《南華真經口義》Vol. 25

Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Explanations of the True Classic of Nanhua), Scroll 25 · Miscellaneous Chapters: “Xu Wugui”

Yan Zhai Lin Xiyi

Xu Wugui, introduced by Nü Shang, went to see Marquis Wu of Wei. The marquis greeted him: “Sir, you have had a hard journey—laboring and wearing yourself out in the mountains and forests; now you are willing to come and see me.”

Xu Wugui said: “It is rather I who will labor for you. What labor have you for me? If you indulge desires and feed likes and dislikes, the root of life and nature is ill; if you suppress desires and rein in likes and dislikes, ears and eyes are no longer sound. In both cases it is I who will labor for you—what labor have you for me?”

The marquis was downcast and said nothing. After a while Xu Wugui said: “I once spoke to you of how I judge dogs: the lowest sort, content once fed, has the de (virtue/power) of a wildcat; the middle sort fixes its gaze like staring at the sun; the highest sort seems as if it had lost one of its limbs.

【Kouyi】 Indulging desires and feeding likes and dislikes destroys the principle of life and nature; stripping them away at once disturbs the normal state of ear and eye—both are sickness. (“掔” qian means to withdraw and restrain.) “Wildcat de” means the dog’s quality matches a wildcat’s—it is the lowest grade. “Gazing at the sun” is concentrating the spirit upward, eyes unblinking. “One” means one’s inborn nature; such a life is like a dead dog, hence “as if it had lost one limb,” like the wooden cock. This is the highest grade.

“I judge dogs, yet I judge horses still better. When I judge horses: straight fits the line, curved fits the hook, square fits the square, round fits the compass—that is a state horse (a qualified fine steed), but still not equal to a horse of the realm. A horse of the realm has heaven-given talent: seemingly anxious, seemingly lost, as if missing a limb; when such a horse runs, it leaves dust behind and outstrips all trace—you cannot tell where it goes.”

The marquis was greatly pleased and laughed.

【Kouyi】 A horse matching compass, square, line, and hook means every part of the body is correct—so the text uses square, round, straight, and curved as figures of speech; one need not map them literally onto the horse’s body. “Heaven-given talent” is talent bestowed by heaven. “Seemingly anxious, seemingly lost” is the sense of blank confusion; “missing one limb” is the same as “lost one limb.” “Not knowing where it goes” and “not knowing where it stops” are both borrowed images. The marquis grasped the idea of mindless naturalness, hence his great delight and laughter.

Xu Wugui came out. Nü Shang asked: “Sir, by yourself, what did you use to move our ruler?”

Those who try to persuade our ruler go on at length about the Odes, Documents, Rites, and Music; others bring out the Golden Board and the Six Bowcases—court-held secret texts of the Grand Duke’s military arts. People who have served the sovereign in this way and won great success are beyond counting, yet our lord has never been seen to crack a smile. What did you say today that pleased him so?

Xu Wugui said: I will speak plainly—I only sized up the man and the situation, much as one judges dogs or horses.

Nü Shang asked: Is that all?

Xu Wugui said: Have you not heard of people from Yue stranded far from home? After only a few days away, they are glad to meet someone they once knew; after a month or two, they are glad to meet someone they merely saw back home; after a full year, they are glad to see anyone who looks a bit like a fellow countryman. The longer one is away from one’s native soil, does one not yearn all the more for human company?

Again: someone who has hidden in a deep mountain hollow blocks the narrow runs of weasels and martens with brush, curls up in the emptiness, and suddenly hears human footsteps—then leaps up with joy. How much more when brothers and kin murmur close beside the ear? The ruler has long lost his original authenticity; should he not be spoken to in a true person’s voice, softly at his ear? He catches a little of such speech and is like the hermit in the empty valley who delights at the sound of feet—hence his mood today.

Key points from the notes (in plain language): The Golden Board and Six Bowcases are names for the Grand Duke’s military writings, kept in the royal archives; “golden board” suggests a sealed treasury text, like classics locked in a golden casket or stone chamber. “Weaving back and forth” means piling argument on argument; there is no need to read “horizontal” and “vertical” as labels for the Odes and Documents versus the Six Bowcases. “Serving” here means attending the ruler and acting on one’s counsel, with real results—hence “great merit.” “Showing teeth” means breaking into a smile. “Stranded people” are exiles from Yue; “those once known” are old acquaintances, “those once seen” are people only met in passing at home, and “those who resemble people” are faces that look like fellow townsfolk. The narrow paths of weasels and martens are game trails in the hills; “blocking” is stuffing them shut; “lingering half-risen” (踉) describes fatigue that wants to move yet holds still, lying low in the ravine. “Empty” is the empty valley: hearing footsteps brings joy even when the walker is no old friend or townsman—this images how Marquis Wu, long cut off from his true self, rejoices at a real person’s words as at a human step in a void. Chan teachers sometimes say “the long-absent guest forgets home,” in a similar vein. “Murmuring and clearing the throat” (謦欬) is the low sound of speech at the ear.

The Marquis of Wu asked: Does the flavor of this meat mean that ordinary people can also share in the blessings of the state?

Xu Wugui said: I come from a poor and humble background and have never dared to eat the ruler’s wine and meat for nothing. I came this time because I wished to share a little of your burden.

The Marquis asked: How so? Why trouble yourself on my account?

Xu Wugui said: What is burdened is your shen (spirit)—the inner master and mental life—and your xing (form), the physical body. The Marquis asked: What do you mean?

Xu Wugui said: What heaven and earth “nourish” is all life, all human beings; thus “the nourishment of heaven and earth” is also one whole. “One” means parity, with no ranking of high and low: merely standing on high does not truly make a person “long”; merely staying below does not truly make a person “short.” You alone are lord of a realm of ten thousand chariots, yet you make the whole people suffer in order to supply your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Shen will not approve of such a way of living—shen delights in harmony and detests selfish partiality; partiality is illness. That is why I came to counsel you. This illness is yours alone; what do you think?

The Marquis said: I have long wished to see you, Master. I want to love the people, act with righteousness, and yanbing (cease warfare)—is that acceptable?

