《南華真經口義》Vol. 7

Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi, fascicle 7 (excerpt)

Yizhai Lin Xiyi

Inner Chapters: Signs of Full Virtue in the Person (De Chong Fu)

(Chapter title De Chong Fu: when De [virtue/power] is full within oneself, one can then respond to affairs outside.)

In the state of Lu there was a man named Wang Tai who had only one foot (wuzhe denotes a person with a severed foot). Those who studied with him were about as numerous as those who studied with Confucius. Chang Ji (a disciple of Confucius) asked Confucius, “Wang Tai is a man with a severed foot, yet those who follow him to learn are half of Lu—half with you, half with him. He stands and does not lecture; he sits and does not discuss. When disciples go to him their minds are empty as if they gain nothing; when they return they are full and replete, as if they have obtained something. Can there really be teaching without words and inner completion without visible form? What kind of person is he?”

Confucius said, “This master is a sage. I have only lagged behind and have not yet gone to visit him. I, Kong Qiu, would take him as teacher—how much more those who are not equal to Kong Qiu! And it is not only the state of Lu: I, Kong Qiu, would also wish to lead everyone under Heaven to follow him.”

Chang Ji said, “He is only a man with a severed foot, yet he surpasses you, Master—then how far he must be from ordinary people! For someone like this, his mind is uniquely devoted; what is it like?”

(Note: Chang Ji was a disciple of Confucius. “Half of Lu” means half of Lu followed Confucius and half followed Wang Tai. “Stands and does not lecture” and “sits and does not discuss” mean he stands and sits with disciples but does not open his mouth to teach or offer discourse. “Empty in going, full in returning” means disciples go with minds empty and without clinging, and return full and with attainment. “Without form yet the mind completes itself” means there is no visible teaching, yet the mind completes itself through inner resonance. Chang Ji therefore doubted and asked. Confucius’s “the master” refers to Wang Tai; “only lagged behind and have not gone” means he wanted to visit but had long delayed; xi jia means “how much more,” and “lead everyone under Heaven” means he would lead all under Heaven to take him as teacher. The line “though he is a wuzhe, yet he is Master Wang” means Wang Tai, though severed-footed, still surpasses the Master (Confucius), and differs even more from ordinary people. “Master” here means Confucius; yong means ordinary people.)

Confucius said, “‘Death and life are momentous’—these five words are a great thread running through the whole book of Zhuangzi; the great Buddhist canon too arises from no more than these five words. The saying ‘death and life are a great matter, urgent as saving one’s head’ is exactly this meaning. ‘Yet cannot transform with him’ means ordinary people cannot transcend with him the changes of death and life…”

(Note: Lin Xiyi here marks “death and life are momentous” as a pivotal node in Zhuangzi and in Buddhist meaning; the text below should continue with how Wang Tai, with De full, does not follow the shifts of death and life.)

Even if the changes of life and death are extreme, as long as this mind can stay unmoved, nothing can force me to change along with them. “Cannot” here means need not and ought not; “changing with it” means changing together with external things. These words are put in the mouth of Confucius, but in fact they are a parable of Zhuangzi. Confucians criticized it as heterodox, saying that on other matters it fails to explain things clearly yet clings to this one theme for a lifetime—and that criticism has some force. Buddhist teaching mostly addresses those who are dull, grasping, dim, and hard to transform, using death and fear to drive them toward goodness; the doctrine may not always be right, yet the urgency to save the world is keen. Confucians cannot but refute such doctrines, yet they also cannot fail to understand the spirit behind them. They believed that people, regardless of rank, fear death most of all, and therefore wished to use death as leverage to steer people toward the Dao. To say that Buddhism established its teaching solely because of fear of death is to miss its inner intent.

