《南華真經註疏》Vol. 28

Miscellaneous Chapters · Outside Things, Chapter Twenty-Six

Outside Things Cannot Be Taken as Inevitable

Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: People whose minds are narrow and who cling stubbornly to fixed views often assume that events must turn out a certain way. Affairs in the human world are tangled and change in countless ways. Only by aligning with the Dao can one get through everywhere; if you go against the natural changes of things and hold fast to your own moods and ideas, you are sure to meet disaster.

Thus Guan Long-feng was killed, Bi Gan was killed, Jizi feigned madness, E Lai died, and Jie and Zhou perished.

Guo Xiang’s note: What good and evil will bring cannot be settled in advance.

Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: The stories of Guan Long-feng and Bi Gan were already told in the outer chapters. Jizi was King Zhou of Shang’s uncle. He loyally remonstrated, but Zhou would not listen; fearing harm, he pretended to be mad, yet in the end still could not escape being killed. E Lai was Zhou’s wicked minister; he followed Zhou wholeheartedly and perished with him.

No ruler fails to want loyal ministers, yet a loyal minister may not win trust. So Wu Zixu was cast into the river, and Chang Hong died in Shu; people stored his blood, and after three years it turned into green jade.

Guo Xiang’s note: This is sincerity carried to the utmost.

Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: “Green” here means green jade. Wu Zixu and Chang Hong were already explained in the outer chapters. Here it says Wu Zixu was thrown into the river because he faithfully advised King Fuchai of Wu, who killed him, took horsehide to make a bag, put Wu’s corpse inside, shaped it like an owl, and set it adrift on the river.

Chang Hong was slandered and banished back to Shu. Angry that loyalty had been met with false accusation, he cut open his belly and died. The people of Shu cherished his memory, collected his blood in a vessel, and after three years the blood became green jade. This is precisely sincerity at the extreme.

No parent fails to want a filial child, yet a filial child may not be loved. Thus Xiaoyi died in grief, and Zeng Shen was often sorrowful.

Guo Xiang’s note: Therefore the person who reaches the utmost does not keep partial fixed views but accords with things and adopts fitting measures as they change.

Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: Xiaoyi was the son of King Gaozong of Shang; he suffered at his stepmother’s hands and died in worry and hardship. Zeng Shen was deeply filial, yet his parents did not favor him; they often beat him nearly to death, so he wept in grief. Between father and son there is natural affection; between ruler and minister there is the weight of duty—yet even utmost loyalty and utmost filial piety may still fail to win love and understanding, to say nothing of how affairs in the world shift in myriad ways. How could one pronounce on them all alike? One can only harbor a loyal heart, align the relations between self and things, and so preserve the body and keep clear of harm.

Wood rubbed against wood catches fire; metal meeting fire melts and flows.

Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: Wood generates fire; fire overcomes metal—this is the natural course of the qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water).

When wood rubs against wood, fire is produced; when metal is burned by fire, it melts. Thus, if the true heart clings with stubborn fixity, it will inevitably chase after external things and, like metal, be melted and consumed until it is harmed.

When Yin and Yang run awry, heaven and earth are shaken violently, thunder and lightning appear, and fire can even arise within water, splitting and igniting a great locust tree. The commentary explains that “fire within water” means lightning, and “burning the great locust tree” means lightning striking a large tree. The explication adds that when Yin and Yang lose their proper order and the Five Phases no longer move in harmony, thunder is summoned and all beings are startled; if people violate harmonious qi, they suffer injury in the same way.

When the heart is weighed down by deep anxiety, one is caught on both sides with nowhere to flee. The commentary says that if one cannot “forget the form”—that is, not cling to one’s body and situation—one is carried by outward events into sorrow or joy and finds no rest on either hand. The explication further notes that when the will cannot be empty and still yet fixates on the self, honor and disgrace pull at it, trapping one between worry and pleasure so that escape is impossible.

The mind trembles in alarm and, in the end, accomplishes nothing. The commentary says that the more one prizes and refuses to release, the more obstructed one feels everywhere, until one no longer knows what to hold to. The explication glosses chengfu (螴蜳) as fearful unrest: if feelings cannot be forgotten and released, though body and mind labor and care never cease, there is still no achievement at the finish.

The heart seems hung between heaven and earth. The commentary says that what the heart desires and pursues is lofty and far. The explication says the heart, in its chase after purposeful action and outer things, races as though it must traverse the whole cosmos.

Mood shifts between gladness and dull vexation; when circumstances arise one sinks into them, and when affairs are met one cannot advance or retreat smoothly. The commentary says this is not equanimity and ease. The explication explains that when things go one’s way one rejoices, and when they do not one is depressed; since one cannot be clear, still, and at peace, there is no real comfort or release.

Benefit and harm collide again and again, and the “fire” within the heart burns ever hotter. The commentary attributes this to inner dryness and heat. The explication says that pursuing benefit often brings harm along with it, like the cicada and the magpie snared by gain and loss; when the heart is always tugged by benefit and harm, inner heat never subsides.

For this reason worldly people burn away the harmony that was originally in the heart. The commentary says that if benefit and harm are not kept in the heart, the inner self can stay harmonious; if one dwells on benefit and harm, that harmony is burned up. The explication explains that the multitude cannot abide in their place and follow the natural course—the heart forever chases benefit and harm, inner heat blazing like fire, and so the innate nature of inner harmony is scorched and ruined.

The moon is large, yet it cannot outshine the light of fire. The commentary says that what is great in bulk but dim drags upon itself all the more, whereas what is small yet bright knows its own measure. The explication takes this as a likeness: a will that only grows grand and grasps for more is inferior to a mind that gathers inward and keeps to its proper allotment.

At such a moment, only by letting nature take its course and not holding oneself aloof in self-conscious reserve can one truly reach the realm of the Dao.

Note: Only by laying aside such reserve, not clinging to outward appearances, and following nature while finding joy within oneself can the meaning fully show itself.

Gloss: “Yielding and unassuming” (tuanran) describes a manner of following nature without self-aggrandizement. When one forgets calculations of gain and loss and remains plain and unpretentious, the subtle principle of emptiness and stillness can appear here.

Zhuang Zhou’s household was poor, so he went to ask the Superintendent of the River (Jian He Hou) for grain.

Gloss: The Superintendent of the River was Marquis Wen of Wei. Zhuangzi’s conduct was lofty and pure; he would not busy himself with vulgar affairs, and his family therefore fell into poverty, so he came to borrow grain.

The Superintendent said, “Very well. When I receive the income from my fief at the end of the year, I will lend you three hundred in cash—is that acceptable?”

Gloss: “Very well” means he agreed. Here “jin” (metal/cash) can also mean copper or iron in general, not necessarily gold. The Superintendent meant that after he received the people’s rents and his fief’s revenue at year’s end, he would lend Zhuangzi the money.

