《莊子翼》Vol. 8

Lie Yukou (a Daoist figure) was traveling to the state of Qi when he turned back midway and encountered Bohun Maoren (a Daoist master). Bohun asked him, "Why did you turn back halfway?" Lie Yukou replied, "I was startled into realization." When asked why, he explained: "I once ate at a congee shop where five out of ten vendors served me without being asked. This made me reflect—when unresolved attachments linger in the heart, one's external demeanor becomes artificially radiant. Such imposing presence intimidates others, causing them to slight truly venerable elders, thereby inviting misfortune. These congee vendors, though seeking mere trifling profits, showed me such deference—how much more would this apply to the ruler of a mighty state? A monarch laboring over state affairs, exhausting his spirit in governance, would surely demand my service and scrutinize my achievements. Thus I became apprehensive."

Bohun Maoren praised him: "Well said! With such awareness, people will soon flock to you." Indeed, before long, visitors' shoes piled up outside Lie Yukou's door. When Bohun visited again, he stood facing north, leaning on his staff with chin propped, then left in silence. Discovering this, Lie Yukou rushed out barefoot and asked, "Master, have you come only to withhold your teaching?" Bohun replied, "Enough! I told you people would seek you out. This isn't something you can control—you cannot prevent them from coming. Why deliberately affect uniqueness? Such posturing only unsettles your true nature. Those who come to befriend you speak honeyed words that poison, yet you revel in mutual flattery unknowingly. The skillful exhaust themselves; the clever worry endlessly. Only those without ability or desire roam free like untethered boats."

Guo Xiang's commentary adds: The congee vendors' unprompted service showed respect. Inner attachments manifest as artificial external refinement—forced radiance in demeanor. Such imposing yet hollow displays invite contempt for true elders. Beauty used to attract others courts disaster. These vendors held negligible influence and petty gains, making their obsequiousness particularly unworthy.

If one does not relinquish attachment to external form, what they pursue will become constrained. What is called "preservation" refers to a state of rigid accumulation. Only by following nature and accepting circumstances as they come can one attain the realm of desirelessness. Without desire, one will not be bound by external things.

When benevolence is given with prior intention, it does not arise from genuine sincerity. Deliberate display appears artificial and inevitably provokes reactions from others, thus violating natural disposition. Using petty cleverness to please others is base conduct. Only sages can truly achieve desirelessness—even insects know to follow their innate instincts rather than relying entirely on others.

In the state of Zheng, there was a man named Huan who studied arduously for three years in the Qiu region before becoming a Confucian scholar. His teachings flowed like a river, enriching the land for nine li and benefiting three generations of his clan. Later, his younger brother Di became a Mohist scholar. The two brothers debated each other, and their father supported Di. After ten years, Huan committed suicide. His father dreamed of him saying: "It was I who made your son a Mohist! Why don't you recognize my merit? Now I have become the fruit of autumn cypresses." The Creator repays people not for their actions but for their innate nature.

Huan considered himself exceptional and thus looked down upon his father, much like the men of Qi who fought over well water. Thus it is said that people today are all like Huan—they believe themselves virtuous yet fall short of the ancients, let alone those who have attained the Dao. The ancients called such behavior "evading heaven's punishment."

[Guo Xiang's commentary: "Chanting" refers to reciting the classics; "zhi" simply means "fitting." Di was Huan's younger brother's name. Huan resented his father aiding his brother and killed himself in anger. Appearing in a dream after death, he claimed credit for both his own Confucian attainment and his brother's Mohist conversion. Though his brother was influenced by him, he could not submit—Huan considered himself a good teacher yet died resented. Through utmost sincerity, he transformed into autumn cypress fruit after death. The Creator repays innate nature, not deeds. The effort of study is only to fulfill one's nature—how could it be for external display? Each person has their own nature, hence different paths of cultivation. Huan boasted of his Confucian practice, unaware it was simply his natural disposition. Those who achieve merit and thereby disdain external things show no restraint even toward family; those who forget themselves to balance mind and nature never lose proper relationships regardless of status. Digging a well seeks to reach springwater; chanting seeks to connect with innate nature. Without springs, no well need be dug; without innate nature, no chanting is required. The world has forgotten this root of nature.]

Zhuangzi here employs several parables and philosophical discourses to reveal the distinction between artificial contrivance and the natural Dao (the Way).

First, he criticizes those who take pride in minor skills like well-digging, pointing out that such deliberate displays of ability actually violate the natural Dao. The truly wise (sages) follow nature without forcing things, whereas ordinary people often strive for what should not be sought while neglecting their inherent nature, which they ought to abide in peacefully.

Next, the story of "Dragon-Slaying Arts" illustrates this: Zhili Yi exhausted his family fortune mastering the art of slaying dragons, only to find that no dragons existed in the world to slay. This reveals the futility of pursuing impractical skills—what matters is acting in accordance with real needs.

