《南華真經口義》Vol. 14

Though heaven and earth are vast, their transformations are balanced; though the myriad things are numerous, their governing principle is unified; though the people are multitudinous, their ruler is singular. The ruler should trace his roots to Virtue (De) and ultimately accomplish [his rule] through Heaven (the Dao of nature). Thus it is said that the sovereigns of high antiquity governed the world through non-action (Wuwei), simply by following heavenly Virtue.

The "balanced transformations" refer to how all things are composed of primordial qi; the "unified governance" means that though the myriad things are diverse, they are all governed by the same natural laws. Just as the people cannot have two rulers any more than heaven can have two suns, what heaven endows us with is Virtue. If we trace this Virtue to its source and understand it as spontaneously arising, then human effort cannot forcibly intervene. A ruler who comprehends this principle can govern through non-action, following nature. This state of effortless naturalness is the manifestation of heavenly Virtue. "Mysterious antiquity" refers to the most remote ancient times.

Viewing speech through the Dao establishes the legitimacy of rulers; viewing names through the Dao clarifies the proper relations between ruler and minister; viewing abilities through the Dao enables officials to fulfill their duties; viewing all things through the universal perspective of the Dao allows everything to find its proper place. What pervades heaven and earth is Virtue; what operates through the myriad things is the great Dao; what governs the people is administration; what manifests specialized skills is technique. Techniques should serve administration, administration should accord with righteousness, righteousness should align with Virtue, Virtue should conform to the Dao, and the Dao ultimately follows nature's patterns.

Where there is qi between heaven and earth, there is sound; where there is sound, names arise. Establishing the name "ruler" fixes the proper distinctions in the world. This emerged naturally from the beginning of creation when sounds first appeared. Thus "viewing speech through the Dao" establishes a ruler's legitimacy. "Speech" here means sound, and the Dao means natural patterns. Once names and distinctions exist, the proper relations between ruler and minister naturally emerge, as the Yijing states: "The low and high are displayed, and the noble and humble have their positions." The world's affairs are too numerous for one person to manage alone, so each must contribute according to their heaven-endowed abilities. Thus "viewing abilities through the Dao" enables officials to fulfill their duties. All things exist in complementary pairs—cold and heat, female and male, above and below.

(Continuing from above) Where there is below, there is above; where there is before, there is after; left and right answer to each other everywhere—all of this arises from nature. Hence it is said: when one surveys through the Dao, how the myriad things respond and harmonize is fully complete. These four lines are most subtle, and the literary spirit is purest: Heaven can cover and can sustain; Earth can bear and can complete—this is De in the same sense. “Tong” (通) means “tong” in the sense of sameness (同): among the myriad things, each has its own natural principle at work within it; therefore it is said that what “moves through the myriad things” is the Dao. What was used above to govern the realm—ritual, music, punishment, and policy—are all affairs of ordering the world. Within each affair there are also crafts, according to what each person can do; that is human “skill” (ji). Dao and De are refined; affairs and skills are coarse. If both refined and coarse issue from nature, then skill is affair, affair is art, art is De, De is Dao, and Dao is Heaven. Hence: skill is subsumed in affair, affair in art (yi), art in De, De in Dao, and Dao in Heaven. “Jian” (兼) means merging into one. “Yi” (义) was originally written as “art/craft” (艺); because the sounds are close, it was miscopied as “yi” (义).

Hence it is said: in antiquity those who nurtured the realm had no desires and the realm was naturally sufficient; practiced Wuwei (non-action) and the myriad things transformed of themselves; were deep and still and the common people were naturally at peace. The Record says: penetrate the One and all affairs are finished; attain no-mind in the heart and even ghosts and spirits submit.

“Nurturing the realm” (xu tianxia) is what the Mencius calls “nourishing the realm with goodness.” When I have no desire, the realm is naturally full; when I practice Wuwei, the realm naturally transforms; when I am still, the people are naturally settled. “Deep stillness” (yuanjing) means clear quiescence. All affairs are nothing but one principle; hence penetrating the One and all affairs are complete. What is obtained in oneself—if one can be without mind—not only do people submit, ghosts and spirits submit as well. “The Record says” is like saying “tradition has it thus”; this saying was transmitted from high antiquity, and Zhuangzi cites it to support his own view. These five sentences are extremely pure; the upper three are slightly parallel to the Laozi.

The Master said: The Dao covers and bears the myriad things—how vast! The gentleman cannot fail to open his heart within it (to split open the heart, empty and still, to receive the Dao). “Wuwei” yet going on to “act”—this is called Heaven; “Wuwei” yet going on to “speak”—this is called De; loving people and benefiting things is called benevolence (ren); being different yet able to make them the same is called Great Conduct (daxing); not standing on cliffs and setting oneself apart is called breadth (kuan); having the ten thousand differences is called richness (fu). Therefore holding to De is called discipline (ji), De fulfilled is called establishment (li), following the Dao is called completeness (bei), and not losing the Dao is called correctness (zheng).

(If the scripture still has lines on “correctness” and the like, oral exegesis often links them after “completeness” in explaining “not losing the Dao is called correctness.”)

The general sense is: the gentleman should take Heaven, De, benevolence, Great Conduct, breadth, richness, discipline, establishment, completeness, correctness, and such designations—all in reality return to the one “Dao” and the naturalness of “Wuwei”; one must not cling to names and words and lose the root.

Not having one’s aspirations injured by external things is called “completeness” (wan). When the noble person understands the ten kinds of virtue described below, they can gather all affairs into the heart, so that the heart is vast without limit; and like great waters rushing onward, they ceaselessly interact with the myriad things.

This passage speaks of the realm of the “teacher” (the great Dao, the true master).

“Cutting away the heart” (kouxin): paring off the heart of perception and calculation. Only when this layer of mind is removed can one study the Dao.

“Human naturalness”: acting according to the genuine, natural person one is.

“Heaven”: what is realized from one’s own naturalness need not be talked about at length; hence it is called wuwei (non-action). To be able to speak in this way is called de (virtue/power). “Wuwei in speech” does not mean keeping silent; it means there is no selfish or crafty talk to offer.

“Different yet the same”: outwardly diverse, yet the same in the Dao—hence “different yet the same,” a meaning of great scope.

“Cliff-like difference”: like cliffs, each with its own form.

“Broad”: ample and inclusive. The myriad things are all unlike one another, yet “I” can embrace them all; thus it is said to contain ten thousand differences is called richness—the myriad things are all complete within my heart.

“Order”: pattern and sequence. The virtue one holds, great and small in due arrangement, each in its place, is called grasping the warp of virtue.

“Standing forth”: standing alone in clarity, as if something were set up—virtue is already formed.

Following the Dao, nothing is lacking; completeness means the Dao is fully whole. Completeness in the full sense: external things cannot shake the heart; what is “in me” is rounded—hence not letting things blunt the will is called wan (completeness).

These ten are: Heaven, De, benevolence, greatness, breadth, richness, order, establishment, fullness, and completeness.

“Enfolding”: to store and contain. No affair is left out; all return to the heart—the heart’s greatness has nothing outside it—hence enfolding all affairs, the heart’s greatness.

“Passing”: going, departing, as in “passing like this.” The myriad things come and go without end; I share that same endlessness with them—hence rushing like the passing of the myriad things.

Such a person hides gold in the mountains and pearls in the depths, and does not covet goods and wealth; does not cling to rank and riches; does not rejoice in long life or grieve at early death; does not take success as glory or poverty and hardship as shame; does not treat profit in one lifetime as private gain; does not take ruling the world as personal eminence—eminence would mean being “bright” toward the myriad things in a partial way.