Xu Wugui said: It is not. “Loving the people” is often where harming the people begins; “acting with righteousness and ceasing warfare” is often the root from which armies are raised again. If you start from these slogans, success will be hard. Whenever a fine name is turned into a fixed practice, it becomes a usable “implement” and a usable label; even if you perform benevolence and righteousness, you will mostly be close to pretense. Xing (form) will cling to a certain image, gong (merit) will cling to display, bian (change/contention) will cling to outward struggle. Do not array crane formations before the ornate gate-tower; do not line up warhorses on the temple altar; do not stash resentment inside what you have gained; do not rely on craft, conspiracy, and armed force to overpower others. To nourish private desire by killing other men’s soldiers and seizing other men’s land is to contend with shen, without knowing which side counts as “winning”—how ugly! If you can stop clinging here: cultivate sincerity in the breast to respond to the qing (disposition/truth) of heaven and earth, and no longer stir up the life and death of the people—then why must you still talk of yanbing?

Summary of oral meaning (woven into the reading above): “Bin” (guest) and “bin” (to reject) share the sense of setting aside and not taking; “yang” (nourish) refers to sustaining life and living beings. The Marquis’s question about “the taste of meat” and “blessings for the altars of soil and grain” asks whether high and low alike share heaven-and-earth’s grace. Xu Wugui answers with “burdening shen and xing” to shift the topic from flavor on the tongue to whether body and mind are afflicted by selfish desire. “Standing high does not make one long, dwelling low does not make one short” means noble and common are alike as human beings—rank cannot fix true stature; when one man as ruler feeds one body with a whole state, shen does not assent, hence illness. “He” (harmony) is parity with all things; “jian” (selfishness) is partiality; partiality injures shen. On “loving the people, righteousness, and ceasing warfare,” the Zhuangzi strand (as the oral gloss explains) holds that nominal goodness often breeds real harm, that fine names become “implements” and draw near to fraud; it urges the Marquis not to glorify military display, not to hide resentment in gain, not to win by scheming and battle, but to answer heaven and earth with inner sincerity—once the people are no longer tossed between life and death, ceasing warfare is no longer a separate project.

Oral Exegesis of the Nanhua Zhenjing (Southern Florescent True Scripture) — Plain-Language Reading

Why does the text say the illness lies in “exhausting the people”? The scripture means that the ruler’s own disease is precisely this: laboring the populace. To set one’s heart on “loving the people” is often where harming the people begins; to set one’s heart on “ceasing war and laying down arms” is often where taking up arms begins. Intentions of this kind only make danger grow, and true accomplishment remains out of reach.

What we call beautiful or ugly, success or failure, all hang on deliberate action (youwei) and leaving traces—that is why such things are called a “vessel” (qi). To act with a mind bent on doing and to carry out deeds that leave a mark is not what is meant by “where one passes, things transform” (suo guo zhe hua)—going along with things until they change of themselves. Hence “when form is fixed, it forges form”: form is pinned down and artificially shaped; fixing and holding means clinging to a single intent, settled and unwilling to turn. When the heart does not turn, coercion, aggression, resentment, and craving flare up; they wound the inner life first—hence “when completion is fixed, aggression is already there.”

Change (bian) here means being pulled and disturbed by outer things; when heart and things struggle against each other, that is outer warfare (wai zhan). He Lie and Yu Li are names of battle arrays; foot soldiers mean infantry, ji means mounted troops. Li qiao is the gate-tower of the palace; zi tan is a place of sacrifice—in antiquity sacrifice was often performed at the luqin (main chamber), so the point is inside the palace itself. The gist: if the ruler’s heart fights things, then within a single room it is as if infantry and cavalry were drawn up in the front ranks—there is nowhere that is not a field of contention. The Buddhist saying that “everything is made by the mind” captures the same idea.

Where there is gain, there is loss—gain is the favorable turn, loss the adverse one; without gain there is no loss. Hence “do not harbor rebellion within gain.” The line connects well to what follows. A scheming, clever heart—stratagem springs from cleverness, and war springs from stratagem. Relying on this to seek victory over others: though one slaughters the people and annexes their land to please eye and ear, it looks like winning, yet one does not see that the breast has been stirred by things—it is form warring with spirit (shen). Outwardly one wins, inwardly spirit is exhausted. To defeat others yet weary one’s own spirit—what is gain, what is loss? Hence “one does not know which is better”—which could count as the good?

If this too is counted as “victory,” on what grounds is it victory? Hence “where does the harm of victory lie?” “Do not persist (wu yi)”—the text warns the ruler: do not go this way. Cultivate only innate sincerity (benran zhi cheng), respond to the realities of heaven and earth as they naturally are, and have no rubbing or resistance toward things—that is winning well without contending (bu zheng er shan sheng). When I can win without contending, the people have already left the ground of death and each attains life—why still chase after “laying down arms”?

Plain-Language Reading of the Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi

The Scripture Narrative

Huangdi was on his way to Mt. Juci to visit Da Kui, a figure said to have attained the Dao. Fang Ming drove the carriage, Chang Yu rode beside him, Zhang Ruo and Xi Peng led the horses in front, and Kun Lu and Hua Ji followed behind. When they reached the outskirts of Xiangcheng, all seven sages—Huangdi and the six companions named above—lost their way and did not know whom to ask for directions. They happened upon a boy tending horses and asked him the way.

The boy asked, “Do you know Mt. Juci?” They answered, “We do.” He asked again, “Do you know where Da Kui lives?” They answered, “We do.”

Huangdi said, “How strange! You not only know Mt. Juci but also where Da Kui dwells. May I ask: how should one govern all under heaven?”

The boy said, “Governing all under heaven is no more than knowing the road—as with me—so what need is there for fuss? When I was young I traveled within the four quarters of heaven and earth; later I fell ill with dim eyes, unable to see the road clearly and obstructed by external things. An elder taught me: one should roam the wilds of Xiangcheng as if riding the chariot of the sun. Now my illness has eased somewhat, and I am again about to wander beyond the four quarters of heaven and earth. Governing all under heaven is likewise—why should I meddle?”

Huangdi said, “Governing all under heaven is indeed not your affair, but please still explain the way of ruling.” The boy declined. Huangdi asked again, “How does governing all under heaven differ from herding horses? It is merely removing the horse that harms the herd.”

Huangdi bowed twice, touching his forehead to the ground, honored the boy as Celestial Master (Tianshi), and withdrew.

Main Points of the Oral Commentary (Kouyi)

“The seven sages” refers to Huangdi, Fang Ming, Chang Yu, Zhang Ruo, Xi Peng, Kun Lu, and Hua Ji. These names are mostly allegorical and need not all be taken as historical persons. Forcing an interpretation such as reading Da Kui as “a glimpse of the great Dao” also seems strained.

“Dim eyes” and “riding the sun”: dim eyes means still being burdened by things within the six directions and feeling obscured; being able to leave this affliction and wander in nature is to be “outside the six directions.” The point is that those who govern should likewise not be trapped within what has form and substance.

