## 1. What is *Xuanxue*?



As a proper term, *Xuanxue* gained currency during the fifth
century C.E. It named a branch of learning that formed a part of the
curriculum of the imperial academy. The subject matter of
*Xuanxue* in this formal sense centered on the *Yijing*
(Classic of Changes), the *Laozi*, the *Zhuangzi*, and
selected commentaries on them. These three classical texts were seen
to hold deep insight into the cosmos and the human condition, and were
referred to collectively as the "Three (Great Works on the)
Profound" (*sanxuan*). They articulated their vision of
"grand harmony" and "great peace" through the
concept of Dao, which demanded explication. It is precisely the goal
of *Xuanxue*, then, to bring to light the nature and function
of Dao, which may appear dark or impenetrable.



In a wider sense, *Xuanxue* came to describe, retrospectively,
the main current of early medieval Chinese philosophy as a whole. This
is a broad stroke that privileges intellectual unity over diversity.
However, as we will see, family resemblances notwithstanding, there
are significant differences among individual *Xuanxue* thinkers
in their understanding of Dao. Looking back, later historians
typically traced the beginnings of *Xuanxue* to the early third
century C.E. The end of the Han dynasty caused painful disruptions,
but it also forced open a space for intellectual renewal. In this
context, the educated elite debated on ways to restore order and
harmony, based on their interpretation of the teachings of the ancient
sages and philosophers. The hermeneutical contest was keen, and new
ideas came to the fore through the critical engagement with tradition.
Nevertheless, there was a shared assumption that any blueprint for
lasting peace and harmony must rest on a clear understanding of Dao,
which provided a point of departure for the unfolding of
Neo-Daoism.



While *Xuanxue* was guided by what may be called a keen
"Dao-centered" consciousness, it was not a Daoist movement
aimed at dismantling the teachings of Confucius. There is also some
debate as to whether Neo-Daoism abandoned sociopolitical engagement
for a kind of individualistic escapism. These two points warrant
further discussion, which should give a thicker description of the
context in which Neo-Daoism came into play.



The close connection between *Xuanxue* and "Pure
Conversation" (*qingtan*) is often cited as evidence
pointing to the former's escapist interests. Pure Conversation
was one of the hallmarks of early medieval Chinese literati culture.
In its mature form, it found expression in high-minded debates on
topical philosophical concerns, such as the relationship between
"capacity" and "nature" in a person (to be
discussed in Section 5 below). Pure Conversation has been traced to a
protest movement against political corruption that erupted toward the
end of the Han period. The protests were harshly suppressed.
Consequently, some commentators argue, many intellectuals became
disillusioned with the political process. Fearing for their safety
also, they turned to, as it were, "purer" pursuits,
channeling their creative energy to art and philosophy, away from the
treacherous waters of politics. Culturally, they indulged in wine,
games, including Pure Conversation, and outlandish behavior that
seemed to have been designed expressly to upset the status quo.
Examples of these will be mentioned below. As *Xuanxue*
informed Pure Conversation philosophically, it is therefore charged
with having given rein to a spirit of disengagement that took refuge
in unproductive intellectual exchanges and certain counter-culture
expressions.



No doubt, many literati in early medieval China found politics to be
exceedingly corrupt. During this time, eremitic ideals also became
entrenched in mainstream high culture. Nevertheless, these alone do
not afford a full view of the vibrant intellectual landscape. While
some scholars had lost faith in the political process, many others
remained committed to revitalizing the rule of Dao, however it might
be defined, and pushed for reforms. While some considered political
involvement distasteful and trained their minds on alternative paths
of fulfillment such as music and spirituality, others sought to
reclaim the true teachings of the sages of old, so as to bring about a
new sociopolitical awakening. These are not mutually exclusive
positions, and both sides contributed to the formation of Neo-Daoism.
Indeed, eremitism in early medieval China seldom translated into
abandoning the sociopolitical world; in most cases, it signaled
personal "purity" or integrity, a highly valued asset if
not a precondition for admission to officialdom. Certainly,
philosophical debates need not always be about political reforms;
nevertheless, especially for young scholars aspiring to make a name
for themselves in public life, successes at Pure Conversation could
reap substantial political dividends. As a general intellectual
movement, *Xuanxue* is united in its attempt to illuminate the
"dark," to lay bare the profound mystery of Dao, but it
encompasses a range of responses to the brave new world that was
post-Han China.



During the heyday of the Han dynasty, the Confucian tradition, as it
was interpreted at that time, towered over all the other schools of
thought. Confidently, it mapped out the structure of the universe and
the ways in which the world under heaven ought to be governed. With
the decline of the Han dynasty, critiques of Han Confucianism began to
surface. To some scholars then, Han Confucianism was not only
powerless in arresting the growing malaise, but also part of the
problem that led to the downfall of the Han dynasty. The critique of
Han Confucianism, it is important to emphasize, does not necessarily
amount to a rejection of the teachings of Confucius. In fact, with few
exceptions, Wei-Jin scholars agreed that Confucius was the highest
sage. It is thus important to clarify that the term
"Neo-Daoism" does not refer to a kind of
"anti-Confucius" movement. For the majority of
*Xuanxue* proponents, Confucius had penetrated completely the
mystery of Dao; it was the misunderstanding and misappropriation of
Confucian teachings by Han scholars that created difficulties and thus
required rectification.



One key concern was that scholarship had become an avenue for
emolument, as a result of which self-interest came to outweigh the
concern for truth. This in part explains the emphasis on purity in
early medieval Chinese literati culture. Furthermore, Han Confucianism
attempted to forge an "orthodox" front, to explain and put
into practice its teachings, and to silence dissent and opposition.
The extent of Confucian orthodox control may be open to debate, but
there is little question that it sought to exact compliance, which set
limits to thought. The classics were restricted to a particular mode
of interpretation, and non-canonical literature, including Daoist
works, were often viewed with suspicion or dismissed outright. In the
interest of unity, orthodoxy prescribed closure; but in an age of
disunity and disruption, the quest for order charged through
intellectual barriers with emancipatory fervor.



During the Han period, commentaries emerged as the principal medium of
philosophic discourse. Methodologically, Han commentaries emphasized
detailed explanation of individual words and phrases of the classics.
This necessitated heavy specialization, which heightened virtuosity
but also opened the door for vain scholastic display and fragmentation
of learning. One of the most important debates in *Xuanxue*
confronts directly the question of interpretation, which brought
hermeneutics to the forefront of Chinese philosophy. More will be said
about this debate later.