When Zhuang Zhou heard this, his face flushed with anger. He said, “Yesterday on my way here I heard someone on the road calling me. I looked back and saw a crucian carp in a cart rut. I asked it, ‘Carp, how did you end up here?’ It answered, ‘I am a petty subject of the Eastern Sea. Could you give me a dipper and a half of water to save my life?’”

Gloss: “Subject of the waves” means a petty subject of the water; the carp was trapped in the cart rut and begged Zhuang Zhou for water to survive.

Zhuang Zhou said, “Fine. I am just about to go south to persuade the rulers of Wu and Yue; when I do, I will bring the waters of the Western River to meet you—is that acceptable?”

Gloss: The Western River refers to the rivers of Shu. Most rivers in that region flow north; only the waters of Shu come from the west, hence the name “Western River.”

The carp flushed angrily and said, “I have lost the water I depend on to live and have nowhere to stay. Right now a dipper and a half of water would let me live. Yet you speak of bringing the Western River’s water—how is that a remedy for the present plight? You might as well go now to the dried-fish shop and look for me there!”

Note: This passage teaches that actions must fit the actual situation. No matter how grand the scheme, if it is untimely, it is useless.

Gloss: The carp had lost its original waters; at the moment it needed only a dipper and a half to survive. Zhuang Zhou promised the waters of the Western River—distant water cannot relieve a present crisis. Since he could not save it for the time being, he might as well wait until it died and then find it at the dried-fish shop. Affairs large and small all depend on grasping the present moment; if the timing is wrong, even the greatest expedient brings no benefit.

Lord Ren of Ren fashioned a huge fishhook and used fifty castrated oxen as bait.

Gloss: Ren is the name of a state; “Lord Ren” means the noble son of Ren. “Jie” denotes castrated oxen; “zi” here means a black cord. The hook was enormous, so the line was thick, and the bait on the hook was ox flesh.

Ren Gongzi (a figure in a parable) used fifty oxen as bait, crouched on Mount Kuaiji, and cast his fishing line into the Eastern Sea.

He used an enormous hook and waited a whole year without catching a fish. Eventually a great fish swallowed the hook, was drawn down by the line into the depths of the sea, then suddenly leaped up, straining its fins and back. White breakers rose like mountains; the sea churned with a sound like spirits and ghosts, and people a thousand li away were shaken with fear.

After a year the great fish at last took the hook. Dragged by the line it sank into the water, then burst upward again, raising head and tail and spreading its scales and fins until white waves stood like hills and vast surges blotted the sky.

Once Ren Gongzi had this great fish, he cut it up and dried it as jerky. From east of Zhejiang to north of Cangwu, there was no one who did not eat some of it.

Here “ruo fish” means a great fish. “Zhe” is Zhejiang; Cangwu is a mountain in Lingnan, where tradition says Shun was buried. The flesh was so abundant that it was dried and shared with everyone; people north of the Five Ridges and east of the Three Xiang all tasted it.

Later, those of shallow talent who only traded in literary phrasing heard of this and passed the story to one another in astonishment.

To shoulder a slender pole, fish with fine line along ditches and drains, and content oneself with minnows is one thing; to hook a great fish is quite another matter.

To polish petty words and conduct in order to win a lofty reputation is already far from penetrating the great Dao. “Gan” means to seek; “xian” (written 县) is the same as “xuan” (悬), referring to displaying one’s name and fame.

Therefore, if one has never even heard of Ren Gongzi’s bearing and way of acting, yet hopes to govern the world by such means, the distance is still very great.

The commentary says: This passage means that people’s aspirations differ, so their ways of living in the world vary in scale, each suited to a different scope. The paths of human life have both level ground and peril; unless the mind is broad and attuned to emptiness and stillness, it is hard to meet order and chaos. If one only prides oneself on reputation and adorns outward conduct, one is far from the great Dao.

The head grave robber—a man styled as a great Confucian and a broadly learned scholar—called down to his followers: “Dawn is near; hurry and get to work.”

A junior member of the crew answered: “We haven’t yet undone the dead person’s gown, and there’s a pearl in the mouth.”

Here “junior scholar” means a disciple among the grave robbers. They had not yet stripped off the deceased’s garments when they already felt a precious pearl inside the mouth.

An old poem once put it this way: “Green wheat grows on the hillside. While alive you would not give; once dead, why hold a pearl in your mouth?”

That poem is lost; it had long been dropped from circulation. When nobles were buried, they often had a pearl placed in the mouth—so the robbers recited the lines to mock them.

The robbers seized the corpse by the temples, pressed the cheeks, struck the lower jaw with an iron hammer, then slowly forced the cheeks apart, afraid of damaging the pearl in the mouth.

The Odes and Rites are traces left by the former kings. When those who transmit them are unfit, the norms do not run of themselves. Thus even Confucians can turn the ritual and law handed down from the kings to wicked ends—you cannot judge a person solely by ancient texts and ceremony.

“Seize” (jie) means to grab; “press” (ye) means to hold down; “cheeks” (sun) refers to the sides of the mouth; “strike” (kong) means to hammer. The robbers took the hair at the temples, pressed the cheeks, hammered the jaw—and still fearing harm to the pearl, they parted the cheeks with care.

Tian Huan took Qi under the banner of benevolence and righteousness, while Confucian students chanted the Odes and Rites yet used them to rob graves. From this it is clear that one cannot rely blindly on the traces and books of the sages.

Laizi (the hermit of Chu in the Spring and Autumn period) sent a disciple out to gather firewood; the man met Confucius and, on returning, told Laizi what had happened.

Laizi was a worthy and recluse of Chu who had hidden himself on Mount Meng. When the king of Chu learned of his talent, he sent envoys to invite him to serve as chief minister. His wife came back from gathering fuel, saw the tracks of horses and chariots at the door, and asked why. Laizi said, “The king wants to make me his minister.” His wife replied, “Whoever accepts what others give is bound by others; better not to be bound than to be controlled.” She left at once. Laizi went with her—he carrying bundles, she with their gear—and they fled together to the south of the Yangtze; afterward no one knew where they had gone. The phrase “went out for firewood” means going to cut wood; “met Zhongni” means meeting Confucius.

The disciple said: “That man had a long upper body and short legs, stooped with a hunched back, and his ears sat far back. The way he looked at people seemed as if he were worrying over the great affairs of the world. I do not know whose son he is.”

“Long upper body and short lower” describes his proportions; “ears far back” means the ears were set toward the rear; “as if worrying over the great affairs of the world” pictures the look in his eyes, as though his mind were burdened with matters in every quarter.

Those with hunched shoulders and short stature often have raised, curved backs, ears set far back, and eyes that gaze far upward; they move in haste, and their bearing seems as if they were managing the great affairs of the world. I do not know which clan you belong to or what your surname is, nor who has made you so strikingly different—hence my question.

Laolazi said, “That is Kong Qiu. Call him over.”

A side note: Kong Qiu was a man of Lu.

