《南華真經口義》Vol. 5

Volume Five of The Collected Commentaries on the True Classic of Southern Florescence

Yanzhai Lin Xiyi

The Inner Chapter “In the Human World”: Introduction

“The Master of Nurturing Life” explains how to care for the body. “In the Human World” explains that, since we have a body and live in the world, we cannot completely cast aside human affairs; instead, we must find the right measure in dealing with worldly matters. Taken as a whole, Zhuangzi is neither impractical nor indifferent to reality. On the contrary, he engages with concrete affairs as they arise. This follows the same line of thought as the passage in the Outer Chapters that says, “Things do not act on their own, yet they cannot be left undone.”

Yan Hui visited Zhongni and asked permission to travel. Zhongni asked, “Where are you going?” Yan Hui replied, “To the state of Wei.” “What will you do there?”

Yan Hui said, “I have heard that the ruler of Wei is young and acts arbitrarily. He governs the state according to his own wishes and cannot see his own faults. He recklessly expends the people’s strength, and the dead are so numerous that the land could be measured by the reeds lying withered across the marshes. I fear the people have nowhere left to turn.”

“His years are few, and his conduct is solitary” means that a young man holds power and acts on his own, disregarding the opinions of others. “He recklessly uses his state and cannot see his faults” means that he governs carelessly and does not recognize his mistakes. “He recklessly uses the people’s lives; the dead can be measured by the state” means that he treats human life as cheap and kills excessively. Those killed across the state lie densely packed, like reeds in a marsh. This describes treating the people like grass and weeds. Xunzi’s chapter “Enriching the State” uses the phrase “measured by marshes” in a similar sense. The text could have said, “as if the marsh reeds,” but the author deliberately reverses the words to make “the marsh is like reeds”—an unusual turn of phrase. In ancient times, Yun, Ze, and Meng were often marshes. Instead of saying, “Yunmeng’s land was made orderly,” one says, “Yun’s land, Meng made orderly.” Likewise, instead of “black silk, cotton, and ramie,” one says “black, fine silk, and ramie.” These are examples of this kind of syntax. “The people have nowhere to turn” means that they have nowhere to go and nothing to rely on.

Yan Hui continued, “I once heard you say, ‘When a state is well governed, go there; when it is in disorder, leave. A physician’s door is crowded with the sick.’ I would like to consider what I have heard and find a way to help. Perhaps I can make that state a little better.”

Zhongni said, “Ah, if you go like that, you will probably be punished. The Dao does not favor mixing things together. When things are mixed, complications multiply; when they multiply, disorder follows; and disorder brings trouble. Once trouble arises, you will be unable to save anyone. The perfected people of ancient times first established themselves, and only then helped others. If you are not yet grounded in yourself, how will you have time to concern yourself with the conduct of a violent ruler? Besides, do you truly understand how Virtue is shaken by the pursuit of fame, and knowledge arises from the struggle to prevail? When Virtue is shaken, it rushes after fame. Fame makes people contend with one another. Knowledge becomes a weapon in their struggle. Fame and knowledge are both instruments of harm, and cannot be used to carry out the Way of perfect goodness.”

Zhuangzi here discusses the art of worldly engagement and the wisdom of admonishing others. He observes that when a person of profound Virtue (De) and genuine integrity attempts to forcefully reprimand violent individuals with rigid moral standards before truly understanding their minds, it will only breed resentment and invite disaster. This is like a physician who can only practice medicine where patients gather—if a state is already well-governed, what need is there for your interference?

Zhuangzi rejects the conventional wisdom of "appearing when the state follows the Dao (the Way) and withdrawing when it does not," advocating instead to "withdraw from orderly times and enter chaotic ones." He maintains that to admonish a tyrant, one must first achieve inner purity and single-minded focus. If the mind is preoccupied with calculations (such as thinking "if they act this way, I should respond that way"), such distractions will only entangle oneself in troubles, making self-preservation difficult, let alone saving others.