In this context, a first wave of *Xuanxue* philosophers arrived
on the scene. They were the brightest of their age, many of whom
hailed from distinguished families who had held high office for
generations. They were concerned with restoring unity and harmony to
the land, not by repudiating the teachings of the sages but by
interpreting them anew. They discerned that the great teachers of old
such as Confucius and Laozi shared a profound understanding of Dao,
and for this reason, the highly partisan approach of Han Confucianism
could not but lead to grave misunderstanding of the sage enterprise.
In response, they devised new commentarial strategies and fashioned
new genres of philosophical discourse, especially the *lun*,
critical discussions, essays or disquisitions that focus on particular
topics, which often elicited refutations and in turn, rejoinders. Some
examples of this will be discussed in the sections that follow.



On this view, Confucius and Laozi were both "Daoists," in
the non-partisan sense of the term. Neo-Daoist philosophers set forth
the truth of Dao as they understood it in a broad synthesis, bringing
together ontology, cosmology, ethics, and political philosophy, and
breaking down partisan divides along the way. Convinced of the unity
of the classics, they attempted to provide an integral account of the
one "Daoist" tradition. Crossing swords in debate,
competing in offering new readings of the classics, reacting against
and influenced by one another--in this crisscrossing of ideas,
*Xuanxue* flourished.



Translating the term *Xuanxue* remains a challenge. In view of
the ambiguity of "Neo-Daoism," "Dark Learning"
has been proposed as an alternative. This is also not entirely
satisfactory. Even if it is clear that "dark" does not
connote something sinister, it is still problematic because while the
subject of the inquiry appears dark or inaccessible to understanding,
there is nothing mysterious about the inquiry itself. Innovative and
abstract in some respects, *Xuanxue* is nonetheless committed
to analytic rigor and clarity in explicating the meaning of Dao. The
culture of disputation has deep roots in Chinese history, and rigorous
debates on the classics became prevalent during the Han period, which
fueled the development of Neo-Daoist philosophy.



Critics of *Xuanxue* condemned it as "dark,"
because they judged it to be obfuscating and detrimental to the
flourishing of the Way. They would use phrases like "dark
words" (*xuanyan*) or "dark talk"
(*xuantan*) in a pejorative sense, indicating that to them
*Xuanxue* was nothing but empty talk, convoluted, mystifying
and misguided. In these contexts, "*xuan*" may be
translated as "abstruse," "obscure," or words
to that effect. What this suggests is that uniform translation without
regard to context might be ill advised. Grammatically the word
*xuan* functions as a noun in "*Xuanxue*."
Perhaps "Learning in the Profound," "Learning of the
Mysterious Dao," "Inquiry into the Profound" or
similar renderings may be considered, though they seem rather
bulky.



As *Xuanxue* philosophy is seen to offer a fresh approach to
understanding the nature and function of Dao, it has come to be called
*xin daojia* (literally, new school of Daoist thought) in some
modern Chinese studies, or "Neo-Daoism" in English
translation. In the pages that follow, the terms *Xuanxue* and
Neo-Daoism will be used interchangeably in a general sense, as a
broad, dynamic intellectual front that flourished during early
medieval China, as opposed to a homogeneous "school" with
set doctrines. In modern Chinese, *Xuanxue* is also taken to
refer to astrology, geomancy and other popular religious arts, which
fall outside the scope of this discussion.


## 2. He Yan and Wang Bi: The "Nothingness" of Dao



Among the first wave of Neo-Daoist philosophers, He Yan (ca.
207-249) and Wang Bi (226-249) are often singled out by
later scholars as having laid the foundation of the new Learning in
the Profound. According to the *Jin shu* (History of the Jin
Dynasty), He Yan, Wang Bi, and some of their contemporaries set forth
the meaning of *Laozi* and *Zhuangzi*, and established
the view that all beings "have their roots in nothingness
(*wu*)," which not only "originates things"
but also "completes affairs." As the *Jin shu* goes
on to relate, *wu* is that which the yin and yang *qi*,
vital forces or "energies," depend on in their creative
transformation, that which all beings depend on in acquiring their
form, and that which the morally worthy depend on in acquiring their
virtuous character (Chapter 43). This furnishes a helpful starting
point for a reconstruction of *Xuanxue* philosophy.



He Yan was one of the leading intellectual figures of the early third
century, a trend setter on the cultural front, and one of the most
influential in government. Wang Bi was very much a
protege of He Yan. A widely reported story, for example,
has He Yan declaring that Wang Bi was one of those rare individuals
with whom one could discuss the most profound truths about the cosmos
and human affairs (e.g., see *Sanguo zhi* [Records of the Three
States] 28).



Both He Yan and Wang Bi were known for their expertise in the
*Yijing*. Both were deeply interested in the *Laozi*.
Wang Bi's *Laozi* and *Yijing* commentaries
occupied an esteemed place in the formal *Xuanxue* curriculum,
and arguably they remain the most important philosophical treatment of
the two classics today. However, it should be noted that both He Yan
and Wang Bi wrote on the Confucian *Lunyu* (*Analects*)
as well. Through their extant writings, we gain a good view of the
main contours of *Xuanxue* philosophy.



The *Jin shu* account cited above identifies the concept of
*wu* as the locus of *Xuanxue*. The concept plays a
critical role in the *Laozi* and has been translated variously
as "nonbeing," "nothing," or
"nothingness." In classical Chinese, *wu* generally
conveys the sense of "not having" something--e.g.,
"not having a name" (*wu ming*)--and functions
as the opposite of "*you*," "having"
something. In the *Laozi*, it is used as an abstract noun as
well. Specifically, the *Laozi* states that *wu* is the
source of all beings (Chapter 40) and the basis of all functions
(Chapter 11).



To He Yan and many of his contemporaries, there is little doubt that
the meaning of Dao is to be sought in the concept of *wu*; but,
it does not follow that they all understood the latter in the same
way. The translation of the term *wu* will need to reflect the
particular interpretation in question. In this section, the discussion
on He Yan and Wang Bi will focus on their understanding of Dao as
*wu* and its practical implications.



