delight, then the highest happiness has no delight. If one takes the absence of delight to mean the absence of happiness, then when the body is kept whole, there is no anxiety. Which should one take as one’s guide? Whether one withdraws or settles in place, and the other six courses of action, none is enough to preserve the body. Only by making no choice and following whatever one encounters can one preserve oneself.

Rich flavors, beautiful music, and lovely colors do no harm to the body when they are absent; when acquired, they may instead damage one’s nature. Yet people now grieve over failing to obtain them. This is foolish. Those who cherish the body know that being content is enough; those who are close to themselves need only find contentment within themselves. Only by not taking life too seriously can one forget anxiety. Once anxiety is forgotten, one can enjoy life; and once one can enjoy life, one sees the body as one’s wealth, treasure, and glory.

People with resolve may recognize goodness, yet that alone is not enough to preserve themselves. If doing good goes beyond its proper measure, one loses completeness. One should withdraw with ease and yield, without contending with others. This is the virtue of the Mean: whether there is goodness or no goodness, follow the middle course in accordance with things’ inherent principles, and take it as the constant rule. Everyone pursues what they desire, even risking death to obtain it. I do not know whether this pursuit is truly happiness or unhappiness. Better to hold no fixed views in the heart and let the myriad things change of themselves.

The happiness of Wuwei is simply freedom from anxiety. The worldly take resonant, pleasing sounds as happiness, and beauty and goodness as praise; yet right and wrong throughout the world have never reached a settled conclusion. When one acts without action and lets the myriad things follow their own course, right and wrong settle of themselves. When the people are at peace, my body too comes close to being preserved. This is like the natural clarity and tranquility of Heaven and Earth: it is not deliberately brought about, and so the myriad things can all transform. Deliberate action meets obstruction. The myriad things have no external source; all arise spontaneously. They have no forms imposed by human making; all grow spontaneously. If people can achieve Wuwei, happiness will come even without their deliberately seeking it.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Omitted.

Lin Yidu’s commentary: Without happiness, there is no sorrow; without a body, there is no death. It is impossible to seek the highest happiness without sorrow and to preserve the body without dying. Since this is so, why insist on doing anything, on what basis make judgments, what should one avoid, where should one settle, what should one pursue or abandon, what should one like or dislike? As for what to do or not do, and what to hold to or not hold to, it is enough simply to follow the circumstances and abide by the principles of things, without bringing subjective intentions into it.

People throughout the world honor wealth, rank, longevity, and a good reputation, and look down on poverty, low status, a short life, and a bad reputation. They also regard bodily comfort and abundance… (The original text ends here.)

To treat delicious food, fine clothes, pleasing sounds, and beautiful sights as sources of happiness, and pursue them single-mindedly without obtaining them, is to feel pain and sorrow. It is also foolish to use these things to maintain the body out of fear of losing them. The rich are burdened by their possessions; the powerful are burdened by their rank. The longer the body lives, the longer one’s worries endure. This takes one even further from the way of following one’s nature and life.

Some people of noble purpose disregard themselves for the sake of fame. If we consider this wrong, then acting to save others may still be acceptable; but the ideal is to save others without harming oneself. In ancient times, people advised rulers, and if their advice was not accepted, they yielded and did not argue. Wu Zixu, a minister of the state of Wu during the Spring and Autumn period, preferred to argue; he was ultimately killed, to his own ruin. Yet without striving for fame, one cannot achieve fame. Is this good, or bad?

What worldly people do does not truly accord with the right way, and what they consider happiness is not truly happiness. Following Wuwei (non-action) is the true form of action; only by not making happiness an object of pursuit can one fully enjoy true happiness. I do not know whether the happiness spoken of by worldly people is really happiness or not. Worldly people delight in action; sages delight in non-action. Non-action is indeed joyful, yet worldly people regard it as intensely painful and impossible to practice. Thus, the greatest happiness is to take no pleasure in happiness, and the highest renown is to seek no renown.

Right and wrong arise through action; only through non-action can right and wrong settle themselves. There is no fixed right and no fixed wrong. Wherever the mind turns, what place cannot be joyful? Wherever the body goes, what place cannot keep it safe? Stillness and peace are the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth, yet Heaven and Earth do not depend on stillness and peace in order to exist. Thus, Heaven and Earth both act through non-action and are in harmony, and all things come into being through transformation. The Dao (the Way) manifests as the myriad things, and the myriad things transform into their various forms. Where they first emerge, people do not know. What has no form cannot be seen. Each kind of thing has its own governing principle, and all enter and depart, changing within non-action. To act through non-action and yet leave nothing undone is the Dao by which Heaven and Earth operate. Can humans, living between Heaven and Earth, truly be entirely without action?