Even if heaven and earth were overturned, I would not collapse along with them. This is what “shen hu wu jia” (scrutinizing what is without falsity) means: seeing clearly what is utterly real and undeceiving, and not altering along with external things; however the myriad beings transform, this mind holds sway, and one guards the root. “Heaven and earth overturn and fall” resembles the statement in the Yizhuan (Commentary on the Changes) that “Qian and Kun are destroyed”; zhui (坠) means to fall or collapse. The meaning is that even if heaven and earth should fall, I would not fall with them—just as in the earlier passage “entering water without getting wet, entering fire without feeling heat.” Reading Zhuangzi is unlike reading the Analects and Mencius: the tone is often extreme—a matter of literary style, not a literal claim that heaven and earth will collapse. Shen means to scrutinize thoroughly; wu jia means what is real and without deception. Such coinages are Zhuangzi’s verbal genius; if one rewrote it as “ming hu shi” (being clear about reality), it would be clumsy. “Not migrating with things” shares the same meaning as the earlier “not being forced to change with it” and “not falling with it.” “Ming wu zhi hua” (commanding the transformations of things) means that all transformations of the myriad beings obey this mind—as Chan Buddhism says: when the mind is deluded, one is turned by the Lotus Sutra; when the mind is awakened, one turns the Lotus Sutra. Zong (宗) is the origin of the myriad beings; guarding the zong means that what this person upholds lies at the source, in the same vein as the earlier “there is a beginning” and “there never yet was a beginning.” In Zhuangzi, words like zong, if glossed only as “beginning,” still carry deeper meaning. Only read this way does the subtlety appear: guarding the zong is the substance (ti); roaming in harmony (you qi he) is the function (yong)—this line marks substance and function and ties the whole passage together.

Chang Ji asked Confucius about the meaning of this passage. Confucius replied: Viewed from the perspective of differences among all things, even closely connected organs like the liver and gallbladder seem as distant as the states of Chu and Yue; but seen from the perspective of their fundamental unity, heaven, earth and all things are actually one integrated whole.

Ordinary people often fail to understand that all things originate from the same source, hence they perceive even their own liver and gallbladder as separate entities. But those who comprehend this principle realize that all things are united with oneself. The phrasing of these two statements is exceptionally refined, and many later literati have drawn upon this expressive technique in their writings. Zhuangzi's works not only contain profound philosophy, but their literary style transcends the mundane, far surpassing other philosophical texts of the Hundred Schools of Thought.

Those who truly awaken to the Dao (the Way) don't deliberately distinguish what the ears should hear or what the eyes should see, but instead let their spirit (Shen) roam freely in the harmonious realm of Virtue (De). While ears are naturally suited for hearing and eyes for seeing, the enlightened don't limit themselves to these singular functions - this is what Chan Buddhism calls "the six senses sharing one source." Consider the name "Guanyin" (Avalokiteshvara) - though sound is inherently invisible, we speak of "observing" sound, which contains deep meaning. "The harmony of Virtue (De)" refers to a state of alignment with the natural rhythms of heaven, earth and the four seasons. This concept of "harmony" reaches a higher realm than the "moderate harmony" discussed in the Doctrine of the Mean. Reading Zhuangzi requires a unique perspective.

We should contemplate all things by focusing on their fundamental unity, not dwelling on what might be missing. Just as an enlightened person would see someone who lost a foot as still complete. This illustrates how those awakened to the Dao perceive no concepts of excess or deficiency in all things, as shown in Zhuangzi's fables about the one-legged creatures Kui and Xian. The stories of Gongwen Xuan and Jie Zitui also demonstrate this principle. "Discarding earth" means being as unconcerned as naturally shedding dirt.

Chang Ji further asked: Those who cultivate themselves through practice, using wisdom to recognize their original mind and thereby comprehend the eternal "constant mind" - why should people revere them? Here "for oneself" refers to self-cultivation. "With their knowing" means that with such wisdom, one can cultivate body and mind; "attaining their mind" means that with this awakened awareness, one can return to the original mind. Actually, the awakened mind and original mind aren't two separate things - this is just different terminology. The meaning is that everyone possesses wisdom and original mind - by fully developing these, one can cultivate oneself and realize one's true nature. This is actually ordinary, hence called "attaining the constant mind." "Most" here means reverence - using "most" rather than "revere" demonstrates the exquisite word choice characteristic of Zhuangzi's writings.

“That is why it is extraordinary: things and persons are alike.”

Confucius said that one cannot see one’s reflection in running water, only in still water. Only zhi—“stopping” or coming to rest—can quiet the agitation of the many.

Here running water and still water stand for the mind. Someone whose mind is like a stream that never rests cannot achieve zhi; one who can bring the mind to rest stands above the crowd. Ordinary people try to use the idea of zhi to scheme after and grasp zhi; it is precisely such a person who can truly attain it. Hence the line that only zhi can stop the many from failing to stop (wei zhi neng zhi zhong zhi). The whole point is this: when someone whose mind is not yet settled goes to another for guidance, that teacher can instruct him and set his mind at ease—and does so with no more than six characters. Is that not remarkable? In Chan, the master’s “bring me your mind and I will pacify it for you,” the student’s “seeking the mind, it cannot be grasped,” and the master’s “for you, pacifying the mind is complete” are the same teaching as this passage.

