《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 57

Duke Huan of Qi was hunting in a marsh, with Guan Zhong driving his carriage. When Duke Huan saw a ghost, he grabbed Guan Zhong’s hand and asked, “Father Zhong, what do you see?” Guan Zhong replied, “I see nothing.” After returning, Duke Huan was distraught and fell ill, staying indoors for several days.

A Qi scholar named Huangzi Gao’ao said to him, “You have harmed yourself. How could a ghost harm you? When pent-up resentment and frustration disperse but cannot return, they leave a person’s spirit depleted. When Qi can rise neither up nor down, a person becomes prone to anger. When Qi can descend but not rise, a person becomes prone to forgetfulness. When Qi can move neither up nor down and settles in the center of the body, directly opposite the heart, it makes a person ill.”

Duke Huan asked, “Then do ghosts really exist?” Huangzi Gao’ao replied, “They do. In water there is a ghost called Shen; on roads, one called Lü; and over the stove, one called Ji. In places indoors where dust gathers, thunder spirits appear. In low-lying places to the northeast, Bei’e and Guilong leap about; in low-lying places to the northwest, Yiyang appears. In water there is Wangxiang; on hills, Shen; in the mountains, Kui; in the wilderness, Panghuang; and in marshes, Weishe.”

Duke Huan asked, “Please tell me what Weishe looks like.” Huangzi Gao’ao said, “Weishe is as large as a cartwheel and as long as a carriage shaft. It wears purple robes and a red cap. Above all, it fears the sound of a thunder chariot. At the sound, it covers its head and stands upright. Anyone who sees it is likely to become a hegemon.”

Duke Huan laughed heartily and said, “That is exactly what I saw!” He then straightened his clothes and headwear and sat down with Huangzi Gao’ao. Before the day was over, Duke Huan felt that he had recovered.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: This chapter explains that when anxiety descends and harms life, it is because one does not understand how things work; when distress is dispelled and one’s nature restored, it is because one has come to understand.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: The passage concerns people being harmed by worry and suspicion. Even if ghosts cannot harm people, suspicion itself can; once doubt is dispelled, an illness will recede on its own, even if its cause lies within oneself. One who follows nature leaves external things no way to intrude and is therefore less easily harmed. How could Huangzi Gao’ao have known the names and forms of these ghosts? Perhaps the ancient people included those whose minds were single and undisturbed by distracting thoughts. Men were called “wu” and women “xi.” They could communicate with ghosts and spirits, and so knew where they dwelt, along with their names and forms. Perhaps these accounts were passed down from them.

Yidu’s commentary says: These names of ghosts were handed down from ancient times. Zhuangzi cites them to convey a principle. Those who have not yet reached the realm of the Way of Heaven should not make reckless claims about whether ghosts and spirits exist. Confucius said, “If you are not yet able to serve people, how can you serve ghosts?” He was probably also urging people to…

This passage continues the story of Duke Huan of Qi seeing a ghost in a marsh. Prince Gao Ao saw that Duke Huan was troubled by doubts, so he answered his question and described the ghost’s appearance. Gao Ao said that anyone who saw this kind of ghost would probably become a hegemon in the future. Duke Huan thought this was just what he wanted to hear. His doubts immediately vanished, though he did not realize that his illness had also been cured. The same thing happens today when someone falls ill, seeks an oracle or a doctor, or calls in a shaman for treatment, and then recovers. People of limited understanding simply do not grasp why.

In his commentary, Bixuzi says: Guan Zhong had no ghost in his mind, so he saw none. Duke Huan kept the thought of a ghost in his mind; he therefore saw one and fell ill. When Yang Qi rises while Yin Qi stagnates, a person is liable to become angry. When Yang Qi descends and lies dormant, a person is liable to become forgetful. If Yang Qi neither rises nor descends but stagnates in the middle of the body and affects the heart, illness takes shape. Duke Huan asked whether ghosts existed, and Gao Ao answered by describing one. The “weiyi” figure Gao Ao then described happened to match what Duke Huan had seen. This shows that when a desire, great or small, is satisfied, a person feels joy; when a doubt, slight or serious, is explained, it vanishes. What matters is seizing the right moment to bring someone to understanding. This is why even the Perfect Person cannot entirely give up the use of words.