Chen Bixu’s commentary: If one acts according to the eight standards of names, regulations, and the like, the happiness one gains may not be true happiness, nor will the body necessarily be kept safe. What people everywhere revere and love is entrusted to external things, and there is no guarantee it can be obtained. To grieve and fear because one cannot obtain it—is that not foolish? Gold, jade, high rank, and eminent position are all external to the body. If one wears oneself out striving for them, what is there to celebrate in a long life? People of noble purpose dare to act, yet cannot keep themselves safe, because they want the people of the world to see their good deeds. But this is precisely how knowing that goodness is called good gives rise to what is not good. A good name cannot be forced; what matters is simply keeping oneself safe. What worldly people do and what they delight in are all pursuits of … The original text ends here.

People rush ahead in competition, as if they must obtain something. They take the illusory things of the world as sources of joy, while seeing freedom from desire and from fame as suffering. So the standards by which we judge true joy and true suffering, right and wrong, remain unsettled. If one can hold to one’s proper place and keep one’s nature from being altered, then right and wrong can be judged. When people act without interference and accord with one another, their minds are calm and untroubled, and many good things arise of themselves. But if those above and below each act on their own without blending together, harmony becomes blocked and cannot flow. When things first show signs of emerging, they have no comings or goings, no visible traces. Yet all things arise from the dim, undifferentiated state of a single Qi (vital energy). The so-called “Creator” is not some entity that makes things; all things generate themselves. People are always calculating and making plans in advance, unable to empty and quiet their minds. How, then, could they practice Wuwei (non-action)?

Lin’s Yuzhai Kouyi says: “‘What should I do?’ and ‘What should I rely on?’ and the next two lines follow the same pattern of expression as Qu Yuan’s Divination. The passage then sets out, in turn, four things: wealth and rank, long life, and a good name. The meaning is the same throughout: external things harm the self. The first three sections have already been completed; the section on the worthy men that follows extends the discussion through a change in its development, a matter of literary composition. ‘Duncun’ means ‘to hesitate and retreat.’ Struggle harms the body; if one does not contend for a reputation, that reputation will not be established. These two lines reveal the state of the world: harming the body in pursuit of a name cannot be called good. Everyone in the world rushes ahead, as if they must obtain something; I, however, take Wuwei as joy, while the conventional world sees it as great suffering. This shows that the standards for joy, honor, and right and wrong are indeed unsettled. Only through Wuwei can those standards be made certain.”

Chu’s Guanzian says: “People live amid illusory circumstances. What they cannot obtain as they wish is joy; what they cannot keep safe is life. Thus the chapter opens with the lament that supreme joy and the preservation of life cannot necessarily be attained together. If people can be content with their proper place, neither acting on things nor pursuing them single-mindedly, what is there to rejoice in or despise? What people under Heaven cherish are wealth and rank, long life, a good name, fine food, and beautiful sights and sounds. Yet fortune and misfortune turn upon one another unpredictably, and beauty and goodness cannot last. What people suffer from are poverty and low status, short lives, bad reputations, and desires left unfulfilled. But if one can wander in the realm from which all things first emerged and even forget oneself, how could external things become a burden? Consider the wealthy, who labor bitterly and wear out their bodies; the eminent, who fret over whether they have acted well; and the long-lived, who remain anxious for years that they will not die. All have become estranged from the nature of external things and are far from the Dao (the Way). The worthy men who cannot preserve their lives are in the same situation. Therefore, when offering loyal remonstrance, one should not argue, but calmly guide the ruler so that he understands the principle. In this way, the ruler will not act wrongly, and the minister can fulfill his duty.”

At the height of their relationship as ruler and minister, Wu Zixu suffered bodily harm through political strife and, in doing so, won himself a reputation. Was this truly a good thing, or not? Consider what people in the world commonly value: is it really worth valuing, or is it not? I believe that Wuwei (non-action) is the true joy, while the world regards Wuwei as a great hardship. This shows that people differ in what they pursue and what they turn away from. We must therefore understand that the highest joy is not what the world calls joy, and the highest reputation is not what the world calls reputation. Only by understanding this can we be at ease with Wuwei and judge what is right and wrong under Heaven. Of all ways to seek true joy and preserve life, Wuwei comes closest to the goal. Heaven and Earth act through Wuwei, and so are clear and peaceful; all things are born and transformed in their wake. If people too could practice Wuwei, how could all things fail to be transformed by them?

Zhuangzi’s wife died, and Huizi came to mourn her. Zhuangzi was sitting with his legs stretched out, tapping a clay basin and singing.

Huizi said, “You lived with her, she raised your children, and she grew old and died. It would be one thing if you did not weep, but to go so far as to tap a basin and sing—isn’t that excessive?”

