《南華真經口義》Vol. 6
About this page. The original text of 《南華真經口義》 Vol. 6 (Dongshen 洞神部, 32 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 10 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Source textInterpretation
This passage again cites words from ancient books to bring the discussion to a close on the theme of serving as envoy and serving one’s ruler.
The ruler’s mandate is the command entrusted by the sovereign. Not altering the mandate means not changing or distorting it on one’s own—what was meant earlier by “transmitting the genuine situation,” conveying the intent faithfully. If you accept the mandate yet secretly scheme to make the mission look “brilliant,” even to the point of changing how things are said, that is wrong. Whether the affair succeeds or fails, let it be as it will; you must not force success—hence not urging success. “Benefit” (yi) here means wanting more, piling on gain; when an ordinary mind adds a thought of going too far, that is the heart of seeking extra benefit, and that will not do. Going to excess means overstepping the proper measure and doing too much; altering the mandate and urging success are both forms of that excessive intent, and to plot affairs on that basis is to court danger—hence “endangering the task” (daishi).
For people to become truly close is very hard; it is not settled in a day but must firm up over time—hence “what is beautifully accomplished takes long.” One word out of tune, one thing not going smoothly, and enmity can appear in an instant—hence “ill will forms before you can change it”: turning hostile is easy, becoming truly friendly is hard, so one must be especially careful.
If I ride with things (chengwu)—going along with outer circumstances and the situation—and let the heart wander freely (youxin), and meet affairs from having no alternative (budeyi)—only what must be so—thereby nourishing the center within (yangzhong), that is the utmost way. Why then add reckless action and still seek recompense? “Recompense” (bao) means return or fulfilling the mandate; devoting one’s life (zhiming) means carrying the ruler’s mandate to Wei with full sincerity. On this journey, you would do better to complete the mandate with sincerity alone, without over-calculating success or failure; being able to devote your life to it is already a hard thing. The added word “hard” means that standing in this position is also difficult—what is meant by “moving within the hub of the wheel”: the center is the middle.
Note: This section belongs to the inner chapter “In the Human World” (Renjian Shi) in the Zhuangzi, toward the latter part of that chapter. Lin Xiyi (style name Yanzhai) wrote Kouyi (oral exegesis) on the Nanhua Zhenjing (Zhuangzi); phrases here such as those on “standard sayings” (fayan) echo Zhuangzi’s reflections on envoys and how to live in the world.
Title and Main Theme
This chapter is called “Human World” (Renjian Shi), and it speaks of how hard it is to live and act rightly amid the affairs of the world.
Read closely, this passage lays bare every twist of human relations and social life. Some say Zhuangzi’s nature is open and all-embracing—how could he describe the world’s crookedness so sharply? Those who argue this way think Zhuang-Lao teaching sees only that “the mind of Dao is subtle” and overlooks that “the human mind is perilous”—what should we make of such a view? Only that the reader has not yet looked closely enough.
Yan Hui Consults Qu Boyu
Yan Hui was about to become tutor to the crown prince of Wei (heir to Duke Ling of Wei) and sought instruction from Qu Boyu (a worthy minister of Wei, famed for self-cultivation).
He said: There is a man whose virtue seems stripped of heaven’s clear judgment—“heaven’s killing” (tian sha) means nature is worn away and obscured, like autumn frost killing plants; it refers to the prince’s violent temperament and failure to tell right from wrong. If we leave him unchecked and set no bounds, he will someday harm the state; if we try to correct him and impose rules, disaster will fall on me first. He is clever enough to spot others’ faults yet cannot see his own, nor why he errs. Faced with this, what am I to do?
Qu Boyu said: Well asked! Be wary; be careful! First set yourself right! Outwardly, it is best to seem compliant and easy; inwardly, it is best to keep balance and adjustment. Yet even compliance and balance have their dangers: compliance without holding your ground easily drifts with the current; balance without showing yourself easily mingles with what is base. Outward compliance with inward entanglement leads to stumbling, ruin, collapse, and fall; inward balance with outward pandering breeds loud reputation, blame, and monstrous harm. If he acts like an infant, you act like an infant; if he has no measure or rule, you have no measure or rule; if he has no limit and runs wild, you have no limit. Only by penetrating this can you enter “without blemish”—unstained and unharmed.