Yanzhai says: “Eyi” is an illness in which the breath becomes disordered and rises in the wrong direction. “Sunk in the mud of a ditch” means that the ghost was submerged in ditch mud. What Duke Huan saw was in a marsh, so he asked only whether it looked like a weiyi. At first he suspected it was a demon and grew frightened and ill. Later, when he heard that anyone who saw this kind of ghost would become a hegemon, he felt glad, and his illness disappeared. This differs from the Book of Changes passages about “a pig covered in mud” and “a cartload of ghosts.” Still, since the sages included such sayings in the hexagram and line statements of the Book of Changes, there may be things of this sort in the world; there is no need to find them strange.

Duke Huan fell ill because of his doubts, and this was not an illness that medicine could cure. Gao Ao used absurd words to dispel an absurd notion. Duke Huan took no medicine, yet recovered. This shows that whether ghosts appear or not depends on thoughts arising and fading; people’s likes and dislikes, too, belong to deluded feelings and thoughts, which have no real basis. When deluded feelings subside, likes and dislikes can return to one’s true nature. When the original mind is clear, thoughts arising and fading are no longer governed by external things. People today chase deluded thoughts and lose what is true in themselves, just like Duke Huan, who fell ill after seeing a ghost. So who understands how to treat illness well? Gao Ao said, “You harmed yourself. How could a ghost harm you?” This is perhaps a good remedy: like the story of the play tile, in which the tile was moved away and the heartache disappeared, or the shadow of a bow vanishing from a cup and the imagined illness healing with it.

If one can truly clear the mind and spirit, wash away stray thoughts, and make the heart empty, still, and bright, leaving no trace of dust and remaining undisturbed by the myriad appearances, where could ghosts appear, or illness enter? As for the accounts of ghosts recorded in the book...

This claim may sound strange, but the Family Sayings of Confucius also records spirits and monsters such as Kui and Wangxiang. The Zuo Tradition says that new ghosts are large and old ghosts small, while the Records of the Grand Historian recounts how the Lord of Withered Pond presented a jade disc. From this we can see that ghosts are not entirely without basis. It is enough for Yin and Yang to each remain in their proper place and do no harm to one another. The scripture says, “When the world is guided by the Dao, ghosts do not manifest and cause trouble.”

Ji Shengzi was raising fighting cocks for the king. After ten days, the king asked, “Is the cock ready?” Ji Shengzi replied, “Not yet. It is still flighty and proud, relying on its forceful Qi.” Ten days later, the king asked again. Ji Shengzi said, “Not yet. It still reacts at once when it hears a sound or sees a shadow.” Ten days later, the king asked again. Ji Shengzi replied, “Not yet. Its gaze is still eager and its spirit is still vigorous.” Ten days later, the king asked again. Ji Shengzi said, “It is nearly ready. Although the other cocks still crow, it is no longer stirred. It looks like a wooden cock. Its De is now complete. None of the other cocks dares to challenge it; when they see it, they turn and flee.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: This chapter speaks of training a cock until its De is complete. If it is already without rivals in the face of external things, how much more so can a person be if they preserve their own integrity?

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: If a person can cultivate himself to be like a wooden cock, unmoved by external things, then nothing can overcome him.

The Yidu commentary says: The cock’s training here is a metaphor for cultivating life, a process that deepens step by step. Being flighty and proud, and relying on force, means boasting despite having no real inner accomplishment. Reacting at once to sounds and shadows shows that the mind and spirit are easily stirred. An eager gaze and vigorous spirit mean eagerly seeking an opponent and assuming certain victory. When the other cocks crow and it no longer changes, this shows that even when challenged, it does not respond; it has forgotten victory and defeat. Finally, it looks like a wooden cock, and the others dare not challenge it. This shows that a person whose De is complete has no desire to contend for victory and can also keep external things from developing a desire to fight. This is the highest stage of cultivation.

The Bixu commentary says: Being flighty and proud, and relying on force, means displaying an exaggerated, boastful manner. Responding to sounds and shadows means showing off and looking around. An eager gaze and vigorous spirit mean deliberately displaying one’s expression and bearing. When the other cocks crow and it no longer changes, this shows that disturbances in the outside world can no longer make it show its edge. When it finally looks like a wooden cock and the others dare not challenge it, its thoughts are still and its body is settled; external things no longer contend with it.

Yanzhai says: Responding to a sound and acting at the sight of a shadow show that the mind is still being pulled by external things. “An eager gaze and vigorous spirit” mean that the spirit and Qi are strong, while the body remains still. The earlier phrase “flighty and proud, relying on force” describes Qi floating on the outside; “an eager gaze and vigorous spirit” describes Qi flourishing within. Looking like a wooden cock means that both spirit and Qi are complete. The cock is used here as a metaphor for the practice of preserving Qi.