He Yan's writings exist mainly in fragments today. The most
important are (1) his commentary to the *Lunyu*, which was,
however, a collective effort jointly submitted to the throne with
several other scholars, and (2) quotations from two of his essays
entitled *Wuming lun* (Critical Discussion on the Nameless) and
*Dao lun* (Critical Discussion on Dao) preserved in later
sources. In the former of the two essays, He Yan explicitly defines
the Dao as *wu*. In the latter, the *Dao lun*, there is
a fuller discussion of the meaning of nothingness:



> 
> 
> Beings depend on *wu* in coming into existence, in becoming
> what they are. Affairs on account of *wu* come to fruition and
> become what they are. Now, one tries to speak about *wu*, but
> no words could describe it; name it, but it has no name; look at it,
> but it does not have any form; listen to it, but it does not give any
> sound. Then, indeed, it is clear that the Dao is complete
> (*quan*). Thus, it can bring forth sounds and echoes; generate
> *qi* energies and things; establish form and spirit; and
> illuminate light and shadows. What is dark obtains its blackness from
> it; what is plain obtains its whiteness from it. The carpenter's
> square is able to make a square because of it; the compass is able to
> make a circle because of it. The round and the square obtain their
> form, but that which gives them their form itself does not have any
> form. The white and the black obtain their name, but that which gives
> them their name itself does not have any name.
> 
> 
> 



Few scholars in early medieval China would question the general
assertion that the Dao is the "beginning" and
"mother" of all things, as the *Laozi* puts it
(Chapter 1). There was also widespread acknowledgement of the
namelessness and formlessness of Dao. After all, as the opening words
of the *Laozi* famously proclaim, "The Dao that can be
spoken of is not the constant Dao." The real issue is how can
that which transcends language and perception be said to be the
creative source of all beings?



According to He Yan, the solution to the mystery of Dao lies in
recognizing its "completeness" or undifferentiated
wholeness (*quan*). Precisely because the Dao is whole and
complete, it is able to bring forth heaven and earth and the myriad
creatures. For the same reason, in its undifferentiated fullness the
Dao does not have any particular form, and as such cannot be pinned
down conceptually and named. Even the term "Dao," as the
*Laozi* makes clear, is but a metaphor, a "forced"
effort to reference a reality that is ultimately ineffable (Chapter
25). He Yan stresses the same point in his "Critical Discussion
on the Nameless": "The Dao [i.e., what the word
'Dao' seeks to point to] fundamentally has no name. Thus,
Laozi said he could only force a name on it."



Put differently, the Dao can only be described as *wu* because
it does not have any distinguishable feature or property
characteristic of things. On this reading, *wu* does not
signify ontological absence, but on the contrary attests to the
fullness and fecundity of the Dao. More precisely, through a process
of differentiation, the Dao generates the yin and yang *qi*
that constitute all phenomena. The *Laozi* has also made the
point that the Dao is "undifferentiated and complete"
(Chapter 25). This is now shown to be the source of the yin and yang
*qi*--vital forces, pneumas, or loosely,
"energies"--that engender, shape and sustain life. In
this respect, He Yan adhered generally to the yin-yang cosmological
theory established since the Han dynasty. Viewed in this light, the
nothingness of Dao has important implications for ethics and political
philosophy.



Under the *qi* theory, all things are constituted by a
particular measure, both quantitative and qualitative, of the yin and
yang *qi* energies. For example, heaven is constituted by a
particularly clear and refined form of *qi*, whereas the
solidity of earth reflects its "heavier" *qi*
composition. For human beings, each person has been endowed with an
allotment of *qi* from birth, which informs his or her inborn
"nature" (*xing*). In traditional Chinese terms,
the *qi* endowment of an individual may be "thick"
or "thin." How this is understood bears directly on the
conception of the ideal ethical or spiritual life and political
community.



He Yan affirms in his *Lunyu* commentary that the inborn
"*xing*-nature is that which human beings have been
endowed with, and which enables them to live" (5.13). This is to
be understood in terms of *qi*, which also accounts for a
person's "capacity" (*cai*) (commentary to
*Lunyu* 15.29). In this context, the concept of *cai* is
given a wide remit, encompassing the full range of talent and ability
such as physical endowment, intelligence, and emotional and moral
capacity. *Xuanxue* scholars debated hotly on the relationship
between a person's nature and capacity, of which more will be
said later.



The height of ethical and spiritual attainment is, of course,
represented by the figure of the sage. To He Yan, the sage is
precisely someone who is gifted with an exceptionally fine and rich
*qi* endowment, which enables him to "merge with the
virtue of heaven and earth" (commentary to *Lunyu* 14.35
and 16.8). This follows the language of the *Yijing* and
introduces a political dimension, for the virtue of heaven and earth
brings about communal flourishing. Nevertheless, the underlying
assumption remains that "sagehood" rests on a special
inborn sage nature that finds expression in optimal capacity on all
fronts. This also means that "sageness" cannot be acquired
through learning or effort; in other words, sages are born, not
made.



He Yan is noted for his view that the sage "does not experience
pleasure and anger, or sorrow and joy" (*Sanguo zhi* 28,
commentary). Later scholars have taken this to mean more generally
that the sage "does not have emotions" (*wuqing*).
However, this does not imply that the sage lacks the capacity to
generate cognitive and affective responses. In He Yan's
interpretation, the nature of the sage is ultimately modeled on that
of the Dao. Given that the Dao embodies the fullness of *qi*,
conceptually it should be evident that the sage cannot be lacking in
any way. The exceptional *qi* constitution of the sage means
that his nature, like that of the Dao, is also undifferentiated and
complete. As such, the sage is never partial or affected by phenomena;
untouched by affective interests, his mind is always clear and
tranquil, free from doubt and emotional disturbances. Consequently, on
the political level, he is able to govern with impartiality, provide
for the people with his profound virtue, establish lasting order and
usher in the perfect reign of great peace.



This is an ideal construct. It may be logically coherent or even
compelling, a mark of philosophical distinction prized by
Pure-conversation connoisseurs, but what real bearing does it have on
politics and government? Sages--fantastic individuals born with a
sage nature on He Yan's view--are obviously rare. If
sagehood is not a genuine ethical option that can be achieved through
learning and effort, a new model needs to be found. Logically,
attention should then turn to "worthy" individuals like
Yan Hui, the gifted and cherished disciple of Confucius, who is
"close to the way of the sage" (commentary to
*Lunyu* 11.19).



