《南華真經註疏》Vol. 8

Nanbo Zikui asked Nüyu, “You are already very old, yet your appearance is like that of a child. Why is this?”

Commentary: The character “Kui” here is probably a corruption of “Qi,” referring to Nanbo Ziqi in the chapter “In the Human World.” Nüyu was an ancient practitioner of the Dao. A “young child” means a small child. Nüyu had long heard of and practiced the utmost Dao, the highest Way, and so could nurture her body and mind and preserve her life. Though old, she still had a child’s appearance and radiance, making her seem unlike ordinary people. Zikui therefore asked how she had managed this.

Nüyu replied, “I have heard of the Dao.”

Note: After hearing of the Dao, one lets life follow its natural course, and so one’s complexion can remain in good condition.

Commentary: Nüyu replied that hearing of the Dao had enabled her to preserve her life. In this way, she had grown young again, with a childlike appearance.

Nanbo Zikui asked, “Can the Dao be obtained through study?”

Commentary: Seeing that Nüyu looked unlike ordinary people, Zikui admired her and asked her to teach him how to practice the Dao.

Nüyu said, “No. How could that be? You are not the right person.”

Commentary: “How could that be?” means “No, how could it be possible?” Nüyu was tranquil within, and her outward appearance showed an unusual radiance. Seeing her exceptional bearing, Zikui eagerly asked to learn the Dao. Nüyu judged his question inappropriate and restrained his expectations, telling him that he was not a suitable candidate.

“Bu Liangyi had the aptitude to become a sage, but he did not have the Dao of a sage. I have the Dao of a sage, but I lack the aptitude to become one.”

Commentary: Bu Liangyi was his surname and name. He was modest and detached, and possessed the wisdom of the Dao. “Aptitude” means the ability to perceive clearly, respond swiftly, and put things to use. Bu Liangyi had the outward ability to act, but lacked the inward stillness of the Dao. Nüyu possessed the Dao of quiet emptiness and detachment, but lacked the keen discernment and practical ability. Each had a shortcoming, and neither was complete. Yet compared with the Dao, aptitude is secondary; the Dao is more important.

“I want to teach him the Dao, in the hope that he may eventually become a sage. Otherwise, if I were to tell the Way of the Sage to someone who already had the aptitude of a sage, it would be much easier. I will still hold to the Dao as I teach him.”

Commentary: “Perhaps” means hoping to come close to something; “in the end” means ultimately, or truly. Even a person of the highest capacity, on hearing the Dao, must still practice diligently. Without diligent practice, the Dao cannot be attained. So even after receiving instruction, one must put it into practice: only by cherishing the aspiration to follow the Dao and working to realize it can one become a sage. Otherwise, explaining principles is easy; what is difficult is holding to them and practicing until one achieves something. Nüyu…

I had long since heard of the Great Dao, and my heart had grown still and tranquil. Now I wish to pass it on to others, yet I must remain careful and steadfast in upholding it myself. How much more, then, must beginners avoid slackening their efforts? What good is it to speak of the Dao with the mouth and hear of it with the ears alone? The difficulty lies not in knowing, but in putting it into practice.

Only after upholding it for three days can one forget the world.

[Note] “Outside” means forgetting.

[Commentary] “Outside” means forgetting. It is not easy to be a teacher, and teaching the Great Dao is especially difficult. When one is about to instruct someone, one must gather the spirit, quiet the mind, and cultivate and uphold the Great Dao. After three days, the mind has become empty and still, and all things appear void; thus, nothing in the world below heaven is regarded as truly real.

After forgetting the world, I upheld it for another seven days, and only then could I forget external things.

[Note] “Things” refers to what is necessary for daily life and closely connected to oneself, and is therefore hard to forget.

[Commentary] The myriad scenes of the world are distant from oneself, so they are easy to forget. Things needed to sustain the body are close to oneself, so they are hard to relinquish. Only after upholding it for seven days can one dispel them. Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Things” are what one needs in daily life, are closely connected to oneself, and are hard to forget.

After forgetting external things, I upheld it for another nine days, and only then could I forget myself.

[Note] This means forgetting oneself as well.

[Commentary] One forgets the body and leaves one’s physical form behind, attaining “sitting in forgetfulness” (zuowang)—sitting quietly while forgetting oneself and external things. The longer one cultivates with focused intent, the deeper this forgetting and letting go become.

Only after forgetting oneself can one attain “dawn clarity” (chao che), a sudden and penetrating clarity like the first light of morning.

[Note] If one forgets life, one will not loathe death. If one does not loathe death, one can accept whatever comes in peace. The mind opens into clarity without obstruction, and one can act in accord with the moment. This is “dawn clarity.”

[Commentary] “Dawn” means early morning; “clarity” means penetrating brightness. Regard life and death as one, and forget both oneself and external things. Wisdom then shines forth suddenly, like the rising sun, hence the name “dawn clarity.”

Only after attaining dawn clarity can one “see the Unique” (jian du)—realize the independent, self-sufficient Great Dao.

[Note] To accept whatever comes in peace and no longer cling to the order of one’s past experiences is “seeing the Unique.”

[Commentary] The Great Dao is still and profound, beyond words and forms. It is neither being nor nonbeing, makes no distinction between past and present, moves on its own, and depends on no opposing counterpart. Realizing this state is called “seeing the Unique.” Hence the scripture says that it is “silent and unmoving.”

Only after seeing the Unique can one cease to be bound by past and present.

[Note] Move together with the Unique.

[Commentary] Let creation continually renew itself and move along with its transformations. Then, untouched by external things and their appearances, one is no longer bound by any distinction between past and present.

Only after ceasing to be bound by past and present can one enter the state beyond life and death.

[Note] Clinging to life gives rise to fear of death; loathing death only deepens one’s attachment to life. Therefore, only by clinging neither to life nor to rejecting death can one attain the state beyond life and death.

The changes from ancient times to the present all converge in the Dao (the Way). To think that eras are divided into past and present, or that things are divided into life and death, is the confused and inverted view of the deluded. The ages keep moving and renewing themselves. Since they are constantly renewed, there is no absolute present or past. The Dao neither departs nor arrives, so there is no absolute death or life. Perhaps only Nü Yu’s disciple can grasp this principle.

The saying “the killer of life does not die; the life-giver is not born” means that the death spoken of here was never a true extinction, and the life spoken of here was never a true beginning. Once born, one can enter a state beyond life and death and realize that the Dao has no arising or passing away. Since the Dao neither arises nor passes away, why should human feelings be glad or averse? Follow things as they naturally are, and nothing will be out of place.

There is nothing among the myriad things that is not sent to its destination.

[Note] Let each thing follow its own course, and nothing will fail to be sent to its destination.

There is nothing among the myriad things that is not welcomed.

[Note] Let each thing arrive in its own way, and nothing will fail to be welcomed.

[Commentary] “Sending” means seeing something off; “welcoming” means receiving it. The Dao’s function is to respond to the needs of the myriad things wherever they are, without any fixed method. Though the Dao neither passes away nor is born, it also appears through the changes of birth and death. Thus it welcomes life without end and sees countless deaths on their way.

There is nothing among the myriad things that does not perish.

[Note] Let things perish naturally, and nothing will fail to perish.

There is nothing among the myriad things that does not come to completion.

[Note] Let things come to completion naturally, and nothing will fail to do so.

[Commentary] Without deliberately seeing anything off, all things nonetheless return to destruction; without deliberately welcoming anything, all things nonetheless grow and take shape.

This state is called “Yingning” (being disturbed by external things while remaining inwardly calm).

[Note] One who has become one with the myriad things is moved by them and responds accordingly, yet never loses inner calm.

[Commentary] “Ying” means disturbance; “ning” means stillness. With compassion, the sage aids the myriad things and guides living beings through the Dao. The Dao’s source is subtle and nameless, yet it takes different names according to the differences among things. The sage responds to things in action, while the heart remains constantly still. Thus, though disturbed by external things, the sage remains calm.

What is called “Yingning” means first responding to the pull of external things, then allowing each thing to come to its own completion.

[Note] If things draw you along but you refuse to be drawn, they will be frustrated. Follow their pull and let them develop, and each will come to its own completion.