“Receiving mandate from earth, only pines and cypresses are unique, green in winter and summer; receiving mandate from heaven, only Shun was unique, and through correct fortune could correct what he gave life to and correct what the multitude gave life to.”

Pines and cypresses are likened to Shun, and Shun to Wang Tai (Wang Tai). The point is the singularity of what is “mandated” from heaven and earth—unlike the common run of people—so that one can rectify what one “gives birth to” and also rectify what the multitude “gives birth to.” The word sheng (“to give birth”) here is really xing (nature). Some object that Shun cannot be compared to Wang Tai; to read Zhuangzi in that spirit is to tell dreams to someone who is already lost in them.

“The proof of guarding the beginning, the reality of fearlessness—a single brave warrior can charge into nine hosts of troops; one who seeks fame yet can insist on himself can still be like this.”

Zheng means proof or fulfillment. Bao shi—guarding the beginning—means holding to that first utterance; there must be proof and fulfillment, and the hinge is xin (faith, trust). The phrase “fearlessness” is then strengthened with shi (substance, reality): without that reality, fearlessness is impossible. “Nine hosts” means many armies; in the Warring States period one sometimes hears of a “ninefold battle array,” and one need not fixate on the Son of Heaven’s six armies and the feudal lords’ three. Zi yao is to require something of oneself and hold to it. Figures like Jing Ke and Nie Zheng, who sought renown and trusted themselves, guarded only this one xin and did not waver before life and death; how much more so one who has the Dao? In our own day, stories in the Buddhist tradition of sitting on the python cliff or guarding the tiger’s den are likewise instances of this “reality of fearlessness.” Passages of this kind in Zhuangzi read as if grounded in observation; they are not all mere allegory.

This passage elucidates Zhuangzi's philosophical vision of "Heaven, Earth and I were born together; the myriad things and I are one." The phrase "governing Heaven and Earth" means each fulfills its natural role—Heaven covers all things, Earth supports all things. "Containing the myriad things" refers to how all things naturally gather, akin to Mencius' statement "All things are complete within me."

The text mentions "dwelling in the six limbs," indicating our physical form is merely a temporary abode for spirit (Shen). "Mirroring the functions of ears and eyes" suggests vision isn't solely for seeing nor hearing merely for listening—one must transcend sensory limitations. "The knowing of unified awareness" emphasizes true wisdom arises from original nature, capable of comprehending all. The statement "the heart-mind never truly dies" means consciousness doesn't cling to superficial appearances.

The latter section discusses "ascending to the supreme state," noting realized beings needn't select auspicious dates because they constantly abide with the Dao (the Way). Like those who naturally followed Wang Tai (a Daoist figure) to learn—this occurred spontaneously, not through deliberate instruction.

Finally, the dialogue between Shentu Jia (a footless man) and Zheng Zichan (a high minister) demonstrates how worldly power holds no meaning for Daoist practitioners. Shentu Jia's metaphor—"a clean mirror gathers no dust"—implies true cultivators maintain inner clarity undisturbed by social status. Zichan's insistence on official privilege reveals his mundane perspective. This exchange vividly illustrates Daoism's transcendence of worldly hierarchies.

When one keeps company with worthy people, one avoids fault; yet now you hold the Master in esteem and still speak in this way—is that not fault itself? Zichan said: Since you are like this, you still wish to measure yourself against Yao in goodness; do you think your virtue is insufficient for self-examination? When I go out you stay, when you go out I stay—we mean to avoid each other. Shentu Jia said: That is still not as good as what we agreed on: those who do not break the agreement need not avoid each other. “Those who align are the same”—the chief minister speaks of himself, meaning that if you and I go in and out together, we would be the same as the chief minister. “Those who come after put themselves first”—putting oneself first and others after is to prize oneself and slight things. “Having learning broadens one’s view”—to take is to seek; he means you study under the Master to broaden your view, yet you are this shallow and narrow? The two words “take the great” are excellent; the four words “contend with Yao in goodness” are most striking—meaning that even if you, already maimed, could do good, could you equal Yao? “Turn back on yourself” means he does not know his own measure.