However, Yan Hui is also a special case, whose accomplishments are
themselves quite extraordinary (e.g., commentary to *Lunyu*
6.3) and reflect a superior *qi* endowment. Only a select few,
in other words, can hope to match the attainment of Yan Hui. This in
effect marks out a separate class of exceptional individuals, the true
elite, so to speak, whose inborn capacity far surpasses that of the
common people and therefore should be entrusted with the task of
government. Fair-minded and intellectually gifted, such individuals
are also able to identify the right talent for public office, which
would ensure the proper functioning of sociopolitical processes on a
sustained basis. Capacity is a function of *qi*, and just as
one grows hot under the collar when angry or turns pale in moments of
fear, the idea is that one's *qi* constitution can be
discerned by the expert, especially by looking into the person's
eyes. Once it is understood that the nothingness of Dao reflects the
fullness of *qi*, a clear view of the cosmos and the human
condition emerges, on the basis of which renewed peace and harmony may
then be realized. 



Together with He Yan, Wang Bi helped set the course of Neo-Daoist
philosophy. Although they shared similar philosophical concerns and
were close socially and politically, it should not be assumed that
they approached the mystery of Dao in the same way.



Wang Bi was a prolific scholar. Before his untimely death at the age
of twenty-three, he had already completed a major commentary each on
the *Yijing* and the *Laozi*, two shorter interpretive
essays on them, and a work on the *Lunyu*. This last,
unfortunately, has not survived except for about fifty quotations,
cited chiefly in Huang Kan's (488-545) comprehensive
*Lunyu* commentary.



Like He Yan, Wang Bi focuses on the concept of
"nothingness" (*wu*) in his explication of Dao. For
He Yan, the nothingness of Dao bespeaks its undifferentiated fullness.
Wang Bi, however, holds a different view. The argument from
Dao's completeness cannot explain fully the mystery of Dao,
according to Wang. This is because it fails to resolve the problem of
infinite regress. If the chain of beings were to be traced to a
specific agent or entity, the origin of the latter must itself be
questioned. What gives rise to the category of beings cannot be a
being, no matter how powerful or fecund, with or without
differentiated features. Taken to its logical conclusion, the argument
cannot be that *wu* marks the incomparable being of the Dao;
rather, as Wang Bi states explicitly, "Dao" serves but as
"the designation of *wu*" (commentary to
*Lunyu* 7.6, cf. commentary to *Laozi* 25).



The genesis of the cosmos certainly cannot be understood apart from
Dao, but it is not the work of a primordial being or substance. As a
linguistic representation, a metaphor in effect, "Dao"
brings up the image of a great thoroughfare of life, from which all
beings arise, but it does not entail an objective referent. The
formlessness and namelessness of Dao signals a deeper reality. To
bring to light the profound mystery of Dao, reflection must venture
beyond the conceptual confines of what may be called an ontology of
*qi* to discern the logic of *wu*.



The *Laozi* asserts that "Dao gives birth to one,"
which produces "two," and in turn the myriad beings
(Chapter 42). Whereas commentators from the Han period onward
generally identified the "one" with the original
*qi* that generated the yin and yang vital forces--the
"two"--at the beginning of time, Wang Bi may be said
to have effected a paradigm shift in redirecting attention to the
logical ground of the multiplicity and diversity of beings.



As Wang Bi understands it, "beginning" is not a temporal
reference but signifies logical priority. It is true that
"two" would be inconceivable without "one,"
but this is a conceptual relation not to be reduced to a hierarchy of
substances or vital forces (commentary to *Laozi* 42, drawing
from *Zhuangzi*, Chapter 2). Dao constitutes the absolute
beginning in that all beings have causes and conditions which in the
end must logically derive from a single source; but, like
"Dao," "one" remains a symbol and does not
reference any original substance or agent. Significantly, as Wang Bi
makes the point in both his *Yijing* and *Laozi*
commentaries, in this sense "one" is *not* a number
but that which makes possible all numbers and functions. In the latter
(commentary to *Laozi* 39), Wang defines "one" as
"the beginning of numbers and the ultimate of things." In
the former (commentary to Appended Remarks, Part I), he writes,
"In the amplification of the numbers of heaven and earth [in
*Yijing* divination] ... 'one' is not used.
Because it is not used, use [of the others] is made possible; because
it is not a number, numbers are made complete. This indeed is the
great ultimate of change."



"All things in the world are born of something (*you*);
something is born of nothing (*wu*)," according to the
*Laozi* (Chapter 40). How this is interpreted defines the
approach to Dao by individual *Xuanxue* scholars. Wang
Bi's view is that Dao is not a nameless and formless something
of which nothing can be said. Dao or Way indeed gives the sense that
all beings are derived from the same source, but it points ultimately
to that which is other than being, *wu*
("not-being"), a conceptually necessary basis of being. In
this way, the mystery of Dao, that it is both nothing and responsible
for everything, may be explained.



This does not invalidate the yin-yang cosmological theory, which does
yield important insight into the workings of nature and society.
Nevertheless, cosmology cannot lay bare the highest Daoist truth, with
which the sages of old were principally concerned. In Wang Bi's
reworking, *wu* emerges as a higher-order concept that accounts
for the coming to be of *qi* and all *qi*-constituted
phenomena. On He Yan's reading, it would be appropriate to speak
of "the Dao," with the definite article; but in Wang
Bi's interpretation, Dao is entirely symbolic and any attempt at
reification must be resisted. This affirms the radical transcendence
or otherness of Dao as *wu*. At the same time, by means of the
concept of "one," Wang maintains also the unity of the
Daoist world, without having to resort to the language of time and
being. The idea of a single "root" of existence holds
important practical implications.



If Dao is by definition what being is not, how is it related to the
world? The concept of "one" points in the general
direction, but it requires corroboration. The concept of *li*,
deep pattern or principle, plays an important role in helping to
bridge the conceptual divide between transcendence and immanence in
Wang Bi's philosophy.



Dao has its "great constancy," as Wang observes, which
finds expression in *li* (commentary to *Laozi* 47).
What this means is that the Daoist origin and structure of the world
is seen to entail an inherent order. The plenitude of nature and the
regularity of the seasons, for example, both attest to the presence of
Dao in the world, not as primary substance, and still less a supreme
deity, but as pristine order or coherence marked by intelligible
patterns of change and principles of operation. This is the underlying
assumption for the claim that Dao not only originates things but also
nurtures and completes them, and that Dao is not only the beginning
but also the "mother" of all beings (commentary to
*Laozi* 1, 51 and 52).



