《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 7

Yan Hui said, “I can no longer find a way to make further progress. What should I do?”

Confucius said, “First undertake fasting, and then I will tell you. If you approach this matter with a fixed purpose in mind, is that really easy? Whoever thinks it is easy does not yet understand the way of Heaven.”

Yan Hui said, “My family is poor. For several months I have not drunk wine or eaten meat. Does that count as fasting?”

Confucius said, “That is the fasting done before a sacrifice, not heart fasting.”

Yan Hui asked, “What is heart fasting?”

Confucius said, “Make the mind single and undivided. Do not listen with the ears; listen with the mind. Do not only listen with the mind; listen with Qi. The function of the ears stops at hearing sounds; the function of the mind stops at distinguishing and understanding. Qi, however, is empty and still and can receive all things. Only the Dao gathers in emptiness and stillness. To make the mind empty and still—that is heart fasting.”

Yan Hui said, “Before I received this teaching, I felt that I truly existed as a solid self. After receiving it, I discovered that there was no fixed ‘me’ after all. Can this be called empty stillness?”

Confucius said, “You have grasped it. Let me tell you: if you can move within the fences of the world yet not be tugged about by reputation and outward judgment; when others take you in, you respond and go along; when they do not, you stop—if in the mind you set up neither gates nor prejudices, dwell in one place, and comply with what cannot be avoided as events arise, you are already close.

“To make someone stop acting is not hard; to leave no trace of action in the mind is hard. To be used by others is easy, so one can feign compliance; to be moved by the way of Heaven is hard, because pretense cannot get through. We have heard that birds with wings fly, but not that birds without wings fly; we have heard of knowing things by means of knowledge, but not of knowing without relying on knowledge.

“Look into empty silence: from the empty, still chamber of the mind, clarity is born; auspicious Qi then comes to rest there. If the mind cannot settle, this is called ‘sitting while galloping’—the body sits, but the spirit races. Let what the eyes and ears touch reach inward, yet do not let it command the judgments of the heart. Then even ghosts and spirits will come to dwell, how much more so human beings! This is the root of change in the ten thousand things, the hinge by which Yu and Shun governed the world, and the path practiced by the ancient sages Fuxi and Jiju—how much more is it suited to those who drift without fixed aim?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: To act with a subjective intent is indeed not easy; if one treats deliberate action as something light and easy, one has not yet understood whether it accords with the way of Heaven. “Make the mind single and undivided” means to set aside stray thoughts and partiality, to put ears, eyes, and deliberation to one side, and to comply with the state in which Qi-nature presents itself of itself. This is making the mind empty and still so as to receive the ten thousand things.

Before Yan Hui understood heart fasting, he still clung to the existence of “I”; after he understood it, he no longer clung to a fixed self, placing the mind in ease and self-sufficiency and complying with things as they are. When a musical instrument sounds the tones of gong or shang, it is not from its own will but responds as it is struck—hence “when others take you in, you respond and go along.”

Since there are no artificially set gateways, one can leave the world to settle of itself; since there is no poisoning, there is no need to force anything. That things must be as they are is the necessity of principle; when one comprehends the dwelling of “ultimate oneness” (the great Dao as a single, undivided whole), one aligns with that necessity. At this point the argument has run its course.

Wanting the foot not to move is easy to achieve; walking without ever stepping on the ground is not. Wanting wuwei (non-action) is easy; never harming one’s original nature at all is not. What eyes and ears can pick up is relatively coarse, so deception comes easily; the way nature runs and cause and effect answer each other is fine and hidden, so it is hard to hold. The less true nature is lost, the less harm; the more is lost, the greater the harm. The retribution of gain and loss matches what was done. To go against the heavenly Dao and deliberately fabricate—is that not very hard?

Sayings such as “only with wings can one fly; only with wisdom can one act” mean that the right conditions must be present before anything can be done. Today, without the “abode of utmost emptiness” (a mind stilled to the utmost), there is no way truly to transform and nourish the ten thousand things. To treat being as non-being is the empty chamber; when the inner mind is clear and pure, harmony arises and becomes the place where auspiciousness gathers.

If one cannot rest in the fitting position and cannot penetrate things to their limit, it is like setting out in a carriage yet never ceasing to gallop: before any external trouble arrives, one is already worn out—how then could one transform the ten thousand things? If one shuts eyes and ears and lets the natural Dao show itself, the work of the mind steps aside. Then, following one’s nature, going straight through, wherever one reaches one can meet the deep and subtle Dao; one need not even fear sinking into obscurity, still less the pull of worldly cares.

