《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 56

One who understands the truth of life does not force what cannot be done in life. One who understands the truth of fate does not force what lies beyond the reach of wisdom. To care for the body, one must first rely on external things; yet there are cases in which external things are plentiful and the body still goes uncared for. Life can exist only so long as the body remains intact; yet there are cases in which the body remains intact while life has already ended. When life arrives, we cannot refuse it; when it departs, we cannot stop it. How lamentable that people in the world think caring for the body is enough to preserve life. If caring for the body truly cannot preserve life, what, then, is worth doing in this world? Even when something is not worth doing, there are times when it cannot be left undone, because people cannot avoid doing it.

To escape the burdens imposed by the body, nothing is better than leaving worldly affairs behind. Leave worldly affairs, and there will be no burdens; with no burdens, the mind will be calm and balanced. When the mind is calm and balanced, one can change and renew oneself together with all things. To renew oneself together with all things is to draw near to understanding the Way. Why must worldly affairs be abandoned? Why must life be forgotten? If affairs are not allowed to trouble us, the body will not grow weary; if life is not cast aside, Jing and Qi will not be depleted. With the body whole and Jing and Qi restored, one can become one with Heaven. Heaven and Earth are the parents of all things: when Yin-Yang Qi gathers, it forms the body; when it disperses, it returns to the beginning of all things. If neither body nor Jing and Qi is depleted, this is called skill in transformation. When Jing and Qi can gather and return to subtlety, they assist the Dao of Heaven.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: What lies beyond life and cannot be acted upon is something external, beyond one’s proper limits and impossible to force. What lies beyond the reach of wisdom is something outside the bounds of fate. Understand your own limits, let external things each find their proper place, and follow what is proper to your life; that is enough. Excessive desire only brings harm. By clinging too intensely to preserving the body, one ends up losing life. To know that some things are beyond one’s control and yet remain troubled by them in one’s heart is to draw death nearer the more one cherishes life. If one lets go of every attachment and allows things to follow their own course, each according to its nature, then all things abide within the Great Dao, and nothing can be avoided. To “renew oneself together with all things” means entrusting everything to ceaseless change and renewal, so that nature and life may be fully realized. What must be set aside, then, is action driven by fixation. By fixating on nothing, one can bring all things to fulfillment and move and pass away together with change, helping all things follow their natural course.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: What lies beyond life and cannot be acted upon is what life can exist without depending on; what lies beyond the reach of wisdom is what wisdom cannot know. Cases in which the body goes uncared for all arise because people cling too tightly to practices for nourishing life; they are not caused by a lack of external things. Cases in which life ends all arise because people’s actions lead them toward death; they are not caused by the body separating from life …

From this we can see that preserving the body is ultimately not enough to preserve life. What, then, in the world is worth clinging to and pursuing?

People cannot do nothing at all. How, then, can we avoid laboring for the sake of the body? To keep the body from burdening us, we should live in the world without being entangled in worldly affairs. Free of entanglement, the mind can be upright and at peace. When the mind is upright and at peace, we no longer cling to preserving the body as something to pursue; instead, we can change and renew ourselves along with all things. Those who can achieve this kind of “renewal” have nearly succeeded in preserving life.

Worldly affairs are not worth deliberately renouncing, yet if we refuse to let them go, they entangle us and exhaust the body. Life is not worth deliberately rejecting, yet if we never release our attachments, we become its servants and our Jing and Qi are depleted. When the body is preserved and Jing and Qi are restored, we can return to our original, natural state.

All things receive Jing and Qi from Heaven and take bodily form on Earth. When Jing and Qi gather, my body comes into being: this is the blending of Heaven and Earth’s Qi and the pure, harmonious flourishing of all things. When Jing and Qi disperse, all things begin anew, just as the union of man and woman gives rise to the myriad things. To keep Jing and Qi from being depleted as they gather, and to let them transform in accordance with their course as they disperse: this is to preserve Jing and Qi. By transforming in accordance with their course, we can make the Jing and Qi received from Heaven, in turn, assist Heaven and Earth in bringing forth and nurturing all things. Seen in this light, is preserving life not profoundly mysterious?

Lin Yidu’s commentary: There are things in life that human effort cannot make more beneficial; there are also matters of destiny that human wisdom cannot alter, such as wealth and poverty, or longevity and an early death. Caring for the body depends on external things, and the pursuit of external things has no end; inevitably, the body becomes a burden. Preserving life depends on the body, yet if we cling to the body and refuse to part from it, we may lose life’s true nature as a result. Some people still have their bodies, while the inner vitality of life has already vanished.

What comes cannot be turned away; what departs cannot be held back. People believe that caring for the body is enough to preserve life, but in the end it cannot be done. If so, what in the world is worth clinging to and pursuing? Although things themselves are not worth clinging to, people cannot help but act. To keep the body from burdening us, it is best to let go of worldly attachments. People in the world live alongside me, and I cannot leave them entirely; the great awakened one, however, sees it all as one great dream. Since the “great” things that the world clings to will ultimately perish, what could possibly weigh us down?