The world is characterized by ceaseless change and transformation,
which at first glance may appear haphazard; but as the *Yijing*
has shown, change conforms to basic principles--not static
metaphysical "forms," but dynamic modes of
operation--that can be described generally in terms of the
interplay between the yin and yang vital forces. In this sense, the
*Laozi* remarks that human beings are "modeled"
after heaven and earth, and ultimately, after Dao (commentary to
*Laozi* 25).



Of course, Dao properly understood as *wu* is not a something
that can be modeled after, but as *li*, it points to an
intrinsic order that constitutes and regulates all beings and
functions. To Wang Bi, in short, both the *Yijing* and the
*Laozi* realize that things and affairs follow certain
*li* such as the cycle of growth and decay, and more
importantly that the manifold patterns and principles governing the
universe, like the branches of a tree, all stem from a single, unified
"root." For this reason, in interpreting the
*Yijing*, Wang emphasizes that the meaning of a hexagram is to
be sought in one line, as opposed to all the six lines that make up
the hexagram. The technical detail of Wang Bi's *Yijing*
learning cannot be pursued here, but we will come back to the metaphor
of "root and branches" shortly.



*Li*-principle, "one," and *wu* thus form a
conceptual cluster, which from different angles shed light on the
seemingly dark or indecipherable truth of Dao. They inform not only
the conception of the order of nature but also that of the self and
society.



Human beings are of course formed by *qi*, which may entail
different capacity. Wang Bi, like his contemporaries, recognizes that
a person's *qi* endowment may be "thick" or
"thin" (commentary to *Lunyu* 17.2). However, what
is more important is that beyond the differences in capacity, all are
equally endowed with a Dao-centered nature, an internal *li* of
order and harmony that tends toward stillness at its innermost
depth.



This follows from the analysis of Dao as *wu* and
"one," which strips away the many disquieting layers of
human artificiality and desire to arrive at a tranquil core. This is a
key assumption. "One," as the logical basis of the
"many," according to Wang, signifies also what is of the
barest minimum (commentary to *Laozi* 22), which in this
context translates into a view of human nature that has basic needs
but little desire in its original, pristine condition. The language
here is novel, though the general idea is already present in the
Confucian *Liji* (Record of Rites): "When human beings
are born, they are tranquil; this is the nature of [human beings
endowed by] heaven."



From Wang Bi's perspective, heaven forms a part of the Daoist
world, is itself derivative of the transformation of *qi*, and
therefore cannot be identified as the ultimate source of human nature.
Further, because Dao has no objective referent, it cannot be said that
human nature is made in the image of a "creator" or
derived from any external source. This necessitates an
"inward" turn in fathoming the roots of human nature.
Consequently, according to Wang Bi, human nature in its original,
pristine form can only be understood to be "so of itself"
(*ziran*).



The concept of *ziran* is critical to Neo-Daoist philosophy and
is usually translated as "naturalness" or
"spontaneity." Commenting on the well-known statement in
the *Laozi* that "Dao models after *ziran*,"
Wang Bi is careful not to reify what is properly conceptual:
"*Ziran* is a term [that we use] to speak of that which
has no designation; it is an expression that seeks to lay bare [the
meaning of] the ultimate" (commentary to *Laozi* 25).



Human nature so conceived may be described metaphorically as being
like a plain block of wood (*pu*) that has not been carved into
a functional or ornamental object, or it may be articulated
self-referentially as what is "genuine" or
"authentic" (*zhen*) of the person (e.g.,
commentary to *Laozi* 16 and 28). However, these remain
expedient markers pointing to the truth of *ziran*, of what is
"self-so," understood as being rooted in a conceptually
necessary ontological foundation that the ancient sages aptly
described as Dao.



The analysis of human nature bears directly on ethics and political
philosophy. At the ethical level, Wang Bi could not but disagree with
He Yan on the issue of the nature of the sage. Rather than seeing the
sage as an exceptional individual blessed with an extraordinary
*qi* endowment that effectively renders him a different kind of
being, who by nature is unaffected by any differentiated emotions such
as pleasure and anger that are inherently partial, as He Yan does,
Wang Bi argues that the sage is the same as ordinary men and women in
experiencing the full range of emotions.



However, there is one decisive difference between the sage and the
common person. While the sage responds to phenomena intellectually and
emotionally like everyone else, he is not burdened or enslaved by them
because of his "spirit-like perspicacity"
(*shenming*).



If there is a fundamental unity to all beings, it cannot be maintained
that a select few are exempted from the rule. Given the premise that
all are endowed with a Dao-centered nature, the difference between the
sage and the average person cannot be one of kind but only of degree
and attainment. Moreover, He Yan's thesis would rule out the
possibility of becoming a sage; indeed, even becoming a "near
sage" like Yan Hui would be beyond the reach of most people. As
such, how can the sage serve as a source of inspiration and
motivation? This may be the main point of contention that sets He Yan
and Wang Bi apart.



The sage is not without sorrow and joy; even Confucius, the highest
sage, could not but be pleased when he met Yan Hui or be saddened by
his untimely passing. Yet, the sage realizes that human emotions are
ultimately driven by self-interest. Precisely because of his affective
responsiveness, the sage is able to understand and empathize with the
needs of the people; but because of his "spirit-like
perspicacity"--that is, his heightened spirituality and
profound understanding of the nature of things--his mind remains
perfectly clear like a polished mirror and unburdened by emotional
attachments. It is logically invalid, as Wang astutely observes, to
conclude from the absence of attachments to the absence of emotions
(*Sanguo zhi* 28, commentary).



The way to sagehood does not lie in suppressing one's emotions
or in any artificial means, but in abiding by the order of
*ziran*, in staying true to one's "root,"
one's Dao-centered nature. The "authenticity" of the
sage entails that he is naturally simple like "uncarved
wood," which is also to say that he is free from the dictates of
desire. In this sense, Wang Bi speaks of the sage as embracing
"emptiness and quiescence" (e.g., commentary to
*Laozi* 16), or as having returned to a state of
"emptiness and nothingness" (commentary to *Laozi*
48). In this same sense, Wang asserts in a celebrated dialogue with
Pei Hui, another senior intellectual figure at that time, that
although Confucius did not speak about *wu* explicitly, he
nonetheless embodied it in his every word and action (*Sanguo
zhi* 28, commentary, and *Shishuo xinyu* [New Accounts of
the Tales of the World] 4.8). The crucial hermeneutical point here is
that "it"--"nothingness"--does not
refer to any object or substance; once the nature of Dao is
understood, the embodiment of *wu* can only mean the
realization of *ziran*.



This is also how Wang Bi understands the concept of *wuwei*,
often translated as "nonaction," which figures centrally
in the *Laozi* and appears also in the *Lunyu*, where it
is associated with no less a personage than the sage-king Shun (15.5).
Like other central philosophical concepts in the Chinese tradition,
the meaning of *wuwei* is contested and requires careful
contextual delineation. In the case of Wang Bi, *wuwei* serves
to bring out the meaning of *ziran* in practice. Thus,
commenting on the claim in *Laozi* 37 that "Dao is
constantly *wuwei*," Wang simply states, "This
means following *ziran*."



As applied to the sage, who is "one" with Dao in the sense
that he is always true to his calm and tranquil nature, *wuwei*
manifests itself in a life of guileless simplicity and a profound
understanding of the principles governing the Daoist universe.
Naturally, the sage dwells in quietude and does not engage in
superfluous activity, for which reason the term
"*wuwei*," which conveys the sense of "not
taking action," is used. It would be inconceivable, for example,
to have a true sage indulging in gossip or slander. Moreover, there is
a qualitative dimension to *wuwei*, in that every action of the
sage will accord fully with the principles of nature, without any
trace of artificiality or arbitrariness. As applied to the common
people, *wuwei* poses an ethical challenge, which demands doing
less of the many needless activities that cloud their hearts and
minds, corrupt their nature, and in the end only serve to perpetuate
the tyranny of desire. To those who aspire to walk in the footsteps of
the sages, then, *wuwei* should be understood as a process of
"returning" to one's "root," that is to
say, a spiritual and ethical journey to recovering one's
pristine Dao-centered nature.



The order of *ziran* pervades all spheres of life and activity.
Ethics and political philosophy, in other words, proceed from the same
logical ground. At the sociopolitical level, both the family and the
state are seen to have a basis in the natural order of things.
Furthermore, just as the mind commands the body, ideally the family
and the state should be led by a single sovereign. Given the analysis
of Dao as "one" and principle, Wang Bi is thus committed
to defending not only the institution of the family and the state, but
also the hierarchical structure of sociopolitical relations. In this
way, new Daoist insight comes to illuminate concerns typically
associated with Confucian philosophy, sweeping aside any partisan
obstacles along its path.



In theory, *wuwei* aims at preserving the order of
*ziran* so that the myriad things and affairs can flourish and
attain their proper end. In practice, the politics of *wuwei*
may be contrasted with Legalist policies that emphasize thorough
political control through reward and especially punishment. The role
of the ruler, like that of the father, entails great responsibility.
While *wuwei* naturally has no room for, say, heavy taxation or
excessive conscript labor for war or palace construction, it should
not exclude appropriate public works like irrigation or services like
caring for the sick. Such action would be deemed in alignment with the
perceived order of nature. Obviously, they are not carried out to
enhance the ruler's reputation or interests. The ruler who
governs with *wuwei* may appear to be doing nothing, but in
guiding the people to return to their original nature he establishes a
firm foundation for great peace. The state would prosper of its own
accord, as it were, if only the ruler could remain steadfast in
following the way of "emptiness and quiescence." The logic
of nothingness, perhaps unexpectedly, reaches an idealistic end. In
sum, as Wang Bi concludes in his shorter essay on the *Laozi*,
the key to the Daoist vision lies in "honoring the root and
calming the branches," which ensures that the people are not
alienated from their true nature and thus able to find fulfillment
(also see commentary to *Laozi* 38, 57 and 58).


## 3. Ji Kang and Ruan Ji: The Ethics of Naturalness



During the second half of the third century, a group of intellectuals,
remembered fondly in Chinese sources as the "Seven Worthies of
the Bamboo Grove" (*zhulin qixian*), came to represent
the voice of the Learning in the Profound. They are: Ji Kang
(223-262, or 224-263), Ruan Ji (210-263), Xiang Xiu
(ca. 227-280), Shan Tao (205-283), Liu Ling (ca.
221-300), Wang Rong (234-305), and Ruan Xian (nephew of
Ruan Ji, dates unknown but perhaps slightly older than Wang Rong).
Although the term "bamboo grove" has a particular Buddhist
reference, it probably refers to bamboo fields in or near Ji
Kang's estate in Shanyang (modern Henan province), where the
group and their associates gathered in pleasure and friendship. Of the
seven, Ji Kang, Ruan Ji, and Xiang Xiu are of particular interest to
students of philosophy. The first two will be introduced here.



Ji Kang cuts a striking figure in the history of Chinese philosophy. A
brilliant musician and poet, a master of Pure Conversation, an
iconoclast and a model of integrity, Ji Kang was the undisputed leader
of the Seven Worthies and one of the most influential intellectuals of
his age. He was unfortunately caught in the web of power struggles and
was sentenced to death. Several thousand students of the imperial
academy reportedly petitioned for his release. Before the execution,
as traditional sources further relate, Ji remained perfectly composed;
as the final hour approached, he asked for a *qin* (string
instrument, commonly translated as zither or lute) and gave a final
performance, lamenting only that the tune he played would now die with
him (e.g., see *Jin shu* 49). Later scholars throughout Chinese
history who saw themselves as victims of injustice would often draw
inspiration from Ji Kang's courage and integrity.



Ji Kang's extant writings include a collection of sixty poems,
an influential "Rhapsody on the Zither" (*Qin fu*),
and fourteen other essays. The concept of *ziran* underpins Ji
Kang's version of Neo-Daoism. In agreement with He Yan and Wang
Bi, Ji sees an inherent order in the universe. The origin of the
Daoist world is to be understood in terms of the transformation of
*qi*. The "original *qi*," brimming with
creative energy but completely undifferentiated, gave rise to yin and
yang, from which heaven and earth, the five dynamic elemental forces
(*wuxing*), and the myriad beings in turn ensued. Boundless but
not reducible to any shape or form, the Dao can be described as
*wu*, but in this interpretation, the nothingness of Dao gains
meaning from the original oneness of *qi*. In this respect, Ji
Kang seems closer to He Yan than Wang Bi in drawing from the yin-yang
cosmological theory, though there is perhaps a stronger religious
sensibility that distinguishes Ji's approach to the profound
mystery of Dao.