[Commentary] Once one can blend with the world without showing sharp edges, and remain still amid activity, one can respond to the disturbances of the myriad things and skillfully give them the means to thrive, so that each finds its proper place.

Nanbo Zikui asked, “From whom did you alone hear these teachings?”

[Commentary] Zikui was astonished by the depth and subtlety of Nü Yu’s teachings and asked where she had heard them. From here onward, the passage has nine parts: the first six explain the teachings, and the last three explain their underlying principles. All are Nü Yu’s words to Zikui.

Nü Yu replied, “I heard them from the son of Fumo.”

“Shu” means explanation. “Fu” suggests a copy or an aid; “mo” refers to brush and ink, while “hanmo” means writing. Principles can give rise to instruction, so writing is called a copy of principle. To catch a fish, one must use a bamboo fish trap; likewise, to understand principle, one must rely on instruction. People therefore first hear of principle through written words and use them to understand it.

The descendant of Supplementary Ink hears of it from the grandson of Recitation by Heart (a later student of written texts hears of principle through repeated recitation)

“Supplementary Ink” means reading from the scripture, while “Recitation by Heart” means memorizing it. At first, one relies on written words to gain understanding, so one reads with the text in hand. Then one gradually grasps the principles within it, and so recites them repeatedly. Instruction arises from principle, which is why it is called the “son”; recitation arises from instruction, which is why it is called the “grandson.”

The grandson of Recitation by Heart hears of it from Clear Discernment (a later student who recites repeatedly hears of principle through clear insight)

“Zhan” means to look, and can also mean to reach. When recitation becomes fluent and the practice continues over time, one gradually sees the deeper principles, and the mind grows clear.

Clear Discernment hears of it from Private Assent (after gaining clear insight, one hears of principle through inward affirmation)

“Nie” suggests advancing upward, and also means speaking privately close to someone’s ear. As recitation deepens, one comes to understand principle through instruction and feels joy in the heart, privately affirming that one has understood. It is also like whispering close to someone’s ear. Having heard the Way but still not daring to put it openly into practice shows that one’s state of mind is gradually improving.

Private Assent hears of it from Necessary Practice (after inward affirmation, one hears of principle through diligent practice)

“Xu” means necessity; “yi” means applying or carrying something out. Even when one inwardly assents and one’s wisdom gradually becomes clearer, one must still practice in accordance with instruction and act diligently, without slackening. To understand without putting that understanding into practice is to be unable to attain the Way.

Necessary Practice hears of it from Song (after diligent practice, one hears of principle through song)

“Ou” means singing or song. Having understood principle through instruction and then acted in accordance with that understanding, one’s virtue becomes manifest, and songs of praise spread along the roads.

Song hears of it from the Mysterious and Silent (after praise, one hears of principle through the mysterious and silent)

“The Mysterious and Silent” is a way of speaking about the realm of “nonbeing,” but this does not mean that it is entirely nonexistent. “Mysterious” means profound and far-reaching; “silent” means still and tranquil. As virtue settles within and one’s reputation spreads outward, the practitioner gradually approaches the utmost point of emptiness and stillness and enters the realm of the Mysterious and Silent.

The Mysterious and Silent hears of it from Expansive Emptiness (after the Mysterious and Silent, one hears of principle through expansive emptiness)

To reach “nonbeing” through successive realms, one must experience it beyond names and speech. Thus, even upon reaching the Mysterious and Silent, one has not yet reached the ultimate point. One must go further, toward “Expansive Emptiness.” This is what is meant by “the mysterious within the mysterious.”

“Can” means three; “liao” means open, far-reaching, and free of attachment. The first level goes beyond being, the second goes beyond nonbeing, and the third goes beyond both being and nonbeing. This is why it is called “threefold transcendence.” The realm of the Mysterious and Silent, subtle though it is, is not yet the ultimate. Only upon reaching threefold transcendence does one enter the realm of layered mystery.

After hearing these words, Canliao began to understand.

[Note] The pattern of nature often proceeds from what is near to what is distant, and from what is rough to what is refined. Only through layer upon layer of accumulation does it gradually take shape. One must pass through seven stages before speaking of “nothing”; only after nine stages does one begin to question “nothing.” That is the starting point of inquiry.

[Commentary] “Beginning” means the root. The Dao transcends all kinds of opposing claims and stands apart from mistaken doctrines; words cannot reach it, and thought can scarcely grasp it. Even saying that it transcends all distinctions does not exhaust its mystery. The Dao is the root beyond all distinctions. It is also called the “realm of layered profundity” and the “Gate of the Many Mysteries.” Yet these names are only makeshift expressions and can easily lead one astray.

Thus, the Dao is not some root that can be traced back to. Even if “doubt” is called the root, there is no definite root on which to rely. Hence it is called “the beginning in doubt”: inquiry begins with questioning.

Zisi, Ziyu, Zili, and Zilai were discussing together: “Who can take ‘nothing’ as the head, life as the back, and death as the buttocks? Who can understand that death, life, existence, and extinction are all one? I would like to be friends with such a person.”

[Commentary] There are no reliable records of the origins of Zisi and the others. Judging from their state of mind and conduct, they were all detached from worldly concerns. Their feelings for one another were simple and pure; they became close friends through their understanding of the mysterious and subtle Dao, and before the highest Dao they forgot words.

People come from emptiness, so “nothing” comes first. From nothing, life arises; hence life is likened to the back. Where there is life, there is death, and death comes last; hence death is likened to the buttocks. Though the head and buttocks are in different places, they belong to the same body. If a person understands this, they can meet anything with equanimity. How, then, could they favor or despise life and death, existence and extinction? Whoever understands this is someone I would like to befriend.

The four looked at one another and laughed. Their minds were in accord, and they became friends.

[Commentary] At a glance, they understood one another’s thoughts, so they looked at one another and laughed. Since they all followed the mysterious principle, there was no distance between them.

Not long afterward, Ziyu fell ill, and Zisi went to visit him.

[Commentary] Visiting a friend who is ill follows the natural course of human feeling and does not conflict with a state of mind detached from worldly concerns.

Ziyu said, “How great is the Maker! He has made me like this, all curled up and cramped.”

[Commentary] “Great” means vast and mighty; “Maker” refers to the transforming power of creation; “curled up and cramped” describes a body bent over and unable to stretch out. The transformations of Heaven and Earth are like a vast furnace and its smith: they show no favoritism. Why, then, should they single out my body for this crippling illness? It seems that everything is simply as fate has ordained. Ziyu understood the principle, and so he made this exclamation.

His back was bent and his spine protruded, with five swellings along his back. His chin drew close to his navel, his shoulders rose above his head, and the back of his neck curved as though a growth had formed there. This was caused by Yin-Yang Qi falling into disorder and imbalance.

His mind was at peace; he did not regard this as a cause for distress.

Dragging his ailing leg, he went to the well to look at his reflection. Seeing his appearance, he sighed: “Ah! Is the Creator going to turn me into this hunched and cramped person again?”

Zisi asked, “Do you hate looking this way?”

He replied, “There is nothing here for me to hate. If my body gradually changes and my left arm becomes a rooster, I’ll use it to announce the dawn. If my right arm becomes a crossbow, I’ll use it to shoot birds and roast them. If my buttocks become wheels and my spirit becomes a horse, I’ll ride them on my journeys. Why would I need to harness a carriage?”

“Gradually changes” means that the body changes step by step along with Yin-Yang Qi. He believed that since the human form is bound to change, accepting those changes with equanimity allows one to be at ease wherever one finds oneself. Besides, receiving a particular form is simply a matter of meeting the right time.

The Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence say: When one meets the moment of birth, this is called “gain”; when one follows change into death, this is called “loss.” Birth and death are simply different stages in the changing course of things. If one can calmly accept the arrival of one’s allotted time and live in accord with change, sorrow and joy cannot disturb the heart.

The subcommentary explains: “Gain” means birth, and “loss” means death. When the moment for birth suddenly arrives, one is born in response to it; when one suddenly follows the patterns of change, that is death. Therefore, those at ease with their allotted time do not rejoice in being born, and those who follow change do not resent dying. With neither joy nor resentment, how could grief or happiness enter the heart?