“Flighty and proud, relying on force” means displaying one’s strength in order to seek an opponent…

When the shadow focuses single-mindedly on pursuing things outside itself, it forgets its own nature. Its gaze grows eager, its inner force swells, and it reveals a desire to defeat its opponent. But if it can appear like a wooden rooster, inwardly composed and outwardly free of sharpness, unmoved by external things and calm in itself, the other roosters will not dare to challenge it. Those that see it will instead turn and flee. This shows that nurturing the breath can preserve the spirit; when the spirit is full, power naturally becomes apparent. When a person studies the Dao and cultivates until the body is like dry wood, Qi and Shen need no deliberate nurturing to be preserved naturally. Even ghosts and spirits will hold such a person in awe—how much more so will other people? The ancients did not contend with others, yet were skilled at prevailing. This is why.

The passage ends with “roosters,” which makes its meaning unclear. In the original text of the Liezi, it should read, “Can the rooster fight yet?” This is roughly what the words mean; the text of the Zhuangzi has here been abridged through omission.

Confucius was watching the swift current at Lüliang. The water plunged down a drop of thirty ren, and its spray surged for forty li. Turtles, alligators, fish, and softshell turtles could not swim across it. Confucius saw a man swimming in the water and thought he had met with disaster and was trying to end his life. He sent his disciples to follow the current and catch up with him to rescue him. After several hundred paces, the man came out of the water, let his hair hang loose, and wandered along the bank, singing as he went.

Confucius followed him and asked, “At first I thought you were a ghost, but on closer inspection I see that you are a man. May I ask whether there is a technique for crossing the water?”

The man replied, “No, I have no technique. I began with what was familiar, grew in accordance with my nature, and came to be as fate shaped me. I enter the water with the swirling current and come out with the upwelling flow. I follow the water’s own way and do not act on my personal wishes. That is how I can cross the water.”

Confucius asked, “What do you mean by ‘began with what was familiar, grew in accordance with my nature, and came to be as fate shaped me’?”

The man answered, “I was born among hills, so I became accustomed to life among hills; that was what was familiar to me. I grew up by the water, so I adapted to its nature; that was my nature. I do not know why I can do this. It happens naturally, and that is fate.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “What grinds around and swirls down into the water is called ‘qi’; what circles beneath the surface and surges back up is called ‘gu.’ Each person has particular strengths. If each is allowed to use what they can do, then nothing under Heaven is difficult. If one applies this ability to meet the changes of life, where could one go and fail to find a way through?”

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “By following the principles of nature and life, he enters the water with the qi current and comes out with the gu flow, following the water’s own way rather than acting on his personal wishes. In this way he can cross the water. Though turtles, alligators, and the other creatures cannot swim across such a current, he can accord with the nature of all things and understand how they naturally come into being and change. Naturally, wherever he goes, he can adapt with ease. Being born among hills and becoming accustomed to life among hills is due to what was familiar to him. What is called ‘the familiar’ does not arise from one’s nature, but is acquired afterward…” [The original text ends here.]

A person is naturally at home in water and lives there with ease; this is their inborn nature, the thing they are good at. Without such an inborn nature, one can rely only on skills learned later in life. Even if one masters them, one still cannot reach a level others cannot attain.

Yidu’s Commentary: The old man of Lüliang walked through the water by his own method. He did not act from self-interest, but followed the water’s patterns. He sank down with the whirlpools and rose to the surface with the rushing currents, so the water could not drown him. At first, he found his method through past experience and had something to rely on. After living in the water for a long time, it became his nature, and he acquired the skill spontaneously. When he became completely at one with it, he no longer knew what he relied on or what enabled him to do it; it could not even be said that he had learned it deliberately. That is why he could feel at ease on land and in water, without knowing why he could do so.

Bixu’s Commentary: “Qi” means sinking into the water while turning like the center of a millstone. “Gu” refers to the water swirling and surging, then carrying a person back to the surface. If one thinks only of oneself and goes against the current, one cannot acquire this skill. To be born on land and feel at home there is to have lost none of one’s original habits; to grow up in water and enter it without feeling in danger is to be in accord with the nature of water. To swim in rushing currents without knowing how it works is for a skill to have become a natural ability, like an inborn gift. Those who understand the principles of life, like the old man of Lüliang swimming, develop their abilities through long familiarity.