“Not your affair”: you are a person beyond the conventional world; though you do not personally govern the state, you are still asked to set the principle straight.

The horse-herding metaphor: when horses graze in a herd, each follows water and grass according to its nature; one only removes the horse that harms the herd—that is enough for the art of herding. This matches the idea of “shepherding sheep by whipping those behind”—merely driving the stragglers. The meaning is the same.

“Celestial Master (Tianshi)”: taking as teacher the person who unites heaven and humanity—one who is at one with nature.

Closing Line (Classic Text Linked to the Passage Above)

A person skilled in schemes is unhappy without shifts in thought; a debater is not pleased without orderly talk. (This line often continues into a discussion of how the sage is not moved by fame, profit, or power; the original text here is incomplete.)

Brief Summary

Lost on the road, they asked a horse-tending boy; the boy used “knowing the road is enough, no need for excess” and “leaving illness to wander beyond the bounds” to illustrate that ruling need not be laden with elaborate measures, and he also used “herding horses by removing the harmful horse” to show that ruling lies in following nature and removing harm—whereupon Huangdi honored him as Celestial Master. The oral commentary stresses that names and things are often allegorical; the crux is shedding the burden of things and following nature—not literal philological dissection.

First Section

If they cannot argue over the smallest fraction or contend over right and wrong with others, they are not satisfied; if they have no occasion to humiliate or cross-examine others, they are not satisfied either—such people are all hemmed in by external things.

“Hundredfold changes of thought” means the mind turns out endless schemes and shifts constantly; “ordered sequence of discourse” means arranging speech in clear, logical order. Ling means to bully or overpower; sui (誶) means to question or challenge sharply. Those who love scrutiny always fight others over the tiniest measures. These three—loving elaborate thought, loving ordered talk, loving sharp disputation—each take pride in its own strength, which is why it was said earlier that “without them they are not happy”: without these things they cannot be content. They are people wrapped in desire for things, hence “confined by things” (you yu wu)—trapped within theworld of objects.

Second Section: Various “World-Engaged” Types

World-recruiting types: they raise a banner and make a name in the world—people who crave reputation.

Court-rising types: they distinguish themselves and establish standing in the government.

Middle folk: ordinary people who take rank and salary as their glory.

Sinew-and-strength types: the strong and capable, who boast of rescuing others from danger.

Brave types: warriors who are stirred up when they see hardship.

Arms-and-armor types: those who delight in campaigning and battle.

Withered-and-withered types: recluses, gaunt in body, who lodge their fame in their hearts (su ming).

Legalist types: followers of the legalist line, who mostly seek to govern affairs and extend governance widely.

Ritual-and-teaching types: the ritualist school, who prize respectful bearing—holding the countenance in check and polishing the outer appearance.

Benevolence-and-righteousness types: those who value social ties and mutual dealings (gui ji).

Third Section: Farmers, Merchants, Commoners, and Artisans

Farmers are not pleased unless they have plowing and opening wasteland to do; merchants are not pleased unless they have market trade to do. Commoners must have unceasing work from morning to night before they will urge themselves on; the hundred crafts must have tools and skills before they feel bold (they take pride in their craft).

Fourth Section: Greed, Boastfulness, and “Power-and-Thing Followers”

When wealth is not piled up, the greedy worry; when power is not supreme enough (bu you), the boastful and extravagant grieve. You means “to an extreme”—if power is not pushed to the utmost height, they are distressed. What one leans on is called shi (power/position); what is amassed is called wu (things/wealth); tu means to follow or flock after. Shi-wu zhi tu—“followers of power and things”—are people who attach themselves to gates of wealth and rank and take pleasure in shiftiness and fraud (le bian). The boastful and extravagant flock to power; once power slips away they turn sorrowful.

Vernacular Commentary on the Nanhua Zhenjing (Zhuangzi)

On “Joy” and “Followers of Power and Things”

“Joy” here refers to people who cling to others—like petty persons: restless, ill at ease with stillness, and mostly dragged along by others. Only when the “master” gives them something to do do they feel they have “gotten their way.” So the text says: those who rely on power and on external things take “change” as their joy. From here upward, this matches the three lines earlier about “not rejoicing”; the meaning is the same, only the phrasing shifts between long and short—typical of commentators’ style.

“When the times use you, you cannot practice Wuwei”

When the times use you—the age pushes you on until even your own body is not your own; even if you wish for Wuwei (non-action), you cannot achieve it. It is like the course of a year: things grow in sequence, and the changes they undergo are not decided by any single thing—hence following the comparison of the year, not making things depend on change. “Not making things depend on change” means change is not something the thing itself wills—the line above explains it by analogy. Driving their form and nature: body and mind are driven and run; sunk among the myriad things: buried in things and unable to emerge; never turning back for a lifetime: never knowing to return. “Turn back” here is close to what later Buddhists called “turning the light to shine within”—gathering the mind back. How lamentable.

Zhuangzi and Huizi on “Archery”

Zhuangzi said: If an archer who does not first aim and then hit the mark still counts as “good at archery,” then everyone under heaven is Hou Yi—is that acceptable?

Huizi said: Yes.

Zhuangzi said: If there is no shared “public right” under heaven, and each person only upholds their own “right,” then everyone under heaven is Yao—is that acceptable?

Huizi said: Yes.

Zhuangzi said: Then among Ru (Confucian), Mo (Mohist), Yang (Yang Zhu), Bing (Gongsun Bing), and you, Huizi—five schools in all—who is “right”? Perhaps someone like Lu Ju? His disciple said: I have obtained the Master’s Dao—I can cook in a cauldron in winter and make ice in summer.

Lu Ju said: You are using yang to summon yang and yin to summon yin; that is not the Dao I speak of. Let me show you my Dao—

So he tuned the zither: one string discarded in the hall, one in the room; pluck the gong note and the gong sounds, pluck the jiao note and the jiao sounds—the pitch and mode align. If you retune only one string, it no longer matches the five tones; yet with one strum, all twenty-five strings move. You do not hear an extra, alien sound, yet the “lord of the tone” is already present.

(Zhuangzi asks Huizi:) If it were really as you said—that “everyone is right”—could it be like this?

Notes on “Aim first, then hit,” etc.

Aim first, then hit: first fix the target (di), then strike it.

If one shoots without aiming (wu ming er she), and every hit is called Hou Yi—that is archery as metaphor: with no shared standard, whoever claims to hit the mark counts as “good at archery.” The later image of tuning the zither and the twenty-five strings says: true Dao is whole mutual resonance, not each side clutching one part while claiming to have the Dao.

