《莊子注》Vol. 3

The third volume of the Commentary on Zhuangzi, authored by the Jin Dynasty scholar Guo Xiang, contains the following interpretation of the sixth section in the "Great Ancestral Teacher" chapter:

The highest wisdom lies in discerning what belongs to the workings of nature (tian) and what stems from human effort (ren). To understand nature's workings means recognizing that all things arise spontaneously ("tian" here denotes the self-so state of being). Deliberate striving often proves counterproductive, for true wisdom emerges from a state of non-intentional knowing. Thus, those who attain the Dao (zhenren, or "perfected person") appear to forget knowledge yet truly comprehend, seem inactive yet naturally accomplish. Through the cultivation of "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang, a meditative practice of dissolving worldly attachments to merge with nature), they reach the supreme state.

Understanding the limits of human effort means using acquired knowledge to nurture what remains unknown, thereby fulfilling one's natural lifespan without premature demise—this constitutes the pinnacle of wisdom. Though human life appears insignificant, it embodies the principles of heaven and earth in their entirety. The absence of any single thing or principle would render existence incomplete. Yet what humans truly know remains scant, and their capacity for action limited. To demand omniscience and omnipotence leads to artificiality. Once artificiality takes root, preserving one's authentic nature becomes difficult.

(Note: "Sitting in forgetfulness" [zuowang] refers to Zhuangzi's cultivation method of transcending physical form and abandoning cleverness to unite with the Dao; "perfected person" [zhenren] denotes one who has achieved the highest spiritual realization through Daoist practice.)

The passage discusses the realm and wisdom of "zhenren" (perfected persons who have attained the Dao). Truly wise individuals do not force themselves to pursue the limits of cognition, understanding that human capacity has its boundaries. Thus they follow nature's flow without compulsion. Knowledge resembles tree branches—what humans truly need is but a single twig. To forcibly grasp all knowledge would instead harm one's innate nature.

Genuine wisdom lies in using the known to nurture the unknown, rather than using the known to suppress the unknown. While this approach still has limitations, it surpasses completely abandoning cognition in favor of unchecked indulgence. Because cognition requires foundations to be appropriate, yet these very foundations remain uncertain. Who can confirm that what we call "heaven" isn't actually human artifice? Or that what we term "human" isn't heaven's intent? In truth, all things follow ziran (natural spontaneity)—order and chaos, success and failure all follow natural patterns beyond human compulsion.

Ancient perfected persons exhibited several characteristics: they didn't reject minority views (thus could harmonize with the majority), didn't boast of achievements, and didn't deliberately recruit talent. They acted with direct simplicity—regretting not when wrong, nor exulting when right. They feared not when ascending heights, remained dry when entering water, and felt no heat when walking through fire. This was because their wisdom had become one with the Dao. Such a state resembles walking on land not to avoid anything, but simply because it's the natural way.

Ancient practitioners who attained the state of "Zhenren" (True Person) would dream no dreams while sleeping (as their minds were free from distracting thoughts), awaken without worries (facing all matters with equanimity), and eat without craving delicacies (viewing food merely as sustenance for life). Their breath was deep and prolonged, originating from the heels (a sign of profound foundational cultivation), whereas ordinary people's shallow breathing barely reached their throats. Those who grovel before others speak as if their throats are obstructed (their Qi flow is impeded); the heavier one's desires, the shallower their innate spiritual wisdom becomes (only by returning to the source and attaining ultimate stillness can one recover original purity).

Genuine cultivators neither cling to life nor loathe death (merging completely with nature's transformations). They neither rejoice excessively at birth nor resist the coming of death (accepting all with serenity). They come and go freely (moving without obstruction by aligning with the Dao's rhythms), neither obsessing over life's origins nor forcing predetermined outcomes (viewing all life changes as natural processes). They joyfully accept what comes (adapting calmly to all circumstances) and let go of what should be forgotten (this forgetting occurs spontaneously, not through forced effort).

This is called "not disturbing the Dao with human artifice, not opposing Heaven's mandate through human striving"—such is the mark of one who has truly attained the Way (human nature is originally tranquil; desires arise from external influences. Indulging unchecked desires leads to the loss of innate nature). Such individuals maintain inner stability (remaining peaceful in all situations), outer composure (acting without losing inner stillness), and countenances as simple as uncarved wood (preserving primal authenticity), their presence as clear and crisp as autumn's clarity.

Here Zhuangzi elucidates the state of those who "embody the Dao" (tidaozhe) achieving perfect harmony with natural laws. The truly enlightened move with the effortless rhythm of the four seasons: their spring-like warmth isn't contrived benevolence, nor is their autumn-like austerity deliberate severity—their joys and sorrows flow as naturally as seasonal transitions.

The sage (referring to one who has attained the highest realization of Dao) may wage wars that dissolve nations yet never forfeit the people's trust; their blessings extend across generations without conscious effort to "love humanity." Like sunlight that nourishes all things without intention, or autumn frost that withers plants without incurring resentment, all unfolds through the spontaneous working of cosmic principles.

Genuine sages neither strain to commune with creation (for such unity is innate), nor proclaim their compassion (as supreme benevolence transcends distinctions), nor grasp at opportune moments (having merged with celestial timing). Those still troubled by gain and loss cannot be true noblemen; those chasing empty reputation at the cost of their essence forfeit authentic scholarship; those who abandon intrinsic nature to accommodate external things ultimately become enslaved by them.

The text cites historical figures like Huxie, Wuguang, Boyi, and Shuqi (renowned ancient recluses or worthies) as examples of those who lived by others' standards, sacrificing their innate nature to conform—thus losing true autonomy. Wuguang, a hermit from the Yellow Emperor's era, and Jizi Xuyu (a virtuous Shang dynasty minister) even lacquered their bodies, disfigured themselves, and feigned madness to escape societal demands—all violations of natural authenticity.