Notes on the Meaning
“Someone here” means the prince. “His virtue is heaven-killed” means nature is worn away by creation; cleverness turns against itself. “Without measure” (wu fang) means no law or standard. The prince often breaks law and virtue; if left loose, he will endanger the state; if corrected, trouble reaches the tutor first. The prince’s wit is enough to know others’ faults but not his own, nor to change them—hence Yan Hui’s “what can I do?”—I am at a loss.
“Set your person right” (zheng ru shen) means begin with yourself and straighten your own conduct. “Compliance” (jiu) is yielding and following; “harmony” (he) is blending and guiding. Outward respect and yielding, inward wholehearted blending and guidance—that is why it says “in form, nothing surpasses compliance; in mind, nothing surpasses harmony”—for method, nothing serves better.
Plain-Language Interpretation
1. He and Jiu: Entering by Following, Coming Out in Harmony
“To follow along and become one with him is to jiu—to go along and enter.”
To follow the other person completely and become one with him is jiu, or going along and entering: follow his path inward, and when he reaches a point where he can awaken, offer a touch of guidance. This may bring him suddenly to his senses, or help him enter a place free from fault. “Reach him” means awaken.
“If there is an intention to guide, but the edges show a little, that is he—to come out in harmony.”
If you mean to guide him but let your sharpness show slightly, that is he—coming out in harmony: approach gently and amicably, without forcing your way in.
“If jiu goes so far as to enter completely, then one’s own side of he is laid low. Hence it is called overturning, destruction, collapse, and defeat.”
If jiu goes too far and you become completely immersed, your own side of he falls down. Hence the terms overturning, destruction, collapse, and defeat: he and jiu have lost their balance, and you are the first to fall.
“If he goes so far that one’s reputation becomes known, the other person will surely resent and harm you, and calamity will surely follow. Hence it is called voice, fame, malignity, and misfortune.”
If he goes so far that your reputation becomes known, the other person will surely resent you, and you will surely invite trouble. Hence the terms voice, fame, malignity, and misfortune. He does not mean ingratiating yourself until you become famous; jiu does not mean becoming so immersed that you cannot get out.
Ai Xuan’s example from Puzhong: A man’s father had died, but the son did not bury him. He squandered all the family’s fields and did as he pleased. When the land was nearly gone, his relatives collected money to help him bury his father. He agreed outwardly, then took the money and went right back to squandering it. His relatives were furious. One member of the clan befriended him and went out drinking with him, letting him do as he pleased. One night, when they were drinking happily, he patted the man on the back and said, “Other people cannot bear their worries, but Yan Hui never let them disturb his joy.” The man suddenly awakened, wept bitterly, and went home. He then buried his father and eventually became a good person. This illustrates going along and entering: when the man was ready to awaken, his companion offered a timely touch of guidance. He followed along without pressing him, and when the moment came, the man awakened on his own.
2. The Infant: Without Boundaries or Limits
“An infant is like a small child who knows nothing.”
An infant is like a little child who knows nothing.
“Without boundaries means having no dividing lines or embankments; it describes someone who acts recklessly, without any standard.”
Without boundaries means there are no field lines or embankments. It describes someone who acts without restraint or any guiding standard.
“Without limits means having no edge or end; it describes someone who acts without considering what will happen when things reach their conclusion.”
Without limits means having no end in sight. It describes someone who acts without thinking about what will happen in the end.
“The infant’s lack of boundaries and limits both describe people who act foolishly out of ignorance.”
The infant’s lack of boundaries and limits are both images of people who act recklessly out of ignorance—they do things without restraint, boundaries, or standards.
“He is being ignorant and acting recklessly like this; I will simply follow along with him. Hence it is called ‘also going along with him.’”
He is acting this way out of ignorance and recklessness, so I will simply follow along. Hence the phrase “also going along with him”: first follow his lead rather than confronting him head-on.
“When he reaches a point where he can awaken, offer a touch of guidance, so that he suddenly comes to his senses, and perhaps enters a place free from fault.”
When he reaches a point where he can awaken, then offer a touch of guidance. He may suddenly come to his senses, or enter a place free from fault—a place without error or blame.