Shentu Jia said: Many there are who recount their faults and think their limbs ought not to have been lost; few there are who do not recount their faults and think they ought not to remain—only one of De knows that when nothing can be done, to rest in it as fate. To wander in Yi’s shooting gallery: what hits the center hits the ground, yet those who miss do so by fate. Many have laughed at me for not having whole feet while they have whole feet; I would flare up in anger, but when I came to the Master’s place I would slacken and turn back—I did not know whether the Master was washing me with goodness. I have roamed with our teacher for nineteen years, and he has never seemed to know that I am maimed. Now you roam with me inside the form, yet you seek me outside the form—is that not excessive? Zichan started, changed his expression and face, and said: Say no more.

The Bull’s-Eye and the Master Archer (Commentary on the Opening Passage)

“Gou zhong” (彀中) refers to the bull’s-eye—the spot the arrow tip aims at when the bow is drawn. Among master archers, none is more famous than Yi; “gou zhong” is the place one is sure to hit. Here archery stands for the peril of the times—a metaphor especially apt in theWarring States era. When the heart gambles and misses, that is fate. “Feiran” means to sink into dejection on one’s own; anger, having run its course, turns back instead—one glimpse of the master and the rage drains away. The word “xi” (wash) is well chosen: he tells me the good way as if rinsing me clean, without my noticing. The line on “inside and outside the form” is the finest—something wholly new in what came before. “Cheng” means glib eloquence, as in the Zuo Zhuan remark that “the people of Lu took him for quick-witted.”

Shushan Wuzhi Visits Confucius

In Lu there was a man whose feet had been cut off; his name was Shushan Wuzhi. He went on tiptoe to see Confucius. Confucius said: You were not cautious before and have already come to this—what good is coming now? Wuzhi said: I lost my feet only because I did not understand how things work and used my body rashly. I come now because there is still something more precious than feet—the “feet” that truly matter—and I mean to guard it with all my strength. Heaven covers all, earth bears all; I took you for heaven and earth—who knew you would still be like this? Confucius said: I, Qiu, am too shallow. Why not come in? Please tell me what you have heard. After Wuzhi left, Confucius said to his disciples: Work hard! Wuzhi is a man who lost his feet yet still strives to learn and make up for past faults—how much more should those whose virtue is whole!

Wuzhi Speaks to Laozi (Commentary and Main Text)

Wuzhi said to Laozi (Lao Dan): Confucius, it seems, has not yet reached the man of ultimate attainment! Why does he deferentially play the student and still pray to be known by startling names like “chuo gui huan guai”—does he not know that the man of ultimate attainment would treat such things as his own fetters? Laozi said: Why not have him take life and death as one thread, and what is permissible and what is not as a single continuity? If those fetters were undone, perhaps it could be done. Wuzhi said: This is heaven’s punishment—how could a true person undo it?

Commentary highlights: “Zhong jian” means to come again, to visit once more. “Bu zhi wu” means not grasping what matters. “Zun zu” (honoring the feet) points to innate nature—the two characters are strikingly apt: what is precious is not outside the bodily form. Sima Biao glosses “bin bin” as an uncomposed, unkempt look. “Chuo gui huan guai” is simply about craving a reputation. “Yi zhi gu” means the name has become one’s own shackles. “Tian xing zhi” is like “heaven punishes him”—he is not given the great Dao.

Zhuangzi sometimes speaks through Confucius’s mouth, sometimes criticizing and sometimes praising—all of it is parable, not to be taken as historical fact.

Yet passages like this one still carry weight for worldly teaching: Wuzhi had lost his feet yet still strove to study and make up for past faults—how much more should someone whose virtue is whole do the same?

“Life and death are one thread; permissible and impermissible are one continuity” is the same idea as in Discourse on Equalizing Things: “May it be so? It may. May it be so? It may not.”

