《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 60

Zhuangzi wore a coarse cloth robe patched in several places. His belt was neatly tied, and his worn-out shoes were fastened with straps. He walked past the King of Wei, who said, “Sir, why are you in such a sorry state?”

Zhuangzi replied, “This is poverty, not adversity. When a person of the Dao and virtue, with real ability, cannot put it to use, that is adversity. A torn robe and worn-out shoes mean poverty, not adversity. This is what it means to be born at the wrong time. Has Your Majesty never seen a monkey without the support of its natural surroundings? In the tall nanmu, catalpa, and camphor trees, it can cling to the branches and move freely among them. Even skilled archers like Yi and Peng Meng would not dare take aim at it. But when it comes down among the thorny, hard-to-climb mulberry, jujube, wild orange, and gou trees, it must tread carefully and glance from side to side, trembling all over and filled with fear. Its sinews have not grown stiffer or less supple; the conditions around it are unfavorable, so it cannot put its abilities to use. Now I live among a benighted ruler and rebellious ministers, yet I am supposed to avoid adversity. How could that be possible? The story of Bi Gan, whose heart was cut out, is clear proof!”

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: When a monkey finds the right time and surroundings, it can display its abilities; even the skilled archers of antiquity cannot harm it. To force one’s way forward when conditions are unfavorable invites death.

Lü Huiqing’s Commentary: Although Zhuangzi spoke so frankly, he suffered no harm as a result. This shows that he had set aside his self and followed the course of worldly affairs.

Yidu’s Commentary: “Coarse cloth” means rough fabric. “Shoe ties” are straps used to fasten footwear; Zhuangzi’s shoes were worn out, so he tied them together. The King of Wei lamented Zhuangzi’s adversity, but Zhuangzi replied that he was merely poor, not in adversity. He then compared himself to a monkey: among nanmu, catalpa, and camphor trees, the monkey is like a gentleman born at the right time; among mulberry, jujube, wild orange, and gou trees, it is like one who has encountered a benighted ruler and rebellious ministers. In such circumstances, it is impossible to avoid adversity. If one insists on upholding the Dao through frank speech, the story of Bi Gan, whose heart was cut out, is unmistakable proof.

Bixu’s Commentary: To refrain from seeking fame and wealth while holding fast to one’s aspirations is to be poor. To have no aspiration to hold on to, and so lose heart, is to be in adversity. In the trees, a monkey can display its prowess when conditions favor it; when its circumstances are difficult, it becomes cautious and alert. When a person lives in a disordered age, forcing a prominent role is sure to bring disaster.

Yanzhai’s Remarks: “To grasp” means to cling to; “to wind through” means to twine around. The phrase “adding urgency” before “not supple” conveys how tense the monkey becomes when its surroundings are unfavorable. The three characters “a sign, indeed” are also quite unusual.

Zhuangzi set aside the pursuit of wealth and status but held fast to his aspirations. Thus, though poor, he was not in adversity. Poverty is the ordinary lot of a scholar; adversity means that a scholar has lost his resolve. Therefore, the Perfected One of Nanhua says here… (The original text ends here.)

If we correct the meaning of even a single word, the point is to keep ourselves from being confined by the thing that word names.

What necessity gave rise to the story of the soaring ape? Its purpose was to show that nanmu, catalpa, thorn-wood, and jujube trees are each different, and through them to describe a person who has not encountered the right time. Look at Nanhua’s (Zhuangzi’s) reply to the King of Wei: we can say that he truly held fast to his convictions. Alas, in every age there are people like the King of Wei, who fail to recognize a person of principle. Yet if one’s mind is open and one’s body at ease, enough to endure such circumstances, what poverty or hardship can there be?