Those who attained the true Dao in ancient times (zhenren, "Perfected Persons") embodied this state of being: They harmonized with all things without forming factions (aligned with all yet not partisan), appearing seemingly deficient yet never deliberately currying favor with others (serenely empty and unburdened as if lacking, yielding to all without exception - appearing insufficient yet never ingratiating).

They maintained distinctive edges yet remained unyielding (constantly wandering in solitude without rigid adherence), expansive in mind yet free from ostentation (vast and unburdened, thus attaining genuineness). Their countenance radiated joy as if delighted (the perfected person knows no forced joy - naturally harmonious thus resembling happiness), while their movements seemed compelled by necessity alone (in motion or stillness, always abiding in inevitability).

Their gentle demeanor stemmed from an inner self unharmed by external matters (never allowing things to wound their core), their virtuous power (De) arising through non-striving (having nothing to pursue). Though appearing to conform with worldly ways (the perfected person knows no harshness, moving with the world thus seeming strict), they remained magnificently unrestrained and impossible to constrain (heroically unfettered in spontaneous attainment - soaring freely beyond confines). Seemingly withdrawn and inaccessible (remote and profound with no visible gateway), they actually embodied wordless wholeness (unknowing and unlearned yet celestial mechanisms arise spontaneously - thus appearing forgetful).

They regarded penal law as governance's foundation (punishment constitutes order's structure - not my personal making), ritual as society's self-regulating tool (rites represent how the world operates itself - not my contrivance), wisdom as timing's activation (knowledge responds to circumstance's movement - not my initiative), and virtue (De) as conduct's natural course (virtue follows what emerges from others). Specifically: Those taking punishment as foundation, though administering penalties, did so with leniency (entrusting order to self-correction - thus executing justice with mercy); those using ritual as supplement could follow worldly conventions (accommodating society's ways - thus encountering no obstruction); those applying wisdom to timing handled affairs only when compelled (as high and low mutually receive in irreversible flow, as great and small naturally cluster through inevitable tendency - vast and impartial as the repository of collective knowledge, receiving all currents' convergence while abiding as people's guide); those guided by virtue (De) moved like those with feet walking naturally (text fragmentary - conveying spontaneous accord with natural patterns).

This passage describes the state of being and worldly attitude of Daoist practitioners (zhenren, or "true persons"). It first points out that "qiu" (mound) symbolizes the root—just as all things possess their inherent nature, by following their spontaneous development, one can return to the original authentic state. People often assume that cultivating the Dao requires deliberate effort, yet genuine practitioners maintain inner tranquility and ease even while handling countless affairs. They don't even perceive themselves as acting, nor do they consciously ponder their words when speaking. This state of natural harmony represents true mastery.

The Daoist practitioner maintains equanimity toward external things, whether favorable or unfavorable (wuxin er shun wu, "without deliberate mind yet following things"). They neither forcibly seek conformity nor insist on difference. The aspect aligned with heavenly Dao is called "tian tu" (disciple of nature—one's innate nature), while the aspect engaging with worldly society is called "ren tu" (disciple of humanity—social attributes). A genuine realized person (zhenren) harmoniously embraces both states, allowing heavenly Dao and human affairs to coexist without suppressing one another.

Life and death are as natural as the alternation of day and night (tian zhi dao, "the Way of Heaven"). Understanding this eliminates attachment. Ordinary people often fret over unchangeable matters, which reflects being bound by external things. Daoist practitioners revere heavenly Dao as a father—how much more should they cherish the sublime state of "du hua" ("solitary transformation," referring to the mysterious self-generating and self-transforming nature of all things)? This realm, which operates spontaneously without reliance on external causes, is truly the most worthy pursuit.

This passage is Guo Xiang's commentary on the Zhuangzi, primarily discussing the relationship between the transformations of life and death and the natural Dao (the Way).

Humans always regard Heaven as their father, so they obediently accept natural rhythms like the alternation of day and night and the cycle of seasons—how much more should they submit to the profound and independent workings of the mysterious creative force? Since we accept these natural patterns, the changes of life and death must also be left to fate. People believe that having a ruler is better than having none, yet even rulers cannot escape death—how much less can they defy the eternal Dao itself? The true Dao does not rely on external things; it operates spontaneously. The laws of nature are inescapable—is this not true not only of a ruler’s commands?

Consider fish stranded on dry land when the spring runs dry, gasping to moisten each other with their foam—moving as it may seem, it is far inferior to swimming freely in rivers and lakes, forgetting one another. Rather than clinging to one another in hardship, it is better to wander in contentment, each at ease. People praise Yao and Shun while condemning Jie and Zhou, but it would be better to forget such judgments of right and wrong and merge with the great Dao. All distinctions arise from the limitations of human understanding; the truly enlightened transcend good and evil, see through life and death, and move with transformation, free and unbound—why would they care about the difference between Yao and Jie?

The great cosmos (the "Great Clod") bestows upon me a form, burdening me with the toil of life, the leisure of old age, and finally the rest of death. My body, my life, my aging, and my death are all part of me—thus, my body is my vessel, my life is my labor, my old age is my ease, and my death is my repose. Though these four states transform, they are all me—why cling to any of them? Therefore, one who cherishes life can also face death with equanimity, for both are ordained by fate.