The ancient sages always cultivated themselves first before having the capacity to admonish others. If one's own spirit (Shen) is unsettled, how can there be energy to attend to others? Zhuangzi points out that pursuing fame damages one's innate nature, while employing cleverness incites conflict. Both fame and cleverness are dangerous "weapons of misfortune"—excessive use inevitably invites calamity. Genuine Virtue (De) and integrity are internal cultivations, yet without understanding human affairs, these virtues cannot fully manifest their efficacy.

As for a person’s disposition and temperament—even if you boast of a good name and reputation—you still have not truly seen through the other party. You do not know what that tyrant has in mind, yet you insist on preaching benevolence, righteousness, and legal norms to a violent man. He will certainly resent you and feel you are showing off and acting superior. “Rope and ink line” stand for law and measure; “术” and “述” are the same here, meaning to set forth reasons. “菑人” is a fierce, brutal person. He is sure to pin on you a bad label such as “evil man.” Once that name is fixed, disaster falls on you instead. If you go on this errand, you will probably be harmed first—how could you reform the lord of Wei and save the state?

Furthermore, if he truly knew how to value the worthy and loathe the unworthy, why would you need to put on some special, different act? Hence “what use is there in seeking to be different?” It is precisely because he cannot tell worthy from unworthy that things are this way. Since he cannot recognize who is worthy, how would he believe you are a worthy person or heed your words? “诏” means to summon or call. The lord of Wei has not summoned you, so the text says “if only there were no summons.” If you go without being called, he, in his dignity as king or duke, will certainly try to outdo you in argument. “捷” means to win. Then you will be overborne: your eyes will swim and reel (荧 is dizziness and confusion), your face will turn ingratiating and submissive as you try to patch things up through expression; your mouth will hurry to explain and smooth things over; your bearing will show fear and constraint; and in your heart you will keep yielding and pandering. The episode in which Emperor Wu of Liang argued down He Chen, and Wang Zhuo’s “shadow of the hexagram” matching this, both depict failing to prevail and having to bow one’s head. The other is violent and holds the upper hand—even if you win for a moment, you still…

(The continuation follows the original logic from “一胜” and “是以火救火,” etc.:) This is like fighting fire with fire or water with water—what people call making things worse by “rescuing” them. Endless compliance has no limit; if you then pile on insincere words dressed up as great sincerity, you are bound to die before that tyrant.

When vital energy (qi) is pushed to flare up ever more strongly, it is like trying to put out a fire with water or with fire—you only make the blaze worse. “The more you add” means wrongdoing piles up higher and higher; follow that path to the end and evil has no limit, and cruelty grows heavier still.

“Heavy words” means speech that is harsh and blunt. Before you have won anyone’s trust, you bear the name of someone “not to be believed”; if you speak such heavy words before a tyrant, he will surely have you killed.

Long ago Jie killed Guan Longfeng, and Zhou killed Prince Bi Gan. Each had cultivated himself, bowed low, and cared for the people, yet used remonstrance to clash with those above. So the ruler took their “cultivating goodness” as a pretext to push them aside and kill them—that is the price of chasing reputation.

It is also said: Yao attacked Congzhi and Xu’ao, and Yu attacked Youhu, until the states were emptied and the people scattered; they themselves met punishment and execution, and never ceased wielding arms—all for nothing but name and solid gain. Such are people who scramble for fame and profit; even sages like Yao and Yu could not restrain them—how much less you? (“Sheng” is read as rising tone; Yao and Yu’s campaigns are not historical fact but parables.)

Even so, since you mean to go, you must have some plan. Tell me what it is. Yan Hui said: To be upright and empty in heart, diligent and single-minded—would that do? Confucius said: No, no! With yang qi stuffed inward and brimming outward, your bearing unsettled, you neither break ordinary custom nor go against others’ moods—you flatter and seek acceptance. A mind like that is called “virtue that grows a little each day”; it cannot even succeed at that, let alone great virtue. Stubborn within, compliant outside while refusing inwardly—how can that work?

Brief notes on names:

• Guan Longfeng, Prince Bi Gan: ancient worthy ministers who remonstrated with Jie and Zhou and were killed.
• Congzhi, Xu’ao, Youhu: state names in Zhuangzi’s parables.
• Virtue that grows a little each day (rijian zhi de): virtue forced up day by day in small doses, unable to transform a tyrant at the root.