Confucius was stranded between the states of Chen and Cai. For seven days, he had no fire with which to cook. Bracing himself with his left hand against a dead tree, he tapped a dry branch with his right and sang a melody of the Biao clan. The instruments were all there, but without fixed measures; the sounds were all there, but without the notes of the gong and jue scales. The sounds of the wooden instruments blended with the human voice, striking straight to the heart. Yan Hui sat upright, glancing back at Confucius. Confucius feared that he might think himself highly learned and grow proud, or cherish himself and grow sorrowful. So he said, “Yan Hui, not suffering harm from Heaven is easy; not accepting benefits from the outside world is hard. Every beginning leads to an ending; humanity and Heaven are one.”

Yan Hui asked, “Who is singing now?” Confucius said, “What do you mean by asking about ‘not suffering harm from Heaven being easy’?” He then answered, “Hunger, thirst, cold, heat, poverty, confinement, and blocked roads are all natural events in the workings of Heaven and Earth and the transformations of the myriad things. To ‘pass away together with them’ means to go along with these changes. A minister does not dare abandon his duties on his own initiative. If this is true of holding fast to the way of a minister, how much more so of accepting Heaven’s mandate?”

Yan Hui asked again, “What does it mean that ‘not accepting benefits from the outside world is hard’?” Confucius answered, “At the outset, one may find every path open, while titles and stipends come one after another, with more than enough to enjoy. But these advantages come from external things; they do not belong to me. My fate lies in the hands of the outside world. A gentleman does not become a bandit, and a worthy person does not become a thief. If I claimed these things as my own, how could I be at ease? That is why the swallow is so skilled at avoiding harm: it does not force itself to look where its eyes should not look. Even when it sees fruit fall, it leaves it behind and flies away. It fears people, yet builds its nest among them, because there it finds the altars to the soil and grain spirits.” (By describing a swallow nesting near people, this saying shows how it follows circumstances to balance avoiding harm with finding safety.)

Yan Hui asked again, “What does it mean that ‘every beginning leads to an ending’?” Confucius answered, “The myriad things change without ceasing, yet we do not know what makes them change in turn. How, then, can we know where they end or where they begin? We need only set our minds straight and quietly await the changes.”

Yan Hui asked again, “What does it mean that ‘humanity and Heaven are one’?” Confucius answered, “There is what is made by human effort, and there is what is formed by Heaven. Heaven itself is Heaven. People cannot use their own power to control what Heaven has formed. The sage calmly follows the changes until life comes to an end.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “When harm sent by Heaven arrives, if one accepts it calmly, it passes easily. The coming and going of the myriad things, too, simply happens by chance.”

What cannot be stopped now was first regarded as a “beginning,” and yesterday as an “ending.” So what is called a beginning is, in fact, also an ending. The transformations of things are without limit; everything happens of itself. When we follow nature, even the singer no longer clings to the thought, “I am the one singing.” The movements of Heaven and Earth cannot be escaped by anyone. Since all things flow onward together, there is no need to distinguish or classify them deliberately. Simply follow the principle of the “Emperor” (here, the natural law that governs all things), and you can be at ease wherever you are. If you do not regard loss as loss, you can let nature take its course without being harmed by it. Through mutual responsiveness and openness in every direction, one can master even the greatest things. The benefits of all things come to us without our having to seek them deliberately.

To be alive is necessarily to encounter things in the world and undergo the circumstances that come with them; people are not like tiles and stones, which have form alone. Thieves secretly seize possessions, while a gentleman who receives rank and stipend does not steal them in secret; he simply accepts them. For example, the swallow fears people, yet flies into their houses. This is why it is said to have “knowing.” The Perfected Person, as Daoists call someone of the highest attainment, blends completely with all things under Heaven, and so everyone together establishes him as ruler of the altars of state. This shows how difficult it is to refuse benefits bestowed by others. Night and day alternate without end. One need only follow the changes and wait; there is no need to hold deliberately to any particular intention. Whenever we speak of “Heaven,” we mean that things are not arranged by human effort but happen naturally. How could people ever be entirely this way? This is why it is called human nature. The sage therefore rests at ease, makes no boast, and lets body and mind move along with change.