Among the ten thousand things, high and low alike, nothing is known or touched except through mind, eyes, and ears. So the worldly “knowing” and “seeing”—can one really know just by wanting to know, or see just by wanting to see? People chase knowledge along desire and treat knowing as seeing; the spirit races within while eyes and ears are spent outside, so they can neither dwell at ease in themselves nor merge with the ten thousand things.

Commentary (Lu): Confucius said to Yan Hui that whatever one sets out to do on purpose, nothing is easily finished without difficulty. So-called “heart fasting” (xin zhai—making the mind as pure and still as in ritual abstention) means not scheming and not fabricating, returning oneself to a state without deliberate heart. Without single-minded focus, one is not up to understanding these words.

“Do not listen with the ears; listen with the heart” means hearing no longer clings to sound. “Do not listen with the heart; listen with qi” means the mind no longer clings to knowing. When hearing does not chase sound, it stops at the ear; when the mind does not cling to knowing, it stops at what the heart can grasp. In emptiness and stillness one awaits the ten thousand things, and only qi keeps transforming; when the Dao gathers in emptiness and stillness, that is the way back to a heart without artifice.

People have not yet truly mastered what drives their own hearts, so they cannot do without self-clinging. Yan Hui had not yet mastered that driver; if he could truly master it, he could reach selflessness. …Unmoved by reputation, forgetting … *

When the heart-mind is empty and still, spirit can enter into the scope of things; once thought turns outward, it is pulled by external things.

When external things resonate, sound arises; when there is no resonance, there is silence. Metal and stone inherently can sound, but if they are not struck, they do not ring.

When the mind is still, nothing has an opening to enter, and scattered activity cannot cross it; no harm can be imposed on the mind, and countless disturbances cannot damage it. Let the mind rest in one place, entrusted to what cannot be avoided; with such a mind, moving through the human world is about as much as one can do. The Master then told Yan Hui again:

“To leave no trace is easy; not to leave footprints on the great earth is hard. If you wish to leave no trace, better to cut off traces altogether; if you wish to avoid being dragged by things, better to forget the self. Forgetting the self without being genuine cannot escape falsity. People have what they know and what they do not know, so being driven by others easily turns into pretense; Heaven knows nothing and yet knows everything, so complying with destiny is hard to fake. Preserving the original mind and using it to serve the Way of Heaven is complying with destiny—how could pretense find a place there?

“People have knowledge and take knowledge as wings; pluck the wings and one stops and no longer flies. Look at the empty and still place: in an empty chamber bright light is born—this is an auspicious sign. Stop where one should stop; if the mind cannot settle, though the body sits, the spirit runs—this is called ‘sitting while galloping.’ Good and ill fortune, regret, and hardship all arise from activity.

“True stopping is making the ears like eyes and the eyes like ears; spirit condensed, the body relaxed, flesh and bone as if melted. Ear and eye communicate inward and outward, no longer bound by the mind’s discriminations—even ghosts and spirits will come to dwell, how much more so people? This is the realm of the transformation of the myriad things, and what the ancient sages practiced and ultimately attained.”

The Yidu Commentary says: “The essence of purification fasting (zhaijie) lies in emptying the heart. If fixation still remains in the mind, purification fasting is hard to achieve. If one treats purification fasting as easy and takes it lightly, vast Heaven (Haotian) will not heed.”

“Listening with the ear is the usual way of listening; listening with the mind is turning the hearing inward; listening with qi (vital energy) means no longer relying on the senses to hear. Hearing with the ear is to investigate principles; turning hearing to spirit (shen) is to exhaust one’s nature; not relying on hearing but awaiting things in emptiness and stillness is to reach destiny (tianming). When hearing stops at the ear, it is better to let the heart listen; yet when the heart discriminates, it cuts things apart and also produces pandering. At the level of qi, there is nothing left to hear—one simply awaits all things in emptiness and stillness. The Dao (the Way) gathers here—this is the subtle efficacy of ‘heart fasting’ (xinzhai).

“The Liezi says: the body united with the heart, the heart united with qi, qi united with spirit—the meaning is the same here. After Yan Hui understood, he said: ‘Before I received Zhongni’s (Confucius’s) instruction, there truly was a self; after receiving instruction in heart fasting, I discovered there had never been a self.’ This is having no self. The Master…”

He further told him: “Although you have already reached a state of empty stillness, if you enter circumstances where you must act, you should not let fame move your heart. The heart should be like the empty bore of a pipe on a wind instrument, waiting for Qi to arrive: when Qi enters, sound is produced; when Qi does not enter, it stays still. How could you ever keep a fixed opinion of your own in that?