He poses another question: “If you want to go, you must have some plan. Try telling me what it is.”

“Upright in bearing and empty in mind”: hold the body straight and open the heart wide. “Diligent and unified in one”: strive without slackening, always the same throughout. If one can be like this, then “acceptable or not”—“wu wu ke” means “very much not acceptable.” “Yang wei chong kong”: yang here refers to someone who has gotten his way; qi swells outward and his bearing is smug and overfull. “Cai se bu ding”: the look of arrogance does not stay steady. “Ordinary people often dare not go against him and instead defer and fear him”—when he sees that everyone fears him, and you wish to move him with words, he will seek to have you adjust and yield your mind to please him; hence “seeking ease and compliance with his mind”—rongyu means being pleased with oneself. “Ri jian xiao de ye”: people like you are called unable even to complete small virtue (xiao de), so how could they accomplish great virtue (da de)? “Zhi er bu hua”: stubborn and unable to turn back. If it is like this, then outwardly you will use uprightness and emptiness to seek agreement with people, while inwardly you cling to your “diligent and unified in one,” thinking you have no fault within and that your tricks stop here—how can you take that as acceptable?

Then—again posing Yanzi’s answer, in three sections.

“Inwardly straight, outwardly bent, formed by what is above and compared upward.”

Inwardly straight means being a companion of Heaven. To be a companion of Heaven is to know that the Son of Heaven and oneself are both children of Heaven—so why should one’s words depend on whether people approve or disapprove? If so, people call one a child; that is called being a companion of Heaven.

Outwardly bent means being a companion of people. Holding up the knees and bowing with fists folded is the etiquette of a subject; if everyone does it, how dare I not do it? Doing what others do, others find no fault with one either; that is called being a companion of people.

Formed by what is above and compared upward means being a companion of antiquity. One’s words may sound like instruction, but what is really being brought forward is what antiquity already had—not what “I” newly possess. If so, even being straight is not taken as a fault; that is called being a companion of antiquity.

If it is like this, is it acceptable?

(On “Being a Companion with Heaven”)

“True” and “straightforward” are close in meaning: from the Son of Heaven in his loftiest station down to the lowliest person, all are born of Heaven and all arise from nature. How dare one rely on private words and selfish intent to make people praise what one approves and condemn what one rejects? Without such selfish intent, one would be as muddled and innocent as a child—then one would be one with Heaven; hence it is said “to be a companion with Heaven.”

(On “Being a Companion with People”)

“Outwardly bent” means outwardly performing the full rituals of bowing and folding the hands; everyone does this, and I do too, so people find no fault in me. This is because of the etiquette of bowing down: though it goes against the crowd, I follow those below. Such discussion is meant to mock the Confucian school; in this way one aligns with others—hence “to be a companion with people.”

(On “Being a Companion with Antiquity”)

“Established” means one’s own settled way of speaking; “matching and joining” means fitting one’s own words to the words of the ancients and citing the ancients as proof. Though one borrows the teaching words of the ancients, one is still stating right and wrong face to face—and there is real censure in it—for it means what I say did not originate with me; the ancients already said it. If it is so, then even when one exposes and denounces others’ conduct bluntly, people do not treat it as an offense—hence “though straightforward, it does no harm.” “To be a companion with antiquity” means one’s doctrine agrees with the ancients.

“If it is so, then it may do”—means: can speaking in this way persuade Duke Wei?

Confucius said: “Alas! How can it! Too many policies and methods, and still no peace—though you hold fast, there is no offense. Even so, it stops at that alone; how could it reach transforming others? It is like taking the mind as one’s teacher.”

“Alas” expresses disapproval. “Policies and methods” refer to affairs, laws, and techniques: what you say has too many items and methods, yet in the end there is no ease (谍 is read die, meaning ease or peace). Though you can manage these three approaches, you are indeed without offense, yet you only save yourself—that is all; how can you transform others? Hence “how could it reach transforming others.” Where is the flaw? Your three doctrines all take as teacher the mind that acts with purpose; that is accommodating the mind, and is not traceless, not the way of spontaneity.

Yan Hui said: “I have no way to advance further; I venture to ask the method.”