(The preceding line is a metaphor for what follows; the prose is extremely refined.)

Since the world has no unified standard of “right” and “wrong,” each person clings to his own view and everyone imagines himself as correct as Yao. Yang Zhu, Gongsun Long, Mozi, Yang Zhu, and Gongsun Long again associate with people of Hui Shi’s kind; with doctrines so divergent, who actually holds the true measure?

It is like refusing to cook by fire in deep winter yet trying to freeze water in midsummer—going against the season, and seemingly impossible. Yet at the winter solstice yang is already stirring, and at the summer solstice yin is already stirring: calling yang with yang, winter need not be cold; calling yin with yin, summer need not be hot. Though it looks untimely, there is a principle of mutual resonance. Hence “this is not the Dao I speak of”—meaning their arts and methods are not yet on a high enough level.

“Set aside” means: place one zither in the hall and another in the room; though far apart, plucking this one makes that one vibrate—gong answers gong, jiao answers jiao, because the pitches match, as if to say “it is easy.” Tune only one string without fixing it to a single note among the five tones, so whether you play gong or zhi it works—hence “my note has no fixed place.” Here, plucking one string sets all twenty-five distant strings in motion; compared with “only gong moves when you play gong, only jiao when you play jiao,” this is harder still. But in principle, gong, shang, jiao, zhi, and yu are all “sound” as sound—so “the lord of tones” never leaves the sound on the string; hence “never different from sound.” In this, how is it unlike summoning yin with yin and yang with yang?

Lu Ju then thought he had won the debate, and his disciples each affirmed their own “right” and denied the real “right.” To go on like that is deviant doctrine. What Hui Shi calls “right” is no more than this. Lu Ju is the same.

Hui Shi said: Nowadays the Confucians, Mohists, Yangists, Gongsun Long, and the rest want to oppose me in debate, crush me with words, and overpower me with reputation—yet they have never proved me wrong. So what of it?

Zhuangzi said: A man of Qi traveled in Song and was assigned to guard a gate—he could not even keep his body intact. He asked for an erzhong bell and they bound it with rope and gave it to him. He went to see Tangzi, who had never left Song’s borders, yet there was the lapse of forgetting one’s own kind. A man of Chu lodged here as a gatekeeper; in the dead of night, when no one was around, he fought with the boatman—not necessarily far from the shore, but enough to forge a deep grudge.

Note: The dialogue between Hui and Zhuang and passages such as “the man of Qi in Song” come from the miscellaneous chapter Zeyang in the Zhuangzi; here they are line-by-line elaboration in the Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (oral exegesis on the Authentic Scripture of the Southern Florescence). Proper names—Yang Zhu (a Warring States Daoist-related school), Mozi (Mohism), Gongsun Long (School of Names, famous for “a white horse is not a horse”), Lu Ju (a debater of the time), and Hui Shi (Hui Shi of the School of Names)—are kept as in the source text.

They oppose one another with words, using speech to argue against each other; they suppress one another with reputations, using their standing to make the other submit.

They never think they have spoken wrongly. In the end, they still insist, “I alone am right.”

“Di Zi” (蹢, pronounced like “zhi”) was a man from Qi. Someone sent him to live in Song, saying he could guard the palace gate. A gatekeeper should be sound in body. Here, the son thinks himself right, while his father treats him as disabled.

Yet when they went to ask for a small bell, they learned to tie it up and protect it. Why cherish an object but not one’s son? The other party surely thought he was showing love: the bell was only a small one.

“Tang’s son is lost”: the son was lost far from home, yet they searched only within their local community. That is confusion. And did they ever think themselves confused?

“Now, this too is right” begins a new sentence, unrelated to the point about Di Zi above. “Leftover” means omitted; “surplus” means extra; “rough” means imprecise; and “similar” means alike. These matters are roughly similar to the imprecise arguments of Hui Shi, Yang Zhu, Mozi, and their followers.

These three stories are all somewhat like the arguments of Hui Shi, Yang Zhu, Mozi, and their followers. That is why the text says there are “leftover similarities.” It is also much like the earlier phrase, “Is it really so?”

To end the passage here, rather than at “not bound up in resentment,” is precisely the author’s skill in arranging the text.

As for the traveler lodging abroad: in Chu there was a lame gatekeeper who was staying in a foreign land. Unable to return on his own, he boarded a boat home. When it reached the shore, it was the middle of the night. He immediately quarreled with the boatman, forgetting the kindness of being ferried home, and had already made an enemy of him.

“Cen” means shore. “Before leaving the shore” means that he was carried there, but the boat had not yet left the shore; nor had a long time passed before he forgot the kindness.

“Di” means to drag or limp with the feet. He had a foot ailment and worked as a gatekeeper, so he was called a lame gatekeeper. In fighting after forgetting the kindness he had received, he may not have known what he was doing that night. But when he saw things in the morning, could he avoid feeling ashamed?

While they were fighting, he too thought he was in the right.

All these lines use stories to mock Hui Shi’s self-righteousness. Because Hui Shi loved to debate, the author deliberately uses strange, elusive language, some of it hard to grasp at once, to confound him.

These are theatrical words exchanged between the two men in their lifetimes. A debate between Dongfang Shuo and a court attendant has a similar flavor and may be consulted for comparison.

When Zhuangzi was attending a funeral, he passed by Hui Shi’s grave and turned to his companions, saying: “A man from Ying had a smear of white clay on the tip of his nose, thin as a fly’s wing. He asked the craftsman Shi to cut it away. Craftsman Shi swung his axe with the wind…” (The rest of the passage is not included here.)

I. Cutting the Nose and “Zhi” (the Counterpart)

When Chui heard of this, he used his axe to pare away the white clay; when the clay was completely gone, the nose was unharmed, and the man from Ying stood there, his expression utterly unchanged.

When Lord Yuan of Song heard of this, he summoned Craftsman Shi and said, “Try doing the same for me once.” Craftsman Shi replied, “Your subject was indeed once able to do this, but my ‘zhi’—the person who could serve as my partner, the one with whom I could display my art—has long been dead. Ever since Master [Hui Shi] passed away, there has been no one I could truly converse with or practice upon, and no one who could speak with me in that way.”

“Bai’e” is white clay, spread on the tip of the nose as thin as a fly’s wing. Then Craftsman Shi was to shave it off with his axe. “Yun jin cheng feng” describes a motion swift and smooth as swirling wind. The clay was gone and the nose intact—remarkable though the parer’s skill may be, if the one standing firm could not hold steady, how could the nose escape injury no matter how clever the craftsman? Thus the “stander” faces the harder task. “Zhi” is precisely the counterpart upon whom one deploys one’s skill. The gist here is: only with someone of Hui Shi’s eloquence and debate could I fully match wits; once Hui Shi died, there was no one left to speak with.