Lü’s commentary says: The sound of the wind of the legendary ancient figure Biao was like the song of the legendary ancient figure Yan. The sounds of trees and of people clearly accord with the human heart. Yet the human heart is no more than a withered tree or branch. If one starts from the absence of a fixed self yet insists on enlarging the self, one creates “great love”; if one clings to loving oneself, one invites sorrow. It is easy to accept the depletion brought by Heaven, but hard to refuse benefits given by others. Since we now simply accept Heaven’s depletion, why enlarge the self and create what is called great love? Things have no absolute beginning or end; one need only follow the situation and wait. If people accord with Heaven, rest at ease, and flow along with change, why cling to self-love and invite sorrow?

To understand the person singing today is to understand what is called beginning and end. Whether we speak of Heaven or of people, the key lies here. The movements of Heaven and Earth cannot be stopped by people, and the transformations of all things cannot be shut off by them. Not being harmed by Heaven means flowing along with change, without treating it as a loss to be deliberately avoided. Even a minister dares not abandon his duties at will; how much more should one follow the Dao of Heaven? This is why it is easy to accept Heaven’s depletion. Rank and stipend arrive together as circumstances brought by the outside world. If accepting what benefits oneself counts as gaining an advantage, how is that any different from theft? As for the gentleman, with regard to the four …

The Dao connects with all things and enables each thing to gain its own benefit, without doing so for its own sake. Part of my fate rests in the hands of the world outside me. Since that is so, I dare not claim for myself the benefits that come from outside. The swallow (yiyi) draws close to human society; people cherish it and grow accustomed to its presence, and so it escapes harm. The altars of state and political order, upheld by all under Heaven, cannot be cast aside lightly. Yet without accepting help from the outside, this would be difficult to achieve.

The sage nurtures and transforms the myriad things, but does not regard their transformation as his own doing. The term “chan” means transformation. Since transformations follow one another without end, who can know where they begin or end? Human beings have a human aspect and a Heavenly aspect, but ultimately both are received from Heaven. A person becomes what their nature makes them precisely by knowing that their nature comes from Heaven. With this understanding, one can calmly follow transformation until life comes to an end.

According to Yidu’s commentary, going seven days without cooked food brings one close to death. Yet if one calmly accepts Heaven’s mandate, one will not be trapped in a state of neither being able to live nor being able to die. To sing of the wind of the Baoshi clan is to take joy in the Dao within one’s heart. “Having forms but no numbers” means that concrete things exist, yet are not governed by the numerical patterns of Yin-Yang. “Having sounds but no gong or jue” means that sounds exist, yet are not constrained by the five tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—and thus are not bound by the theory of the Five Phases.

Confucius feared that after hearing the song, Yan Hui might expand his own doctrines and pursue greater ambitions. He also feared that, if Yan Hui met with hardship, he might cling more tightly to his life and become sorrowful. So Confucius told him of “the beginningless,” meaning that the transformations of the myriad things have no fixed beginning or end. Here, Heaven and humanity are spoken of as one. Who is singing now? The singer does not know why he is doing so; the song simply emerges naturally.

Hunger and thirst, cold and heat, and the hardships and obstacles brought by the movement of Yin-Yang are all part of Heaven’s seasons. The workings of Heaven and Earth, and the growth and transformation of the myriad things, all arise from Yin-Yang. For human beings, Yin-Yang are no less than parents; therefore, people should follow along with them as they transform. A subject who receives an order from a ruler would not dare leave on their own accord. How much less, then, can a person who has received Heaven’s mandate go against it?

The opening phrase, “At the beginning, it was used to reach everywhere,” means that one is accessible to the human world and unobstructed in every direction. Heavenly rank and human rank arrive together: once one cultivates the De endowed by Heaven, worldly rank and emolument follow. A noble person who attains rank does so to benefit the myriad things, not merely for personal gain. “Part of my fate rests outside me” refers to benefits granted by the world beyond oneself. Accepting help from others with a public-spirited heart is not the same as taking it secretly. Anyone who cannot extend their conduct to others like themselves and cares only for private gain comes close to being a thief. If I accept help, how can that be called taking it for myself? The point is that accepting help from others does not mean claiming it as private gain.