This is what the ancients called “hanging release”: freeing oneself from bonds as if escaping the distress of being hung upside down. But those who cannot free themselves become entangled and constrained by external things.

The subcommentary says that when one follows change and lets go of attachment to one’s allotted time, the heart has no burdens. The sages of old called this “hanging release.” If one is always calculating birth and death in one’s heart and harboring resentment toward them, it shows that one cannot yet free oneself; one is therefore caught up in external things.

Besides, all things are governed by the Dao of Heaven and cannot overcome it. This has been so for a very long time. Why, then, should I resent death?

The commentary says that even within the Dao of Heaven, day and night alternate. How could I be exempt from changes of birth and death, or resent them?

The subcommentary explains: Even in the heavens there are the differences between day and night. How much more must there be changes of birth and death for people living in this world? All things have been unable to overcome the Dao of Heaven from time immemorial; why should I alone resent death?

Not long afterward, Zi Lai fell ill. His breathing grew labored, and he seemed close to death. His wife and children gathered around him, weeping.

The subcommentary says that “encircle” means to surround someone, and “panting” describes labored breathing. Just after Zi Lai had finished speaking, he suddenly became gravely ill. His breathing grew labored and was about to stop, so his wife and children gathered around him and wept.

Li went to visit and cried out, “Move back! Do not interfere with his transformation.”

The commentary says that life and death are like waking and sleeping. In principle, when someone is ready to sleep, one should not wish for others to disturb them. As he is about to undergo transformation and die, they should not frighten him either.

The subcommentary says that “cry out” means to scold. A worldly-transcending person like Zi Lai sees life and death as one. When his friend was near death, Li went calmly to visit and told the family to step aside, because Zi Lai was about to undergo transformation and should not be disturbed.

Leaning against the doorway, Li said to Zi Lai, “How great is the Creator! What will it make of you now? Where will it send you? Will it turn you into a rat’s liver or an insect’s arm?”

In the commentary, you means “again,” xi means “what,” and shi means “go to.” “Leaning against the door, watching transformation, and speaking with it” means leaning against the doorway to watch things change and to speak with transformation.

Zili sighed and said, “The great Transforming Power is boundless and impartial. By chance, it gives a person human form; suddenly, it returns that person to transformation. Who knows where it will send you, or what it will turn you into? Perhaps it will turn your five organs into a rat’s liver and your limbs into an insect’s legs. Let transformation take you wherever it will. Whatever you encounter, follow things as they naturally unfold.”

Zilai said, “Children obey their parents’ commands, whether they are told to go east, west, south, or north. How much greater is Yin-Yang’s kindness toward people than that of parents toward their children!”

Note: Since ancient times, perhaps some people have disobeyed their parents, but no one has ever been able to defy the changes of Yin-Yang or refuse the succession of day and night.

The commentary explains that, from this point on, Zilai is replying to Zili as he lies near death.

Even a dutiful child hurries to obey a parent’s command. How much more should a person heed the transformations of Yin-Yang, whose care for us far exceeds that of parents? Perhaps some people can disobey their parents’ teachings, but no one has ever been able to refuse the changes of Yin-Yang.

Transformation is bringing me close to death. If I loathe death and refuse to follow, I am resisting it. I am the one going against the way—what fault is there in it?

Note: Death and life are like night and day; they are not so far apart. When the time comes, a person should die; this is not something that can be prevented. To stubbornly refuse to accept it is to go against what is right and bring death sooner. If death comes quickly, it is because I resisted transformation, not because death itself is at fault. Here, “it” refers to death; since the person is still alive, death is referred to as “it.”

The commentary explains: Transformation is bringing me close to death. If I loathe death and refuse to obey, I am rejecting Yin-Yang and opposing transformation. The fault is mine—what is its crime? Guo Xiang’s commentary interprets “it” here as death.

The earth gave me my form, made me toil while alive, gave me ease and rest in old age, and brought me peace in death. So, to treat my life well is also to treat my death well.

Note: The principle at work is the same throughout.

The commentary explains that this passage repeats an earlier statement to support the point above. The words are earnest and forceful, so they are repeated; the explanation is the same as before.

Now, suppose a great metalworker is smelting metal, and a piece of metal suddenly jumps up and cries, “I must become the sword Moye!” The metalworker would surely think the metal inauspicious. Now I have happened by chance to receive human form, and I say, “I only want to be human! I only want to be human!” Transformation, too, would surely think me inauspicious.

Note: When the metal cries, “I only want to become a sword,” it is stubbornly insisting on becoming one particular form. When a person cries, “I only want to be human,” the principle is the same.

This allegory uses the story of sword-making to illustrate the principle of natural transformation in all things:

People understand that metals lose their original nature when forged into tools, yet fail to comprehend the laws of spontaneous change. Like when the ancient Wu Kingdom swordsmiths Gan Jiang and his wife cast the famous paired swords "Ganjiang" and "Moye," the molten metal suddenly leaped in the furnace, begging to be made into divine blades. The smiths marveled at this extraordinary phenomenon. Similarly, when Nature—the great artisan—occasionally shapes human forms, people rejoice and cherish them, pleading to preserve this human shape forever, thereby violating natural laws and becoming unnatural aberrations.

In truth, Heaven and Earth resemble a vast furnace, and Creation (the natural creative force) acts as the supreme craftsman. All things transform freely within this process—why cling to any particular form? Whether birds, beasts, fish, insects or humans, all are Nature's unintentional works, undeserving of special favor or aversion. By following the Dao of transformation, one attains true liberation.

The narrative then describes the friendship between three realized adepts—Zisang Hu, Mengzi Fan, and Ziqin Zhang: Those who truly comprehend the Dao function like different parts of a body—naturally harmonious without forced coordination. Their friendship manifests as "uncontrived yet profoundly connected" (不相与而相与), their actions as "non-acting yet perfectly effective" (不相为而相为), embodying the Daoist ideal of Wuwei (non-action).

Finally, sleep and waking serve as metaphors for death and life: Peacefully falling asleep mirrors calmly facing death, while natural awakening parallels joyfully welcoming rebirth. The enlightened regard life and death as ordinary as day and night's alternation, maintaining inner serenity and freedom. This perfectly reflects Zhuangzi's philosophy of "equating life and death" (齐生死).

They did not deliberately act for one another. If they wore themselves out caring for one another, moving their limbs and using their four limbs to manage the affairs of the five organs, then the more attentively they labored for each other, the more exhausted they would become, both inwardly and outwardly. Thus, one who sees all under Heaven as a whole harbors no partial affection and engages in no deliberate action within it.

Commentary: These three men were all beyond the concerns of the world. They understood the principle of change and regarded life and death as one. Their aims and conduct were alike, so they became friends, each acting according to his own place and thereby expressing his feelings. It was as though they were saying, “Who can become friends with others in emptiness and spontaneity?” This is friendship without deliberate association, and action without deliberate effort: they did not act in order to accomplish something, nor associate in order to make friends.

It is like the five organs, the six sense faculties (the various gateways through which body and mind perceive, in Buddhist and Daoist contexts), and the limbs and body, each with its own function and all working together. How could they consciously seek friendship, or be troubled by degrees of closeness and distance? Though they have no intention of helping one another, the effect of mutual support arises naturally. So it is, perhaps, with becoming friends without deliberate association and joining together without deliberate action.

Who can ascend to the heavens, roam among clouds and mists, and turn freely within the boundless?

Note: Nothing is beyond their capacity to bear and follow.

Commentary: “Turning and circling” means to move in winding, revolving courses. Ascending to the heavens suggests lofty elevation; roaming among clouds and mists means not being confined to anything material. Thus one can follow change without end, moving in winding courses along with the transformations of creation.

When they forget one another’s life and death, there is no end or limit.

Note: When life is forgotten, there is nothing that cannot also be forgotten. Thus one can follow change and move with it without end.

Commentary: “End and limit” refers to death. They forgot one another’s life and also their death, regarding life and death as one. Thus they could follow change without end.

The three looked at one another and smiled. Their thoughts were in accord, and so they became friends.

Note: If that is truly so, why call them friends at all? The term is used here to show the closest kind of affection, without the worldly attachments of favoritism and love.