3. The Mantis: Raising Its Arms Against a Cart
“Do you not know the mantis? It raises its forearms in anger against a cart’s wheels, unaware that it cannot prevail. This is the beauty of its talent.”
Do you not know the mantis? It raises its forearms in anger against a cart’s wheels, unaware that it cannot prevail. This is the beauty of its talent: it thinks its ability is splendid and that it can stop the cart.
“Be warned and take care. To flaunt one’s achievements and regard them as splendid, then use them to challenge another—that is nearly the end.”
Be warned and take care: to flaunt one’s achievements and regard oneself as splendid, then challenge or offend others with them, is to come close to disaster. If you use your abilities to stand in the way like the mantis, or to show off, you will provoke danger.
4. Raising a Tiger: Living Prey, Whole Prey, Hunger, and Anger
“Do you not know how people raise tigers?”
Do you not know how people raise tigers?
“They dare not give one a live animal, because they fear the anger it feels when killing it.”
They dare not feed it live prey, for fear that the act of killing will stir its anger.
“They dare not give it a whole animal, because they fear the anger it feels when tearing it apart.”
They dare not give it a whole animal, for fear that tearing it apart will stir its anger.
“They regulate its hunger and fullness, and accommodate its anger.”
Regulate its hunger and fullness means attending to when it is hungry and when it is full. Accommodate its anger means following its temper and avoiding provocation.
“Though tigers are a different kind from humans, they are fond of those who raise them because they are treated with compliance. Thus, when a tiger kills, it is not the keeper who dies.”
Tigers are a different kind of creature from humans, yet they show affection toward those who raise them because the keepers act in accordance with their nature. The keeper attends to the tiger’s hunger and fullness and does not provoke it. So when the tiger kills, it is someone else who dies, not the keeper.
Summary
| Concept | Meaning |
|---|---|
| Going along and entering / coming out in harmony | Follow and enter in order to offer guidance; if you mean to guide, come out gently. If jiu goes too far, he collapses; if he goes too far, fame invites harm. |
| The infant’s lack of boundaries and limits | Describes someone who acts recklessly out of ignorance. Follow along when he acts this way, then offer guidance when he is ready to awaken. |
| “Reach him” / free from fault | To awaken; a place without error or blame. |
| The mantis raising its arms against a cart | It mistakes its ability for strength despite being unable to prevail; beware of flaunting one’s talents and using them to challenge others. |
| Raising a tiger | Live or whole prey may provoke it. Regulate its hunger and fullness and accommodate its anger. When treated in accordance with its nature, it shows affection for its keeper, and the keeper survives its killing. |
He and jiu must be carefully balanced: going along and entering can allow you to offer guidance, while coming out in harmony calls for gentleness. The infant is a metaphor for someone who acts recklessly out of ignorance: follow along first, then guide him. The mantis warns against showing off one’s talents and challenging others; raising a tiger warns against provoking anger and calls for acting in accordance with its nature.
(Continuing from the passage on raising a tiger) When a tiger kills a person, it is because that person has gone against its nature. Consider also the care of horses: using bamboo baskets for dung and earthen vessels for urine shows great devotion; yet if swarms of gnats and horseflies bite the horse and you swat at the wrong moment, the horse may break free of bit and bridle in a rage and smash its head and chest. The heart had reached the utmost of care, and the earlier tenderness is lost in an instant—when dealing with people, can one afford not to be cautious?
(Commentary) What follows uses several analogies: the mantis, trusting in its own small skill, tries to stop a cart wheel with its forelegs—a image of modest talent that overreaches and tackles great affairs, rarely without failure. “积” means repeatedly; “伐” means to boast; “几” means danger: those who repeatedly boast of their ability and offend what the world forbids bring their bodies to the brink of ruin—hence “those who pile up self-praise and beauty to offend others are nearly done for.” Tigers are quick to anger; those who raise them must harmonize their temper and dispel wrath; toward a tiger that has already submitted, one must still show deference and closeness—in the end there is nothing but going along with it; go against it, and it will surely harm you—hence “those it kills are those who opposed it.” “筐” is a bamboo container; “蜄” is a clay vessel for holding dung and urine—love of the horse could hardly go further; then gnats and flies gather on the body, and if they are not brushed away in time, the horse breaks its harness and shatters head and chest—here meaning wrath in the heart flares up, and yesterday’s love is wholly forgotten. “仆縁” means to swarm together; “亡” is the same as “忘” (to forget). The point is roughly this: good outcomes take long accumulation; when ill turns strike, there is no time to recover. Among people, someone may follow you all his life, then turn enemy over a single word—so hard is the art of living in the world. Read the passages on Lord She’s son Gao and Yan He below, and you will see why this chapter is called The Human World (Renjian shi).