The swallow draws close to human society, and people cherish it and welcome its presence, so it can escape harm. This serves as a metaphor for the sage who blends with the dust and light of the world—restraining his sharpness and fitting into ordinary life. All under Heaven are glad to support him and do not reject him. To nurture and transform the myriad things is “transformation”; when things transform into one another, that is “chan.” Transformations succeed one another without ceasing, and no one can know their beginning or end. Thus one need only set one’s mind and body right and follow things as they naturally unfold.

There is a Heaven within Heaven, just as there is a heavenly nature within each person. One cannot have heavenly nature without heavenly destiny, nor human life without heavenly nature. The principles of nature and destiny are like Yin and Yang: they cannot be separated. After the body has vanished, one should still follow the principles of nature and destiny, merging into the transformations of Heaven and humanity.

Bixu’s Commentary: Confucius rested his zither on a low table and played, singing an ancient melody. He worried that Yan Hui might think too highly of himself, giving rise to great love through self-regard, and then to sorrow through that great love. So he told him: when people face hunger and thirst, hardship and constraint, it is relatively easy not to be distressed. Much harder is to remain unmoved when rank, emoluments, power, and profit come their way.

Nothing among the myriad things is without a beginning or an end. A person who has a given destiny will meet the circumstances that go with it; the results of human actions are no different from what Heaven bestows. Now the zither’s tune has changed, yet no one knows why. Drought, cold, heat, hardship, and obstruction are all ways Heaven wears people down. To go along with these changes makes it easy to be at peace; to resist them makes peace difficult. Even a ruler’s command, once issued, cannot be avoided. How much less can one escape the body and mind through which one receives Heaven’s mandate?

Rank and emoluments come to bring benefit to others, not to oneself. Destiny belongs to the inner realm; rank, emoluments, and glory belong to the outer. Yet outer glory is also part of one’s destiny. How can what belongs to all under Heaven be accepted as private property?

The swallow is called clever because it can avoid danger and choose a suitable place to build its nest. Yet it still makes use of human dwellings, since they offer places to nest. Confucius regarded hardship and obstruction as Heaven’s mandate, so it was easy for him to be at peace with hardship. Rank and emoluments, however, belonged to human affairs, and it was difficult for him to turn them down. Still, he endured hardship and could not bear to leave because his parents’ graves and the hut where he mourned them were in Lu.

Nothing among the myriad things escapes beginning and ending. Only those who fully realize the substance of nature and destiny are not confined by beginnings and endings. A person is a being with a body who lives between Heaven and Earth. Hardship and constraint, rank and glory, are all part of Heaven’s mandate. Once one is in accord with Heaven, hardship or success is no longer something human effort alone can determine. That people cannot follow Heaven’s principle and instead act recklessly is also part of human nature. Therefore, the sage remains peaceful and detached, undisturbed by emotion, and moves along with change. This is the highest attainment in understanding Heaven’s mandate.

Yanzhai’s Explanation: “Enlarging oneself” means holding oneself in high regard. If one pursues things from a mindset of self-importance, there is no limit to what one seeks; if one considers things from a mindset of self-concern, one is sure to end up in sorrow. Humanity and Heaven are originally one. Whatever arises from me belongs to Heaven’s principle. Even playing the zither and singing are not entirely under my own control.

When one is not worn down by Heaven, one can be content even in poverty. When one does not receive favors from people, one can avoid becoming indulgent even in wealth. To speak of being worn down by Heaven means that, when faced with such circumstances, one cannot help but accept them; that is why it is easy to do. When human favors come one’s way, one wishes to refuse them but cannot; that is why it is difficult.

If changes in fortune and the movement of the vital energies of all things cannot be resisted, then these comings and goings, these cycles of change, are all Heaven’s will. Human life span cannot go against Heaven’s decree. How, then, could Heaven’s decree itself be defied? It is easy to accept the losses Heaven brings and remain at ease with them.