Let the myriad things come and go without setting up gates; let the world govern itself without doing harm. Hold to the way of pure unity and do not lightly take action; only when there is no alternative should you rise to respond to things. Lodge the principle within affairs without claiming them as your own—that is the utmost. Exhaust the principle of nature and life (xingming) in action, and nothing you do will fail to accord with Heaven’s principle. If you are driven by other people, your conduct easily turns false; if you are driven by Heaven’s principle, it is hard for falsity to arise.

Zhuangzi uses a bird spreading its wings and the wise person’s clear seeing to speak of Yan Hui: there must be a dwelling of utmost emptiness in the heart before it can transform the myriad things. Gazing at the scene before you, the mind is lucid yet holds to nothing—that is how the mind’s state is pictured. When the mind-ground is clear, the Dao gathers; this is called “giving birth to whiteness” (shengbai). When spirit and Qi are settled, good fortune comes. If the heart cannot settle, the body may sit while the spirit races outward.

One who is truly settled need not fix eyes and ears on the outer world, nor need he lock mind and will inside. Thus, even with thought and action, he will not invite the troubles of worldly involvement. If ghosts and spirits will come and dwell there, how much more will human beings?

Xiang Dao’s commentary says: “Taking action” is something the ancients also regarded as hard to grasp. Where there is thought, fasting of the mind is required; where there is action, vigilance is required—so to make De reach the level of spirit, the heart must be fasted. This is exactly what Confucius taught Yan Hui. The Wenzi says: in superior learning one listens with the spirit; in middling learning one listens with the heart; in inferior learning one listens with the ear. Listening that stops at the ear only reaches what the ear hears; listening that stops at the heart’s agreement with things is still confined to what the mind approves. Listening with Qi is everywhere, vast and flowing.

Therefore one uses the body yet is not bound by the body; waits on things yet is not tied by things. Single-pointed mind preserves Qi; preserving Qi attains empty stillness; in empty stillness the Dao gathers. This is the meaning of “mind fasting” (xinzhai).

Before Yan Hui received Confucius’s instruction, he still treated the body as the greatest worry; after receiving it, he understood that there is not always a fixed “Yan Hui,” and no longer clung to the self. Thus, even entering the sphere of worldly fame and gain, he was not stirred by reputation: when things called for response he responded; when they did not, he returned to stillness. Having no gates and doing no harm means reining in action and bringing it back to Wuwei (non-action); holding to one place and lodging in what cannot be avoided means extending Wuwei into the realm of action.

If Heaven does not move, Earth is prone to move; in acting, one does not trample…

Earth—as symbol of the natural way of the Dao—is hard to practice as wuwei (non-action); it is harder still to take part in worldly affairs without violating that way. What people do is often driven by others, so falsity easily creeps in; what Heaven does follows innate nature, and is therefore hard to fake. A bird cannot fly without wings; a person cannot know things without awareness. A room that is not empty cannot give birth to brightness. Where does auspiciousness come from, and where does it linger? If the mind cannot settle, then even with folded hands in silence, dwelling in the mountains, the heart is still racing outward. When ear and eye turn inward and connect, one no longer listens or looks outward; when the mind does not chase outward, one no longer thinks or knows in a false way. Reaching such a state—emptiness and stillness to the utmost—ghosts and spirits will come to dwell there; how much more so a human being? This is the principle of presiding over the changes of all things without being altered by external things, and the standard the ancient sages followed all their lives.

Bixu’s commentary says: The fasting before sacrifice is a formal rite; “heart fasting” (xinzai—the practice of stilling the mind) is what lets one grasp the root. Do not listen with the ear; use the heart to take it in, and you can set aside outward looking-at-things and perceive the subtle principle. Nor should you only listen with the heart; feel with qi, so that body and mind merge with the undivided qi of the great beginning. At this stage beginners often find the spirit scattered and hard to gather; yet there is a key: let hearing stop at the ear, and fix the spirit on what should be held—then the inner scene does not leak away, and dust from outside does not enter. When the heart rests on auspicious signs and luminous qi gathers and unites, the inside becomes clear and peaceful, and the spirit is still and unmoved.