Zhuangzi said, “It is not so. When she had just died, how could I have felt nothing? But when I looked into the beginning of her life, I saw that she originally had no life. Not only was there no life; at first she had no form. Not only was there no form; at first there was not even Qi (vital energy). Qi was mingled in a vague, indistinct state; through change it became Qi, Qi changed and took form, and form changed and became life. Now she has changed once more and gone toward death. This is like the alternation of the four seasons—spring, autumn, winter, and summer. She now lies at peace in the great chamber of Heaven and Earth, while I stand beside her weeping aloud. I thought that would show I did not understand Heaven’s decree, so I stopped.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: When people do not yet understand what has happened, they feel grief; once they grasp its underlying principle, their sorrow ceases. This is meant to teach people with feelings to pursue the ultimate principle and thereby release themselves from their attachments.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Among the figures Zhuangzi admired were Confucius, Mengsun Cai, and Yan Hui. In his conduct, however, he emulated people such as Zisang, Zifan, and Qin Zhang. Why? The trouble with human society is that people everywhere become consumed by grief and joy, thereby damaging their inborn nature. Zhuangzi’s words and actions were intended to remedy this affliction.

Yidu’s commentary says: Living in human society, Zhuangzi could not entirely forget human relationships and their proper feelings. After his wife died, he tapped a basin and sang; this shows that his feelings still found expression in his voice. Huizi said that Zhuangzi and his wife had lived together for many years and that he himself was now old. His wife had died, yet he did not weep—already this seemed heartless; and now he even tapped a basin and sang. Was that not excessive? Zhuangzi replied that when his wife had just died, how could he have felt nothing? The original text is incomplete after this point.

How could all things appear from nowhere when, at the beginning, they had neither form nor Qi? They returned obscurely to the true void, with not even the faintest sign of a beginning to be found. Subtle Qi gathered and formed all things. With Qi came form; with form came life. At first, before the chaos had divided, no images could yet be discerned: this was the state in which Yang Qi was just beginning to arise. In a hazy, unsettled state, its changes could not yet be counted: this was the state in which Yin Qi was just beginning to arise. Between Yin and Yang, each had its own harmonizing Qi. As Qi changed, form took shape; as form changed, life appeared.

Where there is life, there is death. Life and death follow one another like a ring, revolving without end. Seen from the perspective of having no Qi, no form, and no life, all things return to the true void. Seen from the perspective of having form, Qi, and life, some things persist in another form after changing, while others change and pass away. It is like the seasons succeeding one another in an endless cycle.

People sleep peacefully in the great house that is Heaven and Earth. “Great house” here means that Heaven and Earth are likened to a house: people are like lodgers who come and go, and all things likewise arise, perish, and change between Heaven and Earth.

Commentary by Bixuzi: To hear of death and grieve is only human. Zhuangzi beat a clay basin and sang in order to release his sorrow and free himself from attachment through an external object. People were not originally born with a fixed form of life; only when various conditions interacted within the dark, undifferentiated chaos did this life come to be. Now it changes once more and returns to nothingness, no differently from the changing seasons and their ceaseless cycle. Tracing all things back to their origin is a way to quiet worldly anxieties.

Yanzhai says: “Form changes, and then there is life” means that form comes first, and activity and movement follow. What Buddhism calls “movement returning to wind”: that “movement” is equivalent here to “life.” The turning of the seasons is an analogy for the fact that whatever is born must die. Zhuangzi beating a basin and singing after his wife’s death is also a parable, like Yuang Rang striking and singing on his mother’s coffin. Does the death of a loved one truly leave the heart without grief? The teachings of the sages instruct people to be filial and remember their loved ones. Did they not understand the principle of life and death? People like Yuang Rang and Zhuangzi wanted to expose the world’s deluded attachment to life and death, and so they acted in ways that seemed almost excessive.

The Daoist heart is subtle and obscure; one cannot simply act on one’s own opinions. That is why there is the teaching to “hold to the Mean.” When Li Hanlao wept after his son died, he once asked Chan Master Dahui, “If I cannot let go of this grief, I fear it is not in accord with the Dao. Is that so?” Dahui replied, “If your son dies and you do not weep, you are a jackal.” This answer shows great insight. Other Buddhists, when answering this question, often risk falling into partiality. In the chapter about Zhuangzi’s wife dying, viewed through ordinary human feeling, this is indeed the hardest thing to forget.