Hiding a boat in a valley or concealing a mountain in a lake may seem secure. Yet this shows that the changes of life and death are like these hidden things—inescapable, for what appears stable is always shifting. Then, in the depth of night, a great force (the power of creation) carries them all away, and the ignorant remain unaware. This transformative force is the most powerful in the world—it drives the ceaseless renewal of heaven and earth, shifting mountains and rivers. All things migrate and transform at every moment, and the world is forever new.

The sun is new each day, yet to our eyes it appears unchanged; the mountains transform daily, but we perceive them as constant. Like two strangers passing in the street, vanishing instantly into the vast cosmos—the "me" of yesterday is no longer today's "me," as both myself and the present moment flow ceaselessly onward. What in this world remains eternally unchanged? Yet people cling to the illusion that what lies before them can be preserved forever—is this not sheer delusion?

Humans hoard treasures, believing possession grants permanence. But no vault, however hidden or secure, can halt the daily transformations of all things. True wisdom lies in returning all things under heaven to heaven itself—like a drop of water merging with the ocean, where it can never be lost. When you relinquish attachment to ownership, you merge with the cosmic flux, attaining a state beyond life and death, without inside or outside.

By chance acquiring human form, one preens with pride, forgetting that in the endless transformations of existence, this shape is but one among millions. If becoming human brings joy, why not rejoice equally when becoming other forms? Where does true happiness find its limit? Thus, those who attain the Dao (the Way) flow with all transformations, seeing rebirth where things seem to perish, eternity within mortality. Like heaven and earth, they honor aging and the cycles of life and death. This is why all people emulate them.

This passage elucidates the essential characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and its supreme position in the cosmos. It begins by noting that while ordinary people may not fully comprehend the mysteries of life and death, their peaceful and pure state of mind already serves as an example for others—how much more so the Dao that sustains all things and governs all transformations?

The Dao possesses a real existence yet is formless and without shape (it has feeling and truth yet does nothing and has no form). It can be transmitted but cannot be possessed (can be passed on but not received), can be realized but cannot be seen (can be attained but not perceived). The Dao is its own foundation, existing eternally even before heaven and earth came into being (self-rooted and self-originated, it has existed since ancient times). It does not directly create ghosts, deities, or heaven and earth, but rather allows them to manifest and function naturally (the phrase "makes ghosts and deities divine and gives birth to heaven and earth" means it enables their natural operation).

The Dao transcends concepts of space and time: it is not considered high above the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin), nor deep below the six directions (the four cardinal directions plus up and down); its existence prior to heaven and earth is not considered long, nor is its antiquity predating high antiquity considered old. This is because the Dao is omnipresent and thus cannot be measured by conventional standards of time and space.

The text lists the achievements of ancient Dao-realized beings: the Sovereign Xiwei mastered the heavenly Dao to govern heaven and earth, Fuxi (the cultural progenitor) harmonized primordial Qi (vital energy), the Northern Dipper stars revolve eternally, and the sun and moon never cease their motion. The mountain deity Kanhuai guards Mount Kunlun, the river god Fengyi roams the rivers, the mountain spirit Jianwu dwells on Mount Tai, the Yellow Emperor ascended to heaven riding a dragon, Zhuanxu (one of the Five Emperors) resides in the Mysterious Palace, the sea god Yuqiang stands at the North Pole, and the Queen Mother of the West (foremost of female immortals) abides at Mount Shaoguang. These Dao-realized beings all transcended the limitations of time and space (none know their beginnings or endings), just as the eight-hundred-year-old Pengzu surpassed ordinary human lifespan.

This passage recounts the deeds of ancient Daoist adepts and the cultivation state of "spontaneous attainment" (zide) in Daoist practice.

Legend tells us that from the sage-kings of high antiquity like Emperor Shun to the Spring and Autumn period's Five Hegemons, virtuous ministers like Fu Yue attained the Dao (the Way) and thus could assist rulers like King Wuding in governing the realm. After death, their spirits ascended to heaven, transforming into stars—for example, the star Fu Yue is located between the constellations Ji and Wei in the eastern celestial region.

Daoism teaches that true "attainment of the Dao" is not achieved through forced effort. The Dao itself does not grant attainment, nor can one deliberately seek it. True adepts awaken to the Dao spontaneously, just as all things grow naturally. Life itself is a rare marvel of creation; having received it, one should not strive for what cannot be attained by force. Deliberate pursuit only harms the innate authenticity of life.

The text lists numerous mythical figures: Xiwei, an ancient ruler who grasped the essential principles of heaven and earth; Fengyi (the River Earl), a Yellow River deity said to have achieved immortality by ingesting eight minerals—though another legend claims he drowned while bathing in the Yellow River on the eighth day of the eighth month; Jianwu, a mountain spirit; the Yellow Emperor, who ascended to heaven after attaining the Dao; Zhuanxu (Gaoyang), the Northern Heavenly Emperor, depicted with a human face, bird body, green snakes hanging from his ears, and red snakes beneath his feet; Yuqiang, god of the North Sea, keeper of the sacred tortoise and said to be the Yellow Emperor’s grandson; and the Queen Mother of the West, described in the Classic of Mountains and Seas as having a human form with a dog’s tail, disheveled hair adorned with jade ornaments, skilled in long whistling, and dwelling by the Xun River.

These mythical figures embody the Daoist principle of "spontaneous attainment of the Dao." Whether mastering natural laws or communing with the primal Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, they exemplify the ideal of "self-transformation and spontaneous realization."

This passage records a dialogue between Nanbo Zikui and the female Daoist adept Nü Yu regarding spiritual cultivation. Though advanced in years, Nü Yu maintained a childlike complexion, which Nanbo Zikui inquired about. Nü Yu revealed this was due to her realization of the Dao.