Thus the void, still primordial qi penetrates within; originally it does not depend on external things. Yet in having nothing to rely on, numinous things naturally assemble—as with immortal fruits such as jiaoli and huozao, which do not grow among thorns. Only those who cultivate can understand this layer of meaning. The wonder of heart fasting as embodied by the envoy truly lies in letting the spirit return of itself. If one is not yet empty-hearted, one cannot speak of returning; when even “emptiness” is forgotten, one has truly reached still emptiness.

If one can enter within the measure of the Dao, not be moved by things and not be self-conceited, one may escape calamity. “Enter” means to hear and accept; “sound” (ming) means speech without crafty artifice: when there is hearing, one speaks; when there is none, one stops. Speech that is broad and vast is called “no gate”; a principle that is plain and even is called “no poison.” When the inner mind is not split in two, one can hold to unity; to lodge one’s body among the multitude of people is only because one cannot avoid it.

To stop walking and cut off one’s tracks is relatively easy; to move without treading the ground is very hard. The metaphor is this: someone who is driven by others is easy to deceive; someone who acts on his own is hard to deceive. Only with wings can one rise into the sky; only with the Dao can one respond to change. When the room is empty, brightness like sunlight arises; when the heart is settled, the brightness given by nature appears. Though a person sits in a quiet chamber, if likes and dislikes fill the mind, it is like a horse tied at the manger while its thoughts have already run a thousand li away. If one does not let the six senses snatch outward, one can turn instead and gather the inner clarity.

Zhao’s commentary says: When the ear hears a sound, it stops at the ear; the heart-mind also rests where it meets the outer object, still and unmoving. With empty, quiet qi one awaits outer things—when something comes, response passes through swiftly. Only the Dao gathers in emptiness and quiet; when the heart-mind is empty and quiet, every principle can converge. This is xinzai (making the heart-mind empty, pure, and one).

Yan Hui suddenly understood and said: “When I cannot move with the heart’s flow, it is because there is still a self; when I can move with the heart’s flow, it is because there is no self.” Confucius praised his insight and warned him further: When you enter the world, can you avoid being moved by reputation? When others accept you, then speak; when they do not accept you, stop and say nothing. Then there is no gap for outer things to exploit, and you will not be seen by others as a source of harm. In handling affairs, only follow what necessity demands—perhaps that is close to the Dao.

Leaving no trace is easy; not leaving footprints on the ground is hard. Here too is the meaning of following what cannot be avoided. When driven by others, the heart calculates and schemes, so artifice comes easily; when driven by the principle of Heaven (tianli), one follows the reason of things, so artifice is hard. What is meant by “flying without wings” and “knowing without knowing” is reaching swiftly without haste, arriving without taking a step.

Que refers to the nature of emptiness; when brightness arises in an empty room, the vast heaven and earth shine forth. “Auspiciousness rests at rest” (jixiang zhizhi) means that good fortune rests in emptiness and quiet—misfortune need not come, and blessing need not be sought on purpose. If the heart still seeks blessing, the body sits while the mind races outward. Gather in ear and eye, let spirit penetrate inward, and the inner heart grows bright; do not let the knowing mind chase outward, and the inner heart stays empty and quiet. Do this, and you can keep company with spirits and ghosts—how could the world not trust you?

Yuzhai said: Even if you have skill you wish to show, as soon as that thought arises, Heaven’s intent will not be pleased. First make the will single, not scattered. Listen with the ear, and attention is still outside; listen with the heart, and self still remains; listen with qi, and you do not cling to any object. When hearing stops at the ear, sound does not enter the inner heart; when the heart rests where it meets the outer object, thing and self stand opposed. Emptiness and quiet are where the Dao dwells. The word “empty” in “only the Dao gathers in emptiness” is precisely xinzai.

Yan Hui’s meaning was: Before receiving instruction, his own heart still had “me”; after receiving instruction, he began to have no self. Forget the self, and the heart is empty and quiet. Confucius told him again that the human world is like a cage: enter and move within it without being moved by reputation; when others accept you, you may speak with them; when they do not accept you, stop—what must not be said, do not say.

“No gate and no odor—therefore no poison”: such images illustrate a state of wuwei without deliberate trace (not leaving marks on purpose). When you take hunyi—the oneness in which all things merge—as your dwelling, and let the heart rest in what cannot be avoided while yielding to nature, the way of living among people is complete.

