《南華真經新傳》Vol. 4

This passage comes from the "Virtue Complete Talisman" chapter of the New Commentary on the Zhuangzi (also known as the Southern Florescence Scripture), discussing how to transcend physical imperfections through inner cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) and attain spiritual wholeness.

The text recounts the story of Wang Tai from the state of Lu, a man who had lost one foot yet attracted as many followers as Confucius himself. Chang Ji (representing ordinary people) expresses bewilderment at this phenomenon and questions Confucius, who responds: "Wang Tai is a sage—even I should take him as my teacher. Though physically impaired, he has attained the highest realm of inner cultivation."

This reveals a profound Daoist principle: those with genuine De need not deliberately instruct others, for their inner Virtue naturally transforms people through silent influence. Though Wang Tai neither speaks nor consciously teaches, his followers gain substantial benefits—demonstrating the power of "teaching without words" (buyan zhi jiao).

Confucius elaborates: Wang Tai has transcended the disturbances of life and death transformations. Even if heaven collapsed and earth split apart, his mental state would remain unaffected. Having grasped the unchanging "true constancy" (zhen chang, fundamental truth), he remains unshaken by external changes. This represents the state of "inner Virtue made complete" (de chong yu nei)—when one's De is fully realized within, it naturally inspires all beings without needing external validation.

Through this parable, Zhuangzi conveys that true cultivation lies in preserving the root of one's nature and life (xingming, the inner spirit) rather than clinging to physical form. When one truly attains the state of "forgetting form and abandoning knowledge" (wangxing sangzhi)—transcending physical limitations and relinquishing discriminative thinking—one merges with the creative process of nature, generating profound influence. This explains why the "Virtue Complete Talisman" chapter follows "Human World" in the text's structure—first learn worldly engagement, then pursue higher spiritual cultivation.

This passage elucidates the Daoist profound understanding of life's essence and the origin of all things.

Those who comprehend the transformations of all phenomena yet hold fast to the fundamental root can perceive that life and death are merely changes in material form. The truly enlightened ones (sages) realize an eternal realm that transcends life and death, remaining unshaken by external changes. Even if heaven were to collapse and earth to crack, their inner being would remain unharmed—such is the profound mystery of penetrating ultimate truth.

The text mentions Wang Tai (an enlightened Daoist), who, despite physical disability, could perceive the essential nature of all existence. Superficially, all things appear vastly different (just as the liver and gallbladder seem distinct, or the states of Chu and Yue lie far apart); yet fundamentally, all things share the same origin. Clinging to apparent differences leads to seeing only separation, while understanding their common source reveals underlying unity.

The truly enlightened are not confined by sensory perception. They apprehend the harmony of the Dao (the Way) through inner realization, perceiving the unified nature of all things while overlooking superficial imperfections. Like viewing their own lost limbs as no more significant than discarded clods of earth. Ordinary people rely on ears to hear and eyes to see, their cognition limited by sensory faculties; whereas sages, with hearts filled with De (Virtue/Power), transcend sensory limitations. Even amidst chaos, they remain unbound by what they perceive, their spirits roaming freely in the realm of Dao-realization.

This passage uses the story of Wang Tai (a Daoist adept who had lost his feet) to illustrate the core Daoist concept of "inner virtue filling one's being" (德充于内). A true Dao-realized person possesses such abundant inner De (Virtue/Power) that it merges with the natural creative processes of the cosmos. Even with physical imperfections (like Wang Tai's missing feet), people overlook such external flaws due to the radiance of their inner virtue—just as we ignore the mud surrounding gold and jade when recognizing their intrinsic value.

Chang Ji (the interlocutor) fails to understand why crowds follow Wang Tai, mistakenly assuming he employs clever tactics to win hearts. In truth, sages attract all beings through the fusion of their inner De with the great transformations of nature, not through deliberate action. Like still water that perfectly reflects the world while turbulent currents can't even mirror a beard—only when the human mind achieves tranquility can its true nature manifest, and abundant virtue naturally inspires all things.

The text emphasizes the importance of "stillness" (止): human nature is originally pure and calm, but desires disturb this fundamental state. Only sages can maintain minds as clear as still water by grounding themselves in inner virtue—thereby not only achieving personal serenity but also calming the restlessness of others. This reveals the deeper meaning behind "only still water can reflect all things, only a tranquil mind can pacify the agitation of the multitude."

The text illustrates Zhuangzi's teaching on maintaining one's authentic nature through the examples of pine trees and Emperor Shun.