When discussing warfare, Zhuangzi observes that sages maintain an attitude of non-attachment even toward inevitable events, thus avoiding conflict. Ordinary people, however, insist on what may not be necessary, leading to endless strife. True "warfare" does not merely refer to armed battles but also includes the unexpressed anger within the heart (as Gengsangzi said, "hidden resentment not yet unleashed is the real war").

Finally, he contrasts two life states: ordinary people (petty men) busy themselves with social rituals and trivial matters, exhausting their spirit while deludedly believing they can grasp the great Dao—only to remain trapped in the material world. The perfected person (one who has attained the Dao), however, returns their spirit to the cosmic origin (the Beginningless) and dwells in the realm of emptiness (the Land of Nothingness), flowing naturally like water. Sadly, ordinary people focus only on minutiae, missing true tranquility.

Guo Xiang's commentary emphasizes that sages conform to the people's will without stubbornly clinging to personal views. True wisdom lies not in words but in responding appropriately. What matters is suitability, not lofty ideals; contentment comes from following nature, while forced striving invites misfortune.

Zhuangzi here illustrates through several stories how pursuing external things leads to losing one's true nature.

There was a man from Song named Cao Shang who served as an envoy to Qin for the King of Song. Initially granted only a few carriages, he later received over a hundred from the pleased Qin ruler. Proudly boasting to Zhuangzi, he said: "Living in slums weaving sandals shows my shortcomings, but gaining favor with great rulers demonstrates my ability." Zhuangzi retorted sarcastically: "When the Qin king summons doctors, those curing hemorrhoids receive the most carriages. You must specialize in lower-body ailments?" This mocks how Cao Shang gained rewards through flattery—the baser his methods, the greater his gains.

Duke Ai of Lu once asked Yan He: "Could Confucius improve our state if appointed?" Yan He replied: "Dangerous! Confucius is like someone powdering feathers—using flowery rhetoric to mask essence while forcing people to accept false principles. This would make people abandon truth for artifice. A true sage lets people preserve their simple nature, not constraining them with artificial benevolence and righteousness."

Guo Xiang's commentary notes: Those chasing fame and fortune must strive harder in lower positions—greater achievements bring heavier rewards. Thus truly transcendent individuals renounce glory. Today's so-called worthies pursuing virtue (De) resemble feather-polishers; people consequently face peril while sages cannot stabilize the world.

Two punishments exist—external and internal: the external being blades and clubs (metal and wooden implements), the internal being emotional turmoil and faults. Petty men suffer external punishment through physical torture, internal punishment through Yin-Yang imbalance. Only those who attain the Dao (Zhenren) avoid both.

(Note: "Zhengan" refers to state pillars; "xiaoren" means petty men; "Yin-Yang consuming them" denotes bodily harm from cosmic imbalance)

This passage primarily critiques later rulers who imitate Confucius yet lose their authentic nature, resulting in the people's minds becoming constrained. The text points out that subsequent monarchs admire the legacy of Confucius (Zhongni), but distort their inherent nature and govern hypocritically, causing both rulers and subjects to blindly emulate each other without self-awareness. The people not only outwardly comply but have their inner selves assimilated by this mode of rule, losing their true nature. Rulers and subjects each possess their innate dispositions—forcing imitation only results in the loss of authenticity.

The author uses "metal and wood" as metaphors for punishment: metal implements like knives, saws, axes, and execution blades, and wooden tools such as clubs and cangues. If punishments are abused, externally one suffers injuries from metal and wood, while internally one's heart-mind is damaged. Unless one is a realized person (referring to those who comprehend the Dao), it is difficult to maintain proper measure.

Later, Confucius is quoted as saying that the human heart is more treacherous than mountains and rivers, and harder to understand than celestial phenomena. A person's outward appearance often contradicts their inner nature: some appear humble yet are arrogant, seem incapable yet possess extraordinary talents, outwardly compliant yet inwardly rebellious, seemingly strong yet actually weak, superficially gentle yet fiery-tempered. Thus, when people pursue righteousness, they do so with fervor, yet when they abandon it, they do so just as decisively.

Confucius proposes nine methods for examining a person: send them far away to observe their loyalty, keep them close to observe their propriety, assign them heavy responsibilities to observe their competence, pose sudden questions to observe their wisdom, impose urgent deadlines to observe their trustworthiness, entrust them with wealth to observe their benevolence, inform them of danger to observe their integrity, observe their demeanor when drunk, and observe their conduct in mixed company. These nine tests can expose hypocrites.

Guo Xiang (a Wei-Jin period Neo-Daoist philosopher) annotates that this passage reveals the contrast between human appearances and inner realities, as well as people's fickle attitudes toward righteousness.

Zhuangzi's passage reveals profound insights on human conduct through contrasting two types of people's attitudes toward life.

The first comparison features Zheng Kaofu (a minister of Song during the Spring and Autumn period) versus ordinary people: Each time Zheng was promoted, he became more humble—bowing slightly at his first promotion, deeper at the second, and finally walking close to walls to show deference at the third. Who would dare disrespect such a man? In contrast, ordinary people straighten their backs upon initial promotion, dance on their carriages after the second, and by the third promotion even address elders by their given names. How could such people compare to sages like Yao or Xu You?

The text then identifies the greatest misfortune: the forced pursuit of virtue (De). Genuine virtue flows naturally—when one deliberately inspects their inner self (neishi), it corrupts their true nature. Humanity harbors five destructive tendencies, among which "self-righteous virtue" (zhong De) proves most dangerous, as it makes people approve only themselves while belittling others.

Next, it enumerates life's paradoxical patterns: eight advantageous qualities (like height, handsomeness, or courage) that lead to adversity, and three apparent weaknesses (dependence on external things, physical limitations, timidity) that foster smooth progress. Those who truly understand life remain magnanimous, while seekers of petty cleverness become narrow; masters of great destiny follow nature's flow, whereas calculators of minor gains stumble everywhere.

Guo Xiang's commentary adds: Deliberately displayed virtue isn't true virtue. Constantly judging others by one's own standards invites disaster. People often fail not through shortcomings, but by being trapped by their strengths. Those appearing weak actually receive help precisely because they don't contend. Excessive pursuit of external wisdom harms the inner self, while aggressive bravery breeds resentment.

This passage expounds several layers of Daoist philosophy:

It begins by observing that those who constantly complain and act timidly often preserve themselves best. While the world expects benevolence and righteousness (De), such selective care inevitably creates omissions that invite criticism. The truly awakened appear muddle-headed, flowing with natural transformations. This awakening (zāo) often comes as sudden realization at critical moments.

The text then quotes Wenzi: When Dao is deliberately sought, confusion arises; when De is consciously pursued, danger follows—like staring fixedly until one becomes dizzy. Practitioners often anguish over failing to perceive truth, unaware that the very act of "seeing" damages De. Buddhism's five eyes (heavenly, physical, wisdom, dharma, and buddha eyes) all reside in the heart-mind. If this "mind's eye" clings to sensory perceptions, it corrupts virtue; understanding this corruption reveals the path to accomplishment—the principle remains constant.

A parable follows: Zhuangzi tells of a poor riverside family weaving grass mats. Their son dives into a deep pool and retrieves a priceless pearl. The father insists on smashing it with a hammer, explaining such pearls grow beneath a black dragon's chin—obtainable only during its slumber. Were the dragon awake, the diver would perish. "Now Song Kingdom's waters run deeper, its king fiercer than any dragon. Your rewards come through his delusion; should he awaken, you'll be crushed to dust."

Guo Xiang's commentary adds: Gaining wealth requires aligning with popular sentiment. Rulers who accept bizarre theories aren't true enlightened monarchs. Ancient sage-kings tested candidates through public scrutiny—this was the straightforward governance of the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou).

Finally, Zhuangzi employs a sacrificial ox metaphor: Adorned in brocade and fed choice grains, when led to the ancestral temple, can it still choose to be a common calf? The implied warning: worldly glory ultimately invites destruction.

Guo Xiang comments in his annotation: Those who cling to life fear death and reject official positions, while skulls frown in disgust at the prospect of rebirth. This is because perspectives on life and death differ, naturally leading to divergent standpoints.

When Zhuangzi was nearing death, his disciples wanted to give him an elaborate burial. Zhuangzi said: "I take heaven and earth as my coffin, the sun and moon as paired jade tablets, the stars as precious jewels, and all things as burial offerings. Could any funerary provisions be more complete? What could possibly surpass this?" His disciples replied: "We fear crows and eagles might peck at your remains." Zhuangzi answered: "Above ground, my body will be eaten by birds; underground, it will be consumed by ants. To snatch it from beaks only to give it to ants—isn't that showing favoritism? To pursue fairness through unfair means—such fairness isn't truly fair. To verify truth through unnatural methods—such verification isn't authentic. Those who consider themselves clever remain driven by external things, while those truly connected with the divine follow nature's course. Human wisdom can never match the Dao of nature. This truth has existed since ancient times, yet foolish people stubbornly cling to their views, exhausting themselves trying to change others—is this not lamentable?"

Guo Xiang further explains: Rather than forcibly imposing one's personal standards to achieve equality among all things, it's better to let all things naturally reach balance. "Resonance" means natural response. When one fails to follow each thing's inherent patterns but instead forcibly interferes with personal opinions, contradictions inevitably arise. Those stubbornly attached to their views remain constrained by external things—how could they truly understand all phenomena? Only by following the Dao of nature can one find harmony everywhere. Human wisdom can only comprehend the formal level, while following nature allows everything, whether near or far, profound or subtle, to find its proper place. True efficacy lies in conforming to natural laws. If one clings to personal views and self-righteousness, even attempts to influence others will only produce superficial effects.

Chapter 33 "Under Heaven" states: Many scholars in the world study specialized arts, each believing their learning represents the ultimate achievement. But where does the true "art of Dao" from antiquity reside? In truth, it exists everywhere. From where do the sacred descend? From where does wisdom emerge? The sage-kings became sage-kings precisely because they originated from that fundamental "Dao." Those who never deviate from the root are called "heavenly humans"; those who preserve perfect purity are called "spirit humans"; those who maintain authentic nature are called "perfect humans." Taking nature as foundation, De (Virtue) as grounding, and the Great Dao as gateway—those who foresee transformations are called "sage humans." Using humaneness to bestow kindness, righteousness to handle affairs, rituals to regulate conduct, and music to harmonize emotions—those overflowing with compassion are called "noble persons." Using laws to establish boundaries, names to set standards, comparison (or "integrity")... [text continues]

This passage comes from the "Tianxia" (Under Heaven) chapter of the Zhuangzi, which discusses the wisdom of ancient governance and the subsequent fragmentation of learning.

When the sage-kings of antiquity governed the world, they used numerical methods to verify decisions (稽 referring to examination and validation), taking basic principles like "one, two, three, four" as the foundation for governance. Officials handled affairs according to these principles, prioritizing agriculture and the people's basic needs for food and clothing while also emphasizing material reserves and paying special attention to the vulnerable—the elderly, weak, orphaned, and widowed. This formed a comprehensive way of nurturing the people. The governance methods of these ancient sages were perfectly complete: they harmonized with the celestial and terrestrial spirits, followed the patterns of nature, nurtured all things, unified the world, and extended their benevolence to the common people.

This governance wisdom grasped both fundamental principles (本数) and specific regulations (末度), achieving thoroughness in both macro and micro aspects. The content concerning specific regulations was mostly recorded in the legal texts passed down by court historians, while the principles contained in the classics of Poetry, Documents, Rites, and Music were largely elucidated by scholars from Zou and Lu (referring to Confucian scholars)—the Book of Songs expressed aspirations, the Book of Documents recorded governance, the Rites standardized conduct, the Music harmonized emotions, the Book of Changes revealed the transformations of Yin-Yang, and the Spring and Autumn Annals established proper distinctions.

Later, when the world fell into chaos, the Way of the sages became obscure, and moral standards were no longer unified. The various schools of thought often seized upon a single aspect and considered it absolute, just as the ear, eye, nose, and mouth each have their functions but cannot interchange. Though the Hundred Schools each had their strengths and were useful at certain times, none were comprehensive or complete. These scholars, fixated on partial views, fragmented the holistic beauty of heaven and earth and dismembered the complete principles of all things, rarely attaining a true understanding of the complete realm of celestial and terrestrial spirits. Thus, the great Way of inner sageliness and outer kingliness (the ideal governance of cultivating inner virtue and exercising kingly rule externally) gradually grew dim, and people in the world acted according to their own preferences. Sadly, the Hundred Schools strayed further and further from the path, inevitably making integration impossible. Later scholars were even more unfortunate, as they could no longer perceive the pure essence of heaven and earth or the complete system of thought from antiquity—thus, the great learning of the Dao was fragmented by the world.

Guo Xiang's commentary notes: Acting in accordance with the innate nature of things is true action (无为 Wuwei). Such true action is free from falsehood and requires no additional adornment. The divine manifests through concrete things, returning all beings to their roots. One need only hold fast to the pure and undivided Dao without deliberately embellishing appearances—this is the principle by which sage-kings transform and nurture all things. In truth, terms like "celestial spirits" and "supreme sages" refer to the same essence, only expressed differently. As for concrete norms like humaneness, righteousness, rites, and music, these are the superficial forms practiced by worthy gentlemen. Distinctions and regulations are standards established to govern the people. Since the people require these norms, the sages do not oppose ancient customs.

This passage primarily critiques how various schools of thought in that era had deviated from the fundamental source of the Dao. The original text conveys that:

The four categories people pursued (referring to various schools of thought) might appear clear on the surface, but they had fundamentally strayed from the origin of "non-being" (Wu). These doctrines seemed comprehensive yet were actually constrained by specific norms. Just like Confucian scholars from Zou and Lu (referring to Ruist followers) who could only explain the superficial forms of ancient institutions without grasping their essential spirit. After the Six Classics (Confucian canons) became fragmented, the Hundred Schools merely repeated ancient traces, struggling to even preserve these surface-level forms intact. Consequently, during times of great chaos, no unified standard could be found.

The true way of sages remained obscure because moral standards lacked uniformity, with each school forcing their own interpretations. People across the land clung to partial views, blindly believing their biases without comprehending the whole picture. Sages were meant to synthesize the fundamental needs of the people to establish systems, allowing them to follow naturally while forgetting personal preferences, thereby achieving a harmonious state of detachment. But in chaotic times, the opposite occurred—people indulged selfish desires, and various schools abused institutional regulations, leading to inconsistent governance and divergent customs.

Each school had its limitations and couldn't be universally applied. People took fragments to analyze the principles of heaven and earth, yet rarely encountered those who truly grasped the Dao in its entirety. The way of sage-kings became obscured, and the Great Dao splintered into various factions. Some doctrines treated objects as sovereign, distorting their inherent nature and losing the true essence of "nature and life" (Xingming).

Later, the text mentions the Mohist school (Mo Di, Qin Guli, etc.), which advocated "condemning music" and "frugality," opposing extravagance while promoting universal love, mutual benefit, and denouncing conflict. However, their excessive emphasis on austerity—such as prohibiting singing in life and simplifying funeral rites—contradicted ancient ritual-music traditions (like the Xianchi music of the Yellow Emperor, the ceremonial music of Yao and Shun, or Zhou dynasty burial customs). Though Mozi's teachings were diligent and erudite, they differed from the way of ancient kings and destroyed classical rites.

Here Zhuangzi critiques the Mohist school (represented by Mozi) for its excessively austere asceticism. Mozi extolled Yu the Great's spirit of personal toil during flood control—working until the hair was worn off his legs—demanding his followers wear coarse cloth and wooden shoes while ceaselessly tormenting themselves day and night, declaring those who couldn't meet this standard unworthy of being called Mohists.

The Mohist school later splintered into factions (like Xiangli Qin and Deng Lingzi), all reciting the Mohist Canon while mutually denouncing each other as "heterodox Mohists" using logical debates about "hardness/whiteness and sameness/difference" to attack one another. Each faction venerated their school leader (Juzi) as a sage and competed to claim succession, resulting in endless disputes.

Zhuangzi observes: Mozi's original intentions were good, but his implementation was flawed. Forcing people to compete in self-mortification—"hairless calves and shins" symbolizing extreme toil—only breeds chaos. Such radical frugality may appear wealth-generating, but it violates human nature—extreme deprivation ironically incites conflict. While Mozi himself was truly a sage devoted to the world's welfare, his excessive demands ultimately rendered his teachings unpalatable to society.

(Note: The phrases "hairless calves and shins" describe Yu the Great's emaciated legs and worn-off hair from flood-control labors; "hardness/whiteness and sameness/difference" refers to the famous School of Names debates about the separation of object attributes.)

This passage discusses the distinction between Mohist thought and the Daoist Way of the Sage-Kings. The Mohists advocated unifying the world through rigorous self-discipline, considering this the highest principle. However, the author points out that the true Way of the Sage-Kings allows all things to develop naturally without forcibly eliminating differences. The ancient sage-kings permitted all beings to maintain their inherent characteristics, ultimately achieving harmony spontaneously, so subtly that people remained unaware of being guided.

The Mohists criticized ancient ritual and music systems as excessively extravagant, promoting diligence and frugality to govern the world. Yet the author argues this approach goes too far—while appearing beneficial to society, it ultimately violates the natural Dao. Though Mozi's teachings form a coherent system, they contradict the inherent patterns of all things. The true Way of the Sages enables people to live joyfully according to their nature, making governance effortless. A true king should bring happiness to all, developing alongside the myriad beings—to deviate from this is to stray from the Kingly Way.

Mozi only saw Yu the Great's (the flood-controlling sage) external toil without understanding his internal harmony with nature. The Mohists elevated self-mortification as their highest standard, stubbornly clinging to this doctrine in inappropriate times, causing divisions even within their own school. Though the "Great Masters" (Mohist leaders) could uphold their beliefs, later followers who sought to inherit this legacy overemphasized anti-luxury and practical governance, pushing it to extremes.

The greatest disorder arises from violating innate nature and harming fundamental character. The optimal way to govern is letting people follow their natural inclinations—precisely what Mohism opposes. While sages don't deny the Mohists' sincere pursuit, they consider it unsuitable for teaching the masses. Those who persist in asceticism demonstrate genuine sincerity, but remain merely talented individuals rather than true attainers of the Dao.

Those who truly attain the Dao remain unburdened by worldly concerns. They neither embellish external things nor demand perfection from others, harbor no envy toward the multitude, and simply desire universal peace and basic livelihood for all—content when fundamental needs are met. This cultivation of "pure heart" (baixin) embodies the essence of ancient Daoist practice. Scholars like Song Jian and Yin Wen, inspired by this tradition, created the "Mount Hua crown" as a symbol of noble purity. They advocated embracing all things with an inclusive mind, calling mental states "the heart's movement" (xin zhi xing), using gentle approaches to resolve worldly conflicts, and hoped to elevate such people as rulers. Their doctrine of "insult without humiliation" sought to end strife.

This passage discusses the attitudes and behavioral principles of ancient saviors of the world. They devoted themselves to pacifying wars and stopping conflicts, traveling between states to admonish rulers, persisting in their mission even when their advice went unheeded. Their defining characteristics included giving much to others while demanding little for themselves—content with merely five liters of rice per day to stave off hunger, yet never forgetting the suffering masses even when starving themselves.

The text mentions the philosophy of "enduring humiliation without feeling disgraced," emphasizing that the key to saving the world lies in harmonizing contradictions. Their approach advocated: externally stopping warfare, and internally cultivating purity with few desires. Guo Xiang's commentary explains that such individuals did not pursue material abundance, maintaining impartiality like Mount Hua, preventing all things from infringing upon one another. They did not force others to change but instead influenced the world through their own conduct.

The behavioral code of these saviors included: being just without partiality, following the natural course of things without stubbornness, avoiding petty cleverness, making no artificial distinctions between things, and accepting circumstances as they came. Ancient thinkers such as Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao all revered this philosophy, promoting the concept of "regarding all things as equal" (qi wanwu). They believed heaven could cover all things but not bear their weight, earth could bear all things but not cover them—only the Great Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) could embrace everything.

(Note: "Harmonizing contradictions" refers to reconciling opposing forces; "regarding all things as equal" is a key Daoist concept denoting the elimination of subjective discrimination to view all phenomena impartially; the "Great Dao" is the core Daoist principle representing the fundamental law governing all existence.)

This passage discusses the Daoist philosophical views of Shen Dao, Tian Pian, and others. Shen Dao advocated abandoning personal cleverness and subjective biases to follow the natural principles of things. He believed that deliberate choices lead to incompleteness, and forced indoctrination fails to achieve its purpose—only by following the Dao can one attain true comprehensiveness.

Shen Dao proposed the concept of "knowing not-knowing," maintaining that forced pursuit of knowledge actually harms one's innate nature. He opposed the worldly practice of venerating worthies and talents, instead advocating spontaneous naturalness and non-forced action (Wuwei). Like a rotating millstone that adapts to whatever it encounters, he neither distinguished right from wrong nor sought anything beyond avoiding calamity. This seemingly unknowing and unfeeling state precisely preserves the integrity of one's nature, ensuring that neither movement nor stillness violates heavenly principle.

Tian Pian studied under Peng Meng and learned the "teaching without words." Peng Meng's own teacher held that the ancient Dao-realized individuals had reached a state beyond distinctions of right and wrong. Yet such doctrines often contradicted conventional wisdom and remained incomprehensible to ordinary people. The text points out that while the views of Shen Dao and his school approached the Dao, they ultimately failed to fully grasp its true essence.

Guo Xiang's commentary explains that these philosophies emphasize following nature spontaneously, allowing all things to find their proper place. Deliberate action leads to incompleteness, whereas surrendering to innate nature achieves perfection. Shen Dao and his contemporaries recognized the limitations of artificial striving, but their understanding remained incomplete, never fully mastering the natural Dao.

Zhuangzi here explores how to transcend worldly judgments of right and wrong and return to one's natural state. He observes that ordinary people persistently cling to distinctions between correct and incorrect, first and last, indulging their sensory desires merely to escape immediate troubles. The true Dao-realized sage (shengren), however, can discard cleverness and preconceptions, acting in accordance with nature's patterns.

The text employs the metaphor of a "clod of earth" - appearing dull and simple like dirt, yet preserving the fundamental authenticity of the Great Dao (Da Dao). This state of eliminating artificiality and returning to primal simplicity constitutes genuine wisdom. Heroic individuals often mock such seemingly foolish attitudes toward life, precisely because they haven't yet comprehended the highest truth.

The core teachings advocated by Guan Yin and Laozi (Lao Dan) emphasize taking the fundamental Dao as the subtle essence and concrete things as the coarse form. They advocate maintaining an outwardly empty and yielding (ru ruo qian xia) appearance while embracing all things (bu hui wan wu) as the substantive practice. This manifests concretely as: moving with water's natural flow when in action, remaining clear as a mirror when still, and responding like an echo without deliberate intention. Never striving to be first but willingly staying behind others, even enduring worldly humiliation.

Laozi further proposes the life wisdom of "knowing the masculine but guarding the feminine" (zhi qi xiong, shou qi ci): understanding the principles of strength while maintaining a yielding posture, like a valley containing all things. While crowds compete for gain, he chooses empty receptivity; while others pursue blessings, he bends to avoid misfortune. Believing hard things break easily and sharp edges eventually dull, he maintains universal tolerance - neither harming others nor being harmed. This way of being, rooted in profound simplicity and guided by economy, constitutes the very essence of ancient Daoist practice.

This passage illustrates the state of ancient Daoist adepts through the examples of Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) and Lao Dan (Laozi). Those who truly attain the Dao do not deliberately accumulate possessions; instead, they entrust everything to the world, thereby appearing abundantly fulfilled. They understand that all things arise spontaneously without artificial intervention.

All beings in heaven and earth exist according to their inherent nature without interfering with one another. This state originates from the function of the "Great One" (Taiji, the cosmic source). Dao adepts harbor no personal biases—when things come, they respond naturally, and after responding, they remain unattached. Thus, their achievements wax and wane with the natural course of events. They do not promote themselves but allow all things to manifest their true nature.

Like the natural echo in a valley, those who embody the Dao maintain a state of detachment. What seems like gain is actually beyond gain or loss; what appears as profound knowledge is actually free from the conceit of knowing. All things abide in their proper place, naturally maintaining stillness. Those who strive for superiority or self-display are actually depleting their vitality. Therefore, the ancients did not pursue limitless knowledge but remained content with their fundamental nature, thereby preserving their innate integrity.

Only those who preserve their innate integrity can embrace the world. Such individuals are like mountain valleys that accommodate all things. By avoiding contention, they naturally earn the world's reverence. A humble attitude of yielding and staying low may seem like a flaw in worldly eyes but holds profound utility. Those who chase materiality see only the benefits of "having" but fail to grasp the function of "non-having"; those who embrace emptiness maintain serenity in responding to all phenomena.

Without hoarding surplus, one ensures all things find their rightful place and thus avoids scarcity. A towering independence and self-sufficiency may appear slow but never wasteful. Acting in harmony with the people's hearts and achieving according to the seasons, one remains aligned with the Dao—never frantic nor profligate. Those who rely on cleverness and forced action end up harming what arises naturally.

True Wuwei (non-action) allows all things to flourish spontaneously. Just as spiders naturally spin webs, every person possesses innate abilities—there is no need to envy skilled craftsmen. By following the fundamental principles, one preserves their innate nature; by not forcing outcomes, blessings arrive naturally. Accommodating all things means never being blamed by them. The root of the Dao originates from the Primordial Beginning (Taichu), unfathomably profound. Take simplicity as your standard and eliminate excess. When perfect harmony is achieved, even metal and stone lose their hardness.

This passage discusses the philosophical thought and literary style of Zhuangzi, a seminal Daoist figure. Zhuangzi believed that aligning with natural laws preserves one's true nature, while violating them invites destruction. Reckless advancement without restraint proves inferior to maintaining one's fundamental position, which safeguards innate qualities from harm.

Zhuangzi's thought is profound and formless, ever-shifting and unpredictable. He viewed life and death as a natural process coexisting with heaven and earth, a dynamic interchange with the divine. Though seemingly adrift without direction, he embraced all things without fixating on any final destination. This reflects the ancient Daoist tradition that deeply influenced him and which he developed into a uniquely expressive form.

His writing employs seemingly absurd and far-fetched claims, unrestrained yet never one-sided. Recognizing that most people were mired in conventional views, he adopted three distinctive rhetorical devices: "goblet words" (zhiyan)—fluid expressions shifting like wine in a cup; "weighty words" (zhongyan)—invoking ancient authorities; and "imputed words" (yuyan)—rich with allegory. His thought resonates with the spirit of heaven and earth yet never demeans the myriad things. Unconcerned with rigid distinctions of right and wrong, he harmonized with worldly existence.

Though dazzlingly unconventional, Zhuangzi's prose flows with organic coherence. His uneven, ever-shifting language remains compelling. His spirit, brimming with irrepressible vitality, roams above with the Creator and befriends below those who transcend life and death. His teachings are vast at their foundation yet subtle and penetrating in their aim. Still, his principles for responding to change and elucidating phenomena remain unfathomable, shrouded in mist, never fully revealed.

Guo Xiang, the Jin Dynasty commentator, notes: Zhuangzi advocates following the innate nature of things, treating life and death as natural transformations. His "seeming aimlessness" actually rejects forced intention. Non-attachment to outcomes allows all things to flourish spontaneously. He avoids pressing his views upon others because people burdened by rigid forms and names would dismiss solemn words as madness. His three rhetorical devices all illuminate the fundamental nature of existence. Only by transcending right and wrong can things unfold naturally. While his physical form dwells among the myriad things, his spirit communes with heaven and earth. His doctrine not only addresses immediate concerns but contains inexhaustible wisdom. Zhuangzi speaks of self and others with equal detachment, his language surging freely like Yu the Great taming the floods—what grounds remain for doubt?

Hui Shi was a man of vast learning whose personal library could fill five carts, yet his doctrines were eclectic and impure, often straying from the true Dao (the Way).

In his investigations into the nature of things, he proposed: "That which is so vast it has no boundaries is called the 'Great One'; that which is so minute it has no core is called the 'Small One.'" He claimed that something without thickness (referring to a geometric concept) could not be stacked, yet could extend for a thousand miles. The heavens were as low as the earth, and mountains were as level as marshes. The moment the sun reaches its zenith, it begins to decline; the instant life is born, it begins moving toward death. Things may be similar in broad categories but differ in minor ones—this he called "minor similarities and differences." Yet all things are fundamentally identical while also entirely distinct—this he called "major similarities and differences." The south is both infinitely expansive and yet has an end; one can set out for the state of Yue today and claim to have arrived yesterday. Linked rings can be separated, and he believed the center of the world lay north of Yan and south of Yue. Universal love for all things was necessary, he argued, because heaven and earth were originally one.

Hui Shi proclaimed these ideas as the highest wisdom, attracting many who delighted in debate. These sophists put forward all manner of bizarre propositions: "Eggs have feathers," "Chickens have three legs," "The state of Chu encompasses the whole world," "A dog can be a sheep," "Horses lay eggs," "Toads have tails," "Fire is not hot," "Mountains can speak," "A wheel never touches the ground," "Eyes cannot see," "Fingers cannot touch objects," "Contact is never broken," "A tortoise is longer than a snake," "A square cannot be drawn with a ruler," "A compass cannot draw a perfect circle," "A mortise does not fit its tenon," "The shadow of a flying bird never moves," "A flying arrow is both stationary and in motion," "A dog is not a hound," "A yellow horse and a black ox make three white dogs," "A black orphaned colt has no mother," and "A foot-long stick, halved each day, can never be fully divided."

These debaters used such propositions to argue endlessly with Hui Shi, their disputes never reaching resolution. Sophists like Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long specialized in bewildering minds and overturning common sense. Though they might prevail in verbal contests, they could never truly convince others—such was the limitation of sophistry. Hui Shi spent his days deploying his intellect in debates, deliberately concocting strange theories alongside the world's most argumentative minds.

He prided himself on being unmatched in debate, boasting: "Though heaven and earth are vast, who can rival me in eloquence?" A southern recluse named Huang Liao once asked him why the heavens did not collapse or how wind, rain, and thunder arose. Without hesitation, Hui Shi launched into an exhaustive explanation of the principles of all things, speaking endlessly and still feeling it insufficient, adding ever more outlandish claims. He mistook the violation of common sense for truth, seeking fame by defeating others in argument—thus his propositions lacked practical grounding. Weak in moral cultivation (De), he became obsessed with materialistic disputes, straying far from the proper path.

This colophon by Ming Dynasty Daoist priest Zhang Guoxiang for the Zhuangzi Yi primarily discusses the relationship between the ideas of Hui Shi, a representative figure of the School of Names during the Warring States period, and Zhuangzi's philosophy.

From the perspective of the great Dao of heaven and earth, Hui Shi's sophistry and skills are as insignificant as the buzzing of a mosquito. What practical use does his understanding of things truly serve? Even if he could barely justify his arguments, they only led him further astray from the Dao. Hui Shi failed to settle himself in the genuine Dao, instead obsessing over superficial phenomena and indulging in sophistry to gain fame. Alas, Hui Shi's talent was like a wild horse galloping without direction—chasing the appearances of all things yet unable to return to their essence. It was as futile as chasing an echo to catch a sound or racing against a shadow—truly pitiable.

Examining Hui Shi's "multifarious doctrines" further, they bear striking resemblance to the arguments of Gongsun Long deceiving the King of Wei as recorded in the Liezi. Many interpretations are mere subjective conjectures. Fan Wuyin and his disciples once debated: those seemingly grand and bizarre statements may appear superficially connected to the Dao, but there is no need to delve deeply into them. After all, these were not views Zhuangzi endorsed but rather the absurd and baseless arguments he criticized—why bother explaining them? That said, Zhuangzi's recorded content includes not only doctrines like those of Mozi and Qin Guli that approach the Dao but even Hui Shi's words share certain similarities. As Liu Chenweng remarked, it is precisely out of fondness that one points out flaws—yet the ignorant mistake it for attack, thinking one belittles others to elevate oneself. Such behavior was never Zhuangzi's way.

Finally, it is noted that this is the content of the eighth volume of Zhuangzi Yi, collated and printed under imperial decree by Zhang Guoxiang, Perfected Person and heir to the Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) tradition—one of Daoism's major schools—on the auspicious day of the fifteenth of the first month in the thirty-fifth year of the Wanli era (1607) of the Great Ming.