Yanzhai’s Commentary: This passage means the same as the earlier discussion of steering a boat. “Gu” means “originally so.” Mencius said that to speak of nature is simply to describe how things are in their original state. What are called nature and life are the principles of the natural order: to follow the patterns of water and not act from private intent is to go with the current without resisting it. To feel at home on land and in water is in both cases to accord with nature, without knowing why one can do so. Thus, the two words “nature” and “life” are not strictly distinguished here; they are simply a way of phrasing the passage.

The old man of Lüliang walked through the water singing. The marvel of it was that he followed the water’s patterns and did not act from his own private intent, so the water could not harm him. If people living in the world can accord with human feelings and the principles of how things work, instead of acting solely on their own private wishes, others will find it difficult to harm them. Apply this principle to dealing with things around us, and wherever we go, we can preserve ourselves.

At first, he relied on past experience and had something to depend on. By living in the water for a long time, habit became nature. Eventually, he became one with the water and no longer noticed what enabled him to do it; it seemed to happen spontaneously. This is called following one’s nature and preserving oneself. In general, this chapter says that when we do not come into conflict with the things around us, we can encounter them without being harmed. This may serve as a principle for dealing with the world. In the original text, the old edition gives no alternative pronunciation for the character “bing”; it should be read with the departing tone, like “bang.”

Qing of Zi carved wood to make a stand for bells. When the stand was finished, those who saw it were amazed as though they had seen spirits and gods. The Marquis of Lu saw it...

The ruler of Lu asked, “What skill did you use to make it?” The craftsman replied, “I am a craftsman. What special skill could I have? Still, there are a few things I take care over. When I prepare to make a ju—a wooden frame for hanging bells and drums, often carved in the shape of an animal—I never let my mind and spirit become scattered. First, I fast and quiet my mind for three days, giving no thought to rewards, celebrations, rank, or salary. Then I fast for five days, giving no thought to whether people will praise or criticize me, or whether the work will be skillful or clumsy. By the seventh day of fasting, I have completely forgotten that I have limbs and a body.

“At that point, there is no court or public business in my mind. My skill is wholly concentrated, and disturbances from the outside world have subsided. Only then do I enter the mountain forests and observe the nature and form of the trees. When the shape of the timber has fully revealed itself and the image of the ju has taken form in my mind, I begin to make it. If things have not reached that point, I wait. This is my own nature responding to the nature of the wood. Perhaps that is why the finished object looks as though spirits made it.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: The craftsman sees the court without seeking or longing for anything there, and so is not drawn away by external affairs. In choosing suitable timber, he also does not go against the wood’s natural character. Because he fully follows the subtle qualities of things, his work makes people wonder whether it was made by spirits.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Even an object can seem as though it were made by spirits. But if disturbances from the outside world have not yet subsided, one cannot enter the realm in which all things arise naturally.

The Yidu commentary says: Qing was the name of the carpenter. The ju was a stand for musical instruments, also called a yu. It was shaped like a crouching tiger, with twenty-seven sawtooth notches along its back. Qing did not let his mind and spirit become scattered; he remained empty and still. By not thinking of rewards or salary, he forgot profit. By not thinking of praise or blame, skill or clumsiness, he forgot reputation. By forgetting his limbs and body, he brought his spirit to fullness and united with Heaven. Thus, when he looked at the court, it seemed to him as though nothing were there. Only after the things that disturbed his mind had faded did he enter the mountain forests to observe the shapes of the trees. He began work only when the form of the wood matched the image of the ju in his mind, without forcing it to succeed. He brought his own nature into accord with the nature of the wood, and so the object looked as though it had been made by spirits.

The Bixu commentary says: Straining the mind depletes Jing and Qi. When there is no desire, the mind can be at peace. Not thinking of rewards or salary means setting aside external affairs; not thinking of praise or blame, skill or clumsiness, means quieting the thoughts within; forgetting the body means leaving behind the distinction between inner and outer. Then he entered the mountain forests, chose naturally formed timber, and followed its inherent craft. The result was so exquisite that it seemed made by spirits, and the ruler of Lu suspected he possessed some secret art.