To act without leaving footprints seems easy; to leave no trace in the mind is hard. Urged on by desire, people easily turn to deceit; only when the heart grows still and entrusts itself to the Maker can sham have nowhere to hide. “To fly without wings” means to arrive without forced effort—that is what is called shen (spirit), and it sets up the argument that follows.

To possess knowledge and treat that knowledge as knowledge is the ordinary case; only to know what one does not know is “knowledge of not-knowing,” and that is what truly opens the subtlety of the Dao. Look at a room: where it is empty, light necessarily enters; the room’s emptiness stands for the heart’s still voidness, and from voidness clear awareness arises. That luminous openness in the heart is precisely where blessing may abide. The “stopping” (zhi) spoken of below means resting in emptiness: when the heart can stop in emptiness, it becomes empty; in emptiness it becomes bright. Let the mind harbor even a single clinging thought and it cannot settle—though the body sits, the spirit has already run off.

What the ears hear and the eyes see all penetrate the inner heart; if the heart holds no fixation, then even when ear and eye carry the outer world inward, it is as though nothing were heard or seen. When the heart is empty and still, ghosts and spirits come to dwell—how could human beings fail to be moved in turn?

To live in the human world is to meet care and trouble. Hence the opening of this chapter, through the dialogue between Confucius and Yan Hui, recounts a tyrant’s cruelty and weighs how he might be admonished. Yan Hui’s first proposal—to take an empty, single-minded heart as the starting point—points in the right direction; yet it still belongs to deliberate self-correction and strenuous effort, and has not reached the realm of no-mind. In that case, how can one guarantee that hidden cunning deep within will not stir? Yan Hui then thinks of three ways to preserve himself; Confucius still finds these too many and therefore hard to make work. With such devices, how could a tyrant be transformed? The reason is that the heart has not yet forgotten its fixations.

Here Yan Hui seems to have nowhere further to go. From this we see that for Confucius to transform others, he must lead them straight to the cliff’s edge—to let go and sever the path of the heart—before they can take one more step upward. First bring body and mind into ordered stillness, and only then instruct him: that is the principle of “from clarity to sincerity” (you ming er cheng—first luminous awareness, then genuine integrity).

If die is glossed as “spy,” the sense breaks down; Yan Zhai’s reading as an (peace, settling) fits better. As for the passage “listening stops at the ear, the heart stops at the tally (fu), and on to qi,” some commentators split it into separate doctrines and the meaning no longer holds together. Here we give only the gist, for readers to verify: the ear listens, and what is heard stops at the Way that is heard…

Although one can already listen with the heart, one has only reached harmony with the Dao and still has not fully let go of discrimination. When one advances to the realm of listening with qi, there is nothing that cannot be heard or brought into accord. The spirit-mind ranges everywhere, connects with all things, and blends into the Great Void—the vast, empty realm. In the Great Void, what fixed place could there be? Precisely because there is no fixed place, one can follow all things so that each finds its proper place, while nothing can slip outside this awareness.

What the ear catches in its subtlest reach is taken in by the heart; what the heart meets is qi. When qi is stilled to the utmost, one is without deliberate action and waits upon all things with an empty, tranquil mind. The “vast flood-like qi” (hao ran zhi qi) of which Mencius spoke, filling heaven and earth, expresses this same idea. See how water poured in does not brim over and drawn out is never exhausted; give to others and you yourself grow fuller; it always answers all things yet always stays still. In that case, how could there still be a split between “waiting” and “not waiting”?

Look across the world: all things share one qi; human beings, things, and the Great Void are all held within it. Only emptiness and qi—neither wholly the same nor utterly apart—show forth in each other as substance and function. Hence there is connection wherever one turns. The Dao is neither emptiness nor qi, yet it sets emptiness and qi to work; it softens what is hard under heaven, guides what is solid under heaven, and meets all things with a mind that waits on nothing, so its response to affairs never runs dry.

The subtlety of xin zhai (heart-mind fasting—the practice of cleansing and quieting the mind) lies in this emptiness and stillness. It settles every affair, sees every thing clearly, like a bright mirror lifted from its case or a balance hung in midair; nothing under heaven—light or heavy, fair or foul—escapes it, yet the heart is not tugged by favor, resentment, giving, or grasping. To live in the world in such a state is like wandering at ease.

Yan Hui suddenly understood and said, “Before I grasped what xin zhai does, there really was someone called ‘Hui’; after I grasped it, it was as if ‘Hui’ had never been there.” So we see how fast he took in the teaching. Confucius often said Yan Hui went a whole day without going against himself yet looked like a simpleton—that was Yan Hui no longer holding to “me.”