“Storehouse”: gathering and holding. “Life and death the same form”: life and death appear to them as one shape, without separate joy or fear.

Brief notes on terms

• Nanhua Zhenjing: the scripture known as the Zhuangzi, titled in Daoism the “True Scripture of Nanhua.”
• Kouyi: section-by-section explanation of the scripture.
• Kouxin: Zhuangzi’s term for removing prejudice and crafty mind—not literal “cutting out the heart.”
• Wuwei: aligning with nature rather than forcing with private cleverness—not “doing nothing at all.”

This was not Yao’s original intent. With clarity in the breast-mind that shines through heaven and earth, he still did not make himself known by claiming to rule the world. He gathered all things and brought them back to one principle—hence “one dwelling.” Life and death are weighty matters, yet in his own heart-mind they stirred nothing; he saw them as one—hence “the same form.”

The Master (Zhuangzi) said: Dao dwells deep in stillness; it is limpid and pure. Metal and stone cannot sound unless something supports them—so metal and stone can sound; without being struck they do not ring—among all things, who can fix the boundary of what is right and wrong in them?

“Dwelling in the abyss”—still and unmoving, that is settling and stopping. “Limpid in its clarity”—unmixed and unobscured, clear to the bottom. The sounding of metal and stone is also an expression of natural Heaven (the Way of Heaven).

Hence “metal and stone have nothing by which to sound”—the ground of their ability to sound is Dao. Yet though metal and stone can sound, they do not ring unless someone strikes them; human striking is also the stirring of Heaven’s mechanism. These two lines add another layer, just as said before: “How can you know that what I call Heaven is not the human? That what I call the human is not Heaven?” Hence “among all things, who can fix it?”—Heaven cannot leave the human, nor the human Heaven; the meaning is the same, only the wording in this book seems unusual.

A person of kingly De (Virtue/Power): he goes forth with plainness as his root and takes engaging in achievements as shame; he stands in the root of things, and his wisdom penetrates the wondrous. Thus his De is vast. The movement of his heart-mind arises because outer things move and draw a response—hence “the heart-mind’s going forth has things’ coloration to draw on”—coloration means being moved and touched; going forth means responding. All things are born of creation and transformation; whatever has form shares this Dao; yet unless one realizes Dao for oneself, this Dao cannot be made clear—that is what “not knowing” means. The next line “life”…

A person of kingly De (continued): vast and easy, suddenly emerging, surging into motion, and all things follow along—this is what is meant by a person of kingly De.

On Sages and the Way

A sage may be described thus: born receiving the central qi of Heaven and Earth, keeping the body whole, probing the first principle of life; establishing virtue and making clear the great Way of spontaneity—this is not what ordinary people can do. “Vast and open” (dangdang) depicts that magnitude.

Suddenly emerging, the myriad things appear; stirring vigorously—that is the sense of acting only when there is no other choice; the myriad things all follow—that is the sage moving once, and the myriad things looking up and following.

In deep obscurity one looks; in utter silence one listens—in what cannot be seen, only then can one see clearly; in what cannot be heard, only then can one hear harmony. Hence “deep upon deep,” yet able to respond to the myriad things; “spirit upon spirit,” yet able to condense into the subtle. Thus he meets the myriad things: himself utmost empty and without form, yet able to supply their needs; always deploying, always responding, yet making them each return to their place. Large or small, long or short, far or near—none can be fixed by one measure.

“Obscure darkness” is the realm without form or image. Looking within the formless, one yet sees clearly—as Laozi said, “Indistinct, indistinct, yet within it there is image.” Others think there is no sound; I alone can hear it like human voices in harmony—not by looking at outer things, but by seeing one’s own clarity; not by listening to outer things, but by hearing one’s own harmony.

“Deep upon deep” is entering mystery and subtlety, yet still responding to the myriad things, coarse and fine both cared for. “Spirit” is the formless; “essence” (jing) is vital qi; showing through the formless, there is the sense of qi above form and qi below form. What is stored in the heart is empty; what responds to outer things is solid. Without ceasing, therefore one can supply all requests from “utmost non-being”; always deploying, yet making the myriad return to their lodging. One cannot fix it in words: sometimes small, sometimes large, sometimes long, sometimes short, sometimes far, sometimes near—all mean responding according to time and circumstance.

“Far-reaching” (xiuyuan) should be read together with “far and near” for the meaning to be complete. Here only “far-reaching” is said—“far” is long; if contrasted with “small, large, long, short” above, “near” should also be included, otherwise it seems the text hurried and did not check. But these two or three passages of loose prose are extremely refined in wording; others rarely have such force.

The Yellow Emperor Loses the Dark Pearl

The Yellow Emperor traveled to the north of the Red Water, climbed the heights of Kunlun, looked south, then returned—and lost the “dark pearl” (xuanzhu). He sent Knowledge (Zhi) to find it; it could not be found. He sent Sharp Eyes (Lizhu) to find it; it could not be found. He sent Glib Tongue (Chigou) to find it; still it could not be found. Finally he sent Formless Semblance (Xiangwang) to find it—and then it was obtained.

I. Xiangwang Obtains the Mysterious Pearl

The Yellow Emperor said: How strange—could Xiangwang really have obtained the Mysterious Pearl?

This passage means: seeking the Dao does not depend on cleverness or words. As Buddhist scripture puts it, using a mind full of calculation to seek great perfect awakening is like trying to set Mount Sumeru ablaze with a firefly’s light—such images only serve to carry the point. The Mysterious Pearl stands for the Dao; “knowing” and “perceiving” stand for cleverness and awareness; Lizhu stands for sharp discernment; Chigou stands for eloquent disputation. Xiangwang is “no-mind” (wuxin). Cleverness, awareness, sharp sight, and glib argument cannot attain the Dao; one must be without deliberate mind—then it can be attained. Images of this kind are extreme and striking.

II. Yao Asks Xu You: Can Nieque “Align with Heaven”?

Yao’s teacher was Xu You; Xu You’s teacher was Nieque; Nieque’s teacher was Wang Ni; Wang Ni’s teacher was Beiyi.

Yao asked Xu You: Can Nieque “align with Heaven”? I wish to send Wang Ni to invite him forth.

Xu You said: Dangerous—you will ruin the great undertaking! This man Nieque is clever, discerning, quick and sharp; his native endowment surpasses ordinary people—yet he meets Heaven’s mandate with human contrivance, what is called “receiving Heaven through the human.” He thinks he knows how to forbid faults, but does not know how faults arise—can such a one align with Heaven?

He would also “ride the human and be without Heaven”: relying only on human affairs, disregarding Heaven’s pattern.

He would also “take the self as root yet be alien in form”: clinging to one’s own body while estranged from the forms of all things.

He would also “honor knowing and race like fire”: esteeming cleverness and galloping like flame.

He would also “serve as thread-handler”: acting as servant to fine threads (dragged along by petty matters).

He would also “be the tether of things”: becoming the rope by which outer things are tied (bound by objects).

He would also “look all around and respond to things”: glancing everywhere, answering whatever appears.

He would also “answer the many’s appropriateness”: catering to what the multitude finds fitting.

He would also “transform with things yet never begin to have constancy”: changing with objects without ever holding to what is constant.

A person like this—how could he align with Heaven?

That said, where people have clans they have ancestors; one may become a “father of the multitude” (zhongfu)—one to whom the many look as lord—but cannot become “father of the fathers of the multitude.” As a model of order and disorder, facing north brings calamity; facing south makes one a usurper. (The sense: overstepping one’s place and sitting in the wrong position invites disaster.)