Commentary: Having understood one another’s thoughts, they forgot words, and so they smiled at one another. Their wisdom accorded with the state they had understood, and so their thoughts were in harmony. They had transcended the world and shared the same aspirations, and so they became friends.

Some time later, Zisang Hu died, and his body had not yet been buried. When Confucius heard of it, he sent Zigong to attend to the matter.

Commentary: “Mo” means “not yet.” After the three looked at one another, they fell silent. Some time later, Zisang Hu died. When Confucius heard, he sent Zigong to pay his respects, help arrange the funeral, and receive the guests. This arrangement highlights the difference between those who transcend worldly concerns and those who remain within them. Confucius and Zigong are invoked here to make that point.

Some were weaving mats, while others played zithers and sang, answering one another in song.

They were joyful and at ease, with not the slightest trace of sorrow on their faces. This is what is meant by “living while forgetting one another”: attaining a state beyond the ordinary world.

One sang, “Ah, Sanghu! Ah, Sanghu!” Another answered, “You have already returned to your true nature, while I am still dwelling in the human world!”

[Commentary] When others weep, he weeps along with them: this is how people behave in the ordinary world. But if one can regard life and death as the same, forget both sorrow and joy, and even sing in the presence of a corpse, one has reached the utmost transcendence of the ordinary world.

[Subcommentary] “Ah, come!” is the song; the words beginning “Sanghu!” are the answering lyrics. “Yi” is the sound of an answer. A person emerges from nonbeing and becomes something; this is called “life.” Returning from something to nonbeing is called “death.” Now that you have returned to stillness and emptiness, you have gone back to your source and returned to your true nature. But I am still lodging in the human world, like a traveler staying in a foreign land, not yet home. I wish to regard life and death as one, and so I utter this sigh.

Zigong hurried forward and asked, “May I ask: is it proper to sing in the presence of a corpse?”

[Subcommentary] The rituals of the ordinary world emphasize restraint and formal observances. If someone in the neighborhood is mourning, people should not even sing to one another while pounding rice. Yet here, in the presence of a friend’s corpse, they show no grief and simply go on playing zithers and singing. How could this be proper? Finding their behavior strange, Zigong hurried forward to ask them.

The two looked at each other and laughed. “How could people like you understand the true meaning of ritual?”

[Commentary] Those who truly understand ritual can stand apart from worldly concerns while governing worldly affairs. They preserve the root while sustaining its branches, and act straightforwardly in accordance with genuine feeling. But if people cling to reputation and are constrained by external rules, filial devotion cannot come from sincerity, and loving care cannot become genuine feeling. Father and son, brothers, may cherish one another, yet end up deceiving each other. Could that be the fundamental meaning of ritual?

[Subcommentary] The highest ritual accords with the rhythms of Heaven and Earth. It is not bound by external names and forms, but follows one’s true nature and acts in accordance with genuine feeling. Besides, once you have seen that life and death are connected, how could your heart remain attached to sorrow or joy? Zigong was a Confucian scholar of the ordinary world, still limited by attachments. He valued only outward forms of ritual and had not yet grasped the deeper root. How could people like him understand ritual’s profound meaning? It is hardly surprising that those who transcend the ordinary world would mock him.

Zigong returned and told Confucius, “Who exactly were those two men? They seemed to practice neither moral cultivation nor ritual, yet they treated the body as insignificant. They sang in the presence of a corpse without the slightest change in their expressions. I do not know what to call them. Who were they?”

[Subcommentary] “Name” means to call or identify something. After leaving, Zigong told Confucius about the incident, saying that the two men’s behavior was hard to understand: they did not cultivate themselves or establish De (Virtue), nor did they observe ritual, yet they had forgotten their outward forms…

Their bodies are at one with the myriad things. In their eyes, life and death make no difference. At a funeral, they may sing or play music. Neither their spirit nor their bodies are altered by such events, and others can never fathom the principle behind them. This principle is indeed difficult to explain.

Confucius said, “They roam beyond the bounds of the mundane world, while I, Confucius, roam within them.”

Commentary: When the Dao reaches its highest point, inner and outer can become one. Without truly attaining the state of roaming beyond the world, one cannot connect with what is within; nor can one connect with what is within without roaming beyond the world. Thus the sage often roams beyond the world, broadening the inner realm. He has no private designs and follows things as they are. So even while occupied all day with the body and the affairs of the world, his spiritual vitality remains unchanged; amid countless worldly matters, he remains calm and at ease.

People see only the body and not the spirit, and are therefore often burdened by external things. Seeing a sage live among all things, we cannot say that he has abandoned them and withdrawn from human life. Seeing him follow change and respond to affairs, we cannot say that he merely sits in stillness, forgets the world, and takes pleasure in himself alone. Can we really say that the sage is none of these things? In truth, we must acknowledge that the highest principle does not exclude such appearances.

Zhuangzi therefore sets out the fundamental teaching honored by one line of thought, to explain a principle that people everywhere can understand. If he said only that Confucius himself was like this, someone might refute him on the basis of what they had witnessed. So Zhuangzi sets aside the sage’s outward conduct for the moment and uses several figures to evoke the realm beyond the world. Readers should leave those figures behind and grasp the broad intent of Zhuangzi’s writing. Then the principle of “roaming beyond the world and broadening the inner realm” will become clear, and Zhuangzi’s book can be understood as a work about how to live within the world while transcending it.

Explanation: “Bounds” means a region or domain. The two people mentioned earlier, the ones who dwell beyond the world, regard life and death as one and are not constrained by the forms of ritual. Their minds and spirits therefore roam beyond the bounds of Heaven and Earth. Confucius and Zigong, a disciple of Confucius, were great Confucian scholars of their time. They followed the moral principles that distinguish right from wrong and the norms of ritual, and set their minds on the grief and joy of worldly life. This is why they are said to differ.

The claim that “inner and outer cannot become one” means that if Confucius were to send you to pay respects at their funeral, you would appear shallow. Paying respects at a funeral is a common ritual within the bounds of the mundane world; to apply it to people beyond those bounds is inappropriate.

Explanation: The profound Dao and Confucian principles each emphasize different things. Their inner and outer realms differ, as do the states of being they discuss, and they should not be conflated. To pay respects to an extraordinary person beyond the world using worldly rites is like laying out straw dogs again after they have already been used in a sacrifice: it is exceedingly vulgar.

They are at one with the Creator and roam amid the primal Qi shared by Heaven and Earth.

Commentary: They are wholly merged with the Creator and the Qi of Heaven and Earth, so there is no distinction between them.

They understood the changes of Yin-Yang and how the Creator shaped human bodies and all things. All things blended with one another, roaming together between Heaven and Earth and dwelling within the same primal Qi.

They regarded life as a growth attached to the body, like a wart or a hanging lump of flesh.

Note: Just as a wart grows on its own and excess flesh attaches by itself, life forms when primal Qi gathers. This is nothing to be especially glad about.

They regarded death as a wart falling away of its own accord or an abscess bursting by itself.

Note: Just as a wart falls away and an abscess bursts on its own, primal Qi naturally disperses. This is nothing to grieve over.

Commentary: These three people who embodied the Dao understood the principles of life and death and knew deeply how all things change. When primal Qi gathers, life arises, like a growth attached to the body; it is nothing to celebrate. When primal Qi disperses, death follows, like a wart falling away or an abscess bursting; it is nothing to grieve over.

If so, how could they know which comes first, death or life, or where each one belongs?

Note: The succession and transformation of death and life have never come to an end. Those who go along with change have nowhere they cannot go, and so they do not know where any supposed victory or defeat lies.

Commentary: What is called superior or inferior depends on comparison. Growths, warts, and abscesses are all afflictions, but the gathering and dispersal of primal Qi have no victory or defeat in themselves. If life and death are understood in this way, how could anyone know which is better and which is worse?

They relied on different things, yet these all came together in a single body.

Note: To rely on something is to follow along with it. The changes of life and death, gathering and dispersal, have no fixed pattern; each is different from the others. Nothing exists without depending on other things. Though what each thing depends on differs, together they form a whole.

Commentary: Water, fire, metal, wood, and other different things depend on and support one another, coming together to form a person’s body. This shows that physical form is illusory and temporary.