Free of entanglement, the mind can be upright and at peace, and we can therefore change and renew ourselves along with all things. When life continues without end, we can fulfill Heaven’s mandate. What is there in worldly affairs worth clinging to or renouncing? What is there in life worth deliberately rejecting? Still, at the beginning we must start by letting go of attachments and dispelling our concerns. Then the body will not grow weary, and Jing and Qi will not be depleted. Achieving this, we can unite with Heaven and be at one with the transformations of nature. Heaven and Earth’s Qi respond to one another, and all things come into being: when a body takes shape, form appears; when all things begin, Qi arises. When Jing and Qi gather, they become things with form; when they disperse, they return to formlessness. When the body is complete, life’s awareness becomes manifest; when Jing and Qi are complete, the spirit is full. Only when Jing and Qi become even more refined can…

Only those who have reached the utmost understanding of the mysterious principles can use their own nature to perceive the nature of all things.

Chen Bixu comments: “One who understands the nature of life accepts wealth and poverty as they come, knowing that wealth cannot be forcibly pursued and rank should not be coveted recklessly. One who understands the nature of destiny accepts wisdom or foolishness, success or hardship as they come, knowing that wisdom cannot be mastered overnight and success cannot be won by force. Gold and jade can make a house splendid, yet people cling to them and refuse to put them to use. Though their spirit and strength are naturally abundant, they chase external things until they exhaust themselves. Most people in the world are like this. How sorrowful that they have things backward! Only those who do not value external things above themselves can avoid danger.”

This is simply how things are. Such principles may not be worth pursuing deliberately, yet anyone who is alive is bound to encounter these matters. Nothing harms the body more than the entanglements of worldly life. Forget those entanglements, and you will no longer be bound; no longer bound, you will not fall into danger. Your De and your endeavors will grow day by day, as though you had been given a second life. Perhaps this brings you close to the Dao.

A person must act in the world in order to accomplish anything; with a body, life has somewhere to dwell. How, then, can all action be cast aside, or life so readily renounced? As for preserving the body intact, restoring Jing and Qi, and becoming one with the transformations of nature: when gathered, one becomes part of the myriad things; when dispersed, one returns to the original state before the Great Void was differentiated. One who is skilled at understanding life forgets attachment to the body, and the body is thereby preserved; forgets attachment to life, and Jing and Qi are thereby restored. Once body and Jing and Qi are full and vigorous, one moves along with the ceaseless transformations of nature, continually probing the subtle principles, and ultimately returns to and follows one’s own natural nature.

Liu Gai comments: “‘Life’ is what I possess, while ‘destiny’ is governed by Heaven. To understand life to its utmost is to recognize the Mandate of Heaven; to understand destiny to its utmost is not to forget those things in life that one cannot help but must let go. Recognize what cannot be helped, and accept it calmly. Whatever can be let go, do not pursue. Know what cannot be helped and be content with it; whatever can be accepted calmly, do not seek outside yourself. Seek nothing recklessly and force nothing, and you will accord with the Dao.”

Yet the human body dwells in the world, and worldly entanglements are often bound tightly around us. The body is not the Dao, and the world is not under my control; true entanglements arise from external things. Of these three, by reason, entanglements are the easiest to dispel. Once they are removed, what in the world can bind me? Once the world can be let go, why should I covet the body? To be attached neither to the world nor to the body is to understand life and destiny to their utmost.

Lin Shi Yanzhai says in his Oral Commentary: “‘Things in life that one cannot help’ refers to things outside the body; ‘knowing clearly what cannot be helped’ refers to things beyond human power. Preserving the body depends on external things, and having life requires preserving the body. Yet external things are often abundant, while …” (The original text ends here.)

How could the body exist forever? Even if it could be preserved, life would still come to an end. There are things people do that may not be worth doing, yet cannot be left undone. This is just as stated earlier: “There is nothing among the myriad things worth deliberately pursuing, but neither can one do nothing at all.”

Whether we act or refrain from acting, we cannot avoid becoming burdened by our own choices. Escaping this burden does not mean we must abandon worldly life. Nor does freedom from worldly entanglements mean fleeing the world. One may live amid worldly affairs without clinging inwardly: responding only when moved to respond, and acting only when compelled to act. Then one remains oneself, and the world remains the world.

“Equanimity” means that the heart-mind makes no distinctions of higher and lower and holds no prejudices. With the ability to judge and adapt to change, one can continue on without end alongside the myriad things, changing together with the Creator—the natural power that brings all things into being—and renewing oneself day after day. Then there is no need to deliberately cast off either affairs beyond oneself or one’s own life; they will be let go of naturally. The human body is a temporary gathering of the “Four Great Elements”—the four basic elements said to constitute the body, usually earth, water, fire, and wind. When they disperse, they return to their original state. When Jing and Qi are abundant and whole, transformation can take place; this is called “the capacity to transform.” To realize the Dao and reach this state is to continually refine one’s Jing and Qi, thereby assisting the workings of creation.

In his Guanjian, Chu says: Xu You withdrew to a remote place and declined the imperial throne, knowing that life has its limits and cannot be prolonged by human effort. When Confucius was stranded in the state of Chen, he continued to play the qin and sing, knowing that some things, however well understood, cannot be helped. If one cannot be content with one’s own life and instead keeps seeking outward, one may have more than enough external things, yet fail to nourish the body. If one cannot be content with one’s own understanding and instead lets the mind be driven by external things, the body may seem to remain, while life may already have been lost.

When life arrives, one cannot refuse it; one should care for it well and let it grow in accordance with its nature. When life departs, one cannot stop it; caring for it too zealously may instead harm it. People in the world believe that nourishing the body is enough to preserve life. They understand that care is important, but do not understand what true care entails. If one’s method of care is misguided, nourishing the body truly is not enough to preserve life. Life is not something to be forcibly pursued; to lose it through excessive care is precisely the point.