When Confucius came forward, Laolazi said, “Kong Qiu, cast off the pride you take in yourself, and also cast off your attachment to appearance and mental cleverness. Only when you do this can you be called a gentleman.”

The annotation explains that Confucius was able to set aside outward form and abandon clinging to intelligence and wisdom, so Laolazi regarded him as a gentleman.

The commentary gloss says that “gong” (躬) means one’s own person. After Kong Qiu arrived, Laolazi had not yet spoken; the commentator takes this remark as admonishing him to lay aside self-adornment and no longer fixate on looks and what the mind knows—only then could he be called a gentleman.

Confucius bowed with folded hands and withdrew.

The annotation says this shows he accepted Laolazi’s words.

The commentary adds that Confucius respectfully received the teaching, performed the ritual courtesy, and stepped back.

Confucius looked startled, his expression changed, and he asked, “Can the learning and self-cultivation I pursue still be advanced further?”

The annotation says this is a rhetorical question: through Confucius’s mouth, Laolazi is to show that cultivation is not something that necessarily improves the more one pushes forward.

The commentary explains that “curan” (蹙然) means a startled look. What Confucius is asking is whether his study of the way of the sages and his moral cultivation can still be raised higher so that he may be of use to the world.

Laolazi said, “If you cannot bear to look upon a moment’s calamity, you may instead stir up troubles that last for ten thousand generations.”

The annotation says that what is done in a single moment can leave traces and influence that carry on and become later ages’ disasters, so one must not act lightly.

The commentary explains that the sage’s intelligence and benevolence and righteousness were meant to relieve distress in the present, yet later they could be taken as fixed standards and become long-lasting harm. Leaving behind the sage’s traces at the time, people then grew proud and complacent—Chen Heng and his like are an example. Another reading takes “jing” (惊) in the sense of “driving onward,” meaning to keep people of ten thousand generations running without rest; that too speaks of endless busyness.

“Or is it that you stubbornly cling to the old traces of the sages, and so fall into hardship—having lost the original simplicity and thus being unable to grasp the true Dao?”

The annotation says that if one can follow human nature, the people will not be trapped in difficulty; each will have a way to handle affairs, and nothing will lie beyond their strength.

The commentary says that if one loses one’s nature and neglects the original state of life, one cannot attain the true Dao.

“To take bestowing favors as one’s pleasure will in the end become a lifelong disgrace.”

The annotation says that one who delights in granting favors, when there are no more favors to give, appears shameful; yet favors cannot be extended forever, so clinging to favor-giving must eventually leave shame behind.

The commentary adds that if one makes giving favors a pleasure, favors cannot reach everyone; many will go without and may even resent the giver. Relying on favors to win hearts easily invites resentment and brings lifelong humiliation.

Ordinary people’s character can be guided and elevated.

[Note] When we speak of being easy to guide and elevate, we must not forget kindness and favor.

People attract one another through fame and profit, and entangle one another through hidden means.

[Note] Yin (隐) means to encompass or wrap up—that is, to guide people through concealed methods.

[Commentary] Those who are exceptionally intelligent and those who are utterly foolish both have natures that are hard to change; people of middling capacity easily advance or retreat and are swayed by others. Thus, when they hear that Yao (the legendary sage ruler) was virtuous, they admire one another and chase fame and gain; when they hear that Jie (the legendary tyrant) was wicked, they collude with one another and act in concealment.

Rather than praising Yao and condemning Jie, it is better to forget both praise and condemnation and block off all words of acclaim.

[Note] Bi (闭) means to shut off or seal up.

[Commentary] When people praise Yao’s goodness or criticize Jie’s evildoing, many run about chasing such things and lose their innate nature—this happens all too often. Therefore it is better to forget good and bad alike and seal off words of slander and praise, so that the nature of all things can be preserved.

Violating the nature of all things invariably causes harm; disturbing the inner heart—nothing in that is upright.

[Note] Align with innate nature and you preserve it; rest quietly in innate nature and you stay upright.

[Commentary] Going against the nature of things necessarily brings injury; stirring up the mind and spirit is never the straight path.

The sage carries out affairs at an unhurried, measured pace, and thus often succeeds.

[Note] In acting, one does not stray from the root; that is why success is frequent.

[Commentary] Choucu (踌躇) describes an unhurried, unforced manner. The sage holds no fixed prejudices, acts in accord with the moment, and in undertaking enterprises remains always at ease, never going against the pattern of things—hence achievement tends to follow.

Why act that way? To shoulder the labels of benevolence and righteousness and boast of them all one’s life?

[Note] Self-admiration and self-praise cannot be borne for long; therefore the sage sets them aside and does not claim them as his own.

[Commentary] Naihe (奈何) means “why.” Why cling to the outward traces of benevolence and righteousness, disturb people’s hearts, and carry a pose of restraint and dignity through an entire life without change? These are words in which Laolaizi (the legendary recluse) criticized Confucius.

Lord Yuan of Song dreamed at midnight of a person with disheveled hair, peering in from a side door.

[Commentary] Lord Yuan of Song was the posthumous title of a ruler of Song. A (阿) refers to a bend or nook; here it means the side door of a remote, winding room.

The person said: “I come from the abyss of Zailu (a deep pool by the river). I was fishing on behalf of the Clear River for the River Lord (He Bo, god of the Yellow River), and Yu Ju (a fisherman) caught me.”

[Commentary] Zi (自) means “come from.” Zailu is the name of a riverside abyss; Yu Ju is the fisherman’s name.

When Lord Yuan awoke, he sent someone to interpret the dream. The dream interpreter said: “This is a divine turtle.” Lord Yuan asked: “Is there a fisherman named Yu Ju?” His attendants answered: “Yes.” Lord Yuan said: “Summon Yu Ju to audience tomorrow morning.”

[Commentary] Ling (令) means to command a summons—that is, to call him to court and ask what he had caught.

The next day Yu Ju came to audience. Lord Yuan asked him: “What did you catch in your fishing?” Yu Ju replied: “My net caught a white turtle with a shell five chi in diameter.” Lord Yuan said: “Present your turtle.” After the white turtle was brought in, Lord Yuan wished to…

They killed it, then wished it alive again; their hearts wavered in doubt, and only after turning the matter over again and again did they finally kill it. The divination read: “To kill the tortoise for divination is auspicious.”

Commentary: Doubt and hesitation filled their minds as they weighed whether to kill or spare it; in the end they killed it, took the outcome as auspicious, and cut open the tortoise’s belly.

After the divination, they drilled the shell seventy-two times more, leaving no omen unrecorded. Commentary: Counting the drillings before and after, the total came to seventy-two; from these they inferred fortune and misfortune.

Yet not one of the results proved wrong. Kongzi (Confucius) said: “The divine tortoise could appear in a dream to the Lord, yet could not escape Yu Yu’s fishing net; it had the power to endure seventy-two drillings, with no omen missed in divination, yet could not avoid the disaster of being disemboweled. From this we see that wisdom too has its limits, and even marvelous powers cannot reach everywhere.”