II. Guan Zhong on His Deathbed Entrusts the State

Guan Zhong fell ill. Duke Huan asked him, “Father Zhong, your illness is so severe—if you reach your limit, to whom should I entrust the state?”

Guan Zhong said, “Whom does my lord wish to appoint?” Duke Huan said, “Bao Shuya.” Guan Zhong said, “That will not do. He is a man of pure integrity and lofty principle: he will not draw near those he deems beneath him, and once he hears of another’s fault he never forgets it for a lifetime. If you put him in charge of the state, he will bind the ruler above and oppose the common people below; the ruler will offend him, and he will not last long.”

Duke Huan said, “Then who will do?” Guan Zhong said, “If you do not insist on finding fault with such matters, Yin Peng will suffice. In his dealings, he can forget his own status above, and below he keeps distance without demanding anything from others. Though he does not match the Yellow Emperor, he is ashamed when he is not as good as others. To allocate tasks to people by virtue is called sagely; to allocate by wealth is called worthy. When the worthy lord it over others by status, they rarely win real hearts; when the worthy serve below and win people over, they almost always gain their hearts. In governing the state, there are things he ought to hear but does not listen to; in managing the household, there are things he ought to see but does not look at. If you do not nitpick these points, Yin Peng can be entrusted with the state.”

Key points on the wording: “Shu guo” means handing the state over to someone. “Bu bi zhi” does not mean denouncing or picking on the person. “Gou” has the sense of binding or constraining; “ni” refers to being too harsh on the people, pressing them with ritual and righteousness—that is what these lines say about Bao Shuya’s black-and-white rigidity. “Shang wang” is forgetting one’s own power; “xia pan” is separating from those below, not currying favor with them (“pan” meaning to leave or part). “Yi de fen ren” is like the old saying about winning over distant and nearby tribes; “yi cai fen ren” is another layer of “worthy.”

First Section: On Selfishness and Talent

Selfishness means using virtue and merit to overpower others, monopolizing reputation, and showing off before those below you.

“Does not hear, does not see” means he does not look closely or investigate thoroughly. Such wording does not appear in other books; it occurs only in the*Liezi*, and is allegory in any case. In “谓语我,”*wei*means “to say of oneself,” which is why the text later says “may one not call it thus,” and so on regarding “great illness.”

The King of Wu went boating on the river and climbed Mount Ju. When the monkeys saw him, they panicked and fled into the deep woods. One monkey moved at ease, leaping among the branches and appearing nimble. The king shot at it; the arrow flew fast, yet the monkey could catch it—its movements were quick. The king ordered his attendants to shoot together. Though clever, the monkey could not match their strength, was struck dead, and was captured—hence “seized in death.” The king turned to his friend Yan Buyi and said: This monkey relied on its agility and its skill, and was arrogant toward me—so it ended like this. Take warning! Do not use your bearing to look down on others. Yan Buyi went home, took Dong Wu as his teacher, put aside his proud manner, willingly endured hardship and stayed away from pleasure, and withdrew to a humble place. After three years, everyone in the state praised him. This passage discusses those who invite disaster by leaning on talent alone.

Second Section: Nan Bo Ziqi and “Grieving Others’ Grief”

Nan Bo Ziqi sat leaning on a armrest, lifting his head and exhaling. Yan Chengzi came in to see him and said: Sir, you are truly outstanding among people—can the body be like withered bone and the heart like dead ashes?

Ziqi said: I once lived at the mouth of a mountain cave. At that time, when Tian He (the ruler of Qi) saw me once, the people of Qi came three times to congratulate me. If I walked ahead, he would then know me; if I first “sold” myself, he could “buy” me. If I did not treat myself as “having” something, how could he know me? If I did not “sell” myself, how could he “buy” me? Alas—I grieve that people lose themselves; and I grieve those who “grieve others’ grief,” for day by day they drift further from their true selves.

Vernacular Interpretation

(Continuing from the essentials of the “Mountain Tree” chapter)

One cannot fully hide one’s traces, and that is why these records remain. First, “selling words”: I necessarily have a visible form that others see, and from it they come to know me. Those who show off through outward traces are, in truth, losing themselves. To grieve another person’s self-loss while failing to notice one’s own is itself something to grieve over.

“Mountain Cave Mouth” is a place name. At that time I was aware only through compassion for the world’s compassion, and so the Dao grew daily in me until today my body looks like a withered corpse and my mind like dead ashes. Hence “after that, each day grew more distant”—“distant” means the Dao rises higher and recedes further.

Confucius went to Chu, and the king of Chu held a banquet. Sun Shu’ao stood holding the wine cup; Shinan Yiliao took the wine and offered a toast, saying: “Did people of old also speak in such a setting?” Confucius said: “I have heard of ‘speech that is not speech,’ but I have never spoken it here; today I will speak it here.” Shinan Yiliao juggled pellets, and the feud between two houses was resolved; Sun Shu’ao rested peacefully with a feather fan in hand, and the people of Ying laid down their weapons. Confucius said: “I wish I had a three-foot beak (to be long-winded)—that would be called ‘the Way that is not the Way’; this is called ‘disputation without words.’”

Therefore: De (Virtue/Power) must be gathered where the Dao returns to oneness; words must rest where understanding cannot reach—only then is the utmost attained. Where the Dao is one, De cannot be wholly identical with it; what understanding cannot know, disputation cannot fully express. When fame contends like Confucian and Mohist schools, it becomes perilous.

The great sea does not reject the eastern flow—this is the utmost of “greatness.” The sage embraces heaven and earth and extends grace to all under heaven, yet does not know which school he belongs to. Thus: in life no rank, in death no posthumous title, no hoarding of solid gain, no building of reputation—this is what is called the “Great Man.”

A dog is not better for barking well; a crow is not more worthy for crying well—how much less so for “greatness”? The “greatness” of birds is not enough to count as true greatness, how much less the greatness of De?

Nothing is more “complete in greatness” than heaven and earth—why seek elsewhere? Heaven and earth are already complete in greatness. One who understands this completeness: seeks nothing, loses nothing, abandons nothing, does not trade the outer world for one’s own authenticity; turns back upon oneself without exhaustion, keeps to the ancient way without wearing away—this is the sincerity of the Great Man.

(Commentary on the meaning)

“Did people of old also speak in this way here?” means that when drinking wine one may speak freely—people of old did the same. The Master replies: I have “speech that is not speech,” which I have not told others in ordinary times; today I speak it here.