On the premise that the order of nature issues from the transformation
of *qi*, Ji Kang recognizes that individuals are allotted a
*qi* endowment of varying abundance and purity, which defines
their nature and capacity. This explains why some people are blessed
with long life or exceptional talents, while others must endure
certain natural disadvantages. The fact that one may be gifted in some
ways but deficient in others testifies to the presence of different
configurations of vital powers informing each person. In an essay
titled "Critical Discussion on Intelligence and Courage"
(*Mingdan lun*), Ji Kang thus disputed the assertion that those
who possess intelligence or brilliant understanding are sure to have
courage. Arising from different determination of *qi*, Ji says,
the two "cannot produce each other."



While most people are born with a mix of strengths and weaknesses, the
logic of *ziran* allows the possibility of perfect endowment.
It follows that sages must be regarded as extraordinary beings
animated by the finest *qi* essence. For the same reason, Ji
Kang defended the existence of "immortals," a popular
ideal in religious Daoism, on the understanding that they are
similarly informed by the purest form of *qi*, which precludes
any defilement that causes the body and spirit to decay.



So defined, neither sagehood nor immortality can be attained through
learning or effort. However, the doctrine of *ziran* does not
necessarily entail a strong determinism or "fatalism" that
dismisses all human effort. Immortality may be beyond reach, but as Ji
Kang explains in his essay "On Nourishing Life"
(*Yangsheng lun*), self-cultivation can enhance one's
physical and spiritual well-being substantially. Specifically,
breathing exercises, special diets and the use of drugs can help
maximize the limits of one's natural endowment, and bring about
rejuvenation and long life. Drug use, incidentally, was widespread
among the literati in early medieval China. He Yan, for example, is
known to have championed a certain drug for its ability to "lift
one's spirit," and Ji Kang is also reputed to have been a
connoisseur in this field. In any case, knowledge of Dao and practice
in the art of nourishing life can make a significant difference, even
though they may fall short in transforming the person into an
"immortal."



It is important to note, however, that effort directed at nourishing
life should always accord with *ziran* and must not be confused
with action that violates the principles of nature. This brings into
view Ji Kang's critique of Confucian norms and rituals, which he
considered artificial and restrictive. Ji devoted an essay to refuting
the widely held view that people "naturally take to
learning." Learning in the Confucian sense presupposes
discipline and does not come naturally to people, whose need to
preserve energy predisposes them toward repose.



From this essay, it also becomes clear that the concept of
*ziran* is closely tied to a Daoist philosophy of history,
which envisions a process of decline from a pristine beginning of
simplicity and wholesome goodness. Echoing the *Laozi* (Chapter
18), Ji Kang asserts that it is only when the "great Dao"
fell into disuse--that is, when selfishness and strife rendered
natural, prereflective kindness out of the ordinary--that
benevolence and righteousness came to be treasured as acquired,
remedial virtues. In this sense, Confucian learning reflects but the
loss of naturalness in a world dominated by self-interest.



In another essay, "On Dispelling Self-interest" (*Shisi
lun*), Ji Kang brings out further the ethical implications of
*ziran*. Without self-interest means, at the very least, that
one is completely open about one's feelings and intentions. This
does not guarantee moral purity, of course, but it reflects a mind no
longer burdened by praise or blame, approval or censure, and other
self-regarding concerns. Conversely, veiled motives and hidden
feelings invariably involve calculations of cost and benefit that
corrupt the mind, even if they are invested in moral ventures.
Ideally, in the case of a sage endowed with a perfect nature, complete
openness and purity coincide. For the majority, however, self-interest
poses an obstacle to realizing *ziran*. From this perspective,
nourishing life thus takes on a deeper ethical meaning. Although
breathing exercises and the use of *qi*-enhancing drugs may be
useful, ultimately all such effort must be directed at dispelling
self-interest. To dispel self-interest and in this sense attain utmost
"emptiness," it is necessary to confront the root problem
of desire.



Desires are harmful to both body and mind, as Ji Kang emphasizes in
"On Nourishing Life." Purity of being, in contrast,
entails the absence of desire or any form of emotional disturbance.
Are all desires, then, unnatural? The essay drew a sharp response from
Xiang Xiu, for whom desire arises naturally from the mind. As such, it
cannot be eradicated but only regulated by rules of propriety and
ritual action. In reply, Ji Kang points out that although pleasure and
anger, and the desire for fame and beauty may stem from the self, like
a tumor they only serve to deplete one's *qi*. Basic
needs are of course not to be denied, but desires are shaped by
objects and reflect cognitive distortions that consume the self. To
quench one's thirst, one does not desire to drink the whole
river. This is fundamentally different from the desire for power and
wealth, which knows no rest. Moreover, the suppression of desire by
artificial means may remove certain symptoms, but it does not cure the
disease. It is only by recognizing the harmful influences of desire
that one begins to seek calmness and emptiness of mind. Ultimately,
nourishing life is not just about health and longevity but sets its
sight on a higher, and to Ji Kang, more authentic, mode of being
characterized by dispassion.



In this connection, Ji Kang's famous thesis that emotions are
foreign to music--or literally, that "sounds do not have
[in them] sorrow or joy" (*sheng wu ai le*)--becomes
readily understandable. If desire and the emotions that flow from it
are not intrinsic to nature, and since sounds are naturally produced
by the vibration of *qi* energies, it cannot be the case that
music embodies sorrow or joy, as classical Confucian musical theory
generally assumes. Subjective and cognitive reactions, including the
possibility of emotional contagion, in other words, should be
distinguished from what is natural and objective; otherwise, Ji
argues, one can hardly account for the fact that the same piece of
music may evoke different responses in different audiences. On the
aesthetic front, this has the effect of opening up the field of
aesthetic judgment--for example, music condemned by classical
Confucianism as inherently "licentious" could now be
reappraised in terms of their musical quality. At the ethical and
spiritual level, music can be a powerful aid to nourishing life. This
is because music can articulate harmony that would render conditions
more favorable for dispelling self-interest. Ji Kang's work on
nourishing life and the nature of music wielded considerable influence
among *Xuanxue* scholars.