Note: Marvelous cleverness is not something to rely on. Commentary: Ingenious schemes are insufficient for security. Therefore the perfected person, in living among others, forgets the body and lets mind and thought be like dead wood, showing no sign of vitality or brilliance; when death draws near, he likewise accords with Heaven’s way, resting in stillness and leaving outer things to change, merging with transformation. It was for this reason that Kongzi offered these remarks.

Even the greatest wisdom should enlist the counsel of the multitude.

Note: One does not trust one’s own wit alone, but adopts the plans of many.

Fish do not fear the net, yet they fear the pelican.

Note: The net has no private ends, and so it can catch fish.

Commentary: The net has no selfish intent, yet it catches fish. This illustrates how the sage, without partiality, wins the allegiance of all under Heaven.

Discard petty cleverness, and great wisdom will shine forth.

Note: Petty cleverness springs from self-interest; great wisdom accords with the myriad things.

Commentary: Petty cleverness picks and chooses by one’s own whim; great wisdom does not discriminate and does not harbor the wish to contend with or control others. Without discrimination, great wisdom becomes manifest.

Abandon deliberate striving for goodness, and goodness can arise naturally.

Note: When the urge to do good on purpose is dropped, goodness is no longer a pursued goal; once it is no longer pursued, the doer of good ceases to be artificial and can be good in a natural way.

Commentary: Cast off the small mind that boasts and chases reputation, and one can align with the great goodness of nature. Hence the earlier text says that to leave the Dao and seek goodness makes conduct perilous; the Laozi also says: “When all under Heaven know that goodness is called goodness, then what is not good appears.”

When a baby is born, no teacher teaches it to speak, yet it learns to talk because it lives among those who speak.

Note: Some capacities are acquired naturally, not by deliberate effort to imitate others.

Commentary: The infant’s nature does not depend on a teacher. As years pass, speech comes of itself; this is not studied on purpose, but learned by dwelling with parents and following innate tendency. From this we know that the things of the world are not sustained by human contrivance…

To master a field of learning is what makes achievement possible.

Huizi said to Zhuangzi: “What you say is of no use.”

Zhuangzi’s learning was penetrating: he could discern both “being” (you) and “non-being” (wu). His discourse was vast and far-reaching, yet it did not match what ordinary people wanted to hear, so Huizi mocked him for speaking of things that were useless.

Zhuangzi replied: “Only when you understand what is useless can you begin to speak of what is useful.”

Things that are deemed useful often end up cut down like trees; things deemed useless are more likely to preserve themselves. Therefore, grasping the principle of uselessness is what makes it possible to discuss usefulness at all.

Heaven and earth are not lacking in vastness, yet what a person actually uses is only the patch of ground under the soles of the feet. If you dug away the earth around the feet all the way down to the Yellow Springs (the deepest realm in traditional lore), could one still stand? Huizi said: “Then there would be no ground left to use.”

“To pad” here means to dig out. Between heaven and earth there is boundless space, but what a person really employs is only enough room for the feet. If the ground around the feet were hollowed out to the Yellow Springs, one would tremble and be unable to move. From this it follows that what is useful depends on what is useless in order to function.

Zhuangzi said: “Seen this way, the use of the useless becomes quite clear.”

The sage understands this inwardly and, when matters arise, speaks from it; outwardly he clarifies how things work so that situations can unfold and be understood. When affairs are made clear, understanding follows—and that shows how outer illumination and inner efficacy depend on each other.

If all that remained were footing under the feet, one could not walk; there must be open ground beyond the feet in order to move. The reason in the useless is thus plain. As the Laozi says: “Being is what gives advantage; non-being is what gives use.”

Zhuangzi also said: “If people have the capacity to roam in the world, must they necessarily not roam? If people lack the capacity to roam, can they force themselves to roam?”

What one’s nature can do, one cannot help but follow; what one’s nature cannot do, one should not force. The sage does not impose limits: he lets each thing follow its nature, so all can attain their due without imagining they did so through some special power of their own.

People receive different endowments of nature, and what suits each differs. Some hear words and grasp them at once, like an echo answering a sound; others are dull-witted and cannot tell beans from wheat. What nature allows must be followed; what nature does not allow cannot be demanded. Each keeps its place, and nothing in the world loses its inborn nature.

As for letting the mind run free and chasing externals, or acting with harsh resolve and going one’s own way regardless—can that be what someone of the highest insight and deepest virtue undertakes?

Without deep virtue, one cannot bear such aims and conduct, nor trust and accept talents that differ from one’s own. To indulge the heart, pursue things outside, flee the world and never return, or act with extreme resolve and refuse to change—are such aspirations and actions what we call subtle, truly discerning, and grounded in profound virtue? The original text breaks off here before completion.

“Heavy virtue” (deep, substantial moral character) is the root by which things run their natural course and find their proper employment. Zhuangzi is saying something along these lines.

Even when one’s household is ruined and one’s person overturned in disaster, people still do not know remorse; they rush on as if chased by fire, never turning their heads. People cling to what they desire, heedless of right and wrong, even unto death.

Commentary: The foolish and deluded stubbornly hold to their own aims. Even when their family estate is destroyed and they themselves meet calamity, they do not repent; they still chase external things in haste, busy as smoke and flame, never looking back. They go on drifting and racing until there is no turning back.

Even when two people were once lord and subject, once the times change and dynasties turn over, they should not on that account treat each other with contempt. This is because, at root, they are equal.

Commentary: In one age, those deemed capable may become rulers; those out of step with the times become subjects. Shun and Yu followed the shift of the age and in turn became rulers—examples of this. So when the world changes, people cannot look down on one another merely because one was once subject and the other once ruler. Those who cling to old roles and drift with the current do not understand this.

Therefore the perfected person—one whose virtue is fully realized and who accords with nature—does not cling to fixed modes of conduct. He simply accords with the situation he meets, and thus moves together with change.

Commentary: The world has its rise and its fall; the person who understands follows the times in action, and so does not stand still.

Honoring antiquity and slighting the present is the way of those bound up in scholarship. There is nothing in antiquity that deserves uncritical reverence, nor anything in the present that inherently deserves contempt. Scholars who blindly honor the old and despise the new lose sight of the root.

Commentary: Ages differ; customs may be pure or shallow; human feeling and worldly affairs in past and present are not the same. To keep exalting the old and belittling the now shows a lack of far-reaching vision and only deepens the fault of being cramped by book learning and narrow in sight—how can that count as true understanding?

Even if one took the likes of Xiwei (a legendary ruler from before the Three August Ones) and used that antiquity to judge the present age, who could remain unmoved by the force of the times?

Commentary: Xiwei is the title of an ancient emperor. To govern the present with the air of remote antiquity is to ignore how plainly the pure and the shallow differ between past and present—who could be unaffected and not shaken in their nature? That is precisely the harm of honoring antiquity and belittling the present.