Commentary on the meaning (yiyi)

Each segment unfolds by inference, each more startling than the last. If one says the outer chapters are rougher than the inner chapters, can that really stand? “Align with Heaven” (pei tian) is as in the Documents: “the rites of Yin ascend to pair with Heaven”—ruling all beneath Heaven and standing in correspondence with Heaven. Yao means to invite and bring forth. Ji and dai both convey peril and ruin. “Clever, discerning, and knowing” refers to native sharpness; gei is nimble response, shu is urgency, min is quick perception. In meeting affairs, because his nature is keen, he answers swiftly—that is where he exceeds others. But if one only cultivates human affairs to answer Heaven’s pattern, that is “receiving Heaven through the human.” Shen is to understand clearly; “forbidding faults” is as when the heart still holds something, not yet transformed. If one knew where faults come from, there would be no need to rely on forcible prohibition. “Ride the human and be without Heaven” is to let human affairs override Heaven’s pattern.

Modern Interpretation

(Upper section: On “riding,” “going,” and being enslaved)

What is called “Heaven” here means exhausting purposeful action (youwei) while never grasping wuwei (non-action).

“Riding” and “going” are also a kind of going. In human affairs it is like a person riding on their own back: there is an “I” that sends this “I” out to cope with outer things—hence the idea that “it is still this one body, yet the form shifts without end.”

“Fire rushing” (huochi) is like fire galloping; it speaks of a frantic mind. To prize one’s own cleverness and hurry to use it is called “honoring knowledge and rushing like fire.”

“Enslaved by loose ends” (xushi): xu means tips and branches. To be tugged along by side issues and not know the root is to be enslaved by those ends.

“Bunched nature” (congxing): the heart-mind is wound into a tangle of miscellaneous business.

“Fettered by things” (wuxie): tasks and outer objects tie and hobble you.

When things arrive from every direction and you must look about and answer, that is “looking around on four sides as things respond.” Each matter gets a response, each taking what fits— that is “responding to the many as each requires.”

Someone drowned in things and cut off from the constant way cannot settle the mind to respond; hence “they transform with things and never yet have constancy.” Chang (constancy) is originally oneness; “never yet have constancy” means there is never a steady standard.

(In the commentator’s voice) One “that” and seven “directions” in one breath—when has writing ever been like this? The turn: though still not equal to Heaven, there is something to honor. When a clan gathers it must honor the founding ancestor; so the four words “having a clan, having an ancestor” are plain, yet land with startling force.

“Father of the masses” (zhongfu): one who comes from among the people yet can stand as father to the masses— a generation above. “Father of the fathers of the masses” is higher still; the father of those fathers is Heaven, that is Nature.

“Leader” (shuai) is like a commander: put such a person to use in the world and they can bring order or bring chaos. Facing north is the minister’s place, facing south the ruler’s. Take this as the way of minister or of ruler and harm follows on both sides—hence “the disaster of facing north, the thief of facing south.”

(Lower section: Yao and the man of Huafeng)

Yao went sightseeing in the land of Hua. The border warden there said to him, “Ah! Sage! Allow me to offer blessings to the sage.”

“May the sage live long.” Yao said: No need.

“May the sage be rich.” Yao said: No need.

“May the sage have many sons.” Yao said: No need.

The warden said, “Long life, wealth, and many sons are what people all desire—why do you alone refuse?”

Yao said, “Many sons bring much fear; wealth brings much trouble; long life brings much disgrace. None of these three is a path for nurturing virtue, so I decline.”

The warden said, “At first I took you for a sage; now I see you are a gentleman. What Heaven bestows on a sage, the people naturally share in—why pray for long life, wealth, or many sons? I am going back now.”

This passage comes from an kouyi-style oral commentary on the Nanhua Zhenjing (the Zhuangzi). Below, modern vernacular restates both the scripture and the commentary in one clear account.

On “many sons, wealth, and long life”

Ordinary people fear most: no sons, poverty, and a short life. Zhuangzi deliberately inverts this—when the myriad people are born, Heaven surely allots each person a zhifen (allotted role): the part one is meant to play and the path one is to walk. If there are many sons and each already has his allotted role, why dread having no heir? Likewise, once one is wealthy and lets others share so that each gets what is due, what task cannot be accomplished?

Wealth, long life, and many sons are what the world dreams of; those who study the Dao often disdain even mentioning them. Zhuangzi deliberately argues from the reverse side, which only heightens the perspective: Heaven births the myriad people and must give each a role—like an infant at birth, whose portion of food and clothing is already there. The old saying “the hundred grasses dread spring rain” means the same: each thing has its season and its nourishment. “Rich, yet letting people divide” means handing out what should go to others so each keeps his place, without monopolizing everything.

Heaven, the sage, and the “three afflictions”

The sage settles wherever a quail would settle; like a chick just hatched, he eats when food appears (without scrambling for it); like a bird in flight, he leaves no trace. When the Way prevails in the world, the myriad things and I each find our place and flourish together; when the Way does not prevail, one cultivates virtue and withdraws in seclusion. Having lived a thousand years, weary of the dusty world, one departs—riding white clouds upward to the Dixiang (the Emperor’s Realm: the lofty, empty immortal realm spoken of in Daoism). Then the “three afflictions” never reach the body.

The “three afflictions” are the sufferings of the stages of youth, prime, and old age. The Surangama Sutra compares the Ganges to the phases of human life—another way of naming such cares. “The body free from calamity” is simply finding joy in oneself. The text first speaks of long life, wealth, and many sons, then reverses the order below, and varies the wording—another of Zhuangzi’s rhetorical turns.

The border guard and Yao

The fengren (border guard) left Yao; Yao ran after him to ask. The guard only said, “Please withdraw.” Yao still wanted to ask; the guard did not answer and only cried “Withdraw”—meaning: go back; do not pursue. Jieyu (the Madman of Chu) fled when he met Confucius; the old man with the hoe on his shoulder walked away as soon as he appeared. Master Yichuan (Song-dynasty Cheng Yi) said one must not speak casually with “fellow passengers on the same boat”—the same sort of reserve. The true person does not lightly respond to worldly questions; gesture and conduct carry the meaning.

Bo Cheng Zi Gao

While Yao ruled the world, Bo Cheng Zi Gao was made a feudal lord. Yao passed the throne to Shun, and Shun to Yu; Bo Cheng Zi Gao resigned his lordship and went to farm. Yu went to see him and found him plowing in the wilds. Yu hurried to stand downwind and asked his advice, saying: In the past, when Yao ruled, you were made a lord; Yao passed to Shun, and Shun to me—yet you resigned and took up the plow…

(In the Zhuangzi, the episode continues with Bo Cheng Zi Gao criticizing “only after virtue has declined do we reward,” and so on; this kouyi stops at the scene of Yu’s question.)

Brief notes on terms

When the regional lords came to plow the ceremonial field, someone dared to ask what it was all about. Zigao said: In antiquity, when Yao governed the realm, the people exhorted one another even without rewards, and held reverence even without punishments. Now you use rewards and punishments, yet the people are no longer humane—virtue from then on declined, punishments from then on were fixed, and the disorders of later ages began here. Sir, be on your way; do not obstruct my work! Bent low over the plow, he kept farming and never looked back.