Nü Yu explained that the Dao cannot be attained casually. She illustrated this with an example: There was a man named Bu Liangyi who possessed the innate talent of a sage (shengren zhi cai) but lacked the cultivation methods of a sage (shengren zhi dao), while her own situation was precisely the opposite. She attempted to instruct Bu Liangyi, hoping perhaps to nurture a genuine sage.

Nü Yu then detailed the cultivation process: First, one must relinquish worldly attachments (wai tianxia), requiring three days; next, abandon material desires (wai wu), taking seven days; then transcend attachments to life and death (wai sheng), requiring nine days. Upon reaching this state, one achieves "dawn illumination" (zhao che)—a sudden spiritual awakening—followed by "perceiving the Absolute" (jian du), comprehending ultimate truth. This leads to transcending temporal concepts (wu gujin) and ultimately entering the eternal realm beyond life and death.

The text mentions "Shaoguang," possibly referring to a western immortal mountain or realm of emptiness; "Pengzu," the legendary sage said to have lived seven hundred years; and "Fu Yue," the virtuous minister of King Wuding of Shang who supposedly transformed into a star between the constellations Ji and Wei in the eastern celestial region after death. These allusions serve as metaphors for the transcendent state of Dao-realized beings.

This passage expounds the Daoist core principle of "following nature's course" (顺其自然). It conveys that if one allows things to develop naturally without forceful interference, then nothing remains unguided (自将), nothing cannot be accommodated (无不迎), nothing remains unresolved (无不毁), and nothing cannot be accomplished (无不成). This state is called "yingning" (撄宁) - maintaining inner peace amidst chaos.

Nanguo Ziqi (a fictional character in Zhuangzi) traces the transmission of truth: he heard it from "Offspring of Secondary Ink" (副墨之子, representing written records), who in turn received it from "Grandchild of Luo's Recitation" (洛诵之孙, representing oral tradition). Through this layered transmission - passing stages like "Zhanming" (瞻明, clear observation), "Niexu" (聂许, silent assent), "Xuyi" (需役, patient waiting), and "Yu'ou" (于讴, chanting) - the teaching ultimately traces back to "Xuanming" (玄冥, the profound and unfathomable Dao). Xuanming originates from "Canliao" (参寥, boundless emptiness), which in turn stems from "Yishi" (疑始, questioning the origin of all things).

The text then recounts a dialogue between four recluses: Ziqi, Ziyu, Zili, and Zilai. They propose that true sages should regard "non-being" (无) as the head (source), "life" (生) as the spine (process), and "death" (死) as the tailbone (destination), understanding that life, death, existence and extinction are fundamentally one. The four men exchange knowing smiles, becoming kindred spirits. This conversation embodies the Daoist transcendent attitude of equating life and death.

Ziyu fell ill, and Zisi (a fictional character created by Zhuangzi) came to visit him. Gazing at his twisted form, Ziyu sighed: "How magnificent is the Creator, to have shaped me into such a contorted figure!" His body was hunched and curled, his spine bent as if folded in half, the acupoints of his five viscera protruding upward, his chin tucked into his navel, shoulders rising above his head, the topknot on his occiput pointing skyward—all manifestations of the disharmony between Yin and Yang Qi.

Yet despite this physical transformation, Ziyu remained serene in mind. Hobbling to a well to observe his reflection, he quipped: "Ah! The Creator is fashioning me into this peculiar shape again!" When Zisi asked if he resented his deformed body, Ziyu replied: "Why should I resent it? If the Creator turned my left arm into a rooster, I'd use it to herald the dawn. Should my right arm become a slingshot, I'd hunt turtledoves to roast. Were my buttocks transformed into wheels and my Shen (spirit) into a steed, I'd ride this carriage—what need would I have for other vehicles?"

Ziyu expounded further: What we call "attainment" is merely timely alignment, what we deem "loss" is simply following transformation. Those who rest content with circumstance and flow with change remain undisturbed by sorrow or joy—this is what the ancients called "suspended liberation" (a state of transcendent freedom). Those who cannot liberate themselves remain bound by external things. Since all beings must follow the patterns of Dao, why should I resent my present form?

Soon afterward, Zilai (another fictional figure) lay critically ill, his family weeping around him. Through Ziyu's parable, this passage illustrates Zhuangzi's philosophy of "resting content in the timing and abiding in the course"—advocating that humans should harmonize with natural transformations, transcend attachment to physical form, and attain spiritual freedom.

A man named Li went to visit his dying friend. Seeing the family weeping, he scolded them: "Be quiet! Don't disturb his imminent transformation." (Life and death are as natural as sleeping and waking - he deserves peaceful rest now.) Leaning against the doorframe, he said to the dying man: "How magnificent is the Creator! What will He transform you into next? Perhaps a rat's liver or an insect's antenna?"

The dying man replied: "Children must obey their parents, but humans must obey the transformations of Yin-Yang even more." (Since ancient times, some dared disobey their parents, but none can resist nature's cycles of day and night.) "Now death summons me - to resist would be defiance against Heaven's principle. What fault lies in death itself?"

"The earth bears my form, letting me experience life's toil, old age's leisure, until death finally grants me rest. Therefore, one who truly cherishes life must also cherish death." (Life and death share one unified Dao.) "When a blacksmith forges metal, if a piece should leap up crying 'I must become a sword!', the smith would surely deem it ominous. Now we who've chanced upon human form clamor 'We must remain human!' - the Creator would likewise consider us ill-omened creatures." (Just as metal resists the forge, so humans resist natural transformation.)

"Better to regard Heaven and Earth as the furnace and the Creator as the smith - thus whatever transformation comes may be peacefully accepted." Having spoken these words, he passed away as serenely as one awakening from sleep. (Death is but sudden awakening from a dream.)