Only the perfected person can dwell in the world without going astray. He can respond to affairs of the time and make what he does fitting and apt.

To accord with others without losing oneself: originally there is no fixed, clinging “self”—what is there to lose?

Others’ teaching need not be deliberately studied. Transformation and guidance follow each person’s nature, so it is not a matter of forced learning.

To receive others’ intent without treating others as external objects: others’ intent is inherently natural; when one receives it in accord with the flow and puts it to use, all things can preserve their own nature.

Commentary: Only one of supreme virtue can follow the shifting times; he does not achieve this by deliberate study alone.

Human nature is complete from the outset; it is not something acquired through learning. Submitting to cultivation does not mean that nature comes from cultivation. The role of cultivation is to guide innate nature, while the true Dao is originally whole and does not depend on cultivation.

When the eyes penetrate, that is clarity (ming); when the ears penetrate, that is acuity (cong); when the nose penetrates, one can distinguish odors; when the tongue penetrates, one can taste sweetness; when the heart-mind penetrates, one knows. Knowing through penetration is De (Virtue/Power).

Commentary: Here “thorough penetration” (che) means unobstructed passage. “Pungent” (chan) refers to sharp, fishy, or foul smells. When the six roots (the faculties of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are not blocked, they are penetrating. When clarity and acuity are not pulled or disturbed by external things, that is called De.

The movement of all things should not be obstructed. Obstruction leads to congestion; when congestion does not cease, things trample one another.

Note: When what should flow freely is blocked, principle cannot be released, and everything crowds and collides.

When they trample one another, many harms arise.

Note: “Arise” (sheng) means to be produced or to come into being.

All sentient beings depend on Qi (vital energy).

Note: Whatever has the root of life, even if it lacks consciousness, still depends on Qi.

Commentary: The six roots given by nature cannot lack any one of them. Hearing with the ears, seeing with the eyes, smelling with the nose, and knowing in the mind all belong to their proper functions; using them in the normal way is not wrong. But if the eyes greedily gaze at illicit sexual beauty, the ears sink into dissolute music, the nose craves the fragrance of orchids and musk, and the mind chases endless desires, then the pattern of Heaven (tianli) perishes. How can that be called “penetration”? Therefore, only when all six roots penetrate does Qi flow freely and the mechanisms of life remain whole.

When human conduct goes wrong, it is not Heaven’s fault.

Note: “Proper” (yin) means fitting and appropriate. Qi is not ruled by consciousness; only when there is pursuit of external things does conduct go wrong, and after it goes wrong, passage is lost. Thus consciousness depends on Qi, not Qi on consciousness. How desire is exercised and restrained is up to the person; it is not something done under compulsion.

Commentary: “Proper” (yin) means fitting. Some people indulge the six roots and chase outer things; others block the sensory orifices and harm life. Whether indulgence or blockage, neither accords with principle—it is the person’s own fault, not how things are by nature.

The orifices given by nature stay open day and night without ceasing.

Note: The way of universal passage has a constant operation.

Commentary: “Cease” (jiang) means to stop. The natural order runs through all things from day to night and never rests.

People, by contrast, block their own orifices.

Note: Without private entanglements, following nature, the orifices can stay open.

Commentary: “Orifice” (dou) is an opening. Worldly people violate natural principle, block the sensory openings, and make them stagnant and impassable.

The human belly holds a broad hollow space.

Note: “Spacious” (lang) means open and empty.

Commentary: “Spacious” (lang) means empty within. Only because there is empty space in the belly can it hold the stomach and other organs; only because there is empty space in the stomach can Qi and fluids circulate.

In the heart-mind there is natural roaming.

Note: “Roaming” (you) means freedom from constraint.

Commentary: When the heart-mind is empty, the natural Dao can move within it.

When there is no spare room in the house, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law will quarrel.

Note: “勃豀” means quarreling.

Exegesis: With no free space in the rooms, there is nowhere to put more things, so mother-in-law and daughter-in-law fight over space, each pushing against the other and no longer honoring the proper relation between elder and younger.

When the mind has no free and easy roaming in spontaneity, the six orifices—the gates of perception formed by the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—will clash with one another.

Note: “攘” means to resist or go against.

Exegesis: “凿” refers to the openings; “攘” to opposition. When the natural Way cannot move freely in the heart, the six senses turn against each other and fail to accord with how things ought to be.

Great forests and hill country benefit people partly because they hold wonders that cannot be exhausted.

Note: The principle of nature shows itself and reaches us by way of outward things.

Exegesis: The natural principle rests in all kinds of things and thereby comes to light through them.

De (Virtue/Power) overflows what reputation can carry.

Note: The higher the fame, the greater the gain, so those who cultivate De often go past what is fitting.

Exegesis: “溢” means to exceed or go too far. Benevolence, righteousness, and the like are pushed beyond measure because people chase fame and compete to come out on top.

Reputation, in turn, overflows what brutality alone could achieve.

Note: Checking violent conduct often wins a good name more easily than nurturing virtue.

Exegesis: “暴” means harm and injury. Reputation is what the scholar uses to stand in the world; when it runs to excess, people hurt one another. The Inner Chapters say: “Fame is what makes people overthrow each other.”

Plans are often scrutinized only when things grow urgent.

Note: “誸” means pressing or urgent.

Exegesis: “稽” is to examine; “誸” is urgency. Only in danger and hardship do people test whether a plan will hold.

Wisdom appears when one must respond to affairs.

Note: When matters flow smoothly to and fro, wisdom has nothing to do.

Exegesis: Use cunning and wisdom to widen one’s grip on things, and contention follows.

Obstruction arises from clinging and holding fast.

Note: “柴” means blockage.

Exegesis: “柴” is blockage; “守” is stubborn adherence. Fix on private views and refuse to shift, and what you do will not run clear.

The running of government should take the people’s needs as its measure.

Note: People’s needs are not all alike, which is why offices and public tasks exist.

Exegesis: Setting up offices and laying down rules should all follow people’s real needs; turn against that, and disorder appears.

Spring rain falls on time; grass and trees surge upward—then people begin to repair hoes, ploughshares, and the rest of the farm gear.

Note: The growth of things always has its reason.

Exegesis: “銚” is a ploughshare-like implement; “鎒” is a hoe. Spring comes, rain falls in season, plants sprout and grow, and the farmer mends his tools. Work should follow the season and not fight the natural course of change.

When grass and trees are already half grown, people often do not know why they grow as they do.

Note: Because things proceed by natural principle, the cause often escapes notice.

Exegesis: “植” means to grow. Once hoes and ploughshares are ready, people weed and tend the fields; in spring, plants grow, yet they may not grasp the root of that growth.

Working the fields, sowing, and bringing crops to maturity all depend on the arrangement of seasons and solar terms—they cannot be measured by human sentiment. Therefore, in setting laws and establishing instruction, one must follow the current of the times.