The Yanzhai says: The ju was a frame for hanging bells and drums, one of the sunju stands, often carved in the shape of an animal. Not thinking of salary, praise, or blame, and forgetting the body, means concentrating wholly on preserving Jing and Qi and not letting external things enter the mind. Observing the wood…

When human nature and physical form, like a piece of wood, reveal a shape suited to a particular use, one can then take them up and put them to work. In this way, one’s own natural nature accords with the nature of things. Since the original Qi has never been depleted, the spirit can remain whole. Fasting and quieting the mind are ways of nourishing Shen and Qi, allowing them to show themselves in practical activity. With the mind focused and undisturbed by external things, one observes the nature of the wood: one begins to work it only when its shape is suited to making a bell stand—a wooden frame for hanging musical bells. In this way, little effort brings great results. This is the principle of focused attention in making things. Yet the subtlety of aligning one’s nature with the nature of things cannot be fully expressed in words. Only those who have thoroughly explored the spirit and understood change are capable of experiencing it.

If a person is unmoved by rewards, rank and emoluments, praise, or blame, what could they not do with focused attention?

Dongye Ji visited Duke Zhuang, driving a chariot. He drove forward and backward in exact accord with the carpenter’s line, and turned left and right in exact accord with the compass. Duke Zhuang considered his skill superb, beyond compare, and told him to drive a hundred circuits around the grounds and return. Yan He came upon him, went in to see Duke Zhuang, and said, “Dongye Ji’s horses are going to break down.” Duke Zhuang watched in secret and said nothing. Before long, Dongye Ji did indeed fail to control the chariot and returned. Duke Zhuang asked Yan He, “How did you know?” Yan He replied, “His horses’ strength was already spent, yet he still demanded that they keep running. That is why I said they would fail.”

The master craftsman Chui could turn his fingers and draw a circle true to the compass. His fingers seemed to merge with the thing he was making; he did not use his mind to check and recheck. Thus his inner mind remained focused and unconfined. One forgets whether one’s shoes fit because the feet are at ease; one forgets whether one’s belt fits because the waist is at ease; one forgets disputes over right and wrong because the mind is at ease. Undisturbed by inner changes and not drawn along by external things, one acts just as circumstances require. At first, one feels at ease, and one remains at ease throughout. This is the ease that comes after forgetting “being at ease.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: The horses’ strength was exhausted, yet they were forced to keep running, and so they failed. This shows that one must act with proper measure and not force things too far. Even though Chui was highly skilled, he still relied on the compass and square. The point here is to work in accordance with what things readily allow. When every part of the body is at ease, one forgets oneself. Disputes over right and wrong arise from unease; when one is at peace with what one encounters, one is neither changed nor drawn along by external things. From this we can see that if one is still aware of being at ease, one has not yet truly found ease.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Dongye Ji’s skill at driving was already excellent, yet he still failed after the horses had exhausted their strength. This shows that if one seeks to follow the Dao but insists on doing what life itself cannot accomplish and wisdom cannot remedy, one cannot succeed. Chui could turn his fingers and draw a circle true to the compass and square. “True to” means that the line he drew accorded with the compass, leaving no trace of effort. His fingers and the thing he made fitted one another, as if naturally following change.

Things are naturally as they are. There is no need to weigh them over and over in your mind before they can meet the standards of the compass and square.

For this reason, his mind was single and unbound, to the point that he could forget his feet were there.

When you forget your feet, no shoe feels ill-fitting. When you forget your waist, no belt feels ill-fitting. When your mind forgets right and wrong, nothing feels out of place. All this shows that things can fall into place without being repeatedly measured in the mind.

Yidu, a commentator, says: When Ji drove his chariot, his handling met the standards of the compass and the inkline. Duke Zhuang believed that even a driver with great skill and artistry could not surpass him. But if Ji were made to turn back and forth like a hook, following the same track on a hundred journeys, the horses would be exhausted; if he kept driving them on, failure would be certain. This illustrates the principle of nature and life: it is enough to follow the proper limits of things; one must not force them too far.

Gongchui, a legendary craftsman, could swiftly turn his tools to make round objects. His hand was practiced, and his mind moved with it, never hesitating or faltering. His mind was therefore empty, still, and single, unbound by desire for profit. When you forget your feet, no shoe feels ill-fitting; when you forget your waist, no belt feels ill-fitting; when you forget right and wrong, the mind has nothing out of place. The inner mind does not deliberately seek change, and outwardly one does not follow blindly. When something arises, observe its key points and act in accordance with the proper rules and rites. Then nothing in responding to events will be out of place. This is how, after forgetting whether things fit, one finds that they fit everywhere.

Bixu, a commentator, says: Driving a chariot according to the compass and inkline is like weaving or embroidery. The chariot turns back and forth like a hook, returning to the same track a hundred times. Han Ying said, “Shun was skilled at employing people, and Zao Fu was skilled at driving horses.” They did not overwork the people, so the people did not grow weary; they did not overdrive the horses, so the horses did not grow weary. A horse falls because it is whipped too hard while driving; people’s wisdom is worn away by excessively detailed orders and instruction. Therefore, those who understand the Mandate of Heaven do not insist on pursuing what cannot be helped.

