《南華真經循本》Vol. 6

This passage comes from the commentary on "The Sign of Virtue Complete" (De Chong Fu) in Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben, recounting a story about how inner virtue transcends physical form.

In the state of Lu, there was a man named Wang Tai who had lost a foot (the term "amputee" refers to someone whose foot was cut off as punishment). The number of his followers was nearly equal to that of Confucius. Chang Ji asked Confucius, "Wang Tai is a disabled man—why do so many people follow him, rivaling even you? He neither actively teaches nor engages in debate, yet his disciples always leave enlightened. Can there truly be a teaching without words, an understanding that transcends form?"

Confucius replied, "This man is a sage. I have yet to seek his guidance myself. I would take him as my teacher—how much more should those beneath me? Not just in Lu—I intend to lead all under heaven to follow him." Chang Ji, still puzzled, asked, "Though he is disabled, he surpasses ordinary men by far. How has he cultivated his mind to such a degree?"

Confucius explained, "Even matters as great as life and death cannot change him. If the heavens collapsed and the earth split, he would remain unmoved. This is because he has grasped the eternal truth ('understanding what is unshakable' refers to realizing the Dao, which is true and unchanging) and is unaffected by external things. He governs the transformations of all things while holding fast to their root ('guarding the source' means abiding in the origin of the Dao)."

Confucius elaborated further: "From the perspective of difference, the liver and gallbladder are as distant as the states of Chu and Yue. But from the perspective of unity, all things are one. Those who attain this state do not indulge in sensory pleasures but let their spirit wander in the harmony of Virtue (De). Seeing the oneness of all things, they do not grieve over loss—losing a foot is like shedding a clod of earth."

Chang Ji pressed further, "He cultivates himself, using wisdom to grasp his original mind, and through this mind, he attains the constant mind ('constant mind' refers to the unwavering mind aligned with the Dao). If so, how can external things affect him?"

Luo Miandao, in his commentary, notes that this passage uses Wang Tai’s story to illustrate how inner virtue, when fully realized ("virtue complete"), manifests outwardly ("signs and proofs"), rendering physical disability irrelevant. Though Chang Ji heard Confucius’ explanation, he still did not fully grasp Wang Tai’s attainment. Here, "he" refers to Wang Tai, who, through wisdom and cultivation, ultimately reached a state transcending worldly concerns.

(Additional note: The phrase "The Sign of Virtue Complete" means the outward validation of inner virtue; "guarding the source" refers to abiding in the root of the Dao; and the "constant mind" is the unwavering state achieved through Daoist practice.)

Without attaining the wisdom of the highest divine beings, one can only grasp the knowledge within the reach of one's own thoughts. On the spiritual level, without possessing the breadth of mind of a sage, one merely retains the ordinary disposition of common people—how then could such a person be worthy of reverence?

Confucius (Zhongni) replied: People do not gaze at their reflections in flowing water but choose still water to see themselves. Only still water can settle all reflections. Confucius used this analogy to tell Chang Ji not to view Wang Tai with peculiar admiration—simply observe the state of his ordinary mind, for this is where his excellence lies. Just as still water brings all flowing currents to tranquility, Wang Tai's ability to transform others through his ordinary mind follows the same principle.

Consider the plants growing upon the earth—only the pine and cypress remain verdant through winter and summer. Among the multitudes of people, only Shun (the ancient sage-king) could maintain his pure original nature. Precisely because Shun could rectify his own life, he was able to guide all beings back to the proper path. Here, the pine and cypress serve as metaphors for sages, illustrating the truth that "only stillness can bring peace to all beings." All plants grow from the earth, yet only the pine and cypress stay green through all seasons; all people receive their mandate from Heaven, yet only Shun could uphold the true Dao. In a world of chaos and corruption, without exemplars of righteousness like Shun, the entire world might descend into wickedness. Fortunately, Shun first rectified himself and thereby guided all under Heaven—this embodies the profound truth that "only stillness can bring peace to all beings."