They forgot their liver and gallbladder, and set aside their ears and eyes.

Note: They followed the nature of things, allowing mind and spirit to merge with change.

Commentary: Once they understood that physical form is illusory and temporary, with nothing worth clinging to, they could forget their inner organs and, outwardly, their ears, eyes, and other senses.

As life went back and forth, from beginning to end, they did not know its starting point or its bounds.

Note: If they could even forget their five organs, what would be worth clinging to as something to know? By no longer clinging to knowledge, they could let themselves travel along the path of change and merge with its ceaseless flow, without seeking where it ended.

Commentary: “Beginning” means the starting point, and “bounds” means the limits. “Going back and forth” means coming and going; “beginning and end” means life and death. By forgetting the body, casting off bodily form, and setting aside keen perception, they could move with change through life and death. Change is without end, so they did not know its starting point or its bounds.

They wandered in a daze beyond the world of dust, at ease and free as they practiced the Dao of Wuwei (non-action).

The commentators explain that “the work of non-action” does not mean merely sitting still in silence, and “beyond the dust and grime” does not mean withdrawing into the mountains and cutting oneself off from the world.

The commentary says that “bewildered” describes a state of knowing nothing, while “wandering” and “free and easy” both describe ease and contentment. “Dust and grime” refers to all things subject to action, such as color and sound. Earlier, the text spoke of forgetting external things and the body; here it speaks of forgetting the mind as well. A person can therefore set aside the burdens of the world and move freely in a quiet, spacious realm. This is making non-action one’s way of conducting oneself.

How could those people who had attained the Dao be troubled by painstaking attention to worldly rituals, deliberately making themselves seen and heard by the crowd?

The commentators explain that what they showed the crowd were merely outward appearances in the world of dust, not the profound essence of the realm beyond the world.

The commentary says that “troubled” means disturbed. Those gentlemen were lofty and detached, followed change, and acted with natural sincerity. How could they deliberately cling to elaborate rituals, strike poses according to worldly conventions, and seek the crowd’s attention and praise?

Zigong asked, “Then, Master, which side do you follow?”

The commentators explain that Zigong had not understood the nature of life and the Dao of Heaven. He saw only that Confucius followed something, but not what he truly followed. In truth, to follow is to follow nothing. How could ordinary people perceive this?

The commentary says that the world within society and the realm beyond it differ in depth. Zigong did not know which Dao his teacher followed, nor did he understand how the teacher used their exchange to enlighten others, so he asked this question.

Confucius replied, “I, Kong Qiu, am a man punished by Heaven.”

The commentators explain that worldly conventions are like shackles. Confucius spoke this way to show that he valued the realm beyond the world. Someone who transcends the world can still live in it through the body; someone who has left behind attachment to the world can still be at one with it. One who truly possesses the world does not regard it as a burden. Thus, only by letting go of attachment to external things can one enter among people; only after reaching “sitting in forgetfulness” (a state of cultivation in which body and mind are forgotten) can one respond to the affairs of the world. The more one lets go, the more one can gain. Once this state is reached, even if one wishes to escape worldly affairs, circumstances will naturally draw one back to face them. This is what it means to be in a predicament from which neither Heaven nor humanity can grant release.

The commentary says that the rites and ceremonies of the sages constrain the body and nature. Since Confucius followed the way of the world, he was like a man punished by the natural order. The “Sign of Virtue Complete” chapter also says, “Heaven punishes him.” How, then, could he be released?

Confucius continued, “Even so, I share this burden with you.”

The commentators explain that although he was constrained by the world, Confucius accepted this only so he could live alongside you and face worldly affairs together. This shows that his inner self remained free and transcendent. The commentary says that as a sage, Confucius could temper his brilliance, adapt to external things, and go along with the world without losing his Dao. This was what he valued.

Although worldly rites and norms make people visible in society, I too take part in them alongside you. Yet my mind and spirit still wander freely beyond the world, calm and detached, without attachment.

Zigong said, “May I ask how this can be achieved?”

[Commentary] He is asking how one can live in the world and interact with others while the mind wanders freely beyond it.

[Explanation] “Fang” means the Dao. Zigong asks: What is this state in which one’s outward conduct blends with the secular world, while one’s inner life wanders freely beyond it, so that the inner and outer mysteriously unite?

Confucius said, “Fish find their home in water; people find their home in the Dao.”

[Commentary] “Arrive” means to reach or return to. The place to which fish return is the deep water best suited to their nature; the state people can reach is the Dao, which most fully satisfies the heart and mind. Though people differ in their feelings and understanding, all can find refuge in the Dao. This gives the general idea; what follows explains it further.

Fish return to water, where they swim and live in ponds, sustained by nourishment. People return to the Dao, and then, without contriving, they are naturally at peace.

[Commentary] Though the places they return to differ, the principle is the same: life’s affairs come to fruition by following Wuwei (non-action). When people return from the Dao beyond the world to live among others, they receive nourishment and support; their hearts have something to rest upon and become settled. There is no difference between these ways of life; people simply do not realize it. This is why it is called Wuwei.

[Explanation] This explains what was said above. Rivers, lakes, the Huai, and the sea can all be called vast natural waters. Fish live in these waters, making dens among the mud and sand and drawing sustenance from them. This is like people living within the Great Dao, nourishing their nature through stillness and clarity. Without contriving, they wander freely; thus they can rest content in their nature, with quiet and steady hearts, and live in ease.

Thus it is said: “Fish in rivers and lakes forget one another; people among the ways of the world forget one another.”

[Commentary] Each is content in itself, and so they forget one another. This is true of all things under Heaven. The perfected person—one who has penetrated the Great Dao—is always content, and so always forgets the distinction between self and others.

[Explanation] This explains what was said above. Fish swim in deep water, each content in itself, and so forget one another. When the Dao’s arts are fulfilled within people, they leave behind partial, possessive attachments. How could this be compared with relying on practices such as benevolence and righteousness, like fish stranded in a dry place breathing moisture onto one another to keep each other wet? The perfected person singing in the presence of a corpse expresses this same principle.

Zigong said, “May I ask what is meant by a ‘strange person’?”

[Commentary] Zigong asks: Where, then, is the person mentioned earlier who lives beyond the world and does not fit in with the secular world?

[Explanation] “Strange” suggests being unlike others. Those who cultivate the Dao of Wuwei loosen the restraints of outward form; their words and conduct differ from those of ordinary people and do not conform to worldly customs. Zigong asks what state such a person has attained.

Confucius said, “A strange person looks unlike ordinary people, yet inwardly accords with the Way of Heaven.”

[Commentary] One whose inner being has become one with the Dao can wander freely beyond the world. Though wandering alone beyond it, they are inwardly united with the Dao. They let the myriad things follow their own nature, allowing each to fulfill its innate character. As for the way of emperors… [The original text ends here.]

Such a person appears different from ordinary people, yet accords with the Way of Heaven.

Explanation: From this point onward, Confucius is answering Zigong. “Equal to” means alike or the same. Such a person does not deliberately embellish benevolence and righteousness or force himself to accommodate external things, but acts in accordance with his own nature. In this way, he accords with the principles of nature.

Hence the saying: “In the eyes of the Way of Heaven, one is a petty person—that is, someone who does not accord with the Way of Heaven—while in the human world one is a gentleman. One who is a gentleman in the human world is, from the perspective of the Way of Heaven, instead a petty person.”

Note: From the perspective of natural principles, there is no distinction between gentlemen and petty people. In human ethics, those who accord with the Way of Heaven may be called gentlemen.

Explanation: Those who follow benevolence and righteousness are called gentlemen; those who violate moral principles are called petty people. Thus, those who deliberately display benevolence or force themselves to practice righteousness are called gentlemen by worldly ethics, but are petty people in the eyes of the Way of Heaven. Zifan and Qin Zhang did not accommodate worldly conventions, so they were called “extraordinary people”—people unlike the ordinary. In fact, they were gentlemen who accorded with the Way of Heaven. The passage restates this point at the end to reinforce and conclude what came before.