Gongchui met things without obstruction, and his nature was undisturbed by distracting thoughts, because his fingers and the work he did were one. With no obstruction in his mind, his mind was single and unbound. Forgetting the feet and the waist is secondary; when the mind forgets right and wrong, it has forgotten the root as well—so why dwell on what is secondary? One is master of both inner and outer, and can meet anything in this way. When things fit naturally, they fit time and again. This is fittingness that comes after forgetting the deliberate pursuit of fittingness. Gongchui’s skill lay precisely in this.

Yanzhai, a commentator, says: The skill of driving a chariot is like weaving; hence the saying, “Even artistry could not surpass him.” “A hundred turns” means circling the grounds a hundred times. The horses are already exhausted, yet the driver keeps urging them on; however skilled the driver, failure is inevitable. How can people who act by their own will afford to exhaust their minds in this way? Gongchui turned the tool by hand, making round objects like parasol canopies that naturally met the standards of the compass and square… (The original text ends here.)

When Wu Daozi painted Buddhist images, he drew the halo in a single stroke. His fingers seemed to change along with the thing he was painting.

This is like what Shangu said about calligraphy: the hand knows nothing of the brush, and the brush knows nothing of the hand. Both hand and brush are forgotten, and the mind holds on to nothing at all. This is what is meant by “the senses come to a stop, and the spirit is free to move.” His mind and spirit were therefore undivided, without constraint or obstruction, at ease and free.

“Attainment” means reaching a certain level of accomplishment. When skill opens onto the Dao and leads to ease, the mind becomes undivided and is no longer affected by external things. Even when engaging with them, one does not feel oneself acting deliberately. At first, one feels at ease; afterward, one remains at ease. In time, one even forgets the matter of being at ease.

The Book of Songs says, “He holds the reins as if braiding ribbons; the two outer horses dance along.” This can illustrate the text’s point about “not exerting oneself excessively.” When ribbons are braided, the threads come together here, while the pattern takes shape there. In the same way, a skilled charioteer merely holds the reins above, while the horses below fall into step of their own accord.

“Gou Bai” describes a chariot racing in circles, unable to stop; he knew this would surely end in failure. The horses’ strength was already spent, yet they were being forced to keep running. This would wear out the horses and exhaust the driver as well. Zhi Gong understood what was happening but did not say so plainly, because he disliked discouraging people’s resolve. A little later, events proved him right. He had foreseen what would happen, but once the crisis arrived, nothing could be done. Those in the world who hear good advice yet cannot act on it make the same kind of mistake.

When Gongchui, the legendary craftsman, spun an object, it seemed to form a perfect circle on its own, surpassing the use of a compass. Among the various explanations, Lü’s account of the word “gai” is the clearest. Yanzhai’s explanation of “gai” is rather lengthy, but his discussion later on is very precise. Only by combining the strengths of both accounts can the passage be fully explained.

The scripture’s meaning is simply this: those who understand the principles of life can grasp the principles of things, and so naturally accord with the external world, rather than deliberately trying to accommodate it. Their skill is therefore subtle and their practice profound. They move through life unhurriedly and remain at ease throughout. This is ease that comes after forgetting the very idea of being at ease. If people can live in harmony with all things in the world, they will feel at home wherever they go.

A man named Sun Xiu came to visit and told Bian Qingzi: “I live in my village, and people do not say that I lack virtue. When danger comes, people do not say that I lack courage. Yet when I farm, I never catch a good year; when I serve my ruler, I never encounter a good time. In my village I am driven away as a guest, and in the prefectural offices I am rejected too. What fault of mine could have led Heaven to treat me this way? I hate having to meet such a fate.”

Bianzi said: “Have you never heard how the Perfected Ones—the Daoist ideal of people who have attained the highest level of cultivation—conduct themselves? They forget their liver and gall, cast aside their ears and eyes, and wander in bewildered contentment beyond the dusty world, roaming freely in a realm of non-action. This is called ‘acting, yet…’” The original text ends here.

He does not rely on his own strengths or set himself up as a ruler. Now you polish your knowledge to astonish the ignorant, and cultivate yourself only to make yourself renowned. You shine brilliantly, as though you drew on all the light of the sun and moon to make your way. You have kept your body intact: your limbs are sound, and all nine openings of the body—the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and the rest—are complete. You have not died young from deafness, blindness, lameness, or other disabilities, and can live like an ordinary person. That alone counts as good fortune. How could you possibly have time to resent Heaven? Go.