Confucius said: “Fast—I am about to tell you. To do something with purpose—is that easy? What is easy is not fitting for the clear Heaven.”

Yan Hui said: “My family is poor; for months I have only refrained from wine and meat—can that count as fasting?”

(The “fasting” Confucius speaks of is not merely abstaining from wine and meat; Yan Hui asks according to what a poor household can do—the text below should discuss “heart-fasting” and the like; this section ends at Yan Hui’s question.)

Can that count as fasting? Confucius said: That is the fasting used for sacrifice, not heart-fasting (xinzhai). Yan Hui asked: May I ask what heart-fasting is? Confucius said: Fix your intention on one thing; do not listen with the ears, but listen with the xin (heart-mind); do not listen with the xin either, but listen with qi (vital energy). When you listen, let hearing stop at the ears; let the xin stop at correspondence (fitting with what is outside); qi is empty and waits on things—only the Dao gathers in emptiness; emptiness is heart-fasting.

“Nothing further to advance” means there is no road left to go up. “Having ability and yet acting—is that not too easy?” means: you think you have the skill and insist on doing it—is that not far too light and easy? Once that thought of ease stirs, the mind of the bright heaven (haotian) no longer delights in you. Hence “for one who takes it easy, bright heaven is not fitting”—these two lines are the most intimate and practical point in life. Sacrificial fasting is on the outside; heart-fasting is within. “One intention” is unifying the heart-mind without distraction. “Listen with the ears” keeps listening outside; “listen with the xin” keeps listening in the self; “listen with qi” means there is nothing outside to face. “Listen with the ears and it stops at the ears” means it does not enter the heart-mind; “listen with the xin” means outer things must match the self—that is opposition between thing and self. Qi naturally awaits things in emptiness; emptiness is the Dao, emptiness is where the Dao dwells, so it is said only the Dao gathers in emptiness—this word “emptiness” is heart-fasting.

Yan Hui said: Before I received your teaching, there was still “Hui”; after receiving it, there has never been “Hui”—may that be called emptiness? The Master said: That says it all (jinle). “Having received instruction” means having received teaching; this is Yan Hui’s sudden insight: before teaching there was still a self; after teaching there was never a self; forgetting the self is emptiness. “That says it all” means what you have said exhausts the principle.

I tell you: you can enter and wander inside the cage without being moved by empty reputation; where there are traces they can be named—once traces appear the heart-mind is stirred. Living in the world without a fixed mind, there are no traces and no sound. “No gate, no harm; dwell in one abode and lodge in what cannot be avoided”—no gate, no harm (no fork at the entrance), guarding one abode and placing yourself in the unavoidable, and you are close to the Dao. “You” refers to you; the human world is like a cage—you can enter it and wander without being swayed by empty fame.

Without traces, the mind is not stirred by externals—hence the saying: roam within the cage yet remain unmoved by reputation.

From here on, the text turns to how one stands in the human world. “When you may enter, speak”; “when you may not enter, stop”—do not address those who cannot receive your words. This parallels the Analects’ warning about speaking when one should not and not speaking when one should, though Zhuangzi’s phrasing is more startling.

Where there is a fixed place, there is a door; where there is no fixed place, there is no door. Where a drug has an odor, it has potency; where it has no odor, it has no potency—“potency” here means the medicinal quality. These images all point to no deliberate mind and no traces.

“Dwelling” means taking the Way of undifferentiated unity as one’s home and settling the heart in the situation of what cannot be avoided—at that point the gist of life in the human realm is fully stated. “几” here means “to the full” or “completely.”

Leaving traces is easy; not treading on the ground is hard.

“Traces” are footprints. To stand still and leave none is easy.

But who can live without walking? To walk upon the earth yet leave no mark upon it—that is hard.

On one level: doing nothing at all is comparatively easy; yet what moment of life is not “doing something”? How can one do nothing? Only Wuwei (non-action) that leaves nothing undone is truly difficult.

Serving human purposes is easy to fake; serving Heaven’s purpose is hard to fake.

Going along with human desire and being used by others, one can brush them off with pretense—that is easy.

Following Heaven’s principle and answering the Creator’s commission, the heart has no room for falsehood.