When Yan Hui was about to go to Wei, Confucius explained all this to him. Day to day, what master and disciple passed on in inner cultivation were the fine points of the learning of nature and life (xingming zhi xue), meant for self-cultivation. Now Yan Hui was going out to serve and help govern the Way, so Confucius laid out in detail how ruler and minister relate, how people deal with one another, and how to advance and withdraw in response—so that body and breath would be in tune, the inside empty and still, the outside compliant. He both helped him reach the working depth of xin zhai and showed him the real hinge by which to transform things. Sages can keep company with Heaven without being dragged down by the troubles of the world for just this reason.

The Lord of She’s son, Gao, was about to go on a mission to Qi. He asked Confucius for advice, saying, “The ruler has sent Zhu Liang”—Gao’s personal name—“on an errand of great weight. Qi will likely treat the envoy with deep respect but may not answer quickly. Even an ordinary person…”

Things have not yet happened—how much more so when one must wait for them to happen? I am deeply anxious about this. You once said to Liang (the person referred to in the conversation): “In handling affairs, great or small, few proceed without winning others’ favor. If the matter fails, one is sure to invite trouble from people; if it succeeds, one is sure to bring trouble from Yin-Yang imbalance. Only a person of De can get through afterward without harm, whether the affair succeeds or fails.

“I eat plain tea and coarse food, and I do not eat well; when I cook, I do not seek refinement. I did not mean to rise early, yet the morning I accepted the appointment I had to drink ice-cold water by evening. Is this inner heat? I have not yet grasped how things really stand, and trouble from Yin-Yang imbalance has already arrived. If the affair fails, there will surely be trouble from people. A minister like me can hardly bear these two kinds of trouble. Can you tell me what to do?”

Kongzi (Confucius) said: “In the world there are two great standards: one is fate (ming), one is righteousness (yi). Loving one’s parents is fate—one cannot cut it from the heart; serving one’s ruler is righteousness—wherever one is, there is the ruler’s charge; one cannot escape from between Heaven and earth. This is called the great standard.

“Therefore, one who serves parents does not pick the place—one can fulfill filial duty at ease wherever one is; this is the utmost of filial piety. One who serves the ruler does not pick the task—whatever arises, one can set the mind at ease and do it; this is the highest expression of loyalty. One who cultivates the inner self does not let joy and sorrow alter one’s bearing toward affairs; understanding that some things cannot be helped, one rests content with what fate allots—this is the highest attainment of De.

“As minister or as son or daughter, there are things one simply must do. Since one acts according to how things really are, one should forget personal safety—how could one cling to life or shrink from death? Go ahead and do it. I will pass on to you what I have heard: with those close at hand, influence one another through sincerity; with those far away, express loyalty in words. Words always pass through others’ mouths. To convey what pleases both sides or angers both sides is the hardest thing under Heaven. When both sides are pleased, the go-between often flatters too much; when both are angry, one often blames too harshly. What is exaggerated is mostly untrue; once untrue, the hearer grows full of doubt; full of doubt, the messenger comes to harm. So the Fayuan says: Convey the constant facts of the matter; do not pass on inflated words—then one may roughly preserve oneself.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: In affairs great or small, few proceed without saying what pleases others; if one tries to win favor to push things through and they fail, the other party will grow angry. This was a predicament the King of Chu could not avoid. Even when the affair succeeded and human trouble was gone, the heart was already torn like ice against charcoal. Only a person of De can leave success and failure to the other party and not be harmed in the mind because of it.

People often assume that things are within their power to accomplish. Now, because he serves his ruler he is anxious; inwardly he is as agitated as if facing a blazing furnace. He eats lightly yet his heart burns hot, and he drinks ice water to quell the inner heat. This shows that he sincerely fears the matter may not succeed. Before success is achieved, he already dreads failure; if it truly fails, he fears that worry will accumulate within while punishment may strike from without.

Confucius told him: Serving the ruler is what fate assigns; serving parents is what righteousness demands. Once these weighty responsibilities fall upon oneself, they are like knots formed by nature—firm and not easily undone. If one could flee the ruler or shirk kin, there would be no need to treat the matter with such gravity. Knowing there is no alternative yet accepting it in peace, as one accepts fate—how then can grief and joy easily sway one? Therefore one should calmly regard what one encounters as the arrangement of fate and not exhaust the mind upon it. Even in serving ordinary people one can be at ease everywhere; how much more so with ruler and parents.