Maintaining one's original mind inevitably bears witness; the truly courageous fear nothing. Consider a warrior charging alone into the nine-fold battle formations—even those who restrain themselves merely for fame can achieve this, let alone those who regard Heaven and Earth as their office, all things as their treasury, view their body as a temporary dwelling, unify their sensory perceptions, and whose spirit never perishes! "The verification of preserving beginnings" refers to the inevitable proof that comes from holding fast to one's original mind; "the substance of fearlessness" means true courage requires no external validation. The "nine armies" refer to the ancient military formations divided according to the well-field system. "Taking Heaven and Earth as one's office" means regarding the cosmos as one's duty, while "treasuring all things" means seeing the ten thousand beings as one's storehouse.

This passage expounds Daoist wisdom about transcending worldly concerns and pursuing spiritual liberation. It conveys two main layers of meaning:

The first part describes the realm of Wang Tai, a Daoist figure. True Dao cultivators do not cling to external forms—though living in the mundane world, their minds remain unbound by material things. Like a mirror reflecting objects without retaining traces, their spirits maintain constant clarity. Such individuals surpass even fame-seekers in detachment, let alone ordinary people. Wang Tai would eventually ascend to immortality (the term "dengjia" refers to achieving celestial ascension), utterly indifferent to worldly affairs. Daoist texts often record adepts choosing auspicious days for ascension, illustrating how practitioners ultimately transcend the mundane.

The second part recounts the story of Shentu Jia (a foot-amputee) and Zichan, a high-ranking Zheng state official. Both studied under Bohun Wuren (a Daoist master), yet Zichan disdained associating with the disabled. Shentu Jia retorted: "Under our teacher's guidance, we should forget social distinctions. Your pride in official status places the superficial above the fundamental art of being human." This exchange demonstrates how Daoist practitioners should transcend societal hierarchies—Zichan's behavior contradicts the Daoist principle of equanimity that regards all things as equal.

Key terms: "Dengjia" is a Daoist technical term denoting spiritual ascension after achieving the Dao; "wuzhe" refers to amputees; "Bohun Wuren" represents an archetypal Daoist sage. These elements collectively illustrate how genuine Daoist cultivation involves transcending physical limitations and social distinctions to attain absolute spiritual freedom.

A polished mirror gathers no dust; if dust accumulates, it means the mirror isn't bright enough. Keeping company with virtuous people helps one avoid mistakes, just as we might borrow another's hand to polish our mirror clean. By choosing to study with our Master (a Daoist adept), you're seeking external guidance to cultivate your De (Virtue). Yet your careless speech reveals another fault. Indeed, no person can be entirely free from error.

Zichan (the wise minister of Zheng during the Spring and Autumn period) once said: "Considering your present condition (referring to Shentu Jia's foot amputation punishment), how dare you compare your kindness to sage-emperor Yao? Examine your own De—shouldn't you first reflect on your shortcomings?" None surpasses Yao in virtuous deeds, yet you contend with him—this suggests you aspire to surpass even the greatest sage! Your earlier careless conduct brought punishment, and now you'd rival Yao? Your De remains insufficient for self-correction—how could you possibly surpass him?

Shentu Jia replied: "Most men justify their faults, claiming their punishments too severe—such cases abound. But those who calmly accept greater blame than they've received are rare indeed." (自状 refers to self-assessment) This means that voluntary confession indicates minor faults—hence many escape death penalties for foot amputations. But those who won't confess appear utterly vicious, deserving punishments beyond mere amputations—thus cases "unworthy of living" become rare.

Only those with true De can accept inevitable circumstances and rest content in destiny. Consider Yi the divine archer's lethal range—those standing dead center should perish, yet occasionally someone survives—that's destiny's work. (彀中 means effective range) That I couldn't escape punishment was likewise fate's decree.

Many mocked my disability while my feet remained whole, provoking my fury. Yet in our Master's presence, this anger dissolves spontaneously. Has he cleansed me with Daoist wisdom? Nineteen years of study with him, and never once have I felt crippled. Our friendship should cultivate inner De (形骸内—spiritual virtue), yet you fixate on my outer form (形骸外—physical disability). Is this not profoundly wrong? The repeated question echoes the earlier admonition.

When Zichan of Zheng (a renowned statesman of the Spring and Autumn period) heard these words, his countenance changed dramatically. Ashamed, he said, "Please do not speak this way."