Duke Ai of Lu asked Confucius: “In Wei there is a man named Ai Taito who is very ugly. Men who keep company with him end up longing for him and cannot leave; women who see him ask their parents, ‘Rather than be someone’s wife, I would rather be this gentleman’s concubine’—and there have been more than ten such cases, and they do not stop. I have not heard that he actively preaches anything; he only constantly harmonizes with people. He has no ruler’s position by which to save people from death, no ample salary by which to fill people’s bellies, and his appearance frightens people—yet he can make the whole realm live in harmony without proclaiming himself. His wisdom is probably not something beyond the world; rather, it mingles thoroughly with the ordinary. Moreover, men and women are naturally drawn to him in intimacy—there must be something extraordinary here. I summoned him to look at him, and he was indeed shockingly ugly. After he stayed with me less than a few months, I came to like his person; before a year had passed, I trusted him. When the state had no chief minister, I handed the government over to him. He answered dully, as if vaguely trying to decline. I said, ‘Am I the one who falls short toward him?’ and finally gave him the state. Before long he left me. I grew sorrowful as if I had lost something, as if the state had nothing left to enjoy. What kind of person is this?”

(Annotation) “Ugly man” (e ren) means someone ugly in appearance. “Does not initiate but constantly harmonizes” means he does not step forward to advocate doctrines; he only lives in harmony. “No ruler’s position” means he holds no exalted power; “amassing salary” means wealth; “filling people’s bellies” means making stomachs full—“fill” (wang) is the same sense as when the moon is full (wang). Reading this kind of wording, one sees Zhuangzi’s brush is not something ordinary people can match. “Wisdom does not go outside the four borders” means his understanding is not cut off from human affairs. “Male and female meet before him” means intimacy with things outside oneself—the idea of the seagull not startled. “Dull and unassuming” (men ran) is responding without deliberate mind; “vague and unbound” (fan) is without rigid attachment; “Have I, the lone one, shamed myself?”—here “shame” (chou) is to feel inadequate; “handed him the state” is entrusting him with government; “sorrowful as if something were lost” (xu yan ruo you wang) is like the Han king who felt he had lost his left and right hands.

Confucius said: “I once went on a mission to Chu and saw piglets nursing at their mother’s side.”

This passage employs vivid analogies to expound Zhuangzi's philosophical view that inner virtue (De) holds greater importance than external form.

The narrative begins with piglets fleeing in alarm upon discovering their dead mother sow. Their affection was never for the maternal form itself, but for the vital spirit (Shen) that once animated it. Similarly, warriors fallen in battle require no ornate coffins, and amputees no longer value shoes—for when the fundamental essence is lost, external adornments become meaningless.

Three comparative examples illustrate the primacy of inner cultivation: The emperor's attendants neither trim their nails nor pierce their ears (preserving natural integrity); newlywed men are exempt from corvée labor (maintaining domestic wholeness). These demonstrate that when inner virtue (De) is complete, external formalities become superfluous. The case of Aitai Tuo proves particularly striking—though silent, he commanded trust; though achievement-less, people wished to entrust him with governance. This exemplifies the principle of "perfected talent with virtue remaining formless."

Confucius elaborates on "perfected talent": Life and death, wealth and poverty, virtue and vice, praise and slander, hunger and thirst, heat and cold—these are but the natural fluctuations of destiny. The wise understand such changes follow day and night's alternation, their origins beyond tracing, and thus never allow them to disturb inner harmony. Maintaining a mind serene and unimpeded, harmonizing with all things like springtime, constantly flowing with nature's transformations—this constitutes true "perfected talent."

The text acknowledges that Zhuangzi's analogies occasionally employ hyperbole (as with the battlefield funeral description) to underscore inner virtue's supremacy. These shouldn't be interpreted through conventional rites alone, yet their profound philosophical implications remain essential to grasp.

This passage elucidates the Zhuangzian concept of "perfect talent with virtue remaining invisible." "Perfect talent" refers to fully preserving humanity's innate authenticity, akin to Mencius' notion of "heaven-endowed nature." "Virtue remaining invisible" describes profound De (Virtue/Power) that doesn't manifest externally.

The text employs the metaphor of perfectly still water: when completely motionless, the water's surface becomes flawlessly level, serving as an objective standard. Inner tranquility maintained (inner preservation) without external disturbances (outer calmness) represents the highest cultivation of virtue (harmonious perfection). Genuine De requires no deliberate display, just as water naturally maintains its level.

Through the dialogue between Duke Ai of Lu and Minzi, the text illustrates how rulers obsessed with power and position (facing south to govern the realm) may endanger their states (losing my kingdom) through self-aggrandizement (overusing my person). True ruler-minister relationships should be founded on virtuous resonance (virtuous friendship).