This passage recounts the story of three enlightened individuals from Zhuangzi's writings. Zisang Hu, Mengzi Fan, and Ziqin Zhang—three close friends—were engaged in discussion: Who could achieve the state of seeming disconnection yet spiritual communion, appearing inactive yet naturally accomplishing (referring to aligning with the Dao without deliberate effort). They realized that those truly united with heaven and earth function like the natural coordination of the body's parts, achieving inner and outer harmony without forced cultivation.

The three exchanged knowing smiles, their hearts in perfect accord as they formed a profound friendship (one that transcended the constraints of worldly emotions). Later, when Zisang Hu passed away before his burial, Confucius sent Zigong to assist with funeral arrangements. Zigong witnessed the other two composing music and playing the qin, singing to the corpse: "Ah, Zisang Hu, you have returned to your original truth, while we still wander in the human realm." (This demonstrates a perspective that transcends conventional views of life and death.)

Zigong stepped forward to challenge them: "Is singing to a corpse in accordance with ritual propriety?" The two exchanged smiles and countered: "How could you understand the true meaning of ritual?" (They believed genuine ritual arises from one's essential nature, unconstrained by formalities.) When Zigong reported this to Confucius, the sage sighed: "These men have already transcended worldly conventions, wandering freely with the Creator." (Meaning they had attained unity with the Dao.)

Through this contrast between worldly rituals and the transcendent attitude of the enlightened, the passage illustrates Zhuangzi's philosophical concepts of "equating life and death" and "forgetting sorrow and joy." Those who embody the Dao see through the nature of existence, thus rising above the conventional forms of grief and celebration.

Here Zhuangzi uses the contrast between Confucius and the transcendental recluse to illustrate two distinct realms of human existence. The recluse (one who transcends worldly conventions) sings unperturbed before a corpse, having already surpassed the constraints of physical form. Confucius acknowledges himself as "one who wanders within boundaries" (adhering to societal norms), while the recluse is "one who wanders beyond boundaries."

The true sage harmonizes both inner and outer dimensions: outwardly engaging with worldly affairs (wandering without), while maintaining inner transcendence (unfathomable within). Though handling daily matters, their spirit remains unaffected. To observe only the sage's external conduct while neglecting their inner realm invites misunderstanding.

Zhuangzi employs this parable to reveal: life and death are like tumors naturally falling away or abscesses spontaneously bursting—mere transformations of Qi's (vital energy) condensation and dispersion. Those who attain the Dao (the Way) cling not to life or death's sequence, understanding the endless cycle where neither holds primacy. Roaming with transformation, they remain unbound by any circumstance.

Confucius sending disciples to offer condolences proves inappropriate, for mourning rites belong to worldly convention. The recluse, having befriended the Creator, soars amidst the primordial Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth. They regard life as an superfluous wen and death as an abscess's rupture—indifferent to which comes first in the ceaseless dance of existence.

This passage records a dialogue between Zhuangzi and his disciple Zigong concerning the realm of life, focusing on the transcendent state of carefree wandering beyond worldly constraints.

Zhuangzi begins with a metaphor: The cycle of life and death, gathering and parting, is like different things borrowing a single body (假于异物托于同体). Those who truly comprehend the Dao forget the existence of their internal organs (忘其肝胆), let go of sensory perceptions (遗其耳目), and move freely through the cycles of life and death without knowing their beginning or end (反复终始不知端倪). Such a state is like wandering in oblivion beyond the dust and grime of the world (芒然彷徨乎尘垢之外), roaming carefree in the realm of Wuwei (non-action) (逍遥乎无为之业). Here, "Wuwei" does not mean doing nothing, but rather following the natural flow; "beyond the dust and grime" does not imply retreating into the mountains, but rather a spiritual transcendence.

Zigong, unable to grasp this, asks Confucius what principles one should follow (何方之依). Confucius self-deprecatingly calls himself "one punished by Heaven" (天之戮民), for he understands that worldly rituals and norms are like shackles. True carefreeness requires both transcending the mundane (游外) and remaining engaged with reality (依内). The more one lets go of external things (遗物), the more one integrates with others; the more one forgets the self (坐忘), the better one navigates worldly affairs.

Finally, the metaphor of fish and water illustrates: Fish need water to survive, just as humans need the Dao to find peace. Yet those who seek the Dao need not strive deliberately—by simply following nature (无事而生定), they can maintain transcendence within the secular world (由无事以得事，自方外以共内). This embodies Zhuangzi's philosophy of "external transformation with internal non-transformation"—outwardly adapting to customs while inwardly preserving carefreeness.

Fish swim freely in vast rivers and lakes, needing no deliberate remembrance of one another; people who dwell in the realm of the Dao (the Way) likewise naturally forget worldly calculations. (Here, "rivers and lakes" symbolize a state of natural freedom, while "Dao techniques" refer to the methods and realms of cultivation.)

Zigong (a disciple of Confucius) once asked: "May I ask what is meant by a 'transcendent person' (someone who rises above worldly norms)?" The reply came: A transcendent person is one who differs from ordinary people yet aligns with the heavenly Dao. Such a person inwardly communes with the profound mysteries of the Dao (inner illumination) and outwardly harmonizes with the natural flow of all things, allowing their innate nature to fully manifest, thereby attaining the supreme state of an enlightened ruler. ("Equal to heaven" refers to alignment with the Dao, while "inner illumination" signifies an abstruse inner realm.)

Thus, it is said: What the Dao deems petty, the human world may regard as noble; what people call noble, the Dao may see as petty. (This reveals the divergence between the natural Dao and human moral standards.)