“Beginning to act” means that as soon as an intention arises, it can reach in every direction, meeting no obstacle wherever it goes. Events follow one’s wishes, while rank, stipend, and other benefits gather from outside. This, too, is determined by fate. Thus it is said, “My fate has its own arrangements.” If someone receives a stipend without having earned merit, a gentleman regards this as shameful and sees it as though it had been stolen.

There is something one cannot easily refuse: benefits bestowed by others. To accept them is, in fact, difficult. The swallow is naturally idle; it fears people yet keeps close to them, and nests in places where the soil deities are worshipped. People respect the sacredness of these places and let it stay there, just as they cherish a swallow nesting in their homes and allow it to remain. The point is that someone living in wealth and status, if like the swallow brings no benefit to others and causes them no harm, will not invite ridicule or resentment. Yet once a person is wealthy and influential, how can they possibly bring no benefit and cause no harm at all? That is the difficulty.

Nothing has an absolute beginning or an absolute end. People do not know where things begin or end; they can only dwell within the transformations of creation and follow their changes. Humans are born from Heaven, so human life has its own allotment from Heaven. Heaven, too, is formed through the transformations of creation, and is therefore subject to a wider process of change. “Nature” means the inborn disposition bestowed by Heaven; here, “nature” and “life” have related meanings. Human nature is present from birth, received from Heaven, and cannot be bestowed by another person. Thus the sage lives at ease in the world, simply fulfilling the course of their life.

Withered trees and dead branches are things without feelings. The phrase “singing of the Yan clan, lamenting the present and recalling antiquity” expresses sorrow for the present and longing for the past. “Expanding oneself and making things grand” means exaggerating and magnifying one’s own circumstances. “Cherishing oneself and giving rise to sorrow” means becoming distressed through excessive attachment to oneself. “Deeply attached” means feeling intensely, with sorrowful and painful thoughts.

It is easier to accept the losses Heaven brings than to refuse benefits given by others. Confucius once said, “It is hard to be poor without resentment; it is easy to be wealthy without arrogance.” The True Man of Nanhua, Zhuangzi, reverses this statement. His formulation is especially striking, yet it does not depart from reason; this is what sets him apart from the other philosophers. Confucius’s claim that “it is hard to be poor without resentment” describes ordinary worldly feelings. “It is easy not to resist Heaven’s losses,” by contrast, is addressed to those who study the Dao. Yan Hui had only a basket of rice and a gourd of water, yet was content in his own way. This is an example of easily accepting the losses allotted by Heaven. When Prince Sou climbed into the carriage, he cried out and refused what others offered him. This shows how difficult it is to avoid receiving benefits from others.

Whether one can accept the losses Heaven brings with ease depends on oneself: if one does not regard a loss as a loss, it is easy. Benefits given by others, however, involve rank and proper courtesies, and so are often difficult to refuse. Yet misfortune and good fortune rely on each other, and circumstances turn in cycles. How can we know that a loss bestowed by Heaven will not become a benefit, or that a benefit given by others will not instead bring harm?

So, is this not a kind of loss? For this reason, those who understand the Way regard loss as gain and hardship as a way through. They do not indulge their private desires or let external things change them. Even when faced with life and death, they do not let these disturb them. Since they know that nothing among the myriad things has an absolute beginning or an absolute end, what could truly harm them?

The principles of Heaven and humanity come about through their mutual dependence. Now, when I sing, it is not of my own accord; the Creator has made me do so. The myriad things all undergo the movements and transformations of Heaven and Earth, just as ministers follow the ruler’s commands. Only those who keep the Dao within themselves are not harmed by this. Things from all four directions arrive together, while fate is governed by what lies outside oneself. When a person obtains something by proper means, it is not theft. Thus, when benefit comes, a noble person may sometimes accept it.

The yiyan, a small bird of the swallow family, fears people yet flies about among them. This is a metaphor for those who know how to conduct themselves in the world and preserve themselves. It cares for its nest and will not leave it, just as a person who guards the altars of state cannot easily abandon them. Heaven and Earth transform the myriad things, but people often fail to notice these changes. One should follow nature, bringing human nature into accord with it, be content with the times, and allow oneself to follow change. Rank and stipend, hardship, and restraint are not worth worrying over. Those who cannot preserve their inborn nature are no better than the yiyan.