This passage again treats how the world worsens from age to age: already under Yu it was no longer what it had been under Yao and Shun. In “do not neglect my affair,” luò means to neglect or waste—in other words, I have no time to argue with you for fear of neglecting the plowing. Chàngyǐ is the image of plowing with head bowed. Yao did without rewards and punishments; relying on them now, the people are less humane—the point is roughly that rewards and punishments may be worse than having none at all, rather like the idea that one must ultimately bring it about that there is no litigation (bì yě shǐ wú sòng), only here the lesson is put in the mouths of Yao, Shun, and Yu.

At the Primordial Beginning (tàichū)—when heaven and earth were still undivided and creation had just begun—there was only non-being (wú); being (yǒu) had not yet arisen, nor had any name appeared. This is how the originating One came forth. The One had not yet taken shape, and only then could the myriad things be born from it—this is called De (Virtue/Power). While form had not yet appeared, though there seemed to be distinction, yet all remained seamless, without gap—this is called Ming (destiny). Primordial Qi stayed and flowed, transforming and giving birth to things; once things had taken shape, the patterns of their life-process were called form (xíng). The body preserved Shen (spirit); each thing had its own norm—this is called Xing (nature). When Xing is cultivated and returns to De, De at its utmost merges again with the Primordial Beginning. To merge is to be empty; emptiness is vast. Closing the beak and crying out, merging with heaven and earth—such merging is continuous as if enduring, like dullness, like dimness—this is called Mysterious De (xuándé), identical with Great Compliance (dàshùn) (the inherent order of heaven and earth).

Tàichū is the moment when creation begins. Then there was only wú; the word yǒu did not yet exist. While yǒu was still like wú, how could there be names? Only thus was there a place for the One to emerge. This One in fact comes from wú; hence “there is a One, yet it has not taken shape”—only then can the myriad things be born from it, and only then is there yǒu. Each thing has what belongs to it; all of this is De. “Not yet shaped” refers to the moment when the One has just arisen: as if there were distinction, yet it cannot be separated—hence “seamless as if naturally so.” Under the character qiě in “qiěrán wú jiàn,” one may mentally supply a word: wú jiàn is the undifferentiated; distinction is the brilliantly clear (cǎnrán). This word Ming is the mandate of heaven—the Ming that belongs to so-called Xing. “Staying and moving to give birth to things” is the movement of primordial Qi turning without rest; once born as human affairs and the myriad things, that movement settles here—hence “staying and moving to give birth to things.” The two words “staying and moving” are used with extreme subtlety and should not be read in passing.

Vernacular Reading of Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Meanings of the True Scripture of Southern Florescence)

I. Motion, Stillness, Form, Nature, and “Returning to De”

Motion belongs to Yang and tends to linger in motion; stillness belongs to Yin. These lines already carry the idea that “Yang in motion gives birth, Yin in stillness completes”: once things take concrete shape, the principle of generation and growth is fully present. When the movement of primordial Qi becomes “my” life, that is called form. The commentators insist that the word form must be read this way—a point rarely made so explicitly in other books.

When the form of the body preserves Shen (spirit) and each thing has its pattern and measure, that is called nature (xing). This parallels the Book of Odes—“things have their patterns”—and what the Zuo Commentary says: a person receives the central Qi of Heaven and Earth and is born, and only then has standards for action and dignified bearing. The body is Qi; within Qi there is Shen; what we call pattern and measure is all Shen at work—the first stirrings of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are already in nature. If we use this book’s own vocabulary for these four lines: the word De in the first line should in fact be read as nature; and this word nature is the level at which nature functions as efficacy. So when reading this work, the sense of each term must be seen through at a glance, as one whole.

“Cultivate nature and return to De” means to cultivate this nature so as to recover the De of the natural state. When De is fulfilled and exhausted, one is the same as “before there were things.” Returning to De is like restoring ritual propriety. The utmost is called “arrival”; to be the same as before there were things is emptiness; emptiness then becomes vast. Both empty and vast, this is “speech that does not speak”—it matches beak-cry: the beak (hui) does not speak by nature, yet when it cries, there is speech. To put it as “speech that does not speak” is a deliberate sidestep in the author’s wording; then another turn: “beak-cry in accord,” where this word accord is not the same accord as above. The beak’s cry, speaking without speaking, is in accord with the natural; in accord with the natural, it is in accord with Heaven and Earth. Hence beak-cry in accord—in accord with Heaven and Earth.

Mínmín (same sound as mǐnmǐn), like mǐnmǐn—muddled, dim, as if foolish and dull—describes this state of accord. This is what is called mysterious and subtle De, the same as great accord (dashun); great accord is the principle of primordial nature.

II. Confucius Asks Laozi: Can Governing the Way Be Like “Following One Another”?

Confucius asked Laozi: “Suppose someone governs the Way like people imitating and following each other step by step—is that acceptable?” Laozi said: “It can be, and it cannot.”

Disputers say: to analyze things like “separating hard and white”—as if suspended in empty air—if one lives like that, can one count as a sage?

Laozi said: “That is petty clerks swapping tricks, people with hands and feet tied by ropes—wearing out the body and harming the spirit. Like a dog trained to catch raccoon dogs, thinking all day; like monkeys coming down from the hills, showing off clever agility and convenience—all of that sort, not the way of the sage.”

Notes (for reading the commentary)

• Separating hard and white: a Mohist/logician dispute over whether “hard” and “white” can be separated as two.
• Following one another (xiangfang): mutual imitation, keeping in step.
• Cultivating nature and returning to De, beak-cry in accord: phrasing from Zhuangzi-related texts on De and the natural; the kouyi explains them by pairing with Confucian terms such as nature, pattern, and restoring ritual.

Zhuangzi says: I tell you—there are truths you cannot hear, and words you cannot utter.

Many beings have heads and feet yet lack mind and ears; the formed and the formless, the shapeless that still subsist, are all there—yet no one can truly master their motion and rest, birth and death, decline and rise. These are not matters people can fully spell out as “how things come to be so.”

If you entrust the handling of affairs to “the human,” you must forget external things and go further to forget Heaven; that state is called forgetting the self. Whoever can forget the self is said to enter Heaven (ru yu tian)—to merge with the natural order.

On the commentary: “If we set each other free, emperor and vassal share one thread”—means measuring one another by standards we can both accept: using what I call acceptable to judge the other side, what I call “so” to expose what is “not so.” Debators’ talk, though it weaves “hard and white, sameness and difference” into many strands, can still be sorted out as if hung in the vault of heaven, as though truth could be laid bare for all to see—that is still analysis and splitting (lixi), as the previous chapter already said.

“Cheng si”: anxious brooding only arises once one is bound. “Coming from the mountain forest”: said of being taken from the hills—a figure for having no say in one’s fate. An earlier line speaks of “holding a young deer (ni)”; here it says “holding a civet (li)”—“ni” is probably a mistake for “li.”

“What cannot be heard, what cannot be spoken” conveys that nature (xing) and the Dao of Heaven cannot be wholly reached by ear or by speech.

“Having head and toes”: from crown to sole, human shape is the same. “Without mind, without ears”: a figure for freedom from deluded intent and partial listening—not literal absence of organs.

“Without form, without shape, yet all exist”: what abides by itself, still present above the level of the formed—here the formed and the formless-yet-real are discussed together; the line is doctrinally sharp.

“Almost none”: in the world there are scarcely any who truly live this way.

“Motion and rest,” “decline and rise”: going and stopping in daily life; falling and rising, ruin and success. People see motion and rest, life and death, decline and rise as phenomena, but not why there is motion and rest, life and death, decline and rise—Han Yu’s “Preface on Sending Off Wen Chang” (“why rivers flow, why the world teems with people”) touches the same insight; most readers today simply pass it by.