Yan Hui (another disciple of Confucius) once asked Confucius: "When Mengsun Cai (a noble of Lu) lost his mother, he wept without tears, felt no sorrow in his heart, and observed mourning without grief. These three behaviors violate ritual propriety, yet he is renowned for his exemplary mourning. Could it be that Lu has such hypocrites?" ("The Three Huan" refers to the three powerful noble families of Lu.) Confucius replied: "Mengsun has actually reached the highest state. He has transcended ordinary understanding, viewing life and death as the natural cycle of spring and autumn. Though he may seem to distinguish between life and death, he knows they are ultimately inseparable. He neither clings to life nor fears death, accepting things as they come, like all things that transform naturally." ("Self-transformation" refers to the spontaneous unfolding of existence.)

He has already merged with the Creator (the force of transformation), having even forgotten his own knowledge—how could he then worry about unknown changes? Moreover, since transformation is already underway, how can one be certain of what remains unchanging? (This passage, through the story of mourning rites, illustrates Zhuangzi’s philosophy of "accepting the moment and following the flow" regarding life and death.)

Zhuangzi here explores the philosophical questions of life-death and waking-dreaming. He suggests that distinguishing life from death is as difficult as distinguishing waking from dreaming—when we dream, we always believe ourselves to be awake, so how can we be certain our present state isn't also a dream? Since we cannot prove that waking isn't dreaming, we likewise cannot prove that living isn't death. Life-death and waking-dreaming are fundamentally natural transformations, not matters for anxiety.

The truly enlightened person (Mengsun Shi) doesn't resist natural laws. When others weep, he weeps with them, but this is merely conformity to circumstance. Death is merely a transformation of bodily form ("startling transformation"), which cannot harm the original mind; the physical body is like daily changing lodging ("morning abode"), while the spirit remains eternally present.

Zhuangzi illustrates with metaphors: When you dream of becoming a bird soaring through the sky or a fish swimming freely in water, both feel completely natural. So how can the you speaking now determine whether you're awake or dreaming? True joy arriving doesn't necessarily produce laughter, and genuine smiles need no deliberate arrangement. All this demonstrates: by following natural transformations and walking with the Dao (the Way), one transcends distinctions between life-death and waking-dreaming to attain the realm of carefree wandering.

(Note: "Startling transformation" refers to physical metamorphosis, "morning abode" metaphorically describes the body as temporary lodging, and "Mengsun Shi" represents Zhuangzi's archetype of an enlightened person.)

Zhuangzi here employs several allegorical stories to expound the Daoist philosophy of following nature's course.

Mengsun Shi was someone who could harmonize with natural transformations. Thus, even when mourning and weeping at a funeral, his heart was not truly sorrowful. He understood that life and death are both part of nature’s rhythm, able to flow with change without attachment. A truly enlightened person can abide in transformation, wandering freely with the workings of creation, ultimately attaining unity with heaven and earth.

The next story tells of Yi'erzi meeting Xu You. Emperor Yao instructed Yi'erzi to practice benevolence and righteousness and to distinguish right from wrong, but Xu You considered such doctrines akin to tattooing a person’s face (a penal mark) or cutting off their nose—restrictions that bind human nature. True freedom lies in roaming unrestrained in a state of boundless ease.

Yi'erzi admitted that though he could not fully grasp the Dao, he was willing to learn at its periphery. Xu You used the analogy of a blind man unable to appreciate beauty or a deaf man unable to enjoy music to illustrate how those confined by worldly concepts cannot fathom the profundity of the Dao.

Finally, the text mentions Wuzhuang (a legendary beauty) ceasing to adorn herself, Juliang (a legendary strongman) no longer flaunting his strength, and the Yellow Emperor relinquishing cleverness—all examples of how, after being tempered in the "furnace of the Dao," they let go of their attachments. This shows that all things must undergo the refining of the Dao to return to their true nature. These stories use allegory to dismantle artificial contrivances.

This passage comes from Commentary on the Zhuangzi and primarily discusses the Daoist cultivation state of "forgetting." It mentions several key figures: Wuzhuang (one who does not deliberately adorn himself), Juliang (a rigid and strong individual), Xu You (an ancient hermit), and Yan Hui (a disciple of Confucius).

Xu You describes the characteristics of the "teacher" he follows (referring to the Dao): It shatters all things yet does not claim righteousness, bestows blessings for countless generations yet does not call itself benevolent, predates antiquity yet does not show signs of aging, and shapes all things yet does not flaunt skill. These are all manifestations of natural wuwei (non-action), illustrating that the true Dao transcends artificial contrivance.

Yan Hui reports to Confucius on his progress in cultivation: First, he forgot about benevolence and righteousness (social norms), but Confucius said this was not enough. Then, he forgot about rituals and music (behavioral codes), yet Confucius still deemed it insufficient. Finally, he attained the state of "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang)—forgetting the existence of his body, abandoning sensory perception, detaching from physical form, and discarding knowledge, thereby merging completely with the Dao. This state of utter selflessness represents the highest ideal of Daoist practice.

The text particularly emphasizes the importance of "naturalness" (ziran): Whether correcting faults or cultivating enlightenment, one should follow the natural disposition. Deliberately pursuing benevolence, righteousness, rituals, or music can instead harm one’s innate nature. Only through the practice of "forgetting" can one return to the most authentic state of being.

This passage expounds Zhuangzi's philosophical concepts of "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang) and harmonizing with natural spontaneity.