Regarding spiritual cultivation methods: facing life's vicissitudes—birth/death, wealth/poverty, praise/slander—one should recognize these as natural manifestations of heaven's mandate (heaven's ordained operations), as inevitable as day-night cycles. The wise don't question their origins (cannot trace their beginnings) but maintain inner peace (harmony in the breast), undisturbed by externalities (not disrupting this harmony).

When the mind attains this state (not entering the spiritual abode), it naturally achieves harmonious ease (harmonious, joyful, and unobstructed), flowing unimpeded like water. This condition renews itself continuously (day and night without interruption), adapting to circumstances (being spring-like with all things), responding appropriately to every situation (responding spontaneously to whatever arises). Like the Buddhist sutra states, "Respond without abiding yet give rise to the mind"—free from fixed notions yet adaptable (arising timely in the heart).

Notes:

1. Spiritual abode: The mind's innermost depths

2. Harmonious, joyful, and unobstructed: Three states of mental serenity, delight, and fluidity

3. Being spring-like with all things: Maintaining vibrant adaptability while following external changes

4. Harmonious perfection: The state of ultimate harmony achieved through cultivation

Zhuangzi says that when one mirrors placid, still water, the mind becomes this clear and at peace. What is meant by “harmony” (he) is a state of centered balance; what is meant by “completion” (cheng) is wholeness fully preserved. Preserving that centered balance within one’s original nature is the cultivation of De (virtue/power). De has no fixed shape or appearance—it shows itself along with things as they arise, so there is nowhere De is not present, and no single label can name it. Hence the saying “when De has no form, things cannot be parted from it”: though formless, De is inseparable from the myriad things. This is like holding the reins of state and worrying over the people’s safety—that is loving the people. How could Duke Ai truly face south as king and rule the world? Such lines are Zhuangzi’s deliberately inflated rhetoric; they should not be taken at face value. This is not a lord-and-minister bond but friendship in the sense of shared De—much like the “friend” in Mengzi—and all of it is parable, not something to read as historical fact.

There were a hunchback, another hunchback, and a man without lips who went to counsel Duke Ling of Wei. The duke took to them so warmly that he found people with intact bodies had necks that were too long and thin. There was also a man with a huge tumor on his nape who went to counsel Duke Huan of Qi. The duke favored him and likewise felt that ordinary people’s necks were too long and thin. Both episodes are metaphors: what rulers delight in lies beyond the outer form. The misshapen and afflicted pleased their sovereigns, while the whole-bodied fell short. So it is said, “where De has its strength, form is forgotten.” One ought to forget what should be forgotten (the body’s form) yet not forget what must not be forgotten (De)—and to get that reversed is called “true forgetting” (cheng wang): genuinely forgetting. To know only the visible form and not know De is that very forgetting.

Therefore the sage has room to wander—the heart roams with Heaven. He treats clever schemes as uncanny pests, rigid rules as glue that binds, De as mere social exchange, and craft as huckster’s trade. The sage does not plot—why resort to cleverness? He does not carve and polish—why need glue? He does not lose his nature—why treat De as barter? He does not chase profit—why play the merchant? These four are heaven’s endowment (tian yu); what heaven endows is heaven’s nurturing (tian yang). Once mandate comes from Heaven, what use is human artifice?

Vernacular Commentary on the Nanhuai Zhenjing Kouyi

Handling affairs with cleverness and guarding oneself with ritual

Using cleverness to cope with worldly affairs and using ritual to restrain oneself—gong and yi refer to various skills and abilities. Nie means calamity; jiao is mud; gu is to stick fast. Jie (clinging) means outward attachment while forgetting the inner mind. Merchants and traders are like those who, as people say, go about the world seeking fame and vanity.

If the mind can wander with Heaven, one knows that the above four things—cleverness, ritual constraint, virtue, and ability—are all burdens. The sage does not calculate with the vulgar world, so there is no need to force cleverness; without carving and chiseling yet naturally fitting principle, there is no need to cling rigidly to ritual; holding the inner mind and not scattering it on outer affairs, there is no need to parade virtue; not trading one’s skills for fame and profit, there is no need to show off craft. The four phrases—not scheming, not carving, nothing lost, not merchandising—all mean: no reliance on human plotting, no artificial refinement, nothing truly lost, and not treating one’s abilities as goods for sale.