In the state of Lu, there was a man who had his toes amputated, known as Shushan Wuzhi ("Toeless" was his nickname due to the disability). Dragging his maimed leg, he came to see Confucius. Confucius said, "You were careless in the past and thus met with this misfortune. What use is there in coming to me now?" Wuzhi replied, "I once did not understand the Dao of self-preservation and recklessly endangered my body, losing my toes as a result. Today I come because I realize there is something far more precious than toes worth preserving—Heaven covers all things, Earth bears all things. I had thought you, Master, were as embracing as Heaven and Earth, yet I did not expect you to dwell on my disability."

Hearing this, Confucius immediately admitted his fault: "I have been shallow. Please come in and let us speak in detail." After Wuzhi left, Confucius said to his disciples, "Even a disabled man knows to remedy his faults through learning—how much more should those with sound bodies?" Later, Wuzhi said to Laozi (Lao Dan), "Confucius has likely not yet attained the realm of the Perfected One, has he? He busies himself pursuing strange and eccentric fame, unaware that this is precisely the shackle of the Perfected One." Laozi replied, "Why not make him understand that life and death are one, and right and wrong are ultimately indistinguishable? Perhaps this could loosen his bonds." Wuzhi sighed, "This is the mark Heaven has placed upon him—how easily can it be removed?"

Duke Ai of Lu once asked Confucius, "In Wei, there is an ugly man named Aitai Tuo ('Tuo' is pronounced like 'hunchback'). When men associate with him, they cannot bear to leave. Women who see him would rather be his concubine than marry another—there have already been over ten such cases. He never strives to be unconventional but simply responds to others with harmony. Though he holds no authority, he saves people from mortal danger; though he possesses no great wealth, he aids the common folk. Though his appearance is repulsive, he captivates the hearts of all under Heaven. His wisdom seems ordinary, yet it draws men and women alike to follow and stay close to him."

This passage employs vivid analogies to illustrate how genuine human connections transcend physical appearances and reside in spiritual resonance.

The first analogy recounts a ruler's experience with an exceptionally ugly minister named Aitai Tuo. Within a month of acquaintance, the ruler developed fondness for him; within a year, complete trust—so much so that he considered entrusting the entire state to this minister. When Aitai Tuo eventually departed, the ruler felt profound loss. This demonstrates their relationship surpassed superficial appearances, rooted instead in spiritual communion.

Next, the nursing piglet metaphor deepens this insight: Piglets feeding from a deceased sow will flee in terror upon realizing their mother lacks responsiveness—her vital spirit having departed. This shows creatures don't love physical forms but the animating spirit within. Similarly, Aitai Tuo's appeal lay not in his appearance but in his spiritual charisma.

Two funeral customs further reinforce this principle: Soldiers fallen in battle aren't buried with ornamental sha fans (white funeral cloths painted with cloud patterns), and amputees don't cherish their former shoes. When the fundamental elements (life, limbs) are lost, external adornments become meaningless.

The passage concludes with court protocols: Imperial attendants must keep their nails uncut and ears unpierced (maintaining bodily integrity), while newlywed men are barred from palace duties. These traditions emphasize how in significant contexts, physical wholeness is preserved as the fundamental vessel for spirit.

Through these living examples, the text repeatedly underscores the relationship between "form" (xing) and "spirit" (shen)—physical bodies merely serve as vessels for inner essence. Just as piglets cherish their mother's vitality and rulers value ministers' inner qualities, when spiritual essence vanishes, external forms lose all meaning.

Zhuangzi uses the story of Aitai Tuo to illustrate how a truly virtuous person can influence others without outward display. This man gained trust without speaking, attracted closeness without achievements, and even the ruler feared he might decline official positions. This demonstrates he possessed complete inner virtue (De) that remained unmanifested outwardly.