Matters have their time of arrival; principle runs through them from start to finish. One should bear what one meets and go straight ahead to act. If faith in the Dao is not firm, if liking and disliking remain in the heart, if one schemes for life and worries over death, it will be hard to handle affairs well.

Words of anger and joy often exceed the real situation. The one who conveys messages should hold the proper measure and not distort both sides: if excessive words are passed on verbatim, they sound like wild talk; the listener grows suspicious and the messenger may be punished. So heated words spoken in a moment of temper need not be relayed as they stand; one should convey the person’s ordinary, genuine intent. The key is truly expressing the other’s sincerity—only then is one close to thoroughness.

The Lü commentary says: Outer things cannot be guaranteed. Whether great or small, people take success as joy—that is insisting that things must turn out as wished. Whether affairs succeed or fail, one meets the troubles that human affairs and the shifts of yin and yang bring; that is vexation. Only the person of virtue can be without self; without self, one does not cling to success, and then there is no worry born from that. Now before the affair has even begun, worry already makes the inner self burn hot—showing that before meeting the matter itself, one is already trapped by yin-yang change, clinging to the self to the utmost.

Therefore Confucius warned him with “serving parents is fate, serving the ruler is righteousness.” In serving parents, one does not pick between level ground and rough paths; in serving the ruler, one does not pick between hard and easy tasks—one accepts all in peace. That is the depth of loyalty and filial piety. With such a heart in handling affairs, how can joy and sorrow easily sway one? If joy and sorrow are easily set before the eyes, the heart still chooses and cannot bear in peace. One who can serve parents and ruler with a settled heart has nothing he cannot bear in peace. Truly not picking and choosing but bearing in peace, when acting one no longer counts gain and loss to oneself—how could one still be greedy for life and fearful of death?

The Yidu commentary says: Whoever wishes to accomplish something does not fail to hope for success and fear failure.

Whether things succeed or fail, hardship is hard to avoid. Perhaps only those possessed of De (virtue) can escape such afflictions.

Zigao said to Confucius: “My food is coarse and plain, so when I cook I do not keep the fire long, nor do I try to make the meal cool and refined. Yet this morning I received my commission, and by evening I was drinking ice water to quell the heat inside me—so great is my anxiety. Before I have even grasped how matters really stand, I already feel that the shifts of Yin-Yang and every kind of human misfortune are unavoidable. As one who serves a lord, I truly cannot bear it. Please tell me what I should do.”

Confucius told him that ministers and children have great principles they must hold to: a person’s span of life is settled by fate (ming), while the right way to act lies in human duty (yi); a child’s love for parents is an attachment the heart cannot sever; a minister who serves his ruler must not forget that ruler, wherever he may be. The heart-mind is the true master of a person. If one can find this original mind within oneself and act in accord with it, one need not be dragged about by the roles of ruler or parent, but should let things follow their natural course and not be tossed by joy and sorrow.

Some things admit of no remedy. Faced with how things truly are, one should do one’s utmost yet not set one’s own safety at the center; then how could one cling to life or shrink from death?

Confucius also told Zigao that there is a proper way to carry messages between people: when relations are close, you may ask the other to speak plainly; when they are distant, you must not let what you relay become untrue, so faithfulness in transmission is required. Yet when two households pass each other’s words of pleasure and anger, it is hardest to hit the mark; praise pushed too far or blame carried too far both verge on falsehood. Thus the go-between may bring disaster on himself. It is best to convey only the ordinary sense of things and not pass on inflated or distorted words—only then may one perhaps preserve oneself.

Bixu’s commentary says: Not seeking fine cooking and eating plain food were Zigao’s usual habits; it was worry in his heart that made him drink ice water to cool his inner heat. Wishing to escape the troubles brought by Yin-Yang shifts and human affairs, he sought instruction from Confucius.

Confucius told him that the bond between father and son is given by birth and is called ming (fate); the bond between ruler and minister is established through yi (righteous duty) and is called yi in another sense (duty). Between heaven and earth, everyone is tied to a ruler and parents and cannot slip away—this is the great principle that must be kept. Therefore one should not pick and choose one’s circumstances but rest in them; to keep selecting is not true loyalty or filial piety. Hold to one’s original mind, do not let joy and sorrow sway one lightly, and simply keep to the Way and comply with fate.