In the phrase “moving things,” the Bixu edition reads “transforming things.” Judging by the sense of the passage, “transforming things” is more appropriate. The character zhi should be zhi meaning “confinement”; these two characters are often used interchangeably in this text.

Zhuang Zhou was walking in the woods at Diaoling when he saw a strange large bird flying in from the south. Its wings spread seven feet across, and its eyes were more than an inch wide. The bird brushed Zhuang Zhou’s forehead and landed in a chestnut grove.

Zhuang Zhou said, “What kind of bird is this? Its wings are so large, yet it cannot fly far; its eyes are so large, yet it cannot see.” He hitched up his robe, hurried toward it, took up his crossbow, and prepared to shoot when the opportunity arose.

Just then, he saw a cicada cooling itself in the deep shade, wholly oblivious to the danger it was in. A mantis held up a leaf to conceal itself and was about to catch the cicada, yet it too forgot that it might give itself away. Seeing an opportunity to seize the mantis, the strange bird prepared to catch it, also oblivious to its own predicament.

Zhuang Zhou suddenly grew alert and said, “Alas, the myriad things are linked to one another and draw one another in. Those who come before and after are often drawn in this way.” He lowered his crossbow and hurried away. But the keeper of the grounds caught up with him and scolded him.

After returning home, Zhuang Zhou remained gloomy for three months. His disciple Lin Ju followed him and asked, “Why have you been so unhappy lately, Master?” Zhuang Zhou said, “I looked after my body but forgot about my own safety. I watched the muddy water, yet was misled by a clear, deep pool. I once heard my teacher say, ‘When you enter a place, follow its customs.’ Now, while walking at Diaoling, I forgot about myself and was struck on the forehead by that strange bird. Then, in the chestnut grove, I forgot about my own safety, and the keeper of the grounds took me for a wrongdoer. That is why I have been gloomy.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “The mantis used a leaf to conceal itself, intent on catching the cicada, but forgot that it too could be seen.”

The strange magpie could see with its eyes and fly with its wings; these were its natural abilities. But when it saw a chance for gain, it forgot the danger to itself. Those who look only to their own advantage often end up entangling one another.

When people covet things outside themselves, those things become a burden. Zhuangzi lamented that the world is full of hardships and dangers. If one applies a placid, comfortable way of acting everywhere, without regard for the circumstances, one can only cling vainly to the body while forgetting one’s own safety. To see external things without understanding them clearly, and instead to use them as a way of knowing oneself, is almost to forget the lesson of drawing on oneself as a guide and looking inward.

When engaging with the world, one should adapt to its customs and not violate its prohibitions. If others see one and take offense, one may even invite death. Zhuangzi wanted the world to be at peace, so he often used allegories to express his ideas. At times, therefore, he disparaged Zhongni (Confucius) and belittled Lao Dan (Laozi); he criticized the Three Sovereigns above and sharply reproached people for their own failings below.

Lü’s Commentary: The strange magpie covets what it can gain and acts on the desires of its eyes and ears: this is to care only for the body. It does not know that the garden keeper’s rebuke could bring humiliation: this is to forget its own safety. When one acts and engages with external things, the mind becomes clouded like muddy water. Only by becoming still and observing all things with a clear mind can it be like a deep, clear pool. The Perfected Person, in a state of clarity, never loses that clarity for even an instant. Zhuangzi says this to show that people should meet the world with an open mind. Yet, as when he spoke to the King of Wei, even if one can avoid disaster, one must also take account of what others fear and remain cautious.

Commentary by Yidu: A “hedge” means a fence; “being touched” means being moved by external things. The cicada finds pleasant shade in the trees. It covets little, yet forgets itself because of it. The mantis hunts the cicada, intent on catching it, and its confusion deepens: it forgets not only itself but also its own body. The strange magpie then covets the mantis, determined to seize it, and its confusion deepens further, until it forgets the very principles on which life depends. The more deeply people are confused by profit and desire, the more readily they lose themselves. How could they fail to be cautious?