Craftsman Shi in Qi
The carpenter Shi went to Qi. At Quyuan he saw a she-tree (the oak used at the village altar): its crown could shade hundreds of oxen, its trunk was a hundred arm-spans around, its height rose dozens of feet above the hillside, and from the crown hung great limbs—more than ten side branches stout enough to serve as planking for boats. Spectators thronged like a market fair. Master Carpenter (Shi’s teacher) did not glance at it and walked straight on. When his disciple had stared his fill and caught up, he said, “Since I followed you with axe in hand, I have never seen timber like this—why did you look and leave without a word?”
The master said, “Enough—this is sanmu (worthless timber). Make a boat and it sinks; make a coffin and it rots; make tools and they break; make doors and windows and they split. It is good for nothing, and so it could grow this large. Alas! A tree like this preserves its years through uselessness; does the craftsman’s eye not always hunt for ‘usefulness’? Tree, it has almost saved itself by being no timber!”
On Mount Quyuan there stood a catalpa tree that people treated as the sacred tree to which the earth god (She) was attached. The trunk was so massive that it took a hundred arm-spans to measure around it; it rose some ten ren in height (about eight feet per ren in ancient measure), and its shade could shelter several thousand cattle. People came from far away to gaze at it in an endless stream, and only left when they had seen enough.
A carpenter named Stone passed by just as his apprentice was about to go measure the tree. The master walked on without a backward glance. The apprentice caught up and asked, “Master, I have studied under you and never seen timber this fine. Why did you not even look?” Stone said, “Enough of that—it is worthless wood. Make a door from it and the door will weep sap; make a pillar and the pillar will breed worms. It is a ‘tree of no talent’ (bucai zhi mu): good for nothing, and that is precisely why it has lived so long.”
After Stone returned home, the sacred catalpa appeared to him in a dream and said, “What do you want to compare me with? Do you mean to line me up against those ‘ornamental timbers’—the handsome, useful trees that bear fruit? Hawthorn, pear, orange, pomelo, and the like: when their fruit ripens they are stripped and peeled, mishandled and humiliated; their big limbs are broken off and their small twigs torn away. Precisely because they are ‘useful,’ they torment their own lives; they often fail to live out their natural span and die halfway—disaster invited by their own gifts. That is how most things go.
“Moreover, I have long pursued being utterly useless and nearly lost my life; only now have I got my wish. My greatest use lies exactly in my uselessness. If I were ‘useful,’ could I have grown this large? Besides, you and I are both things among things—why should thing reckon against thing? You nearly destroyed me. I, a ‘scattered timber’ (san mu)—wood cast aside as useless—how would I understand the way of scattered timber?”
Supplementary glosses (woven into the reading above; a few backgrounds spelled out here): “Quyuan” is a mountain name; “li” names the tree (catalpa). In ancient community altars a great tree always stood as the focus—Xia used pine, Zhou used chestnut; this tree stood in the She precinct, hence “sacred catalpa at the She.” Girth was reckoned in “one wrap” of both arms. “Yan” (厌) here means the viewers stopped only when they had had their fill. Sap seeping is “liquid resin” (ye man); used as pillars, such wood readily rots with insects. In the dream, the pears, oranges, and pomelos Stone invokes are “ornamental timbers”—because they fruit and yield lumber they are constantly felled and broken. When the catalpa says Stone “nearly died” (ji si), it means he nearly cut the tree down, much as people today might snap “you’re half dead.” The thrust of the whole passage: only uselessness completes life—and that is the greatest use.