Pine trees draw life from the earth yet remain evergreen through bitter winters and scorching summers; Shun received his life from heaven and guided others by steadfastly upholding his upright nature. The earth does not favor the pines, nor does heaven favor Shun—rather, the pines never waver from their resilient essence, and Shun preserves his pure character. People in the world do not realize that Shun became a sage precisely because he guarded his innate nature; instead, they blindly revere him. In truth, as long as one understands and preserves their authentic self, anyone can attain sagehood—why chase after the mere name of a sage?

A true sage who embodies the Dao (the Way) governs heaven and earth, embraces all things, treats the body as a temporary dwelling, and regards the senses as mere symbols. They focus on enriching their inner De (Virtue/Power) and perceive life from the perspective of the unborn and undying. How could such a person be burdened by external things? Like Wang Tai (a Daoist figure) in his transcendence, people naturally follow him—why would he trouble himself with worldly trivialities?

The later story of Shentu Jia (a man with amputated feet) and Zichan (a statesman of the Spring and Autumn period) studying under Bohun Wuren (a Daoist recluse) further implies that cultivation knows no social rank—physical imperfections do not hinder enlightenment.

This passage recounts the story of Shentu Jia and Zichan, a virtuous minister of Zheng, from Zhuangzi's writings. Their dialogue reveals Daoist wisdom on navigating human relationships.

Shentu Jia was an official who taught the common people. The name "Jia" (meaning supreme goodness) was deliberately chosen by Zhuangzi. Though physically disabled, he possessed abundant inner virtue (De) and thus became a disciple of Bohun Wuren ("Bo" signifies elder status, "hun" means concealing one's light, "wuren" suggests self-forgetfulness). This teacher could lead all things yet remained hidden and selfless, making him the ideal mentor for sages.

Zichan told Shentu Jia: "If I go out first, you stay behind; if you go out first, I'll stay." The next day, seated together, he repeated this exclusionary remark. A true Dao-realized person forgets the self and merges with all existence—physical imperfections cannot tarnish their inner purity. Like Liuxia Hui who felt no shame sitting beside half-naked men, recognizing the identical life essence within different forms. Zichan, despite being Zheng's wise minister, discriminated against Shentu Jia's disability, revealing his inferiority to Liuxia Hui.

Shentu Jia retorted: "Does our master's gate honor officials above others? A bright mirror gathers no dust; constant company with sages prevents faults. You revere Bohun Wuren yet speak thus—isn't this wrong?" When Zichan asked if he equated himself with sage-kings Yao and Shun, Shentu Jia responded: "Men often justify their faults, thinking punishments unjust; few acknowledge errors and feel unworthy to live. Only the virtuous (De) can accept inevitable fate and abide peacefully in their circumstances."

When facing unchangeable circumstances, only those with profound De (Virtue) can accept them as destiny's arrangement. Yan Hui (Confucius' most virtuous disciple) followed Confucius in study—first restraining himself, ultimately reaching selfless enlightenment. He discarded cleverness and forgot his physical form, yet never repeated mistakes. Zichan (statesman of Zheng during Spring-Autumn period) studied under Bohun Wuren (Daoist hermit) yet failed in self-restraint, always rushing to interfere with external matters while resenting those rich in De, thus frequently erring—a stark contrast to Yan Hui.

Like within the legendary archer Yi's shooting range where the bullseye is easiest to hit, whether the arrow strikes remains heaven's will. People often mock my disability because of their intact limbs—I would rage initially, but upon meeting my master (Daoist teacher), anger dissolves. Has his virtuous Dao cleansed me? For nineteen years studying under him, he never treated my amputated foot as noteworthy.

Mencius said: When Yi taught archery, he first emphasized aiming at the target's heart. So too must Dao practitioners fix their aim. The reach of bow and arrow mirrors life's inevitable path—honor/disgrace, gain/loss, nobility/humility, life/death. Some attain glory, others suffer humiliation—all decreed by fate. Who can transcend natural law? Only sages achieve selfless states, transcending worldly bonds, untouched by honor or disgrace, unswayed by gain or loss, unmoved by status, abiding in the deathless realm of spontaneous freedom—this is aligning with heaven's mandate. What have successes or failures to do with me?

Now you commune with me in spiritual exchange, yet judge by outward form—is this not absurd? Hearing this, Zichan flushed with shame: "Speak no more."

Ordinary men feel shame for physical flaws; sages examine their De's insufficiency. Shentu Jia (the virtuous amputee) cultivated inner refinement while forgetting his deformity, whereas Zichan fixated on physical incompleteness while ignoring abundant De—such is the peril of clinging to appearances. Thus it's said: Measuring inner cultivation by external standards—what grave error this is.