• Human servitude: human desire, human sentiment.
• Heaven’s servitude: the working of Heaven’s principle in daily life.

“Hard” and “easy” are deliberately inverted: on the path of human servitude, slipping into hypocrisy is easy; on the path of Heaven’s servitude, hypocrisy cannot lodge.

We have heard of flying with wings, but not of flying without wings; we have heard of knowing with what is already known, but not of knowing with not-knowing.

We hear of birds that fly by wings; we do not hear of flight without wings. We hear of knowing by means of the already-known; we do not hear of knowing by means of not-knowing.

Birds must use wings to fly; to fly without wings is “swift without haste, arriving without traveling”—what is called spirit (Shen). The next line extends the metaphor: ordinary people take “having something known” as knowledge; to know what one does not know is knowledge of not-knowing—the subtlety of fashioning the Dao.

Gaze into that darkened room: the empty chamber gives birth to white light; auspiciousness rests in resting. If one says “not resting,” that is called sitting while racing.

“Gaze” means to look intently. Empty chamber stands for the heart: behold that dim inner room—in the empty chamber white light arises; good fortune stops at “stopping.”

If one says “not stopping,” that is sitting while racing—the body sits still while the mind gallops away.

Once there is emptiness within, light enters through that opening; this light appears from within emptiness. Using the image of “the bolt slips away and the door panels swing wide” to depict inner emptiness, one can see how clarity and pure whiteness naturally arise from the void—“generating whiteness” (shengbai) means “generating clarity” (shengming). Zhuangzi does not say “generating clarity” but “generating whiteness,” which is precisely his striking style. This realm of empty luminosity is where all things gather and where auspicious blessing and virtue find their home. In “rest where one ought to rest,” the second “rest” (zhi) points to the place of empty stillness: only by resting can there be emptiness, only by emptiness can there be clarity—in other words, precepts give rise to concentration, and concentration gives rise to wisdom. If the mind still reserves room to hold things and cannot rest in itself, the body may sit here while the heart races outward; how then can one speak of zuowang (sitting in forgetting)? Here “sitting while the mind races” (zuochi) is used in contrast to illuminate zuowang.

Let the ears and eyes follow inward communication, while letting heart-and-mind knowing stay outward—and even ghosts and spirits will come to lodge; how much more so people? This is the principle by which the myriad things are transformed and nurtured, the great pivot grasped by Yu and Shun, the path walked for a lifetime by Fuxi and Jieyu—how much more so for those who act with deliberate effort?

What the ears and eyes hear and see all communicates inward to the heart. If I hold nothing in the heart, then though following the ears and eyes their hearing and seeing may communicate inward, in truth they are outside heart-and-mind knowing. What does “outside heart-and-mind knowing” mean? It means the heart does not move, so outer things cannot enter. Though one hears what is heard and sees what is seen, there is no mind fixed on hearing or seeing. In this way, the emptiness of this heart communicates with ghosts and spirits—how much more so with people? At this point one can transform the multitude. “Ghosts and spirits come to lodge” is utter sincerity like that of the spirits; within this heart there are ghosts and spirits in their own right, communicating with the Creator—hence the phrase “come to lodge.” The preceding exposition is already complete, yet it closes with one more line: this is the principle of transforming and nurturing the myriad things, the place from which the myriad things are born. The great pivot seen by Shun and Yu rests precisely here; Fuxi and Jieyu followed it for a lifetime—how much more so those on a lower level? Jieyu is perhaps said to be the name of an ancient ruler, but it cannot be verified; in the end it is allegory. “The scattered” refers to ordinary people. From “cutting off traces” downward there is yet another layer of development; it should not be read as glued to the previous section.

Lord Gao of Ye was about to go on a mission to Qi and consulted Confucius, saying: The King of Chu has sent me, Zhuliang, as envoy; the responsibility is heavy. Qi will probably treat the envoy with respect but will not hurry to handle the real business. Between common folk…

(An envoy was about to go on a mission to Qi and was afraid; he came to ask Confucius for guidance. Confucius said:) Even among ordinary people, if you bring something up and the other person does not respond, you are at a loss—how much more so with a feudal lord? I am truly afraid for you. You once told me about Ye Ziliao (Zi Gao was his courtesy name) and that mission—you said that in affairs great or small, few succeed without cordial harmony. If the affair fails, there is sure to be trouble on the human level (punishment, guilt); if it succeeds, there is often weariness and worry that harm body and mind. Only a person of virtue can avoid trouble afterward, whether things work out or not.