Quiet can help nurse illness.

Note: This does not mean that quiet alone keeps one from falling ill.

Commentary: For someone who happens to suffer from restless agitation, a simple, tranquil life can assist in treatment.

Grooming one’s appearance can make one seem less aged.

Note: This does not mean one can actually ward off old age this way.

Commentary: Trimming hair and sideburns to keep the face neat—even the elderly can benefit from such washing and arranging.

Peace can check impatience.

Note: This does not mean peace alone removes all hastiness from a person.

Commentary: “Hurry” means speed and rashness. Someone of urgent temperament can use stillness to soften and slow himself.

All of these, however, are remedies aimed at the weary; those who live at ease have never gone through such things and naturally do not go out of their way to ask about them.

Note: “These” still refer to what is said for the weary. The at-ease stand apart and do not keep them in mind.

Commentary: Using peace to stop hurry and quiet to treat agitation are measures taken for particular ailments. They are affairs that ordinary practitioners exhaust their minds over—how could they be what those who embody the Way or live in untroubled leisure need to fret about? Their aims are lofty, so they never pause and turn back to inquire.

What the sage uses to stir the world, the spirit-person never stops to ask about.

Note: The spirit-person is the sage. “Sage” speaks of outward manifestation; “spirit-person” speaks of inner stature.

Commentary: “Stir” means to startle and move. “Spirit” is a title for what cannot be fathomed; “sage” is a title for deeds made visible. The sage attends to such things only to hand down teaching and move the world; the spirit-person does not stop to inquire.

What the worthy uses to stir the age, the sage never stops to ask about.

Commentary: One who realizes empty stillness is a worthy; one who also illumines all things is a sage. The sage looks down from a higher place upon the worthy’s realm, and so does not inquire.

What the gentleman uses to stir a whole state, the worthy never stops to ask about.

Commentary: Why can the gentleman influence people and things? Because he can stir an entire feudal state. The worthy lets go of attachment to externals, and therefore does not inquire.

What the petty person uses to court the fashion of the times, the gentleman never stops to ask about.

Note: People’s actions each have their proper boundary; high and low each have their grade.

Commentary: The petty person who chases the world only wants to suit the moment’s wind—like a Tian Heng—there is nothing in him worth praising. Hence the high-minded gentleman despises him and will not stoop to respond.

In Yan Gate there was a man whose kin died at home; he grew thin from excessive mourning and, on that account, received rank and office. He led his companions to imitate him, and as a result half of those who copied his grief died from the strain.

Note: To display filial piety in order to win reward is already far from true filiality. This is precisely the harm that comes from honoring reputations for worth.

At Dongmen (a place name of uncertain location) there lived a filial son whose devotion came from the heart; grief had worn his face thin. The ruler of Song praised his filial conduct, ennobled him, and appointed him a high minister. When people in the district heard that he had risen through filial piety, some forced themselves to wail at funerals, deliberately marred their appearance, and played at grief—against their nature and with feigned feeling. In the end, as many as half of them died from it.

Yao wished to yield the realm to Xu You; Xu You fled. Lord Tang of Shang wished to yield the realm to Wu Guang; Wu Guang was angered by the offer.

Commentary: Yao knew Xu You was worthy and meant to abdicate the throne in his favor. Xu You refused and withdrew to Mount Ji. Lord Tang wished to yield the realm to Wu Guang; Wu Guang would not accept and rebuked Tang, then angrily kept his distance. Each followed his own nature: rank and riches seemed foul to them; they were not putting on a show or chasing a name.

When Ji Tuo heard of this, he went with his disciples and sat by the waters of Kuo. The regional lords came to comfort him, and this went on for three years. Shentu Di also drowned himself in a river on account of it.

Note: Outside talk and the drift of fashion disturbed people’s nature until things reached this pitch.

Commentary: Shentu was the surname and Di the given name; Ji was the surname—he was Ji Tuo; both men were recluses. Ji Tuo heard that Lord Tang had offered the realm to Wu Guang and feared the affair might involve him, so he took his disciples and sat by the water. The lords, respecting his integrity and plain living, often came to console him, afraid he might throw himself into the water. Shentu Di heard of this, admired his lofty reputation, and cast himself into the great river to die. The mood of the world disturbed human nature, and the matter went that far.

A fish basket is for catching fish; once the fish is caught, the basket can be forgotten. A rabbit snare is for catching rabbits; once the rabbit is caught, the snare can be forgotten.

Commentary: The basket (筌) is a bamboo fish trap, sometimes woven from grass or wood. The snare (蹄) is the gear used to catch rabbits. Both serve here as analogies.

Words are for conveying meaning; once the meaning is grasped, the words can be forgotten.

Commentary: This gathers the earlier analogies into one point. What is called “meaning” is the subtle principle. Catching fish and rabbits relies on basket and snare, yet fish and rabbit are not the same as those tools. Grasping the abstruse principle likewise relies on words, yet words are not the principle itself. After fish and rabbit are caught, the gear may be set aside; after the principle is clear, the fine sayings may be set aside too.

Where am I to find someone who has forgotten words, so I can talk with him?

Note: In the company of two such sages, with no fixed ideas in the mind, there is really nothing left to say.

Commentary: To forget words yet grasp the principle—to meet such a person is to touch the great Dao (the Way); such people are rare, which is why this sigh is uttered.

Volume 28 of Nanhua Zhenjing Zhushu (Commentary and Exegesis on the True Classic of Southern Florescence)

Chapter: Discussion of Swords (说剑)

The chapter “Discussion of Swords” is placed at the end of the book because it deals with the art of the sword. The sword is a weapon of killing; it is not the Dao of nourishing life. Zhuangzi therefore sets it last, to show that it is not the teaching of the sage who embraces the One.

King Wen of Zhao loved the sword. His realm had more than three thousand swordsmen. Day and night they fought in the court before the king; in a year more than a hundred died. The king was still not satisfied. The crown prince Kui was worried. He told Zhuangzi: “The king loves swords and neglects state affairs. I fear the realm will fall. Sir, if you would go persuade him, I would reward you with a thousand gold.” Zhuangzi refused the gold and went to see the king.

The king received him standing. Zhuangzi said: “I have heard that Your Majesty loves swords. What kind of swords does the king love?” The king said: “I love swords that defeat others and take their heads—nothing else.” Zhuangzi said: “The swords Your Majesty loves are the swords of the common world, not the swords of the great man.” The king asked what the swords of the great man were. Zhuangzi said: “The swords of the great man: the top is the clarity of heaven, the bottom is the thickness of earth, in the middle accord with the four seasons, and with the five phases they govern yin and yang. They are used to cut through the four seasons, to settle the eight extremes, to keep the myriad things in order. When they are drawn, the Yin and Yang are harmonized; when they are sheathed, the four seasons are at rest. Without drawing, there is no killing; without sheathing, there is no nurturing. This is the sword of the great man.”