Heaven’s nurture, Heaven’s stipend

Tian yu is the food and clothing bestowed by Heaven—Heaven’s stipend (tian lu); it is like what people call the rank of Heaven (tian jue). Since one has already received food and clothing from Heaven, why seek them again from others? It is like already holding Heaven’s rank—why still seek human rank?

The brushwork of the passage on “receiving virtue”

Earlier, the three words jie (receiving), de (virtue), and zhi (cleverness) were used in a positive sense; in this passage, jie, de, and zhi turn negative. The author deliberately shifts the tone up and down and does not write in one straight line with what came before—hence it is called “heterodox brushwork” (writing that does not follow the usual mold).

Having the form of a person, without the “feelings” of people

One has the body of a human being but not the sort of feeling the world calls emotion. Because one has a human body, one moves among people; because one lacks that kind of feeling, right and wrong do not land on oneself. How small—that is the side that belongs to “the human”; how vast—that is Heaven accomplishing itself alone. Huizi said to Zhuangzi: Can a person be without feeling? Zhuangzi said: Yes. Huizi asked: If one is human, how can one be without feeling? Zhuangzi said: The feeling you mean is not the feeling I mean. My “non-feeling” means that a person does not let likes and dislikes wound the self from within, constantly accords with nature, and does not extra “nourish life” (forcing longevity or contrived health practices). Huizi asked: If you do not nourish life, how can you keep this body? Zhuangzi said: The Dao gives you your face, Heaven gives you your form—you ought not let likes and dislikes harm you from within. Now your spirit races outward, your vital essence is worn down; you lean on a tree and chant, you sleep against a withered wu tree. Heaven picked out this body for you, yet you make the “hard and white” doctrine (Huizi’s arguments on names and colors) resound in the world.

Note: This section interweaves Zhuangzi’s debate with Huizi on “non-feeling.” Zhuangzi’s non-feeling is not cold indifference but not wounding oneself inwardly through likes and dislikes, following Heaven without falsely “nourishing life.” The “feeling” Huizi has in mind is ordinary joy, anger, grief, delight, and human relational emotion—the two use the word qing in different senses.

“群于人也”: This means belonging to the same kind as other people and living among them.

“是非不得于身”: This means not loading gain and loss in right and wrong onto oneself—wherever one goes one can be at ease, rising above disputes over right and wrong and alone fulfilling one’s Tian (innate nature). “与天为徒” (companionship with Heaven): If outwardly one is beyond right and wrong and inwardly at ease everywhere, one keeps company with Heaven; the realm one attains is then vast.

“天与之形者有物也，道与之貌者物必有则也”: Heaven gives humans a bodily form, so there is an aspect of “thing”; the Dao gives form and appearance, and among things each has its norms and rules.

“吾所谓无情”: What I call wuqing (“no-qing”) is not cold-heartedness but not letting likes and dislikes inwardly harm the body—where there is benefit there is also harm; if one constantly accords with nature, there is nothing to add and nothing to subtract. Speaking of “surplus” and “shortage” are both ailments: yisheng (deliberate life-nourishment for longevity) is the ailment of surplus; when likes and dislikes arise from nature without clinging, there is no gain or loss.

Huizi asked: “If you do not nourish life, how do you keep your body?”—he took nourishing life as the means to care for the body, which misses Zhuangzi’s point entirely. Zhuangzi and Huizi were the closest of friends; Huizi was learned and fond of disputation, so Zhuangzi mocked him with “waishen laojing” (spirit outwardly strained, essence labored)—waishen is fixing the spirit on affairs outside oneself, like the spirit not staying home; gaowu (withered paulownia) as a desk, ming is weariness; jianbai is disputing names (Huizi’s “hard and white” theory). Xuan is equivalent to “shou” (bestow). The sense: Heaven bestowed your form, yet you torment yourself like this—what is the use?—The oral exegesis remarks: from a single word “ming,” Han Yu again drew out a whole preface—such subtlety; how could Zhuangzi not be called the author?

Brief notes on terms

• Yu tian wei tu (companionship with Heaven): Of one kind with the Way of Heaven and nature, not enslaved by human right and wrong.
• Wuqing: In Zhuangzi’s sense, not absence of feeling, but not inwardly harming oneself through likes and dislikes.
• Yisheng: Deliberate nourishing of life and extending years—Zhuangzi treats it as the “surplus” ailment.
• Waishen laojing: Spirit racing outward, essence worn down.
• Jianbai: Huishi-style name-disputation such as “hard and white stone.”