(Zi Gao went on to describe his state:) When I eat, I hold plain rice and cannot tell coarse from fine; the kitchen fire has not cooked for so long that it ought to be cold—and yet it feels unnaturally cold—is that not because I have no appetite? I received the order this morning and by evening I want ice water; my heart is burning inside. I have not yet grasped the real facts of the matter, but already I have the kind of distress that throws Yin and Yang out of balance. If the mission fails, there will again be trouble on the human level—both outcomes are calamity. As a minister I cannot bear such a burden. If you have anything to teach me, please say it.

Notes on the commentary (口义):

“Zhu Liang” is Ye Gong’s personal name; “Zi Gao” is his courtesy name. “The mission of Zhu Liang” refers to sending Zi Gao to Qi—the tone is heavy, meaning this embassy to Qi was extremely difficult.

“Very respectful but not urgent” means: the other side treats you with ritual propriety, yet is slow to answer or grant what you ask.

Later, “zi refers to the Master”—here “zi” means Confucius—who taught that in state affairs, great or small, few succeed without cordial harmony. “Gua” means “few”; “bu dao” means “does not speak” or “does not respond.” Planning for the state: if it fails, there is punishment and similar trouble; if one schemes until it succeeds, one often falls ill from worry—that is the affliction of Yin-Yang (body and mind out of tune). Only the person of virtue is free of trouble after success or failure. The above is what Confucius said.

Zi Gao also said: since I received the order, food has no taste—I cannot tell coarse from fine (“zang” here means fine or good). Usually the stove is busy and the cook wishes for rest; now worry is so heavy that I eat little and the stove stays cold. I received the order in the morning, my chest is tormented, and at night I want ice water. “Qing” means the real situation—I have not yet understood the mission’s facts, but illness has come first. If it fails there is punishment; both paths are disaster, and a minister cannot bear it. Please explain the principle to me again.

General Meaning of the Passage

Yan Hui said: I have met with misfortune; to serve another as a subject in such straits is truly hard to bear. What can you teach me? Please tell me how to guide me.

Confucius said: In the world there are two greatest precepts: one is fate (ming), one is righteousness (yi). A son’s love for his parents is fate—something the heart cannot undo; a subject’s service to his lord is righteousness—there is no place that is not the lord’s domain; nowhere under heaven and earth can one flee. This is what is called the great precept (da jie). Therefore in serving parents, one does not pick the place—wherever one is, one serves with a settled heart; that is the height of filial piety. In serving one’s lord, one does not pick the task—whatever the task, one does it with a settled heart; that is the height of loyalty. To settle one’s inner mind so that joy and sorrow do not shift with outer events, so that what lies before one cannot alter it, to know there is no help for it yet accept it in peace—as with fate—that is the height of virtue (de). To be another’s subject always involves what one cannot avoid; one only acts according to the real situation and forgets oneself—how then could one fuss over liking life or hating death? Sir, if you act in this way, it will do.

Oral Commentary (Explanation)

These words are thoroughly sound. They speak of one’s place in the world; to be able to say such things—how can one call Zhuangzi pedantic or a mere big talker?

Da jie means the greatest law or principle. Ming is what is given from Heaven: the son serving his parents is innate; the heart cannot leave it for a day, hence “cannot be undone.” Yi is what a person ought to do: the subject serving the lord is the first duty in the world; once there are the names of lord and subject, all under heaven are the king’s subjects, hence “everywhere is the lord’s domain”; being a subject, where could one flee? Hence “nowhere to escape between heaven and earth.”

When serving parents and fulfilling filial piety, one obeys one’s parents in every direction—would one only act where it is comfortable? Only then is the heart truly settled. As for loyalty, though the realm of joy and sorrow lies before one, it cannot be changed, because tasks may be hard or easy, or bring fortune or harm; once they come from the lord’s command, they are what one must do—that is Heavenly fate, and again there is no help for it, only peaceful acceptance. To follow fate thus is to be a person of utmost virtue. Being another’s subject also depends on what one meets; if one unluckily meets a hard case, that too is unavoidable—one need only do the work honestly according to the real situation. “Qing” means the actual circumstances—the point is simply to act in a plain, straightforward way.