“There is governance in the human”: zhi is conducting human affairs; ren is those affairs. Because one responds to human affairs, one need not everywhere impose one’s own mind—hence governance lies in the human.

To forget not only things but Heaven as well is forgetting the self; forgetting the self is release from clinging to self. “Entering Heaven” means returning to ziran (spontaneous nature), no longer forcing heaven, earth, and beings apart by one’s own will.

The earlier passage speaks of “entering the realm of the non-human,” while here it says “forgetting Heaven,” and then “entering Heaven”—only one who can “enter” becomes one with the Way of Heaven; one must first “forget,” and only then can there be unity. Yet in “The Normal Course for Rulers and Kings” (Ying Di Wang) it also says: “having never stepped out of the non-human, one has not yet been able to forget Heaven; having never entered the non-human”—that refers to a standpoint above creation and transformation (zaohua), and the wording is not the same as “entering Heaven” here. These are places where Zhuangzi deliberately shifts and ripples the sense of the text to provoke reflection; one must not cling to the literal surface. Once you fixate on it, you can no longer read Zhuangzi through.

Jiang Lü Mian went to see Ji Che and said: The lord of Lu sent me to receive instruction; I could not decline, and I have already reported to him face to face. I do not know whether what I said was appropriate—please allow me to state it again. I said to the lord of Lu: You must personally practice respectfulness and frugality, promote those who are upright and loyal, show no favoritism or private bias, and then which of the people would dare not keep to their proper place? Ji Che clutched his belly and laughed, saying: Speech like yours, applied to the virtue of true kingship, is like a mantis raising its forelegs to block a chariot wheel—it simply cannot bear the weight. Moreover, if you govern the state in that way, the position you yourself occupy becomes dangerous instead. If you build a high terrace to display yourself and attract onlookers, those who flock to you will only increase—the more things accumulate, the more footprints gather upon them. Jiang Lü Mian was alarmed and uneasy, saying: In the face of your words, Mian is utterly at a loss; even so, I still ask the master to speak in the manner of “wind”—that is, the broad drift of the idea—and explain a little more.

(Note: Here “jian” means to present or report one’s views; “promoting those who are upright and loyal” means elevating persons of public spirit and loyalty; “wu a si” means not showing partiality or private favor; “ji” means to settle and pacify. Ji Che’s “juju” is the sound of laughing aloud. The mantis “nu bi” blocking the cart is an image of strength too slight for a great task. Zhuangzi often uses the word “nu” (to swell or flare up); earlier the mantis flares its arms, elsewhere plants and trees “flare” into life—here “nu bi” is Zhuangzi’s habitual hyperbolic brushwork. If one followed Mian’s program, one’s own footing would seem precarious; building a terrace to gaze at things, fame would swell and the world would press in—shallow skill drawing ever more hangers-on is self-burdening. “Xixi” describes a startled look; hearing this, one does not know which way to turn, hence “mang ruo” (dazed). “Feng” means the surviving drift or main thrust—namely, a request that the master outline the essentials.)

Ji Che said: When a great sage governs the world, he sways and unsettles people’s hearts, leads them to form custom through nurture and to transform their habits, until the multitude extinguishes that “thief heart” (the heart of stealing advantage, scheming, and calculation) and each advances the original, singular aspiration proper to himself, as if it issued from innate nature (tianxing) itself.

Plain-Language Commentary

(On “acting of oneself” and transformation)

When rulers simply act in accord with nature, the people never know why things are as they are—as if it had always been so. Would such a person treat Yao and Shun’s way of teaching the people as an elder to look up to and willingly place himself below them? “To wish to be one with De and let the heart rest there” means wanting to merge with natural virtue so the heart can settle.

“Shake” means to shift or unsettle; “thieving heart” is the heart of contrived action and private interest. “Solitary resolve” is a uniquely attained purpose; “morning clarity” is dawn-like awakening; “seeing the solitary” is seeing the one Dao. Once the people have been transformed, they change their customs, all extinguish private hearts and return to the Dao—like an inborn knowing that is theirs without realizing it comes from the ruler’s transforming influence, hence “they do not know what makes it so.” Taking Yao and Shun as lofty and oneself as low is why it says “they treat Yao and Shun’s teaching as an elder and themselves as the younger”—meaning Yao and Shun could not surpass me; I am not beneath Yao and Shun. The next line “this too is a fondness for the strange” means a taste for odd novelty. “Mingxing” suggests bowing the head in willing submission. “Min” here means “people”: if ordinary people could be like this, how would they accept Yao and Shun’s teaching as elder and put themselves below? When one is the same as natural De, the heart is at peace. “Rest” means to dwell in peace. “Wish” means the sage wishes the people to be like this.

Zigong’s southern journey and the old man of Hanyin

Zigong traveled south to Chu; on his way back to Jin he met an old man at Hanyin who was about to open vegetable beds in his garden. He dug a tunnel into the well, hauled water up in a jar, and poured it on the plots—sweat streaming, much effort for little result. Zigong said: “There is a device that can water a hundred beds in a day, with little effort and great effect. Would you not want to use it?”

The gardener looked up and asked: “What is it?” Zigong said: “You hollow wood into a lever—heavy at the back, light in front—drawing water like a pull, as fast as boiling; it is called a shadoof.”

The old man’s face changed; he laughed coldly: “I heard from my teacher: whoever uses machines must have machine-like tasks; whoever has machine-like tasks must have a machine heart. When the machine heart lives in the breast, pure simplicity is incomplete; when pure simplicity is incomplete, spirit is unsettled; and where spirit is unsettled, the Dao cannot be borne. It is not that I do not know—I am ashamed and will not do it.”

Zigong was abashed and downcast, silent. After a while the old man asked: “What do you do?” Zigong said: “I am a disciple of Kong Qiu (Confucius).” The old man said: “Are you not the sort who study widely to rival the sages, speak cleverly to outshine the crowd, and pluck a single string in mournful song to peddle your name across the world? You would forget spirit, let qi sink, forget the body, and yet…”

(Continuing the story of the old man of Hanyin)

You can barely even take care of your own body. How could you possibly find the time to govern the world? Go on your way, and don’t keep me from my work.

(Commentary)

“Raised bed” means the ridge between fields; “between” refers to the space between the ridges. “Digging a channel” means digging a trench to divert water, like making an irrigation ditch. “Draw up” means pulling something upward, and “overflow” means water rising and spilling over. The whole passage says that drawing water is very easy. These lines vividly portray the water-lifting lever as a clever device whose user thinks he has found a good way to get things done. A water-lifting lever is a mechanical tool, and using it involves mechanical contrivance. One uses it because one’s mind is caught up in contrivance. Once the mind is caught up in contrivance, its original purity is no longer whole: it cannot remain single-minded, empty, and clear. When the mind and spirit are unsettled, one cannot embrace stillness and hold to unity. “The Dao does not carry” means that a mind like this cannot bear the Dao. In study and practice, these points call for careful reflection.

“Why are you here?” is like the questions “What are you doing?” and “Where are you from?” in the Analects. “Emulating the sage” means admiring the sages and wanting to learn from them. “At ease” describes someone who is self-satisfied and showy. “Singing a mournful song to a lone string” describes someone who, though misunderstood by others, keeps talking and playing music to himself, as if making a show of his reputation. It is not a suitable comparison for Confucius striking a chime in the state of Wei. “Forget your spirit and vital energy” is like telling someone to shut off their intelligence and keen discernment; “let your body fall away” means forgetting yourself. If you can do this, you may come close to the Way. Otherwise, if you cannot even govern yourself, how can you govern others? This is a jab at the claim to be “our sage”—a reference to Confucius and his school. “Do not keep me from my work” means, “Don’t delay what I’m doing.”