In the state of Lu, there was a man named Shushan Wuzhi ("Shushan" meaning "lesser than a great mountain," and "Wuzhi" meaning "without toes"—Zhuangzi uses this name to symbolize someone whose virtue is incomplete but still strives for self-improvement). He walked on his heels to visit Confucius. Confucius said, "You were careless in the past and thus met with misfortune. What use is there in coming to me now?" Wuzhi replied, "I once knew nothing of the Dao (the Way) of living and treated my body lightly, which is why I lost my toes. Today, I come to you because there are things more precious than toes (referring to moral cultivation) that I must preserve."

(Author's explanation of the name's symbolism) "Shu" indicates that he is second in rank, while "shan" (mountain) symbolizes the greatest physical form—this is Zhuangzi's way of embedding deeper meaning in names. Because Wuzhi's virtue is lesser than that of Shentu Jia (another disabled figure in the Zhuangzi), he is called "Shu"; yet because he still possesses great virtue, he is called "shan." The detail of him visiting Confucius is intentional, as only a sage can truly understand a worthy person.

Wuzhi continued, "Heaven covers all things without exception, and Earth bears all things without discrimination. I thought you, sir, were as all-encompassing as Heaven and Earth—I did not expect you to judge by appearances." Hearing this, Confucius, ashamed, said, "I have been narrow-minded." (Philosophical explanation) Heaven and Earth show no partiality toward the myriad things, and thus they universally shelter and sustain them. The sage holds no prejudice toward people and thus embraces them broadly. Would Heaven refuse to cover something just because its form is incomplete? Would the sage refuse to engage with someone just because their body is maimed?

Confucius invited Wuzhi inside for further discussion. After Wuzhi left, Confucius said to his disciples, "You must strive diligently! Even a disabled man like Wuzhi seeks learning to amend his faults—how much more should those with whole bodies do so?" Later, Wuzhi said to Laozi, "I fear Confucius has not yet reached the state of the Perfected Man. Why is he so eager to learn from you? He pursues strange and empty reputations, not realizing these are the very shackles of the Perfected Man." Laozi replied, "Why not make him understand that life and death are one and that right and wrong are interconnected, thus freeing him from these shackles?" Wuzhi sighed, "This is a bondage imposed by Heaven—how can it be undone?"

(Summary of the main theme) The sage inwardly preserves their innate nature and outwardly follows the constant Dao, transcending worldly attachments and remaining unburdened. Thus, they regard life and death, right and wrong, as one. This dialogue, through the story of a disabled man, illustrates that true cultivation lies in spiritual attainment rather than physical form. It critiques Confucius's fixation on ritual and reputation, showcasing the Daoist philosophy of equanimity and carefree wandering (qi wu xiao yao).

This passage recounts a story about Aitai Tuo from the Zhuangzi. Duke Ai of Lu once asked Confucius about a man from Wei named Aitai Tuo - though physically repulsive, men who associated with him became unwilling to leave his company, while women who met him preferred being his concubine over becoming another man's principal wife. Despite having no power, status, wealth, and possessing frightening features, he consistently drew both men and women to him. When Duke Ai summoned him, within a year he gained such trust that the duke considered entrusting the entire state to him. Aitai Tuo initially declined, eventually accepted briefly, then departed, leaving the duke disconsolate.

Zhuangzi explains that while Aitai Tuo's external form was ugly, his internal De (Virtue) was complete. Those who truly attain the Dao regard their physical bodies as temporary lodging houses, unattached to beauty or ugliness. When one cultivates inner De, even with an unattractive exterior, people will naturally be drawn to them. Just as piglets flee when they realize a dead sow no longer resembles their kind, what people truly connect with is the essential life force within, not external appearances.

Confucius elaborates further: Heaven endows all people with the same essential life nature, all composed of primordial Qi. What we love is the vital breath of life itself (referring to the inner Shen/spirit), not the external form. Just as people don't judge sacrificial offerings by their appearance when revering spirits, what truly matters is the internal De.

People often favor sages while disliking ordinary folk, because sages fully follow the Dao of Heaven. They maintain their own purity, so celestial mandate naturally descends upon them, and their De (Virtue/Power) naturally overflows. Ordinary people don't understand this principle, always suspecting sages must possess some extraordinary quality. Like Duke Ai of Lu—though a ruler himself—couldn't comprehend the inner cultivation of Aitai Tuo (a man of great virtue), thinking him peculiar, which is why he consulted Confucius.