First explaining "sitting in forgetfulness": this refers to a transcendent state cultivated practitioners attain, where one not only forgets external traces of action but also the internal causes producing them. In this state, individuals become unaware of their physical bodies and cease perceiving the existence of heaven and earth, completely merging with natural transformations to achieve omnipresent penetration. Confucius (Zhongni) remarks: "Being one with all things eliminates preferences (since all things are equal, nothing remains unadapted to, and when fully adapted, how can likes or dislikes exist?) Following transformations prevents stubbornness (those united with change simply flow with it, thus avoiding rigid persistence)."

The text recounts a story: Ziyu and Zisang were friends. After ten consecutive days of heavy rain, Ziyu worried Zisang might be starving or ill, so he prepared food and brought it to him. Approaching Zisang's door, he heard what sounded like both singing and weeping inside, accompanied by zither playing: "Was it my father? My mother? Heaven's will? Human effort?" The voice was so weak it lost all melody. Entering, Ziyu asked why he sang thus. Zisang explained he was contemplating why he'd become so destitute—his parents wouldn't wish poverty upon him, heaven and earth treat all things impartially—so what caused his extreme hardship? Ultimately he realized it was simply fate (ming), that all things spontaneously exist thus without deliberate arrangement.

Later, Nieque sought Wang Ni's instruction but received no answers after four attempts. Instead, he joyfully leaped up and ran to tell Puyizi. Puyizi said: "Now do you understand? Emperor Shun (the Youyu clan) cannot compare to Fu Xi (the Tai clan)." This means both Shun and Fu Xi were merely historical figures—what truly matters is the Dao behind them. This Dao leaves no traces—how could ordinary people judge who ranks higher?

Finally, the "Responding to Emperors" chapter concludes: "Only those who achieve no-mind (wuxin) while harmonizing with natural transformations are worthy to become true rulers."

This passage contrasts the governing approaches of ancient sage-kings, highlighting the Daoist ideal of "governing through non-action" (Wuwei).

The Youyu clan (Emperor Shun) sought to win people's hearts through benevolence and righteousness. While effective in gaining popular support, this approach remained confined within the framework of human judgment and moral distinctions. In stark contrast, the earlier Taishi (Fu Xi) embodied a higher state of being - resting in tranquil contentment when asleep, moving with effortless ease when awake, utterly indifferent whether people called him horse or ox. This transcendence beyond worldly judgments and complete alignment with natural spontaneity made his wisdom genuinely reliable and his virtue (De) authentically pure.

The dialogue between the madman Jieyu and Jianwu further develops this theme. When Jianwu cites Zhongshi's view that rulers should govern through laws and regulations, Jieyu condemns this as going against heaven's principle - as absurd as digging a canal to cross the ocean or asking mosquitoes to carry mountains. True sage-kings don't govern by imposing external rules, but by letting all beings follow their innate nature, each operating within their natural capacities. Just as birds instinctively fly high to avoid arrows, or field mice dig deep burrows to escape smoke, all creatures possess this natural wisdom of self-preservation.

This passage exemplifies the core Daoist political philosophy: the best governance doesn't enforce artificial norms, but follows the spontaneous way of all things, allowing natural development to unfold. The contrast between these rulers illustrates the fundamental difference between conventional moral governance and the Daoist ideal of non-interference that harmonizes with the self-so (ziran) movement of existence.

Tian Gen was wandering in the lands of Yin Yang when he came upon the Liao River and happened to meet the Nameless Adept. Presumptuously, Tian Gen asked, "May I inquire how to govern the world?" The Nameless Adept immediately rebuked him: "Begone! You vulgar fellow—how dare you pose such a question that violates the great Dao?" (The Nameless Adept considered the very notion of governing the world to contradict the natural Way.)

He continued: "I am about to merge with the Creator (Dao) myself. When weary, I ride upon the formless bird of emptiness, transcending the six directions to wander in the Land of Nothingness (the realm of Dao), dwelling in the vast wilderness without borders. Why must you disturb my heart-mind with this notion of governing the world?" (The adept pursues a transcendent state of unfettered wandering beyond worldly concerns.)

Undaunted, Tian Gen pressed his inquiry. Only then did the Nameless Adept offer guidance: "You must let your spirit wander in the realm of serene detachment (preserving original nature without adornment), allowing your Qi to return to emptiness and stillness (following heavenly nature in tranquil repose). Yield to the inherent nature of all things without imposing selfish desires, and the world will naturally attain peace." (True governance means allowing all beings to spontaneously achieve harmony.)

In another account, when Yang Ziju paid homage to Laozi (the progenitor of Daoism), he asked: "If a man were quick-witted in thought, decisive in action, insightful regarding all things, and diligent in studying the Dao—could such a person compare to an enlightened sovereign?" Laozi replied: "In the eyes of a sage, such a man is merely a commoner shackled by skills, exhausting his heart-mind and strength." (Attachment to external talents causes one to lose one's natural essence.)

Laozi extended the metaphor: "Consider how tigers and leopards are hunted for their beautiful stripes, how monkeys are tethered for their agility, how hounds are employed for their hunting prowess. Can creatures that display their talents compare to a truly enlightened ruler?" (A true sage-king should be like the Dao—formless and traceless, revealing nothing through external abilities.)

Yang Ziju asked with reverent expression: "May I inquire how the sage ruler governs the world?"

Lao Dan (i.e., Laozi) replied: "The governance of a sage ruler covers all under heaven yet appears as if nothing were done by him (Without enlightened rulers, the people could not develop naturally. Now that the people develop naturally, it is actually the ruler's achievement through wuwei [non-action]). He transforms all things yet the people feel no dependence (The enlightened ruler follows the innate nature of all things, so everyone feels they are acting autonomously, unaware they actually rely on the ruler). Though his merit spans the ages, he claims no credit, allowing all beings to find their own joy (Though his merit covers the world, he doesn't attribute it to himself, so all things rejoice in what they feel they've gained). He stands in the unfathomable realm (abiding in constant transformation, renewing daily without fixed patterns) and wanders in the void of nothingness (united with all things, roaming where all is emptiness)."