Zigong was ashamed, his face drained of color. He was shaken and ill at ease, and it took him thirty li to recover. The disciples asked, “Who was that man just now? Why did you change your expression as soon as you saw him, and remain out of sorts all day?” Confucius said, “At first I thought you, Master, were the only person of great stature in the world. I never imagined there could be someone like him. I have heard that actions should be feasible and achievements attainable, with little effort producing great results: this is the Way of the sage. But that man is nothing like this. One who holds to the Dao must have De complete. When De is complete, the body is complete; when the body is complete, the spirit is complete; and when the spirit is complete, one is on the Way of the sage. He makes his home among people and goes about with the common folk, yet no one knows where he is headed. How deep and whole his heart is! Those who pursue profit and clever contrivances must have forgotten the depth within the heart of such a person.

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi, chapter "Heaven and Earth" (Tiandi), and describes an old man who lives in seclusion by the Han-yin (the north bank of the Han River) and seeks no profit, along with Confucius's assessment of him.

He lodges his body in the world and conducts himself like ordinary people, yet he is unaware of doing so. His movements are free-roaming wanderings. He does not know what he pursues, he is unrestrained, and he does not know where he is headed. Therefore it is said that he lives as a guest in the world and walks alongside the multitude, yet does not know where he is going.

"Chunbei chunyi" (wholly complete, pure, and undivided) means perfectly whole, purely unified, and without any deficiency. "Mang hu wu xingji zhi mao" (vast and formless, leaving no traces) means he is vast and dim, with no trail to follow. "Gongli jiqiao bi wang" (utilitarian scheming and clever contrivance must be forgotten): the character wang here is read as wang, meaning "to have none," and the phrase says that such a person necessarily has no thought of chasing profit or playing with cleverness.

As for such a person, he does not do what runs against his will, and he does not act against his original heart. Even when the whole world praises him, he remains disdainful and pays no heed. Even when the whole world criticizes him, he accepts it calmly. The praise and blame of the world add nothing to him and subtract nothing from him, and this is what it means to be truly a person of De (Virtue). "Wo zhi wei fengbo zhi min" (those I call people of the wind and waves) refers, by contrast, to those who rise and fall with worldly praise and blame, unable to govern themselves.

"Fu ren zhe" (this person) refers to the old man of Han-yin, whose story appears in the Zhuangzi in the form of an encounter with Zigong. Praise and blame do not increase or diminish him. He does not even care about praise, much less about slander. Words accepted by the world are described as "de qi suowei" (obtaining what is said), and words not accepted are described as "shi qi suowei" (losing what is said). "Fengbo" (wind and waves) describes people who rise and fall with the gains and losses of the secular world, driven by affairs and unable to settle themselves.

Zigong returned to Lu and told Confucius about this. Confucius said, "That man is merely one who borrows the practice of Hundun (Chaos)." Hundun refers to the undifferentiated state at the very beginning of heaven and earth, and here it stands for the Dao of high antiquity. Such a person has grasped only one side of this Dao and not the other: he cultivates his inner mind but does not govern external things. One who can attain flawless clarity, return to simplicity, and achieve wuwei (non-action) by returning to naturalness, preserving his nature and embracing his spirit while wandering among common people, is the true cultivator of the Dao. "You are probably surprised, aren't you?" Confucius continued. Your surprise is natural, for you do not yet understand this Dao, and how could you and I be sufficient to know it?

The passage now turns to the story of Zhunmang. Zhunmang, a deity of the East, was about to travel east to the Dahe (Great Ravine), a gorge said to lie in the depths of the Eastern Sea. On the way, at the shore of the Eastern Sea, he met Yuanfeng, the wind deity of the East. Yuanfeng asked where he was going, and he replied that he was going to the Great Ravine. Yuanfeng then asked what he would do there, and Zhunmang began to describe the wonders of the Great Ravine. Water pours into it yet it never overflows, and water is drawn from it yet it never runs dry. This is its distinctive quality.

Sage Governance (Sheng Zhi)

When he was about to travel to the Great Ravine—a metaphor for the vast sea—Yuan Feng said: “Master, do you perhaps pay no mind to those ‘people with horizontal eyes’? I would like to hear what sage governance is.”

Zhun Mang said: “What is called sage governance is to employ the hundred officials and distribute governance so each holds his post and nothing is out of place; to select and promote talent so each gives full play to his ability and no worthy person is overlooked. Seeing situations clearly, one acts only as reason and circumstance allow—hence the saying ‘fully reveal the facts of the case and do what can be done.’ What is done and said arises naturally, for oneself rather than for deliberate effect on others, and the world transforms of itself. With a wave of the hand, a glance, or a pointed finger, the people in all directions hurry to respond—what the Book of Documents calls ‘only movement, grand response’ is exactly this. ‘Hand waving and looking where one points’ means issuing commands and orders, with others bowing and answering in accord. The ancient emperors governed the world roughly in this way; this is sage governance.”

(Note: The Great Ravine stands for the great sea; “people with horizontal eyes” is a coinage in Zhuangzi’s text, describing worldly people. Traveling to the Great Ravine means the human world is not worth fixating on—one must go to a vaster realm to see.)

The Person of De (De Ren)

He asked again: “I wish to hear about the person of De.”

Zhun Mang said: “The person of De dwells without deliberate thought, acts without anxious concern, and keeps no distinction in the heart between right and wrong, good and bad—close to the Buddhist phrase ‘do not think good, do not think evil.’ Within the four seas, sharing benefit with others is joy, sharing provision with others is peace. Chaochao (forlorn and unsupported), like an infant who has lost its mother; tangtang (dazed and adrift), like one who has lost the road while walking—both describe being without heart for the mundane world, as if one were in the world only from necessity. Wealth is more than enough yet one does not know where it comes from; food and drink suffice yet one does not know how they are obtained—such is the portrait of the person of De.”

(By this reading, the person of De stands a step above sage governance in attainment: sage governance still involves officials, promotion, and commanding the four directions; the person of De is nearer to no thought, no worry, sharing benefit with things, forgetting self and things alike.)

Stars Revolving

(This section continues the earlier discussion of primordial governance and how, once De (Virtue/Power) decayed, ritual and form arose.)

Eating Qi, Riding the Clouds

“Eating qi” means taking in only the natural qi of heaven and earth, without eating the five grains—already knowing the way of “returning to emptiness.” “Riding the clouds” describes the body becoming light and ascending, keeping pace with cloud-vapor.

“Those who do not leave their true nature” means people who never depart from their inherent true nature.

The Four Sages of Antiquity and Supreme Order

In remote antiquity there were four sages (likely figures such as the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun, representing ideal rule). Then De had not yet decayed, and people throughout the world often gave forth a full, resonant laugh—not a forced smile, but the ease of heart-qi unobstructed, with nothing pent up.

Later, once De broke down, ritual and form flourished. People began to keep kin at a distance, to detest humaneness (ren), to cast aside ritual and music; they used outward forms to constrain others and ritual law to suppress temperament; they refined penal codes, attacked one another’s conduct, and formed factions; they indulged slander, harmed the loyal and good, and repressed native disposition—until such things gradually became the usual kit for “governing the world.”

Then someone asked: who still calls that condition a “great age of order”?

When the Four Virtues Had Not Yet Decayed

In the supreme order of remote antiquity, minds were upright and took the natural as their standard; they had not yet been twisted by ritual and law.