As a minister, there are indeed things one cannot refuse to do. Shun plowing and fishing, and Yu taming the floods, are examples of giving one’s full duty without regard for personal safety, at peace with ming and yi.

“Mutual trust in dealings” and “fidelity in words” both describe concrete ways of transmitting messages. Observing these practices reveals their root; relaying words is like following footprints—the value lies in hitting the right measure. Going too far or falling short is deviation; once the balance is lost, the messenger may suffer for it.

Zhao’s commentary says: When plans do not succeed, humiliation and punishment follow—this is the calamity one meets in worldly affairs.

If they do succeed, joy and fear intertwine—this is the calamity brought by the interplay of yin and yang. I eat plain food and cook with firewood; I do not crave refinement and cleanliness, which may already count as frugality. At first I had no inner heat illness, yet my chest already feels as if on fire. This shows that one need not wait for success or failure—both kinds of calamity have already fallen on me together. What will you teach me?

Confucius then explained the principles of ming (fate) and yi (righteousness/duty), and used serving parents to illustrate serving a ruler: once you have given your person and become a minister, why cling to your own life? He also taught him the principles of a diplomatic mission: loyalty and trustworthiness above all; when joy and anger rise and fall, be careful in conveying words—only then might you preserve yourself.

Yan Jian said: When one plans for the state and the plan fails, punishment and blame are sure to follow—this is the calamity of acting in the human world. If one toils in mind, reckoning whether things can succeed, and illness comes from excessive worry, that is the calamity of yin and yang out of balance. Since I accepted this mission, I cannot taste my food; anxiety fills my chest—I have not even truly begun the task. If it succeeds, I am already this ill; if it fails, I will again face punishment and blame. Have not both calamities fallen on me? What will you teach me?

Confucius gave him two great precepts. “Precept” means a standard. A person’s fate comes from Heaven; the duty to serve parents comes with life itself, so it cannot be cut off from the heart. As for yi, it is what a person ought to bear; serving the ruler is the weightiest part. When filial duty to parents is fulfilled, whether the ruler sends you east, west, south, or north, you should obey—you cannot pick a place to settle yourself. In serving the ruler, loyalty is primary; even when sorrow and joy appear before you, you should not change because of them. Tasks may be hard or easy, but once they issue from the ruler’s command, they are your own burden to bear; like fate, they cannot be avoided, so accept them in peace. A minister who unluckily meets hardship should simply steady himself and do what must be done—how could he still spare thought for himself?

Zigao was about to go on a mission to Qi and brought what he had heard from Confucius to ask Confucius again. He himself was torn between obeying the mission and inner worry, as if ice and burning coals fought in his heart, and he hoped Confucius would give him a true medicine for care. Confucius told him the two standards, ming and yi: the duty to parents cannot be severed from the heart; in serving the ruler there is no corner of the world to flee to; facing joy, sorrow, and the like, the inner mind should not be shaken by them. These words broadly set out the essentials of how one stands in the world.

Yet the heart is master of all affairs; every change arises from the heart. If one can settle the heart and fulfill what ought to be done, then how to serve ruler and parents becomes clear; since what cannot be changed can only be accepted in peace, how to conduct oneself in daily leisure also becomes clear. Hold fast to the Way…

When the inner mind is deep and steadfast and one can know oneself, one can understand life and death; would such a person still feel joy or aversion because of life and death? This is precisely what is used to instruct those who serve as ministers throughout the realm: when faced with matters hard to rest the heart upon, still to bear them in peace—this is loyalty and filial piety carried to the utmost, and also the furthest reach of how one establishes oneself in the world.

The text then turns to the hardship of setting out on a mission at command and conveying the ruler’s charge, and teaches through a path of thorough caution, hoping that the ruler does not lose virtue and the minister does not disgrace the commission. This instruction goes a step deeper than what was said earlier to Yan Hui. Yan Hui could penetrate the mandate of Heaven and exhaust the limits of heart and spirit, and so was equal to understanding Confucius’s words on “heart fasting” (xin zhai)—making the mind empty and single—and could reach the state of “sitting and forgetting” (zuo wang), forgetting self and outer things and merging with the Dao. Zi Gao, by contrast, could not yet avoid taking success, failure, gain, and harm to heart; therefore Confucius only taught him to convey a mission with care and to preserve the integrity of a minister. From this it is clear that the sage adapts teaching to each person’s endowment and guides them well, step by step.

Nanhuajing Yihai Zuanwei, fascicle 8