Zhili Shu and Huajie Shu were wandering together at the Hill of Dark Elder and the Ruins of Kunlun, where legend says the Yellow Emperor once rested. Before long, a lump grew on Huajie Shu’s left elbow. He looked alarmed and deeply disliked it. Zhili Shu asked, “Does it bother you?” Huajie Shu replied, “No. What is there to dislike? Life is only something temporarily borrowed. Once borrowed, it takes the form of life, but life itself is no more than dust. Life and death are like day and night. Now, as I watch change with you, change has come upon me. What could I possibly dislike about it?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: These stories first portray people as having feelings of joy, anger, liking, and dislike, then guide them to understand the principle and let go of those feelings. To say, “I have no feelings, so I have no worries,” would make people with feelings think they could never attain transcendence, leaving them trapped in sorrow and joy.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: The claim that the Yellow Emperor once rested there means that his mind had become still, and his body seemed no different from clay. So even when something grew on his left elbow, he was not disturbed. A lump grows easily because it…

If being distinct—standing apart and unlike others—becomes a way of dealing with the world, at first it is bound to provoke surprise and aversion. Later, once we understand that our lives are merely temporary lodgings amid the world’s dust and grime, what is there to find repellent? This, perhaps, is what the ancients meant by “contemplating transformation”—observing how all things change.

Yidu’s Commentary: The place where the Yellow Emperor rested was where the Great Dao was present. A willow tree’s shade fell beside the tree, and the willow itself grew from a person’s left elbow: this is a manifestation of Yin-Yang transformation. Life is something temporarily lent to us by the Creator. It is all like dust and chaff; what is there to cherish or despise? The Book of Changes says that those who understand the alternation of day and night can grasp this. Now I watch Yin-Yang transformation, and transformation takes place in me as well. What is there to find repellent?

Bixu’s Commentary: Some consider being fragmented and unrestrained good; others consider being playful and solitary good. A person observes transformation from a high place on a dark, empty hill, while a willow grows from his left elbow. Here, the emphasis is on “life.” Life is a form temporarily borrowed by the emptiness that undergoes transformation. From the standpoint of emptiness, life is dust; compared with the long span of daytime, death is like night. Thus, that which enables all things to be born and reborn without end is itself unborn, and that which enables all things to change without end is itself unchanging. The life before us is one manifestation of the constant Way of birth and rebirth; sudden transformation is likewise one manifestation of constant change. If we use constant birth and rebirth to observe constant change, we will understand that the life before us is not truly constant, and that the change before us is not truly nothingness. Emptiness and transformation are connected in principle, so what is there to worry about?

Yanzhai says: “The place where the Yellow Emperor rested” means that the Yellow Emperor once rested there. “Willow sore” means a willow-tree growth, like what we now call a boil; it seems the term was also used in ancient times. “Borrowing” means using something external as a metaphor. “Dust and grime” means that things are exceedingly minute. This is also what Buddhism means by “the temporary convergence of the four conditions”—the temporary coming together of multiple conditions. To observe the transformations of things and see transformation taking place in oneself means that I change along with the Creator. The earlier phrase “shrink back in fear and find it repellent” describes a common human response. Once we understand the principles and source of life and death, we can let the Dao-centered mind take the lead. What is there to find repellent?

Editorial Note: The statement that a willow grew from the left elbow is quite strange. Most commentators pass over it, and only Lü’s commentary mentions it, offering this further explanation: willows grow readily, while the left arm is the less-used arm. The less-active arm and the readily growing tree are used as a comparison to illustrate acting without intention or effort—that is, being free from transformation. The elbow is part of an animal, while the willow is a plant; they differ in nature and form. By ordinary standards, it is naturally strange for an active elbow suddenly to become a plant. Yet the myriad things undergo transformation without knowing it, so the things within the great furnace of transformation—the Creator’s melting pot—usually…

Do not evade this principle: if we realize that our lives are only a temporary sojourn in the world, like dust and grime, then whether it is the elbow (Zhuangzi was punished by having his elbow severed) or the willow (a figure like Liuxia Hui), the mediocre or the worthy, each is simply one thing among the myriad things. What reason, then, is there to distinguish closeness from distance, or affection from aversion?

From this we can see that the myriad things and “I” are together within the process of change. But unless we reach a state of utmost stillness, we cannot see this clearly. Thus Huajie Shu, a figure in the Zhuangzi, visited the place where the Yellow Emperor rested and was later transformed by the encounter. The Yellow Emperor embodied the virtue of Earth and presided over stillness; “rest” also means coming to a stop and becoming quiet. Stillness is the substance of change, while movement is its function. To be transformed by observing change and to move along with it is what is meant by “transformation reaching one.” When the body moves in step with change, wherever one goes, how could that place not be “I”?

Here it is said that beings with feelings may turn into beings without feelings, and beings without feelings may in turn become beings with feelings. The passage in the “Great Joy” chapter beginning with “things have their seeds” shows that all this is simply change brought about by the Creator. Even through subtle changes, as long as one does not lose the constant Way at the root of things, one can remain at ease in any circumstance.