Yet some things cannot be left undone, such as eating when hungry and drinking when thirsty. Such actions are unavoidable because people live in the world. The best way to escape the burdens imposed by the body is to let go of attachment to worldly things. If one can let go while living in the world, what burden could remain?

“Equanimity” means regarding all things as equal. This differs from the way of life pursued in ordinary society, and so is called “renewed life.” To attain renewed life is to draw near to the Dao. There is no need deliberately to cast off affairs, because one can transform the effects external things have on oneself. Nor is there any need deliberately to cast off life, because one can forget one’s attachment to it. Still, preserving the body and restoring Jing and Qi to their original wholeness ultimately depend on letting go of worldly affairs and forgetting one’s attachment to life. This is a gradual passage from the coarse to the subtle. To become one with the Way of Heaven may be the highest attainment of this cultivation.

All things in the world receive the Qi of Heaven and Earth and come into being. When it gathers, it forms various bodies that appear in the world; when it disperses, it returns to the original state of Heaven and Earth.

Returning to “nonbeing,” the body can be preserved and Jing and Qi restored, making it possible to comprehend transformation. Thus, hidden in Heaven, one can become Heaven; taking one’s stand on Earth, one can become Earth; among people, one can become human; encountering things, one can become a thing. Pure and ever purer, undivided and ceaseless, one then follows the Way of Heaven in reverse and returns to the state in which one first received primordial Qi, no longer being ruled by the myriad things. This is to understand life so thoroughly that one reaches a state beyond concern for life. The phrases “becoming the world” and “becoming a form” in the scripture have much the same meaning; they simply express it in different terms.

Liezi asked Guanyinzi, a Daoist figure: “The Perfected Person can enter water without choking, walk into fire without feeling its heat, and tread upon the myriad things without fear. How can one attain such a state?”

Guanyinzi replied: “This comes from holding fast to undivided Qi. It cannot be achieved through clever schemes, skill, decisiveness, or courage. Let me explain. All things with form, shape, sound, or color are things. What makes things differ so greatly from one another? And how could these differences enable anyone to attain that state? If you remain within the forms and colors before your eyes, then you are merely one thing among things. Things take form beginning from the formless, and continue until they cease to change. Once you have grasped this principle and fully understood it, how could things constrain you?

“Such a person rests within the bounds of what is not excessive, conceals himself in the laws of the boundless, and roams amid the transformations through which the myriad things pass from birth to death and from beginning to end. He makes his nature single-minded, nurtures his vital energy, harmonizes his De, and comprehends the source from which all things arise. In this way, his innate capacity for preservation remains whole and his spirit suffers no loss. How, then, could anything external intrude upon him?

“A drunk person who falls from a cart is not easily killed, even when the cart is moving fast. His joints and bones are the same as anyone else’s, yet he suffers a different outcome because his spirit remains intact. He does not know that he is riding in the cart, nor does he know when he falls from it. Life and death, alarm and fear cannot enter his heart. So he encounters external things without fear. If drunkenness can preserve a person in this state, how much more can the Way of Heaven keep the spirit whole?

“The sage hides himself within the Way of Heaven, and so nothing can harm him. A person seeking revenge will not break a precious sword; even someone filled with resentment will not resent a tile blown down by the wind. Thus the world is at peace, without the calamities of war or the punishments of execution. This is why. Do not awaken people’s cleverness; awaken their innate nature instead. When innate nature is awakened, De grows; when cleverness is awakened, life is harmed. Do not reject innate nature or neglect the people, and you will come close to preserving your true nature.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary on this passage says: “Because his mind is empty and still, he can master all particular things; because he has reached what is fitting, there is nothing to which he cannot adapt. It is not that external things come to accommodate him, but that he can respond to them. What makes things differ so greatly from one another? Only the person without a mind of his own stands apart from external things. Things that all have form and color are not, in themselves, enough to rank one above another. Constantly roaming amid…” The original text ends here.

At their limits, the myriad things are not governed by external forces. They simply abide in the bounds of what they can bear, quietly joining in the transformations of creation—the process by which Heaven and Earth and all things come into being and change. Creation renews itself day by day, and all things have their beginnings and their ends. When adornment and refinement are carried to the extreme, two different tendencies emerge. Do not use the mind to drive Qi (vital energy), or turn away from your nature because of external things. All things come into being by following their own natural condition.

A drunk person who falls from a carriage loses consciousness, yet does not entirely lose their natural disposition; they simply do not respond deliberately through the intellect. When the famed swords Ganjiang and Moye are used for revenge, the avenger struggles to break them. But when a falling roof tile strikes someone, people usually do not resent the tile, because it has no intention.

To understand naturally, without first anticipating, is to awaken one’s nature. To become aware first through intention, and then to know in response to what one feels, is to awaken human intelligence. When nature acts spontaneously, it responds fittingly to whatever it encounters and stops when enough has been done, seeking nothing extra. In this way, De (Virtue/Power) can become apparent. Relying on the workings of the intellect, by contrast, means pursuing more and more in response to external stimuli, without ceasing to tire; this harms life. When one acts by following nature, the ordinary principles of human life are naturally preserved. The falsehood people worry about often arises from the deliberate use of the intellect, not from the natural activity of one’s nature.

Lü’s commentary says: “What in the movements of Heaven and Earth and the transformations of the myriad things is not Qi? If one can truly preserve Qi in its purity and unity, one will not become obstructed, overheated, or endangered, and there will be nothing to marvel at. This is simply a matter of attaining emptiness and stillness. How could it be achieved through cleverness and daring?”