“Juggling pellets” is the play of tossing pellets; “holding a feather fan and sleeping contentedly” means doing nothing in particular and resting in quiet ease. What you two have done is exactly the “speech that is not speech” of which I speak.

If everyone can practice acting through wuwei (non-action), why wait for me to speak? As for a beak three feet long—there is no such beak. The tales of Yiliao and Shu’ao do not match what historians record either; they are only parables.

What Dao (the Way) unifies is spontaneity itself. De (Virtue/Power) is what one realizes within oneself, in line with the creating-and-transforming order, unlike deliberate human contrivance—so De here cannot be equated with ordinary “virtue.” The sense of De in this passage differs from elsewhere in the text. If you pin it to Confucian or Mohist labels, it is no longer “argument without words.” Hence it is said we do not know whose lineage it is, and the people have no name for it.

“Substance does not gather” means that though one has good De, one does not heap credit on oneself. Even the worthy do not treat much talk as ability—how much more the great person? Once there is the name “great,” one is no longer truly great; how much less can natural De be named? “Greatly complete” and “greatly accomplished” mean that because one seeks nothing, there is neither loss nor abandonment. Not trading oneself for things is because the self is already more precious than things. “Following the ancient” is walking the ancient Way; “not grinding” is not forcing effort.

Ziqi had eight sons. He had them stand in a row and called Jiufang Yin (Yin of the Nine Directions), saying, “Look at these boys for me—which one is most auspicious?” Jiufang Yin said, “Kun is most auspicious.” Ziqi asked in pleased surprise, “How so?” Jiufang Yin said, “Kun will share a mat and eat with the ruler for his whole life.” Ziqi turned pale and wept. “How could my son come to this!”

Jiufang Yin said, “To eat with the ruler—favor can reach the three clans, let alone the parents. You hear this and weep; you are refusing blessing. The son is auspicious, but the father is not.”

Ziqi said, “Yin, what makes you think Kun is auspicious? Stuffed with wine and meat, nose and mouth full—how would he know where auspiciousness comes from? I never kept sheep, yet a ewe lamb settled by the stove; I never hunted, yet quail hatched in the rice pot—if that is not strange, what is? What my sons and I roam in is the roam of Heaven and Earth. We take our joy from Heaven and our food from Earth. I do not scheme affairs with them or debate fortune and misfortune. We ride the sincerity of Heaven and Earth together, without outer things disturbing one another; we follow what is natural together, without binding them to what worldly custom calls fitting. And now, all at once, there is the burden of ‘the world’…”

Vernacular Interpretation

(Earlier section: oral explanation of “strange signs,” “strange conduct,” and unexpected good fortune)

In the world, debts that ought to be repaid often show up through strange events: when there is a strange omen, there will be strange conduct. That is probably not our fault as father and son, and it has little to do with any “fault” on our son’s part—it comes from Heaven. That is why I weep; in truth there is not much to weep over.

(Parable) Why send Kun to Yan? On the road they met bandits. Selling a whole person was hard; cutting off the feet and selling him was easier, so they cut off his feet and sold him in Qi—right at the gate of Lord Qu’s residence on the main street—and he ate meat until he died. Wine and meat entered mouth and nose, yet he did not know where they came from—what the text means by “how he got them himself.”

(Another image) Like a young ewe; ao is the southwest corner of a room, yao the northeast corner of the inner chamber. With no pasturing and no farming, the creature suddenly appears inside the house—a marvel. The point is: my son and I do not seek anything from the world—where would such things come from? Inviting joy from Heaven means taking delight in accord with Heaven; inviting food from the earth means living on what the world provides, with no other demands.

“Affairs” means worldly business; “scheming” means private calculation. Devoting oneself to worldly affairs and private scheming makes one strange relative to the way of nature. I never told my son to be “without mind toward the world,” so the text says: I do not “handle affairs” with him, do not “scheme” with him, do not “act strangely” with him. Weiyi (yielding and bending in accord with circumstances) is following nature: not seeking to respond to worldly affairs, and not knowing whether worldly affairs are right or wrong—hence “I do not handle affairs with him.”

What must be repaid is a debt to the Dao. I am content in Wuwei (non-action), yet he can dine with the ruler—that means his fate still carries unpaid worldly debt, which is why such mutual strange confirmation appears. My son ought not to have received this; strange conduct will surely come later. Lord Qu’s street is the gate on the main road—the post of door warden. This passage also says: in human life there are always unexpected things; that too is fate.

Nieque Meets Xu You

Nieque met Xu You and asked, “Where are you going?”

Xu You said, “To get away from Yao.”

Nieque asked, “What do you mean?”

Xu You said, “Yao busily preaches benevolence; I fear he will end up as the world’s laughingstock. Later ages will see people eating people. Those people cannot do without gathering together; where there is love they draw near, where there is profit they crowd in, where there is praise they urge one another on, where they hate what he hates they scatter. Of love and profit, which is more like ren and yi? Few abandon ren and yi; many use ren and yi to seek gain. This whole business of ren and yi…”

(The oral commentary or scripture below is not fully recorded in thegiven text; the translation stops here in line with the source.)

If someone only puts on an appearance of sincerity in what they do, without genuine feeling inside, that is falsity. Those who crave private gain are like beasts; those who use the name of benevolence and righteousness (Ren and Yi) to serve their own ends are equally false. To judge and rule the world by one’s personal power, thinking one can benefit all under heaven, is like cutting a whole thing into separate pieces by force: people’s innate simplicity and natural character will be harmed in the process. Only someone who goes beyond the ordinary sort of “sage” can see this clearly: the deliberate wish to benefit the world may in fact injure it.

When you care for the people, they draw close; when you give them profit, they attach themselves to you; when you praise them, they feel encouraged; when you make them suffer what they loathe, they scatter. To grasp these four situations seems enough to gather the people. Yet if you impose on them what they do not want, they will not stay with you. To win hearts by following what the people like and dislike is still to act from a subjective design. When benevolence and righteousness are deployed outward as deliberate methods, sincerity is lost. Hence those who seek profit under the banner of Ren and Yi are precisely what the text calls false and grasping.

The text then introduces three types—“nuanshu,” “ruxu,” and “juanlou”—to show how each person is confined yet fails to know it. “Nuanshu” describes someone who listens only to one teacher, then feels self-satisfied and secretly pleased, thinking what they have learned is already enough, without realizing they have not even begun to know things as they are. “Ruxu” refers to lice on a pig. The lice pick a sparse patch of bristles and take it for a vast palace; they hide in the crook of a hoof, between the teats, or beside a leg and think they live in safe comfort. They do not know that one day the butcher will swing his arm, spread straw, and lift the torch—and they will burn to death along with the pig. Their coming and going is entirely bounded by the pig’s body; that is the limit “ruxu” names.