Zhuangzi gained insight from this and sighed: “All things naturally entangle one another and draw one another in, bringing on corresponding misfortunes.” He put down his slingshot and turned into a chestnut grove. The keeper of the grove suspected him of stealing chestnuts, caught up with him, and challenged him. Knowing that this was how the world worked, Zhuangzi went home and stayed indoors for three months. His disciple Lin Ju was puzzled and asked why. Zhuangzi replied that he had cared only for the body and forgotten his own safety: seeing the cicada and the strange magpie covet what lay before them, he himself had nearly forgotten his own well-being; seeing muddy water, he had lost his clear state of mind. He had looked only at external things and failed to turn back and examine himself.

“Master” here refers to Laozi. The passage concerns the principle of adapting to the world’s customs and avoiding contention when engaging with it.

People respond to and attract one another. That is why Zhuangzi dropped his slingshot and ran, while the keeper of the garden, who was responsible for its woods and grounds, grew suspicious of him.

He had been secretly picking chestnuts and stayed in the garden for three months without going home. Only after the keeper questioned and humiliated him did he come to regret what he had done. Now he had forgotten to look after his own safety. He understood that by focusing only on the sights around him, he had lost the clarity of inward awareness.

The text then gives Confucius as an example. Confucius once sought instruction from Master Changsang, who was Zhuangzi’s teacher. When entering another person’s territory, one should learn and observe its local prohibitions. To be somewhere and break its rules is to invite disaster. The point here is that even Confucius, when he ventured into the human world, could not avoid the risk of being killed or humiliated. Fortunately, he escaped such calamities as being boiled alive or attacked by an army.

Yanzhai says: “Its wings are large, yet it does not fly away; its eyes are large, yet it cannot see.” This means that people lose sight of themselves when they pursue external things. The mantis and the magpie are different creatures, yet they provoke one another; in the end, both forget themselves and their true nature, and instead become entangled with each other. When Zhuangzi speaks of “preserving the body and nourishing life,” he means that a person may study how to nourish life, yet forget himself while pursuing a magpie. In this way, desire has disturbed his nature.

Muddy water stands for human desire, while a clear, deep pool stands for the principle of Heaven. When entering another country, one should first learn its customs; to wander into someone else’s chestnut grove is to break its prohibitions. The point of this passage is that when people pursue external things, whether great or small, they may lose themselves in them without realizing it.

Earlier interpretations take “mountain fan” to mean “fence,” understanding “fan” as a variant of “barrier.” But this explanation is strained in both pronunciation and interpretation, and the scene it depicts is too cramped and shabby for the context. Here, following the meaning of the words, “mountain fan” should be understood as a densely wooded place in the mountains. The Zhuangzi’s “Free and Easy Wandering” says, “In summer, they rest in the mountain woods,” referring likewise to resting in a densely wooded place in summer.

In one edition, the phonetic and lexical notes for “three months without returning home” read “three days.” Given the later phrase “for a short while,” “three days” fits better; the discrepancy may have arisen from a copying error. The Bixu edition has “follow its commands” where other versions read “follow its customs”; the Yuan edition should also have “commands.” Guo Xiang’s commentary touches on this point. It accords with the Book of Rites, which says that when entering another state one should ask about its prohibitions, and when entering a town one should learn its customs.

Yangzi, or Yang Zhu, went to the state of Song and lodged at an inn. The innkeeper had two concubines, one beautiful and one unattractive. The unattractive one was treated with respect, while the beautiful one held a lower position. Yangzi asked why. A young man at the inn replied, “The beautiful one thinks she is beautiful, but I do not find her beautiful; the unattractive one thinks she is unattractive, but I do not find her unattractive.” Yangzi then said to his disciples, “Remember this: if someone acts with virtue and ability, yet lets go of the belief that they are virtuous and able, who, wherever they go, would fail to like them?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says that an attitude of self-regard for one’s own virtue and ability is never appropriate.