Consider the dragon: when gathered, it forms a complete body, able to soar above and coil below, reaching everywhere. When dispersed, it becomes patterns and enters a state without form or trace, so that no one can see it. This, too, is simply a transformation of Qi. Whatever has shape, image, sound, or color belongs to the realm of particular things. If one thing differs little from another, how could such outward forms lead to Qi in its utmost purity, or to preserving emptiness and roaming among all things? “Before” refers to the time before the myriad things took form; “color” refers to the time after they became manifest. Neither can bring one to the preservation of pure Qi or the roaming of utmost emptiness.

The myriad things arise from the formless, and so can come to rest in what does not change without departing from it. Those who fully understand this abide within the measure of what is not excessive: they neither make themselves conspicuous nor fall into obscurity, but fit themselves just right to nature and go no further. They conceal themselves within the patterns that have neither beginning nor end; beginnings and endings then transform into one another without limit, and they roam among the beginnings and endings of the myriad things. This is what is meant by arising from the formless and abiding in what does not change.

When you are single-minded in your nature, your attention will not wander. When you cultivate Qi, it will not be depleted. Let your own De flow together with the coming into being and transformation of the myriad things, and you can cultivate your nature, return to De, and become one with the creator of all things.

Those who can remain pure and undivided, with their minds undisturbed by external things, preserve their wholeness without loss. How could external things enter their hearts?

A drunk person who falls from a carriage may be startled, but does not become afraid. The ideas of life and death, shock and fear, have no place in his mind. His body seems to be sheltered within nature, so he can keep himself whole and external things find it hard to harm him. A force that governs life and death is always exercising its power over them. When a person encounters it, it is like Ganjiang, the famous ancient sword, meeting a falling roof tile: what happens is simply natural. In this way, the world can be brought to balance. Even when one goes to war against another state, one need not fall into the calamities of battle.

Governing in accord with the Way of Heaven allows De (Virtue/Power) to grow. This is because people have forgotten both their ignorance and their Wuwei (non-action). Governing by deliberate design and human contrivance harms life. This is because people rely on their own sense of De and intelligence, causing distinctions and calculations to arise in their minds. Do not go against human nature; simply open a path for it to follow its course. Do not disregard people’s actual circumstances; also honor what they hold sacred. If the people understand this, they will be close to the true Way.

The commentator Yidu says: “‘Pure’ means unmixed; ‘preserve’ means to hold fast to what is single. When there are no distracting thoughts, the mind is calm; when one holds fast to unity, Qi (vital energy) can gather. This is what is meant by ‘concentrate the Qi and bring it to softness.’ How could such a person be compared with those who flaunt their cleverness and boldly compete for victory?”

A person’s form, voice, and appearance are not so different from those of external things. Yet what people in the world value is often not the practice of a spiritually clear and tranquil bearing; instead, they are quick to show their joy and anger. How, then, can they surpass external things? In the arising of all things, form comes from the formless, and change comes from what does not change. The De of spiritual clarity is present in both movement and stillness. Grasp this De, probe its subtle principles, and advance to the state of the formless and changeless: how could external things obstruct you?

Rituals and rules provide standards, so conduct does not go too far. The guiding principles of the Dao have a foundation, so they do not drift without direction. Only by not clinging to beginnings and endings can one allow the myriad things to have their beginnings and endings. Thus, keep your nature unified and undivided, regulate your breathing without harm, and gather your De without letting it disperse. Then you can understand the arising and transformation of the myriad things without competing with them, and preserve your natural disposition without diminishing it. How could outside things intrude into your heart?

Three examples are given below. The drunk person who falls from a carriage can keep his body whole because, while drunk, his mind makes few distinctions. When a sharp, famous sword—the Mo and Gan were names of ancient swords—meets a falling roof tile, neither has any intention of taking offense, so a person does not resent what happens. The “Heaven” within the human body is the natural aspect within what is active; Heaven’s own “Heaven” is the natural aspect within Wuwei. When Laozi says, “Earth models itself on Heaven,” he is speaking of the natural endowment received by the human body. “The Dao models itself on what is natural” refers to the naturalness of the Way of Heaven itself.

“De giving rise to life” means governing the state without controlling it through clever schemes. “Life being harmed” means governing through clever schemes and thereby damaging life. Neither go against human nature nor use human nature as a reason to disregard people’s circumstances: do not harm nature through human contrivance, and do not neglect people under the pretext of nature. If the people come close to…

By means of this true Way, bringing about change in the myriad things is no more than this.

Bixu’s commentary says: Because practitioners act in subtle and hidden ways, they can secretly connect with the Great Dao. When they encounter tigers or rhinoceroses, they are not harmed; when they face weapons, they do not evade them. This is because they keep their minds single and undivided, without clever schemes or calculations. All things have bodies and forms—which comes first, and which comes later? Once there is form, change follows. Grasp the Dao that is formless and unchanged, and it can be inexhaustible. Each thing settles into its own nature. “Moving unseen and meeting no obstruction” means not overstepping what is proper, keeping one’s radiance within and not displaying one’s edge, roaming among the changes that mark the beginning and end of all things, and returning to the Great Void—the formless, boundless realm.