After Sun Xiu left, Bianzi went inside and sat down. A little while later, he looked up to Heaven and sighed. A disciple asked, “Why are you sighing, Master?” Bianzi said, “Sun Xiu came just now, and I told him about the qualities of the Perfect Person, whose De accords with nature. I fear I startled him, and that this has only plunged him into confusion.”

The disciple said, “Not necessarily. If Sun Xiu is right, then you are wrong. If you are wrong, you could hardly have confused him. If Sun Xiu is wrong and you are right, then he was already muddled. What is there to blame?”

Bianzi said, “That is not so. Long ago, a bird alighted outside the walls of the state of Lu. The ruler of Lu took a great liking to it, so he prepared an abundant feast of beef, mutton, wine, and other foods, and had the ancient music ‘Nine Shao’ performed to delight it. But the bird grew sorrowful and distressed. Its vision blurred, and it dared not eat or drink. This is what it means to raise a bird by the way one raises oneself. To understand how to raise a bird according to its nature, one must let it roost in deep woods and roam over rivers and lakes, feed it what suits it, and let it live freely on open ground. Sun Xiu has little experience and narrow understanding. Yet I told him about the qualities of the Perfect Person. That is like carrying a mouse in a carriage or delighting a bird with bells and drums. How could he not be startled?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Anything that does not accord with one’s true nature is dust; anything one deliberately contrives for oneself becomes futile effort. To follow one’s nature and act spontaneously is to rely on nothing; to let things grow naturally is to make no claim to mastery. Birds and people each have their proper way of being cared for. When all things are allowed to settle into their own nature and life, they attain freedom.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: The central aim of this chapter is to preserve life, make the spirit whole, restore Jing and Qi, and unite with the Way of Heaven. Sun Xiu’s conduct goes directly against this. Hearing these words, he was bound to feel sorrow and fear, become dazzled and confused, and even lose the courage to eat and drink. That is why the chapter ends with the story of the seabird.

The commentary attributed to Yiduzizi says that Bian Qingzi was Sun Xiu’s teacher. Sun Xiu says of himself that, while living among his neighbors, no one accused him of failing to cultivate De; and when danger arose, no one called him a coward. Yet his farming did not bring him a good harvest, and his service to the ruler did not coincide with an era of peace and good government…

A person is rejected by others, assigned a place in a province, and then driven out again. What wrong has he committed to deserve such a fate? His teacher told him: “Have you never heard how the Perfected Person—the person whose cultivation has reached the highest level—acts? They forget the distinctions among their inner organs, such as the liver and gallbladder, and let the Five Viscera become still and empty. They set aside the senses of hearing and sight, so that the Six Dusts—the objects of the senses, such as form, sound, fragrance, taste, touch, and mental phenomena—cannot disturb them. Thus they roam beyond the world of dust, free and at ease, without deliberate action. The True Lord, the inner true nature, can function because it relies on nothing; so it acts without claiming credit. The True Ruler, the root that governs the myriad things, can bring all things to life because it is not itself any concrete ruler; so it brings them forth without controlling them.

“Now you cultivate yourself and flaunt your intelligence, hoping to make a name for yourself in the world. It is hardly surprising that you have suffered misfortune. You have kept your body intact and avoided an untimely death; by the ordinary standards of human life, you are already fortunate. What time have you to complain against Heaven or blame others? I am also afraid that Sun Xiu may not understand these words and may instead be frightened by them, so I will use the story of the sea bird as an analogy: one who is skilled in nurturing life adapts to each being’s nature and endowment, lets it rest in what suits it, and thereby gets things done.”

Bixu’s Commentary: Sun Xiu believed he had succeeded in cultivating himself and was bold in purpose, but his intelligence had found no opportunity to be put to use. He did not understand the Mandate of Heaven, and thus gave rise to worry and sighing for nothing. The Perfected Person’s way of acting does not seek to be known by others. They forget the liver and gallbladder—how much more so joy and anger? They set aside the ears and eyes—how much more so what they hear and see in the world? Cultivating oneself through displays of courage and bringing rejection upon oneself are merely dust and grime. Following things as they are and forgetting such matters is to be free of all entanglement. Now Sun Xiu acts while relying on his own ability, hoping to take the lead and control others; he also wants people to know his achievements so that he can boast of them. He has merely been fortunate enough to escape misfortune and preserve his life. Sun Xiu wants to pursue the nurturing of life, but does not understand that this cannot be forced. That is why Bianzi answered him, “Even intelligence can do nothing about this.” The profound reaches of the Great Dao are like lofty music: they are bound to bewilder the shallow-minded common folk in the lanes. How could they fail to astonish them?