Yan Hui asked Confucius: “When Mengsun Cai’s mother died, he wept but shed no tears; his heart was not sorrowful; and while mourning, he showed no signs of grief. Though he had none of these three things, people praised him for being good at mourning. Can it be that Lu has people who are famous without deserving their reputation, with nothing but an empty name? I do not understand this.”

Explanation: Mengsun Cai, whose surname was Mengsun and whose given name was Cai, was a worthy man of Lu. He had realized the Way of Wuwei (non-action) and understood that life and death are not distinct. Thus, his outward conduct resembled that of ordinary people, but his inner state was not moved by external things. After his mother died, he observed the rules of mourning and carried himself with composure and propriety, appearing very much like a filial son. Yet he did not weep bitterly, his heart was not sorrowful, and his cries held no grief. Since he lacked these three signs, by ordinary standards he could not be called a filial son. Nevertheless, the people of his village all praised him for observing the rites of mourning.

Note: The people of Lu judged his ritual conduct; Yan Hui examined his inner state.

Explanation: “Perhaps” is a particle introducing the statement. Mengsun Cai wept and wore mourning clothes, so his outward conduct accorded with worldly rites. His lack of inner sorrow, however, reflected a state in which he was not bound by emotion. The people of Lu saw only his outward conduct and therefore praised him for being good at mourning. Yan Hui looked into his inner state and believed that he did not possess the true feelings of utmost filial devotion. That is why Yan Hui became puzzled as soon as he met Mengsun Cai.

Confucius said: “The Mengsun clan has already grasped the principle completely; its understanding surpasses ordinary wisdom.”

Note: To comprehend fully the principles of life and death, and to bring one’s inner state and outward conduct each into its proper place, is to act in accordance with the Way of Heaven. This is beyond the reach of ordinary cleverness.

Explanation: “Surpass” means to go beyond. The Mengsun clan investigated the roots of sorrow and joy, and so did not… (The original text ends here.)

Neither joy nor sorrow reaches an end, for both spring from life and death. Thus one can forget life and forget death. Since this is so, one’s inner source and outward actions become difficult to fathom, allowing one to respond fittingly to matters both within and without. With no private bias in one’s heart toward the myriad things, can this be the right way, attained through cleverness and intelligence?

Only Mengsun could make this kind of discernment, yet he still could not regard life and death as different.

Note: This “discernment” means examining and distinguishing life from death, yet finding no fundamental difference between them. They are like the four seasons—spring, summer, autumn, and winter—simply changes in the natural course.

Commentary: Being born and dying is like the succession of the four seasons. Thus Mengsun examined life and death but saw no difference between them.

Though he examined them, he did not know where life came from or what brought about death.

Note: He had examined them, yet still could not see any difference between life and death. So he could accept whatever came with ease. Since he could accept everything with ease, he did not dwell on life and death, but let them follow their natural changes.

Commentary: Though he made distinctions and investigated, in the end he did not regard life and death as different. Thus he could settle into change without letting joy or sorrow stir his heart.

He did not know whether to welcome what came first or what came later.

Note: Whatever he encountered, he accepted with ease.

Even if he changed and became something else…

Note: He did not resist the change.

Commentary: “First” refers to life, and “later” to death. Since he regarded life and death as one, there was nothing to leave behind or welcome. Becoming one with change, he followed it and became one of the myriad things.

Is it not enough, then, to await the changes that you do not yet know?

Note: Life and death turn and transform, becoming one with natural change. One can even forget what one knows in the present; why worry in advance about what has not yet happened and remains unknown?

Commentary: “Changes not yet known” refers to future events that have not yet come to pass. If one can forget even one’s present life, why worry ahead of time about future changes? Rather than continually planning for and preparing to meet them, one should stop and do nothing.

Besides, as you are about to change, how do you know you will not change? And as you remain unchanged, how do you know that you have already changed?

Note: Having changed and been born, how do you know what you were like before birth? About to change and die, how do you know what you will be like after death? So there is nothing to avoid or pursue; simply go along with change.

Commentary: Now that you are changing and becoming a person, how do you know what came before, when you had not yet become a person? You are alive now, not yet changed into death, so how do you know what comes after death? Simply proceed in accordance with reason and go along with change. There is no need to worry about death while alive, nor to indulge in unfounded likes or dislikes.

Could you and I both be only dreaming, never yet truly awake?

Note: Life and death are like waking and dreaming. Now, while in a dream, one believes oneself to be awake… (The original text ends here.)

If one cannot clearly see that waking is not necessarily more real than dreaming, one cannot understand that being alive is not necessarily more real than being dead. We do not know where the boundaries lie between life and death, or waking and dreaming. Whatever circumstances we encounter, if we can accept them calmly and find our place in them, why worry about elsewhere simply because we are here?

Commentary: A dream is a state of deep sleep; waking is conscious awareness. Confucius and Yan Hui were still bound by the teachings of social norms—the rites and ethical codes—and so remained puzzled by the difference between waking and dreaming. They had not grasped the transformations of life and death, nor truly awakened to them.

Moreover, although the body may seem astonishing, it does not harm the mind.

Note: Changes in the body affect only its outward form; they do not burden the mind with life and death.

Commentary: Mengsun understood transformation and saw life and death as disturbances that affected the body. Thus he never felt grief or joy because of life and death, nor let them wear down his mind and spirit.

The body is like a dwelling renewed each day; the mind does not regard this change as death.

Note: Changes in the body are like a dwelling made new each day. One’s nature and disposition do not therefore imagine that they have died.

Commentary: “Day” means renewed each day; “dwelling” is where the spirit resides. The body changes like a dwelling that is continually renewed. This helps preserve the spirit’s stillness and detachment, so life and death are not seen as utterly different.

Mengsun simply awakened earlier than most. When he saw others weeping, he wept too, because that was the fitting response.

Note: One who is truly awakened does not act against human feeling. So when others weep, he weeps too; this is reasonable and proper.

Commentary: Mengsun understood the transformations of life and death and was inwardly awakened, yet his responses to the world did not go against human feeling. When others wept, he wept too, in keeping with the feelings appropriate to the moment.

In any case, all the transformations of life and death accompany me and belong to “me.”

Note: I regard everything in the transformations of life and death as part of “me.” Since it is all me, what could I lose? If I have never truly lost myself, what is there to grieve over? So when others wept, he wept with them, but felt no inward sorrow.

Commentary: Since my life and my death both accompany me and belong to me, there is nothing that is not me. If “belonging to me” is the criterion, what transformation does not belong to me?

How, then, can we know where the “me” I speak of truly is?

Note: Nothing lies outside me. Within and without are therefore connected; I extend through past and present, renewed each day through change. How could anyone point to a fixed place where “I” reside?

Commentary: “Ordinary” means commonplace; “how” asks by what means. How could people of narrow understanding know that the “me” I speak of is everywhere? Even through countless transformations, I have always existed. What is there to rejoice in or detest about the new self or the old self?

Besides, sometimes you dream that you have become a bird and fly high into the sky; sometimes you dream that you have become a fish and dive into the depths.

Note: Whatever your circumstances, you can remain at ease and content.

Then we do not know whether the person speaking at this moment is awake or still dreaming.

Note: In a dream, people may believe themselves to be awake. How can we know that this moment is not a dream? How can we know for certain that we are awake? Waking and dreaming transform into each other, with no absolute boundary between them. So there is no need to be constantly preoccupied with the changes between life and death, or to grieve over them excessively.

Commentary: Here, “li” means to arrive. Whether one becomes a fish or a bird, one roams freely in accord with one’s nature; whether facing death or life, one remains at ease and content. Fish and birds are not inherently ranked above or below one another. What victory or defeat can there be between life and death? Why be troubled by them? Mengsun, a figure in a Zhuangzi parable, understood this deeply and never took such matters to heart. We also do not know whether our discussion of fish and birds is taking place while we are awake or speaking in a dream. In dreams, people may believe themselves to be awake, so what seems to be waking life now may still be a dream. From this we can see that waking and dreaming, like life and death, cannot be sharply distinguished.

Respond to change and be at ease with whatever you encounter. You need not wait for laughter to be happy; if you insist on waiting for something good to happen before feeling happy, you will miss the chance to move with the current.