“Juanlou” speaks of Shun. Mutton does not follow ants, but ants chase mutton because its odor is strong. Shun’s virtue had the same kind of attraction for the people, so they were glad to follow him. Wherever he moved, each place became a town; when he finally reached the site of Deng, the households gathered there numbered one hundred thousand. Yao heard of Shun’s worth and raised him up in the land of Tongshi, hoping to share in his grace. By the time Shun was appointed, he was already old; his hearing and sight were failing, yet he still could not step down and rest—that is what the text means by “juanlou.”

“Nuanzhu” means taking shallow views as delightful—a phrase used to mock those who love learning yet have not penetrated the truth. The line “there was first something” speaks of someone who still does not understand the subtlety of “no-thing.”

Ruxu (clinging need): sluggishness and dependency—those who attach themselves to power and chase profit. Shulie: the sparse, stiff bristles on a pig’s neck. Quwei: the hollow where the hoof curves inward. Gu: the thigh, the area between waist and leg, near the foot. This is like a beggar warming himself while leaning on an iceberg—what he relies on cannot truly support him.

Yu (domain): the heart is trapped inside the circle of wealth and rank without knowing it; hence “advancing within a domain, retreating within a domain.” Juanlou: a hunched, curled posture, bringing trouble on oneself. The gist is: those who cultivate virtue fancy themselves famous, and when everyone gathers around them, they are instead tormented by reputation, toiling their whole lives without freedom—here used to satirize and ridicule kings. Tongtu is like tongshan (a barren hill that grows no plants): the place they first settle was never fertile ground.

Therefore the spirit-like person dislikes “the multitude.” When the multitude arrives, there can be no mutual accord (no “matching”); without accord there is no benefit, and one harms oneself instead. So there is no excessive closeness and no excessive distance; one embraces virtue and nurtures inner harmony, aligning with the way of the world. This is what is called the True Person.

“In the ant”: discard knowledge; “in the fish”: attain the proper measure; “in the sheep”: discard intention. Let the eye see with the eye, the ear hear with the ear, the heart restore the heart—if it is like this, its levelness is like a plumb line, its changes like following a groove. The True Persons of old met things with Heaven; they did not let the human enter Heaven. The True Persons of old: in life, they “obtained it”; in losing it, they died. In losing it, in life.

Plain explanation:

“Multitude arriving” means the masses attaching themselves. Without attachment there is no harmony; without harmony there is no benefit, and one injures oneself instead. “Embracing virtue and nurturing harmony” means cultivating virtue without display; yang here means the heart warming itself from within.

Even the ant, tiny as it is, still cannot fully reach “no knowledge”; even the sheep, dull as it is, still cannot fully reach “no intention.” Only the True Person is without knowledge and without intention—hence “in the ant, discard knowledge; in the sheep, discard intention.” The fish drifts at ease in the water; the True Person’s own reckoning is only like the fish—water stands for the Maker, the fish for one’s own person. What ant and sheep eat still lies outside them; they cannot yet be without seeking—so they are not like the fish. The True Person’s heart, eyes, and ears are the same as other people’s, yet the heart is used without deliberate mind—hence “let the eye see with the eye, the ear hear with the ear.”

The mind should take oneself as its measure and return to the natural evenness of things; move with change and accord with how affairs actually run—do not use subjective intent to intervene in advance against the natural order. This is “not letting the human intrude upon Heaven” (bu yi ren ru tian): not imposing human arrangements to disturb what is natural. To live can be called gain, and also loss; to die can likewise be called gain, and also loss. Do not treat life and death as fixed gains or losses—simply follow what is natural. Saying that life is gain and death is gain is fine; saying that death is loss and life is loss is also fine.

Some medicinal plants are in fact aconite (chuan wu), platycodon root (jie geng), “chicken mound” (jitong, the cockscomb plant), and “pig zero” (mu zhuling, chaga-like fungus). In the right season each can serve as the chief drug—how could one list them all? “Jin” is chuan wu; “ji yong” is jitong; “shi ling” is mu zhuling. The physician blends drugs according to use; each herb has its proper moment. The one chosen as main is called the “emperor” (di), the rest “ministers” (chen). So-called materia medica are alike in origin; only because uses differ do they become heavy or light, primary or secondary. This is like people in the world: when the time fits, they seem noble; when it does not, they seem base—yet in themselves there is no fixed high or low. These lines are wonderfully odd.

King Goujian of Yue once withdrew to Kuaiji with three thousand armored men bearing shields. Only Wen Zhong knew how to seek survival amid ruin, but he did not see that he would grieve because of it. Hence it is said: the owl’s eyes have their proper use, and the crane’s legs have their own limit; to force them apart and reshape them only brings sorrow.

Minister Wen Zhong helped Goujian plot survival when the state was nearly lost—surely that was clever; yet he did not know he would finally lose his life for it. At first Goujian relied on Wen Zhong heavily, as when a herb is chosen as the chief drug; later, when Goujian killed him, that too was only the shift of circumstances. Owl eyes suit the night, not the day—again, what fits changes with the moment. The crane’s leg joints are long and cannot be shortened; when the crane stands, its legs sometimes extend and sometimes bend—each must suit the need of the time.

Thus it is said: wind blowing across the river carries off some water; sunlight on the river also draws some away. Yet if wind and sun stayed fixed over the river, the water would seem never disturbed—because the river has a source that flows on without end.

Wind and sunlight on the surface both reduce the water, yet the river never feels itself depleted, because its source-stream is long. That source-stream comes from the natural; so though outer things consume, they cannot unsettle it.

1. The Parable of Wind and Sun

“Let wind and sun guard the riverbank together” means that wind and sun face each other and hold their posts, never drifting apart.

2. Water, Shadow, and Things: Each Keeps Its Place

• Water keeps to earth: water and earth naturally merge;
• Shadow keeps to form: shadow and person naturally cling together, staying joined without separating;
• Thing keeps to thing: as water flows toward what is wet and fire seeks what is dry — what is rooted in Heaven tends upward; what is rooted in Earth tends downward — each has its fixed allotment.

Shen (審) here means fixity and trust: things are inherently so and cannot be changed. These three lines express one idea: between Heaven and Earth there are settled principles that must not be altered.

Only from these three uses of shen can one see why in the seventh chapter “shen in the name of the abyss” (yuan ming zhi shen) cannot be swapped for another character at will.