When Duke Ai of Lu asked about "perfect talent," Confucius replied: Life and death, survival and demise, poverty and wealth, worthiness and unworthiness, praise and blame, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—these are all transformations of human affairs and movements of heavenly mandate (tianming). These changes alternate before us day and night, yet even the wisest cannot trace their ultimate origin. Therefore, one shouldn't let them disturb inner harmony, nor allow them to invade the spiritual abode (lingfu). Maintain a joyful and unimpeded mindstate where day and night flow seamlessly, harmonizing with all things like spring's warmth. This realm allows time to flow naturally within the heart, unswayed by the fluctuations of yin and yang.

Regarding "virtue without form," Zhuangzi employs water as metaphor: The stillest water surface becomes the standard. When inner stillness is maintained, outer turbulence ceases. Virtue is the cultivation of this internal harmony. When virtue remains unmanifested externally, all things naturally draw near and are unwilling to depart—exemplified by Duke Ai's attitude toward Aitai Tuo.

Later, Duke Ai told his disciple Minzi: "Initially I believed governing a state required a ruler's majestic bearing." (implying his newfound understanding that true virtue lies in inner cultivation)

This passage contrasts rulers with those who have attained the Dao (the Way). Those who govern the world establish laws to restrain the people, constantly worrying whether their subjects can survive, believing they've reached the pinnacle of governance. Yet upon hearing the words of true Dao-realized individuals, they realize their rule is merely superficial—that abusing power ultimately leads to the state's collapse. The relationship between a perfected person (zhiren) and Confucius isn't that of ruler and subject, but of friends united through De (Virtue/Power).

The text illustrates with examples of physically disabled yet morally exemplary figures: a lame gatekeeper (yinqi) and a man born without heels who walked on tiptoes (wushen). When Duke Ling of Wei admired this heel-less man, normal people's necks suddenly appeared grotesquely slender by comparison. Similarly, after Duke Huan of Qi appreciated a man with an enormous neck tumor, ordinary necks seemed too thin. This demonstrates that when virtue shines brightly, physical imperfections become invisible. Yet ordinary people do the opposite—remembering only appearances while forgetting virtue, which constitutes true "forgetfulness."

Thus, sages (Dao-realized individuals) perceive things differently: they regard cleverness as calamity, restraints as shackles, virtue as social convention, and skills as commodities. Why would sages need cleverness when they don't scheme? Why use adhesives when they don't embellish? Why seek compensation when nothing's lost? Why engage in trade when no transactions occur? These four qualities are naturally endowed (tianyu)—since nourishment comes from nature, why employ artificial means?

(Note: Key terms carry Daoist connotations—"nie" [calamity] refers to disaster, "yue" [restraint] to bondage, "jiao" [adhesive] to fixation, "jie" [social convention] to forced interaction, "gong" [skill] to craft, and "shang" [trade] to transactional relations—all representing the Daoist critique of worldly behaviors.)

This passage explores the philosophical concept of "non-attachment" (wuqing). Zhuangzi argues that true "non-attachment" does not mean lacking emotions, but rather not allowing personal preferences to harm one's innate nature, instead aligning with the natural Dao.

The discussion begins with a merchant metaphor: If one already receives nourishment from the Heavenly Dao (tianyu, meaning nature's provisions), why pursue worldly gains? Just as those bestowed with heavenly nobility (tianjue) need not seek mortal titles.

It then explains "having human form but not human attachments": We dwell among people because of our physical form, yet remain untroubled by worldly entanglements because we lack mundane emotional ties. While our physical bodies are small and belong to the human realm, our spiritual realm can expand boundlessly to commune with heaven.

The dialogue between Zhuangzi and Hui Shi further clarifies this: When Hui Shi challenges how one without emotions can be called human, Zhuangzi responds that "non-attachment" means not letting preferences damage one's nature, following the natural course without forced cultivation of life. Pressed on how to preserve the body without cultivation, Zhuangzi points out our physical form is heaven's gift, criticizing Hui Shi for exhausting his spirit in sophist debates like the famous "Hard and White" arguments (a hallmark of the Logicians school), which actually violates natural innate nature.

A note explains: Withered tung trees (gaowu) were valued for making zithers. The text depicts Hui Shi either leaning against trees while debating or clutching his zither when exhausted—both signs of overextending his vital energy. Zhuangzi considers such obsessive disputation as squandering the heavenly endowment of one's original form and nature.