Note: “Wherever one arrives, one is at ease” means being content wherever one goes and whatever one encounters; there is therefore no need to wait for laughter before feeling happy. “Pai” means to be shifted or changed. By custom, one should grieve when mourning and laugh when something joyful happens. But if one clings to sorrow and joy, one cannot meet change with ease. Mengsun was at ease in his ordinary life, so even when he wept, he was not necessarily truly sorrowful; he was simply following the course of change.

Commentary: “Arrive” means to reach a place; “xian” means to appear or occur; “pai” means to be shifted or changed. Being content wherever one arrives is itself a state of ease. Why wait until after laughter to be happy? If you insist on waiting for something good to move you before you feel at ease, you cannot go along with change. Mengsun was usually at ease, so he was not sorrowful even when he wept.

Accept the shifting and changing of things, and move along with change; then you can enter a vast, tranquil realm and unite with the Way of Heaven.

Note: Being at ease with change and moving along with it leads to a quiet, spacious realm and union with the Way of Heaven. From here back to Zisi, the several figures understood the same principle; they simply responded differently to a funeral, so some sang while others wept.

Commentary: When one can be at ease wherever one is, one can accept change calmly. One neither clings to an unchanging “I” nor resists moving along with change. Such a person can enter a vast and mysterious realm and reach the single Way of nature.

Yi’erzi, a figure in a Zhuangzi parable, went to see Xuyou. Xuyou asked him, “What benefit did Yao give you?”

Note: “Zi” means to give or assist.

In ancient times, worthy people helped and aided others. This intention was called “intention.” Yi’erzi first went to visit Emperor Yao, and later went to see Xuyou.

Xuyou asked, “Emperor Yao is a great sage, with exceptionally high moral virtue. Since you went to visit him, what did he teach you? What methods did he offer to help you? Tell me.”

Yi’erzi replied, “Emperor Yao said to me: ‘You must personally put benevolence and righteousness into practice, and clearly explain right and wrong.’”

“Personally put into practice” means to act on it yourself. Benevolence means nurturing all things through kindness and compassion; righteousness means judging what to accept or reject and correcting what is improper. When something is right, you should clearly reward good conduct; when it is wrong, you should clearly punish wrongdoing. These four things are valued in human relationships. Emperor Yao meant that you must follow these principles yourself and also explain them clearly to others.

Xuyou said, “Why have you come here, then?” “Er” means “you,” “xi” means “why,” and “zhi” is a sentence particle. Xuyou’s point was that Emperor Yao had already taught and constrained you with benevolence, righteousness, and judgments of right and wrong, leaving you with deep “wounds.” Why come here as well?

“Emperor Yao has already tattooed benevolence and righteousness onto your forehead—this is called qing, tattooing the forehead—and cut off your nose with judgments of right and wrong—this is called yi, cutting off the nose. How can you still roam freely along the Way, changing as you please?”

The terms qing and yi here are metaphors. Benevolence, righteousness, and judgments of right and wrong can injure a person’s true nature, just as punishments injure the body. Since Yi’erzi’s temperament has already been constrained by Emperor Yao’s teachings, how can he live freely, adapting to change with ease?

Yi’erzi said, “Even so, I still hope to wander along the edge of the Dao.”

In other words, although he felt he had been injured, he had not given up his aspiration toward the Dao. He did not dare claim to be walking on the true path; he only hoped to linger at its edge.

Xuyou said, “That will not do. A blind person cannot appreciate the beauty of features and appearance, and someone without sight cannot enjoy the beauty of the colors blue-green and yellow, or the patterns on garments.”

Here, both “blind” and “without sight” refer to people with impaired vision. “Fu” is an axe-shaped pattern, while “fu” is a design made of two motifs facing away from each other. Xuyou uses these examples to explain that those whose eyes have been damaged cannot see colors and patterns; likewise, those constrained by benevolence, righteousness, and judgments of right and wrong cannot appreciate the freedom of their natural nature.

I no longer delight in colors such as blue and yellow. My features seem damaged, as though Yao, the legendary sage king, had tattooed my face and cut off my nose. Since my nature and understanding have both been harmed, how could I still admire profound principles or contemplate the many mysteries?

Yi’erzi said, “Wuzhuang lost his beauty, Juliang lost his strength, and the Yellow Emperor lost his wisdom. All this happened between the furnace and the hammer.”

Note: The myriad things under Heaven do not all necessarily take shape on their own. According to the principles of nature, some things must also be smelted and hammered before they can be made into tools. These three people, too, set aside what they had formerly valued only after hearing of the Dao. Such stories serve as metaphors, intended to dissolve the burdens created by deliberate human action.

Commentary: Wuzhuang was a beautiful woman of ancient times. After hearing of the Dao, she stopped adorning herself and forgot her beauty. Juliang was a strongman of ancient times. After hearing of the Dao and holding to gentleness and weakness, he stopped showing off his courage and relying on his strength. The Yellow Emperor, Xuanyuan, possessed the wisdom of a sage; after hearing of the Dao, he too was able to forget and set aside his wisdom. All three forgot what they had once valued only after hearing of the Dao, and thus accorded with the true Dao. It is like the tools of the world: they must be smelted in a furnace and hammered into shape before they can be made and put to use.

Now, Master, in instructing me, are you hoping to forge and complete me so that I may attain the Dao? This shows that natural transformation, too, involves smelting and forging, which is why study and cultivation also have an aspect like smelting and hammering.

How do I know that transformation will not heal the wound from tattooing my face and restore what was lost when my nose was cut off, so that I may follow the path to the Great Dao and accompany you?

Note: To follow one’s nature and act directly is natural. To act in ways that damage one’s nature, then correct one’s course after being harmed, is natural as well. How do I know that my natural character will not heal the wound from tattooing my face and restore what was lost when my nose was cut off, so that I may set out on the Dao that can bring me to completion and follow you? If you wish to abandon me and refuse to teach me, you may be going against the principles of transformation.

Commentary: The Creator is transformation. Though I have been harmed by ideas such as benevolence, righteousness, right, and wrong, and my nature has been damaged, how do I know that transformation will not restore what I have lost and heal my injuries, allowing me to reform and set out on the Dao that can bring me to completion, so I may follow you and seek instruction? If you would abandon me and refuse to teach me, you might be acting against transformation.

Xu You said, “Ah, that remains uncertain. Let me tell you the general principle.”

Commentary: “Ah” is an expression of sighing. The utmost Dao is profound and mysterious, transcending words and images. It cannot …

Still carrying doubts in his heart, he sighed, “That is not yet certain.” Since he had asked for guidance with such sincerity, it would not do to remain silent. Though the principles cannot be explained in full, I shall give you a brief account.

“My teacher, my teacher! He shatters and withers the myriad things, yet does not do so out of a sense of righteousness. His blessings reach across all ages, yet he does not act from benevolence.”

Note: Each thing follows its own nature. This is not because he deliberately bestows care upon it. If so, where could benevolence and righteousness be grounded?

Commentary: “My teacher” here refers to the Utmost Dao, the highest Dao. The Utmost Dao cannot be fathomed by thought, so I shall simply tell you the gist: this Utmost Dao is my teacher. The character 𩐎 means “to shatter” or “to wither.” When autumn frost falls and all things wither, does it deliberately cut them down in order to act righteously? When spring air turns warm and all things grow, does it deliberately bestow kindness and care in order to act benevolently? Both happen naturally, without intention. Since Xu You takes the Utmost Dao as his teacher, and the Dao is like this, how could you personally cling to benevolence and righteousness? The broad point here is how to cast off artificial contrivance and return to one’s original nature.

“He is more ancient than remote antiquity, yet he is not old.”

Note: This is because he renews himself without ceasing.

“He covers Heaven and Earth and shapes the forms of the myriad things, yet does not deliberately exercise skill.”

Note: All this arises naturally, and so it is not the result of human artifice.

Commentary: Before the myriad forms appeared, the Dao already existed. Its wisdom and De are complete, so for convenience it is called “enduring.” In truth, however, it has no form that could be called enduring. If there is nothing that can be called enduring, how could it grow old? The point is that the Dao seems everlasting, yet does not age. Heaven and Earth cover and support the myriad things, while the forms of those things are shaped through the workings of creation; all draw upon nature. Thus the term “skill” has no place here. Since there is neither age nor skill, and neither right nor wrong, what could you clearly say about it? At this point, the principles to be discussed have been fully explained.