You and I are both things among heaven and earth: Carpenter Shi is a person, I am a catalpa tree—we are all “things.” On what grounds do you use “thing” to mock me? Hence “若与予也皆物也”: we are both things to each other; why must we treat one another merely as things? The four “也” and one “哉” in this line are exactly where Zhuangzi’s style turns strange and striking.
You too are a “useless” person—how can you ridicule this useless tree of mine? Hence “几死之散人”: how would you know I am scattered, worthless timber?
When Carpenter Shi woke, he divined about it. His disciple said: If you pursue uselessness, why make it a sacred post tree at all? He replied: Hush—do not speak. To serve as a sacred post tree is only a casual lodging; who could have guessed that today some uncomprehending person would take me for a sacred post and revile and mock me? “诟厉” means to abuse and blame. Even without becoming a sacred post, who would come to fell it? What it guards is inherently unlike the crowd; yet you measure it by moral right and wrong, praise and blame—how far apart that is. “所保” means what it holds fast to. In “且几有翦乎,” “几” is close in sense to “殆” (nearly, almost).
Nanbo Ziqi was wandering on the Hill of Shang when he saw a great tree whose foliage was so extraordinary it could shade thousands of chariots. Ziqi said: What tree is this? It must have some special substance. Looking up at the fine branches, they were twisted and could not serve as beams; looking down at the great roots, the grain was chaotic and could not serve for coffin boards; licking a leaf would ulcerate the mouth; smelling it would madden a person for more than three days. Ziqi said: This is indeed timber of no use—only thus could it grow so vast. Alas, the spirit person (shenren) also relies on this kind of “no use.”
In the state of Song there was a clan named Jing, in whose land catalpa, cypress, and mulberry thrived. Trunks of a single arm-span were cut for monkey perches; those of three or four spans for ridgepoles of famous tall houses; those of seven or eight spans for beams in the ancestral halls of the nobility.
Paraphrase of the Scripture (Zhuangzi’s original and the oral commentary)
A tree eight arm-spans around: when a wealthy merchant’s household wants it for coffin side-boards, it gets cut down. So it never lives out its full span of years and is felled halfway by axe and adze—that is the harm of being “useful timber.”
Hence the old books say: an ox with a white forehead, a pig with a turned-up snout, and a person with hemorrhoids must not be sent to sacrifice to the river. Ritual specialists all know this and treat it as ill omen. Yet in the eyes of the spirit person (shenren), it is precisely great good fortune.
Oral Commentary (section by section)
This passage matches the earlier theme of the “useless tree,” only with a few extra lines in the middle, stating the same idea from another angle.
“Seeing a great tree with something extraordinary about it”—one sees a tree so large it seems abnormal.
“Teams of four horses for a thousand chariots could hide in the shade beneath this tree”—even a host of chariots and horses could take shelter under it.
“Those who come seeking shade—even creeping plants can give cover”: here bi means to shade others oneself, and bo means others come seeking one’s shade—the great tree shades the multitude all the more.
“With the pith split and hollow, not solid”—the heartwood is empty, like taro stems.
Gua is to lick with the tongue; “eating paper” may echo something like “foul as if one were eating paper”—licking rots the mouth; sniffing it is like a drunk—that describes the tree’s foul smell.
Because the tree is utterly “useless timber,” without utility, it can preserve its life and grow so huge. Ancient spirit persons preserved their lives by this same “uselessness.” So the sigh: the spirit person too relies on this “uselessness.”
Names of Jing region; catalpa, cypress, and mulberry are all fine timber—earlier the text spoke of trees good for food; here it speaks of trees good for building—all suited to local qi and thriving.
At “handful-thick” girth they are already cut; at three or four arm-spans they are cut; at seven or eight arm-spans they are cut still—the point is that whatever is useful and fit for use cannot be kept; precisely because it is “usable,” it invites this calamity.
The commentary cites the old words of ritual specialists: an ox with a white forehead or a pig with a folded, high nose may not be offered to the river. In antiquity people were sometimes sacrificed to the river (as in the tale of Lord Ximen Bao), so the oral gloss adds “hemorrhoids”—Zhuangzi likes startling lines and piles on such details. Shi he means going to the riverbank to sacrifice; such people must not go to sacrifice to the river.