Make one’s nature single, nurture the original Qi (vital energy), and unite with Dao and De (Virtue/Power): when these three merge as one, one can become one with the transformations of the myriad things. Then one’s innate capacity to remain grounded is complete, and the spirit does not diminish. What external obstacles, agitation, or fear could enter? A drunk person is not easily harmed by external things for the same reason. The sage contains the principles of Heaven within and leaves no trace that ghosts and spirits can see. Self-interest and desire invite setbacks and resentment. Thus, use this principle to cultivate the self, and body and mind will be at ease; use it to govern the state, and the state will be at peace. Do not use knowledge to control knowledge; instead, forget clever schemes and calculations. Clinging to cleverness damages De, while putting the mind to work harms oneself. Do not take pride in possessing De, and do not regard ignorance as a deficiency. In this way, one comes close to the true Great Dao.

Yanzhai says: “Keeping to pure Qi” means holding fast to the original Qi and not letting stray thoughts disturb it. “Appearance, form, sound, and color” refers to signs that have form. All things are constrained by their bodies. If I, too, leave traces, I am no different from the myriad things—so how could I reach the realm before they took form? People cannot see the beginning and end of the myriad things because they are entangled in their own traces; they are simply constrained by form and color. The earlier passage lists four words, but here it mentions only “color”: this is a variation in the wording.

The Way of creation is formless and is not governed by change; this means it does not alter. Grasp the principles of creation and fathom their subtleties, and one can escape the constraints of formed things—so what could obstruct one? “The standard that does not overstep, the fixed method, the beginningless order, and the inexhaustible principle” all refer to the beginning and end of the myriad things and the principles of creation. When one’s nature is single and one is united with Dao and De, one can become one with the Creator; hence the phrase “to connect with what brings things into being.” “Heaven” and “spirit” refer to these principles as they manifest in a person. When one is inwardly complete, what external thing could enter?

The examples of a drunk person falling from a cart and being little harmed, and of weapons or falling roof tiles injuring people, are explained with great precision and make good sense. Human nature still carries thoughts within it; Heaven’s nature, by contrast, is without mind. To open up one’s heavenly nature and let it follow what is natural is the De of nature. To open up the human mind… (The original text ends here.)

If the mind has not changed completely, all six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—will become sources of trouble. How much more so the things outside us?

Liezi, a Daoist figure, had attained the Way of riding the wind to become an immortal, and so he asked this question. The reply, “Hold fast to the pure, undivided Qi,” conveys the whole point. Humans, animals, plants, empty space, metals, and stones—all depend on Qi, whether they are sentient or insentient. Humans receive Qi that is pure and harmonious; immortals can hold fast to this pure, harmonious Qi, settling their spirit and quieting their minds. Thus, when they act, nothing can hinder them: fire cannot make them hot, and danger cannot make them afraid.

Outward forms, sounds, and colors have no intrinsic differences in rank. What, then, could make one thing prevail over another? They are all no more than forms and colors. “Before” refers to the state in which things have not yet taken form; things come into being from the formless. “Transformation” refers to the state in which things have not yet changed; change arises from what has not changed. From this, we can see the beginnings and endings of all things. When we grasp and fully understand this principle, how can external things control us?

Therefore, be at ease with the share allotted to you, take shelter within ceaseless transformation, and roam to the furthest reaches of things. Focus your nature and cultivate your breath, so that your De accords with Heaven; understand the principles by which the myriad things come into being, and you can transcend the constraints of form and color. Such a person can forget their own body, while their spirit remains open to the things around them. How, then, could external things intrude upon their body and mind and cause them harm?

The text next says that a drunk person can come through unharmed, while the sage takes shelter in the Way of Heaven; thus nothing can injure them. The examples of “Mogan,” a legendary precious sword, and “flying roof tiles,” tiles lifted by the wind, illustrate a state without intention or feeling: even when these things strike someone, that person does not resent them. How much less so if they do not strike anyone? If people could reach this state, all under Heaven would be peaceful and just. How could war and killing arise? Thus, innate nature and human ingenuity depend on what the openings of the heart-mind admit; from this, virtue and harm diverge. Students should be careful about this.

In the phrase “How could things be able to stop it?”, the word “stop” does not make sense in context. Guo Xiang’s commentary says that what has reached the utmost cannot be controlled by external things. The word here should be “control”; it was mistakenly written as “stop” because the two words sound alike.

Confucius was on his way to Chu. Passing through a wood, he saw a hunchbacked old man catching cicadas with sticky poles, his movements as deft as picking things up from the ground. Confucius asked, “Your skill is remarkable! Do you have a special technique?”

The old man said, “I do. After five or six months of practice, I could balance two balls on top of each other without letting them fall. When I caught cicadas, I rarely missed. When I could balance three balls without dropping them, I missed only one catch in ten. When I could balance five balls without dropping them, catching cicadas became as easy as reaching out to pick something up. When I stand, my body is steady as a tree stump; the arm I extend is motionless, like a withered branch. Though Heaven and Earth are vast and the myriad things are many, my mind is fixed only on the cicada’s wings. I do not turn around or shift to the side, and I let nothing else distract me from the cicada’s wings. How could I fail to catch them?”

Confucius turned back and said to …

The disciple said: "'When one concentrates the will without distraction, the Shen (spirit) gathers.' Surely this refers to the elderly hunchback!"

Guo Xiang's commentary says: Stacking two pellets on the tip of a bamboo pole depends on the steadiness and focus of the hand. So the cicadas the old man failed to catch were lost only through the faintest slip. With three pellets stacked without falling, even fewer were lost. With five stacked without falling, steadiness and focus have reached their utmost, and no more mistakes occur. This skill came from casting aside every stray thought.

Lü Huiqing's commentary says: Once one understands the principle of catching cicadas, one understands what it means to hold fast to pure and harmonious Qi (vital energy). Its "will used without division" is nothing more than this.

Yidu's commentary says: The elderly hunchback bent over and caught cicadas as effortlessly as picking things up. Confucius (Zhongni, founder of the Confucian tradition) saw this masterful skill and suspected some Dao (the Way) behind it, so he asked the old man about it. The old man replied that in the fifth and sixth months, when the cicadas sing, pellets are stacked on the pole tip, which is highly unstable, and those who practice until they are fully adept can still keep the pellets from falling. This is the method of training to catch cicadas. "Cuozhu" (an ancient unit of very small weight) is a figure for an extremely tiny quantity. "One" is the beginning of numbers, and "picking it up" means departing from "One" and entering the realm of "Nothingness." "A stump" and "withered wood" describe a body that does not move at all. If one's attention on the cicada's wings is not changed by any of the myriad things, what could one fail to obtain? Is this something one is born with? It is simply a matter of "using the will without division, and so condensing the Shen."

Bixuzi's commentary says: Cicadas can be made into a meat paste, which is why people catch them. At the start of training, pellets are stacked on the pole tip to test whether the hand trembles. With two pellets stacked and not falling, a missed cicada is only a hair's breadth off. With five stacked and not falling, the body is like a broken tree trunk and the arm like a withered branch, and a cicada perched upon it feels no suspicion, so catching it is like picking up an object. From this we know that when the will is concentrated and the Shen gathered, there is no principle that cannot be grasped. How could it be merely a matter of catching a cicada's wings?

Yuzhai (Lin Xiyi, whose sobriquet was Yuzhai) says: "Not turning, not tilting" simply means settling the mind and focusing wholly on the cicada, unaware that anything else exists. This is used to illustrate holding fast to pure and harmonious Qi. Such things do exist in the world, but people treat them as mere craft and do not realize that the Dao is lodged within them. The character "凝" (to condense) in "乃凝于神" ought to be "疑" (to be fixed, rapt); compare the later chapter "Xue Ju" (Carving the Bell Stand).

The scripture text continues: Yan Yuan (a disciple of Confucius) asked Confucius: "I once crossed the Shangshen Abyss (the name of a deep pool), where the ferryman handled the boat as if aided by spirits. I asked, 'Can boat handling be learned?' The ferryman said, 'It can. Good swimmers learn it quickly, and as for divers, even if they have never seen a boat, they can manage one at once.' When I asked the reason, the ferryman would not tell me. What does this mean?" Confucius replied: "Good swimmers learn quickly because they forget the water."

A person who is truly skilled at swimming has already forgotten that water exists. As for someone who has never seen a boat but can immediately take the helm, he looks upon an abyss as though it were a hill, and sees a boat capsizing in the water as he would a cart rolling backward. Capsizing, moving forward or back, and all such events may unfold before him, yet none can disturb his mind. Whatever happens, he responds with composure.

Those who stake a clay vessel when they throw appear deft; those who stake a belt hook, a valuable object, become cautious; those who stake gold may grow so tense that they lose their usual dexterity. The three people have the same skill to begin with. Their minds are held back only because they cherish what is at stake. Anyone who places excessive value on things outside themselves becomes awkward within.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Although people’s natural endowments differ, skill comes only through repeated practice. With long practice, one develops a habit, until at last the skill seems to come naturally. A skilled boatman looks upon an abyss as though it were a hill, so a boat capsizing in the abyss seems to him like a cart rolling backward on a slope. However many capsizings or changes of direction he encounters, he pays them no mind. Since boatmanship has become habitual for him, he can always respond with composure. The more important one takes something to be, the more easily one becomes tense. To preserve life and enrich one’s inner being, perhaps one should avoid self-consciousness and not place too much value on external things.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: The accounts of boatmanship and staking objects show that preserving the body and restoring the spirit do not mean abandoning worldly affairs or forgetting life. What matters is that the spirit remain free from disturbance; only then can one reach the state described here.

Yidu’s commentary: This parable explains that those who understand the principles of life follow their nature and preserve their true character. Their minds have no attachments, so they can be at ease wherever they are. Skilled swimmers and boatmen may follow their nature, but they have not yet reached the highest state. A skilled diver, by contrast, has never seen a boat and yet can immediately take the helm. All kinds of capsizing and changes of direction unfold before him, but none enters his mind; whatever happens, he responds with composure. Here, “staking” means putting an object up as a wager in a throwing contest. A clay vessel is inexpensive, a belt hook is more valuable, and gold is the most valuable. When the stake does not seem precious, one’s movements remain deft; once one begins to cherish it, the mind grows scattered.

Bixu’s commentary: The boatman seems guided by spirits because a skilled swimmer does not fear drowning. The diver goes a step further: he need not rely on a boat, yet can still handle one. To say that he “forgets water” means that he forgets even the boat, as though he had never seen one. Worries cannot enter his mind because his inner being is spacious. When a clay vessel is put up as a stake, one throws with ease; when a valuable belt hook or gold is at stake, one becomes tense. It is clear, then, that when water is not seen as frightening, a boat is easy to handle; when possessions are valued too highly, the mind becomes awkward. This is the natural way of things.

Yanzhai’s commentary: A skilled diver regards water as level ground, so he can handle a boat without learning how. “Staking” means putting an object up as a wager when throwing. The throwers are equally deft to begin with, but once they become attached to what is at stake, their minds are held by external things. When the mind is unsettled, even their original skill is hard to bring forth.

At times, it can also seem awkward.

Tian Kaizhi went to visit Duke Wei of Zhou. The duke said, “I have heard that Master Zhu Shen studies the art of nourishing life. You once associated with him. Did you hear anything from him?”

Tian Kaizhi replied, “I merely held a broom and attended at his gate. How could I have heard the master’s teachings?”

“Master Tian, you need not be so modest,” said Duke Wei. “I would like to hear what you have to say.”

“I once heard the master say that those skilled at nourishing life are like shepherds: they watch for the sheep that fall behind and promptly urge them on with a whip.”

“What does that mean?” asked Duke Wei.

“In the state of Lu, there was a man named Shan Bao who lived among the mountain crags and drank spring water. He did not compete with the people for profit. He lived to the age of seventy, and still had the complexion of a baby. But, unfortunately, he met a hungry tiger, which killed and devoured him. There was also a man named Zhang Yi, who could come and go freely at the gates of the powerful and in remote, humble dwellings. He lived to the age of forty, then died of an internal fever. Shan Bao cultivated what was within, but a tiger injured his body; Zhang Yi attended to social dealings on the outside, but illness invaded him within. Neither man whipped along the aspect that had fallen behind.”

Confucius said, “Do not withdraw completely, and do not expose yourself completely. Stand quietly between the two, like a withered tree. If you can judge the measure of these three states, you will reach what is fitting. When people travel a dangerous road and one in ten is killed, they become highly alert. Fathers, sons, and brothers warn one another, and before setting out they make sure to take plenty of companions. Is that not prudent? Yet people ought to be most wary of the desires that arise between the bedcovers and of what they eat and drink. They do not know to guard against these things—that is their failing.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Studying the art of nourishing life” means striving for balance and holding to one aspect. If one goes beyond what is reasonable, one cannot reach a fitting understanding that brings things together. “Whipping along the aspect that has fallen behind” means correcting what is lacking. To have withdrawn already and then withdraw further is to go too far in retreat; to have exposed oneself already and then expose oneself further is to go too far in display. To be without intention, like a withered tree, and rest peacefully between the two is to accord with both name and reality and to be just right. If one person in ten dies on the road, people are greatly afraid; yet the harm of sexual desire can drive people to their death, and they still risk themselves by giving way to it. This is a more serious failing.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Shan Bao belongs to the kind who “retain the body but lose life”; Zhang Yi belongs to the kind who “have abundance in external things but have not cared for the body.” Shan Bao withdrew completely, while Zhang Yi exposed himself completely; both did so deliberately. To stand quietly like a withered tree is to be without intention. To remain in the center is not to neglect the aspect that has fallen behind.

The commentary of Yidu says: A skilled shepherd watches over the sheep that fall behind and urges them on with a whip, hoping to make them…【The original text breaks off here】

Even when one follows the natural principles of things, one must not neglect one’s responsibilities. Shan Bao and Zhang Yi both failed to carry through what they ought to have done.

Those who retreat entirely inward, hiding away from the world, only withdraw farther and farther. Those who rush outward and make themselves conspicuous in the world only travel farther and farther away. The proper state is to stand between the two like a withered tree, without clinging to either withdrawal from the world or engagement with it. When one truly understands this principle, one’s reputation will naturally reach its height.

On a dangerous road, ten people may pass by and one may lose their life. This is a calamity of human life. But calamities caused by a disharmony of Yin-Yang also lie in wait amid the everyday pleasures of bed and board. The dangers of the world are easy to see, and people know to avoid them. The dangers of Yin-Yang imbalance are subtle and hard to discern, yet people do not know to be on guard. When Laozi says, “Action leads people toward the place of death,” this is what he means.

Bixu, a commentator, says: “Cultivating life is like tending a flock of sheep. If you take shortcuts, the sheep that fall behind have to be whipped. Shan Bao focused only on cultivating his inner self and failed to guard carefully against external dangers. Zhang Yi attended only to outward conduct and failed to cultivate his inner self. Both left something undone and, like sheep lagging behind, needed to be driven on. ‘Retreating inward and hiding away from the world’ means living in seclusion, apart from others, without knowing how to respond to external things. ‘Rushing outward and making oneself conspicuous in the world’ means mixing with worldly society and ceaselessly chasing after things, while forgetting to cultivate oneself. To stand in the middle like a withered tree is to be dull and unresponsive, unable to adapt to changing circumstances. Only when one is not burdened by attachment to any of these three ways can one grasp the constant Dao and reach the highest state. The danger of a treacherous road is obvious and easy to guard against; the temptations amid the bed’s comforts are subtle and hard to detect, and it is difficult to remain steadfast. The harm brought by beautiful things has existed for a long time, yet the people of the world have not noticed it.”

Yanzhai, a commentator, says: “‘Bashui’ means taking up a broom to sweep. A shepherd should let the sheep follow their natural course, but if one falls behind, it must be driven along with a switch. One must follow the principles of Heaven while also fulfilling one’s human responsibilities. Shan Bao and Zhang Yi both left their human duties unfinished; they cannot lay everything at Heaven’s door. This passage is especially apt for those who study the Dao. From it, one can understand what the surrounding passages mean by ‘the Way of Heaven’ and ‘the way of humanity.’ ‘Retreating inward and hiding away from the world’ does not mean being still at all times; ‘rushing outward and making oneself conspicuous in the world’ does not mean being restless at all times. To stand in the middle like a withered tree is to favor neither movement nor stillness, like a withered tree. One who achieves these three things may be called a perfected person. The text compares the hidden dangers amid the comforts of the bed to a dangerous road, and uses ‘the moth-browed beauty, an axe that fells one’s nature’—beauty as an axe that damages life—to remind people to restrain their desires.”

The officiant, dressed in dark ceremonial robes, came to the pigsty and said to the pig, “Why are you afraid of death? I will raise you for three months, give you ten days of fasting and three days of bathing and purification, then lay white rushes beneath you and place your shoulders, back, and hindquarters upon an ornamented sacrificial vessel. Would you be willing to do this?”

Thinking on behalf of the pig, one might say: “It would be better to let me eat chaff and distiller’s grains and stay in the pigsty.” But thinking on one’s own behalf, one seeks only to cling to life…

A person honored with carriages and ceremonial robes—that is, with high office and generous rewards—may, after death, be laid on a pig’s trough or stuffed into a basket used for holding things, and still willingly accept this fate. If one were thinking on behalf of a pig, one would avoid such an end; thinking on one’s own behalf, one chooses high office and generous rewards. Why do people and pigs think differently?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Seeking to satisfy one’s desires ultimately brings about one’s own ruin. This is a universal principle: people and animals are no different in this respect.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Thinking on behalf of a pig, one would avoid that fate; thinking on one’s own behalf, one chooses high office and generous rewards. Does this mean people cherish themselves even less than pigs do? It is simply that they are entangled by worldly affairs. Only by casting off the world and letting go of attachment to life can one escape that entanglement.

The Commentary of Yidu: A turtle would rather drag its tail through the mud than leave its bones behind to be treasured by people and thereby gain honor. A pig would rather eat scraps and live penned in a sty than have its shoulders and haunches displayed on splendid sacrificial vessels. The point is that enjoying wealth and rank by going against the principles of nature and life is less fitting than following those principles and being content with poverty and low status. Zhuangzi compares himself to the turtle and uses the pig as a figure for ordinary people; the deeper meaning is clear.

The Commentary of Bixu: An ox may be skinned and made into a war drum to command the three armies. For the ox, surely it would be better to pull a plow than suffer this fate. A fox’s white fur may be made into a robe, worn by the Son of Heaven as he sits in the ancestral temple. For the fox, surely it would be better to run freely through the marshes. The pig’s refusal to have its shoulders and haunches displayed on splendid sacrificial vessels shows that it understands the principles of life and destiny.

The Yanzhai says: “Dark ceremonial robes” are formal attire; “fodder for penned livestock” means grass used to feed animals. “Pig” is interchangeable with “patterned,” and a “screen” is a stand for holding things. A “gathering basket” is a container for collecting objects, such as a winnowing basket or a bamboo basket. The Zuo Tradition, under Duke Xuan, year two, records that a cook who failed to finish stewing a bear’s paw was killed and put into a winnowing basket. The meaning is similar here. While alive, a person may enjoy the honor of fine carriages and robes, yet after death may be laid face down on a stand or stuffed into a flimsy basket, and still willingly accept it. Thinking on behalf of a pig leads to one choice, while thinking on one’s own behalf leads to another. Why?

The general meaning of the four passages above is similar. “The hunchback catching cicadas” describes wholehearted concentration, with no distraction; “the deep-water swimmer handling a boat as if by spirit” describes practiced skill and effortless command; “the shepherd’s whip held behind” explains the principles of preserving life; and “the ritual master persuading the pig” warns people not to be beguiled by high office and generous rewards. All these passages aim to dispel people’s confusion and help them understand the subtle principles of life. The meaning of the scripture is already clear, so there is no need to elaborate further.

In “grasping the broom,” the character translated as “grasping” is pronounced “pu-mo-qie” according to an ancient method of indicating pronunciation. Li’s old commentary says it means “to hold”; Yanzhai’s Oral Explanation interprets it the same way. “Grasping the broom” therefore means sweeping with a broom. Most commentators pass over this phrase without discussing it.

Master Fan says that “拔” should be read as “拂.” Both “拂” and “篲” refer to objects carried and used by servants. This explanation makes sense in principle, but the pronunciation and meaning of the characters remain uncertain. Examining their forms closely and considering the context, “拔” should be “帗,” probably a copying error. The Jianyun says that “帗” is pronounced like “拂” and is the same as “翇.” It refers to an ornament made from a whole feather, also an object carried by attendants.

According to Lu’s Yinyi, “豚楯” should be written “篆輴.” A “輴” is a decorated carriage used to transport a coffin. “聚” should be written “菆,” pronounced cái guān qiè; “僂” should be written “蔞,” pronounced lì jiǔ qiè. The passage describes a coffin lying in state in a burial chamber enclosed with timber and covered with earth, with “蔞” and “翣”—curtains and feather ornaments used in funeral rites—arranged around it.

The wording in the old editions of the classic is broadly as described. Consider also the “Tan Gong” chapter of the Book of Rites, which says: “For the burial of a Son of Heaven, timber is set around the coffin and covered with earth; a carriage painted with dragon designs is provided, along with an outer coffin.” It also says: “Set out the 蔞 and 翣.” Here, “蔞” is the same as “柳,” while “菆” means piling timber over the coffin and covering it with earth. A “dragon carriage” is a hearse painted with dragon designs.

The passage’s meaning is roughly this: Would even a pig refuse to trade its own life for the death of someone wealthy and powerful? Surely a human being would not be less willing than a pig.