The Lüshi commentary holds that those who are truly virtuous and able do not boast of it, and so are liked wherever they go.

The Yidu commentary says that arrogance, complacency, and self-praise are approved of by neither humans nor spirits. If one can be humble and modest…

Who could stand in the way if we carefully cultivate the principles that people throughout the world are glad to uphold, and then act in accordance with them?

Bixu’s commentary says: People with beautiful features are prone to arrogance, and so are often looked down upon. People with unattractive features are prone to modesty, and so may instead be held in esteem. Yangzi—the figure in the Zhuangzi—had his disciples record this to encourage virtuous people in later generations to give up thinking themselves virtuous. Beauty and ugliness, virtue and lack of virtue, may seem to offer a way of judging people, but they do not.

Yanzhai says: If you possess virtue without boasting of it, people will like you wherever you go. Like the earlier passages about the cicada and the magpie, this one expresses a truth that scholars can understand from their own experience.

If you cling to the belief that you are virtuous, even a beautiful person will be disliked—how much more so someone unattractive? If you give up that belief, even an unattractive person will be liked—how much more so someone beautiful? Beauty and ugliness depend on outward appearance; liking and disliking depend on the human heart; honor and lowliness depend on fate. Appearance is fixed, while fortune may prosper or falter. The human heart, however, changes with the things around it, so liking and disliking have no fixed standard. If you can face other people’s judgments of beauty and ugliness without clinging to the distinction yourself, your mind and the things around you can forget one another and merge as one. Only then can you respond to the myriad things and bring them to life. If other people can give up thinking themselves virtuous, and you can forget your own reputation for virtue, then virtue is no longer exalted. The people will have no cause to contend, and things can change naturally, bringing about rule through Wuwei (non-action). There is no better principle than this, which is why the author uses it to conclude the discussion in the “Mountain Tree” chapter.

This chapter takes “Mountain Tree” as its title and uses the great catalpa, the oak, and the shrine tree to show that, because they are useless as timber, they can live out their full span. In contrast, a goose is killed because it cannot call. This shows how deeply Zhuangzi observed the circumstances of the world. Trees may indeed be preserved because their twisted forms make them unfit for use. But the length of life and the course of fortune—whether smooth or troubled—also depend on each being’s allotment and experience. We cannot claim that being useless always ensures survival. Being useful and being useless both concern outward appearances. To stand between the two may seem wise, but it still involves distinctions and entanglements. To rise above all three distinctions, stand independently, master De (Virtue/Power) and roam freely, move with the myriad things and change with the times, transcend worldly affairs without becoming entangled, and cast off outward adornment to avoid disaster—then there is no need to seek far for the “land of vast, all-pervading De”; one will arrive there naturally. It is like an empty boat colliding with another person’s boat: no one gets angry. Or like making no excessive demands of others, so that not even a hair is harmed. This is because…

When one responds to external things without intention, they too respond without intention. As for Confucius, who fell into hardship between Chen and Cai, he was less able to avoid danger than the yì’ěr, a small bird like a swallow or sparrow. The mantis and the cicada focused only on what was before them, while the magpie failed to notice the person waiting to shoot it with a slingshot. These examples show that each acted according to its inborn instincts, but not with enough foresight, and so could not avoid being entangled by external things.

Lin Hui, a figure in an ancient fable, abandoned a jade disc and chose instead to flee carrying a baby on his back. Emperor Shun appointed Yu because he valued Yu’s virtue and ability. These stories show that following one’s inborn nature leads one to honor the natural bonds between family members, without relying on external things. Wearing coarse clothing to meet the King of Wei and singing while striking a withered branch were signs that Yan was at ease in poverty and not distressed by it. Once we understand that accepting the reductions brought by following the Way of Heaven makes it easier to be at ease, we can also respond to the gains offered by external things in accordance with the Dao.

The conclusion says that when one possesses virtue without considering oneself virtuous, one can move beyond the distinction between “useful” and “useless” and truly accord with the Dao. This is why the True Person repeats these teachings so patiently: the hope is that learners will continue to advance.