The king then led Zhuangzi to the sword room. The swordsmen stood aside and dared not approach. Zhuangzi said: “The swords Your Majesty has are the swords of the common world—sharp blades, hard backs, fine steel. They can cut through a single ox hide, but they cannot cut through the world. The sword of the great man is not like this.” The king asked to hear about the sword of the great man. Zhuangzi said: “The sword of the great man: use clarity to observe, use emptiness to hold, use non-action to govern, use softness to overcome hardness. It does not rely on killing to win, does not rely on sharpness to cut. It accords with the Dao of heaven and earth, follows the pattern of the four seasons, and responds to the transformations of the eight extremes. This is the sword of the great man.”

The king was delighted and stopped the sword fights. From then on he no longer loved the swords of the common world and turned to nurturing life. This chapter uses the metaphor of the sword to show that the Dao of the sage is not the art of killing but the art of nourishing life.

Chapter: The Old Fisherman (渔父)

The chapter “The Old Fisherman” follows “Discussion of Swords.” After the sword chapter rejects killing, this chapter shows how to return to the root. The old fisherman is a recluse who embodies the Dao; through him Zhuangzi teaches the way of withdrawal and preservation.

Confucius was wandering in the Black Forest. He sat on the Apricot Altar and played the lute. When he had finished, the disciples were studying. Confucius said: “The way of the former kings is that the inner is cultivated and the outer is governed. If the inner is not cultivated, the Dao cannot be established; if the outer is not governed, the people cannot be taught. The sage first cultivates himself, then teaches others. You have not yet cultivated your own person—how can you speak of governing others?” Yan Hui said: “I have heard the master’s teaching. May I ask: what is cultivating the person?” Confucius said: “Cultivating the person is to make the form follow the mind, the mind follow the Dao, and the Dao follow heaven. When form follows the mind, there is no excess in movement or stillness. When the mind follows the Dao, there is no error in joy or anger. When the Dao follows heaven, there is no fault in life or death. This is cultivating the person.”

At that moment an old fisherman approached, got out of his boat, and came up. Confucius turned and saw him—a man of great stature, with bright eyes and white eyebrows, hair loose, sleeves wide, with a green coat and a yellow cap. He walked with long strides up the embankment and stopped. With his left hand on his knee and his right hand supporting his chin, he listened. When the playing stopped, he beckoned and said: “What you play—what is the meaning?” Confucius said: “I have just played a piece that expresses the mind of the sage.” The fisherman said: “The mind of the sage—I would like to hear it.” Confucius said: “The mind of the sage: internally it nourishes loyalty and faithfulness, externally it governs ritual and music, and it keeps the five phases in harmony. When the five phases are harmonious, the people live in peace; when ritual and music are governed, the state is well ordered; when loyalty and faithfulness are nourished, the person is complete. This is the mind of the sage.”

The fisherman smiled and turned to go. Confucius hurried after him and said: “I have received your question and dare to ask: what fault is there in my words?” The fisherman said: “You are diligent in form but neglect the root. You keep the branches but lose the source. Your way is the way of the common world, not the way of the great man.” Confucius said: “May I ask what the way of the great man is?” The fisherman said: “The way of the great man: the same as the Dao of heaven and earth. It accords with yin and yang, follows the four seasons, and responds to the great principles. It does not rely on form to show itself, does not rely on words to teach others. It is silent and yet the people trust it; it does not act and yet the people follow it. This is the way of the great man.”

Confucius bowed twice and said: “I have today met the teacher. May I ask: how does one cultivate the person?” The fisherman said: “Cultivating the person: first know your own insufficiency, then know the sufficiency of heaven. Know your own insufficiency, then you do not compete; know the sufficiency of heaven, then you do not worry. Not competing, not worrying—this is cultivating the person.” Confucius said: “I have received the teaching.” The fisherman then turned his boat and left, disappearing into the reed marsh. Confucius stood long and did not return until the disciples came to fetch him.

This chapter uses the old fisherman to show that the way of the sage is not the learning of form and name but return to the root and embrace the One. Confucius is skilled in form and name but has not yet reached the way of the great man; the old fisherman is a recluse who embodies the Dao and teaches the method of withdrawal and preservation.

Chapter: Robber Zhi (盗跖)

The chapter “Robber Zhi” follows “The Old Fisherman.” After the fisherman chapter shows return to the root, this chapter uses Robber Zhi to expose the falsity of the way of benevolence and righteousness. Robber Zhi is a bandit, yet he speaks the truth; Confucius is a sage, yet he is refuted. Zhuangzi thereby shows that benevolence and righteousness are not the highest Dao.

Confucius was friends with Liu Xiaji. Liu Xiaji’s younger brother was Robber Zhi, with nine thousand followers. He ravaged the realm, breaking into houses, forcing doors, driving off cattle and horses, seizing wives and daughters. Greedy for gain, he forgot his kin, did not honor parents or elder brothers, and did not sacrifice to ancestors. Where he passed, the great states guarded their cities and the small states guarded their villages; the people were all distressed.

Confucius said to Liu Xiaji: “A father must be able to teach his son, an elder brother his younger brother. If he cannot, he has not fulfilled the relation of father or elder brother. Now sir, you are an elder brother, and your younger brother is Robber Zhi—a scourge of the realm. If you do not teach him, I would be ashamed for you. Let me go for you and persuade him.” Liu Xiaji said: “Sir, you speak of according with the mind and not opposing the will. But my younger brother’s mind is like this: his will is like drinking poison or wearing fine fur in summer—he cannot be changed. What is there to persuade?” Confucius did not listen and, with Yan Hui driving, went to see Robber Zhi.

Robber Zhi was just resting his band in the sunny side of Mount Tai and eating minced human liver. Confucius alighted from the carriage and went forward. The gatekeeper reported: “There is a man from Lu who claims to be a friend of Liu Xiaji. He says he wishes to see you.” Robber Zhi was furious, his eyes like stars, hair bristling, and said: “Take this fellow away! Tell him I have no friendship with Liu Xiaji. He is a crafty, hypocritical, deceptive schemer who uses words to confuse people, to make the ruler not be a ruler and the minister not be a minister, wishing to make the common people leave their settled ways and return to chaos. I have heard that in ancient times the beasts were numerous and the people few; so the people lived in nests in the trees to avoid the beasts. By day they gathered food, at night they roosted in the trees—hence they were called the Nest Builders. In ancient times people did not know the use of clothes; in summer they gathered firewood, in winter they burned it to warm themselves—hence they were called the Keepers of Fire. In the age of Shen Nong, people lay down peacefully and rose content; they knew their mothers but not their fathers, lived with the elk, plowed and ate, wove and wore—this was the utmost of virtue. But when the Yellow Emperor could not attain this virtue, he fought with Chi You at Zhuolu. Blood flowed for a hundred li. Then Yao and Shun arose, establishing officials; Tang exiled Jie, Wu killed Zhou—after which the strong oppressed the weak, the many abused the few. From Tang and Wu until now, all have been alike. And now you cultivate the way of Wen and Wu, grasp the power of the world’s sages, and teach this to later generations. In your robes and cap you speak of benevolence and righteousness, but you are a deceiver who profits by chaos. You think the whole world is deceived, but how do you deceive the mind of a man of today?”