One who truly loves their mother loves not her outward appearance, but the inner spirit that gives her form. Those whose De is complete need not deliberately conform to external things—external things are naturally drawn to them. When things come close, it's not their physical form that's loved, but their De. Hence it's said, "What is loved is the spirit that gives form."

Those who die in battle aren't buried with feathers adorning their coffins; those who've had their feet cut off don't cherish their former shoes—because these have already lost their root. The maidservants of the Son of Heaven don't trim their nails or pierce their ears; married men halt their steps outside the palace—all to preserve the wholeness of the body. If physical wholeness is so important, how much more so for one whose De is complete? Now, Aitai Tuo gains trust without speaking, is loved without merit, even to the point where people would entrust their state to him. This must be what it means to have "perfect talent and De that does not show."

Duke Ai of Lu asked what "perfect talent" meant. Confucius replied: Life and death, success and failure, wealth and poverty, worthiness and unworthiness, slander and praise, hunger and thirst, the changes of cold and heat—these are all transformations of things, the workings of celestial mandate. They alternate day and night, yet wisdom cannot glimpse their source. Therefore, they should not disturb the harmony within, nor be allowed to invade the heart. One must maintain tranquil joy, remain unimpeded without losing delight, day and night unceasingly dwelling with all things in the harmony of spring. This state—where the heart senses the changes of the seasons yet preserves harmony—is called "perfect talent."

As for "De that does not show," it is like still water at its most placid, which can serve as a mirror's standard. When inner stillness is maintained, the exterior does not stir. De is the cultivation that achieves harmony; "De that does not show" means De does not manifest outwardly, yet nothing can escape its influence. Later, Duke Ai said to Minzi: "Originally, I thought ruling as king, governing the people, and worrying over life and death were the highest wisdom. But now, having heard the words of the ultimate person (one of supreme virtue), I fear my name exceeds reality, and reckless action would lead to the state's ruin. My relationship with Confucius is not that of ruler and minister—we are friends bound by De."

The reason ultimate persons become ultimate is that they possess perfect talent and De. "Talent" refers to...

This scripture explores the relationship between "the principles of nature and life" (the profound mysteries of life's essence) and "De" (inner cultivation). Those who truly attain the Dao can achieve inner completeness amidst imperfect appearances. When one fully comprehends the principles of nature and life, they transcend the influences of worldly fluctuations like life and death, wealth and poverty.

The alternation of Yin-Yang, the cycle of day and night—these natural transformations are not deliberately pondered by the Dao-realized regarding their origins. External disturbances cannot disrupt their inner peace, nor can joy or anger shake their spirit. They dwell in ease and contentment, maintaining a transcendent state day and night. Though interacting with all things, they preserve their original nature—this is what is called "perfect talent" (comprehensive ability). Those with perfect talent do not violate the principles of nature and life, and their De naturally overflows. Like still water that levels itself, De is not something forcefully pursued.

Those whose De overflows naturally become exemplars for all things. Just as calm water is taken as a standard by people, such individuals hold firm within while showing no outward traces. Silent and formless, yet all things gravitate toward them. This embodies the principle of "preserving within while not displaying outwardly" and "De that shows no form yet keeps all things from departing." Such profound truths can only be truly understood by sages—even when grasped, they are difficult to articulate.

The text cites two examples: Yuǎnqí Zhīlí (a hunchbacked cripple) without lips persuaded Duke Ling of Wei, while Dàyǐng (a man with a neck tumor) convinced Duke Huan of Qi. This illustrates that when one's De is extraordinary, people forget their physical flaws. "Forgetting conduct" means leaving no traces, "forgetting form" is transcending one's physical self, and "forgetting wisdom" is reaching a state beyond thought. Thus, one becomes unified with all things, naturally practicing Wuwei (non-action)—this is the manifestation of overflowing De. Through these physically imperfect yet morally lofty figures, Zhuangzi demonstrates that true value lies in inner cultivation rather than external appearance.

This passage elucidates the Daoist dialectical relationship between "form" (形) and "De" (德, Virtue/Power). The reason why Duke Ling and Duke Huan could forget their physical forms was because they preserved what should be preserved (their De) and forgot what should be forgotten (their forms). Beyond preservation and forgetting, even things that might tempt ordinary minds could not burden them. Just as a large jar can accommodate a massive growth, when a person's De is extraordinary, others forget their physical imperfections.