In Zheng state there was a spirit medium named Ji Xian who could foresee life, death, fortune and misfortune, predicting dates with supernatural accuracy. When Zheng people saw him, they would avoid him (not wanting to hear their death foretold). When Liezi met him, he became utterly fascinated. Returning to his teacher Huizi, he said: "I used to think your Daoist arts were supreme, but now I've found someone even greater (meaning Ji Xian surpassed Huizi)."

Huizi said: "What I've taught you is merely superficial—I haven't transmitted the true substance, yet you presume to have attained the Dao? It's like having only hens without a rooster—how could eggs be produced? (Meaning Liezi hasn't truly comprehended the Great Dao). You contend with worldly people using half-understood arts, inevitably revealing yourself—that's why you've been seen through. Try bringing him to meet me."

The next day Liezi brought Ji Xian to see Huizi. After the meeting, Ji Xian told Liezi: "Alas! Your teacher won't live ten more days—I've seen the signs of approaching death."

Liezi (a Daoist figure), upon seeing Huzi (an enlightened master) appearing as lifeless as damp ashes, tearfully reported this to him. Huzi explained: "What I just displayed was the 'Earthly Pattern' state (referring to a meditator's quiescent realm resembling the stillness of earth) - completely motionless like vegetation that doesn't sprout or ground that doesn't tremble. This is the state of the Perfected Person (one who has attained the Dao) who transcends sensory perception - they move like heaven's revolutions, rest like earth's bearing capacity, act like flowing water, and remain still like deep abyss. This natural state of Wuwei (non-action) was even mistaken by the divine diviner Jixian as a deathly appearance."

The next day when Jixian came again for physiognomy, he detected vitality in Huzi and joyfully told Liezi: "Your master can recover with my help! I perceive his blocked life force beginning to stir." Huzi later explained: "This time I manifested the 'Heaven-Earth' state (a vibrant realm resembling cosmic intercourse), revealing nature's functions without clinging to appearances, with vitality surging from the soles. This is what he saw as the 'Auspicious Mechanism' (the state of burgeoning vitality)."

During their third encounter, Jixian became utterly perplexed, telling Liezi: "Your master's Qi (vital energy) fluctuates unpredictably - I cannot read his signs." Huzi clarified: "This time I revealed the 'Supreme Equilibrium' state (the ultimate balance of Yin-Yang), like scales at perfect equipoise. This cultivation surpassing all appearances embodies the true principle of governing and self-cultivation discussed in the chapter 'Responding to Emperors' - the Perfected Person follows nature's transformations, their unfathomable realm being utterly beyond any diviner's comprehension."

Zhuangzi here uses water as a metaphor to illustrate the state of those who have attained the Dao. Water maintains its tranquil nature regardless of its form—whether in the deep pools formed by circling whales, still ponds, or flowing streams. The text mentions three of the nine names for abysses, all demonstrating how water retains its inner stillness despite external variations.

The perfected person (one who has attained the Dao) resembles water—preserving inner serenity amid external changes. When needed, they act; when not, they rest. Though action and stillness appear different, their underlying mystical quietude remains constant. Even amidst external chaos, those rooted in the Dao's foundation maintain effortless composure, embodying Wuwei (non-action).

The term "whale's circling" refers both to two fish species and the movement of whales spiraling. "Stillness" here denotes water's gathering and returning flow. References like the "Nine Spiral Abyss" in Huainanzi and "Nine Abysses" in Liezi both signify ultimate depths.

Later, the text describes how the adept Huzi demonstrated to Jixian the state of "never departing from my ancestral root"—where despite endless external transformations, one remains anchored to the fundamental. Huzi's approach of empty responsiveness, adapting without attachment to phenomena, left Jixian utterly bewildered, fleeing in panic. This reveals the true imperial Dao (supreme attainment) as formless, following natural transformations so completely that observers find nothing fixed to grasp.

This passage describes Liezi's (a prominent Daoist figure) state of being after attaining enlightenment and the wisdom of living advocated by Daoism. After three years of cultivation, Liezi returned to primal simplicity. When cooking at home, he fed pigs as naturally as serving people, completely forgetting distinctions between noble and lowly. He acted without selfish intentions, responding to circumstances spontaneously like uncarved wood, maintaining his authentic self in solitude. Though the external world was tumultuous, his inner state remained constant.

The text presents four principles of Wuwei (non-action): don't pursue empty fame ("corpse of reputation"), don't constantly scheme ("repository of plots"), don't shoulder all responsibilities ("burden of affairs"), and don't presume cleverness ("master of knowledge"). One should follow the inherent nature of all things, reflecting objectively like a mirror—responding when things come, releasing when they depart. Only thus can one master all things without being depleted, akin to the parable of Emperor Shu (Swift) of the Southern Sea, Emperor Hu (Sudden) of the Northern Sea, and Emperor Hundun (Chaos) of the Center.

The passage concludes with the allegory of Hundun (representing the primordial, undifferentiated state): Emperors Shu (symbolizing agility) and Hu (symbolizing swiftness), wishing to repay Hundun's hospitality, drilled seven orifices (eyes, ears, mouth, etc.) into it. After seven days, Hundun died. This story warns that artificial interference destroys natural essence.

(Note: The term "perfect man" refers to one with supreme cultivation; "Shu" and "Hu" in classical Chinese both imply speed, contrasting with Hundun's state of undifferentiation.)