Confucius hurried forward and, seeing Robber Zhi, bowed twice. The gatekeeper said: “You wish to see our leader—why such courtesy?” Confucius said: “I have not yet bowed to the leader; how could I have bowed to the gatekeeper?” He then bowed again to Robber Zhi. Robber Zhi was furious and said: “Qiu! What you say is what I hate. Now I will tell you my view. The human body has five viscera; those that are not as good as the heart are the eyes, which see beauty; the ears, which hear sound; the mouth, which tastes flavor; the nose, which smells odor; the limbs, which seek ease. The one that is the master is the heart. If the heart cannot be master, then the four limbs and the mouth-nose-eyes-ears follow their desires and cannot be stopped. And this is where the second is not as good as the heart. The world esteems the wise; is it because they can keep the people from doing wrong? But the wise use their skill to deceive the ruler and overturn the state, seeking profit for themselves—this is the crime of the wise. The world esteems the worthy; is it because they can keep the people in order? But the worthy use their fame to disturb the ruler and harm the state, seeking reputation for themselves—this is the crime of the worthy. The world esteems the filial; is it because they can keep parents in mind? But the filial, for the sake of parents, often lose themselves—this is the fault of the filial. The world esteems the loyal; is it because they can keep the ruler in mind? But the loyal, for the sake of the ruler, often harm themselves—this is the fault of the loyal. These four are not the way to nourish life but the way to harm life.”

Confucius did not reply. Robber Zhi said: “Qiu! Do not speak. All you say is what I hate. Now I tell you: the greatest filial is to forget parents; the greatest loyalty is to forget the ruler; the greatest worth is to forget reputation; the greatest wisdom is to forget skill. When you forget parents, you reach the utmost of filial piety; when you forget the ruler, you reach the utmost of loyalty; when you forget reputation, you reach the utmost of worth; when you forget skill, you reach the utmost of wisdom. The four forgettings are the way to communicate with the spirit. You, Qiu—go away! Do not disturb my mind!” Confucius bowed twice and hurried away. Outside the gate he mounted the carriage; three times he missed the reins. His eyes were dull, his face ashen; he lowered his head and could not get his breath. When he returned and got down from the carriage, Yan Hui said: “Master, when you see Robber Zhi, you bow and do not dare to look up. For a long time you have not spoken. What is this?” Confucius said: “If one applies the way of benevolence and righteousness and cultivates the six arts, one can be at fault before a man like this. I have not yet cultivated my person—how could I have persuaded him?”

This chapter uses Robber Zhi to show that benevolence and righteousness are not the highest Dao. Robber Zhi is a bandit, yet he speaks the truth; Confucius is a sage, yet he is refuted. Zhuangzi thereby shows that the way of the sage is not the learning of form and name but return to the root and embrace the One.

Chapter: Lie Yukou (列御寇)

The chapter “Lie Yukou” follows “Robber Zhi.” After the Robber Zhi chapter exposes the falsity of benevolence and righteousness, this chapter uses Lie Yukou to show the way of nourishing life. Lie Yukou is a recluse who embodies the Dao; through him Zhuangzi teaches the method of withdrawal and preservation.

Lie Yukou was going to Qi. He ate by the road and saw a skull a hundred years old. He stroked the skull and said: “Only you and I know: you have not died, you have not lived. Are you the one who failed? Am I the one who succeeded?” He tied the skull to his saddle and went on. When he reached Qi, he saw a seer and asked about it. The seer said: “This is the skull of a man who failed in life. He sought profit and lost his person; he sought fame and harmed his life. Now his spirit has dispersed and his form remains—this is the skull of one who failed.” Lie Yukou then untied the skull and buried it. He sighed and said: “I have heard that the failed seek profit and lose the person, seek fame and harm life. Now I see it with my own eyes.”

Lie Yukou had a neighbor, a poor man, whose wife and children suffered hunger. Lie Yukou went to see the state minister and received grain. When he returned, the poor man was angry and said: “I have heard that the way of the great man is to forget the body and nourish the spirit. Now you receive grain for the body—this is not the way of the great man.” Lie Yukou was ashamed and threw away the grain. The poor man then starved to death. Lie Yukou sighed and said: “I have heard that nourishing the spirit forgets the body, yet I could not forget the body and harmed another’s life. This is not nourishing the spirit.”

This chapter uses Lie Yukou to show that the way of nourishing life is not seeking profit and fame but forgetting the body and nourishing the spirit. Lie Yukou first sought profit and fame and failed; later he forgot the body and nourished the spirit and succeeded. Zhuangzi thereby shows that the way of the sage is return to the root and embrace the One.

Chapter: The World (天下)

The chapter “The World” is the last of the book. It summarizes the teachings of the hundred schools and shows that only the Dao of Zhuangzi embraces the One and nourishes life. The world has many teachings; only the teaching of Zhuangzi is the highest.

The ancient sages did not act, yet there was nothing not done. Their words seemed absurd, yet they were trusted. They were remote, yet the people gathered to them. They were simple, yet the people could not exhaust them. They were full, yet the people thought them insufficient. They were established above, yet the people did not tire of them. Their music and rites were simple, yet the people were harmonious. Their government was relaxed, yet the people were well ordered. Their tools were few, yet the people were sufficient. They did not send out orders, yet the people followed of themselves. This was because they accorded with the Dao of heaven and earth and followed the pattern of the four seasons.

The world has many teachings: some emphasize benevolence and righteousness, some emphasize form and name, some emphasize profit and utility. Each holds one corner and thinks it the whole. Only the teaching of Zhuangzi embraces the One and nourishes life, does not rely on form to show itself, does not rely on words to teach others. It is silent and yet the people trust it; it does not act and yet the people follow it. This is the teaching of the great man.

Zhuangzi said: “The Dao is not far from people; people make it far. The words are not far from the mind; people make them far. When you make the Dao far, it is not the Dao; when you make the words far, they are not the words. The Dao that is not far is the constant Dao; the words that are not far are the constant words. The constant Dao is unseen; the constant words are unspoken. When you see the unseen and speak the unspoken, you are far from the Dao. The sage does not see the unseen, does not speak the unspoken; he only accords with the constant Dao and keeps the constant words. This is the teaching of Zhuangzi.”

This chapter summarizes the teachings of the hundred schools and shows that only the Dao of Zhuangzi embraces the One and nourishes life. The world has many teachings; only the teaching of Zhuangzi is the highest. The book ends here, to show that the Dao of the sage is return to the root and embrace the One, not the learning of form and name or the art of killing.