Then there were four kinds of pure virtue:

• Ren (humaneness): genuinely loving others from within;
• Yi (rightness): acting in fitting ways;
• Zhong (loyalty): single-mindedness toward others, without deceit;
• Xin (trustworthiness): words and deeds aligned.

“Pure zhong” is loyalty pushed to the limit; “trustworthiness of trustworthiness” is faithfulness with nothing left to add—both are states of mind before ritual and form had carved them apart.

After De Decays, Ritual Appears

Only when “De” breaks down is “Li (ritual)” used to patch the breach. Ritual is remedy after the failure of virtue, not the root of governing well. Hence the Zhuangzi line of thought often criticizes the ritual, music, penal names, and titles of the age of Yu and the Duke of Zhou as “medicine after illness”—inferior to primordial “governance through wuwei (non-action),” when people were not sick and needed no deliberate repair.

Echo of the Later Passage on “Gate Without a Ghost”

Later, Chizhang Manji says King Wu’s campaigns cannot match You Yu’s yielding by bow; Gate Without a Ghost (Men Wugui) objects: if the world were already evenly ordered, why would You Yu need to “govern” it again? No sore—why apply salve; no baldness—why wear a wig; no illness—why summon a physician—to insist on “governing the world” is already to treat the world as a patient. When a filial son brews medicine for his father, his face is drawn with worry; the sage is ashamed of that—if the father were never ill, why such anxious care? Thus the sage takes “having a mind set on governing the world” as something shameful.

(The phrase rendered in some texts as involving “修进也與羞” is here read, following the commentary, as “the filial son prepares medicine out of devoted care, his father’s face is haggard—and the sage is ashamed,” and the line is smoothed accordingly.)

If you want the Nanhua zhenjing kouyi continued section by section, specify the next passage of the classic text.

Interchangeability of “Tong” and “Gu”

Here “tong” (同) and “gu” (古) are used interchangeably. “Xiu” (羞) means shame or disgrace.

The Age of Supreme Virtue

In an age of supreme virtue, worthies were not exalted and the capable were not put to use. Those above were like bare branches; the people were like wild deer.

They cultivated the body and kept upright conduct, yet did not know that this was called “righteousness” (yi). They cherished one another in kinship, yet did not know that this was called “benevolence” (ren). They dealt with one another in sincerity, yet did not know that this was called “loyalty” (zhong). They acted in fitting ways, yet did not know that this was called “trustworthiness” (xin). Living beings stirred clumsily and helped one another, yet did not treat such help as a gift or favor. Thus their actions left no tracks, and their deeds won no transmitted fame. The whole world was uniformly pure and thick, without the names of worthies and capability—hence the saying that worthies were not honored and the capable were not employed.

“Biaozhi” (标枝) means a withered branch: one sees only the branch, not the leaves, hence the name. Wild deer and bare branches are both images of being without emotion or desire. “Duanzheng” (端正) means cultivating the person; “xiang’ai” (相爱) means mutual affection among kin; “xiangyu yi shi” (相与以实) means treating one another with honesty; “zhong” (忠) arises from the heart-mind; “dang” (当) means that everything is appropriate. The four instances of “did not know” below mean that at that time there were not yet these labels of ren, yi, zhong, and xin. “Chundong” (蠢动) refers to living people; “xiangshi” (相使) means befriending and assisting one another; “bu yi wei ci” (不以为赐) means not treating mutual aid as reward or grace. “Actions without tracks, deeds without transmission” means that at that time there were not yet affairs of right and wrong, praise and blame. All of the above describes the remotest antiquity.

A Filial Son Does Not Flatter His Parents; a Loyal Minister Does Not Fawn on His Lord

A filial son does not fawn upon his parents, and a loyal minister does not flatter his lord—this is how father and son, lord and minister, ought to be.

If whatever the parents say is taken as right and whatever they do is taken as good, the world will call one an unfilial son. If whatever the lord says is taken as right and whatever he does is taken as good, the world will call one a disloyal minister. Yet who knows that one must be like this? What the world holds to be right is called right; what it holds to be good is called good—and such people are not labeled “those who lead others into flattery.”

Then is the world in fact stricter to obey than one’s own parents and lord? If someone says you are “guiding” people, you flush with anger; if someone says you are “fawning,” you likewise bristle—yet you spend a whole life guiding people and a whole life fawning.

“Does not fawn” and “does not flatter” mean being able to remonstrate with parents and lord. Taking whatever they say as right and whatever they do as good, without knowing remonstrance as such—in the presence of lord and parents, those who remonstrate are deemed correct and those who do not are deemed wrong. Yet toward the world, I do as it holds good and assent to what it holds right, and the world is stricter than lord and parents? The gist is roughly this: what people today call the Dao is mostly what the world agrees on together; what is affirmed as right is not necessarily only what lord and parents intend.

Vernacular Reading of Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Meaning of the True Classic of Southern Florescence)

Section 1 (On the Dao, the secular world, and daoyu)

When one acts from oneself and is of the same kind as the Creator, the Dao spoken of here—if it merely goes along with the secular world—then everything one does in a lifetime is no more than guiding and pandering to worldly ways. If someone calls this daoyu (leading flattery or servile guidance), one will surely take offense; yet in conduct throughout life one still cannot break out of this pattern and in the end remains no different from the secular world.

The sage takes what is universally accepted as principle to be the Dao; Zhuangzi, by contrast, holds that the Dao must stand a level above the present age. He therefore looks down a notch on the ancient emperors, kings, and sages, and from there develops his argument—the surge of his prose is like breaking waves and commands admiration, yet his words also run to excess.

Section 2 (He bi shi ci ju zhong and chui yishang)

“He bi shi ci ju zhong” (uniting analogies to establish doctrine, adorning language, and gathering a crowd): bringing together parables to teach, polishing one’s rhetoric, and assembling students under one’s gate. Judged by initial intent, he meant to tower a generation above his time; judged by the final outcome, he still could not leave behind the people of his age. Beginning and end, root and branch, do not match—hence “bu xiang zuo” (they do not align; literally, they do not “sit together”), meaning they are inconsistent.

“Chui yishang, she caise, dong rongmao” (draping robes in repose, setting out colors, moving one’s countenance): this refers to Confucian ritual dress and ceremonial appearance; gently leading and instructing learners, and thus taken as flattering the age. All of this is aimed at criticizing the sages. What the teacher affirms, followers all affirm; what the teacher rejects, followers all reject—and those followers are mostly vulgar, mediocre people. When one’s own right and wrong line up with theirs, one is a vulgar person too. To keep company with mediocrities and yet not count oneself mediocre is the height of foolishness and lack of insight.

In the commentator’s view, Zhuangzi means that what he alone had grasped others did not know; because he differed from others, he gave voice to such heated language—not a fair and measured argument.

Section 3 (Great confusion and great foolishness)

Those who know they are foolish are not the greatly foolish; those who know they are confused are not the greatly confused. The greatly confused never understand for a whole lifetime; the greatly foolish never gain clarity for a whole lifetime.

(The lines that follow, such as “three men and one,” belong to the oral commentary continuing Zhuangzi’s original text and are omitted here.)

Note

Terms such as daoyu, chui yishang, caise, and bu xiang zuo are kept and briefly glossed. On “he bi shi ci ju zhong,” the oral commentary stresses how Zhuangzi’s critique of Confucians connects to the logic of “beginning and end not aligning”; the vernacular explanation follows that line and does not add new doctrine.