Note: “Roaming” means that the mind and spirit roam in the realm of Wuwei (non-action), taking no teacher as one’s teacher.

Commentary: This is roughly the realm in which my teacher’s mind and spirit roam. It also sums up the meaning of “my teacher” discussed above.

Yan Hui said, “I have made progress again.”

Note: He regards lessening as gain.

Commentary: Yan Hui accepted Confucius’s instruction, kept what he had learned in mind, put it into practice, and sought the Dao from his teacher. Now he felt he had grasped something and reported it to him. “Progress” means gaining something by letting go of attachments; hence, lessening is called gain.

Zhongni asked, “What do you mean?”

Commentary: Since you say you have made progress, what exactly do you mean?

Yan Hui said, “I have forgotten benevolence and righteousness.”

Commentary: He had forgotten using benevolence to love and righteousness to judge right and wrong. This is what Yan Hui meant by making progress.

Yan Hui said, “That will do, but it has not yet reached the highest state.”

The commentary explains that benevolence is the conduct that manifests universal love, while righteousness is the function expressed in bringing things to completion. Practicing benevolence is not the same as benevolence itself, and bringing things to completion is not the same as righteousness itself. Although Yan Hui understood that benevolence and righteousness arise naturally, without intention, and that there was no need to strive deliberately to love others or accomplish things, he had only forgotten their merits and outward manifestations. He had not yet reached a deeper understanding.

The subcommentary says that Yan Hui had begun to understand that one should not cling to benevolence and righteousness, but his understanding was still shallow. That is why Confucius said, “Not yet.”

Some days later, Yan Hui came to see Confucius again. Confucius said, “You have made progress.” Yan Hui asked, “In what way?” Confucius said, “I have forgotten ritual and music.”

The subcommentary explains that “some days later” means on another day. As Yan Hui’s understanding of the Way deepened, he came to see Confucius again. Ritual refers to the rules of proper conduct, and music to moral instruction through music; here, both are also regarded as things that can constrain a person or become objects of attachment.

Yan Hui said, “That will do, but it has not yet reached the highest state.”

The commentary explains that ritual sets standards for conduct, while music is a means of bringing joy. Forgetting these outward forms of ritual and music is still not as profound as forgetting the very principles from which they arose.

The subcommentary says that Yan Hui was gradually attaining a state of emptiness, stillness, and non-attachment, but had not yet reached its utmost point.

Some days later, Confucius saw Yan Hui again and said, “You have made progress.” Yan Hui asked, “In what way?” Confucius said, “I am sitting in forgetfulness.”

The subcommentary explains that Yan Hui’s mind was empty and still, free of attachment. He could therefore sit peacefully and even forget the act of sitting. The specific meaning of sitting in forgetfulness will be explained further below.

Confucius looked astonished and respectfully asked, “What do you mean by sitting in forgetfulness?”

Yan Hui replied, “I have forgotten my limbs and body, and set aside the keenness of my hearing and sight.”

The subcommentary explains that “cast off” means to abandon or let go, and “dismiss” means to set aside. Hearing belongs to the ears and sight to the eyes, but the activity of perception originates in the mind. Yan Hui understood that the body has no substantial, independent existence and that the appearances of all things are empty and still. He was therefore able to let go of attachment to the body and set aside the discriminating activity that depends on the senses and the mind.

“To leave the body behind, relinquish perception, and become one with the Great Way—this is called sitting in forgetfulness.”

The commentary explains that sitting in forgetfulness means forgetting everything: both outward actions and appearances, and the principles that give rise to them. The mind no longer senses that there is a self, and outwardly it no longer distinguishes the existence of Heaven and Earth. One can then open oneself fully and become one with the transformations of all things, communicating with everything without obstruction.

The subcommentary explains that “Great Communion” means the Great Way. The Great Way pervades and brings forth all things, which is why it is called “Great Communion.” As for the outward aspect, one sees through the idea that the parts of the body are real and unchanging. (The original text ends here; the subcommentary is unfinished.)

"Releasing the body" (jiehui) means loosening the limbs and setting aside all constraint. "Inwardly, discarding the consciousness of the mind" means that the mind is no longer held back by the discriminations of awareness and becomes vague and unknowing. This is "casting off cleverness and intelligence": no longer telling things apart through cunning and ingenuity. After this, the mind is like withered wood or dead ashes, deep and still, and merges silently with the Great Dao (the Way). This benefit is called "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang), the forgetting of one's attachment to body and intellect in seated stillness.

Confucius said: "If you are the same as the myriad things, you have no partiality."

The commentary says: When nothing is different from you, there is nothing you cannot calmly adapt to. And if you can calmly adapt to whatever you meet, what is there to favor or to dislike?

"If you transform, you have nothing constant."

The commentary says: A person who has become one with transformation simply settles into each change, and so has no fixed state.

The subcommentary says: Once in accord with the Great Dao, one no longer clings to right and wrong, or to liking and disliking. Having merged quietly with transformation, one is not bound to any particular constant state either.

Confucius also said: "Yan Hui is truly a worthy man! I wish to follow behind Yan Hui and learn."

The subcommentary says: "Truly" means "indeed." Confucius is saying, "Yan Hui, you can forget and let go of these attachments, and so you are indeed a great worthy. Though I am your teacher, I would fall in behind you and follow you in learning. This is what I wish." In this way Confucius honors Yan Hui through humility and deference.

Zi Yu and Zisang were friends. Zisang was caught in rain that went on for days, and Zi Yu said, "Zisang is probably very ill." So Zi Yu wrapped up some food and went to give it to Zisang.

The commentary says: The friendship of these two was natural and unforced, and neither made a show of bestowing kindness on the other. When Zi Yu wrapped up food and took it to Zisang, it was done simply by following the natural order of things. Zi Yu did not set out with a prior intention to help.

The subcommentary says: Rain lasting more than three days is called lin. "Probably" means "nearly." Zisang's family was poor, and with the rain continuing day after day, Zisang was likely close to falling ill from hunger. The two were friends who stood above worldly ways. Zi Yu went out of natural feeling, and even in wrapping the food was not acting from any wish to display kindness.

When Zi Yu reached Zisang's door, what could be heard from inside sounded like singing and like weeping at once. Zisang was strumming a zither and singing: "Father? Mother? Heaven? Or man?" Zisang's own voice was more than Zisang could bear, and the song was hurried out in haste.

The subcommentary says: "Bear" means "endure," and "hurried" means "hasty and urgent." Suffering hunger and hardship, Zisang strummed the zither and asked who had brought about this poverty and starvation. Was it a fault of the parents, was it the doing of man, or was it the will of Heaven? These were the words of the song, half weeping and half singing. Zisang could scarcely bear the sound of the voice and so chanted on in haste.

Zi Yu went in and asked, "What is this you are singing? Why sing it like this?"

The commentary says: Zi Yu felt that Zisang's words seemed to carry resentment, and that the hasty singing also seemed to stray from the principle of following nature.

The subcommentary says: Zi Yu had supposed that both of them could set life and death aside, forget grief and joy, and keep their friendship free of worldly sentiment. Now Zisang sang as though lamenting and complaining. Zi Yu was startled on entering and asked the reason.

Zisang answered: "I have tried to find what has brought me to this extremity, and I cannot find it. Could it be my parents..."

Could it be that Heaven wants me to be poor? Heaven covers all things without preference, and Earth supports all things without preference. How could Heaven and Earth make only “me” poor? I have tried to find the ruler responsible for this state of affairs, but I have never found one. Yet I have fallen into such poverty. This is my fate.

The commentary holds that all things are as they are naturally, with no power behind them deliberately arranging things.

The explanation says that parents love their children and do not want them to go hungry or suffer from the cold. Heaven and Earth, too, show no preference, so how could they make only “me” poor? On careful reflection, the rulers of Heaven and Earth act naturally. Search for the causes of what happens, and no trace of them can be found. What has brought me into such hardship is the portion of fate allotted to me. What is there to resent or regret?