What ritual specialists call ill omen, for the spirit person is great good fortune—the theme remains: uselessness and non-utility preserve life.
The text describes three types of individuals conventionally deemed inauspicious, yet precisely through their "inauspiciousness" they avoid life-threatening dangers. To those who have attained the Dao, this superficial misfortune is in fact the greatest blessing. Both passages illustrate the hardships of worldly existence—deliberately displaying one's excellence inevitably invites calamity, hence these examples serve as cautionary tales.
There was a man named Zhili Shu ("Fragmented and Broken") whose chin sank below his navel, shoulders rose higher than his head, his topknot pointed skyward, the meridians of his five viscera twisted upward, and his thighs appeared to grow from his ribcage. He eked out a living by mending clothes and washing laundry, yet his skill at sifting grain with a winnowing basket could feed ten people. When conscription orders were issued, he could swagger through the streets unmolested; when corvée labor was assigned, his deformities exempted him; yet when relief grain was distributed, he received three zhong measures and ten bundles of firewood. Even such a physically fragmented man could sustain himself and live out his natural lifespan—how much more so for those who are "fragmented in their De (Virtue)" (spiritually transcending worldly conventions)?
Zhili Shu's body was twisted and deformed—the pathways of his five viscera upturned by his hunchback, his legs seemingly sprouting from his ribs. Surviving by patching garments and laundering clothes, his winnowing speed could nourish ten households. Conscription passed him by, corvée duties exempted him, yet he received government relief provisions. This exemplifies the wisdom of preserving oneself through an appearance of broken uselessness. The phrase "fragmented in De" suggests that the Virtue of Daoist adepts appears similarly shattered yet achieves great utility through apparent uselessness—paralleling the principle of those "useless trees" in Zhuangzi's teachings.
When Confucius traveled to Chu, the madman Jieyu (a Daoist recluse) passed by his gate singing: "O phoenix, phoenix! How thy Virtue has declined! The coming age cannot be waited for, the past sage-kings cannot be recalled." This was a veiled critique of Confucius' futile obsession with saving the world.
When the world has the Dao, the sage can accomplish great things; when the world lacks the Dao, the sage can only preserve life. In times like the present, merely escaping punishment counts as good fortune. Blessing is as light as a feather, yet no one will bear it on the back; calamity is as heavy as the earth, yet no one knows how to step aside. Enough, enough—do not use virtue to look down on others and lecture them; dangerous, dangerous—do not bind yourself as if you had drawn a line on the ground and dared only hurry along inside it.
Deluding yang, deluding yang—do not block my path; I will take a winding way, but do not wound my feet. Great trees on the mountain invite the axe because they are “useful”—that is inviting the cut; grease is boiled because it can fuel a lamp—that is inviting the torment. Cassia trees are felled because their fruit can be eaten; lacquer trees are gashed because their sap is useful. Everyone understands the uses of what is “useful,” yet no one grasps the subtlety of what is “useless.”
What follows (“this passage draws on the Analects…”) is already a vernacular explanation from the Kouyi, showing how Zhuangzi borrows the Analects’ meaning to satirize the Confucian school, urge self-concealment in a chaotic age, and seek only exemption from punishment, with line-by-line glosses on “enough, enough,” “hurrying as if along a line drawn on the ground,” “deluding yang,” and “mountain trees invite their own ruin”—the gist aligns with the foregoing and need not be spelled out again here.
Later, people wanted to cut down this lacquer tree—because lacquer is useful, later generations came to tap it for lacquer. All of this shows that those who cannot hide themselves and seek a name in the world will instead invite disaster.
So Zhuangzi said: people only understand the use of what is “useful”; they do not understand the use of what is “useless.”
Background: This passage continues the parable of “the usefulness of uselessness” in the Zhuangzi. The great tree deliberately grew crooked and useless as timber, and so could escape being cut down; yet once the lacquer tree could yield lacquer and had a “use,” it was cut all the same. Commentary on cultivation uses this to advise: rather than showing off talent and chasing fame and gain, it is better to keep one’s simplicity and hide one’s edge—seeming useless is precisely the wisdom of preserving oneself.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5c0128）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback