《南華真經註疏》Vol. 5

Interpretation

If one pursues external things without restraint, one harms life and diminishes the Great Dao. Some fish for profit; others steal the reputation of the Confucians. None of them understands the sage’s way of preserving himself. Only those who grasp the meaning without clinging to the words can be spoken with about inner cultivation and forgetting external things.

External things cannot guarantee that events will turn out as people wish. Whatever speaks only of the body and outward appearance, and not of nature and life, belongs to the realm of external things, whether it concerns people or objects. External things may bring success or loss. Whether something is good or evil, loyal or disloyal, filial or unfilial, none of these qualities can ensure the outcome.

Thus Guan Longfeng was killed, Bi Gan was harmed, and Jizi feigned madness. E Lai, the wicked flatterer of King Zhou, died, and Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang were both overthrown. No ruler fails to wish for loyal ministers, yet a loyal minister may not be trusted. So Wu Zixu was killed by the king of Wu, and his body was wrapped in a leather sack and thrown into the river. Chang Hong, a minister of King Ling of Zhou, was exiled back to Shu and disemboweled; legend says that after his blood had been buried for three years, it turned into green jade. No parents fail to wish for filial children, yet a filial child may not be loved. Thus Xiaoyi, the son of King Gaozong of Shang, grieved because of his stepmother. Zeng Shen, too, was once beaten by his father with a heavy staff for accidentally cutting the root of a melon vine, and nearly died. These are all examples of how outward circumstances cannot be guaranteed.

When wood rubs against wood, it catches fire. Wood and fire are naturally linked: fire takes wood as its root and dwells within it, appearing through friction, yet in turn it harms the wood. Metal melts when it meets fire. When the movement of Yin-Yang Qi (vital energy) falls into disorder, Heaven and Earth are shaken, and thunder and lightning arise. Fire may even spring from water and burn down a great locust tree. These are all instances of how the transformations of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) are difficult to predict.

When the mind is full of worry, one becomes caught in a dilemma with no way out. Those who cultivate the true can quiet the fires of the five emotions for a time. Those who do not understand the way of cultivation become trapped in anxieties where gain and loss are entangled, and find it hard to escape. The calamities brought by human affairs and by Yin-Yang can also intertwine, leaving people deeply caught in their midst.

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Reading of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the Perfect Scripture of Nanhua

A frog (a kind of small creature) cannot accomplish anything; its mind feels suspended between Heaven and Earth, sunk in dullness, weariness, and despondency. Benefit and harm rub against each other, producing much “fire.” People thus burn and injure their original Qi of harmony: as benefit and harm contend, the mind grows as agitated as a blazing fire, damaging harmony even more than real fire. The commentary says that the moon (a jellyfish living in the sea) cannot hold down fire (a metaphor for distant water being unable to put out a nearby fire). It can only wither and decay, and the Dao reaches its end.

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Zhuangzi was poor and asked Lord Jianhe, an official in charge of the rivers, to lend him some grain. Lord Jianhe said, “Certainly. Once I have collected the tax revenue from my fief, I’ll lend you three hundred gold pieces. How does that sound?” Zhuangzi’s expression changed. “Yesterday, as I was walking along the road, I heard someone calling out. I turned and saw a crucian carp in a wheel rut. I asked, ‘Fish, what are you doing here?’ It replied, ‘I am a minister of the Eastern Sea, a humble subject of the waters. Could you spare a peck or a pint of water to save me?’ I said, ‘All right. I’m heading south to Wu and Yue. I’ll ask the king to send the waters of the Western River to meet you. How about that?’ The crucian carp’s expression changed too. ‘I have lost the water I depend on and have nowhere to live. A peck or a pint of water would keep me alive. What you’re proposing is worse than just coming to find me at the dried-fish stall.’”

The commentary explains that when Zhuangzi asked for grain, his point was that nourishing life requires only keeping the body alive; there is no need to crave a surplus. Water was the fish’s “Heaven,” the support on which it relied. Once it lost the water, it had no support and nowhere to dwell. The “dried-fish stall” means the place where dried fish are sold.

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Lord Ren made a huge hook and thick line, using fifty castrated oxen as bait. (This portrays a person who hopes to accomplish great things in the world.) He crouched at Kuaiji, cast his line into the Eastern Sea, and fished day after day for a year without catching anything. Then a huge fish swallowed the bait. It dragged the giant hook down, then swept its tail and raised its fins; white waves rose like mountains, the sea shook, and the sound stirred ghosts and spirits. Its power struck fear across a thousand miles. Lord Ren caught the fish, cut it up, and dried the meat. From east of the Zhejiang River to north of Cangwu, there was more than enough for everyone to eat.

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Main idea: A peck of water nearby can keep someone alive; talking of sending the Western River to meet the fish is like telling someone to go to a dried-fish stall. The grain-lending episode mocks the idea that distant help can put out a nearby fire. Lord Ren fishes for a year without success, then catches a giant fish in a single day. This suggests that great accomplishments require great means and substantial preparation, along with the patience to endure solitude. That is a very different path from competing with the crucian carp for a peck or a pint.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

(After the preceding parable about “not being content with small fish.”) Later generations of writers of modest ability, who knew only how to use satire and moralizing, found this astonishing and passed the story around to one another.

With a short rod and thin line, waiting beside a field ditch to catch small fish, how could anyone hope to land a big one? The same is true of seeking office and rank through flashy little essays: such writing is just as far from any real achievement. We have never heard of anyone with the grand scale of Ren Shi. A person like that could never discuss the great principles of governing the world with petty scholars bound by convention.

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Confucian scholars treasure the Book of Poetry and the Rites, but in truth this is like robbing a tomb. The Book of Poetry and the Rites are merely traces left behind by the ancients, like decayed, foul-smelling things in a grave. Treating these traces as truth and teaching them to others—is that any different from breaking into a tomb to steal the rotten flesh of the dead?

A “Great Confucian” sent word down the line (the term “transmitting the call” originally referred to names being read aloud from above during the palace examination; here it mocks a Great Confucian ordering lesser scholars about) and said, “It’s dawn in the east. What should we do?”

The lesser scholar replied, “There’s no need to untie his robe. He has a pearl in his mouth.”

The Great Confucian said, “Isn’t it in the Book of Poetry?” and quoted a poem as proof:

Green wheat grows
on the banks of the burial mound.
He would not give while alive;
why should he hold a pearl in his mouth when dead?

The Great Confucian continued, “Grab his beard, hold down his jaw, and use a golden mallet to pry open his mouth. Slowly pull his cheeks apart—be careful not to damage the pearl inside.”

(Commentary: The Book of Poetry and the Rites are like the pearls held in the mouths of the ancients. Confucian scholars teach their disciples to steal this inheritance, yet imagine they can preserve its ‘ancient spirit’ without giving themselves away. How could that make any sense?)

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When Lao Laizi’s disciple returned from gathering firewood, he met Confucius. He turned back and told Lao Laizi, “There’s a man over there with a straight upper body and a hurried gait below; his back is slightly hunched, and his ears lie close to the back of his head. Yet his gaze seems to survey the world in every direction.”

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Note: This passage comes from a commentary on the Zhuangzi. With sharp images of fishing for small fish, robbing a tomb for pearls, and prying open a mouth to seize a pearl, it mocks Confucian scholars for clinging to the old traces of the Book of Poetry and the Rites and pursuing office through trivial literary skill. These scholars are contrasted with the great talent and purpose represented by Ren Shi. The final sentence, “Lao Laizi’s disciple meets Zhongni,” begins a separate anecdote describing Confucius’s appearance and expression; the passage that follows often continues the Daoist critique of Confucianism.

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Interpretation

Lao Laizi said, “That man is Confucius.” He called him over. When Zhongni arrived, Lao Laizi said, “Qiu, let go of that stiff air you carry about you, always putting on a show with every movement. Stop relying on your expressions and schemes to deal with people. Only then can you be called a gentleman.”

Zhongni clasped his hands and stepped back several paces. His expression changed, and he asked respectfully, “Can my learning still advance further?”

Lao Laizi said, “You cannot bear to see this generation suffer, yet you indulge yourself and bring calamity upon generations to come. Is this hardship decreed by fate, or do your schemes simply fail to reach that far? Using kindness to win people’s favor and make yourself shine is a disgrace that lasts a lifetime. This is as far as the virtue of ordinary people goes. People use reputation to draw one another close, and secret acts of kindness to bind one another—some confide in others, while some give benefits without letting anyone know, but both are ways of forming private alliances. Rather than praise Yao and condemn Jie, forget them both and shut the door on praise altogether. No one could bear the suffering of an age more than Yao, yet no one brought greater calamity upon an age than Jie. Once one is praised and the other condemned, praise and blame arise. If you cling to neither Yao nor Jie, there will be neither praise nor blame. Forcing an abrupt reversal always harms someone; forcing change always leads people astray. Instruction must proceed gradually: when the people follow what is right, they should not even notice it. If you forcibly drag the world back to the age of Tang and Yu, the people will surely be alarmed, and their inborn nature will be injured. If you urge them to abandon old customs and adopt new laws, they will surely become unruly and turn toward what is wrong. What can a sage do? A sage always hesitates and considers things carefully, never acting rashly; that is why things often succeed. What do you intend to do? Take the burden of all generations upon your own shoulders? In the end, you will only keep up appearances and exhaust yourself for nothing.”

In the middle of the night, Lord Yuan of Song dreamed of someone with disheveled hair peering through a crack in the door. The figure said, “I come from the depths of Zailu. I am a messenger from the Qing River. Yu Qie, a fisherman in the service of the River Earl, has caught me.” Lord Yuan awoke and had the dream interpreted. “It is a divine tortoise,” he was told. He then asked, “Is there a fisherman named Yu Qie?”

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

Zuo You said, “A ruler has summoned me, so tomorrow I must go to court. The ruler will ask, ‘How did you catch fish?’ I will answer, ‘I cast my net and caught a white turtle whose shell was five feet across.’ The ruler will say, ‘Bring the turtle here.’ Once it is brought in, the ruler will twice consider killing it and twice consider releasing it, unable to decide. So he will consult the oracle and say, ‘Killing the turtle for divination will bring good fortune.’ Then he will cut open its shell and bore seventy-two holes in it, and every oracle reading will prove correct.”

Confucius said, “The divine turtle could appear to the Primordial Lord in a dream, yet it could not escape Zuo You’s net. It could foretell the outcome of all seventy-two drillings without error, yet it could not escape the calamity of having its belly cut open. This shows that wisdom has its limits, and spiritual insight cannot reach everything.” (Spiritual insight comes from before birth, while one’s allotted fate is fixed after birth. Laozi said, “Since I have no body, what troubles could I have?” One who holds the body at a distance is not confined by fate.) “Even the highest wisdom is not as good as consulting everyone.” (Even the highest wisdom is not as good as deliberating with the people and combining everyone’s understanding into wisdom.) “Fish fear not the great net, but the pelican.” (Put aside small wisdom and great wisdom becomes clear; put aside deliberate goodness and goodness arises of itself. The great net is impartial, like consulting everyone; the pelican is small and partial, like the wisdom of one person. Fish fear the pelican because it acts with partiality. Small wisdom relies on oneself; great wisdom relies on things as they are. When people stop relying on their own wisdom, great wisdom appears of itself. Goodness arises of itself: I do not know what makes it good. When people do not claim goodness as their own and let go of it, all forms of goodness gather, and goodness arises naturally.) A baby is born without a teacher of speech, yet learns to talk by being among people who can speak.” (Custom shapes people. Though people have understanding, they should still deliberate with everyone.)

Huizi said to Zhuangzi, “What you say is useless.” Zhuangzi replied, “Only when you understand what is useless can I speak with you about use.” (Lü Jifu said: People in the world regard knowledge and ability as useful, and their absence as useless. They do not realize that what is useless is precisely the source from which usefulness arises.) The earth is not lacking in breadth or size, yet people use only enough of it to stand on. Suppose you cut away the ground around their feet and dig down to the Yellow Springs. Would the ground still be of use to them? Huizi said, “No.” Zhuangzi replied, “Then…”

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Interpretation of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence

The principle of “the use of what seems useless” is quite clear. When we walk, our feet touch only a small patch of ground. Why must we leave an “extra patch of empty space” before we dare to walk slowly or take a long stride? If the empty space were dug all the way down to the Yellow Springs, people would no longer dare to walk. This is where “the use of what seems useless” is most evident.

Zhuangzi says: If someone can “roam,” how can we say that they do not roam? If someone cannot roam, how can we say that they do? “Roaming” means wandering freely, apart from worldly life. People’s natural capacities may be keen or dull, so some can roam and others cannot. Those with open, untroubled minds are naturally like people who have left the world behind; those burdened by worldly ties are naturally like people immersed in it.

Who could bear the resolve to flee the world, with such uncompromising conduct, unless they had the utmost understanding and abundant De? Ordinary people are caught up in external things—who would not turn back? When a fire spreads, who would not worry about home? Only a perfected person can refrain from turning back or worrying about home. Only then can we speak of truly “roaming.”

People may serve as ruler and subject to one another for a time, but when the age changes, they can no longer be treated as noble or lowly. That is why a perfected person leaves no fixed trace in the world. We see that in worldly life some are noble and others lowly for a time, and they are called ruler and subject. But after generations have passed, what remains of nobility or lowliness? A perfected person regards worldly affairs as floating clouds and leaves no wheel tracks in the halls of government. This is what is meant by: If someone can roam, how can we say that they do not?

Revering antiquity and looking down on the present is a habit of conventional scholars. If we judge the present by the learning passed down from the line of Xiwei, who could avoid being swept along with the tide? Only a perfected person can wander through the world without going astray, accommodating human feeling without losing who they are.

They do not need to rely on any doctrine in order to roam. Sometimes a perfected person goes along with another’s wishes, but that does not mean they are following a teaching for those who cannot roam. I remain myself, and the other remains the other. How could another person’s doctrine lead me by the nose?

When the eyes perceive clearly, this is clarity; when the ears perceive clearly, this is acuity; when the nose perceives clearly, this is the sense of smell—the original text says “aperture,” referring to the nostrils’ ability to smell. Each sense serves its purpose without becoming entangled in external things.

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Interpretation

The ability to distinguish flavors with the mouth is called “sweetness”; to distinguish them thoroughly is called “knowing”; when knowing is thorough, it is called “De (Virtue/Power).” In short, the Dao (the Way) does not like to be obstructed. Once blocked, it becomes choked; if the choking continues, things trample over one another, and all kinds of harm arise.

(If a person’s ears, eyes, mouth, nose, heart, and knowing are not clogged by sounds, sights, smells, and flavors, they can be keen, clear, discerning, knowing, and endowed with De. Once clogged, they become choked and blocked. When there is no free passage, things trample over one another, gain and loss contend, and every harm arises from this.)

All living beings with awareness depend on “breath”—respiration and vital energy. If the breath is not vigorous, Heaven is not to blame. Heaven has opened passages for people’s breath, which rises and falls without pause, day and night; it is people themselves who block those openings.

(A person lives as long as a single breath remains; when the breath departs, they die. The breath flows in and out with the waxing and waning of the Zi and Wu hours, following Yin-Yang to the left and right. If it is not vigorous, the Qi is weak. Heaven has opened passages in people, with breath rising and falling; yet people block these passages themselves, preventing their original vital energy from circulating in step with Heaven. How lamentable!)

The womb—an organ of the body, like the bladder or fetal membranes—needs an “open expanse” for Qi to flow. The heart is the same: when its center is clear and still, it becomes the Great Void. That is why it is said, “The heart has a heavenly roaming.” A room is the same, whether it is a dwelling or the “room” within the heart: it must be empty so that a woman and her mother-in-law can each find their place. Otherwise, they quarrel and rage against one another. How much more so when the human heart has no “heavenly roaming”: the six openings—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—then contend and seize from one another, leaving no peace. The six openings are the six thieves. When the original Shen (spirit) is disturbed, one longs to find a quiet place to settle; hence, great forests and mountains seem “good.” In truth, this is because one’s spirit cannot overcome the outer world. If one’s spirit were strong enough to overcome it, why would one need the mountains and forests to find what is good?

When De is full, it overflows into “reputation”; when reputation is full, it overflows into exposure. Scheming under pressure descends into urgency and contention. Cleverness arises from strife. Restraint and clinging to the old arise from holding fast to official position. In public affairs, one seeks to conform to what suits the people.

(The highest De does not claim to possess De, and so has no reputation. Where there is reputation, De has overflowed, like water from a full vessel. When one’s conduct is openly displayed rather than kept within, reputation overflows. If those in authority press their subordinates too urgently, people respond with clever stratagems; thus come calculation and mutual contention, with schemes and anxieties multiplying.)

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Interpretation

Plain-language interpretation

First passage: Holding to things and making decisions

“Where things emerge from” refers to where things come into being and where they become stuck. When people cling stubbornly to external things and keep dwelling on gains and losses, their hearts fill with clutter, and they find themselves at odds with the world around them at every turn.

“Official” means one who takes charge and makes judgments; it refers to the person responsible for a matter. Some things are suitable for one particular person to do, but not for a group to do together. They should not be forced through by a decision. They can be carried out decisively only when everyone considers them appropriate and can take responsibility for them.

Second passage: Spring rain, farm tools, and the alchemical chamber

When spring rain falls at the right time, plants thrive, as if driven by a force of vigorous growth. Farmers then repair their zhi and nou hoes and other tools, and begin working the fields.

After a while, most of the transplanted and grafted plants have taken root, though people may not understand how this happens.

With timely spring rain, plants grow quickly; even farmers know to repair their tools and work the fields. Yet ordinary people have not heard that an immortal master sets up an alchemical chamber, prepares its vessels, and gathers medicinal substances to “continue life”—sustaining one’s lifespan and extending one’s years.

Have they not heard that when a plant’s offspring is put into the earth, it is called “sowing,” and when its roots are put into the earth, it is called “transplanting”? Breaking off a branch and joining it to another plant is called “grafting.” Plants have no awareness, yet an old branch can still be joined to a young one. As human beings are the most spiritually endowed of all creatures, can their nature and life not likewise be continued? Thus, legends of ancestral masters “inserting plum branches and entrusting them to willows” arose from the image in the Book of Changes of “a withered poplar putting forth new shoots.”

Those who receive an immortal master’s transmission understand how this works. Sadly, most people do not believe it, nor do they reflect on what “continuing life” actually means.

Third passage: Stillness practice, toil, and ease

Cultivating stillness can help remedy illness; extinguishing cravings and desires can bring peace in old age; and a calm heart can put an end to agitation and panic.

Even so, these are practices for those who toil—that is, those still suffering illness and striving to bring about change. They are not paths that those already at ease and free from toil would seek out.

Thus, what sages use to shake the world is not something spirit-like beings necessarily inquire about; what worthy people use to shake their age is not something sages necessarily inquire about; what gentlemen use to shake their state is not something worthy people necessarily inquire about; and the ways petty people use to curry favor with the times are not something gentlemen necessarily inquire about.

Here, “those at ease” also refers to the states of the spirit-like and the sage. Spirit-like beings and sages follow different paths; worthy people and gentlemen each rely on their own abilities; and gentlemen and petty people differ in their commitment to righteousness or self-interest. “Startle” means to shock or stir people up. Each level may startle those below it, while those on a higher level often never ask about it, because they no longer revolve within the same concerns of gain, loss, and worldly distinction.

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Interpretation

[Continuing from the previous passage] Speaking of people’s seeing and hearing, their questioning and their seeking: the previous passage discussed those who toil and those who are at ease. If one does not ask, one can still know what concerns the sages and the spirit-like people. The gentleman and the worthy person, and then the petty person, fall progressively lower; therefore, what they do not ask about amounts only to the implements of ritual, music, and culture. The petty person concerns himself only with techniques and numerology. Since those who follow different ways cannot counsel one another, there are people whose faults go unquestioned.

[Yanmen] At Yanmen, a man whose relative had died grieved so intensely that he wasted away. Those above him praised this as virtuous, stripped him of his rank, and appointed him as an official instructor. Half of his followers then grieved themselves to death. Yao offered the world to Xu You, but Xu You fled from it. Tang offered it to Wuguang, but Wuguang grew angry. Jita (the character ta is pronounced tuo) heard of this, led his disciples, and withdrew in contempt to Kuanshui (the character kuan is pronounced kuan). The feudal lords mourned him for three years. Shentu Di, following their example, threw himself into the river.

(Yanmen is a place name. “Praised for wasting away” means that when someone grieved for a dead relative and wept bitterly, those above him considered this virtuous, stripped him of his rank, and appointed him as an official instructor. His followers admired him, and more than half grieved themselves to death. They failed to gain rank and instead lost their lives: this was an excess of love for reputation. As for Xu You’s avoidance of Yao, Jita’s withdrawal to Kuanshui after hearing of it, Wuguang’s plunge into the abyss, and Shentu Di’s drowning himself in imitation, what was the point? Those two were the ones who first set the example. Reputation is not something the sage prizes. Thus the perfected person has no name, and people have nothing to imitate.)

[Fish Traps and Rabbit Snares] A fish trap is used to catch fish; once you have the fish, you forget the trap. A snare is used to catch a rabbit; once you have the rabbit, you forget the snare. Words are used to convey meaning; once you have grasped the meaning, you forget the words. Where can I find someone who has forgotten words, so that I may speak with him?

(A fish trap is a basket for catching fish; a rabbit snare is a loop used to catch rabbits. Once the catch is secured, they are no longer of use. Words carry meaning; once the meaning is grasped, the words may be forgotten. Only someone who has forgotten words can be spoken with, and can put into practice the teaching that goes beyond words. Buddhist teaching says: “To cross a river, you need a raft; once you reach the far shore, you no longer need the boat.” The same idea applies here.)

[Fuguizi] Things in the world have an inner and an outer aspect. What lies within can be counted on; what comes from outside cannot. If calamity comes from outside, the loyal and the treacherous perish alike. If we assume that loyalty is always rewarded, then Wu Zixu would not have drowned in the river, and Chang Hong would not have turned into jade. If we assume that filial devotion always succeeds, then Xiaoyi would not have worried about being driven away, and Zeng Shen would not have had to kill his own parent. When loyalty and filial devotion are confined within, while calamity comes from outside, the loyal and the treacherous perish alike, and filial devotion and compassion alike are lost. Thus it is clear how loyalty and filial devotion can become a hindrance.

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Interpretation

To grieve over one’s injuries—are human affairs the only things that cannot be relied upon? Wood is not fire, yet when wood rubs against wood, fire arises. Gold is not water, yet if fire is applied to gold and kept there, the gold melts and flows; this, too, is in keeping with the natural order. But when Yin and Yang move out of alignment, Heaven and Earth are thrown into great upheaval: thunder and rain rage together, fire appears in water, and a great locust tree can be burned. This is the water and fire of Heaven and Earth. When a person’s heart is deeply troubled, however, water arises within. One might still swim after falling into an abyss, but when one is trapped in the water within the heart, there is nowhere to flee. A house consumed by Zhu Rong’s fire can still be saved. But when gain and loss rub against each other, the heart’s fire arises and burns away much of one’s harmony. The water in the moon cannot put out the fire in the human heart. To let it go, beyond remedy, is to bring life itself to an end.

Zhuang Zhou was poor, so he went to borrow grain from the Marquis of the River Authority. The marquis said he would wait to collect the taxes from his fief, then lend him three hundred measures. Zhuang Zhou’s face changed. “Yesterday, as I came along, I saw a crucian carp in a wheel rut. It said, ‘I am a subject of the Eastern Sea. How can you give me even a dipperful of water to keep me alive?’” Zhuang Zhou said, “I am about to visit the kings of Wu and Yue. I’ll divert the waters of the Western River to save you. Would that do?” The carp’s face changed. “I have lost my accustomed home. A dipperful of water would keep me alive. Instead of waiting for the distant Western River to come, you’d do better to look for me soon at the dried-fish stall. There I’d be close at hand, and better able to survive.”

So it is with those who cultivate life: though they have true water within their bodies, they cannot pour it over their heads like sweet dew and bring the Five Qi to the Origin. What a pity. Lord Ren made a huge hook and an enormous line, used fifty castrated oxen as bait, and cast his rod into the Eastern Sea. A great fish swallowed the bait, and the sea was shaken. Lord Ren caught the fish and dried it, leaving it as a shocking warning for later generations. How much clearer, then, that those who boast of petty stories to win a county magistrate’s favor would do better to follow the Great Way and bring order to the world.

The Odes and the Rites are traces left by the ancients, but what left those traces was not the Odes and the Rites; it was their spirit. What difference is there between people today who recite the Odes and the Rites of the ancients and those who open their tombs, find their stench and decay, yet fail to recover their spirit? A minor scholar said, “The clothes beneath the burial robes have not been undone”—meaning that the canonical texts had not yet been seen. The pearl in the mouth, he said, was the Odes and the Rites. A minor scholar composed a verse mocking a great scholar: “Green, green the wheat, growing on the slopes. If in life you gave nothing to others, what pearl should you hold in your mouth when dead?” This mocks him for having been unable to save the world in life, and for doing no more than…

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Interpretation of the Commentary on the Nanhua Zhenjing

Later readers said of their writings, “The pearl in the mouth remains unharmed.” They were imitating the traces those people left behind, but had lost the spiritual principle within them. Can this really be called understanding?

A disciple of Lao Laizi went out to gather firewood. On the road, he met Confucius. When he returned, he told Lao Laizi, “There was a man over there, upright in the upper body and leaning forward below. He did not bend at the waist, yet seemed to be leaning backward. His gaze was as if searching across the four seas. I could not tell whose disciple he was.” Lao Laizi said, “Call him here.”

When Confucius arrived, Lao Laizi said, “Let go of your self-importance, and set aside your bearing and appearance. Then you will look like a gentleman.” Confucius asked, “May I learn more from your teachings?” Lao Laizi replied, “To grieve over this age because you cannot bear it, and so worry about ten thousand generations to come, is not a sign that fate has condemned you to hardship; it shows that your wisdom cannot reach that level. If you do not know how to win people over with benefits, ordinary people will think your Virtue is improving. To entice people with fame and form bonds through private dealings is to praise Yao while disparaging Jie. I think it is better to forget both praise and blame, so that there is neither censure nor acclaim. Those who rush to restore the world to the age of Tang and Yu are precisely the ones who wound people’s true nature. Those who rush to move people with benevolence and righteousness are precisely the ones who open up a crooked path beyond benevolence and righteousness. Only the sage can practice Wuwei (non-action) and thereby leave nothing undone. Those whose kindness does not reach even one generation, yet who want to bring order to ten thousand generations, are simply laboring in vain.”

In the middle of the night, Lord Yuan of Song dreamed that someone came to plead with him: “I am the envoy of the Qing River. I was on my way to see the Earl of the River when the fisherman Yu Qie caught me.” After waking, Lord Yuan had the dream interpreted. He was told, “It was a divine tortoise.” He then sought out the fisherman Yu Qie and summoned him to ask, “What did you catch?” Yu Qie replied, “A white tortoise.” Lord Yuan ordered him to present it. They killed the tortoise for divination, boring seventy-two holes into its shell, and every prediction proved accurate.

Confucius said, “The divine tortoise could appear to Lord Yuan of Song in a dream, yet could not escape Yu Qie’s net. That was fate. It could withstand seventy-two drillings without a single failed prediction, yet could not escape the disaster of having its belly cut open. That, too, was inescapable fate. From this we can see that where knowledge reaches, there must also be something it cannot reach; where the spirit can accomplish something, there must also be something beyond its power. A person’s plans cannot match the plans of many, just as a fish knows to fear the pelican but does not know to fear the net. Why? Small knowledge is a calamity for great knowledge, so one must cast off small knowledge to become clear. ‘Goodness’ can itself become a burden on goodness, so one must cast off ‘goodness’ to become more truly good. An infant can speak without having to learn how.”

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Interpretation

What can be put into words belongs to a particular situation; what cannot be put into words is the root of “great speech.”

What seems useless is precisely the foundation of great usefulness.

The ground touched by your foot is only a small patch. The vast area your foot does not touch is what makes stepping possible—as when you walk, it is the whole earth that supports you, not merely the inch beneath your sole.

Seen from the side of “uselessness,” could it really be unimportant?

Zhuangzi says: People’s innate capacities may be keen or dull.

Can those who leave the world behind and roam beyond its bounds really be confined within them?

And can those who enter worldly life, with their aims set within its bounds, never wander beyond them?

Roaming freely is a will to drift away and a decisive act of departure.

It is beyond the reach of anyone who is not supremely wise and awakened, possessed of deep De and the energy of the Dao;

and beyond the reach of anyone who has not fallen and failed to return, or let the fire escape and paid it no heed.

I look at the dusty world: in one era, ruler and minister differ in rank; in another, who is high and who is low?

Thus, the halls of government bear no lasting traces of the Perfected One’s carriage wheels.

The ancients could not have acted otherwise, nor can people today. It is like water, which is never naturally level or waveless: the Perfected One can move both squarely and in a circle—walking straight without leaning, and moving sideways without drifting.

Unless one has seen through everything, how could one’s eyes be clear, ears keen, nose open, mouth taste sweetness, mind be wise, and understanding grasp De?

Once things are seen through, nothing remains blocked—that is why the Dao does not favor obstruction. When blocked, it is like choking: food cannot go down, one is bound to be trampled, and every kind of illness arises.

One inhalation and one exhalation make up a person’s breath; one rising and one sinking mark the movement of Qi up and down. Heaven is naturally connected with humanity, yet people block themselves off. Why do this?

When the womb has no layered chamber, this one Qi cannot circulate everywhere; when the heart has no roaming in Heaven, the six openings jostle one another and cannot rest. Otherwise the spirit is disturbed—what joy could there be?

What does it matter to find a good place? If my spirit is truly still, the world’s roads may be noisy while my heart remains quiet. What need is there to speak of a “good” place?

De should not overflow—those whose reputation overflows only burden themselves. In planning, it is best to make room and consult others; those who inquire in haste will surely govern their subordinates in haste.

Knowledge arises from rivalry, and fixation from rigid adherence. An officeholder may be suited to one person, yet not to the many—a decisive judgment sometimes needs to rest on the counsel of the group.

When spring rain falls at the right time and Yin-Yang are in harmony, plants and trees flourish abundantly. How is this different from anger bringing forth life? Many plant things, but more than half plant them upside down. Plants and trees, though without awareness, can still be grafted and joined; they do not know how, yet it happens. People understand the principle of grafting trees, and should understand the way of grafting life: my life is governed by me, not by Heaven.

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Interpretation

Quiet sitting can dispel illness, curbing unrestrained desires can slow aging, and profound stillness can quell impatience and exhaustion. These are all things the people of the world seek. Yet those who are at ease and content have never so much as stopped to inquire about them. The difference between the sacred and the ordinary lies in the traces their actions leave behind; the difference between the worthy and the gentleman lies in their abilities. Those who never stop to inquire speak in terms of De (Virtue/Power). Gentlemen and petty people, by contrast, are distinguished by righteousness and profit. Those who never stop to inquire have nothing to do with those whose Dao is different.

A man in the state of Song, while in mourning, excelled at wearing mourning clothes and grieved so excessively that he won an official title. More than half of his fellow clansmen died after imitating his excessive grief. Xu You and Wu Guang both heard of the offer to yield the realm: one washed his ears to avoid hearing it, while the other threw himself into an abyss and died. Ji Ta and Shentu Di heard of it too, and plunged into the river. All these people gained renown through “yielding.” But who knows that the Perfected One has no name at all?

A fish trap and a rabbit snare are used to catch fish and rabbits. Once the fish and rabbit are caught, the trap and snare can be forgotten. Words are used to convey meaning; once the meaning is grasped, the words can be forgotten too. Where can we find someone who has forgotten words, so that we may honor the teaching beyond words?

Miscellaneous Chapters: Parables, Chapter 27

(This chapter is Zhuangzi’s own account of the purpose behind his writing the Jing. A person should put hearing the Dao first, as Yan Cheng Ziyou studied the Dao for nine years and reached a wondrous state. One must not be like a shadow that depends on a body, or like a cicada’s shell that separates from it and cannot rejoin it—for then the shadow vanishes. Yet even within what one depends on, there is something else one depends on: one must not be like a shadow that depends on fire and sunlight, for in an instant darkness takes their place, and the shadow vanishes again. The human body is like a shadow, life like fire and sunlight, and death like the darkness of night. When the original spirit departs but the body remains, how is that different from a cicada’s shell or a snake’s cast skin? And where, then, is the “vital force”? Zhuangzi and Laozi use this analogy to remind people to hasten to seek companions and visit immortal masters in pursuit of long life.)

“Parables make up nineteen parts, authoritative sayings seventeen, and goblet words emerge daily, harmonizing everything at the heavenly pivot.” (Here the Master explains his purpose in writing. “Parables” are like the figurative mode in poetry: what is said concerns human affairs, while what is meant often concerns the Great Dao. This is the sense of Mencius’s phrase, “the words are near, but their meaning reaches far.” Guo Xiang said that “entrusting words to another person” is what makes them parables; this is wrong. What is said is plain, so nine out of ten statements are believed. “Authoritative sayings” means borrowing the words of ancient rulers, sages, and worthy people to win people’s trust; these make up seven out of ten. “Goblet words” are like goblet wine, easy to drink, suggesting words that are easy to take in.)

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Interpretation

“Harmony” means bringing things together and blending them. “Heavenly beginnings” refers to the first glimmer, the slender gateway, within a person’s inborn nature. To use “goblet words”—speech that changes with its vessel, like wine being poured—to bring these heavenly beginnings into harmony is to speak in a way that stirs people to awaken their nature.

“Parable makes up nine-tenths” means discussing things by way of external examples: a father does not act as a matchmaker for his own son. A father’s praise of his son carries less weight than praise from someone who is not his father. Many people cannot understand discussions of nature and the mysterious, so parables must be used. Even those with dull faculties can then gain insight. The Dao cannot be spoken of directly, just as a father should not praise his own son. This is not my fault for favoring parables; it is the consequence of those with dull faculties bringing it upon themselves.

“When something agrees with oneself, one goes along with it; when it does not, one opposes it”—people affirm what accords with their own views and reject what does not. They take what agrees with them to be right, and what differs from them to be wrong.

“Quotations make up seven-tenths” means using them to “put an end to words.” People naturally like what is familiar and dislike what is different; they naturally call what they agree with right and what they oppose wrong. So the words of the ancients are invoked to put an end to this kind of partiality.

This amounts to treating people who are older or higher in rank as being in the right. But without genuine learning in the “warp and woof, roots and branches”—that is, without knowledge of the fundamental patterns and the primary and derivative aspects of the Dao—relying on age alone to command belief puts judgments of right and wrong ahead of reason. A person who has no understanding of the Way that places them ahead of others is not truly a person. Someone without the human Way is called a “stale person”: old and devoid of new life. I respect the aged because they have heard what I have not, not because of their years. “Warp and woof” refers to the patterns of Heaven and Earth; “roots and branches” refers to the foundation and outgrowths of the Great Dao. People will believe someone who has advanced knowledge in these matters. If a person has not heard the Dao, there is nothing in which they can be ahead of others. As the Supreme One says, “Know the person, and leap beyond the dust”—this is the human Way. How does Heaven bring forth the human being? How can a person complete Jing, Qi, and Shen and become a perfected person? Otherwise, one is merely a stale person, like the “stale dead” of an ancient poem. What value, then, is there in age?

“Goblet words emerge day by day, harmonized with the heavenly beginnings, and thereby spread without end, so that one may pass the years.” A goblet is a wine vessel; words that carry fine meaning into people’s ears are called goblet words. “Emerge day by day” means they renew themselves daily and are never repeated. “Harmony” is like blending ingredients into a soup. “Spread without end” is like creeping vines or flowing waves, continuing to grow without cease. Such words help one pass the years.

“If one does not speak, things are equal”: if one stops speaking of right and wrong, sameness and difference, and simply holds to this teaching, one returns to a single principle.

“To call things equal or unequal is itself unequal”: viewed in relation to each other, “equal” and “unequal” remain unequal.

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Interpretation

On “Words” and “Making Things Equal”

Words cannot force things into equality. To make things equal is to bring them into one whole; once they are one, there is no need for words. But if you think they have already become one and still speak, they are no longer equal. Hence the saying: words and equality are themselves unequal. When people do not speak, the mind can remain unified. The moment words of right and wrong enter, unity disperses again. This is why it is said, “Speak without speaking.” The distinctions between you and me, self and other, were never equal to begin with. Better to say nothing for now and let them come into equality of their own accord.

“Speaking without speaking” means spending a whole lifetime talking as though one had never spoken, or spending a whole lifetime in silence as though one had never stopped speaking. The sage teaches both through words and through silence. Here the focus is on teaching through silence, as if the sage had never opened their mouth. To remain silent for a lifetime does not mean forcing oneself to say nothing. The sage teaches through silence, yet that silence seems full of words.

On “What Is So of Itself,” “Right,” and “Acceptable”

Everything has its own “what is so of itself”: its own cause and condition. Some such grounds can be relied upon; others should not be taken as fixed. What is “right” or “not right,” “acceptable” or “unacceptable,” each has its own ground as well. What makes something right? Follow what makes it right in the thing itself. What makes something not right? Recognize it as not right where the thing itself gives reason to do so. What makes something acceptable? Accept it where it is acceptable. What makes something unacceptable? Hold to that judgment where it is unacceptable. Everything under Heaven has its own reasons for being as it is and for being acceptable; nothing is absolutely “not right” or absolutely “unacceptable.” These are not empty words poured casually from a wine jar.

“Harmonizing with Heaven’s Bounds” and “Heaven’s Equalizing”

If people merely rise at sunrise and work, who can endure for long by using words that harmonize with Heaven’s bounds—that is, with nature’s distinctions and inherent character? The judgments of ordinary people about what is acceptable or not, right or not, each have their own origins. Only by bringing things into equality in accordance with what is right and acceptable in them can harmony last. If you do not use words in accord with nature to harmonize different voices, but instead insist that everyone adopt your own standards of right and wrong, how could that last?

Consider the underlying pattern of all things: lives of every kind are like seeds. Though their forms differ, they are passed on from generation to generation, one form transforming into another. The process is like a ring with no end, and no fixed order can be found. This is called Heaven’s Equalizing: the equality that arises naturally. Heaven’s Equalizing is Heaven’s Bounds: Heaven’s distinctions, or nature’s own equality.

Zhuangzi’s Words to Huizi

Zhuangzi said to Huizi: Confucius lived to be sixty, and over those sixty years his views changed sixty times. What he had judged right in his youth, he later judged wrong. Who knows whether what you call “right” today might be exactly what you called “wrong” at the age of fifty-nine?

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Interpretation

Huizi said, “Confucius diligently set his mind on his aims and put what he knew into practice.”

Zhuangzi said, “Confucius had long since given up that approach. He would not speak of such things. Confucius once said: ‘Inborn talent comes from the great source—the root of Heaven and Earth, the origin of creation—and is brought forth again through spiritual insight. When it gives voice, it accords with the rhythms; when it speaks, it accords with the laws. It places right and benefit before us, while likes and dislikes, right and wrong, are merely a matter of following people’s tastes.’ The talent spoken of here is great talent bestowed by Heaven, not petty cleverness. It arises from one’s innate nature and spirit, and De (Virtue/Power) nurtures it. At times it cries out to express its purpose, in harmony with musical tones; at times it speaks to set an example for the world, fitting with established norms. It can lay right and benefit before us without disturbing the mind; likes and dislikes, right and wrong, cannot throw it into confusion. Yet this is still teaching through words: it can win people’s assent, but not their hearts.

“What can win people’s hearts, so that they would not dare defy it, must be teaching without words. Only when people’s hearts are settled is the world truly at peace. Is it settled? Is it settled? I fear I have not yet reached the state that wins people’s hearts.” These are all Confucius’s words.

When Zengzi took office again, his heart shifted once more, moved by his salary. He said, “When my parents were alive, my official stipend was only three fu, yet I was happy. Later, my stipend was three thousand zhong, but my parents were gone, and I felt sorrow instead.” A disciple asked Confucius, “Can someone like Zeng Shen be said to have escaped the fault of being attached?” Confucius replied, “He is already attached. Can someone with no attachments feel grief? He would regard three fu and three thousand zhong as no more than storks, sparrows, mosquitoes, and gnats flying past his eyes.”

The disciple suspected that Zengzi’s changing from sorrow to happiness, and back again, showed he still had attachments. Confucius’s reply, “He is already attached,” means that his heart remained bound to his parents and his stipend. One who is truly free of attachments would feel neither sorrow nor joy over a larger or smaller salary. Only if Zengzi could regard his stipend as birds and insects passing before his eyes would he be liberated.

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Interpretation

The reason grief and joy arise is that the heart is attached and bound to something. If nothing binds it, external things pass before the eyes like mosquitoes and gnats flying by. Why should they provoke grief or joy? One must go further still: titles and stipends must be unable to enter the heart, and not even the slightest distracting thought should find a foothold.

Yan Cheng Ziyou said to Dongguo Ziqi, “Since I began listening to you speak of the Dao, after one year I returned to simplicity; after two, I became compliant; after three, I reached understanding; after four, I was transformed along with things; after five, I returned anew; after six, spirit entered; after seven, I was formed by Heaven; after eight, I no longer knew death or life; and after nine, I entered the Great Mystery.”

Commentary: “Wild” means returning to original simplicity. “Compliant” means yielding, with no resistance to distinctions between right and wrong or to likes and dislikes. “Understanding” means being free of self and others, without obstruction. “Things” are like withered wood, devoid of emotion and awareness. “Returning” refers to what is neither illusory nor annihilated, as if what has gone away comes back; the Buddhist term “Thus Come One” (Tathāgata) originally comes from this. “The spirit enters” means sharing with spirits in their contraction and expansion. “Formed by Heaven” means sharing in Heaven’s transformations. Yet there is still a further stage: “There has never been Heaven, never been a human, never been a thing, never been a beginning.” Thus the practice in the eighth and ninth years becomes ever more subtle. Not knowing there is death means not dying; not knowing there is life means not being born. The Buddhist phrase “neither arising nor ceasing” originally comes from this.

In life, one acts; in death, one does not act. I urge you to meet death with impartiality, because you think of death as having a self—a ruler, a private will. But life belongs to Yang and seems suddenly to emerge from what has no self. Do you truly believe it has no self? Is it truly without a self? Not knowing that birth is already death, and death already birth, is an inevitable truth. One need only let the transformations of things shape and refine one.

“Going” means departing, or the place one goes to. Why must life be taken as attaining its proper destination, as “going” into life? Why must death be taken as failing to reach the destination one ought not to go to, as not “going” into death? Do not dare contend with the transformations of things.

Heaven has its calendar and cycles; Earth has its…

(The original passage here seems incomplete; what follows “Earth has” must continue in another passage.)

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Interpretation

This passage explores the interdependent nature of existence through a dialogue between a shadow and its penumbra (wangliang). The shadow says to the penumbra: "You saw me bow my head earlier but now raise it, tie my hair before but now let it down, sit a moment ago but now stand, walk previously but now stop—and you ask why I change so? In truth, all my movements depend on something else (referring to the physical form's actions), like the empty shell shed by a cicada or the sloughed skin of a snake—seemingly similar yet no longer the original substance."

The shadow further explains: "When sunlight or firelight exists, I appear; on cloudy days or at night, I vanish. My entire being depends completely on the physical form (where 'that' refers to the form, and 'I' refers to the shadow)—only when the form changes do I change." This metaphor illustrates how all things are mutually dependent, just as the shadow relies on the form, while the form in turn depends on the greater patterns of creation (zaohua).

The text also discusses the relationship between fate (ming) and spiritual beings (guishen): "If we say there is no fate, why do events unfold with observable regularity? Yet if we say fate exists, we cannot trace its origin. Similarly, if we claim no spiritual beings exist, the law of cause and effect seems manifest; but if we affirm their existence, virtuous deeds don't always bring blessings." Through this dialectical approach, the author demonstrates how the mysteries of cosmic creation far surpass human understanding.

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Interpretation

Shadow and Form

A shadow depends on form in order to exist. What, then, does form depend on in order to exist? Whatever depends on something must have something on which it depends; among those who depend, form holds the power. And as for what “that on which things depend” depends on, who could claim to know? Is form not what the shadow depends on? When form comes, I come with it; when it goes, I go with it. When it grows strong and vigorous, I grow strong and vigorous along with it. What is there to ask about that strength and vigor? Form is the other; I am the shadow. The shadow cannot come and go of itself: it must depend on form in order to come and go. It cannot grow strong of itself: it must depend on form in order to grow strong. If we ask further, “Who is it that grows strong?” can that strong one truly remain strong forever? Know this, and you will know that form is also a shadow, and shadow is also a “Wangliang”—a faint shadow beyond a shadow, an indistinct semblance. All are illusions, not reality. Why do people of purpose not seek out a Perfected One, step beyond dependence, seek their own liberation, and enter the realm where the sun and moon cast no shadows?

Yang Zijü Meets Laozi

Yang Zijü (surname Yang, given name Rong, courtesy name Zijü; Liezi writes his name as Yang Zhu) was traveling south to Pei. Laozi was about to travel west to Qin and invited him to accompany him through the countryside. They reached Liang, where Yang Zijü met Laozi. On the road, Laozi looked up at the sky and sighed. “At first I thought you could be taught. Now I see that you cannot.”

Yang Zijü did not answer. When they reached the lodging house, he washed his hands and rinsed his mouth, combed his hair with a towel and comb, took off his shoes outside the door, and approached on his knees. “Just now, your disciple wanted to ask you something, Master, but you were traveling and had no time, so I did not dare speak. Now that you have some leisure, may I ask why you said I cannot be taught?”

Laozi said, “Your gaze is lifted and your eyes dart about in every direction; you have an air of arrogance. Who would want to associate with you? People will find you difficult and keep their distance. Great whiteness appears sullied: one whose Dao is high remains unstained within, keeps jade within while wearing coarse cloth without, and blends with the dust, so that others do not recognize him—he seems almost disgraced. Abundant De seems insufficient: the higher one’s Dao, the humbler one’s heart; the greater one’s De, the more modest one’s aspirations. One is never satisfied with oneself.”

Yang Zijü’s expression changed at once. “I respectfully accept your instruction.”

The Change at the Lodging House

When he went back again, the lodging house owner came out to welcome him and saw him off. The master of the household carried a mat for him, his wife brought a towel and comb, and the other guests made way for him. The cooks even left the hearth.

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Interpretation

Commentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence — A Plain-Language Reading

I. The Classic and Interlinear Commentary

Original text: “Zao reversed his course, and the recluse began fighting him for a seat.”

Interlinear commentary: This is the same sort of thing as Yang Zhu. Yang Zhu belonged to the “withdrawal” school: retreating from the world and renouncing things. At first he yielded at every turn, going beyond merely “not competing.” Later he turned to grabbing what he could, going beyond merely “no longer yielding.” Why? At first, he displayed his talent and insight, so people respected him when they saw him. Later, he hid himself deeply, and people came to regard him as quite ordinary.

II. Master Fugui’s General Commentary

Master Fugui says: The Perfected One of Southern Florescence, Zhuangzi, reflected that he had written much and feared that people might cling to the traces of words and lose their true meaning. So he explained his own methods of expression. There are three: parables, borrowed sayings, and cup-sayings. Their purpose is to help people find the true thread.

Three Methods of Expression

Method	Purpose	Analogy
Parables	In speaking about human affairs, roughly nine statements out of ten aim to help people preserve their innate nature.	Like a father who does not praise his son: using external things to discuss innate nature is easier to understand than speaking about innate nature directly.
Borrowed sayings	When speaking about emperors, kings, sages, and worthies, roughly seven statements out of ten are grounded in verifiable accounts and aim to keep people from doubting.	Like the teaching that “sameness is not difference”: invoking the words of sages to alert ordinary people makes them more receptive than speaking in generalities.
Cup-sayings	Like wine flowing naturally from a cup, they refresh the palate and, in turn, the heart, stirring people without their noticing.	For people of different capacities—subtle or dull, quick or slow—it is better to use external things to discuss innate nature than to speak of it directly; and, in ordinary speech, it is better to use the true meanings of sages to alert and persuade people.

Why Use “Cup-Sayings”?

People take seniority to follow age. But if you do not hear the Dao before others, you will in the end be called an “old hand,” not a “forebear.” Better to use beautiful, flowing words that let people trace things back to their source. This is the purpose of cup-sayings.

Does the Dao involve speaking or not speaking? Those who speak and those who do not can be treated as equal. But if I make “not speaking” the standard of equality, then the moment I open my mouth, I make things less equal. If speaking and not speaking are both unequal, would it be better not to speak? Or better to speak in a way that is the same as not speaking?

One may speak throughout one’s life without ever truly “speaking”—so speaking and not speaking are equal.

One may remain silent throughout one’s life without ever truly “being silent”—so silence and speech are equal.

What is acceptable or unacceptable, what is so or not so, each has its own grounds. I do not arbitrarily decide what is so or not so; I follow what things themselves make so or not so. I do not arbitrarily decide what is acceptable or unacceptable; I follow what things themselves make acceptable or unacceptable. Each thing has its own nature, and each has its own beginnings. I bring them together and express them through cup-sayings, and so the words of all under Heaven can be brought into accord, and meanings from the distant past can be recovered.

When we count the myriad things, we call them “the myriad.” Their forms differ, yet their underlying principles can be understood together. This is the deeper meaning of Southern Florescence’s three methods of expression.

Note: “Master Fugui” is the commentator on Commentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence. The account of parables, borrowed sayings, and cup-sayings draws on the traditional understanding of Zhuangzi’s style and intent, as found in works including “Discussion on Making All Things Equal” in the Zhuangzi.

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Interpretation

The passage begins with the natural evenness of things and the distinctions among the myriad beings. The transformations of creation (zaohua), the nurturing processes of Heaven and Earth, cycle endlessly, and forms differ from one another. This is tianjun (natural equilibrium). Tianni (natural boundaries and standards) is the basis by which humans fulfill their nature and things fulfill their own being, and none of them go beyond this principle.

It then uses Confucius's life to illustrate cultivation. When Confucius reached sixty, his worldly thoughts and impurities had dissolved, and even his sense of right and wrong had dissolved with them. His words became norms and his conduct became standards. Profit and righteousness were not confused, and his likes, dislikes, and judgments of right and wrong all accorded with the times. It is not difficult to make people submit with their mouths. It is difficult to make their hearts submit.

Zengzi's example is similar. When he first took office, he rejoiced because he could support his parents, and his joy did not lie in the three fu (a very small stipend) of grain. Later, when he held a higher office but could no longer support his parents, sorrow arose in him, and that sorrow did not lie in the thousand zhong (a very large stipend) of grain. This still ties the heart to sorrow and joy. If one can transcend grief and joy and feel no concern for rank and emolument, one is still separated from the Dao by a membrane.

The cultivation of Yancheng Ziyou unfolded over nine years. In the first year he returned to taipu (original simplicity). In the second he accorded with the Dao and did not go against it. In the third he removed the boundary between self and others. In the fourth, emotional cognition no longer clung to things. In the fifth he came and went alone, free and unobstructed, and the Buddhist realm of the Tathāgata (Rulai) arises from this. In the sixth he could command ghosts and spirits and shared their fortune and misfortune. In the seventh, Heaven became himself and he became Heaven, sharing its De (Virtue) with Heaven and Earth. In the eighth he forgot life and death, and the Buddhist teaching of "neither arising nor ceasing" also derives from this. In the ninth, the great wonder merged with the Dao into the true. This is the realm Laozi described as "constantly without desire, so as to observe its subtlety."

While living, one acts and still is not free of selfish thoughts. When one is no longer moved by selfish thoughts, then after death there is no distinction between self and others, and this is great impartiality. Death belongs to Yin and life belongs to Yang, but life and death follow the same path, and Yin and Yang share the same principle, so there is no distinction between what fits and what does not. The patterns of the heavens can be calculated through calendrical reckoning, and the features of the earth can be investigated through maps and records, so Heaven and Earth are very manifest. Bright things are born from dimness, with no discernible end and no discernible beginning. Therefore one may say they have no destiny (ming), yet one cannot say that they have one. Things with form are born from the formless, and every being manifests it. Therefore to say there are no ghosts is not correct. Since it cannot be seen or heard, to say there are ghosts is also not correct. The wangliang (the faint outer shadow) is born from the shadow, and the shadow is born from the form. Its bending and rising, stopping and moving, all follow the form.

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Interpretation

Selections from the Annotations and Commentary on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence, Miscellaneous Chapters, Chapter Twenty-Eight: “Yielding the Throne” — A Modern Interpretation

On Shadow and Form

Blaming Yin alone is not enough to explain a shadow. That is why the text has the shadow speak for itself and argue its case. The shadow says, “Though I follow a person, I cannot understand why I exist.” A shadow appearing on a body is like the empty shell left after a cicada molts, or the old skin left behind when a snake sheds. The comparison is suggestive, but not entirely apt.

A shadow appears in relation to fire and the sun, and vanishes in relation to shade and night. Do we not depend on fire and the sun? Think further: what do fire and the sun depend on? Do they depend on physical form? Fire and the sun come and go, and we follow them; the body waxes and wanes, grows strong and weak, and we follow its changes. If even the shadow is illusory, then surely the body’s strength and Yang Qi (vital energy) may not be “real” either. Why insist on dividing one from the other as real and illusory?

Yangzi Meets Laozi

Yangzi met Laozi on the road. Laozi looked up at the sky and sighed. “I thought you could be taught, but now I see that you cannot.” Yangzi returned home, washed and composed himself, then knelt and came forward to ask, “May I ask why you say I can no longer be taught?”

Laozi replied, “A good judge of people does not look at grand gestures or expressions, but at the space between the brows and eyes. If someone stares wide-eyed, seeing no one around him, who would want to associate with such a person? ‘Great whiteness looks stained’: the purest white seems sullied because it shows no sharpness. ‘Abundant De (Virtue/Power) seems insufficient’: abundant De seems insufficient because it does not flaunt its cleverness. That is where my teaching ends.”

Yangzi composed himself and replied respectfully, “I will take your teaching to heart.”

Before and After the Teaching

Before he was taught, Yangzi was still the same Yangzi. Why, then, did his wife and family spread out his mat and hand him a towel and comb? Why did those tending the fire and cooking avoid his mat and stove? After he was taught, he was still the same Yangzi. Yet the people in the house dared to dispute the mat with him; they did more than simply stop laying it out for him.

This accords with the meaning of the Supreme One (Laozi), who transforms people with a few spare words and in silence. It is also the meaning of “a good merchant hides his goods as though he had none” and “abundant De seems insufficient, almost foolish.” It is better to keep De within than to display it outwardly; better for others to know little than to know nothing of its depth. Yangzi understood in a single moment—his awakening came with astonishing speed.

Note on the Chapter

Su Shi (Su the Elder) believed that the chapters following “Yielding the Throne” may not have been written by Zhuangzi himself. The commentator on this chapter, however, holds that some passages could only have been written with Zhuangzi’s skill, though words may have been altered by Han Confucians. Thus, “it is not entirely Zhuangzi, nor is it entirely not Zhuangzi.”

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Interpretation

The main meaning of the passage:

The Dao’s true function is to cultivate oneself; its lesser uses are for governing the state, and its dregs are for governing the world. This is the heart of Zhuangzi’s teaching of inner sagehood and outer kingship. These three phrases can sum up the entire Nanhua Jing.

This chapter repeatedly invokes people who thought little of wealth and rank and valued life, or who were content with poverty and low status and took joy in following their aspirations. Yet only Wu Zexu of the Northern regions, Bian Sui, and Mao Guang scorned the whole world, preferring to throw themselves into an abyss without regret—a choice our Confucian scholars would not endorse. They did not understand that these three men had foreseen the course of events: today’s abdication and yielding would lead to tomorrow’s punitive campaigns; punitive campaigns would bring usurpation and regicide; usurpation and regicide would lead to massacres; massacres would bring changes to the feudal order; and once that order changed, the court would divide into Chinese and non-Chinese peoples, with the growing disorder of non-Chinese peoples within China. These eminent men saw what was coming first, so they threw themselves into the abyss in advance to halt this trend. This is what Nanhua means when it says that if sages and wisdom are cast aside, the people will not be thrown into disorder, and if measuring vessels and balances are broken, the people will not contend. Such foresight could only be discussed with someone deeply grounded in learning and possessed of a great Dao-like spirit. In later times, few were stirred to follow their example; there have been few like Bo Yi and Shu Qi.

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Yao offered the world to Xu You. Xu You declined, and Yao then offered it to Zizhou Zhifu (Zhifu is pronounced “fu”; it is his courtesy name, and he was also called Zibo).

Yao offered the world to Xu You. Xu You declined, and Yao then offered it to Zizhou Zhifu.

Zizhou Zhifu said: “I could accept the position of Son of Heaven. Even so, I am suffering from a hidden anxiety and am working to treat it. I have no time to govern the world. The world is a weighty responsibility, yet I would not let it harm my life. How much less would I let other things do so? Only someone who does not make the world a concern can be entrusted with it.”

(Only someone who has no personal attachment to the world can govern it without being burdened by it.)

Shun offered the world to Zizhou Zibo. Zizhou Zibo said: “I am suffering from a hidden anxiety and am working to treat it. I have no time to govern the world. The world is a great responsibility, but I would not trade my life for it. This is how a person of the Dao differs from an ordinary person.”

(The first passage says not to let weighty duties damage one’s life; this one says not to exchange one’s life for external things. Both stress the cultivation of life, which is why this is a book of Dao and De.)

Shun offered the world to Shan Juan. Shan Juan said: “I live within the cosmos. In winter I wear fur, and in summer I wear garments of coarse hemp. In spring I plow and sow, giving my body enough work; in autumn I harvest, giving my body enough rest.”

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Key point: Yao and Shun offered the world to Xu You, Zizhou Zhifu, and Shan Juan, and each declined, citing hidden anxiety or contentment with a simple life. Their responses express the ideas that one should not let the world harm one’s life, and that only those who do not make the world their concern can be entrusted with it. People of the Dao value the cultivation of life and do not trade it for external things; this is how they differ from ordinary people.

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Interpretation

Shanjuan, a hermit in Daoist legend who refused to become emperor, worked at sunrise and rested at sunset. He roamed freely between Heaven and Earth, at ease in his heart. Why, then, should he have cared about ruling the world? He lamented that Shun did not understand him, refused the abdication, and withdrew into the mountains. Later generations could never say for certain where he went. (On Cang Mountain, south of Wuling County in Changde Prefecture, Hunan, there is a shrine to Shanjuan. During the Zhenghe era of the Song dynasty, he was posthumously titled “Master Who Withdrew from the World and Soared Aloft.” The prefect Li Tao once wrote an inscription for the shrine, and his tomb can still be seen beside it. Shanjuan sought only what seemed right to him, rather than accommodating what others considered “right.”)

Shun wanted to hand the world over to his friend, the Farmer of Shihu (Shihu was a place name; “farmer” refers to his occupation). The farmer said, “How hard the ruler labors over such worries!” Shun was a man of De, but he had not yet become one of those who devote all their strength to nurturing the people—a “man who preserves his strength” (someone wholly committed to caring for the people, though not necessarily grounding that care in De; hence the saying that Shun’s De “had not yet reached its full measure”). The farmer shouldered a burden, his wife carried things on her head, and together they led their child by the hand into the sea. They never returned.

King Tai, Danfu (the character dan is pronounced like fu), lived in Bin when the Di people attacked. He first offered them furs and silk, but they refused. He then offered dogs and horses, but they still refused. He next offered pearls and jade, but they would not accept those either. What the Di people wanted was the land. King Tai, Danfu said, “If I live alongside someone else’s elder brother, I will cause his younger brother to die; if I live alongside someone else’s father, I will cause his son to die. I cannot bear to do that. Do your best to stay here: what difference is there between being my subjects and being the Di people’s subjects? Besides, I have heard that we must not harm those we ought to cherish—the people—for the sake of external things we depend on, such as land.” Then he left, leaning on his staff. The people followed one after another, and later established a state beneath Mount Qi. King Tai, Danfu may be said to have understood how to honor life (to value one’s own life and treat external things as less important). Those who honor life will not damage their bodies through excessive indulgence when wealthy and noble, nor burden their physical selves through greed for profit when poor and lowly. (A person with a body must care for it, and a life inevitably brings its burdens. The wealthy may become immersed in providing for themselves, and excess can harm life; the poor may be driven by profit and, if they abandon their principles, burden the body. To avoid both these harms is what it means to honor life.)

Today, those who hold high office and enjoy noble rank all value their power and position while lightly casting aside their lives. They see a small profit and willingly risk death for it. How foolish!

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Interpretation

After three successive generations of rulers in Yue were killed, Prince Sou grew troubled and hid in a cinnabar cave deep in the southern mountains. With no ruler and unable to find Prince Sou, the people of Yue tracked him to the cave. He refused to come out, so they burned mugwort to smoke him out and brought the royal carriage. Prince Sou took hold of the reins and climbed aboard, then cried out with his head thrown back, “O ruler, O ruler, could you not leave me in peace?” Prince Sou did not dislike being ruler; he disliked the disasters that came with the position. A person like Prince Sou could be said to refuse to trade his life for an entire state. And yet this was precisely the kind of ruler the people of Yue wanted to install.

Han and Wei were disputing their border. Zihuaizi, a man of Wei, went to see Marquis Zhaoxi of Han. The marquis looked troubled. Zihuaizi said, “Suppose everyone under Heaven stood before you and swore an oath: ‘If you seize something with your left hand, your right hand will be cut off; if you seize something with your right hand, your left hand will be cut off. But whoever seizes it will gain all under Heaven.’ Would you seize it?” The marquis replied, “I would not.” Zihuaizi said, “Good. This shows that both your arms matter more to you than all under Heaven, and your body matters more than both your arms. Han is far less valuable than all under Heaven, and the land you are now disputing is worth even less than Han. Yet you are troubled and harming yourself over it. It is hardly worth the cost.” The marquis said, “Well said. Many have tried to teach me, but I have never heard this before. Zihuaizi truly understands what is weighty and what is light.” The oath says that seizing something would bring all under Heaven, yet even someone afraid of losing an arm would not seize it. Why? Because an arm matters more than all under Heaven. Han matters less than all under Heaven, and the territory Han is disputing matters less than Han. Yet the marquis is troubled and harms his life over it. He is treating something very light as more important than something very weighty. Is that not confusion?

The ruler of Lu heard that Yan He was a man who had attained the Dao, so he first sent him a gift. Yan He lived in a poor alley, wore coarse clothes, and fed his own oxen. When the envoy from Lu arrived, Yan He himself answered the door. The envoy asked, “Is this Yan He’s home?” Yan He replied, “This is He’s home.”

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Interpretation

Yan He, a worthy man of the Spring and Autumn period, replied, "I fear that those who carry the message may err and misrepresent your intentions, bringing blame upon the envoy. It would be better to investigate the matter carefully." The envoy went back and verified the matter repeatedly, then came again to invite him into office, and only then did he reluctantly agree. Thus, a person like Yan He is truly one who detests wealth and rank. Wealth and rank are not objectionable in themselves; what matters is the timing. If Yao and Shun were on the throne, and the court could not do without worthies such as Gao Yao and Kui, then declining office as Yan He did would suggest that he was not really detesting wealth and rank, but merely wishing to conceal his talents.

Therefore it is said: "The essence of the Dao (Dao, the Way) is used to cultivate the self, its remnants are used to govern the state, and its dregs are used to govern the world." Seen in this light, the achievements of rulers are only the leftover affairs of the sage, and not the foundation for preserving oneself and nourishing one's nature and life.

Now, those in the world who call themselves gentlemen mostly harm themselves and forfeit their lives in pursuit of external things. Is this not lamentable?

(Lü Dongbin says: All things are illusory, and only the Dao is real. The character "real" (zhen) must not be read carelessly. In Heaven and Earth it is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); within the human body it is the primordial true One Qi (zhen yi zhi qi). Once the gates of emotion and desire are opened, this true qi dissipates. For this reason, the Daoist school of cultivation speaks of "gathering the true," that is, nourishing the body with true qi. As for the remnants and dregs, these are methods of purposeful action, which is why the sage uses them to govern families, states, and the world. The achievements of rulers are the leftover affairs of the sage. The so-called chaff, dregs, and the making of Yao and Shun are all things of the same kind as dung and straw.)

When the sage acts, he must examine two things: the goal toward which he moves, and the affair he undertakes. Imagine someone using the Marquis of Sui's pearl, a precious gem, to shoot a bird flying a thousand fathoms overhead. The world would surely laugh at him. Why? Because what he uses is precious, while what he seeks is trivial. Is life only as precious as the Marquis of Sui's pearl?

(Lu Xixing says: "That by which" (suo yi) refers to the direction toward which the mind tends, and "that which one does" (suo wei) refers to the content of the affair being done. If a person's mind is set on obtaining the bird, he will not begrudge even a precious pearl to shoot it. The world laughs at him, yet he himself feels no fault, because the goal toward which his mind tends has gone astray.)

Liezi lived in poverty, and his face showed hunger. Someone reported this to Zi Yang, the chief minister of Zheng, saying, "Lie Yukou is a man of the Dao. He lives in your state yet is so impoverished. Perhaps you do not value worthy men?" Zi Yang immediately ordered an official to send him grain. When Liezi saw the messenger, he bowed twice and declined the gift. After the messenger had left, Liezi went back into the house. His wife, seeing this, clapped her hands and lamented for him.

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Interpretation

Someone, laying a hand on her chest, said, “I have heard that the wives and children of people who possess the Dao can live in comfort and ease. Yet now you look hungry. When you passed by, you brought food to the Master, but he refused to accept it. Does that not mean this is simply his fate?” Liezi laughed and replied, “You do not truly understand me. When others speak well of me, you bring me rice; when others later seek to lay blame on me, I could be implicated because of their words. That is why I refused it in the first place.” As it happened, the people later rose in revolt and killed Ziyang. (Ziyang was a harsh man. He once ordered a retainer to break a bow. Afraid that Ziyang would grow angry and punish him, the retainer seized the chance to kill him when the people were out hunting dogs. The calamity never touched Liezi; one might say he had the insight to discern what was coming from the slightest signs.)

When King Zhao of Chu lost his kingdom, Tu Yangshuo followed him into exile. After the king returned, he wanted to reward his attendants, including Tu Yangshuo. Tu Yangshuo said, “When Your Majesty lost the kingdom, I lost my livelihood as a butcher. When Your Majesty returned, I regained my work as a butcher. My position and income have already been restored. What more is there to reward me for?” The king said, “You must accept a reward.” Tu Yangshuo replied, “I was not responsible for Your Majesty’s loss of the kingdom, so I dare not submit to punishment for it. Nor was Your Majesty’s return my achievement, so I dare not accept a reward.” The king said, “I want to summon you for an audience.” Tu Yangshuo answered, “According to Chu law, a person must have rendered great service and received a substantial reward before being granted an audience. My wisdom was not enough to preserve the state, and my strength was not enough to die fighting the enemy. When the Wu army entered Ying, I hid because I was afraid of hardship; I had no intention of following Your Majesty. Now Your Majesty would set aside the law and break its rules to summon me. This is not the way of governing that I have heard of.” The king said to Sima Ziqi, “Tu Yangshuo holds a lowly position, yet his reasoning is lofty. Invite him to serve as one of the Three Ministers.” Tu Yangshuo said, “I know that the position of one of the Three Ministers is more honored than a butcher’s stall, and that a salary of ten thousand measures is greater than a butcher’s earnings. But how could I covet rank and wealth and let the king earn a reputation for handing out rewards recklessly? I dare not accept. I only wish to return to my butcher’s stall.” So he refused. (A person who lives among butchers yet upholds what is right, as Tu Yangshuo did, should not be summed up merely as a ‘butcher.’)

Yuan Xian lived in the state of Lu in a small house with walls only a few feet apart. Its roof was thatched with untrimmed grass; the gate, made of woven brushwood, was full of holes, and its hinge was a mulberry branch. Rain leaked through the roof, and the floor was damp, yet he sat upright playing his zither. Zigong arrived in a fine chariot, drawn by a strong horse. He wore a light fur robe and a white cap, but his carriage could not enter the narrow lane. He went in to see Yuan Xian, who said, “Ah, is that Zigong? You look down at yourself and find yourself poor and lowly; you look up at the state of the world and see that it is in disorder. I have heard that in a world without the Dao, one should withdraw and avoid calamity; in a world governed by the Dao, one should come forward and serve. Your heart is now disordered, and your virtue diminished, yet you linger here, unable to bring yourself to leave. That is something a humane person would be ashamed of.” Zigong felt ashamed at these words. His face reddened, and he left in discomfort.

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Interpretation

A Plain Language Interpretation

Yuan Xian used a broken earthen jar as a window and plugged the opening with coarse cloth. He lived in a house that leaked above and was damp below, sitting upright as he played the zither.

Zi Gong rode in a fine carriage drawn by fine horses. Its curtains were dark green inside and white outside, and the tall carriage could not enter the narrow lane, so he went on to visit Yuan Xian. Yuan Xian wore a cap split open like a flower, with his shoe heels untied, and leaned on a goosefoot cane as he answered the door. Zi Gong said, “Alas, sir, what illness has befallen you?” Yuan Xian replied, “I have heard that lacking money is called poverty, while learning but failing to put it into practice is called illness. I am poor, not ill.” Zi Gong shifted uneasily, his face showing shame. Yuan Xian smiled and said, “To conform to worldly ways, make factions, and cultivate friends for private advantage; to study, when one ought to do so for oneself, only to please others; to teach, when one ought to do so for others, only to advance oneself; to use benevolence and righteousness for deceitful ends; and to flaunt carriages, horses, and fine clothes—none of these do I wish to do.” Each of Yuan Xian’s words was a remonstrance to Zi Gong. Though Zi Gong was skilled in argument, he could not help feeling ashamed and yielding.

Zengzi lived in the state of Wei. He wore a robe padded with tangled hemp fibers, so worn that its lining showed through. His face was swollen, and his hands and feet were covered in calluses. He went three days without lighting a fire to cook, and for ten years he made no new clothes. When he straightened his cap, its strap broke; when he pulled at his robe, his elbow showed through; and when he put on his shoes, his heel pushed out through a hole. Dragging his heel-less shoes, he sang, and the sound of the “Hymns of Shang” filled heaven and earth, clear and resonant like the tones of metal and stone instruments. The Son of Heaven could not summon him as a subject, and the feudal lords could not win him as a friend in their factions. Thus, those who nurture their will forget the hardships of the body; those who nurture the body forget calculations of profit; and those who cultivate the Dao forget schemes of the mind. Forgetting the body and forgetting profit are within the reach of anyone with resolve. But forgetting the mind requires the fasting of the mind and sitting in oblivion. That is why Yan Hui appears in what follows.

Confucius said to Yan Hui, “Come back here. Your family is poor and your home is humble. Why don’t you take up an official post?” Yan Hui replied, “I do not wish to become an official. I have fifty mu of land beyond the city walls, enough to make porridge; ten mu inside the city, enough to grow hemp for cloth; a zither to entertain myself; and the Dao I have learned from you to give me joy. I do not wish to become an official.” Confucius’s expression grew sorrowful and changed. He said, “Well said!”

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Interpretation

Yan Hui (disciple of Confucius) said: I have heard that those who understand contentment are not burdened by material gains (when the inner self is fulfilled, external things become unnecessary). Those who truly comprehend their intrinsic worth remain unshaken by loss (with genuine inner fulfillment, the gain or loss of external things cannot disturb one's equanimity). Those with profound inner cultivation feel no shame even without official position (they never feel ashamed when others don't recognize their worth). I've long contemplated these words, but only now in Yan Hui have I witnessed their true embodiment—this is my true gain (those who don't understand might think Yan Hui avoided office for ulterior motives, but Confucius' principle of "acting when employed, withdrawing when dismissed" resonated perfectly with Yan Hui's mindset, hence I speak not of Yan Hui's gain but of my own).

Prince Mou of Zhongshan (nobleman of Wei state, enfeoffed at Zhongshan, named Mou) said to Zhanzi: Though I dwell in seclusion by rivers and lakes, my heart remains entangled with courtly riches and honors (the Wei Palace symbolizes royal power, revealing his lingering attachment to splendor)—what should I do? Zhanzi replied: Those who value life naturally hold profit lightly (understanding life's supreme value makes all else insignificant). The prince said: Though I comprehend this truth, I cannot restrain my desires.

Zhanzi advised: When you cannot control them, don't forcibly suppress them. Humans possess original spirit (the innate pure nature) and conscious spirit (acquired desires and distracting thoughts)—Dao cultivators must first subdue the conscious spirit. Forcible suppression causes double injury (when the original spirit is already wounded, violently repressing desires compounds the damage), and such deeply wounded individuals cannot endure long.

As a prince of a great state, Wei Mou's retreat to mountain forests was more challenging than a commoner's (though not yet complete enlightenment). When Confucius faced adversity...

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Reading of the Annotations and Commentary to the True Classic of Southern Florescence

Confucius was trapped between the states of Chen and Cai. For seven days, he could not light a fire to cook. He ate only a soup of wild greens, with no rice mixed in, and became extremely gaunt. Yet inside the house he played the zither and sang. Yan Hui was outside sorting vegetables, while Zilu and Zigong stood nearby talking. “Our master has twice been driven out of Lu, had his movements restricted in Wei, suffered the humiliation of a tree being cut down on his account in Song, fallen into hardship around Shang and Zhou, and now been besieged between Chen and Cai. It seems no crime to kill him, and no one seems to forbid insulting him. Yet he keeps playing the zither and singing without pause. Can a gentleman be shameless to this extent?” Yan Hui did not know what to say, so he went inside and told Confucius.

Confucius set down his zither and sighed deeply. “You, You”—that is, Zilu—and “Ci”—that is, Zigong—“have narrow understanding. Have them come in, and I’ll speak with them.” When Zilu and Zigong entered, Zilu said, “In your present circumstances, Master, you could be called utterly destitute.” Confucius replied, “What do you mean by that? A gentleman is ‘successful’ when he is in accord with the Dao; he is ‘destitute’ when he is blocked on the Dao. I, Confucius, hold to the Dao of benevolence and righteousness, yet I have encountered the calamities of a troubled age. How could that be called destitution? So long as I examine my heart and am not blocked on the Dao, I can face danger without losing my De. Only when the cold comes and frost and snow fall do we see that pines and cypresses remain evergreen. Perhaps this siege between Chen and Cai is, after all, good fortune for me, Confucius.”

Confucius looked lofty and composed, then picked up his zither again and began to play and sing. Zilu suddenly seized a shield and began to dance. Zigong said, “I truly had no idea how high the sky is or how deep the earth is”—a comparison for the Master’s Dao, as vast and profound as heaven and earth. The people of ancient times who attained the Dao were joyful in hardship and joyful in success. What they delighted in was not hardship or success itself; De and the Dao were within them, while hardship and success were like the alternation of cold and heat, wind and rain.

Thus Xu You found contentment at Yingyang, a mountain, while Gongbo, whose personal name was He, attained the Dao and roamed freely at Gongshou, another mountain. Gongbo had once cultivated the Dao. During the turmoil under King Li of Zhou, the feudal lords wanted to make him Son of Heaven. After fourteen years on the throne, a great drought struck and his house burned down. He consulted the sun god, and the divination indicated that King Li was causing the disaster. The Duke of Shao then established King Xuan, and Gongbo returned to the summit of Gong Mountain, where he roamed at ease.

When Shun wanted to yield the realm to his friend Beiren Wuze, Beiren Wuze said, “Shun is a strange person. He first lived in the fields, then went to receive a stipend at Yao’s court. And that is not all: he now wants to use his way of suffering disgrace to sully me.”

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Interpretation

I am too ashamed to face the world again, so I cast myself into the abyss and died. (This was more than simply drowning: it was the ending both men hoped for. This passage comes before the stories of Bian Sui and Mao Guang because drowning was the wish they shared.)

King Tang of Shang planned to attack Jie of Xia and first sought Bian Sui’s advice. Bian Sui said, “This is not my concern.” The king asked, “Who can help me?” Bian Sui replied, “I don’t know.” The king then consulted Mao Guang, who likewise said, “This is not my concern.” When the king again asked who could help, Mao Guang also said he did not know. The king asked, “What about Yi Yin?” Mao Guang said, “He is strong and can bear disgrace and hardship (strength is needed in battle, and killing a ruler requires enduring disgrace), but I know nothing else about him.” So King Tang conspired with Yi Yin to attack Jie, and they won.

King Tang wanted to yield the realm to Bian Sui. Bian Sui declined: “When you consulted me about attacking Jie, you must have thought I was a thief. Now that you have defeated Jie and want to hand your throne to me, you must think I am greedy. I was born in troubled times, and men without the Way have come again and again to slight me and humiliate me. I can no longer bear to hear it.” He then drowned himself in the Choushui River at Yingyang.

King Tang next offered the throne to Mao Guang, saying, “The wise make plans, the brave carry them out, and the benevolent hold office. This is the Way of the ancients. Why will you not accept?” Mao Guang declined: “Dethroning a ruler is unjust; slaughtering the people is unkind. For others to risk their lives while I sit back and enjoy the reward is dishonorable. I have heard that one should not accept the emoluments of an unjust cause or set foot on the lands of a ruler without the Way. How much less should one accept the highest position? I cannot bear to remain in this world any longer.” He tied a stone to himself and sank into the Lu River. (Note: All three chose to drown themselves out of admiration for the examples of Xu You washing his ears and Jizi dirtying an ox’s mouth. This is not a course a noble person would approve. The ancients said that after the Three Dynasties, scholars were afraid of earning a bad reputation. Who would have thought that before the Three Dynasties, scholars could be so eager for a good name?)

Long ago, when the Zhou dynasty was rising, there were two worthy men in the state of Guzhu, named Boyi and Shuqi. They said to each other, “We have heard that in the west there is a man who seems to possess the Way. Let us go and see him.” When they arrived at Qiyang, King Wu heard of them and sent Shu Dan to meet them. He made an oath with them, promising, “Double their emoluments and grant them a rank one grade higher.” He then slaughtered an animal, took its blood, and buried the written pledge underground. The two men looked at each other and laughed. “Ah, how strange! This is not the Way we were talking about.”

(Note: All three men chose to drown themselves out of admiration for Xu You washing his ears and Jizi dirtying an ox’s mouth. Later generations often said that after the Three Dynasties, scholars were afraid of earning a bad reputation. They did not realize that before the Three Dynasties, scholars could be so eager for a good name.)

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Interpretation

In ancient times, when Shennong governed the world, he performed the sacrifices with the utmost reverence, yet did not ask the spirits for blessings. He served the people with loyalty and trustworthiness, carrying out every duty of government, yet asked nothing of them in return. He took pleasure in governing for the sake of governing and bringing order for the sake of order. He did not make himself successful by exploiting others’ failures, consider himself wise by making others seem inferior, or use the circumstances of the times to pursue private gain. (The three phrases beginning “He did not make himself successful through others’ failures” describe the supreme De of the sage kings of antiquity and serve as a general introduction. What follows explains how the Zhou did otherwise, as a warning to ministers of every age.)

Now the Zhou, seeing the disorder of the Yin, hurried to seize power. Those above relied on schemes; those below, on wealth. They blocked the military strength of others to secure their own might. Unable to make their De a source of trust, they substituted blood oaths. Unable to transform the people through De and win their willing allegiance, they publicized their deeds and proclaimed their merits to curry favor with the crowd. They also sought profit through killing and plunder. Thus the Zhou, whose De was disordered, displaced the tyrannical Yin. I have heard that in ancient times a worthy person did not shirk responsibility in an age of good government, nor cling to life at any cost in an age of disorder. Now the world is dark and Zhou De has declined. Rather than stand alongside the Zhou and sink together into misery, it is better to withdraw and keep oneself pure. The two men therefore traveled north to Mount Shouyang, where they eventually starved to death.

Men like Boyi and Shuqi would not have relied on wealth and rank even if they could have obtained them with ease. They upheld lofty principles and acted contrary to custom—unlike Guan Zhong, who served Duke Huan of Qi, or Wei Zheng, who served Emperor Taizong of Tang. They took solitary pleasure in following their own convictions and would not serve the world. This was the integrity of the two men. (Note: At the end of the Yin dynasty, those who murdered rulers and fathers stood shoulder to shoulder, and the tide of usurpation seemed boundless. Boyi and Shuqi died at Mount Shouyang rather than elsewhere because it was an age of clear-sighted rulers, worthy ministers, and flourishing people—a time when the Yang of ease and warmth held sway. When rulers were violent, ministers rebelled, and the world suffered, the Yin of gloom and distress held sway. In starving themselves to death at Mount Shouyang, Boyi and Shuqi hoped for a sage ruler to govern in the Yang, to restore the order of Tang and Yu, and to transform gloom and distress into ease and warmth. Their example shames not only the ministers of every age who harbor divided loyalties.)

Fu Gui says: This chapter is titled “Yielding the Throne” because it aims to make light of wealth and rank. What it values, after all, is not wealth and rank.

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Interpretation

A person truly understands how important life is when even the throne of the Son of Heaven and the whole realm seem light in comparison.

In ancient times, Yao offered the realm to Xu You, who refused because he would not even let such a matter as ruling the realm enter his ears. Yao then offered it to Zizhou Zhifu, who refused because he would not let the realm harm his life. Shun offered the realm to Zizhou Zibo, who refused because he would not exchange his life for it.

Yao also offered the realm to Shanjuan. Shanjuan fled into the mountains, content to find comfort in his own way rather than accommodate others. Shun then offered the realm to the Farmer of Shihu, who took his wife and children and went away across the sea. They were people of utmost De: they knew they had their own bodies, but knew nothing of the realm.

Later, the Great King Danfu, grandfather of King Wen of Zhou, abandoned Bin and moved to Mount Qi. He did not want to harm people in the name of providing for them. He honored not only his own life, but also understood that the lives of the people were equally precious.

Only those who honor life can avoid being harmed by external things when they are wealthy and powerful. Only those who honor life can avoid damaging it through greed when they are poor and lowly. People today have lost sight of both truths, yet go their whole lives without understanding.

In Yue, three generations of rulers were assassinated. Prince Sou fled to the Dan Cave, and when people came after him, he emerged only because he had no choice and became ruler. He did not hate being ruler; he hated the dangers that came with the position.

Han Zhaohou would rather have no realm than lose the use of his arms, because he knew his two arms mattered more than the realm. His body mattered more than his arms, and the state of Han mattered less than the realm. Why, then, should a ruler fight for things of less worth than himself, letting worry harm his body while paying no heed?

Yan He refused the gifts offered by the ruler of Lu. When the envoy returned, Yan He fled before he could be reached. This was more than a disregard for wealth and rank: he loathed them. A person like Yan He truly understood what to welcome and what to reject.

Seen in this light, all things are illusions; only the Dao is real. This Dao is the primordial, innate source of the true One within human life—the ancestral Qi. A student must seek a companion, visit an immortal master, and find an outside protector, so as to restore this true Qi and attain long life and enduring vision.

As for imperial achievements and the affairs of family, state, and realm, what Confucians regard as precious treasures, perfected people see as mere scraps and clods of earth. Those who preserve their bodies and nurture life do not give them a second glance.

Wealth and rank may be desirable, but they are not worth a sparrow’s egg. Life is more desirable still, yet even it is not worth the Pearl of Marquis Sui. People abandon the life they value most to pursue external things they value least. This is truly a reversal of priorities.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

“To pursue what is slight—is that any different from using the pearl of Marquis Sui to shoot a sparrow a thousand fathoms up?”

To care only about some small, immediate gain is no different from using the pearl of Marquis Sui—a legendary jewel of immense value—to shoot at a sparrow high in the sky. In both cases, a great treasure is wasted on something trivial, with priorities turned upside down.

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Liezi refuses the grain offered by Zheng Ziyang

Liezi, a representative Daoist figure, refused the grain offered by Zheng Ziyang, the chief minister of Zheng. He did not think the grain itself was poor; he objected because the gift did not come from Zheng’s own observation and sincere appreciation. Zheng had sent it only after hearing others say that Liezi was an admirable person. Liezi reasoned that if Zheng could reward him because of what people said, he could also punish him for the same reason. So he refused the gift. Later, when Zheng Ziyang fell into misfortune, Liezi was not implicated.

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When King Zhao of Chu lost his kingdom, the butcher Yang Shuo followed him

When King Zhao of Chu lost his kingdom and went into exile, a butcher named Yang Shuo followed him. After the king returned and regained his throne, he wanted to reward him. But Yang Shuo’s understanding reached far beyond rank and wealth. He said that when the king lost his kingdom, he himself had lost his livelihood as a butcher; when the king returned, he went back to butchering sheep. His livelihood was simply his livelihood. He should not receive an extra “reward for service” because the country had gone through upheaval. He had not shared the blame for the kingdom’s fall, so he did not dare claim credit for its restoration.

The king admired his character and wanted to summon him regularly. Yang Shuo thought this would undermine the rules and demean the learned, so he refused. The king sent Sima Ziqi to invite him, offering him a high position known as the “Three Banners.” Yang Shuo said that, compared with butchering sheep, the status of the Three Banners was far too exalted; and compared with butchering sheep, a stipend of ten thousand measures of grain was far too great a fortune. Still, he was unwilling to let the king earn a reputation for handing out improper rewards just because he himself coveted wealth and status. He would rather spend his whole life butchering sheep.

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Yuan Xian lives in Lu

Yuan Xian lived in the state of Lu. His house had a thatched roof and a doorframe made of mulberry wood; a broken jar served as a window, and he used coarse cloth to plug the holes in his clothes. Yet he sat playing the zither and singing, clearly at ease. Zigong arrived in a splendid carriage and asked, “Oh! Sir, are you ill?” Yuan Xian replied, “I have heard that having no money is called poverty, while learning the Way but being unable to put it into practice is called illness. I am poor, not ill. What I am ashamed of are those who pander to the ways of the age, form factions, and curry favor. They do not study for their own sake or teach for the sake of others; they use benevolence and righteousness to disguise deceitful intentions, and show off with carriages and horses. I do not wish to be like them.” Zigong had nothing to say.

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Zengzi lives in Wei

Zengzi lived in the state of Wei. He wore a ragged cotton-padded robe, was disheveled from the smoke of the cooking fire, and had a hat with its ties broken. Yet as he dragged his heels along, he sang the “Hymns of Shang.” His voice seemed to reach through heaven and earth, ringing like metal and resonating like stone. If the Son of Heaven heard of him, he would admire him: if he could not have Zengzi as a subject, he would make him one; if the feudal lords wanted him but could not have him as a subject, they would take him as a friend. Thus, Zhuangzi says here that one who cultivates the body—settling into one’s physical life and keeping to one’s proper place—can be like this.

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Main idea

These stories all make the same point: Liezi, Yang Shuo, Yuan Xian, and Zengzi did not care about rank, gifts, or appearances. They would rather keep to their livelihoods, uphold the rules, and remain true to what they had learned than change their principles for wealth and status. The earlier image of using the pearl of Marquis Sui to shoot sparrows is a reminder not to discard what is fundamental for a minor gain. The same idea runs through the later stories: do not let external things sway you.

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Interpretation

Forgetting Profit is refining Jing and returning it to Qi; nurturing one’s resolve is forgetting the body and refining Qi to return it to Shen. As for attaining the Dao and forgetting the mind, that is refining Shen and returning it to emptiness. Confucius saw Yan Hui in poverty and urged him to enter public service, not knowing that Yan Hui did not consider himself poor. He had fifty mu of fields beyond the city, enough to feed himself, and ten mu within the city, enough to provide hemp and silk. Playing the zither brought him pleasure, and what he studied was the Master’s Dao. His joy lay in his innate nature, not in seeking office and advancement.

Confucius’s expression changed, and he said: “How good that Hui knows contentment and does not let greed for profit harm his goodness. How good that Hui finds joy within himself and is not troubled by gains and losses outside him. How good that Hui values inner cultivation and feels no shame at having no official position. When called upon, I act; when set aside, I withdraw. Hui and I share the same purpose. It is not only Hui who has gained something; the Dao, too, has gained something.”

Prince Mou of Zhongshan admired the Dao and withdrew to live among the rivers and seas, yet his heart remained attached to the court of Wei. He asked Zhanzi how to practice “restraint”—how to curb desire. Zhanzi said: “Once you understand that life is precious, everything external becomes insignificant.” Prince Mou understood this principle, but when he weighed his life against external things, he could not bring himself to give them up. Zhanzi said: “A person’s spirit naturally seeks stillness, but desires stir and disturb it. If the spirit cannot overcome that disturbance, desire is surely something the Original Spirit abhors. If you force yourself not to obey desire and then force yourself to suppress it, you injure yourself twice over. That is why it is called ‘double injury.’ Those who suffer double injury cannot live long.”

Confucius was trapped between Chen and Cai. For seven days, no fire was lit and no meal prepared, yet he continued to play the zither and sing. Zilu and Zigong thought it disgraceful for a noble person to be reduced to such a state. Confucius said: “What a noble person calls ‘free passage’ is not success in office, but free passage through the Dao. What he calls ‘hardship’ is not straitened circumstances, but being unable to put the Dao into practice. Now I possess the Dao but have not met the right circumstances. How can you call that hardship? When circumstances are difficult, the Dao remains; when adversity comes, De becomes evident. Only after frost and snow do we see how lush the pines and cypresses are. You regard our plight between Chen and Cai as a cause for grief; I regard it as a blessing.”

After Confucius returned home, he continued to play the zither and sing as before. Zilu took up his shield and danced, but his understanding remained shallow. Only then did Zigong say with regret: “It is only today that I understand the Master’s Dao is like Heaven and Earth. How could I know how high the sky is or how deep the earth? The Dao has times of free passage and hardship, just as Heaven and Earth have cold and heat, wind and rain.”

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Interpretation

Those who have attained the Dao are at ease wherever they go. What they take pleasure in is not whether their official careers go well or badly, nor whether fortune brings prosperity or hardship. They regard prosperity and hardship as natural seasons, alternating like cold and heat, wind and rain. Thus Xu You was content by the sunny bank of the Ying River, and Gongbo lived out his days in peace at Shoushou, a place name. Among the ancients, there were also people who would rather accept hardship, even death, than enjoy the benefits of success by compromising themselves. There are at least three such examples.

The first is Beiren Wu Ze. Someone asked him, “Why should a man who lives in the fields go wandering through the halls and courts of the royal government?” Ashamed to accept Shun’s abdication, he chose instead to throw himself into a cold, deep pool.

The second is Bian Sui. He said, “If Tang consults me about attacking Jie, he will make me an accomplice in banditry. If he defeats Jie and offers me the realm, he will make me greedy.” So he threw himself into the Chou River and died.

The third is Maoguang. He held that one must not accept wealth gained unjustly or set foot on land governed without the Dao. How much less, then, should one agree to rule over the people? He tied a stone to himself and sank into the Lu River.

People like these cared not only little for hardship and success; they regarded life and death with detachment as well. What kind of conviction did these three hold? They foresaw that the noble reputation of yielding the throne often concealed the beginnings of conquest and punishment, while acts of overthrowing a ruler often marked the start of usurpation and murder. They could not bear to see it or hear of it, so they gave their lives in an attempt to turn back a decline that was growing ever worse.

Later, those inspired by their example included Boyi and Shuqi. At first they traveled west to Zhou because they had heard that it was home to people who followed the Dao. Yet when they refused to accept Zhou titles and emoluments, they still could not forget the age of Shennong. In that age, sacrifices were performed with utmost reverence, without praying for blessings; governance was carried out in good faith, without seeking profit. One did not exploit another person’s ruin to advance oneself: this shows what it means not to profit from another’s downfall. One did not elevate oneself by making others seem low: this shows what it means not to delight in their degradation. And one did not hope to gain by living in an opportune age: this shows what it means not to wish for good fortune to come one’s way.

But Zhou was not like that. Shang was disorderly, while Zhou prized order; Shang lacked understanding and hoarded wealth, while Zhou used schemes to distribute wealth among the people. The people of Shang rebelled and became divided in their hearts, while the people of Zhou joined together in bonds of trust. Zhou swore oaths to bind the people and waged war to profit from conquest. Why, then, should anyone exalt this Zhou, which corrupted Virtue, and have it replace the tyrannical Shang?

Have you not heard of the people of antiquity? When they encountered good rule, they took responsibility for the whole realm without hesitation; when they encountered disorder, they could not bear to survive by scraping out a bare existence from one day to the next. Boyi and Shuqi said, “Rather than stay beside Zhou and disgrace ourselves, we would do better to withdraw and keep our conduct pure.” So they fled to Mount Shouyang, where they eventually died of starvation.

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Interpretation

The Episode of Yi and Qi (Commentary)

Confucius said: When it comes to wealth and status, one should be willing to let them go when the time comes. This is not about clinging stubbornly to one’s reputation for integrity or forcing oneself to hold out at all costs. Nor is it about enduring disgrace and humiliation simply to win an empty name.

They lived at the turn from the Shang to the Zhou, when the realm was already in turmoil and the bond between ruler and subject had broken down. They wanted to rally the feudal lords and march west to support the Zhou and overthrow the Shang, but they did not have the strength to do so. They also considered enduring the situation while remaining subjects of the Shang, yet setting foot on Zhou soil and eating Zhou grain. In terms of principle, that too was untenable. There was only one path left: death. By dying, they could uphold moral instruction and restore the bonds that order society, inspiring usurpers of their own time and later generations to feel a profound sense of alarm and change their minds and ambitions.

So what Yi and Qi—Boyi and Shuqi, sons of the lord of Guzhu at the end of the Shang, who refused to eat Zhou grain and starved to death—embodied was not merely the purity of a sage. They also embodied a sage’s sense of responsibility and of what the time demanded. Even the Perfected Person or the highest sage, if placed in their position and living in their age, would have had no choice but to follow their path and starve to death on Mount Shouyang. Those in later generations who try to imitate them can scarcely hope to match them.

Miscellaneous Chapters: “Robber Zhi,” Chapter 29 (Editor’s Note)

The editor’s note, in brief: The meaning is shallow and the tone weak; it is clear at a glance that much of this was likely composed by Han Confucian scholars and attributed to someone else. Ancient masters sometimes acted with fierce irreverence, denouncing Buddhas and cursing patriarchs, or burning wooden Buddha statues, as Danxia did. This passage seems to go too far in the opposite direction. Its opening section slanders rulers and mocks sages, but has little depth. In the middle, Mantougoude argues that plain sincerity is better than contrivance to preserve loyalty and trustworthiness. In the final section, Zhihe discusses neither greed nor scrupulous honesty, claiming that moderation brings good fortune while having more than enough brings harm. This seems to borrow only the surface of Zhuangzi’s ideas, without grasping their spirit.

Beginning of the Main Text

Confucius was friends with Liuxia Ji—that is, Liuxia Hui, whose surname was Zhan, personal name Huo, and courtesy name Jiqin. He lived in Liuxia and was given the posthumous name Hui. Commentators consider him to have lived in a different era from Confucius, and so regard him here as a character in a parable. Liuxia Ji’s younger brother was named Robber Zhi.

Robber Zhi led nine thousand men in rampages across the realm, attacking and plundering the feudal lords. They broke through people’s walls and forced open their doors, drove off their cattle and horses, and abducted women. They were insatiably greedy, showed no regard for their parents or brothers, and made no offerings to their ancestors. Wherever they went, the great states shut their gates, while the small states withdrew behind their defenses. The people suffered terribly.

Confucius said to Liuxia Ji: A father ought to be able to teach his son, and an elder brother ought to be able to guide his younger brother. If a father cannot teach his son or an elder brother guide his younger brother, then the titles of father and son, and of elder and younger brother, have no claim to honor.

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Interpretation

A Modern Reading

Liuxia Ji was a learned and talented man of his time, yet his younger brother was Dao Zhi, a great scourge to the world, and Liuxia Ji could not teach him. In private, I feel ashamed on your behalf, sir. Allow me to go and try to persuade him.”

Liuxia Ji said, “A father ought to be able to admonish his son, and an elder brother ought to be able to teach his younger brother. If a son will not listen to his father’s admonitions and a younger brother will not accept his elder brother’s instruction, then no matter how eloquent you are, sir, what can you do? Besides, Dao Zhi’s mind surges like a spring, his temper shifts like a gale, his strength is enough to withstand an enemy, and his eloquence is enough to cover his faults. He is pleased when things go his way and enraged when they do not. He readily insults people with his words. Sir, you must not go.” (Ji said that Dao Zhi was violent and brutal, and could not be transformed or taught through rites and moral principles.)

Confucius would not listen. Yan Hui drove the carriage, and Zigong accompanied him. They went to see Dao Zhi. Dao Zhi was resting with his followers at the southern foot of Mount Tai, cutting up human livers for their midday meal (eating at the hour of Shen, around mid-afternoon). Confucius got down from the carriage and went forward. He said to the man who announced visitors, “I am Kong Qiu of Lu. I have heard of the general’s great righteousness and respectfully request an audience, bowing twice.”

The messenger went in to report. Dao Zhi flew into a rage, his eyes bright as stars and his hair standing on end beneath his cap. He said, “Is this the fellow Kong Qiu from Lu, that crafty hypocrite? Tell him this: You make up fine words and fabricate arguments, wildly expounding the Way of King Wen and King Wu. You wear a splendid, branchlike cap (a leather cap decorated with elaborate ornaments like branches) and a belt made from the hide of a dead ox (that is, a leather belt). You talk endlessly and stir up trouble, misleading the rulers of the world. You lead scholars everywhere away from their proper duties, urging them to act out filial piety and brotherly respect in the vain hope of winning noble rank and riches. Your crimes are beyond measure! Get out at once, or I’ll use your liver to supplement my meal!”

Confucius again asked the messenger to announce him: “Qiu has been personally recommended by Mr. Ji. I hope to pay my respects beneath your tent”—that is, he only asked for a brief audience beneath the tent. The messenger reported this again. Dao Zhi said, “Tell him to come forward.”

Confucius hurried ahead, left his seat, turned around, and bowed twice. Dao Zhi flew into a rage, stretched out his legs, pressed his hand to his sword, and glared at him (with eyes wide open). His voice roared like a tiger’s: “Kong Qiu, come here! If what you say…”

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Interpretation

If you go along with my wishes, you may live; if you go against them, you must die.

Confucius said, “I have heard that, broadly speaking, there are three kinds of ‘Virtue’ in the world. To be born tall and handsome, unmatched in appearance, and loved by all who see you, young or old, high or low—this is highest Virtue. To possess wisdom that encompasses Heaven and Earth, so that nothing lies beyond your understanding, and the talent to distinguish all things and clarify their names—this is middle Virtue. To be fierce and formidable, decisive and resolute, and able to rally people and lead troops—this is lower Virtue. An ordinary person who possesses any one of these is already fit to rule as king, facing south, and govern alone in a region.

“Now, General, you possess all three. You stand eight feet and two inches tall, your face is radiant, your lips red as cinnabar, your teeth white and even, and your voice accords with the pitch of the Yellow Bell. Yet your name is Robber Zhi. If I, Kong Qiu, were to become the leader of bandits, I would feel ashamed. If you are willing to hear me out, I would go south to persuade Wu and Yue, north to persuade Qi and Lu, east to persuade Song and Wei, and west to persuade Jin and Chu. I would build for you a great city hundreds of miles around, establish a major settlement with hundreds of thousands of households, and honor you as a feudal lord. Together we would set the world on a new course: end the wars and disband the armies, settle your brothers, and join in worshipping our ancestors. This is the way of sages and worthy men, and the wish of all under Heaven.”

Robber Zhi flew into a rage and said, “Come here, Kong Qiu! Those who can be persuaded by profit and guided by words are all ignorant, mediocre people. I am tall and handsome, and everyone who sees me is pleased. These are endowments I received from my parents. Even if you do not praise me, do you think I do not know it myself? I have also heard that people who praise you to your face are skilled at slandering you behind your back. Now you are trying to win me over with a great city and a multitude of people. You want to lure me with profit and keep me like an ordinary commoner. How could that last? No city, however great, is greater than the world itself. Yao and Shun possessed the whole world, yet their descendants did not even have enough land to set down an awl. Tang and Wu ascended the throne as Son of Heaven, yet their lines were later cut off. Was that not because their great rewards drew disaster upon them?

“I have also heard that in ancient times there were many beasts and few people. So people built nests to shelter from the beasts; by day they gathered acorns and chestnuts, and at night they slept in the trees. That is why they were called the people of Youchao, ‘the Nest Builder.’ In ancient times people did not know how to make clothes. They stored up piles of firewood in summer and burned it for warmth in winter. That is why they were called the people who knew how to preserve life. In the age of the Divine Farmer, people slept peacefully and rose at ease. They knew their mothers but not their fathers, lived alongside the elk and deer, farmed for food and wove for clothing, and had no desire to invade or harm others.”

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Interpretation

He lived with his father and the elk, farming for food and weaving cloth for clothing. They had no desire to harm one another: this was the highest state of Perfect Virtue.

Yet even the Yellow Emperor could not win people over through virtue alone. He fought a great battle with Chiyou at Zhuolu, in what is now the Hebei region, and blood flowed for a hundred li. (The eighth-generation ruler descended from Shennong was named Yuwang. The Chiyou clan grew powerful and contended with Yuwang for the throne, driving him out. Yuwang conspired with the Yellow Emperor, and together they killed Chiyou at Zhuolu. The campaign that began with the Battle of Zhuolu was the start of conquest.)

Yao and Shun appointed ministers. Tang drove out his ruler, and King Wu killed King Zhou. From that time on, the strong oppressed the weak and the many preyed on the few. Ever since Tang and Wu, those who have disturbed the world have followed this pattern.

Now you study the ways of civil and military rule, claim authority over all the world’s arguments to instruct later generations, wear robes with broad sleeves and sewn panels, and tie a narrow, pale belt. With affected words and false deeds, you mislead the rulers of the world, yet you seek wealth and high rank. No thief is greater than you! Why do people throughout the world call me Robber Zhi, but not you?

You persuaded Zilu with sweet words and made him follow you. You had him remove his tall cap and unbuckle his long sword so that he could receive your instruction. The whole world says Confucius can stop violence and prevent wrongdoing. But what came of it? Zilu tried to kill the ruler of Wei and failed. He was minced into a pickled pulp and hung at the eastern gate of Wei. Your instruction clearly fell short.

Do you call yourself a man of talent, a sage? Yet you were driven out of Lu twice, erased your traces in Wei, found no refuge in Qi, and were besieged between Chen and Cai. The world had no room for you. You instructed Zilu, but he was killed and pickled. You could neither preserve yourself above nor bring others to fulfillment below. What is there in your Dao worthy of reverence?

Of all those whom the world honors, none is held higher than the Yellow Emperor. Yet even he could not preserve his virtue, and blood flowed for a hundred li in the Battle of Zhuolu. Yao was unkind, Shun was unfilial, Yu was partially paralyzed, Tang drove out his ruler, King Wu attacked King Zhou, and King Wen was imprisoned at Youli. These six are honored by the world, but on close examination they all let profit confuse their true nature and forcibly went against their own dispositions. Their conduct is deeply shameful.

The worthy men whom the world praises, Boyi and Shuqi, gave up their claim to rule the state of Guzhu and starved to death on Mount Shouyang. Their bones were left unburied.

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Interpretation

An Accessible Reading of the Commentary on the True Scripture of Nanhua

Bao Jiao, an ancient hermit who took pride in keeping himself pure, deliberately polished his conduct and refused to go along with worldly ways. In the end, he died clinging to a tree. Shentu Di, an ancient man whose remonstrances went unheeded, tied a stone to himself and plunged into a river, where fish and turtles devoured him. Jie Zitui, a loyal minister who followed Duke Wen of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period, once cut flesh from his own thigh to feed the duke. The duke later betrayed him, and Jie Zitui, enraged, left and burned to death while clinging to a tree. “Burned” here means consumed by fire. Weisheng arranged to meet a woman beneath a bridge. When she did not come, he stayed even as the water rose, and drowned while holding on to a bridge pillar.

These four men were no different from dogs torn apart and pigs left to drift away. “Torn apart” means that a body was stretched out and displayed; here, the point is that their suicides were like killing dogs and pigs. Those who beg with a gourd dipper are all infatuated with reputation. To “be estranged from one’s name” means to cling to fame. People who readily give up their lives without regard for their original nature—meaning the life and nature that are truly their own—cannot be said to preserve their years and safeguard their lives.

Among the people the world calls loyal ministers, none are more famous than Prince Bi Gan and Wu Zixu. Zixu was drowned in a river; Bi Gan had his heart cut out. The world regarded them as loyal ministers, yet in the end they became a laughingstock throughout the realm. Seen from a higher vantage, Zixu and Bi Gan are not worthy of admiration either.

The words Robber Zhi used to set me straight were these: “If you’re talking about ghosts and spirits, I know nothing about them. If you mean human affairs, they amount to no more than this, and I’ve heard it all before. Let me tell you what people are like: the eyes want to see colors, the ears want to hear sounds, the mouth wants to taste flavors, and the will and vital energy want to be full. A person’s full lifespan is a hundred years, a middle lifespan eighty, and a short lifespan sixty. Set aside illness and frailty, aging and death, funerals and troubles, and the days when a person can laugh aloud amount to only four or five in a month. Heaven and Earth are without end, but human life has its limit. To set a finite life within the infinite is like a fine horse flashing past a crack in the wall. Those who cannot follow their own inclinations and care for their lifespan do not understand the Great Dao.”

Everything Robber Zhi said is what I want to leave behind. Go back quickly, and don’t say another word! Your way is wild and urgent, false and cunning. It cannot preserve your true nature, so why discuss it further?

Confucius bowed twice and hurried out. He climbed into his carriage, but three times his hands slipped from the reins. His gaze was vacant, his face ashen as a corpse. He leaned against the crossbar at the front of the carriage, head lowered, unable to catch his breath. When he reached the eastern gate of Lu, he happened to meet Liu Xia Ji, the younger brother of Liu Xia Hui and Robber Zhi’s brother. Liu Xia Ji said, “I haven’t seen you for several days. You look as though you and your carriage have been rushing along. What happened?”

The commonly transmitted continuation follows: the scripture reaches this point and joins the passage about “Confucius meeting Robber Zhi.” Confucius told Liu Xia Ji what had happened. Liu Xia Ji said, “You didn’t heed my advice and went to see him again. He must have humiliated you.”

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Interpretation

After seeing Zhi, Confucius’s expression changed slightly. As he went to meet him, he looked up to Heaven and sighed, “Just as I thought.” Liu Xiajì said, “Zhi probably went against what you intended, as he did before?” Confucius said, “Yes. This is what they call cauterizing yourself when you have no illness: running at full speed while tugging a tiger’s whiskers and whipping its head—you can scarcely escape its jaws!”

Zizhang asked Mang Goude, “Why not cultivate yourself and establish a reputation? Without cultivation, you have no credibility; without credibility, you cannot be appointed; without appointment, you gain no benefit. So, if one seeks a reputation and calculates the benefits, then practicing righteousness is the real concern. If you cast aside reputation and benefit and instead examine your own heart, can a scholar’s conduct really not be practiced for even a single day?”

Mang Goude said, “The shameless become wealthy, and those who keep their word become prominent. Gaining reputation and benefit probably depends on shamelessness and keeping one’s word. So, if one seeks a reputation and calculates the benefits, then trustworthiness and righteousness are the real concern. If you cast aside reputation and benefit and instead examine your own heart, then a scholar’s conduct means holding fast to one’s inborn nature, doesn’t it?”

Zizhang said, “In the past, Jie and Zhou were honored as Son of Heaven and possessed the wealth of the whole world. Yet if you tell a thief, ‘You act like Jie and Zhou,’ he will look ashamed and feel indignant. This is what petty people despise.”

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Interpretation

Though Confucius and Mozi were destitute and merely commoners, people today say to a prime minister, “Your conduct should be like that of Confucius and Mozi.” The prime minister then changes his expression and praises those who lack nothing, saying that scholars are truly worthy of respect. So being Son of Heaven does not necessarily make one noble, and living in poverty as a commoner does not necessarily make one base. The distinction between nobility and baseness lies in the goodness or badness of one’s conduct. (Compare Zang Ju with Jie and Zhou, and even they would feel ashamed; compare a prime minister with Confucius and Mozi, and he would decline the comparison. This shows that being Son of Heaven does not necessarily make one noble, and living in poverty as a commoner does not necessarily make one base. If a scholar can cultivate himself, nobility is in his own hands. How could he fail to cultivate himself?)

Man Goude said, “Petty thieves are imprisoned, while great thieves become feudal lords. (People despise the conduct of thieves. Petty thieves gain little, while great thieves gain much. Are people of bad conduct truly base enough—or not base enough?) Righteous men find a place for themselves among the retainers of feudal lords. (Man Goude judges nobility and baseness by words and deeds, but in the end reaches no firm conclusion.)”

In the past, Duke Huan of Qi, Xiaobai, killed his elder brother and married his sister-in-law, yet Guan Zhong became his minister. Tian Chengzi killed his ruler and seized the state, yet Confucius accepted a gift from him. In theory, these acts were base; in practice, they submitted to them. This is what happens when the truth of one’s words and deeds conflicts within the heart—is it not also contrary to reason? Thus the Book of Documents says, “Who is bad and who is good? Those who succeed take the lead; those who fail fall behind.” (Xiaobai was unjust, yet Guan Zhong served him as a minister; Tian Chang was unjust, yet Confucius accepted his gift. Had Yiwu and Confucius argued the case, they would surely have despised the conduct of these two rulers. Yet in practice they served and submitted to them, and their words and deeds stood in stark contradiction. Are people of bad conduct truly base enough?)

Zizhang said, “If you do not cultivate your conduct, there will be no proper order among relatives, no moral principle in the distinction between noble and base, and no order between elders and juniors. How, then, will the Five Relationships—the bonds between ruler and minister, parent and child, husband and wife, elder and younger brothers, and friends—and the six positions—the ordered relations among ruler and minister, parent and child, husband and wife, brothers, and friends—be distinguished?”

Man Goude said, “Yao killed his eldest son, while Shun banished his mother and younger brother. Was there proper order among relatives? Tang expelled Jie, and King Wu killed Zhou. Was there moral principle in the distinction between noble and base? Ji was the legitimate heir, yet the Duke of Zhou killed his elder brother. Was there order between elders and juniors? The Confucians speak hypocritically, and the Mohists love everyone equally. Will the Five Relationships and six positions still be distinguished? Besides, you are upright for the sake of reputation, while I am upright for the sake of gain. Is that not the true nature of reputation and gain?”

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Interpretation

Not in accord with principle, not in accord with the Dao

They fill their mouths with talk of benevolence and righteousness, but in truth they are merely seeking personal gain from others; they do not sincerely cultivate themselves through benevolence and righteousness. Seeking fame or profit accords with neither true principle nor the Dao, so it is neither in accord with li (principle) nor faithful to the Dao—the fundamental order of all things in the universe and the path of cultivation.

I said: “Let us debate with you in the realm of the Uncontracted.”

I said: “Let us debate here, on the level of the ‘Uncontracted’—a name posited for the sake of argument, with no actual contract behind it—about what counts as the genuine.”

The petty person dies for wealth, the noble person dies for fame … in the end, they are one and the same.

The petty person dies for wealth; the noble person dies for fame. Their feelings and nature change, and their paths differ. But once they abandon what they ought to do and sacrifice themselves for what they ought not to do, they come to the same thing.

So it is said: “Do not be a petty person; instead, sacrifice yourself for Heaven.”

The petty person sacrifices himself for wealth and so defies Heaven’s principle. Do not be a petty person; instead, sacrifice yourself for “Heaven”—what is naturally so.

Do not be a noble person; follow Heaven’s principle.

A true noble person does not defy principle by sacrificing himself for fame. If being a “noble person” means merely following the times to win renown, then it is better not to be one. Follow Heaven’s principle, even if you gain no fame.

Whether bent or straight, each is one end of Heaven’s axis; facing the four directions, one waxes and wanes with the seasons.

Bent and straight are opposite ends of Heaven’s axis, like Yin-Yang. One faces the four directions and follows the waxing and waning of the four seasons. Even in the age of Yao and Shun, it was impossible for everyone to be straight, with no one ever bent.

Whether right or wrong, one holds to the pivot that turns freely; standing alone in what one has achieved, one’s intent wanders with the Dao.

There is right and there is wrong. A noble person affirms what is right and rejects what is wrong, yet has no fixed preconception. Holding to the “turning pivot”—the flexible, unobstructed hinge of adaptive judgment—one discerns right and wrong without following popular trends. This is called “standing alone in what one has achieved”: one’s intent roams with the Dao. Right and wrong still exist in the world, but in the heart it is as though they do not.

Act without changing course; do not establish righteousness through achievement.

Do not let external things alter your integrity and conduct. Do not make a particular act of steadfastness into a claim to the name of “righteousness.”

Then you will lose what you naturally do; pursuing wealth and sacrificing yourself for success, you will cast aside Heaven.

In this way, you will lose what you do by nature. If you chase after wealth or sacrifice yourself for fame and success, you will cast aside the natural “Heaven” within you.

Bi Gan had his heart cut out; Wu Zixu, whose personal name was Yuan, had his eyes gouged out … these were the calamities brought by loyalty.

Bi Gan had his heart cut out, and Wu Zixu had his eyes gouged out. These were the disasters that “loyalty” brought upon them.

Zhi Gong testified against his father; Wei Sheng drowned … these were the afflictions of trustworthiness.

Zhi Gong testified to his father’s wrongdoing, and Wei Sheng drowned while clinging to a bridge pillar. These were the hardships that came from holding too rigidly to “trustworthiness.”

Bao Jiao stood until he withered; Shentu Di gave no thought to himself … these were the harms of integrity.

Bao Jiao stood until he withered away; Shentu Di clutched an urn and threw himself into a river, giving no thought to his own life. These were the harms brought by “integrity.”

Confucius did not see his mother …

Confucius lost his mother in childhood and did not see her again (or, according to some commentaries, this refers to a particular allusion). The original passage continues after this point, but is cut off here.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

(Continuing from the previous passage.) Kuangzi—meaning a figure like Kuang Zhang—could not see his father’s shortcomings in “rightness.” What has been described is a principle handed down from earlier generations and still discussed by those who come after: a scholar must both speak uprightly and put his words into practice. That is why disaster comes upon him, and why he cannot avoid misfortune. From the examples of Bi Gan and others through to this point, the discussion concerns the dangers that come from “holding fast to integrity and valuing conduct.” “Make your words upright and be sure to act on them” means taking words of loyalty, trustworthiness, integrity, and righteousness as true, and then doing what one says. That is what “be sure to act on them” means. “Seeking gain at any cost” means forcing oneself into artificial behavior to pursue advancement; it is better to live in accord with one’s true nature.

Wuzu turned to Zhihé and asked about the Dao…

Zhihé said: In the end, no one fails to pursue a reputation or attach himself to profit. Once a person becomes wealthy, others will attach themselves to him. Those who attach themselves to him take a lower position; those who are beneath him will revere him. To be regarded as lowly yet revered by others—this is the way to longevity, security, and the pleasure of contentment. You alone seem to have no such desire. Is it because you lack understanding? Or do you understand inwardly but lack the strength to put it into practice? So you force yourself to hold to the right path and cannot let it go?

(Commentary) Wuzu is wholly intent on seeking fame and pursuing profit, in order to secure himself and enjoy life; he too belongs among those who “seek gain at any cost.” Zhihé is explaining to him that wealth is prized because it can be accumulated and then distributed: by giving aid and relief to all things, a wealthy person keeps the poor alive through his support and can thus remain unharmed. This was the purpose of Fan Li, known as Lord Tao Zhu, when he accumulated and gave away his wealth three times. With this body of mine, I can have others take a lower position and revere me, and so secure myself and enjoy life. Yet you care nothing for wealth and rank. Is that because you do not understand? Or because you are unable to act? Or are you deliberately using the right path to restrain your desire for wealth and rank, even though you cannot ultimately forget it?

Zhihé continued: This person takes those who live in his own time and share his hometown as sages who have transcended the world and risen above their age. That is precisely because he has no settled judgment of his own, and instead surveys the changes of past and present to distinguish right from wrong. He lets himself change along with the common world, abandoning the most precious and exalted “Heavenly nobility”—the innate dignity of his nature—and doing what other people do. In speaking this way about longevity, security, and contentment, isn’t he far from the mark? (Note) See how he has no inner compass: he drifts with custom and goes along with the crowd to please the world, giving up the most weighty and precious Heavenly nobility in exchange for fame and profit gained by chance. How could this be the right path to longevity, security, and joy of heart? Isn’t it like using the pearl of the Marquis of Sui to shoot at a sparrow perched a thousand fathoms high?

The bodily sensations of anguish and fearful distress, and of calm ease and joyful contentment, are indistinguishable to the body; the terror of alarm and dread, and the delight of joy…

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Interpretation

On “Joy” and the Mind

A feeling of joy often goes unnoticed by the mind. Those who pursue wealth and status sometimes feel at ease in body and mind, sometimes uneasy; sometimes sorrowful, sometimes joyful. Lost in these feelings, they are unaware of them. Hence the saying, “They do not keep watch over the mind.”

Knowing What One Does, but Not Why

One knows only that one must “act,” but not why one must act in this way. Thus, even someone who holds the exalted rank of Son of Heaven and possesses wealth beyond measure cannot escape misfortune. Some know only human calculation and not the Way of Heaven. Even if they rise to the dignity of the Son of Heaven, they remain vulnerable to harm; how much more so those of lower rank?

“Never Enough” (Wu Zu) Discusses Wealth and Status

Wealth and status bring people almost every advantage. Beauty and power can reach heights beyond even those attained by the Perfected and the sages. One may borrow a chivalrous warrior’s courage to establish one’s might, another’s cleverness to appear discerning, and another’s Virtue to seem worthy. These are words spoken from the standpoint of those who covet such things; “Never Enough” is a way of saying that they are never satisfied.

To exhaust the limits of beauty and power is to reach the utmost in beauty and benefit, beyond even the sages. One need not exert oneself, yet strength comes of itself; one need not devise plans, yet plans come of themselves; one need not accumulate Virtue, yet a reputation for worthiness comes of itself. These are the benefits wealth and status bring.

Without Ruling the Realm, Yet Stern as a Ruler and Father

The wealthy and powerful lack the title of ruler or father, yet command the authority of a ruler and father.

Sounds, Colors, Flavors, and Power

Sounds, colors, flavors, and power delight the human mind without any need to learn; the body feels at ease without deliberate imitation. Desire, aversion, avoidance, and approach need no teacher: they are part of human nature. Though I am not the only one in the world who covets these things, who can truly free themselves from them? To treat material attractions and power as one’s nature is like mistaking a thief for one’s child. Others in the world may not be as attached to them as I am, but I have yet to see anyone rise above them and renounce them completely.

“Knowing Harmony”

The actions of one who “knows” take the people as their measure and do not overstep their proper bounds. Thus, one is content and does not contend. Because there is “nothing by which to act,” one seeks nothing.

Seeking Because One Feels One Lacks

Feeling oneself deficient, one struggles and seeks, rushing about without considering oneself greedy, because one seeks what the “self” lacks. Feeling oneself abundant, one declines things—even the whole world—without considering oneself upright, because one’s inner Virtue is abundant and one can refuse all things outside oneself. One does not consider oneself upright for refusing the world, because what one abandons is external.

Uprightness and Greed

The key to uprightness and greed is whether one feels inwardly complete. Feeling deficient, one exhausts oneself seeking everywhere and does not consider oneself greedy, because one seeks what the “inner self” lacks. When one’s inner Virtue is abundant, one can refuse all things outside oneself. Even in refusing the world, one does not consider oneself upright, because what one abandons is external.

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Interpretation

In this passage, “genuine” does not mean showing off to others. It means examining one’s own limits in the opposite direction: even as Son of Heaven, one does not use one’s position to look down on others; even possessing all under Heaven, one does not use one’s wealth to toy with them. Seeing the calamities that follow from such conduct, and recognizing that it can turn back and harm one’s nature, one therefore declines to accept these things. This is not done to win a good reputation. (Lu Xixing says: To give up what one has in abundance and pursue what one lacks—the truth of greed and integrity lies not on the surface. One must look inward to see the natural order of Heaven. Even the exalted rank of Son of Heaven and the wealth of an entire state are merely external things. To use borrowed possessions, things outside oneself, to lord it over others or make sport of them—how could that be the constant Way? So one weighs the breach of natural order and fears that it will harm one’s life, then declines to accept; this is not for the sake of honor.)

Yao and Shun ruled as emperors with humility. Their purpose was not to show benevolence toward all under Heaven, but to keep a fine reputation from harming them. This is what is meant by “possessing all under Heaven without making it one’s own.” Shanjuan and Xu You received offers of the imperial throne but refused them. They were not making a polite show of yielding; they simply would not let governing harm them. All these people weighed benefit and harm and understood what to accept and what to leave behind. Only then did all under Heaven call them worthy. They could receive such a reputation, but they did not use it to make themselves famous. (This may be called understanding the root of benefit and harm and judging rightly what to accept and relinquish. All under Heaven called them worthy; they could bear that name without fault. But even possessing this reputation, they did not seek to create fame. The sage does not promote himself, yet the world’s recognition naturally comes to him.)

Wuzu said: If one must depend on a reputation for worthiness, tormenting the body, giving up fine foods, and living frugally to preserve one’s life are like enduring a long, debilitating illness and yet failing to die. What good is it to remain alive?

Zhihe said: Balance is a blessing; excess brings harm. This is true of all things, and especially of wealth. Today, rich people chase the sounds of bells, drums, pipes, and flutes with their ears, and let their mouths sink into the flavors of meat and fermented wine. Their senses disorder their minds, and they forget their proper work. This may be called great disorder. (Wuzu’s point comes from keeping the body at ease and the mind content. Zhihe extends the principle to things in general: when the ears are occupied with sounds and the mouth indulges in flavors, one departs from the proper measure and forgets one’s proper work. Is this not disorder?) Immersed in the force of one’s own breath, one is like someone walking under a heavy load…

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Interpretation

When Qi (vital energy) loses its balance, it may become blocked in the upper body and cause belching, or leak from the lower body and cause incontinence. And if you carry a heavy load while climbing a hill, can that fail to bring hardship?

You covet wealth to soothe your heart, and covet power so you can wield it to the full. When you sit still, you keep needing to urinate and wet yourself; when you bathe, you hold your breath and feel distressed. Can that fail to be called illness? To seek riches, rank, and gain, you pile up money until it blocks the walls and fills your eyes and ears, yet you do not know when to withdraw. You cling to it in your heart and flaunt it with stubborn pride—here, “relying on” means leaning on or holding fast to something. Can that fail to be called disgrace? You save money but cannot bring yourself to spend it; your heart cannot let go, and you are filled with sorrow, yet still want more, without end. Can that fail to be called anxiety? At home, you suspect thieves may break in and demand your belongings; outside, you fear robbers will harm you. You secure the house behind layer upon layer of doors and windows, and dare not walk alone outdoors. Can that fail to be called fear? These six are great evils in the world. When the wealthy fall prey to them, their bodies are ill at ease and their hearts find no joy.

People often forget all this and give it no thought. When calamity truly arrives, they may want to preserve their lives and spend all their wealth to secure just one peaceful day, yet find that they cannot. Then they can see neither fame nor gain; their bodies and minds are bound up, and still they struggle over these possessions. Is that not folly? Though the three passages in this chapter are somewhat crude and shallow, they do have merit in challenging ordinary people’s views and explaining the dangers of wealth and possessions.

Fu Guizi says: In the world there are sages and madmen. Even if they are brothers, they cannot be placed on the same level; Liu Xiajì and Robber Zhi are such a pair. Liu Xiajì’s sagehood is such that even a hundred generations after his death, hearing his name can stir people to goodness. How could anyone confuse him with Robber Zhi? The point that follows is that a sage’s name can serve as an example for generations, while a madman cannot be counted among the sages.

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Interpretation

Liuxia Ji's younger brother, Robber Zhi (Dao Zhi, a legendary great bandit and Liuxia Ji's brother), could not educate the unruly men who had become thieves. They gathered in groups and roamed about, greedy and insatiable, forgetting their kin and disregarding their parents and brothers, so that even the feudal lords were terrified and the common people suffered. Confucius said to Liuxia Ji, "For a father to instruct his son and an elder brother to guide his younger brother is the ordinary way of things. Now you, sir, have a younger brother like Robber Zhi, and you cannot instruct him. Let me go and persuade him on your behalf."

Liuxia Ji replied, "What you say is the ordinary principle between fathers and sons, and between brothers. But the situation with my younger brother is an exception within the bonds of brotherhood. Moreover, Zhi is strong enough to resist his enemies and eloquent enough to disguise his errors; one can only follow him, not oppose him. Even if you go to persuade him, it will do no good." Liuxia Ji went on, "If even a sage could not transform his own younger brother, how much less could someone of my modest abilities, born in a degenerate age, make a son who ignores his father's instruction or a younger brother who rejects his elder brother's guidance obey me?" Confucius did not heed the warning and went to see Robber Zhi anyway.

The attendant went in to announce him. When Zhi heard it, he said, "Isn't this Kong Qiu of Lu, the glib-tongued one? He does not plow yet has food to eat, does not weave yet has clothes to wear, fabricates right and wrong at will, borrows the name of filial piety and fraternal duty, and hopes to win wealth and rank through a marquisate." The attendant then relayed to Confucius, "There are three kinds of virtue under heaven: to be born tall and handsome, so that young and old, high and low, all delight in one's presence, is the highest virtue; to comprehend the principles of heaven and earth and to discern the myriad things is the middle virtue; to be bold and resolute, gathering men and commanding armies, is the lowest virtue. Now, General, you possess all three. If you will heed my words, I will unite the feudal lords for you, build a great city of several hundred li for you, and begin the world anew with you, halting warfare and letting the soldiers rest. This is the shared wish of all under heaven."

Hearing this, Zhi flew into a rage and said, "Those who praise a man to his face also slander him behind his back. Now Kong Qiu tempts me with a great city and seeks to bind me with profit, treating me as livestock to be kept for a long time. How could that possibly be?" He continued, "The greatest city is nothing less than the whole world. Yao, Shun, Tang, and Wu all possessed the world, yet what became of their descendants? In the age of the Nest-Dwelling Sire, the people did not know how to wear clothes; in the age of the Divine Farmer, they knew only their mothers and not their fathers, planting to eat and weaving to clothe themselves, and there was no thought among them of harming one another. Now you, Kong Qiu, embellish the Way of Kings Wen and Wu, feign speech and affect hypocritical conduct, to delude the rulers of the world. No thief under heaven is greater than you, yet you call me Robber Zhi. Why is this? Of all those whom the world most reveres, none surpasses the Yellow Thearch. Yet even such a man could not achieve complete virtue, and so I, Zhi, use this to show that the so-called Way of the Sages is not enough to bind the people of the world."

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Interpretation

Those without “perfect virtue” include Yao, who was not considered compassionate; Shun, who was not considered filial; Yu, whose body was impaired on one side; Tang, who banished his ruler; King Wu, who attacked King Zhou; and King Wen, who was once imprisoned. Judged by conventional morality, the actions of all six were deeply troubling. Boyi and Shuqi starved to death; Bao Jiao wasted away; Shentu Di drowned himself; Jie Zitui burned himself to death; Weisheng drowned; Bi Gan was disemboweled; and Wu Zixu had his eyes gouged out. If someone tried to teach me through these people and their deeds, that would be no better. Heaven and earth are boundless, but human life has its limit. To entrust a finite life to the expanse of heaven and earth—is that any different from a fine horse flashing past a crack in the wall? Everything Robber Zhi said is something I cast aside without a second thought. Why say more?

Confucius hurried out and returned to the eastern gate of Lu. Liu Xiajì asked, “Robber Zhi didn’t go against what you said, did he?” Confucius replied, “What he said was like someone with no illness giving himself moxibustion. It was like racing to grab a tiger by the whiskers and stroke its cheek—I barely escaped its jaws.”

Zizhang asked Man Goude, “If a scholar cultivates his conduct, others will trust and employ him; if he is not employed, he will be at a disadvantage. So fame and profit are both external things. Only ‘rightness’ is genuine. If a scholar gives up fame and profit and asks only what is in his own heart, he will scarcely be able to make his way in the world.”

Man Goude said, “Those who harbor filth often become rich, while those whose words and deeds inspire trust often rise to prominence. The shameless often become the leaders in the scramble for fame and profit. If a scholar reflects, in the stillness of night, on everything he has done by day, he will scarcely have any conduct left to speak of.”

Zizhang said, “Compare those who accumulate virtue with those who amass wealth, and they are ashamed to be likened to Jie and Zhou. Compare a minister with Confucius or Mozi, and he would refuse the comparison. This shows that being Son of Heaven is not necessarily noble, and being poor as an ordinary man is not necessarily base. Nobility and baseness do not lie in rank, but in whether one’s conduct is good or evil.” Man Goude said, “Huan Gong, Xiao Bai, and Tian Chengzi, Chang, are men whom scholars disdain even to mention. Yet when scholars set out to make their way in the world, they often fall below them. So an ancient book says: ‘Who is bad, and who is good? The successful take the lead; the unsuccessful bring up the rear.’ It judges only success and failure, not good and evil.”

Zizhang said, “If you refuse to follow the teachings of the Confucians and Mohists, you will inevitably throw family ties and social ranks, high and low, young and old, into confusion. How then can the Five Relationships and Six Positions be distinguished?” Man Goude said, “The eldest son can be killed, and the younger brother born of the same mother can be exiled. Where, then, are Yao and Shun? Kinship still has its order. Jie can be banished and Zhou killed. Where, then, are Tang and Wu? Relations among the noble kin still have their principles. Jizi can depart, and Guan Shu can be killed. Where, then, are King Ji and the Duke of Zhou? The order between elder and younger still stands. Confucians embellish their language, while Mohists preach universal love. Where, then, are the Five Relationships and Six Positions? Distinctions remain as they are.”

On those who sacrifice themselves for profit, for fame, for power, for all under heaven, for all things, or for life itself: what they sacrifice themselves for differs, but in each case they are sacrificing themselves. What people condemn or praise varies with their views; so too, the name “sage” depends on what one is devoted to.

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Interpretation

A reputation may be pure or tainted, high or low. Yet abandoning what one ought to do and doing what one ought not to do are essentially the same.

That is why it is called “Wuwei (non-action).” The petty person follows inborn nature and finds it easy; the noble person follows the natural order and finds it hard. The natural order itself sets the bounds between crooked and straight; what is right and wrong each has its own way of turning and adapting. One cannot simply rely on one’s fixed intentions and contrivances to walk with the Dao, act without turning aside, or fulfill what is right without claiming achievement. Since ancient times, loyalty and trustworthiness have often brought calamity, while integrity and righteousness have often suffered harm. How, then, could a scholar bound by rules of speech and conduct escape misfortune?

Wuzu asked Zhihe, “Who can truly let go of fame and profit? You seem utterly indifferent to wealth and rank. Is this because of the limits of your nature, or because outside forces have restrained you? In the end, are they still hard to forget?”

Zhihe replied, “There are people who have no fixed ruler within. Though times change from ancient to modern, they are without ancient or modern; though distinctions are made between right and wrong, they are without right or wrong. They blend with the light and mingle with the dust. They know only what the world does and seem at ease in body, unaware of grief or joy in their hearts, lost and not knowing it. Even one honored as Son of Heaven is still liable to bodily harm—how much more so those beneath him?”

Wuzu said, “Wealth brings people every advantage. At the height of its splendor, wealth and rank let one yield even to the most exalted person. Even a sage would give way. Without courage or strength, courage and strength arrive of themselves; without knowledge or strategy, knowledge and strategy gather of themselves; without admirable virtue, admirable virtue comes to one of its own accord. One may lack the title of ruler or father yet possess their authority. One need not study the pleasures of sound, color, power, and influence: the heart delights in them naturally. One need not be taught what to desire or dislike, what to avoid or pursue: a child can distinguish these.”

Zhihe said, “The wise understand the distinction between having more than enough and having too little, and between what is within and what is outside. Nothing in the world is more sufficient than I am, so I do not contend; nothing is more devoid than I am, so I seek nothing. When I lack something, I seek it—not from others, but within myself. What I contend for is among the four beginnings, yet I do not consider myself greedy. When I have more than enough, I relinquish it—not because I myself am giving it up, but because it truly belongs to others. Even if I were to give up the whole world, I would not consider myself upright. Look back upon what greed and integrity truly mean: all external things that arrive by chance can harm one’s nature. In ancient times, some refused the whole world and would not accept it; Shan Juan and Xu You were such people.”

Wuzu said, “If one must torment the body to attain supreme distinction and savor delicacies to sustain life, then even while living, one is as good as dead.”

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Interpretation

They also know that “harmony” brings good fortune: when things are level, water does not run wild. Excess, however, turns into harm; when water is full, it must overflow. The same is true of all things, especially wealth: the more one gathers, the more one loses. The wealthy today indulge their desires for food and music to the point of extravagance; their minds become showy, their livelihoods fall into neglect, and their nature grows disordered. Their Qi loses its measure of balance and harmony, rising in the upper body and sinking in the lower; their emotions become bitter. They give free rein to greed for wealth and power, indulgence in sex, and anger, until their bodies fall ill.

It is said that those who know contentment avoid disgrace. When one piles up wealth in “a-du” (small heaps of gain close at hand), knowing how to profit but not how to avoid danger, able to covet but unable to let go, disgrace arrives of its own accord, though it was never sought. It is also said that wealth should flow like water. If one keeps clinging to it after it has become useless, knowing how to advance but not when to stop, worries gather of their own accord, though none were there before. Hoarding invites thieves; abundant bribes bring bandits. At home, one must then build strong defenses; when traveling, one must take a grand retinue of servants and carriages. Fear gathers of its own accord, though there was nothing to fear. If one can recognize these six things in advance, there may still be a remedy. But once calamity arrives, even surrendering all that one has accumulated over a lifetime cannot trade wealth for one’s nature; such an outcome cannot be avoided. Since ancient times, those who lost their states or families, or lost their bodies and lives, have often fallen prey to this failing. How tragic.

The entire Nanhua Scripture discusses nature and life. This chapter is named after Robber Zhi, but I believe Zhi never grasped the Way of the great robber; he was only a petty thief. The Scripture of the Hidden Talisman says: “Heaven and Earth rob the myriad things; the myriad things rob human beings; human beings rob the myriad things. When these three acts of robbing are properly aligned, the Three Powers are at peace.” Thus, one skilled in robbing takes the central Qi of Yin and Yang in Heaven and Earth to form a human being, then takes the primordial Qi of the ancestral One to preserve life. This is what is meant by “digging into the earth to seek Heaven.” Could Zhuangzi and Laozi have meant only what “harmony” says here? How could there be any doubt that this is a forged work by a strategist of the Warring States period?

The Miscellaneous Chapters, “Explaining the Sword,” chapter thirty: Even if this chapter was not written by Zhuangzi, it is still a work from the Warring States period. Han dynasty Confucian scholars lacked this literary power. Had it been written by Zhuangzi himself, he would surely have said that there are swords three feet long between Heaven and Earth: that would be no more than the boast of a warrior.

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Interpretation

There is a sword of pure Yang that only a perfected person (one who has attained the Dao) can wield. If people wish to preserve their lives, they must begin with laying the foundation and refining themselves, the basic work of cultivation. This process is called “forging the sword.” Once the sword is forged, they must first cut away the deluded thoughts in their own minds. As the saying goes, “When the Po-soul perishes, the Hun-soul flourishes”; only then can the work of the Dao be brought to completion.

Long ago, King Wen of Zhao was fond of swordsmanship. Swordsmen crowded the palace gates, and more than three thousand guests filled his household. Day and night they fought one another before him; more than a hundred were killed or wounded each year. King Wen never tired of watching. After three years of this, the state fell into decline, and the other feudal lords plotted against Zhao. The crown prince, Hui (pronounced “Li”), was troubled by this and offered a thousand pieces of gold to anyone among his attendants who could persuade the king to give up his fondness for swordsmen. His attendants said that Zhuangzi could do it.

The crown prince sent someone to offer Zhuangzi a thousand pieces of gold. Zhuangzi refused the gift and went with the messenger to meet the crown prince. “Why have you instructed me and offered me a thousand pieces of gold?” he asked.

The crown prince replied, “I have heard that you are a sage, sir. I respectfully offer the thousand pieces of gold to provide for your attendants.”

“Even the Son of Heaven (King Wen) would not accept it. How could Hui dare say more?” said Zhuangzi.

“I have heard that the crown prince wishes to engage me because he wants to put an end to the king’s love of swordsmanship,” Zhuangzi continued. “If I try to persuade the king and go against his wishes, I will fail to satisfy you and will die under punishment. What use would a thousand pieces of gold be then? But if I can persuade the king and satisfy you, what could Zhao possibly lack?”

The crown prince said, “That is so. What my king sees are only swordsmen.”

“Good,” said Zhuangzi. “I am skilled with the sword.”

The crown prince replied, “Yes. The swordsmen my king sees all have unbound hair with their side locks standing up, low-hanging caps tied over their topknots, coarse and unpatterned cap cords, and short-backed clothing that lets them move freely. They glare and speak fiercely, their words sharp with the anger of warriors. That is what pleases the king. If you appear before him now in a Confucian robe, things will surely go badly.”

“Allow me to prepare a swordsman’s clothing,” said Zhuangzi.

After preparing his swordsman’s clothes for three days, he went to see the crown prince, who accompanied him to meet the king. The king drew his sword and awaited him. Zhuangzi entered the hall without hurrying and did not bow when he saw the king.

“What do you wish to teach me?” the king asked. “Let the crown prince speak first.”

“I have heard that Your Majesty is fond of swords,” Zhuangzi replied, “so I have come to speak about swordsmanship.”

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Interpretation

The king asked Zhuangzi, "What use is your sword? How does it subdue an enemy?" Zhuangzi replied, "My sword can take a man's life within ten paces, and within a thousand li no one can block it." The king was overjoyed. "Then you would be invincible under heaven!" Zhuangzi said, "One who knows how to use a sword first shows an emptiness to lure the opponent into attacking. Only after the opponent has moved does he strike, yet he arrives before his opponent does." He asked to test the sword in person. The king said, "Rest for now, Master, and await my command."

The king then summoned swordsmen to compete. Over seven days more than sixty were killed or wounded, and five or six were chosen to remain in attendance in the hall. The king summoned Zhuangzi and said, "Today, please, Master, try these swordsmen." Zhuangzi asked, "What are the lengths of the weapons Your Majesty uses?" The king answered, "And what are the lengths of the weapons you use, Master?" Zhuangzi said, "The weapons I use vary, but I have three kinds of swords. Please let me describe them to Your Majesty first, and then you may decide which one to test." The king said, "I would like to hear about the three swords."

Zhuangzi said, "There is the sword of the Son of Heaven, the sword of the feudal lords, and the sword of the common people." The king asked, "What is the sword of the Son of Heaven like?" Zhuangzi replied, "The sword of the Son of Heaven uses fine stone from Yanxi and Shicheng for its point (the point, that is, the tip of the blade). It uses fine iron from the mountains of Qi and Tai for its edge (the edge, that is, the sharp part). It uses refined iron from the lands of Jin and Wei for its spine (the spine, that is, the thick back of the blade). It uses the lands of Zhou and Song for its guard (the guard, that is, the hand-protector at the mouth of the scabbard). It uses the lands of Han and Wei for its hilt (the hilt). Its outer sheath encloses the Four Barbarians, and its interior contains the Four Seasons. It encircles the Bohai Sea and girdles Mount Changshan. It takes the Five Phases as its blade and punishment and virtue (xingde) as its grain. It is opened by Yin-Yang (yinyang), grasped in spring and summer, and set in motion in autumn and winter. Thrust straight ahead, nothing can resist it. Raised high, nothing is out of its reach. Pressed downward, nothing can escape it. Swept sideways, nothing is left untouched. Raised upward, it can cut through the floating clouds; thrust downward, it can sever the great bonds of the earth. Once this sword is drawn, it rectifies the feudal lords, and all under heaven submits."

(The commentators hold that here the whole world is treated as the sword, and the Five Phases, punishment and virtue, Yin-Yang, and similar notions serve as metaphors for the Dao, which is subtle and unfathomable. Only a divine person can wield such a sacred instrument, and so only such a person can rectify the feudal lords and bring all under heaven to submission.)

The king was dismayed, as if he had lost something, and asked, "What is the sword of the feudal lords like?" Zhuangzi said, "The sword of the feudal lords uses wise and brave scholars for its point, incorruptible scholars for its edge, worthy and virtuous scholars for its spine, loyal and upright scholars for its guard, and heroic men for its hilt."

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Interpretation

The Sword of the Feudal Lords (continued) and the Sword of the Commoner

Commentary (Cheng Xuanying): The scholar-officials are the people’s hope. Wisdom and courage come first, like the point of a sword; integrity comes next, like its edge. The worthy and capable are the backbone of the state, like the spine of the blade. Loyalty and uprightness are the state’s guiding principles, like the guard. The means by which heroes rely on their strength and carry out their work are like the sword’s fittings. When those who govern a state consider what sort of people they appoint as its point, edge, guard, and fittings, and whether those appointments are appropriate, they can judge whether the sword is sharp—and so understand whether the state is secure or in danger.

This sword thrusts straight ahead, with nothing before it; raised upward, there is nothing above it; pressed downward, nothing below it; turned about, nothing beside it. Above, it takes the round heavens as its model and follows the three lights—the sun, moon, and stars. Below, it takes the square earth as its model and follows the four seasons of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Through the Way of balance and harmony, it settles the people’s hearts and brings peace to the towns and villages in all four directions. This is the sword of the feudal lords. Once it is put to use, it shakes the land like thunder; within the borders of the state, there is no one who does not submit and obey the ruler’s commands. This is the sword of the feudal lords.

The king asked, “What about the sword of the commoner?” Zhuangzi replied, “The commoner’s sword is wielded by someone with disheveled hair, a crooked cap, a coarse tassel at his waist, and short, rough clothes. He glares and grits his teeth, strikes at his opponent face to face, hacking at the neck above and splitting the liver and lungs below. This commoner’s sword is no different from cockfighting. Once a life is lost, it does nothing to serve the affairs of the state. Your Majesty holds the rank of Son of Heaven, yet you delight in the sword of the commoner. In private, I regret this for Your Majesty.”

Commentary: Zhuangzi uses King Wen of Zhao’s preference for swordsmanship to urge him to correct his mistake, and to turn his heart back toward the kingly Way.

The King of Zhao Comes to His Senses and “After Three Months, All the Swordsmen Had Dispersed”

The king then took Zhuangzi by the hand and led him into the palace. The steward brought out a meal, and the king walked around it three times, a gesture of respect. Zhuangzi said, “Your Majesty, please sit calmly and settle your breath. The discussion of swords is over.”

After this, King Wen no longer left the palace. Within three months, the swordsmen were all ashamed and dispersed—or took their own lives—and the matter of swordsmanship came to an end.

Commentary (Fugui Zi): Among the martial arts under heaven, swordsmanship is the finest. The visible sword, forged by Ou Ye, joins metal and fire, balancing hardness with softness; it can slay demons across ten thousand miles, swift as a streak of lightning. How much greater, then, is the invisible sword within the human body, rooted in the foundations of Heaven and Earth and formed from the bones of Yin and Yang, refined from true metal and true water within the body? A fool uses it to destroy himself; a True Person uses it to let his spirit soar and ascend. King Wen of Zhao lacked the wisdom to understand this, yet delighted in the visible sword. What good could that do? His three thousand guests knew only the sword used to stab and strike. After he had loved swords for three years, the state’s fortunes declined. The Crown Prince Kui was worried and asked his attendants who could offer the king advice.

Zhuangzi Appears in Proper Attire

None of the attendants dared answer, so the Crown Prince sent an envoy to offer Zhuangzi a thousand pieces of gold. Zhuangzi refused the gift but went with the envoy to meet the king. He said, “I have heard that your virtue and the Way are profound. When summoned to see the king, one should not hurry forward. When the king sends someone to welcome you outside the gate, and you enter and address him three times as ‘your servant,’ these are the king’s courtesies. Now you have not observed the formalities of a subject, and you wear the robes and cap of a Confucian—or perhaps you have merely mended your clothes and cap—while claiming to be a man of the wilderness and demanding an audience with the ruler. That is a breach of courtesy on the king’s part.” The king set down his sword and received him, saying, “What guidance do you have for me?”

Zhuangzi said, “I have heard that Your Majesty loves swords, so I have come to speak about swords.” The king asked, “How do you set out and teach the Way of the sword?” Zhuangzi replied, “I have three swords: the sword of the Son of Heaven, the sword of the feudal lords, and the sword of the commoner. Which would Your Majesty like to hear about?” The king said, “I would like to hear about the sword of the Son of Heaven.”

The Sword of the Son of Heaven: A Geographical Metaphor

Zhuangzi said, “The sword of the Son of Heaven takes the Gong stones of Yan and the Stone City of Zhao as its point—places known for cutting iron and producing keen blades. It takes Wei as its edge: the mountain in Nanyang, also said to be Mount Wuben. Jin and Wei form its fittings: the Jin River rises in Pingyang, Hedong, while Wei refers to the area around a great city in Shandong. Qi forms its path: Qi lies north of Mount Tai and borders the sea to the east. Jin extends eastward, with the people of Jin traveling northeast from Hejian; Song forms its square, and Han its blade, in the Nanyang region. It takes the greedy and clever as those to be subdued, and the poor, lowly, and brave as those to be feared. Within and without, all is brought into order; its wisdom reaches across the Four Seas; its beneficence flows down like rivers pouring into the sea. It bears the world as though carrying earth on its back, and maintains it through the long passage of the four seasons. This is the sword of the Son of Heaven.”

The king asked, “What is the sword of the Son of Heaven?” Zhuangzi said, “The sword of the Son of Heaven takes Yan’s Gong stones and Zhao’s Stone City as its blade-making grounds; Wei as its edge; Jin and Wei as its fittings; Qi as its path; Jin as its eastern course, Song as its square, and Han as its blade. It takes the greedy and clever, and the poor, lowly, and brave, as those to be subdued and feared. Within and without, all follows its proper order; its wisdom encompasses the Four Seas; its beneficence flows throughout the world; it bears the earth on its back and endures through the long rule of the four seasons. This is the sword of the Son of Heaven.”

The king then asked, “Could this sword be used to subdue those who deserve no pardon and defeat other people?”

Zhuangzi replied, “What Your Majesty likes at present is merely a way of fighting that makes it easy for people to fight one another.” (Commentary: This concerns two people grappling, encroaching on and oppressing each other; the king’s love of swords is meant to benefit ordinary people.) The king said, “I would like to hear about the Way of the sword of the Son of Heaven.”

Commentary: The sword of a king is the kingly Way. The three lights, the four seasons, the Nine Provinces, and the feudal lords in all eight directions all submit to it. Why, then, would one need to subdue those who deserve no pardon? Zhuangzi is pointing out that the king’s preference is for the sort of fighting in which people contend with one another, not for the sword of the Son of Heaven.

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Interpretation

To win the King of Chu’s favor, those around him kept only sword fighters in his service. His attendants suggested that Zhuangzi might be suited to the role, so they provided for him with a thousand gold pieces and sent him with an envoy to meet the crown prince. The prince said, “My father summons only sword fighters.” Zhuangzi replied, “Please let me prepare a swordsman’s attire.” After three days, the prince took him to see the king.

The king asked, “What can you do?” Zhuangzi said, “With my sword, I can kill a man within ten paces, and no one within a thousand miles can stand against me.” The king was delighted. “Then you are invincible under Heaven!” Zhuangzi continued, “A swordsman first shows his opponent an opening, so the opponent dares not strike rashly. He lures him with an advantage, drawing him into the trap. He overcomes his opponent by acting afterward, moving only when pressed. He carries his intent to its utmost, leaving his opponent no chance to respond. I ask to demonstrate.”

The king selected sword fighters for seven days and chose five or six of them before summoning Zhuangzi. The king said, “Today we shall test swords and have the men fight.” Zhuangzi replied, “I have three swords: the sword of the Son of Heaven, the sword of the feudal lords, and the sword of the common people.” The king asked what the sword of the Son of Heaven was like.

Zhuangzi said, “The sword of the Son of Heaven takes all under Heaven as its body. It is made neither of gold nor tin, neither bronze nor iron. Its point is vast, formed from Yan’s stream-worn stones and the walls of its cities. Its edge is keen, formed from Qi and Mount Tai. Its spine is strong, formed from the lands of Jin and Wei. Its guard is sharp, formed from Zhou and Song. Its grips are sturdy, formed from Han and Wei. The Four Barbarians lie outside it and cannot contain it; the four seasons lie within it and cannot encircle it. The Bohai Sea and Mount Changshan form its encircling belt. The Five Phases and the punishments and Virtue form its account of how it strikes. It opens with Yin and closes with Yang. Those before it and behind it fear its authority; those above, below, and on every side are laid low. With this sword, he brings order to the myriad states—how could the feudal lords fail to be set right? With it, he conquers all within the seas—how could the world fail to submit? This is the sword of the Son of Heaven.”

“As for the sword of the feudal lords, it is neither Moye nor Ganjiang, ancient famous swords. Its point lies not in a blade, but in wisdom and courage; its edge lies not in a blade, but in integrity; its spine lies not in a blade, but in worthy, loyal, and upright people. Its guard is made of heroes, and its grips are made of them as well. Where this sword rules, there is nothing before it, nothing above it, nothing below it, and nothing to either side. Above, it models itself on the round Heaven and vies in brilliance with the sun, moon, and stars. Below, it models itself on the square Earth and moves in step with spring, summer, autumn, and winter. In its center, it harmonizes the people’s wishes, and the people in the neighboring lands all live in peace. When this sword is raised, it is like thunder shaking the air; the feudal lords across the four borders are all struck with awe.”

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Interpretation

Zhuangzi says: To indulge in external things and neglect one’s proper duties, even if one praises the virtuous and pities the incapable, is still to have failed to grasp the Way that links above and below and brings together the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity. This discussion differs from the commentaries of the various schools.

Liu Yuan (Emperor Taizu of Jin) founded a Lotus Society. Ye Ming (a Buddhist monastic name) helped spread and save people through the Buddha Dharma, enforcing punishments harshly. The court established a religious council to promote Buddhism. The Seven Perfected Ones of the Southern Pole and other deities…

At the hour of the Rat, when troops were being deployed, a guest came to visit. Jizi primarily followed Confucian learning, while also mastering military strategy; his plans were profound and unfathomable.

Jiefu’s (Wang Anshi’s) teachings were extremely precise; only these two doctrines can be compared and brought together.

The New Learning of Wang Linchuan (Wang Anshi) rose to prominence. Amid its principles of chaos and of emptiness and reality, Bi (a minister) had no way to intervene.

During the reign of Guangtian Hou (Wu Zetian), Daoist affairs flourished. The death of Crown Prince Zhanghuai implicated many people, leading even to executions and the destruction of families.

The names and concepts of the Perfected Ones, Heaven, mountains, and the like need explanation.

Liu Sizhou (the Perfected Liu) had many disciples and taught the people. He once expounded the division of the Two Forms into Perfected beings and pushed over a talisman stele. The true bodies of the Heavenly Emperor and of the Brahmin sage, and so on…

Wu Tianzuo enacted the kingly way, following Liu Yuan’s intent. Through the mind’s capacity for resonance, he fathomed the principles of things. He led the people in paying homage to the Eastern Peak’s Heavenly Equal, Benevolent and Sagely Emperor (the Great Emperor of the Eastern Peak). He assisted Heaven in keeping time…

In the Yunzhou region, the Jurchen people… This cannot be determined. There is a temple and a stele there. Ciji Zhenjin… seeking further afield at Shenshan. Yongxing Army (the name of a military garrison)…

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Interpretation

“The Lord of the Soil” and Zigong said, “No.”

“The ruler’s counselor” and Zigong said, “No.”

The visitor then laughed, turned away, and left, speaking as he went: “To be humane is all well and good, but I fear you still cannot keep yourself safe. You wear yourself out in body and mind, and so put your own true nature at risk. Alas, how far he is from the Dao!” The idea of being far from the Dao is at the heart of this passage: the words “put true nature at risk” are its central premise.

Zigong returned and reported this to Confucius. Confucius pushed aside his zither and stood up. “Could he be a sage?” he said. He then got down from his carriage and went to find the visitor. When he reached the bank of the marsh, the man was raising his oar to propel his boat. Seeing Confucius, he turned his boat around and stood facing him. Confucius stepped back before approaching again, bowed twice, and then came forward.

The visitor said, “What are you seeking?” Confucius replied, “A moment ago, sir, you left after offering a few subtle words. I am unworthy and do not understand what you meant. I have been waiting here humbly, hoping to hear your words and asking you to finish your teaching for me.” The phrase “finish your teaching” means to complete what you were saying and instruct me; the vivid wording brings the scene to life.

The visitor said, “Ah, you are very eager to learn!” Confucius bowed twice and rose. “I began studying when I was young, and now I am sixty-nine. Still, I have not heard the highest teaching. How could I fail to approach you with an open mind?”

The visitor said, “Those of the same kind keep company, and voices in harmony answer one another: this is the way of Heaven. Let me explain what I understand and briefly examine what you understand. What you understand concerns human affairs.”

The Son of Heaven, the feudal lords, the great officers, and the common people: each of these four groups keeping to its proper place is good government. If they leave their proper places, nothing causes greater disorder. When officials attend to their duties and people concern themselves with their own affairs, no one encroaches on another. Each official then administers a single office, and each person attends to their own responsibilities, without usurping another’s role. For commoners, the worries are fields left untilled, homes falling into disrepair, too little clothing and food, taxes that cannot be paid on time, discord between spouses, and disorder between elders and young people. Commoners have their own bodies to care for, so their worries are the worries of their own lives.

For those whose abilities fall short of their responsibilities, whose official duties are neglected, and whose conduct is not upright—

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Interpretation

Plain-language interpretation

When the people are lazy and neglect their duties, merit goes unrecognized and unrewarded, and ranks and stipends cannot be held on to, this is what worries the high ministers. When the court has no loyal officials and the state falls into disorder; when artisans lack skill and their tribute goods and work are poor; when the order of the spring and autumn audiences is thrown into confusion—this is what worries the feudal lords, who are concerned with the affairs of their states. When Yin-Yang is out of balance, cold and heat arrive at the wrong times and harm the myriad things; when feudal lords rebel and attack one another without authorization, harming the people; when rites and music lack proper measure and resources are scarce; when human relations are neglected and the people fall into sexual disorder—this is what worries the Son of Heaven and his officials, for the Son of Heaven is concerned with all under Heaven.

You hold no position of authority like that of the feudal lords or officials above you, nor do you serve below as a high minister or officer. Yet you take it upon yourself to embellish rites and music, put human relations in order, and educate the people of Qi. Are you not meddling in affairs that are none of your business?

Moreover, there are eight faults in people and four dangers in their conduct. These must be examined carefully.

The Eight Faults:

Taking charge of matters that are not yours to handle is called meddling: forcing yourself to do what is not your responsibility.

Speaking up when no one has asked you to is called glibness: forcing your words on others and showing off your eloquence.

Saying what you think will please your superior is called flattery.

Speaking carelessly without distinguishing right from wrong is called sycophancy.

Speaking only of others’ faults is called slander.

Driving people apart and damaging friendships and family ties is called harm: breaking up people’s close relationships and injuring them.

Using false praise to ruin good people is called malice: hiding harmful intent, praising someone outwardly while actually undermining them, and leading them into a trap without their realizing it. This is the proverbial honeyed words and dagger in the heart. It is called malice rather than open condemnation because the evil is concealed within.

Without regard for good or evil, seeking to please both sides and secretly encouraging people’s private desires is called deceit. This includes matching one’s expression to whatever others like; trying to please everyone regardless of whether they are right or wrong; and secretly discerning what someone wants, then drawing them toward it and helping their wrongdoing grow.

These eight faults disturb others outwardly and injure oneself inwardly. A gentleman does not befriend those who have them, and an enlightened ruler does not appoint them as ministers.

The Four Dangers:

Delighting in grand undertakings and changing established laws in pursuit of fame and distinction is called presumption: taking pleasure in extraordinary deeds to achieve unparalleled merit.

Acting arbitrarily, taking what belongs to others, and doing as one pleases is called greed: relying solely on one’s own private judgment and claiming the right to act alone.

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Interpretation

When their conduct infringes on others’ authority, yet they take pleasure in stubbornly clinging to their own views; when they see their faults but do not change, and become even more obstinate when advised, this is called harshness (being headstrong and refusing counsel). When they approve of those who agree with them, but regard those who differ as bad, even when they are good, this is called conceit (self-praise and arrogance). These are the four calamities. Only after casting off the Eight Faults and being free of the Four Calamities can one teach others. This is what Zhuangzi means in the text and its commentaries.

Confucius looked troubled, sighed deeply, bowed twice, then rose and said, “I was twice expelled from the state of Lu; in Wei, I was erased from the rolls (my name was struck out, and I was not allowed to serve); in Song, a tree was cut down over me (referring to Huan Tui’s attempt to kill me beneath a tree); and between Chen and Cai, I was besieged. I do not know what I have done wrong to suffer these four slanders. Why is this?”

The Fisherman’s face turned sorrowful. “You are very hard to awaken! There was once a man who feared his shadow and hated his footprints, so he ran. The more he lifted his feet, the more footprints he left; the faster he ran, the shadow still stayed with him. Thinking he was still too slow, he ran frantically without stopping, until his strength gave out and he died. He did not know that resting in the shade would let his shadow grow still, and staying quiet would make his footprints cease. (Resting in the shade and keeping still are metaphors for the essentials of following the Dao.) How foolish beyond measure! You distinguish questions of benevolence and righteousness, examine where things are alike and different, observe changes between movement and stillness, measure what should be accepted and rejected, set in order the feelings of liking and disliking, and regulate the proper measure of joy and anger—yet you still can scarcely escape calamity. You should carefully cultivate yourself and carefully preserve your original nature, returning external things to others; then nothing will burden you. Today you fail to cultivate yourself and seek what you want from others. Is this not turning too far outward?”

Confucius, still troubled, said, “May I ask what is meant by the True (original nature and sincerity)?”

The Fisherman said, “The True is the utmost sincerity. Without sincerity, one cannot move others. If you force yourself to weep, you may seem sorrowful, but there is no true grief; if you force yourself to be angry, you may seem stern, but there is no true authority; if you force yourself to show affection, you may seem to smile, but there is no true warmth. (A feigned expression is like a drawing; only by discerning what is false can one recognize what is true.) True grief is often silent, yet sorrowful; true anger carries authority before it is expressed; true affection is warm before a smile appears. What is true within the heart…”

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Interpretation

A Colloquial Interpretation of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence

When one is sincere within, one naturally moves others and connects with them. What matters most, then, is the genuine: one’s original, natural state.

In human relationships and the affairs of life, one should treat one’s parents with loving care and filial devotion, serve one’s ruler with loyalty and integrity, drink with enjoyment, and mourn with grief. In serving a ruler, the aim is to establish merit; in drinking, to enjoy oneself; in mourning, to feel sorrow; and in serving one’s parents, to act with moderation and propriety. Once all four are fulfilled and each finds its proper expression, there is no need to cling to outward appearances.

In serving one’s parents, it is enough to act appropriately; there is no need to calculate the reasons. In drinking, it is enough to enjoy oneself; there is no need to choose the vessels or flavors. In mourning, it is enough to feel grief; there is no need to fuss over ritual. Better to keep the funeral rites simple, provided there is genuine sorrow.

Ritual is made by the customs of the world. The genuine is received from Heaven and belongs to one’s natural, original state; it cannot be altered. Thus the sage takes Heaven as a model and treasures the genuine, without being bound by custom. The foolish do the opposite: unable to take Heaven as their model, they worry only about whether they fit in with other people. They do not know that what is genuine is precious—that the rank bestowed by Heaven is more valuable—and busily follow changing customs. They are hardly worth esteeming.

In your youth, Master, you were deeply immersed in human artifice; only in your later years did you hear the Great Dao. Confucius rose after bowing twice and said, “Today I am fortunate to have met you, Master. You have not turned me away, and I hope you will accept me as your disciple and teach me in person. May I ask where you live? Please allow me to come and study with you, and to complete my learning in the Great Dao.”

The visitor replied, “I have heard that those who can travel together toward the wondrous Dao may go together. But the wondrous Dao cannot be shared with someone who does not know its way. Take care not to go with such a person, and you will come to no harm. Do your best, Master. I am going now; I am going now.” He then pushed off in his boat and disappeared among the reeds.

Yan Yuan turned the carriage around, and Zilu handed Confucius the reins. Confucius did not look back. Only after the water had settled and the sound of the boatman’s pole could no longer be heard did he dare get into the carriage.

Zilu walked beside the carriage and asked, “I, You, have served you for a long time, yet I have never seen you treat anyone with such respect. When the ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots, or the lord of one with a thousand, meets you, each stands on equal footing with you in the exchange of courtesies. Yet you went forward and bowed to a fisherman holding a pole. Your disciples are bewildered. May I ask why?”

Leaning on the carriage rail, Confucius sighed and said, “You, it is hard to explain this to you. Anyone who has a particular skill, follows sound principles, or can point out another person’s faults is called a teacher. This fisherman spoke with genuine insight. He saw that I had something to say and examined it in light of the Great Dao. How could I not bow to him?”

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Reading of This Passage from the Nanhua Zhenjing Zhushu

The disciples were talking among themselves: When the Master (Confucius) performed a bow in the courtyard, he still carried himself with an air of arrogance. Yet now, with the Fisherman standing before him, leaning on a bamboo pole, the Master bent like a hanging stone chime and repeatedly bowed with his hands clasped before answering. Wasn’t that going too far? The disciples all thought their Master was acting strangely: Why did the Fisherman deserve such deference?

Leaning on the crossbar at the front of his carriage, Confucius sighed and said, “Zilu, you are so hard to teach! You have steeped yourself in ritual and righteousness for many years, yet that coarse and uncultivated mindset still hasn’t left you. Come here, and I’ll explain. To fail to show respect to an elder is a breach of ritual; to fail to honor a worthy person is unkind. If that man were not a realized person who had attained the Dao, he would not willingly lower himself to treat others with deference. And if someone lowers himself without sincerity, he cannot receive a realized person’s teaching. That means spending one’s whole life harming oneself. A person who has never heard a realized person’s teaching in a lifetime gains nothing and is harmed instead. How regrettable! Unkindness brings people great harm, and you, Zilu, have somehow gathered all of this fault into yourself. Besides, the Dao is the root from which all things arise. When things lose the Dao, they die; when they have the Dao, they live. Actions that go against the Dao fail, while those that follow it succeed. A sage honors whoever embodies the Dao. This Fisherman may indeed be said to possess the Dao. How could I dare not respect him?”

The commentary adds: The life and death of all things take place within the One Dao. What I honor is the Dao that he represents; that is why I respect him. Without such respect, one cannot attain the “true.”

Fugui Zi, another commentator, says: Where the Dao is found, it need not be in a court to be honored, nor by a river or sea to be at ease. Each thing rests in its own natural state, seeking only to preserve its “true.” Once, when Confucius and his disciples were wandering among the mulberry trees, playing music, a Fisherman rowed to shore and came to listen before the piece had ended. When it was over, he called to Zigong and Zilu. Pointing to Confucius, the visitor asked, “Who is that man?” Zigong replied, “He is Confucius of the Kong family. He holds fast to loyalty and faithfulness, practices benevolence and righteousness, studies ritual and music, and understands human relationships. Above, he can assist a ruler; below, he can quietly transform the people. He is neither a ruler with a territory of his own nor a minister serving a feudal lord.” As he walked away, the visitor said, “He may be benevolent, but I fear he cannot keep himself safe. A great man’s heart and body must be at ease; only then will his true nature remain steady. Confucius labors so hard in mind and body that he will only endanger what is true in himself. Alas, the more deeply people involve themselves in worldly affairs, the farther they often stray from the Dao.”

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Interpretation

When Zigong reported the fisherman's words to Confucius, the sage wondered, "Could this man be a true sage?" He immediately went to seek him out. As the fisherman was about to pole his boat away, he turned and saw Confucius approaching with reverent bows.

The fisherman inquired, "What brings you here?" Confucius replied, "Earlier, Master, you left before finishing your discourse. Being dull-witted, I failed to grasp its profound meaning and have come specially to seek your instruction." The fisherman responded, "Like attracts like, and voices answer their kind—this is nature's principle. Let me set aside my affairs to enlighten you."

"All under heaven are divided into four classes: the Son of Heaven, feudal lords, ministers, and commoners. Commoners worry about barren fields, impoverished lives, and disordered family hierarchies; ministers fret over negligent subordinates and neglected governance; lords anguish over lacking loyal vassals, insufficient tribute, and imperial displeasure; while the Son of Heaven troubles himself with disharmonious yin-yang, rebellious lords, and chaotic human relations."

"You currently hold no official position yet meddle in these governmental affairs—isn't this overreaching? Moreover, humans suffer eight faults (flattery, gossip, etc.) and four afflictions (greed, cruelty, arrogance, etc.). These internal and external obstructions hinder one's path to understanding. Only by eliminating them can one presume to teach others."

With grave expression, Confucius bowed again: "Having found no success in Lu, Wei, Song or Chen, what faults of mine invited such slander?" The fisherman's countenance turned stern: "Your delusion runs deep! Like a man who flees his shadow while loathing his footprints—the faster he runs, the more prints he leaves, yet his shadow never vanishes until he collapses dead. Simply staying in shade eliminates shadows; standing still leaves no tracks. Instead of clinging to worldly strife, cultivate your true nature. All things come and go naturally—why be burdened by them?"

Confucius asked, "What is true nature?" The fisherman answered: "True nature is perfect sincerity. Without purity and sincerity, one cannot move others. Forced laughter or feigned tears reveal only artifice." (The original text here is fragmentary; the contrast between weeping and smiling has been reconstructed from context.)

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Interpretation

Crying, anger, and laughter can also reveal sincerity. Forced crying may look sorrowful, but it is not truly grief; it is merely wailing, and cannot make another’s heart ache. Forced anger may look stern, but it carries no real authority; it is only a severe expression, and cannot inspire fear. Forced warmth may look like a smile, but it is not truly kind; a hollow smile cannot bring joy. Thus genuine grief is often silent, yet makes others mourn; genuine anger inspires fear before it has even been expressed; genuine warmth brings harmony before a smile has appeared. When there is “truth” within, the expression naturally moves outward. This is why the gentleman prizes “truth.” If one acts truthfully in all things, then in serving one’s parents one becomes a filial child, in serving one’s ruler a loyal subject, in drinking wine a joyful guest, and in mourning a truly grieving mourner. Ritual is prescribed by society, but truth is bestowed by Heaven. The sage takes Heaven as his model and values truth, without being bound by convention. Sadly, you, my disciple, were immersed in human artifice in your youth and came to hear the Great Dao only late in life.

Confucius said, “May I ask where you will stop?” The visitor, the Fisherman, replied, “Those who share my way and can be entrusted with it may travel with me to the same wondrous Dao—the wonder of ‘having no desires, so as to observe its mystery.’ Those who do not share my way must not be entrusted with it lightly, lest the mystery of the Dao be disclosed and Heaven’s punishment incurred.” With that, he pushed off in his boat and departed. Yan Yuan brought the carriage back, and Zilu handed over the reins. Confucius waited until the ripples on the water had settled before getting into the carriage. Zilu asked, “When a ruler of ten thousand chariots meets you, Master, he never fails to treat you as an equal. Yet now the Fisherman stood leaning on his pole to fend off the boat, while you bent low like a bow before him. Why did the Fisherman receive such deference?” Confucius leaned on the carriage rail and sighed. “To meet an elder without showing respect is a breach of ritual; to see a worthy person without honoring him is to lack humaneness. If that Fisherman were not a perfected person, he could not humble himself to speak with me of the wondrous Dao. And if I had not humbled myself, and been sincere and wholehearted, I could not have obtained the true teaching and preserved my own integrity and reputation. How great the Dao is! It is what all things rely on for life and death, and what human affairs rely on for success and failure. The Fisherman heard the Dao before I did. I honored not the Fisherman, but the Dao. How could I dare fail to show respect?”

Miscellaneous Chapters: Lie Yukou, Chapter 32

(This chapter centers on keeping oneself concealed, hence its saying: “The clever toil, and the wise are troubled. To know the Dao is easy; not to speak of it is hard.” It also says that the human heart is too treacherous to fathom: some are humble, some arrogant, and some dive into the depths to retrieve pearls.)

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Interpretation

Modern Interpretation

(Commentary) Someone wears a ceremonial robe embroidered with patterns to enter a temple and perform a sacrifice. The point is to give to one person without taking from another. Earlier, the text says that those who are “without ability” remain empty and still, and roam freely. Later, it says that the “foolish” rely on what they see and know only how to cultivate themselves outwardly. This also shows that having knowledge does not prevent one from entering the Dao, and lacking knowledge does not prevent one from attaining the Dao.

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Lie Yukou (Liezi) was on his way to the state of Qi when he turned back halfway. He met Bohun Wuren.

Bohun Wuren asked, “Where were you going, and why have you turned back?”

Liezi said, “I was frightened.”

“What frightened you?”

“I once ate at ten shops that sold drink. At five of them, the sellers brought me drink before anyone else.” (The shopkeepers charged him only half price and offered the other half as a mark of respect—a sign that they honored the worthy. Liezi was alarmed by this, thinking that great virtue can seem foolish, and fearing that others had seen through him.)

Bohun Wuren said, “If that is so, what frightened you?”

Liezi said, “My sincerity within has not yet transformed me. My actions cannot turn inward and remain contained; instead, my radiance shows outward. I use my outward bearing to command people’s respect. (Commentary: ‘Transform’ means to change; ‘actions’ refers to one’s movements. Liezi thought that although sincerity had accumulated within him, it had not transformed him. His every movement could not shine without dazzling, so people noticed him and were impressed. The perfected person does not enjoy showing himself; this is generally true of such people.) This leads people to transfer the respect they should show their elders to me. (The noble and the old are people whom others respect. Now they have transferred that respect to me, while I am neither noble nor old; I am taking a place above them.) It also brings calamity. (The meaning is that as fame and reputation accumulate over time, they become increasingly conspicuous, until in the end one cannot escape the dangers of the age.) The drink sellers work only to earn a living; their small surplus and limited authority are enough to make them act this way. What, then, of a ruler of ten thousand chariots? He would wear himself out with affairs of state and exhaust his intelligence on them. He would surely entrust those affairs to me and hold me responsible for the results. (That is exactly what I fear.) So I became frightened. (If drink sellers, for the sake of their livelihood, notice and honor me, then how could a ruler of ten thousand chariots, once he sees me, fail to entrust me with the affairs of state? That is why I was frightened.)”

Bohun Wuren said, “Good. See how you fare in the world; people will leave you in peace.”

Before long, Liezi went again.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

(Commenting on the phrase “the courtyard is filled with shoes”): The point is that, by now, you should understand what is going on. “Stay where you are” and “be a teacher and protector” are warnings not to keep running off and traveling everywhere. If people truly turn to you, recognize you as their teacher, and look to you for protection, before long the shoes will be piled outside your door, with a great crowd following you. That is what the scripture means by “protecting you.”

Bohun Wuren stood facing north, planted his staff on the ground, and rested its handle against his cheek. After standing there for a while, he left without saying a word. One of the guests told Liezi what had happened. Liezi grabbed his shoes and ran after him barefoot. Catching up at the gate, he said, “Since you came, sir, why wouldn’t you offer me even a word of guidance?”

Bohun Wuren said, “Enough. I told you long ago that people would come to ‘protect’ you. And sure enough, they have. It isn’t that you can make people come to protect you; it’s that you can’t stop them from coming. So why care? People are moved by you and delight in you because you can’t keep yourself concealed. You have let your unusual qualities show, and that is what drew them.”

“Sooner or later, external things will sway you and unsettle your nature. And no one will be willing to speak honestly to you. Those who spend time with you won’t use the words of the Great Dao to guide you. Their petty clever talk is nothing but poison that harms people. If you neither notice nor understand this, who can you expect to point it out to you?”

“The nimble wear themselves out, the clever worry, and those without ability have nothing to seek. Once they have eaten their fill, they roam freely, like boats with no mooring rope. Those who follow the Dao diminish their cleverness day by day and seek nothing outside themselves. They eat their fill and roam, their hearts unbound, wandering in emptiness and stillness. The essential point lies in one word: ‘emptiness.’”

In the state of Zheng, there was a man named Huan who studied by reciting texts under Qiu Shi. There was also a local earth deity (or perhaps someone from another lineage or a fellow disciple).

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Interpretation

Three years later, Huan became a Confucian. The Confucian Way spread far and wide, like a river nourishing the land for nine miles, and its blessings reached three generations of the family. He sent his younger brother to study Mohism. The Mohist and the Confucian argued with each other, while their father took the side of the younger brother, Di, who studied Mohism.

Ten years later, Huan killed his father with his own hands. In a dream, his father said to him, “I was the one who wanted your son to become a Mohist. It was me.” Hefu—Huan’s self-given name, meaning “one who considers himself a good teacher”—had once asked his father to visit his grave and see what a “good man” he was. Who could have known that after his death he would become the fruit of an autumn cypress?

The Creator’s retribution falls upon people, but what it answers to is not the person himself; it answers to his inborn nature. So Di’s study of Mohism was not something Huan could direct. Di was naturally drawn to Mohism and went toward it of his own accord. Huan thought that by studying Confucianism he had found the Way and risen above ordinary people. Yet this led him to slight his family, treating his younger brother’s study of Mohism as grounds to distance himself from him as if they were strangers.

Those who dug wells in the state of Qi would jostle and pull at one another when drinking. So it is with many people in the world today: they take credit for having made a younger brother study Mohism, and resent their father, without realizing that Di’s becoming a Mohist came from his nature, just as a spring flows from Heaven, not from any one person’s achievement. All who think, “I did this,” and trade on private favors belong to Huan’s kind.

From this we can see that even a person of De does not know that he has De. How much less does one who truly has the Dao? The ancients called the failure to cultivate De, the claiming of Heaven’s achievements as one’s own, and the abandonment of Heaven’s Way “the punishment of evading Heaven.” Such a person has offended Heaven, and Heaven’s punishment falls upon him.

The sage is at ease where it is right to be at ease, and not at ease where it is wrong to be. Ordinary people are the opposite: they are at ease where they ought not to be, and ill at ease where they ought to be.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

[Passage]

“Uneasy with what is at ease” means being dissatisfied with the natural, original state. “At ease with what is uneasy” means accepting a state shaped by human contrivance.

Zhuangzi said: “Knowing the Dao is easy, but keeping one’s mouth closed is hard. To know and yet not speak is to follow the Way of Heaven; to know and still insist on speaking is to fall into human contrivance.”

The people of antiquity followed the Way of Heaven completely and did not cling to human contrivance.

Zhu Fu studied the art of slaying dragons under Zhi Li Yi. He spent his family’s entire fortune of a thousand gold pieces, and after three years mastered the art, but had no chance to put his skill to use.

The sage regards what must happen as not necessarily inevitable, and so does not contend. Ordinary people regard what is not inevitable as certain, and so their disputes never cease. Those who rely on force will ultimately perish. Thus, acting with an aim to gain something invites misfortune.

The petty person’s intelligence is caught up in worldly business—gift-giving and bribery, official documents and correspondence. They exhaust their spirit on shallow, trivial matters, yet presume they can benefit the whole world and comprehend all things. The Dao of the Great One has no form or image. People like this lose their way in the boundless cosmos, burdened by their physical bodies, entirely unaware of the original emptiness of the Great Beginning.

The Perfected Person returns the spirit to the realm before beginnings and rests peacefully in the “land of nothing at all.” Flowing without form like water, things arise of their own accord in the realm of Great Clarity. How pitiful! You know only the minuteness of a hair’s tip, yet do not know the innate peace of the Great Dao.

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[Notes]

“What is at ease” refers to natural principle, or the Way of Heaven. “What is uneasy” refers to the traces of deliberate action, or human contrivance.

“To know” means to understand that the Dao exists; “not to speak” means to keep one’s mouth closed. The difficulty lies in knowing and not speaking: this is what it means to follow the Way of Heaven. To know and still speak is to fall into human contrivance. The ancients followed the Way of Heaven completely and did not cling to human contrivance; thus they could teach without words.

Zhu Fu studied dragon-slaying under Zhi Li Yi. He spent a thousand gold pieces, mastered the art in three years, but found no dragons to slay, leaving his skill entirely without use. This is a parable: the Dao cannot be learned through deliberate effort. No matter how expertly one masters it, the learning is ultimately useless.

The sage regards what seems certain as uncertain, and so contends with no one. Ordinary people treat what cannot be guaranteed as certain, and so their disputes never cease. Those who rely on force bring about their own ruin. To act in accordance with the way of military contention is to pursue something; weapons are instruments of ill omen, and those who do not restrain themselves will eventually destroy themselves.

The petty person’s intelligence is caught up in worldly business—gift-giving and bribery, official documents and correspondence. They exhaust their spirit on shallow, trivial matters, presuming they can unite with the Dao and roam in the emptiness of the Great One. Dazed and confused, they lose their way in the cosmos and are burdened by their physical bodies. How could they know that at the Great Beginning there was originally nothing at all? The Great Beginning is the Great One.

The Perfected Person returns the spirit to the realm before beginnings and rests peacefully in the “land of nothing at all.” Flowing without form like water, things arise of their own accord in the realm of Great Clarity. How pitiful! You know only the minuteness of a hair’s tip, yet do not know the innate peace of the Great Dao.

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Interpretation

An Explanatory Commentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence

The perfected person and “Wuwei”

The spirit rests in the stillness of “no thing” and dwells in a state of “Wuwei” (non-action). It responds to the myriad things like water flowing past without stopping, yet is able to transform them. The perfected person acts in this way: treating minor details as “small knowledge” and taking the fundamental Great Dao as “the Great Beginning,” the source that existed before Heaven and Earth were divided. This is advice to those who study the Dao: cut off worldly entanglements, reduce your affairs, and work from the root.

Cao Shang and Zhuangzi

Cao Shang of the state of Song once went as an envoy to Qin on behalf of the King of Song, King Yan. He set out with only a few carriages. The King of Qin, King Hui, took a liking to him, and by the time he returned home, he had been given a hundred carriages. He said to Zhuangzi, “Living in a poor alley, weaving straw sandals, with a shriveled neck and a yellow, gaunt face—these are my shortcomings. To win a ruler’s favor in a single day and return with a hundred carriages—that is my strength.”

Zhuangzi replied, “When the King of Qin was ill, he summoned physicians. The one who lanced his boils and drained their pus was rewarded with one carriage; the one who licked his hemorrhoids was rewarded with five. The more degrading the treatment, the more carriages the physician received. So you must have been treating his hemorrhoids. Why else would you have so many carriages? Get out!” The commentary adds: only someone of Zhuangzi’s exceptional character could have delivered such a cutting insult.

Yan He discusses Confucius

Duke Ai of Lu asked Yan He, “If I take Confucius as a pillar of the state—as dependable as a beam or column—can the state prosper?”

Yan He replied, “That is dangerous; it will bring disaster! Confucius is preparing to adorn himself with splendid feathers and make do with clever words, twisting his nature in order to ‘teach’ the people. Yet he does not know that he himself lacks sincerity: his heart is already led by private desires, and his spirit is already ruled by fame and profit. How could he be fit to serve as a model for the people?

“He may still be of some use to you. If you keep him as a worthy man, you can be forgiven even if you have misjudged him. But now you are elevating him into a pillar of the state. That will lead the people away from their true nature and teach them to imitate falsehood. This is not good government; it will also leave trouble for future generations. Better not to do it.”

Note: The passages above have been organized according to the excerpts you provided. If they differ from the chapter titles or wording found in commonly circulated editions of the Zhuangzi, they should be checked against the commentary edition you are using.

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Interpretation

Governing in this way is difficult. To bestow favors on people while constantly thinking of them is unlike Heaven, which gives freely and without self-interest. (The people cannot be governed through deliberate calculation; to benefit others while clinging to selfish motives is unlike Heaven, which sends clouds and rain to nourish all things without partiality.)

Merchants were not originally among the four classes of people. Even if circumstances occasionally brought them within the ranks of official standing, those who sought the Dao would not take them seriously. (Merchants pursue profit, which the Great Dao does not esteem. Though dealings may sometimes bring them into contact with others, or their rank may be discussed for a time, sincere seekers of the Dao do not regard them as companions on the Way.)

External punishment is metal and wood: axes and fetters. Internal punishment is agitation and wrongdoing. Ordinary people suffer external punishment through blades, axes, stocks, and interrogation; they suffer internal punishment through an imbalance of Yin-Yang and the affliction of illness. Only a True Person can escape both kinds of punishment, internal and external. (Metal refers to axes and halberds, wood to fetters; these injure the body, so they are called external punishment. Agitation and wrongdoing injure the heart and spirit, so they are called internal punishment. “Day people” means ordinary people, whose faults are fewer than those of “night people.” A True Person responds to circumstances and acts only when compelled, so neither kind of punishment can burden them.)

Confucius said: The human heart is more perilous than mountains and rivers, and harder to fathom than the heavens. The heavens have the regular patterns of spring, autumn, winter, and summer, and of morning and evening; people, by contrast, may seem substantial on the outside while remaining unfathomable within. Some appear humble but are inwardly self-satisfied; some conceal a particular talent while seeming incapable; some are gentle and quick-witted, appearing open-minded; some seem resolute outwardly but are inwardly entangled; some appear mild while inwardly impatient and grasping. Thus some rush toward what is right as if parched with thirst, then abandon it as quickly as if burned by boiling water. (Human motives cannot be guessed: some seem cautious and sincere outwardly but are inwardly self-assured; some harbor a particular talent but appear inept; some are gentle, quick, and perceptive yet seem open-minded; some hold firmly to their views outwardly but are inwardly conflicted; some appear mild but are inwardly impatient and grasping; some advance sharply at first, then retreat just as quickly.)

Therefore, when a noble person sends someone on a distant journey, they observe whether that person is loyal; when assigning a task nearby, whether they are respectful; when giving them complicated work, whether they are capable; when questioning them unexpectedly, whether they understand; when setting a deadline in haste, whether they keep their word; when entrusting them with money, whether they are generous; when telling them of danger, whether they have integrity; when getting them drunk, whether they lose their composure; and when placing them in mixed company, whether they behave appropriately.

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Interpretation

This passage discusses how to distinguish between the virtuous and the unworthy by observing nine external manifestations, as well as the contrasting behaviors of humility and arrogance. When Zheng Kaofu (a noble of the Song state and Confucius's tenth-generation ancestor) received three successive appointments, his posture grew increasingly humble: upon his first appointment as a scholar, he bent at the waist; upon his second as a high official, he hunched his back; and upon his third as a minister, he walked so low as to brush against the walls. Such humility naturally became a model for others to emulate.

In stark contrast, ordinary people behave quite differently when gaining power: upon their first appointment, they strut with pride; upon their second, they dance wildly in their carriages; and after the third, they even dare to address elders by their given names. Such individuals are far removed from the noble character of Xu You (the renowned recluse of Yao and Shun's era).

The text particularly emphasizes that the greatest harm lies in deliberately flaunting one's virtue. The mere thought of "I possess virtue" is like grafting eyes onto one's heart—this self-scrutiny, paradoxically, corrupts true virtue. It resembles a bald man wearing a wig, adding nothing but hypocrisy. Humans possess five harmful traits (related to the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and heart), among which the "virtue of the heart" is the most dangerous, as it fosters self-righteousness and contempt for others—a mindset most detrimental to Daoist cultivation.

Eight exceptional qualities (such as a fine beard, tall stature, robust physique, splendid attire, or bravery) often invite misfortune, for excellence provokes envy in others. Meanwhile, true wisdom requires the fulfillment of three essential conditions. One's external manifestations (the six repositories) must harmonize with inner cultivation—excessive pursuit of outward distinction ultimately becomes an obstacle in life's path.

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Interpretation

If you take too much from the Creator, the Creator will resent you too. This is precisely why poverty is so hard to escape.

Those who are compliant, unsteady, or inwardly troubled and fearful may not be like ordinary people, yet they can all attain understanding. (Compliant describes someone unable to stand on their own, yielding to circumstances; unsteady describes someone who alternately rises and falls, unable to keep their bearing; inwardly troubled means unable to make sense of things; fearful means feeling at fault and afraid. Though these three kinds of people may seem inferior, each has a way to understanding: by remaining humble, they benefit from the Creator. This does not mean that all eight circumstances are forms of poverty, or that everyone who attains understanding today belongs to these three kinds.)

When wisdom is gathered in one storehouse, it tends to illuminate and understand things outwardly; when courage is gathered in one storehouse, it tends to invite resentment; when benevolence and righteousness are gathered in one storehouse, they tend to bring blame and demands. When one understands life, one acts in accord with reality and becomes utterly at ease. When one understands knowledge, one knows Heaven and humanity and becomes Heaven’s likeness. When one understands destiny, a broad understanding says, “I go along with it”; a limited understanding says, “It has befallen me.” (“Befallen” still implies entrusting oneself to Heaven’s decree, while “go along with it” is almost a matter of letting things run their course without intention. Someone asked: What is the difference between understanding life and understanding destiny? The answer: Life is one’s nature; destiny is Heaven, and the workings of Qi and fate unfold within it.)

Wenzi said: “When the Dao has knowledge, it falls into disorder; when De has a mind of its own, it becomes precarious; when the mind has eyes, it grows dazzled.” Why? If there are eyes, there must be seeing. Those who study the Dao often worry that they cannot see, yet they do not realize that “seeing” is precisely where De is at its lowest. Buddhist teachings speak of five kinds of vision: the heavenly eye and the physical eye are on the face, while the wisdom eye, Dharma eye, and Buddha eye are in the mind. The mind’s eye is where De is perfected; this mind’s eye is where De is ruined. Knowing how it is ruined is knowing how it is perfected; there is no difference in principle.

But then, is one who understands knowledge not using the mind’s eye? Why call such a person “Heaven’s likeness”? Did Laozi not say: “The Great Dao is vast and seems unlike anything; if it resembled anything, it would long ago have become small”?

Someone met the King of Song and was given ten carriages. He grew as proud of those ten carriages as a child. Zhuangzi said: Beside a river lived a poor family who made their living by weaving reeds. Their son dived into the deep water and found a pearl worth a thousand pieces of gold. The father said to him, “Bring a stone and smash it.” A pearl worth a thousand pieces of gold—and both father and son understood nothing. Is this not pitiful?

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Interpretation

The Annotated and Commentated True Classic of Southern Florescence

A luminous pearl must be hidden at the deepest point of the water, clasped beneath the jaw of a black dragon—the Li Dragon (pronounced lí). Anyone hoping to obtain it would most likely have to act while the dragon was asleep. But if it woke, what would be left of you? You would surely be snatched up in one bite, without a trace remaining. The waters of the state of Song today are deeper than merely “nine-layered abysses,” and the King of Song is fiercer than any Li Dragon. If you want to obtain gifts of carriages and horses, you must likewise act while he is “asleep.” But once the King of Song wakes, you will surely be crushed to pieces. This is a metaphor: wherever people greedily pursue wealth and status, danger lies in wait.

Someone invited Zhuangzi to take office. Zhuangzi replied to the messenger: “Have you seen the sacrificial ox used in a temple? It wears embroidered robes and is fed fodder and bean stalks. Once it is led into the Grand Ancestral Temple, could it still choose to be an unattended calf?” This follows the same line of thought as the earlier examples of “pig’s liver” and “tortoise shell”: for empty fame and great profit, one ultimately gives up one’s life.

As Zhuangzi neared death, his disciples wanted to give him a lavish burial. He said, “I shall take Heaven and Earth for my coffin, the sun and moon for paired jade pendants, the stars for pearls and gems, and the myriad things for my burial offerings. Could my burial furnishings be insufficient? Why add anything more?” The disciples said, “We fear that crows and kites will eat your body.” Zhuangzi replied, “In the sky, crows and kites will eat it; on the ground, ants will eat it. Why favor one by taking from the other?” The Perfected Person does not regard the physical body as “his own,” but only as a lodging. Life and death are like dawn and dusk, dreams, bubbles, shadows, sparks struck from stone, and flashes of lightning. Once one has passed beyond the barrier of life and death, what difference does it make whether crows eat the body from a distance or ants eat it up close?

If you seek fairness with a biased mind, what was fair to begin with becomes unfair. If you seek proof with a mind that distrusts what can be verified, even what could be verified will no longer seem verifiable. The principles of all things are inherently equal; if you try to “set things right” while harboring bias, you will distort even fairness. The principles of all things can be confirmed; if you try to “verify” them while harboring doubt, even what can be confirmed will no longer be confirmed. Lu Xixing says: “Parables” advance their arguments through external things, while “Reported Words” attribute them to elders. If one is already “harmonized with Heaven’s natural divisions,” one is not trying to establish fairness with a biased mind; if one already regards the speaker as an elder, one is not trying to test the words through distrust.

“Human cleverness” cannot surpass the spirit of innate nature. This has long been so, yet fools still insist on relying on their own cleverness. What is it that directs the mind’s lucidity? Nothing other than the spirit of innate nature and the confirmation that comes from nature.

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Interpretation

A Plain-Language Interpretation

First passage: “Illumination,” Shen, and the sorrow of outward cultivation

The kind of “seeing and distinguishing” that people cling to has already seeped into the heart, while all their effort is directed outward. Is that not lamentable?

“Illumination” and Shen (spirit) are distinct. Those who rely on illumination take keen observation to be clarity; Shen, by contrast, perceives before the mind has formed an intention. Yet the foolish rely on what they see, flaunt their cleverness, and force interpretations onto things. They pile knowledge upon knowledge, direct all their effort outward, and lack inward reflection. How can they return to the true nature of life and its destiny? This is why their condition is lamentable.

Fugui Zi says: The perfected person “wears coarse clothes and keeps jade close to the heart”

The perfected person wears coarse clothes and keeps fine jade close to the heart. The higher the Dao (the Way), the more obscure its traces.

When Lie Yukou went to Qi, he was alarmed at the home of a seller of drinks. If the seller had known him to be a worthy man and offered him half his goods, it would only have been because Lie’s brilliance showed too plainly, allowing others to recognize his worth. How much more so with the ruler of a state of ten thousand chariots: if he regarded Lie as worthy and burdened him with service, would Lie really serve that state?

Bo-hun Wuren said, “Good—you have seen the point. If you can conceal your distinction, people will take you as their teacher and guardian. You will be able to go anywhere, and shoes will always crowd your doorway.”

Bo-hun Wuren left without another word. Liezi went to the door and said, “Since you have come, sir, why not offer even one remedy to set me right?”

Bo-hun Wuren replied, “It is easy to make you a teacher and guardian; it is hard to keep you from becoming one. If you do not make yourself stand out, who will be moved to anticipate your guidance? If you do not make a stir, who will follow you and praise you? The wise do not speak, so no one will tell you what to do. Those who speak do not know, and become a burden to others.”

Only when there are people in the world who never awaken can there be great awakening; only when there are people who never understand can there be great understanding. Only when there are clever, hard-working scholars weighed down by worry can there be people who know nothing and can do nothing. Their minds are open and their spirits at ease. They are not burdened by food for the mouth, but drift freely through the cosmos like an empty boat. Is this not a state that inspires neither joy nor alarm?

The Zheng man Huan and the dispute between Confucians and Mohists

There was a man from Zheng named Huan. After studying Confucianism for three years, he attained the Dao, and his influence flowed like a river for nine li, extending kindness to three generations of his family. He had his younger brother study Mohism. One day the Confucians and Mohists could not yield to one another, and their father sided with the Mohists. After ten years, Huan killed himself.

Another day, Huan appeared to his father in a dream and said, “If you have a son who is a Mohist, that is me. Nothing is better than Confucianism, but my goodness cannot be seen; my spirit has already transformed into the fruit of an autumn cypress. So when you look at the autumn cypress, you are looking at me.”

The students of Confucianism and Mohism are human beings, yet the spirit can transform into the fruit of an autumn cypress. The dispute between Confucians and Mohists takes place among people, but the “self” is no longer in a human body: it is in the thing into which it has transformed.

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Interpretation

To study Confucianism is to become a Confucian scholar; to study Mohism is to become a Mohist—this is the natural inclination of human beings. The Creator does not force anyone to become a particular type of person but instead follows the innate endowments each individual is born with. Forcing someone skilled in Mohist teachings to practice filial piety is like a well-digger boasting of creating a spring—what difference does it make?

The highest form of benevolence appears to leave no trace of its kindness, and the most perfect De (Virtue/Power) does not deliberately display itself—how much more so for those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way)? People each have their own state of comfort: sages find peace in their natural disposition, while ordinary people find comfort in human-made norms. Sages do not cling to worldly standards, yet ordinary people struggle to align with nature. Hence it is said, "To understand the Dao is easy, but to practice it is difficult." Those who comprehend the heavenly Dao often remain silent, for the Dao is profound and distant; those who chatter endlessly about it do not truly understand, for human ways are shallow and near.

The wise of ancient times, though bearing human form, were able to merge with nature as one. The great Dao honors natural authenticity and does not pursue supernatural marvels or clever tricks. Consider Zhu Humàn, who studied dragon-slaying from Zhi Liyi—after mastering it, he found no use for it. A true gentleman would never choose such flashy but impractical skills. In the world, there are things within our grasp and things beyond our control. Sages focus on what human effort can achieve and do not force the will of heaven; ordinary people, however, seek divine aid before exhausting their own efforts—this is the difference between inviting calamity and avoiding it. Know that weapons of war should not be wielded lightly; those who wage endless battles for selfish gain will ultimately bring destruction upon themselves.

I truly disdain the mediocre people of these decadent times—their wisdom extends no further than exchanging gifts to curry favor, relying on official documents for social interaction, exhausting their shallow minds while deluding themselves into thinking they can govern the world. They fail to realize that the highest state is one where form and spirit are both empty, and the distinction between self and object is forgotten—how can those fixated on material things transcend worldly attachments? Supreme goodness is like flowing water: those who attain the Dao return their spirit to the realm of emptiness, just as water flows without form and naturally evaporates into the great void—what difference is there?

There was a man from Song named Cao Shang who, by pleasing the King of Qin, received a hundred chariots. He boasted to Zhuangzi, "Living in poverty, gaunt and sallow-faced like you, is my weakness, while moving a ruler with just a few words and receiving lavish rewards is my strength." Zhuangzi retorted sarcastically, "I’ve heard that when treating the King of Qin, lancing a boil earns one chariot, but licking hemorrhoids earns a hundred—could it be you specialize in treating hemorrhoids? How else did you get so many chariots?"

Duke Ai of Lu once asked Yan He, "If I appoint Confucius as a pillar of the state, can the country be saved?" Yan He replied, "For a gentleman, it is better to have substantial De (Virtue/Power) that surpasses mere reputation than to have an impressive exterior that outshines one’s true worth."

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Interpretation

A Vernacular Interpretation of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence

What is called “culture” is like the reverence for ritual and music exemplified by Confucius: refinement often overshadows simplicity, and when the branches grow too thick, they damage the roots. If ritual and law alone are treated as the main trunk, the people have already been shaped into implements and can hardly return to their original simplicity.

The people should not be governed through deliberate intentions. It is like intentionally bestowing a favor: the recipient may not truly be able to forget it. Or it is like a merchant discussing a deal: one should not show off one’s sharpness in the presence of someone who has attained the Dao (the Way).

Punishments may be overt or hidden. Punishments by metal and wood—the calamities of knives and axes, for example—are usually avoidable by cautious gentlemen who fear them. But who can escape calamities brought about by the transformations of Yin-Yang, unless they are a “True Person” capable of forging Yin and Yang? Who can step beyond Heaven and Earth to avoid such disaster?

Confucius said: “Mountains can be climbed and waters crossed by boat, but the human heart is more dangerous than either. Heaven’s four seasons and the alternation of day and night can be predicted, but the human heart is hidden and difficult to fathom. How could it follow any fixed pattern? So, to test a person: send them far away to see whether they are loyal; employ them nearby to see whether they are respectful; give them many tasks to see whether they are capable; question them unexpectedly to see whether they are wise; set an urgent deadline to see whether their word can be trusted; entrust them with money to see whether they uphold humaneness; tell them of danger to see their integrity; get them drunk to see whether they lose control; and tempt them with beauty to see whether they can master themselves. Once all nine tests have been applied, the worthy and the unworthy will be broadly distinguishable.”

The higher Zheng Kaofu rose in rank, the more humble he became. At his first appointment, he bowed deeply; at the second, he stooped; at the third, he bent low and edged along the wall. Such conduct is difficult without great De (Virtue/Power)—who would dare not respect him? Ordinary people do the opposite: at their first promotion they grow boastful; at the next, they become arrogant in their carriage; at the third, they put on airs even before their elders. They are far removed from Xu You, who refused Yao’s offer to abdicate the throne in his favor. De must be cultivated, but not performed with deliberate intent. It must be examined within. If one waits until it shows on the face before looking inward, the genuine may not be able to hold back the false, and all one sees is the exposure of failure.

There are five “harmful qualities”: the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and heart. The harm caused by the four sensory organs is less than that caused within the heart. Hence the saying, “Inner De comes first.” A gentleman must take great care over what he desires.

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Interpretation

Sextant and sextile distinctions, the passage from the Six Storehouses to what lies beyond the constant One, and the image of finding only a single pearl in the Nine Abysses all illustrate how the Dao responds to the myriad things in countless ways, while people in the world covet fame and pursue profit, bringing many troubles upon themselves. If people take warning from the sacrificial ox that cannot become a solitary calf, and learn from the neglected coffin and its cover, shunned by crows and kites but approached by ants, they will not forcibly take from one person to give to another. Only when there is no notion of self and others, of living beings, or of longevity is there true evenness—and this can be verified in practice. If one still clings to notions of self and others, living beings, and longevity, one seeks evenness with an uneven mind and only becomes more uneven; one seeks verification with a mind that cannot verify, and finds even less to confirm. Besides, who among people is not as clever as I am? If I unite my spirit with another’s, then borrow that person’s spirit to verify my own, the perfected person does not “use discernment” but “uses spirit.” Leaving the human and entering the heavenly, they can ascend to the farther shore.

Miscellaneous Chapters: “All Under Heaven,” Chapter Thirty-Three

(This chapter is a postscript to the Zhuangzi. It traces the origins of the arts of the Dao through ancient and modern times, then lists the various masters, with Zhuangzi as a school of his own. It concludes by criticizing Huizi, revealing the author’s intent to uphold orthodoxy.)

There are many in the world who cultivate particular arts—arts that confine the Dao to one corner—and each thinks they have reached the summit, with nothing beyond it. Where, then, is the Daoist art of old? It is everywhere. From where does spirit descend, and from where does discernment emerge? The sage comes into being and the king fulfills his work, but both have their source in the One. (Here, “spirit” refers to a person’s innate nature, the inner endowment bestowed by Heaven; “discernment” refers to the mind’s numinous awareness. “Sage” means the virtue of inner sagehood, while “king” means the work of outward kingship. Their function is everywhere, but their substance has its source in the Supreme One. This is the central meaning of the Daoist art. The “Source,” “Essence,” and “True” mentioned below refer to this One.)

Those who never depart from the Source are called heavenly beings: they take Wuwei (non-action) as their foundation, are distinct from ordinary human beings yet equal to Heaven. Those who never depart from the Essence are called spirit-like beings: they gather essence and concentrate spirit, emerge from nothingness and enter existence, and unite with spirit. Those who never depart from the True are called perfected beings: their original nature is pure and complete, with nothing beyond it. Those who take Heaven as their foundation, De (Virtue/Power) as their root, and the Dao as their gateway, and who manifest change and transformation, are called sages. (The first three sentences describe the way of heavenly beings, spirit-like beings, and perfected beings; “those who take Heaven…”

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Interpretation

Taking “active action” as its substance and “active action” as its function—the passage above describes a person who possesses the virtue of inner sagehood, cultivating sage-like virtue within. Such a person makes benevolence a source of grace, rightness a principle of order, ritual a standard for conduct, and music a means of harmony. Like an incense whose fragrance spreads, this person extends kindness and benevolence everywhere. Such a person is called a gentleman: one who makes benevolence, rightness, ritual, and music a life’s work, embraces all under Heaven with kindness, and, through spiritual illumination, may become a sage—this is the virtue of inner sagehood. At the forefront, ruling as a king, such a person carries out the work of an outer king. This is what a gentleman is. What follows describes the gentleman’s work.

Use law to distinguish boundaries—prescribed standards that mark off divisions are called “distinctions.” Use names as public markers—official titles and designations that establish standards are called “markers.” Use threefold verification to test claims: “three” can give rise to the myriad things, so the myriad things serve as evidence. Use historical examination to reach decisions, studying the past to measure the present. The numbers are one, two, three, and four: these are the generating numbers of the Five Phases. Five is omitted because it belongs to Earth, which flourishes in all four seasons. Officials are arranged in ranks according to this order. Their duties provide the standing rules; clothing and food provide the foundation. They multiply, raise, and store resources through policies that sustain the people, while keeping the old, weak, orphaned, and widowed in mind through policies that care for them. All of this follows principles for nurturing the people. In general, benevolence, rightness, ritual, and music are practices of those in lower positions, arising after the Dao has been lost. Such are the methods by which worthy people and gentlemen govern the world. From here onward is what is meant by the work of the outer king and the ordering of the people.

Were the ancients complete in this regard? They accorded with the spirits, harmonized with Heaven and Earth, nurtured the myriad things, brought harmony to all under Heaven, and extended their grace to the people. They understood the fundamental numbers and were bound by the detailed measures of particular things. The virtue of Heaven and the Way of kings were presented together. They were open in all six directions and traversed all four quarters, with nothing beyond the reach of their workings, whether large or small, refined or coarse. Such was the vastness of the ancients’ art of the Dao. What is called cultivating oneself through the true Dao, even in its more elementary aspects, is sufficient to govern the world.

The parts of their learning that were clearly understood and set out in calendrical systems were preserved in ancient methods, such as the emperors’ ways of transmitting the heart-mind. Historians handed these down through the generations, preserving much of them. The parts preserved in the Book of Odes, Book of Documents, ritual texts, and music were widely explained by scholars and gentlemen of the gentry in the regions of Zou and Lu: the Odes guide the will; the Documents convey affairs; ritual guides conduct; music guides harmony; the Changes explain Yin-Yang; and the Spring and Autumn Annals explain names and distinctions.

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Interpretation

Names and doctrines are scattered throughout the world. Those propounded among the states of the Central Plain are known as the learning of the Hundred Schools, and from time to time people praise and discuss them.

(In an age when the Dao prevailed, Dao and De formed an undivided whole, and heterodox paths and arts could not make themselves prominent. Calendars and systems of numeration were issued by the proper authorities; the state histories recorded events; and matters preserved in the Six Classics could be explained by scholars of Zou and Lu. All of these belonged to the ancient arts of the Dao.

Those who governed through measures and ritual law were employed by the former kings in administering the realm. Thus, the many arts of the Hundred Schools were sometimes discussed and praised, yet they remained within the ancient arts of the Dao. The foregoing speaks generally of the ancient arts of the Dao and their place in the world; what follows speaks generally of the techniques of later ages.)

The world fell into disorder, and sages and worthies no longer came to prominence. Dao and De were divided—split into three teachings and further divided among the various thinkers and schools. Most people seized on one aspect and took themselves to be right, clinging to partial views and priding themselves on them. It is like the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth: each has its strength, yet they cannot communicate with one another. The many arts of the Hundred Schools are the same. Each has its strengths and is useful at times, but none is all-encompassing. Each scholar masters only one limited aspect.

They pass judgment on the beauty of Heaven and Earth, though that great beauty is thereby divided; they dissect the principles of the myriad things, though those things have their own coherent order; and they scrutinize the wholeness of the ancients. Yet few can encompass the beauty of Heaven and Earth. Each school takes pleasure in its own narrow perspective, like the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, each suited to a particular use. Few can embrace the pure and complete Dao.

They speak of the outward manifestations of the spirits and the bright powers—that is, of how the Dao appears externally.

Thus the Dao of inner sagehood and outer kingship grows obscure and suppressed, unable to emerge. People everywhere follow their own desires and establish their own schools. How sorrowful! The Hundred Schools press forward without turning back, and so they cannot accord with one another. Scholars in later ages are unfortunate: they do not see the purity of Heaven and Earth or the great body of the ancients. The arts of the Dao are being torn apart across the world. The inner sage is its substance, and the outer king its function; when the Dao is unclear and cannot emerge, people follow their own desires, lose their way, and do not return. Only then does one see how numerous the techniques of later ages are, and how fragmented the ancient arts of the Dao have become. The uncarved block first disperses and becomes implements.

They did not indulge in the ways of later ages, did not squander themselves on the myriad things, and did not seek brilliance through measures and numeration. Instead, they corrected themselves by the carpenter’s line and rule, and prepared to meet the urgent needs of the age. Among the ancient arts of the Dao, some took this form: Mo Di, a minister of the state of Song, and Qin Guli …

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Interpretation

(The followers of Mo Di) heard his teaching and were delighted by it. The argument above establishes the point in principle; what follows confirms it with concrete examples: there was once a way of practice that did not take luxury as the Dao, use splendor as decoration, or treat ritual, music, and laws as a means of display. Instead, it restrained itself by rules as strict as a carpenter’s line and compass, and valued frugality in preparation for unforeseen needs. Mo Di’s followers heard of this and were pleased with it.

They carried it too far: “great excess” here means frugality beyond its proper measure. They confined their lives to the bare minimum; “stopping at great compliance” means stopping at frugality in accordance with what they understood to be human nature. The most famous chapter in Mo Di’s writings is called “Against Music,” and he also advocated “economy in expenditure.” These were the aims of his writings and teaching. In life, they sang no songs; in death, they wore no mourning clothes. Mo Di promoted universal love and mutual benefit, opposed conflict, and urged people not to give way to anger. He was also learned and widely read, without seeking novelty; yet his views differed from the ways of the ancient sage-kings, and so he disparaged ancient ritual and music.

In the time of the Yellow Emperor there was the music “Xianchi”; in the time of Yao, “Dazhang”; in the time of Shun, “Dasha”; in the time of Yu, “Daxia”; in the time of Tang of Shang, “Dahu”; and in the time of King Wen of Zhou, the music “Biyong.” King Wu and the Duke of Zhou also composed the music “Wu.” In ancient funeral rites, the ceremonies differed according to rank, with distinctions between those above and below: the Son of Heaven had seven layers of coffins, the feudal lords five, high ministers three, and ordinary gentlemen two. (From the Yellow Emperor onward, ritual and music followed established forms.) Yet Mo Di insisted on singing no songs while alive—thereby destroying music—and wearing no mourning clothes after death—thereby destroying ritual. He made a three-inch-thick paulownia coffin with no outer coffin a model, and taught this practice to others. This can hardly be called loving others; to demand the same of himself was certainly no way to love himself. Even without waiting for Mo Di’s way to bring about ruin, the result is already this: one does not sing when it is time to sing, weep when it is time to weep, or rejoice when it is time to rejoice. Such a complete disregard for human feeling—is it truly fitting for people to live this way, as ordinary human beings?

He endured hardship in life and received a meager burial in death. His way was exceedingly austere—“great harshness” means severity that causes people grief and sorrow. The practices it prescribed were difficult to carry out, and could hardly be taken as the Great Way of the sages. Looking at the matter from the opposite perspective…

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Interpretation

The convictions of the people cannot be borne by the people themselves. Even if Mozi alone could bear them, what would that mean for the world? Cut off from the people’s own convictions, he remains far from the ideal of ruling the world. (Their advocacy of hard labor in life and austere burial in death was so severe that it brought grief and sorrow, and ran counter to the common ways of the world. Even if Mozi alone could bear it, what could the world make of that? This is not the Way of ruling the world.)

Zhuangzi praised Yu, the Great, for his work in ancient times to control the floods: he dredged rivers and connected the four borderlands with the Nine Provinces. There were three hundred famous rivers, three thousand tributaries, and countless smaller streams. Yu himself handled baskets and plows (gathering workers to manage the waterways throughout the realm). His calves swelled until he could not pull out the hair, and he washed his head in strong winds and combed it in driving rain, all to bring order to the myriad states. Yu was a great sage, yet he exhausted the world to this extent. In later generations, most Mohists wore coarse hemp as their outer garments and wooden clogs or straw sandals as their footwear. They worked day and night, making self-imposed hardship their highest standard. They said that anyone who did not do this failed to follow Yu’s Way and was unworthy of being called a Mohist master. Li Qin’s disciples and the followers of the Five Lords spread out among the households of those lords.

Among the southern Mohists were figures such as Ku Huo, Ji Chi, and Denglingzi. They all recited the Mohist classics, but differed in what they meant by them. They called one another “separate Mohists” (branches of Mohism), attacked one another with arguments about the hard and the white, and the same and the different, and answered one another with claims about odd and even that did not accord. They regarded the Juzi as a sage (the Mohist title for a master who had attained the Way, comparable to a great Confucian scholar). Each wished to become his successor (that is, the head of the lineage and heir to its teachings), hoping to lead later generations; this has continued to the present day. Such was the intent of Mo Di and Qin Guli (to emulate the sage’s diligence and hardship), but their practice was different (they went too far and imposed excessive hardship on themselves). As a result, later Mohists were bound to advance by holding up as their ideal the self-inflicted hardship of calves without hair and shins without a trace of it.

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Interpretation

A Plain Language Reading of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence

(The disorder lies above, and order below.) This is indeed so. Mozi, the founder of the pre-Qin Mohist school, was truly admired by people throughout the world, yet when they sought someone like him, they could not find one.

He was not burdened by worldly conventions, did not embellish outward things, treat people harshly, or envy others. He wished only for peace throughout the world and to save people’s lives. He took no more than he needed to sustain himself and others, and in this way made his true intentions clear. Among the ancient arts of the Dao, there was indeed a tradition like this. Song Xing and Yin Wen, who lived during the reign of King Xuan of Qi, heard of it and admired it. They modeled their caps on the level shape of Mount Hua, as a way of expressing themselves. They began their dealings with others by “distinguishing and pardoning”: separating good from evil, while showing leniency toward those who fell short. They explained the workings of the heart and called this “the conduct of the heart.” Through it, they reconciled people’s intentions, shared in their joys, and brought harmony to the world. They once asked to be appointed as rulers. They did not regard being insulted as a disgrace. They sought to end strife among the people, forbid attacks, stop warfare, and save the world from conflict. In pursuit of this, they traveled throughout the world, persuading rulers above and teaching the people below. Though the world did not accept their ideas, they continued to proclaim them insistently and never gave up. Hence the saying that they were disliked by those above and below, yet still forced themselves forward. Even so, they cared too much for others and too little for themselves, saying that five sheng of rice was enough for them. Their teacher feared they would not get enough to eat; although the disciples were hungry, they still kept the world in mind, working day and night without stopping and saying, “I will surely be able to live”—meaning that they could sustain themselves this way. Were they scheming or putting on a show? These were people who sought to save the world! (They cared greatly for others and little for themselves, even forgetting meals and enduring hardship for the sake of the world. Surely they did not rely on a few sheng or dou of rice to stay alive? Rather, they used the name of correcting abuses and saving the world to distinguish themselves from those who pretended to save the world for their own benefit. “Scheme” means to plot; “put on a show” means to dissemble.)

A gentleman does not engage in harsh, meticulous scrutiny (for that would violate the principle of “distinguishing and pardoning”), nor does he use his body as a tool to serve external things. If he believes something brings no benefit to the world, he says plainly that it should be abandoned. He makes the prohibition of attacks and the cessation of warfare his outward concern, and keeps desires and passions few and shallow within. He appears before the rulers of his age in a state of clarity, emptiness, and Wuwei (non-action); his policies for nourishing the people can be passed down to later generations.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Interpretation

Main idea:

This passage describes the way of governing associated with the school of Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao: the “equalizing of things” and “following things.” In acting, one goes only as far as “being impartial without forming factions, adapting without self-interest, deciding without fixed views, and going along with things.” It takes Heaven as the starting point for equalizing all things. Knowing that every thing has what is acceptable and what is not, it follows that selection cannot be all-inclusive and instruction cannot reach everywhere; only returning together with the Dao leaves nothing out. Shen Dao abandons knowledge and self-interest, follows what cannot be avoided, and clears away disturbances in dealing with things. He advocates “knowing without claiming to know,” restraining knowledge to avoid the harm of carving things apart. Unrestrained and self-reliant, he laughs at the world’s esteem for the worthy; using the mallet, the pat, and the rounded cut according to their respective purposes, he adapts to things. He sets aside right and wrong if doing so can avert harm, and does not take deliberative knowledge as his guide.

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Sentence by sentence:

• “Whether great or small, refined or coarse, their practice went only this far and stopped.”

Whatever the scale or degree, this is roughly where their approach ended. (Comment: Its central aim was to restrain warfare outwardly and reduce desires inwardly; this is the general idea.)

• “Impartial, yet forming no faction; adaptable, yet without self-interest; decisive, yet without a fixed position.”

They were fair without joining a faction, responsive to change without personal bias, and made decisions without first settling on a fixed view. (Comment: They did not decide in advance what to think.)

• “They followed the course of things without holding to either side, did not rely on deliberation or calculation, chose nothing among things, and went along with them.”

They followed the natural course of all things without taking a position between opposing sides. They did not depend on reflection or strategy, made no distinctions in choosing among things, and proceeded together with them.

• “Among the ancient arts of the Dao, there was a way of this kind: Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao heard of it and delighted in it.”

This was one of the ancient approaches to the Dao. Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao heard of its teaching and welcomed it.

• “They took the equalization of all things, with Heaven as their starting point, as their guiding principle.”

Their central principle was to regard all things as equal and to begin from Heaven.

• “Heaven can cover things but cannot carry them; Earth can carry things but cannot cover them. The Great Dao can encompass things but cannot distinguish them.”

Heaven can cover things but cannot bear them; Earth can bear them but cannot cover them. The Great Dao can contain everything, but cannot explain each thing individually.

• “Knowing that all things each have what is acceptable and what is not, they said: selection cannot be all-inclusive, instruction cannot reach everywhere, but following the Dao leaves nothing out.”

They understood that each thing has its own possibilities and limits. Thus, choosing among things cannot take in everything, and teaching cannot reach every place; returning together with the Dao leaves nothing beyond its reach. (Comment: Heaven and Earth are themselves among the myriad things. If things are equal, Heaven and Earth too are foremost. Heaven, Earth, and the Great Dao each have what they can and cannot do, which shows that things have their possibilities and limits. Selection cannot be all-inclusive, and imposed teaching cannot reach everywhere; returning together to the Dao leaves nothing outside the Dao’s encompassing.)

• “Therefore Shen Dao abandoned clever knowledge and set aside the self. He followed what could not be avoided, cleared away disturbances in dealing with things, and took this as the principle of the Dao.”

Shen Dao accordingly gave up cleverness and personal interests, followed what was unavoidable, and sought to clear away disturbances in his dealings with things. He regarded this as the principle of the Dao.

• “He said: ‘Know what you do not know.’”

That is, to know is to refrain from claiming knowledge. (Comment: Even when one knows, one stops short of acting on that knowledge, as if one did not know.)

• “He sought to restrain knowledge so as not to come close to the harm of wounding things.”

The aim was to curb clever knowledge and avoid the injury that comes from carving things apart. (Comment: Knowledge is like an awl that drills into undifferentiated wholeness; the drilling causes harm. Everyone claims to know, while I say I do not know. This restrains the expression of knowledge, so as not to approach the drilling into wholeness and the harm it brings.)

• “Unrestrained and relying on nothing, he laughed at the world’s reverence for the worthy.”

Unashamed and walking his own path, he had no support to lean on and mocked the world for its esteem of those famed as worthy.

• “Freewheeling and without conventional conduct, he rejected those whom the world called great sages.”

He acted without restraint and did not follow the way of sage virtue, rejecting those the world called great sages.

• “With the mallet, the pat, and the rounded cut, he turned and adapted together with things.”

He used the mallet, the pat, and the rounded cut according to what each material required, adapting and working in harmony with things. (Comment: Each tool—the mallet, the pat, and the rounded cut—was suited to its own purpose.)

• “He set aside right and wrong, provided he could avoid harm; he did not take deliberative knowledge as his teacher.”

He let go of judgments about right and wrong as long as this helped him avoid harm, and did not make clever calculation his guide.

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Note: Proper names such as Peng Meng, Tian Pian, Shen Dao, and Xikua are retained from the original. This passage is close to the discussion of Shen Dao in the “Tianxia” chapter of the Zhuangzi. Here it is presented in the style of a commentary: the plain-language interpretation follows the sense of the passage rather than glossing each character word for word.

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Interpretation

Knowing what comes before and after, one stands lofty and still. (“Lofty” means having no sense of right and wrong, no schemes of intellect, and no distinction between before and after: simply resting in calm stillness, with no other capability. Only by “discarding sageliness and abandoning wisdom” can one remain so calm.) One moves only when pushed, and goes only when pulled—like a whirlwind turning, a feather spinning, or a millstone falling. (Wind, feathers, and millstones all turn in response to other things, without acting of their own accord.) One preserves oneself without fault; one’s movements and stillness never go too far, and one never incurs blame. Why? Things without awareness suffer neither the trouble of asserting a self nor the burden of exercising cleverness. Their movement and stillness never depart from what is natural, so throughout their lives they neither seek praise nor invite blame.

Thus one can preserve oneself in the world, moving and resting naturally and without fault. Why is this so? It seems that things without awareness suffer no harm from clinging to their own views and carry no burden of deliberate calculation. Their movements and stillness accord with what is natural, and they do not show off their cleverness to others. Because they seek no praise, they incur no blame; this is the way to preserve oneself. Hence the ideal is to be like things without awareness, with no need for sages and worthies.

Like a clod of earth, one remains with the Dao. The heroes all laughed at them, saying: “Shen Dao’s way”—Shen Dao was a thinker of the Warring States period—“is not how the living live, but rather the reasoning of the dead. How strange!” Tian Pian, a scholar of the same school as Shen Dao, was like this too. He studied under Peng Meng, an earlier Daoist, and they came into accord without much instruction. Peng Meng’s teacher said: “The people of ancient times who possessed the Dao did no more than reach a state in which nothing was held to be absolutely right or absolutely wrong. It was like a sound passing the ear in a gust of wind—how could it still be expressed in ordinary words?” They often went against other people and were not valued by the world, so they could not avoid being pliant and accommodating, without sharp edges. The Dao they spoke of was not the true Dao, and the rightness they argued for was bound to invite criticism. Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao did not truly understand the Dao, though, broadly speaking, each had heard something of it.

This passage comes from the commentary and subcommentary tradition on the “All Under Heaven” chapter, an Outer Chapter of the Zhuangzi. It assesses the school of Shen Dao, Tian Pian, and Peng Meng, whose teaching emphasized abandoning knowledge, becoming like a clod, and leveling distinctions between right and wrong. The commentary uses “whirlwind, feather, and millstone” to illustrate responding to things without acting of one’s own accord. It also criticizes them as “closer to the dead than to the living,” arguing that they still fall short of the true Daoist’s stance of affirming neither right nor wrong.

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Interpretation

Shen Dao did not understand these principles. He may have heard something of them, perhaps, but even though people of the world thought them wrong, Zhuangzi still found something to value in them.

Take the Dao as fundamental and refined, and things as coarse. Regard accumulated possessions as insufficient, and remain tranquil, dwelling alone with the spirit. “Fundamental” refers to the Dao; it does not refer to objects. Although the Dao and objects are never separate, they differ in refinement and coarseness. Thus the Dao is called refined, and things coarse. The Dao has never begun with things; accumulation burdens the mind. So when emptiness is brought to its utmost, one arrives at a state without accumulation and rests there, always keeping to what is natural, tranquil and dwelling with the spirit.

In ancient times, there were Daoist teachings of this kind. Guan Yin and Lao Dan heard of them and rejoiced. Guan Yin was Yin Xi, whose courtesy name was Gongqing.

Establish it on constant nonbeing and being, and let the Great One be its guide. Let yielding, weakness, modesty, and humility be its outward expression; let emptiness that does not destroy the myriad things be its true substance. “Establish” means to set up as a foundation. Constant nonbeing and being is the root: it is what has never had a beginning. The Great One is the beginning of being, the mother of the myriad things. Since all events and transformations emerge from it, it serves as their guide. The Dao is empty, yet its use never seems to be exhausted; therefore, yielding, weakness, modesty, and humility are its outward expression. “Outward expression” means what appears externally in responding to affairs and engaging with things: this is the Dao in use. Each thing returns to its root, whose substance is itself empty. To destroy the myriad things would be to fall into annihilation and inert emptiness. Thus one does not destroy the world’s functions, but realizes the true aspect. “True substance” means true emptiness that is not empty: the true aspect.

Guan Yin said: “Within oneself, dwell nowhere, and the forms of things will appear of themselves. In movement, be like water; in stillness, like a mirror; in response, like an echo. Be indistinct, as though forgetting; be still, as though pure. To be one with things is harmony; to gain is to lose. Never take the lead over others, but always follow them.” “Dwell” means to settle the mind. The point is that one’s mind abides in nothing, and yet all forms and things appear through that very mind. This is what is meant by “abide nowhere, and the mind will arise.” Water in motion, a mirror at rest, and an echo in an empty valley are all without intention. To be “indistinct” is to seem, in a hazy state, both to have something and not to have it; to be “pure” is to have nothing mixed in. To be one with things is harmony; to gain nothing is to gain. Never taking the lead but always following means moving only when pressed, and rising only when there is no choice.

Lao Dan said: “Know the masculine, keep to the feminine, and become the stream of the world. Know the white, keep to the disgraced, and become the valley of the world. While everyone else takes the lead, I alone choose to come last; this is called receiving the world’s grime.”

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Interpretation

Most people contend over “practical gain” and cling to “surplus,” but he clings instead to “emptiness” and accumulates nothing, yet appears self-sufficient. His bearing is dignified, as though he still has room to spare. He conducts himself with ease, does not squander his energy recklessly, takes Wuwei (non-action) as his way of acting, and smiles at clever devices. While everyone else seeks good fortune, he seeks only to escape calamity and preserve himself. The commentators explain: a valley lies low and can hold things; this is called “the more it contains, the greater it becomes.” Never vying to be first, but always placing oneself behind others, is “by putting himself last, he comes first.” Bearing humiliation is “knowing the white, yet keeping to disgrace.” Not taking tangible “substance” as ultimate, but treating “emptiness” as real, is called “choosing emptiness.” To have enough without storing up is to take “not enough” as enough. He acts unhurriedly and without waste, keeping to frugality. Where others take cleverness as cleverness, he takes Wuwei as cleverness; where others take good fortune as good fortune, he takes freedom from calamity as good fortune.

Taking “depth” as his root and “restraint” as his guiding rule, he says: “Too much hardness breaks; too much sharpness is blunted.” So he is always generous toward things and sparing in his demands on others—this may be called the utmost. Guan Yin and Lao Dan were truly “broad and great perfected ones” of antiquity. The commentary says: “Root” means foundation, and “guiding rule” means standard. Their words, “Those of old who practiced the Dao were subtle, mysterious, and profound, beyond fathoming,” show that they took depth as their root. “In governing people and serving Heaven, nothing is better than restraint” shows that they took restraint as their guiding rule. Excessive hardness leads to destruction; excessive sharpness leads to being blunted. Thus one should constantly break down hardness and blunt sharpness, making room for things and avoiding harsh, exploitative conduct. Their Dao may be called the utmost. “Broad and great perfected ones” is an honorific for them.

Silent and without form, changing without end, it joins death and life with Heaven and Earth, and moves together with the spirits. Vast and indistinct, one does not know where it goes; elusive and wavering, one does not know where it is bound. It contains all things, yet none can serve as a place of refuge. Among the arts of the Dao in antiquity, some lay in this. Zhuang Zhou heard of their tradition and rejoiced in it. The commentary says: Clear and unobstructed, without form; coming and going without abiding anywhere; taking the formless as its guiding principle and Wuwei as its way of acting. All things return to one storehouse; death and life share the same condition, joined directly with Heaven and Earth and moving together with the spirits. Vast and indistinct, one does not know where it goes; elusive and wavering, one does not know where it is bound. Such were the arts of the Dao in antiquity. Nanhua (Zhuangzi) heard of them and was delighted.

He used “far-fetched” sayings, “vast and unrestrained” words, and expressions without bounds, letting them roam freely from time to time without clinging to one side. He did not present people with “eccentric” views. The people of the world were sunk in confusion and stagnation, while he made this Dao his way of life. The commentary says: To speak in far-fetched, vast, boundless terms is to refuse the limits of convention and avoid shocking the world with one-sided views.

Guan Yin and Lao Dan: Guan Yin refers to Yin Xi, traditionally said to have met Laozi at the pass; Lao Dan is Laozi. “Broad and great perfected ones” refers to perfected beings of expansive virtue who have united with the Dao; here it is an honorific for the tradition of Laozi. Nanhua refers to Zhuangzi and his Nanhua Zhenjing (the True Scripture of Nanhua), also known as the Zhuangzi. In the Zhuangzi tradition, “far-fetched” and “vast and unrestrained” describe speech that is expansive and profound, unconstrained by ordinary forms; they do not mean “nonsense” in the modern sense.

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Interpretation

People in a turbid age cannot be addressed through straightforward reasoning. So Zhuangzi developed his ideas through zhiyan (“goblet words”), speech that shifts to suit its vessel and wanders without bounds; conveyed what is true through zhongyan (“weighty words”), repeated citations spoken with gravity; and opened up many paths of expression through yuyan (“parabolic words”), speech that entrusts deeper meaning to stories. His thought is empty, distant, vast, and without limit. His writing is therefore unconstrained, yet it does not form factions or pursue private interests. He takes his place among ordinary people and does not flaunt strange ideas to set himself apart. In his view, people throughout the world are sunk in murk and cannot be reached through solemn, upright words. That is why he uses free-ranging goblet words, grounded weighty words, and wide-ranging parabolic words. He must rely on these three modes of speech. This is not Zhuangzi’s fault; those who do not trust him are simply confused.

He alone roams in the spirit of Heaven and Earth, yet does not look down on the myriad things or condemn right and wrong. Instead, he lives alongside the world. Heaven and Earth abandon nothing; neither does a person who takes the Dao as their own nature. “Ao ni” means to look down on others with pride. Without such arrogance, one does not contend with external things: those who gain share in his gain, and those who lose share in his loss. He does not condemn right and wrong, but lives alongside the world, at peace with it and forgetting it in turn, without realizing that such a mysterious sameness of De is present.

Although his book is wondrous and unusual, its ideas link and turn gently, without wounding human feelings. “Wondrous” means unusual and outstanding; “linked and winding” describes things following and joining one another. The point is that although his book may seem to shock the world, it is skilled at understanding the nature of things. Its ideas link and turn gracefully, never going against things. Thus, wondrous though it is, it causes no harm.

His writing rises and falls in uneven ways, yet within its humor and strangeness there is profound thought to be found. That is why it is called “worth observing.”

The principles fill that entire book; the world could not do without it.

Above, he roams with the Creator; below, he befriends those who transcend life and death, and have neither beginning nor end. His exposition of the “root”—the fundamental principle—is vast and opens into distant reaches. His grasp of the “source”—the central teaching—may be called well-tuned and ascending.

“Roaming with the Creator” and “befriending those without beginning or end”: such views do not go beyond what Laozi called the “art of the Dao.” He builds his teaching on “the constant, nonbeing, and being,” and so his exposition of the root is vast and far-reaching. He takes “the Great One” as his guiding principle, and so his grasp of the source may be called well-tuned and ascending. The source is what governs and grounds things; “tuning” means nurturing and balancing. The work of nurturing one’s nature begins with deliberate effort and action, then proceeds to Wuwei (non-action), and thereby naturally ascends.

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Interpretation

On the True Person “Fulfilled, he ascends above”: this means he has reached the heights, fulfilled his aspiration to rise, and joined the company of Heaven. Even so, he follows the transformations of creation and releases the bonds that bind the myriad things. The principle behind this cannot be fully expressed in words, and his liberation does not depend on shedding a skin, as a snake does. It is profound and obscure; no one has yet explained it completely.

On Hui Shi Hui Shi, a School of Names thinker of the Warring States period known for his skill in argument, had many lines of thought, and his books were said to fill five carts. But his principles were confused, and his words did not hit the mark. The commentary says that thinkers such as Mozi, Song Xing, Yin Wen, Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao at least had some connection with insight into the Dao, whereas Hui Shi was devoted to disputation. “Many approaches” means that each person had a different account, like speakers of different dialects; this readily led to exaggeration and competitive wordplay. Though Hui Shi had many books, his teachings were diverse and at odds with the Great Dao, and his words did not accord with reason. He did not establish a coherent school.

Hui Shi’s account of “examining things” In examining and distinguishing the myriad things, Hui Shi once said: what is so great that it has nothing outside it is called “the Great One”; what is so small that it has nothing inside it is called “the Small One.” The commentary says that “nothing outside” and “nothing inside” may sound reasonable. But to divide the Great One and the Small One further into greater and smaller things is to claim that “within sameness there is difference, and within difference there is sameness.” This is where disputation begins.

Something without thickness cannot be made thick by stacking it, yet it can be stacked without end until it extends a thousand li. A thousand li of expanse is the result of continually accumulating what has no thickness. This is to say that the same line of reasoning can be used to discuss both the great and the small.

Heaven and Earth: in their usual positions, Heaven is high and Earth is low; yet Heaven’s Dao descends to benefit what is below, so one can also say that Earth is low. Mountains and marshes: by their appearance, mountains are high and marshes are deep; yet there are marshes beneath mountains, so one can also say that marshes are level. The sun is square at noon; viewed obliquely, it can also be said to be square. Things are at once coming to life and dying: they can be said to be in the midst of life, or to be returning to their root and restoring their allotment, which is death.

Within “great sameness” there are also “small differences within sameness”; this is called “small sameness and difference.” When the myriad things are either all the same or all different, this is called “great sameness and difference.” These are School of Names propositions in Hui Shi’s debate over sameness and difference.

Note: This passage comes from commentary on the Zhuangzi. The first half discusses the True Person and the transformation and release of things; the second quotes Hui Shi’s account of “examining things” and the commentary’s criticism of it. Terms such as “the Great One,” “the Small One,” and “sameness and difference” illustrate the School of Names’ methods of argument; the passage does not describe specific cultivation rituals.

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Interpretation

“The large and the small form the small”: this is called “small sameness and difference.” All things, taken together, form one whole; within the unity encompassed by the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), distinctions can still be made—this is called “great sameness and difference.” The large does not stand apart from the accumulation of the small. Once combined, the small can also count as large; then there is neither sameness nor difference.

“The south has no limit, yet has a limit”; “set out for Yue today and arrive yesterday”; “a linked ring can be undone”: The southeast of Heaven and Earth comes together in a vast ocean, with no shore in sight. If we fix “direction” to visible things, the land may fall short in the southeast, but “falling short” does not mean “having an end.” As for “setting out for Yue today,” although the journey takes place today, the mind has already arrived there in advance, yesterday. Is that not “setting out for Yue today and arriving yesterday”? What passes through the linked ring passes through “no ring”; it does not pass through the ring itself. Once you understand what makes the ring connected, you understand what makes it come undone. In Buddhist meditation, there is a saying: “A golden bell hangs beneath a tiger’s neck—who can remove it?” The answer is: “The one who tied it must untie it.” That is the idea.

“I know the center of the world: north of Yan and south of Yue”; “love all things indiscriminately, and Heaven and Earth are one”: Hui Shi regarded these as grand insights, and debaters throughout the world were glad to praise him. (People do not know exactly where the “center” is. The people of Yan and Yue each take the place where they live to be the center, so the land north of Yan and south of Yue could also count as the center. However vast Heaven and Earth may be, viewed through indiscriminate love, they are simply one whole among the myriad things. Hui Shi regarded this as a grand insight; his skill in debate was renowned throughout the world, and people everywhere were glad to honor him.)

“Eggs have hair”; “a chicken has three feet”; “Ying possesses all under Heaven”; “a dog can be a sheep”: Hair grows inside an egg, so an egg has hair. A chicken normally has two feet, but someone might argue for “the foot” as a separate category; together, these make three feet. Ying was originally a fiefdom. When its ruler began to claim the title of king, the claim to “possess all under Heaven” began there. The names “dog” and “sheep” are both assigned by people. Before names existed, there would have been nothing wrong with calling a dog a sheep.

“Horses have eggs”; “a tadpole has a tail”; “fire is not hot”; “mountains have openings”: The forms things take and the names assigned to them are all provisional, not fixed realities. Thus dogs and sheep have no fixed names, and embryos and eggs have no fixed forms: birds may be born from the womb, and horses may lay eggs. The myriad things have no fixed forms, and forms have no fixed designations. What is above is called the head; what is below, the tail. People say that what moves to the right … (The following text may continue the debate. The passage seems to list Hui Shi’s “propositions about things,” using examples of unsettled names and realities and of relativity to challenge common sense.)

Note: This passage comes from commentaries related to the Zhuangzi and draws heavily on propositions by the Warring States thinker Hui Shi, who, along with Gongsun Long and others, belonged to the debaters concerned with names and realities. The commentary also includes the Chan Buddhist parable of “untying the bell,” a later reading that brings Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist traditions together; it is not part of the original Zhuangzi.

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Interpretation

Plain-Language Explanation

“A curved wave forms the tail”: The people of Chu call a toad a “dingzi.” Although the two characters for “dingzi” are now written from left to right, “curved wave” means the same thing.

“People know there are hot springs beneath heaven, but no cold fire”: People know that hot springs exist beneath heaven, yet they do not know of Xiao Qiu or cool flames. There are also “fire-born insects,” which are not burned by fire.

“A mountain has no mouth, yet an empty valley carries sound—does that not count as a mouth?” A mountain has no mouth, but an empty valley can carry sound. Does that not mean it has a “mouth”?

“A wheel does not spread across the ground”: A wheel is round, so it does not lie flat against the ground as it moves, yet it travels quickly.

“The eye cannot see the finger; the finger cannot reach it; and reaching has no end”: The eye cannot see itself, and a finger cannot point at itself. When the eye looks at the finger and the finger points at the eye, once the finger is reached, it cannot point to the eye; once the eye is reached, it cannot see the finger. This mutual pointing and identifying has no end.

“A tortoise lives longer than a snake; the carpenter’s square is not square, the compass cannot make a circle, and the socket does not enclose the tenon”: Although a tortoise has a short body, it lives longer than a snake. The carpenter’s square is the utmost expression of squareness, and the compass of roundness, but the tools themselves are neither square nor round. The tenon is round and the socket square. Though the tenon sits inside the socket, it can still turn; the socket cannot stop it. This is why it is said that “the socket does not enclose the tenon”: the round thing is the tenon within the socket.

“The shadow of a flying bird has never moved”: When a bird flies in the sky and its shadow falls on the ground, we can say that the bird is moving, but not that the shadow is moving.

“An arrow flies with such speed that there is a time when it neither travels nor stops”: An arrow is said to be “traveling” when it leaves the bowstring and “stopped” when it hits its target. But on the way from bowstring to target, it is neither “not traveling” nor “not stopped”; it lies between traveling and stopping.

“A dog is not a hound; a yellow horse and a black ox make three”: People in the north call a dog a “slender dog,” meaning a thin, small dog. But it is still a dog, so one cannot conclude that “a dog is not a hound.” A yellow horse is one, and a black ox is two; together they make two. The Wenshi Jing says that forms can be joined or divided: one man and one woman make two, but together they produce one child. A horse and an ox can be joined to produce a mule, but that does not mean a yellow horse plus a black ox equals three.

“A white dog turns black; an orphaned foal has never had a mother”: White and black are fixed distinctions, but white is easily dirtied, so it is said that “a white dog turns black.” A foal is born from its mother. If it is orphaned, can one say that it has a mother?

“Take half of a one-foot rod each day, and it will never be exhausted in ten thousand generations”: A one-foot rod is not very long, but it can be divided again and again: take half today, then half of what remains tomorrow, and continue taking half. Even after ten thousand generations, it will not be used up. Those who debate used arguments of this kind against Hui Shi, and could debate with him for their entire lives without reaching an end.

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Interpretation

A Relevant Passage from the Commentary on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence

The School of Debaters (Huan Tuan, Gongsun Long, and others)

They were skilled at dressing up people’s thoughts and twisting the original meaning of what others said. They could defeat people in argument, but they could not win their hearts. Debate was the circle that trapped them: though it gathered the world’s finest debaters within it, it could not cut through to the truth of the Dao (the Way).

Hui Shi (Master Hui)

Hui Shi spent every day matching his cleverness against others in debate. He especially enjoyed devising strange and convoluted arguments with the world’s debaters; that was where his failing lay. Yet he never stopped talking and believed himself the most worthy of men. He even said, “Heaven and earth appear magnificent because of my skill in debate.” He knew only how to press his advantage, not how to hold to gentleness, and he had no genuine Daoist art.

In the south there was an eccentric named Huang Liao, who asked why heaven and earth did not collapse and how wind, rain, thunder, and lightning came about. Hui Shi answered without hesitation and responded without a moment’s thought. He explained everything under the sun without end, always feeling he had said too little, then added bizarre theories to overpower his listeners. In truth, he wanted to make a name for himself by winning arguments, and so he could not get along with others. His De (Virtue/Power) was weak, yet he showed off his cleverness about things and his skill in argument. The farther he went, the darker his path became.

From the perspective of the Dao of heaven and earth

Seen from heaven and earth’s wordless perspective, Hui Shi’s debating skill was no more than the futile buzzing of a mosquito or gadfly, of no use to the myriad things. Even if one selected just a single sentence from all his words to give it substance, it would at most barely avoid straying from the Great Dao. He was still far from those who truly treasured the Great Dao. His many words were like mosquitoes and gadflies gathering into a thunderous hum: they could not wake hibernating creatures or stir the myriad things. To the world, they were still superfluous.

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Interpretation

A Vernacular Reading of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence

On Huishi

Perhaps Huishi could not use this teaching to settle his mind. He scattered his spirit among all things, without ever tiring of it, and in the end became famous only for his skill in argument. How regrettable! Huishi was richly talented and unrestrained in temperament, yet he could not hold fast to his original mind. He pursued external things single-mindedly and never knew to turn back. He was like an echo chasing a sound, or a shadow racing after a body—how pitiable!

Those who have realized the Dao often take “too much talk leads to exhaustion” as a warning. Huizi could not use this to steady his mind and resolve; he scattered his spirit among all things and pursued them without weariness, becoming famous only for his skill in argument. His talent was great, but he could not put it to good use; he was unrestrained, yet could not find contentment within himself. He chased after things without returning to their source, like someone trying to still an echo by raising his voice, or trying to stop a shadow by racing against the body. Huishi studied without understanding the roots, and chased after things to generate arguments. He was no more than a shadow and an echo.

Fugui Zi says: Where, exactly, is the Dao? Before chaos had been divided, the Dao was in Heaven and Earth; after chaos was divided, the Dao was in human beings. When dispersed, it becomes the myriad things; when gathered, it is one. The spirit obtains it and becomes clear; clarity obtains it and emerges. The inner sage obtains it and comes to life; the outer king obtains it and achieves his work. How great is this “One”! Though there are many people in the world who speak of arts and techniques, they all have their source in the One.

Some in the world rely on it as their foundation for becoming people of Heaven; spirit-like people gather their original essence through it; perfected people preserve their true purity through it; and sages grasp its Dao and De. Once Dao and De were lost, benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music arose. Who but a gentleman could bear the responsibility for these? Thus laws and standards were established to bring order, comparisons and examinations were used to verify matters, officials followed fixed regulations, and the people pursued settled occupations. The De of Heaven and the kingly Way were upheld together.

When the Dao prevailed, Dao and De were one, and divergent doctrines could not clamor against one another. Where the Dao was embodied in calendrical calculations, officials maintained its methods and the Grand Astrologer recorded its facts. Where it was dispersed through the Six Classics, Confucian scholars of Zou and Lu carried on its tradition, while the learning of the Hundred Schools spread its ripples. Who realizes that the arts of the Dao rise and fall together with the arts of governance? Thus, when the world falls into great disorder, Dao and De also cease to be one. Those who grasp one particular insight and take pride in it are like the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth, which cannot communicate with one another. How, then, can they know the beauty of Heaven and Earth, the patterns of the myriad things, or the wholeness of the ancients? Each person acts according to what they desire...

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Interpretation

A Commentary and Exposition on the True Classic of Southern Florescence

People lose their way and do not know how to turn back. As techniques and doctrines proliferate, the Great Dao is divided ever more finely.

Thus Mo Di (Mozi) and Qin Guli deliberately set out to correct extravagance, but went too far in the other direction. They advocated simplicity in caring for the living and burying the dead, imitating an ancient age when ritual and music were not yet fully developed rather than following the rites and music established by the rulers of the middle antiquity. They would not sing when people were alive or wear mourning clothes when they died, leaving people sorrowful and grief-stricken and violating the constant way of the world. Could those who govern the world do this? And how could they take Yu the Great as their sole model? They did not understand that in Yu’s time the floods had not been controlled and the land had not been settled, so he had no choice but to lead the people by example. The age of Mo Di was not Yu’s age. Later scholars of the Mohist classics honored those they believed to have attained the Dao as “Great Masters” and “sages,” caring nothing even if their calves were calloused and their shins hairless—signs of excessive toil. This, too, was another division of the Great Dao.

Then there were Song Xing and Yin Wen, who especially exalted the practice of “living for others” and carried it too far. They wore Huashan caps, a distinctive style of headwear, to distinguish themselves; judged good and evil; and readily forgave those who fell short. They urged rulers above them to forbid attacks and taught the people below them to lay down their arms. They knew only how to make plans for others, not how to establish themselves. Though hungry, they did not forget the world; they made no harsh demands of others and did not use external things for their own gain. Yet they treated “stopping war” as an outward practice and “curbing desire” as inner cultivation. In matters great and small, refined and crude, theirs was ultimately a teaching of “others, but no self.” This, too, was another division of the Great Dao.

Then Peng Meng, Tian Pian, Shen Dao, Lao Dan, and others heard teachings about “not thinking or planning” and went to seek them out. They believed that even Heaven and Earth, which cover and support the myriad things, cannot encompass everything. They therefore advocated “neither affirming nor denying.” They abandoned cleverness and removed self-interest, fearing that cleverness might damage what is natural, as a chisel did when it bored the seven openings in Hundun (Chaos), causing him to die. They mocked the world’s admiration of the worthy, fearing that judgments of right and wrong would lead to conflict. Thus, they said one should yield before acting and be drawn along before moving forward; one should be adaptable rather than rigid, seeking only to preserve oneself. Hence the saying, “Avoid blame and seek no praise.” Though their Dao did not fully accord with that of the ancients, their ideas of “neither right nor wrong” and “speaking without speaking” still retained something of the ancient spirit. We cannot conclude that they knew nothing merely because they did not fit the common mold. Yet this, too, was another division of the Great Dao.

How could they have known that the Dao, though formless, has never been without root and branch; and that things, though they have appearances, cannot be separated from what is refined and what is coarse? Between Heaven and Earth there is nothing superfluous, so nothing needs to be stored up, yet all is always sufficient. Only the Perfected Person (Zhiren) comes and goes alone, sharing in the fortunes and misfortunes of ghosts and spirits.

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Interpretation

This passage comes from the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence. It discusses the Daoist teachings and writing styles of Guan Yin, Laozi, Zhuangzi, and others. The following explains its general meaning in plain language.

Who truly grasped the spirit of Daoist teaching? Perhaps it was Guan Yin and Lao Dan.

Those who fully understood the spirit of Daoist teaching were surely Guan Yin (Master Guan Yin, traditionally said to have been Laozi’s student or companion) and Lao Dan (Laozi).

Their Dao takes “neither being nor nonbeing” as its essential nature, the Great One as its guiding principle, softness and humility as its outward appearance, and emptiness—unfilled and unstained—as its substance.

Their Dao takes “neither being nor nonbeing”—neither simply “being” nor simply “nonbeing”—as its foundation, and the Great One (Taiyi), the undivided origin, as its guiding principle. Outwardly, it appears soft and humble; inwardly, it is empty, neither filled up nor polluted.

Their minds are free of attachment to any particular thing, yet can respond to and illuminate all things. They can be active or still. Neither water’s virtue of flowing downward nor a mirror’s reflection without retaining forms can fully describe them; the echoes of an empty valley cannot imitate their openness.

Their minds do not cling to any particular thing, yet can respond to and illuminate all things. They can be active or still. Their state cannot be fully described by water’s tendency to flow downward, or by a mirror that reflects things without retaining their forms. Nor can the reverberation of an empty valley imitate their openness.

They are both clear and harmonious, and so remain true to the Way. They would rather follow others than take the lead, preserve the yielding feminine than assert the forceful masculine, accept disgrace than flaunt their purity, and choose emptiness rather than cling to material gain.

Only by being both clear and harmonious do they remain true to the Way. They would rather follow others than take the lead, preserve the yielding feminine rather than assert the forceful masculine, accept disgrace rather than flaunt their purity, and choose emptiness rather than cling to material gain.

They do not regard hoarding as having a surplus, or having no stores as a deficiency. They do not regard deliberate action as skillful, or Wuwei (non-action) as clumsy.

They do not consider hoarding a sign of abundance, or having no stores a sign of lack. They do not consider deliberate action skillful or Wuwei (non-action) clumsy.

While everyone else counts good fortune as a blessing, they alone count freedom from blame as a blessing.

While everyone else takes enjoying good fortune as a blessing, they alone count freedom from fault and calamity as a blessing.

In governing themselves, they do not tire of putting down deep roots and remaining still; in governing others, they do not tire of keeping their rules simple and easy to follow.

In governing themselves, they do not tire of rooting themselves deeply and remaining still. In governing others, they favor rules that are simple and easy to follow.

If something is too rigid, it will break. Can even the hardest thing escape being shattered? If something is too sharp, it will grow dull. Can even the keenest edge escape being blunted?

What is too rigid will break; can even the hardest thing avoid being shattered? What is too sharp will grow dull; can even the keenest edge avoid being blunted?

The more they can contain what is foul, the more room they have for all things. Their Daoist teaching may be called supreme, with nothing that can be added to it.

The more they can contain what is foul, the more generously they can accommodate all things. Their Daoist teaching may be called perfect, with nothing more to add.

Guan Yin and Laozi were truly ancient sages of vast and generous spirit!

Guan Yin and Laozi were truly ancient Perfected Ones, vast and generous in spirit.

After them, Zhuang Zhou arose, inspired by their example.

Later, Zhuang Zhou (Zhuangzi) arose, inspired by their example and carrying on their tradition.

He took formlessness as his guiding principle and Wuwei as his practice. He saw the myriad things as belonging to one treasury, and life and death as having the same appearance.

He took formlessness as his guiding principle and Wuwei as his practice. He regarded the myriad things as belonging to one treasury and saw life and death as having the same appearance.

People who understand the words of the world speak either in ways that are distant, obscure, and hollow, or in ways that are wild and boundless. Their speech either has no beginning or end, or runs freely without restraint. Such people cannot be addressed in Zhuangzi’s manner.

Those who understand the world’s many kinds of speech know that it is either remote, obscure, and insubstantial, or wild and boundless. It either has no discernible beginning or end, or runs free without restraint. People who speak this way cannot be engaged in Zhuangzi’s manner.

So Zhuangzi had to let his goblet words unfold and spread. Just as luxuriant grass must have roots, and flowing water must have a source.

Therefore, Zhuangzi had to let his “goblet words”—parables that shift to suit their vessel—unfold and spread. For however luxuriantly grass may grow, it must have roots; however widely water may flow, it must have a source.

All things in the world borrow their appearance and name; only nature and life are real. So Zhuangzi lent authority to his words by attributing them to the great sages and worthies of antiquity, so that people would recognize nature and life as what is real.

All things in the world borrow their forms and names; only nature and life—our authentic life and inborn nature—are real. So Zhuangzi gave his words authority by attributing them to the great sages and worthies of antiquity, helping people understand that nature and life are what is real.

“Parable” means something entrusted to another form. Though the words seem familiar, their meaning reaches far. So Zhuangzi did not hesitate to use many comparisons and indirect allusions, allowing people to reflect deeply and discover the true meaning for themselves.

A parable is something entrusted to another form. Its words may seem familiar, but its meaning reaches far. Zhuangzi therefore made free use of extended comparisons and indirect allusions, so that people might reflect deeply and discover the true meaning for themselves.

He took Heaven and Earth as his spiritual home and the myriad things as an inn along the way. Above, he joined the transformations of the cosmos; below, he made friends with those who had gone beyond life and death.

He took Heaven and Earth as his spiritual home and the myriad things as an inn along the way. Above, he joined the processes of transformation; below, he befriended those who had gone beyond life and death.

Investigate its roots, and its reach is vast and profound; trace its guiding principle, and it opens upward to a higher understanding. Why must one cast off the body before ascending?

Investigate its roots, and its reach is vast and profound; trace its guiding principle, and it leads to an understanding that reaches upward. Why must one cast off the body before ascending?

These matters can be discussed with those who understand, but are difficult to explain to the confused and unenlightened.

These matters can be discussed with those who understand, but are hard to explain to the confused and unenlightened.

By the time Daoist teaching reached Hui Shi, had it not become divided, distorted, and confused?

By the time Daoist teaching reached Hui Shi (Master Hui, associated with the School of Names), had it not become fragmented, distorted, and confused?

His words were many, but they missed the point.

He spoke at length, yet failed to get to the heart of the matter.

Note: “Guan Yin” here generally refers to the tradition associated with Master Guan Yin. “Taiyi,” the Great One, refers to the Daoist origin and the undivided unity of all things. “Goblet words” is Zhuangzi’s own term for his parabolic style. Here, “nature and life” means authentic life and inborn nature, not merely biological existence. The passage compares the merits of the Laozi tradition, Zhuangzi’s thought and writing, and Hui Shi’s school.

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Interpretation

This passage critiques the debating methods of Hui Shi (Hui-tzu), weaving in images of Daoist cultivation and the unraveling of interlocking rings. Its general meaning is as follows:

On size and inside and outside

To call “what has no outer edge” great, and “what has no interior” small, is still only an approximate way of speaking. Can a journey of a thousand li be called “a pile with no thickness”? Can one say that the sky sometimes seems low and the mountains sometimes seem level? Can one say that, when viewed sideways, the sun is right in front of one?

On life and death, sameness and difference

An object that has just taken shape is called “square”; when it dies, it does not thereby lose all order. Does it make sense to blur “minor sameness and difference” together with “major sameness and difference”? The infinite must have an aspect that is finite; there is no need to insist that the infinite exists only in the south. The body may not yet have arrived while the spirit’s intention is already there; there is no need to insist that one must go to Yue.

The interlocking rings and cultivation (a key point in the commentary)

The “interlocking rings” are not made of metal. They are the Mysterious Female within the human body, a vital point akin to the Dantian (energy center) or the sea of Qi. It is white as cotton and linked like a ring. Those who undertake great cultivation must first understand how to undo this ring; only then can they attain liberation.

Hui-tzu and Zhuangzi

Hui-tzu and Zhuangzi were close, but their friendship too remained at the level of “persuasive talk”—surface-level argument. Yan in the north and Yue in the south can be taken as “the center,” without claiming they are the very center of the world. All things should be cherished, but that does not mean loving everything indiscriminately. Heaven and Earth share one body, but that does not mean treating “oneness” as the highest vision. Hair does not grow from hair; it grows from an egg. A chicken has two feet, yet there is also that which “makes the feet”—the master that directs their movement.

Names, reality, and examples of paradox

If Ying, the capital of Chu, is not the whole world, yet presumes to call itself the royal domain, then it is as if it possessed the whole world. Dogs and sheep have no fixed names; embryos and eggs have no fixed forms; heads and tails have no fixed designations. If insects live in fire, then it is not “hot”; if a mountain gives rise to a spring, then it has a “mouth.” A wheel is round, but if it spins too quickly, it does not touch the ground. The eye cannot see itself, and a finger cannot point to itself. If length and shortness are not measured against form, a tortoise can be longer than a snake. If square and round are not defined by form, a compass and square have no square or round shape of their own, yet they can produce square and round forms. A mortise need not encircle its tenon, but without a tenon it cannot be a mortise. A flying bird has a shadow: one can say the bird is moving, but not that the shadow is moving. An arrow flies very fast, yet there are times when it “neither advances nor stops.” Sameness contains difference, so dogs cannot all simply be called “canines.” Union contains division, which is why statements such as “three: a yellow horse and a black ox” become problematic.

What is bright is easily soiled, and related examples

What is bright and pure is easily soiled; a white dog can turn black. There are no foals in the world without mothers, yet one cannot say that an “orphan foal” has a mother. Nothing among the ten thousand things escapes decline. If one takes a measuring rod and halves it each day, then keeps extending each half, the process will never come to an end.

Conclusion

These are the arguments of those who follow Hui-tzu’s school, like Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long: they can use clever words to win people’s mouths, but cannot convince their hearts. Hui-tzu considered himself the finest and most talented of debaters, and so on.

Brief background note: Hui Shi was a leading figure of the School of Names during the Warring States period, known for arguments such as “making sameness and difference one” and “distinguishing hardness and whiteness.” In the commentaries, “interlocking rings” is linked to Neidan (internal alchemy), to the practice of “undoing the ring” at the Mysterious Pass, and to Zhuangzi’s philosophical proposition that interlocking rings can be undone. Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long were also members of the School of Names; Gongsun Long is famous for arguments such as “a white horse is not a horse.” The example of halving a measuring rod each day refers to the saying, “Take half of a one-foot measuring rod each day, and it will never be exhausted through ten thousand generations.” It uses the paradox of infinite divisibility to challenge Hui Shi’s reasoning about infinity.

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Interpretation

Even if Heaven and Earth could plead my case, would a person versed in the Dao truly know only how to hold to the masculine and not the feminine? Consider his answer to Huang Ti’s question: how could those who do not understand the Great Dao see clearly why Heaven and Earth do not collapse or sink, and why wind, rain, and thunder sometimes abate and sometimes surge? And what sort of person was Hui Shi? He answered as soon as he opened his mouth and spoke as he pleased. He could deceive people’s eyes and ears, but could not win their hearts and minds. Heaven and Earth are silent. Hui Shi’s many words were like gathering mosquitoes until they sounded like thunder, yet they could never startle the myriad things. To have talent but not know how to use it well is like trying to quiet a sound by making it louder, or to stop a shadow by running after it: one has missed the root. Trying to end argument through forceful disputation is the same. A person versed in the Dao would never act this way.

Master Fuguizi said: “Throughout the ages, none who understood Dao and De failed to grasp the meaning of Nanhua thoroughly. Nanhua is the fish trap used to catch the fish of Dao and De. These days, scholars not only fail to investigate Dao and De; few even understand what the four characters ‘Nanhua Zhenjing’ mean. An ancient sage said: ‘What is still and deep is Dao and De; what floats on the surface is their brilliance.’ Nanhua is the brilliant expression of Dao and De. But why call it a ‘True Classic’? Heaven and Earth take north and south as the warp, and east and west as the weft. A text on the Elixir says: ‘In the heavens, the Great Yin meets the Sun once each month; this is the constant cycle. In the human realm, the Lesser Yin passes through once each month, when the Gui Water arrives; this is the true cycle.’ Another text on the Elixir says: ‘To guide people, one must have the true classic.’ South corresponds to Fire, and Hua is also the essence and spirit of Fire. Thus, Nanhua refers in Heaven to the timing of Fire during the Great Yin’s dark conjunction and the new moon’s Gui phase; in the human being, it refers to the timing of Fire before and after the true cycle. When Laozi and Zhuangzi titled the work Nanhua Zhenjing, they were revealing the subtle method of circulating Wu, joining Ji, taking from Kan, and filling Li. Without the formula passed down by a celestial immortal, who could understand it? Without true Daoist Qi, who would believe it? Their entry into the transformations of creation, their penetrating insight into people and things, their understanding of the changes between life and death, and their clarity about the way of inner sagehood and outer kingship—all this, after things had come into being, was an attempt to trace back the beginning before anything existed. They sought only to help people know the source of nature and life, and to awaken them to the fact that everything with form and substance in Heaven and Earth is illusory, while only the One Dao is real. Why, then, do we have teeth?”

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Interpretation

Those in worldly life who prize ritual and propriety, and the gentlemen who wear official robes and serve as scholar-officials, all crave pleasures as fleeting as morning dew. They do not realize that a human life is like a mayfly between Heaven and Earth, here for only a brief moment. Since there is no way to “bind the sun with a long rope” and hold back the passing hours, one should seek the “Great Medicine”: a method of cultivation that can prolong life. Since antiquity, the immortals have passed down methods for “receiving the mandate of life,” but their oral instructions cannot be shared indiscriminately. Only those of deep virtue, upright in their practice, and skilled in using both the “method” and the “means” are worthy of receiving them by word of mouth.

In my view, most Confucians in the world know only how to pursue salary and fame to sustain this fleshly body, which is destined to decay. They do not think to refine this stinking, corruptible body into something wondrous. They sit waiting for impermanence to arrive, content to enter the coffin without regret. Such people are everywhere. I truly pity them, and so I have written a commentary on the Nanhua. Of what earlier thinkers have already annotated, and what may be retained, most concerns human affairs; it accounts for perhaps one or two tenths. What I have developed beyond what my predecessors expressed concerns mostly “nature and life”—the foundations of spirit and vitality—and accounts for perhaps eight or nine tenths. Yet the commentary does not fully integrate what concerns spirit, sinews and bones, and the channels and network vessels. I have therefore had to add a “subcommentary” after each chapter. To subcomment is to open a passage: where spirit lies concealed, I open a way for it to emerge; where sinews and bones are bent, I open a way to straighten them; where the channels and network vessels are interrupted, I open a way to join them together. Thus, when later readers open the Nanhua (the Zhuangzi), they will see a path for ascending and a raft for reaching the other shore.

Even some Confucians who delight in disputation and criticism can suddenly come to understand the meaning of Zhuangzi and Laozi. They wish to return from “non-action” to “action,” and to advance from benevolence and righteousness toward the Dao and De. This is a worthy effort to restore the ancient meaning. How could it fundamentally conflict with Confucianism? The Five Classics and Four Books are the first teachers of the world; the Daodejing and the Nanhua Jing are like ancestors, and commentaries on these two scriptures are like their descendants. Descendants need not look exactly like their ancestors, but their spirit and bloodline often remain alike. These words can be discussed with true Confucians and true Daoists, but are hard to explain in detail to vulgar Confucians.

In the eighth month of the tenth year of the Chongzhen reign, shortly before the full moon, Cheng Yining respectfully writes this preface.

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