3. Forced Use of the Mind Leads to Danger (dai)

• When the eyes deliberately strain for brightness, the ears deliberately strain for acuity, and the heart deliberately chases external things (xun wu) — none of these is a path of resting in oneself; all are called dai (danger).
• Fu (府): the visceral organs; when wisdom arises from the viscera and takes itself to be capable — anything of this sort is dangerous, hence “whoever ‘enables’ this from the fu is in dai.”
• Bu ji (不給): like bu ji (不及) — once danger is fully formed, it is too late to turn back.
• Zi cui (兹萃): to grow and gather — calamities pile up ever thicker.

4. Scheming for Merit Overthrows Oneself

Fan (反): collapse and ruin; yuan (縁): cause; guo (果): outcome.

Because the mind sets its heart on merit, it must end in self-overthrow; the outcome follows in turn. Calculations that drag on and harden (you dai jiu) leave the heart stiff and unyielding — all ways that harm the person, yet people treat them as treasures. Is that not pitiful?

Hence ruined states and slaughtered people come in an unbroken chain — all because here they do not inquire, and only chase vulgar affairs.

5. Feet and Knowing: Relying on What Is Not Trod, What Is Not Known

In walking, the ground the two feet actually tread is only a small patch; steadiness depends on the vast ground they do not tread.

What a person knows is inherently slight; what can count as knowing depends on what one has not yet known.

That is what Heaven calls such — the kind of knowing and acting the Dao affirms.

Brief Glossary

First section (using “walking on a path” to illustrate “knowing Heaven”)

If the ground under your feet only holds one foot, it is hard to go far—this speaks of breadth and distance. Beyond where you step, there must be ground your foot has not yet touched; only then can walking reach somewhere far. “蹍” (trampling) also means “践” (to tread upon). The text applies this to knowledge: how much can a person really know? What one does not know all belongs to “Heaven” (Tian). Do not rely only on what you already know; rely on what you do not yet know—that is what “knowing Heaven” means.

Second section (the seven “greats” of knowing Heaven)

Knowing the Great One, the Great Yin, the Great Eye, the Great Equalizer, the Great Square, the Great Faith, and the Great Fixity—at this level, it is enough.

The Great One (Da Yi) penetrates all things. The Great One is the master pivot of the transformations of zaohua (creative transformation); “Heaven” from this single pivot differentiates the myriad things, and zaohua unfolds therein. The Great Yin (Da Yin) is utmost stillness. Yin governs stillness; the Great Yin is stillness at the extreme. When stillness and fixity reach their limit, nothing remains unresolved. “解” here is read like “蟹” (crab), in the sense of “release” or liberation, similar to “liberation” (jie tuo) in Buddhist texts. The Great Eye (Da Mu) sees to the utmost breadth. The Great Equalizer (Da Jun) is the great measure and great standard. “均” (jun) carries the sense of dosing or proportion; “缘” (yuan) is to follow along— the Great Equalizer means following in accord with the great standard. The Great Square (Da Fang) is the vast void. The Great Square has no corners; it is blended as one, so it is called the Great Square as the substance. The Great Faith (Da Xin) is the truth of reality. “稽” (ji) means to decide; knowing this truth of reality, there is no doubt left to settle. The Great Fixity (Da Ding) is the shared principle of all things. “持” (chi) is to hold and gather in total; what gathers and holds all things under Heaven is this principle of “fixity” (ding).

Third section (“exhaustion has Heaven,” “following has illumination,” “the dark has a pivot,” “the beginning has that-other”)

When anything is pushed to its limit, the mandate of Heaven appears—hence “exhaustion has Heaven (jin you tian)”: when human affairs are exhausted, the principle of Heaven shows itself. Following nature as one goes, the patterns of fortune and misfortune, honor and disgrace, gain and loss all become visible—hence “following has illumination (xun you zhao).” In the obscure depths there is one who holds the pivot—what governs and threads the warp and woof—hence “the dark has a pivot (ming you shu).” Before things exist, there must be one thing as beginning, namely the “other” (bi) in the Qiwu Lun line “without that-other there is no me; without me nothing is taken”—hence “the beginning has that-other (shi you bi).” “That-other” means the pattern of creating-nature (zaowu ziran).

Speaking of Heaven, illumination, pivot, and that-other, they can be explained and cognized, yet it is as if they are not truly explained or truly known. The idea of “not knowing, and then knowing” is that one dare not treat the unknown as already knowable or already resolved; only within “not knowing” does one approach genuine knowing.

To treat “not knowing” as knowing—that is true knowing.

What must be pressed here is this: the principle of creation (zaowu zhi li) can neither be said to have a boundary nor be said to have no boundary. It appears blunt and elusive (頡滑), yet it is genuinely real. From antiquity to the present, creation is only one mechanism; nothing else replaces it, and in its operation it is never exhausted—there is not the slightest loss. Hence the phrase “from ancient times to the present it is not replaced and cannot be diminished.” On this reasoning, is this not a matter worthy of being lifted up and discussed at length? 揚推 means to raise it up and spread it out for discussion.

What is 阖? It is the principle of creation. Why not ask directly about this, and what is there still to doubt? Yet if one uses the principle of “not doubting” to resolve the doubts of everyone under heaven, and then returns to nondoubt itself, one comes close to “great nondoubt.”

The questioner asks about the principle of creation. The point is: I want to ask about the principle of creation—if one takes it to have a boundary, that is wrong; if one takes it to have no boundary, that is also wrong. 頡 means blunt and hard to enter; 滑 means slippery and unsteady. The meaning is: the subtlety of creation cannot be grasped; when it cannot be grasped, it seems as if there were nothing, yet there is something. Hence “blunt and slippery, yet with reality.” From ancient times to the present there is only this one round of creation, not exchanged for anything else; use it and it is never used up—how could there be the slightest reduction? Hence “from ancient times to the present it is not replaced and cannot be diminished.” According to this principle, is this not a whole body of discourse? 揚搉 means to lift it up and expound it with vigor.

What is 阖? It is the principle of creation. Why not ask this principle of creation directly, and what is there still to doubt? Yet if one uses this principle of nondoubt to resolve the doubts of the world, and then returns to nondoubt, one is almost able to reach great nondoubt. In Chan, Zhaozhou asked Nanquan about “the way of nondoubt”—that is the sense of these few sentences. What still counts as close is, in the end, just the two characters “nondoubt.” Zhuangzi rouses the spirit yet uses these lines to close the entire chapter—how extraordinary; in what way does this chapter differ from the inner chapters?