Yanzhai’s Remarks: “Bin” should be read as “reject,” meaning to cast out or discard. “The brilliant bewilder the foolish” refers to those who consider themselves enlightened startling the foolish and shallow. “Kuankai” means a small hole or aperture, and is a metaphor for narrow understanding. If one speaks of truths that are too profound to people with narrow understanding, how could they fail to be astonished? This is a satire of the scholars of that time, whose understanding was shallow and who had yet to grasp the Great Dao. As for “feeding it in a winding, accommodating way,” this means feeding it in accordance with its nature, so that it eats in peace. The bird as a metaphor for nurturing life was discussed in the preceding chapter.

Those who accept Heaven’s decree and know their lot do not worry. If one probes the principles of things and fully follows one’s nature, what doubts could remain? What Sun Xiu says is far removed from the way of Heaven’s decree, its principles, and human nature. Bianzi therefore tells him how the Perfected Person acts: forget the liver and gallbladder, and the mind becomes still and empty; set aside the ears and eyes, and the world outside becomes quiet. Only then can one roam beyond the world of dust. All deliberate actions and traces in the human world are dust and grime…

Once one steps away from this point, walking, standing, sitting, and lying down can all become ways of following things as they are, without forcing anything. This is the principle that applies both within the world and beyond it. What is there to rely on, and what can rule over us for long?

Today you refine your wisdom and cultivate yourself, shining brightly like the sun and moon. You hope to meet the world’s troubles while preserving your body and avoiding an untimely death. That is already good fortune. How, then, could you still have time to blame Heaven? These words are meant to rouse those who are deeply confused and help them return to their original nature. The parable of the seabird makes the point plainly.

The chapter begins by discussing life. People value life, but excessive care in preserving it can end up doing it harm. Lifespan is determined by Heaven, and people cannot defy it; some also lose their lives through deliberate, reckless conduct. Understand these two things, and you can preserve life and accept your allotted course with ease. This is the way to strengthen the roots and foundations and endure for a long time. So there is no need to pursue what life does not require, and one should let go of what one’s allotted fate cannot change. Understand what is not yours to do at this moment, and know, too, that one must never stray from one’s pure and complete nature.

Consider how a drunken person reacts in a carriage accident, or how an enemy responds when faced with a sharp weapon. How much room do they have for worry? The stories of catching cicadas and steering a boat show how repeated practice can bring skill to perfection. The shepherd who walks along a dangerous path leaves his whip behind as a reminder of the danger. The story of the butcher slaughtering a pig serves as a parable: those who crave rank are worse off than someone who has seen a ghost. And those who display their abilities, unable to conceal their shortcomings, often invite confusion. The chapter strings these parables together to explain its central purpose: to be content with life and follow nature. Its teaching is earnest and thorough.

The share of life’s blessings available to a person has its own limits. Deliberate pursuit does not guarantee that one will obtain them, just as failing to pursue them does not guarantee their loss. Misfortune can arrive unexpectedly; neither luck nor intelligence alone can ward it off. What matters is to do what lies within human power, follow Heaven’s principles, and remain without regret. There is no need to fret over the length of one’s life or the balance of misfortune and good fortune.

Whether one cultivates stillness in secluded mountain ravines or takes part in affairs at court; whether one tends to life inwardly or governs the people outwardly, the aim is simply to improve human relations and promote instruction, ultimately returning to the principles of Dao and De. Yet how many people truly understand the value of life and remain alert in their daily eating, drinking, and rest? Only those who, like a wooden rooster, remain quiet and self-possessed, and who do not exhaust their strength even when driving a carriage, can be said to understand the way of life and approach the conduct of a perfected person.

The chapter ends with a bird in the outskirts of the state of Lu. Hearing bells and drums, it grows sorrowful and grieved. This is because improper external nourishment harms its inner nature. If one can understand how to care for life…

In this way, we can understand that the key to preserving life lies in fully understanding the nature of our own life and extending that understanding to all things, so that they too may benefit. Our own life and the lives of all things are equally at ease. When we let go of our attachment to ease, there is nowhere we will not feel at ease.