Brief Glossary of Terms

• Da jie (大戒): The greatest law or principle; what cannot be violated as ordinary reason.
• Ming (命): What Heaven bestows and what cannot be undone (e.g., a son’s love for his parents).
• Yi (义): What a person ought to fulfill (e.g., a subject’s service to a lord).
• Kouyi (口义): Section-by-section explanation of the scripture text.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Commentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence)

Continuation of the earlier passage (Master Gao of Duke Ye questions Confucius)

“Once you go, how can you still look back to your own safety? Even if disaster reaches the point of life and death, nothing can be done about it. Master, you simply must make the journey”—meaning you have no choice but to go. “The Master” refers to Duke Ye.

Confucius states again what he has heard

“I beg to set forth once more what I have heard: whenever people associate closely, they must harmonize through pledges of good faith, as when tokens serve as proof; when association is distant, they must express their loyalty fully in words. Once words leave the mouth, someone may carry them along. To transmit words born of mutual joy or mutual anger is among the hardest things in the world. When both sides are pleased, the message tends to overflow with excessive praise; when both are angry, it tends to overflow with excessive blame. Whatever overflows in this way is false; what is false leaves the hearer doubtful and unable to trust—and when doubt arises, calamity falls on the one who carried the message. Hence the Fa Yan says: transmit only what is genuinely felt; do not transmit what overflows—and then you may nearly preserve yourself intact.”

Kouyi (oral meaning of the text)

Here the exposition turns again and spells out human affairs in full. “Faith” (xin) here means something offered as proof of sincerity, like tallies or credentials. Xiangmo means to accord with each other—such is close dealings. When the relationship is distant, one must use speech to exhaust one’s loyalty—that is, to lay one’s heart bare. Yet how do words reach the other party? Someone must relay them. In relaying, words of mutual joy and mutual anger are the hardest: if one side comes with joy and the other answers with joy, favorable things are said beyond what is fitting—hence “overflowing praise” (yi mei, yi meaning excessive). If both are angry, harmful things are again said beyond what is fitting—hence “overflowing blame” (yi e). Language of the same kind of excess cannot be true; therefore “whatever overflows is false.” Because it is untrue, the listener is left doubtful and cannot fully believe. Mo is the look of doubt; once doubt appears, ill will from both sides falls on the relayer, who is sure to be punished—hence “then the relayer meets disaster.” Because one is on a diplomatic mission, this is given as a warning. Fa Yan is the title of an ancient book, cited here as evidence. “Transmit what is genuinely felt” means the relayer should pass on only plain, honest speech; what is excessive in wording must not be passed on—hence “do not transmit what overflows.” If relaying can be like this, one may hope to keep oneself largely intact.

“Those who first compete in craft and strength…”

Those who first compete in craft and strength begin in openness (yang) but often end in secrecy and harm (yin); when ease goes to the extreme, strange cleverness multiplies. Those who drink according to ritual begin in order but often end in disorder; when ease goes to the extreme…

(The closing sentence in the supplied excerpt is incomplete; it means that drinking by ritual aims at decorum, yet at the extreme it turns to chaos—of the same pattern as competing in strength and the multiplication of odd tricks: all are warnings that what begins well may end badly.)

This passage comes from oral exegesis (kouyi) on the Nanhua Zhenjing (the Scripture of the Southern Florescence, i.e., the Zhuangzi). It first cites Zhuangzi’s text, then unpacks it through ordinary human experience.

Paraphrase of Zhuangzi’s original: Many things follow this pattern: at first people still keep faith and observe what is fitting, but in the end things turn coarse and artificial. What begins simply often finishes in uproar. Speech is like wind on water—insubstantial and stirring; action easily drifts from name to fact and loses what is genuine. Once the “wind and waves” move, they are hard to still; once name and reality part, danger is near. Angry words are often invented without real cause; clever, one-sided rhetoric is like the random cries of a dying beast or harsh, ragged breath—then a mind of bitter severity wells up. When severity reaches an extreme, unworthy responses arise in the heart, and one no longer knows how it happened; if even “not knowing how it happened” stays murky, who can foresee how far the affair will go?