The human form is but a temporary gathering of Qi (气, vital energy) bestowed by heaven, while De is cultivated through one's own efforts. The physical form granted by heaven will eventually disperse, but the self-cultivated De cannot be enslaved by external things. The true sage (至人) never forgets internally what should not be forgotten—their De—yet externally forgets what should be forgotten—their form. Thus they preserve their heavenly nature while keeping their De from being outwardly displayed.

Sages transcend worldly conventions, regarding cleverness as calamity, restraints as shackles, virtuous acts as transactions, and skillfulness as commerce. Sages don't strategize, so they need no cleverness; they don't divide, so they need no restraints; they lose nothing, so they need no virtuous transactions; they don't trade, so they need no commercial skills. These four things are all bestowed by nature (天鬻). Since they receive their mandate from heaven, why should human intervention be necessary?

Sages can "ride things to let their hearts wander freely"—following external phenomena while allowing their spirits to roam unimpeded. They dwell in the state of Wuwei (无为, non-action), conforming to natural principles. Though they understand that restraints, virtuous acts, and skills don't truly belong to them, they cannot completely discard these, for they represent heaven's way of sustaining human existence. Neither abolishing nor excessively pursuing them, sages find the balance—abolition would defy nature, while excess would disturb it. Only sages achieve this perfect equilibrium.

Ultimately, they possess human form without human selfishness. Having human form allows them to live among people; lacking human selfishness keeps them untroubled by judgments of right and wrong. From the worldly perspective they appear insignificant, yet from the heavenly Dao's view they are great—for they commune solely with the spirit of heaven and earth.

This dialogue explores the distinction between "human form" and "human disposition." Zhuangzi posits that merely possessing human physicality (being lumpishly similar in appearance) is superficial, while what truly matters is maintaining a state of "non-attachment" (serenely practicing wuwei). By "non-attachment," he doesn't mean the absence of emotion, but rather not allowing personal preferences to harm one's innate nature, following spontaneity without forced striving.

Zhuangzi explains that human appearance is bestowed by the Dao, while physical form is generated by Heaven—this alone suffices to be called human. True non-attachment means not letting personal likes and dislikes disturb inner tranquility, nor exhausting one's shen (spirit) through excessive desires. His interlocutor Huishi fails to grasp this, insisting that without emotions one cannot be considered human.

Zhuangzi observes that relentless pursuit of external things exhausts the spirit, ultimately enslaving people to the creations of nature and preventing unity with all things. He criticizes Huishi for wasting his days debating propositions like "hardness and whiteness," draining his vital energy as pointlessly as someone singing while leaning against a dead tree or napping against a withered parasol tree. True cultivation means preserving the integrity of heavenly nature unharmed by passions—only then can one attain the grand state of harmony with the Dao.

The mention of "Yinqi Zhili Wushen" (the lame, hunchbacked, lipless man) exemplifies Zhuangzi's recurring motif: those with physical imperfections who maintain inner wholeness can still fulfill their heavenly nature. This illustrates Zhuangzi's principle of "the tally of inner virtue's fullness"—the plenitude of inner De (virtue/power) matters more than external form.

This passage elucidates Zhuangzi's profound insights on the relationship between inner virtue (De) and external form. The text critiques Hui Shi (Master Hui) for exhausting his spirit in logical debates like "hardness and whiteness, similarity and difference," while true sages who embody the Dao maintain inner purity, refrain from contrived cleverness, and merge with the creative forces of nature, perceiving all things as an indivisible whole—thus having no need to deliberately cultivate emotional bonds.

In the chapter "The Sign of Virtue Complete" (De Chong Fu), Zhuangzi employs three characters—Wang Tai, Shentu Jia, and Shushan Wuzhi—each physically impaired yet brimming with inner virtue, to illustrate that despite their imperfect forms, their consummate De naturally draws others to them. Later, figures like Aitai Tuo and Yinqi Zhili Wushen (a hunchbacked, lipless cripple), even more grotesque in appearance, similarly command respect due to their inner moral plenitude.

The author notes these examples are arranged hierarchically: Wang Tai represents the highest attainment, followed by Shentu Jia, then Shushan Wuzhi, and finally those with the most severe deformities. Yet regardless of physical flaws, when inner virtue is complete, all things spontaneously harmonize with such individuals—embodying the realm where "the ten thousand things and I are one." Through this layered progression, Zhuangzi ultimately responds to Hui Shi's question about "emotional bonds," clarifying that true Dao-realized individuals need not artificially manage relationships, for the power of consummate virtue naturally transforms all existence.