1. Three Travel Together, Two Lose the Way

When people lose their way on the path they ought to take, they may still sometimes arrive; if only a few are confused, travel remains barely possible. But when three walk together and two of them are lost, the journey becomes exhausting yet never reaches the goal. The confused side has the upper hand.

Today, the whole world is captivated by this kind of teaching. Though I know in my heart where one should go, I can hardly pull the people of this age back—is that not deeply lamentable?

2. “Great Music,” Zheyang and Huanghua, and “Ultimate Words”

“Great music” (ancient refined music, profound discourse) does not enter the ears of back alleys; once people hear the alley tunes “Zheyang” and “Huanghua,” they burst into laughter. So: words of the utmost height cannot hold the hearts of the multitude—you speak to them, and they cannot take it in. “Zheyang” and “Huanghua” stand for common sayings and vulgar opinion; when vulgar opinion prevails, ultimate words go into hiding.

3. “Two with Drooping Heels” and Copyist Error (Oral Meaning and Textual Criticism)

“Two fu-zhong confused” should read “two with drooping heels confused”—the same two people as in the earlier “two confused.” Drooping heels means sitting with feet hanging down and refusing to step forward; both are trapped in confusion, so what should be reached is never reached (as in the earlier “toil without arrival”). In transmission, drooping heels was miscopied as fu zhong (earthen jars and bells), which makes no sense; using the earlier line to correct the later, “drooping heels” is clearly right.

4. Forcing Speech Adds Another Layer of Confusion

Knowing full well that people cannot be made to understand, yet still insisting on speaking—that adds yet another layer of confusion. This is Zhuangzi lamenting himself: having seen that it cannot be said, yet still trying to say it, amounts to creating one more confusion of one’s own.

To release (shi) means to let go, to set aside. Not to push (bu tui) means there is no need to force or argue. Bi means near; bi you means pressing worry. If one simply does not speak and does not push, one need not fret all day long. This is language of self-consolation.

5. The Son of a Vile Man (An Example of Inserting “之”)

“The man of vile kind” (li zhi ren) means people of the bad sort (the particle zhi in the middle follows the same grammar as “Li Ji” earlier). When a wicked man bears a son at midnight, he hurries to light a lamp to look—afraid the child will resemble himself. That is another parable; the oral explanation here briefly notes the grammar along the way.

Note: The oral meaning of this passage focuses on textual criticism of “drooping heels” versus “fu zhong,” threading the Zhuangzi’s self-account from “the world confused → ultimate words hidden → better to release and let go,” and highlighting the introspection that “to insist on speaking is to add one more confusion.”

This is a case where they themselves know it is evil, while those who are deluded do not—even less aware than someone who has been punished (who at least knows they did wrong).

The text above says that “great delusion never clears in a lifetime, great foolishness never becomes sharp in a lifetime,” then adds two similes like this without tying them off with a neat conclusion—that is the author’s brushwork, deliberately leaving blank space.

A tree of a hundred years is split to make a sacrificial wine vessel (xi zun), painted with blue and yellow, its patterns rich and splendid; the leftover scraps are thrown into a ditch. Compare the sacrificial vessel with the broken timber in the ditch: in beauty and ugliness they are worlds apart, yet in “having lost original nature” they are the same.

Robber Zhi on the one hand and Zeng Shen and Shi Yu on the other differ vastly in conduct and righteousness, yet in “having lost original nature” they are equally the same.

There are five ways of losing original nature. First, the five colors confuse the eyes and make sight unclear. Second, the five sounds disturb the ears and make hearing dull. Third, the five odors assail the nose, causing nasal congestion and pressure in the forehead. Fourth, the five flavors foul the mouth and spoil its keenness. Fifth, likes and dislikes (qu she—pursuing and rejecting) unsettle the mind and make innate nature fly loose. All five are harms to life. Yet Yang Zhu and Mo Di were just about to stand on tiptoe and fancy they had attained something—that is not what I call “attainment.” If those who “attain” are still trapped and worn down, can it still be called attainment? Then a turtledove or owl in a cage could also be called “having attained.”

Broken timber in the ditch: what remains after the tree is split to make the sacrificial vessel. One and the same tree, made into a ritual vessel or cast into a ditch—honor and disgrace differ, but in the end both are dead wood. This matches the point of “hoarding grain while losing the sheep.”

The five colors, five sounds, five odors, and five flavors are all human artifice, hence they are said to disturb original nature. The text groups these four with “qu she” (pursuing and rejecting) to demote their status relative to the deeper harm.

Trapped and congested (kun dui): what strikes against a person through the nose; pressure in the forehead (zhong song): from the nose up into the brow. Fouling the mouth (zhuo kou): defiling the mouth; spoiling keenness (li shuang): losing its sharp, clear sensitivity. Qu she: right and wrong, likes and dislikes. Because pursuing and rejecting unsettle the spirit, natural endowment is lost—hence “qu she unsettle the mind and make nature fly loose.” Yang–Mo teaching is precisely qu she unsettling the mind, yet they take themselves for sublime; trapped by their own doctrines, they still call it “self-attainment”—if that counts as attainment, then beasts in cages have attained too. The censure here is extremely sharp. (Note: some editions read “zhuo kou” [pecking the mouth] for “fouling the mouth”; that reading is incorrect.)

Moreover, with pursuing and rejecting, sounds and colors, they build fences inside the heart; with leather caps, caps adorned with egret plumes, tablet and sash, they bind and trim the outward bearing. Inside, packed full as behind a stockade; outside, wrapped in layer upon layer of cords—yet they still put on a grave, dignified air.

Leather cap and egret-plume cap (pi bian he guan): leather headgear and hats decorated with egret feathers; inserting the tablet and sash adornment (jin hu shen xiu): holding the court tablet, tying the sash, polishing outward appearance; stockade fence (chai zha): like palings that confine the inner life; heavy cords and bindings (chong mo jiao): multiple ropes; grave and composed (huan huan): a solemn, dignified manner.

Yet if someone is clearly bound in ropes yet imagines they have attained the Dao, how is that different from a criminal with hands tied behind the back, or a tiger or leopard shut in a sack and pen, who fancy themselves free?

They show grasping and rejecting in their words, display it on their faces, wrangle over right and wrong, and choke with resentment in the chest—hence the saying: they pack the heart full with grasping and rejecting, fame, and the lure of sound and color.

The leather cap, egret-feather crown, tablet held at the belt, and long sash are all garb of the Confucian. Putting on hat and robe means keeping to ritual and propriety, forcing oneself into constraint—hence the saying: they bind the outward form with ceremony. Holding the tablet at the belt means grasping the court tablet; the long sash is the extended girdle. The heart packed tight like a fence of firewood means the chest is not at ease; the outer form tied down by ritual text is like a criminal in bonds. Moyi (纆缴) means ropes and fetters. Wanwan (皖皖) is the look of staring wide-eyed. Others see them tormenting themselves as if in ropes, yet they think themselves right—how is that not the same as the prisoner or the tiger and leopard in sack and cage who take themselves to be triumphant? To fiercely attack the Yang and Mo schools is already going too far. Crossing the arms means binding the hands behind the back; lizhi (历指) means the hands are bound so the fingers can be counted. Speaking of sack and pen together is like the common saying “a monkey in a cloth bag.”

Note: This passage from Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Commentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence) uses Confucian dress and ritual as outward constraint and an inward “fence of firewood” in the heart to criticize those who cling to outward forms, quarrel over right and wrong, and yet believe they have attained the Way. Through images such as fetters and sack-and-pen, it shows that to feel accomplished while still in bondage is no different from a criminal or a caged beast. Yang and Mo refer to the teachings of Yang Zhu and Mozi.