The commentator’s expansion (everyday analogies): The lecturer says that after Zhuangzi finishes his point about “transmitted words,” he illustrates it with common situations—each line is worldly human feeling; that is the brilliance of Zhuangzi’s style.

Take wrestling or playful fighting: faces may smile while hearts still compete; what starts as gesture and play often ends in real blows and quarrels. When “play” goes too far, people easily apply trickery and surprise where they should not; excess is called tai zhi—going too far.

Or consider drinking together: at first there is ritual and the opening banquet, orderly and dignified; after too much wine come shouting and chaos. When drinking passes the mark, pleasure often turns strange, and contention follows.

“All affairs are likewise” means other things in the world often go the same way. When people work together, they usually begin in sincerity and trust; later coarseness and cunning appear. Another pattern: at first one only wants to get by casually and save trouble (goujian); in the end it becomes a major affair. The above is a general picture of worldly life; what follows singles out “words” and “deeds.”

Once human relations involve speech, “wind and waves” arise: like wind over water—empty, unstable, noisy. As soon as one speaks of “conduct,” names and traces appear; with names, the real (shi) is easily lost (a split between name and reality). Hence “wind and waves are easy to set in motion”—too many words, or words too clever, and turmoil spreads; “loss of the real is easy to make dangerous”—names without substance, or abandoning one’s genuineness, invites harm.

Fen she wu you: words of anger are mostly fabricated; there was no such event, no such reason. Qiaoyan pian ci: clever speech that takes only one side of the truth, hence “partial phrasing.” When a beast is about to die, its cries are chaotic and undiscriminating; when a person’s temper flares, breath turns harsh (furan), and a mind of severe, cutting harshness (xin li ke he) arises together. At the extreme of severity, unworthy (buxiao) responses form in the heart, and one does not know how it came to be; if even “not knowing how it came to be” is unclear, who can guess where the situation will end?

Brief notes on terms: Nanhua Zhenjing is the Daoist honorific title for the Zhuangzi. Kouyi is the genre of oral, line-by-line commentary. Fengbo (wind and waves) here figures speech that stirs, floats, and confuses—not merely literal wind on water. Shi sang means the real is lost while the name remains, or words and acts diverge from one’s true self. Xin li ke he denotes a heart turned bitter, harsh, and cruel.

Words spoken without choosing tone: Once words leave the mouth, one no longer weighs what is harsh or mild—they do not pass through the mind.

When a beast is dying, what choice does it make in its cries? It is like the death-howl of a wild animal: at that moment, what is there to pick between pleasant and harsh?

This is a metaphor for people who are skilled with words and clever in argument: When they actually come to quarreling, what they say often cannot be weighed or chosen in time.

As the proverb puts it—when people trade insults, there are no kind words.

Breath coming in sudden, forceful bursts is anger; it is fierce, harsh, and perverse in spirit. Once anger rises, a harsh and perverse mind arises along with it.

If I am like this, those who answer me, because of my harshness and meanness, will mostly harbor rebellious or unworthy thoughts (“unworthy” here can mean failing to measure up, or being disobedient and contrary).

Sometimes they even harm and wrong one another—and all of it is driven by anger, without their knowing it. Once driven by anger without knowing it, who has leisure to reckon how things will end?

Everything above speaks of how things are in the world; sometimes what begins well turns into something bad, so the discussion is drawn on to this point.

Notes:

• 茀然 (furán): Often describes surging breath or heavy, abrupt breathing, linked with “anger.”
• 克核 (kèhé): Being harsh and mean toward others.
• 不肖之心 (bùxiào zhī xīn): Thoughts of defiance, disobedience, or “not measuring up”—not limited to the literal sense of an “unworthy son.”
• This passage belongs to the Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (oral exegesis of the Nanhua Zhenjing, the Zhuangzi) as an elaboration on worldly conduct, quarreling, and anger; it may be read alongside the original Zhuangzi context.