Ji Kang is often depicted as a radical iconoclast, who openly
challenged the authority of classical models of moral attainment,
including Confucius. Compared with He Yan and Wang Bi, he certainly
seems less inclined to accommodate Confucian learning and ritual
practice in his vision of *ziran*. It is also true that he was
politically frustrated and marginalized. Yet, the emphasis on
nourishing life need not imply abandoning the sociopolitical world for
a life of reclusive exile. Like Wang Bi, Ji recognizes that the order
of *ziran* encompasses basic social institutions such as the
family and the state. In his "Family Admonitions"
(*Jiajie*), he instructed his children to uphold integrity in
both private and public life. In an essay devoted to the teachings of
government (*Taishi zhen*), Ji affirmed that rulership has a
basis in the principles of nature. Respect for elders and kindness are
not contrary to *ziran*, so long as they do not become
deliberate acts with a view to self-gain.



In another essay (*Guan Cai lun*), Ji Kang attempted to
rehabilitate the two nobles of the Zhou dynasty--Lords Guan and
Cai--who had been condemned by later historians for their
opposition to the Duke of Zhou. Commentators generally agree that the
historical discussion serves but as a thin disguise for Ji's
criticism of the regime in power at that time. This is not the work of
a man who rejected politics as a matter of principle, but points
instead to an engaged intellectual who would stop at nothing to make
known the truth as he saw it. In the end, if the order of
*ziran* were allowed to flourish, if desire and self-interest
were pacified, and if careful nourishing were applied to remove
interference especially of the Confucian and Legalist variety, society
would attain peace and harmony of its own accord. Despite the tragic
circumstances of his life, Ji Kang proves rather sanguine in his faith
in the power of *ziran*.



Ruan Ji, like Ji Kang, captured the imagination of later generations
as a model of authenticity, an intellectual who was completely true to
his principles. An outstanding poet and musician, he is also
remembered for his daring defiance of the Confucian orthodoxy, at a
time when deviation from the norms of tradition could easily be deemed
seditious. To his admirers, Ruan Ji was a tragic hero. Well versed in
both Confucian and Daoist learning, he was evidently a man of
principle who took seriously the calling of an intellectual to bring
peace and harmony to the state. Hailing from a distinguished family,
he was in a strong position to make a difference in public affairs.
The unforgiving realities of third-century Chinese politics, however,
soon took its toll on Ruan, who found himself trapped in a world of
violence and duplicity. Proud and uncompromising, never a consenting
partner in the intercourse of power, Ruan Ji had to endure repeated
slander and escaped censure only by finding refuge in an almost
constant intoxicated stupor.



Drinking was an important aspect of literati culture. Wine made from a
variety of fruits and grains was widely consumed. In Ruan's
case, wine became a means to self-expression as well as a lifeline to
preserving his integrity. According to his biography, he avoided a
marriage proposal from the de facto ruling house by staying drunk for
sixty days (*Jin shu* 49). Whether this actually happened, or
whether he was an alcoholic is not the issue; what emerges from this
and other reports is a portrait of a frustrated but sensitive and
ardent thinker, whose outrage at an immoral world finds precise
expression in "outrageous" opinions and behavior
challenging the legitimacy of established practice. Even at his
mother's funeral, Ruan did not stop drinking, an act that
patently disregarded the requirement of ritual and resulted in a call
for his banishment from the realm. The full significance of the story
comes to light when the reader realizes that Ruan was in fact famous
for his filial piety. When his mother died, his grief was so intense
that he "coughed up blood" and "wasted away"
for a long time.



Although Ruan Ji was unable to escape from the world of power, he took
every opportunity to assert his free and indomitable spirit. Rituals
and convention were not meant for him, as he announced boldly, in
response to a charge that he had contravened the rules of propriety in
seeing his sister-in-law off on a journey. So disgusted with and
disdainful of the shallow men of high society, Ruan would literally
"eye" his visitors in different ways--gleaming with
adoration and pleasure when they were to his taste, or rolling his
eyes superciliously when the company was deemed foul. This did not
earn him too many friends at court, but it certainly enhanced his
reputation as a leader of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove.



Ruan Ji left behind a large number of poems and several essays. An
early work is entitled "Disquisition on Music" (*Yue
lun*), in which he discusses along Confucian lines the function of
music in bringing about harmony. Like most Neo-Daoist intellectuals,
Ruan believed that the teaching of Confucius had been distorted by
later scholars who under the banner of Confucianism sought merely to
further their own gain. Confucius was only concerned with the Dao. The
writings of Confucius and other sages sought to bring to light but one
Daoist truth. Ruan Ji devoted an essay each to the *Yijing*,
the *Laozi*, and the *Zhuangzi*. While the essay on the
*Yijing* dates probably to his youth, and that on the
*Laozi* survives only in fragments, the *Da Zhuang lun*
(Critical Discussion on the Full Meaning of the *Zhuangzi*)
reflects Ruan's mature thinking. Equally important is his famous
poetic essay, the "Biography of Master Great Man"
(*Daren xiansheng zhuan*), in which he takes aim at the corrupt
ways of the world and invokes an image of Daoist transcendence, a
biting contrast that is rendered all the more powerful in the light of
his own predicament.



Like Ji Kang, Ruan Ji focuses on the concept of *ziran*,
naturalness, in his reformulation of Daoist philosophy. Commenting on
the *Laozi*, Ruan makes clear that the concept of Dao should be
understood as the "self-so" source of the processes of
change and transformation. Whereas the *Laozi* calls it Dao,
the *Yijing* describes it as the "Great Ultimate"
(*taiji*), and the *Spring and Autumn Annals*, the
"Origin" (*yuan*). Or, as Ruan writes in his essay
on the *Zhuangzi*, "heaven and earth are born of
*ziran*, and the myriad beings are born of heaven and
earth." There is "nothing outside" (*wuwai*)
the world of *ziran*, Ruan adds, which is to say that the Dao
should not be mistaken for any metaphysical agent or entity. Rather,
the theory of naturalness suggests that heaven and earth and
everything within it originate from one *qi*. All phenomena are
constituted by *qi*; as such, according to Ruan, Zhuangzi is
surely right in maintaining that "the myriad beings are but one
body" (*Zhuangzi*, Chapter 5).



The plenitude of nature reflects the inexhaustible resourcefulness of
the Dao. Moreover, phenomena conform to constant principles and
function in harmony. In his *Zhuangzi* essay, Ruan details in
traditional cosmological terms how the original *qi*
differentiates into yin and yang, the two basic forms of vital forces
or energies that not only shape but continue to govern the phenomenal
world. Male and female, the hot and the cold, light and darkness, and
other yin-yang correlates underpin the structural order of the Daoist
universe. The movement of the sun and the moon, the regularity of the
seasons, the operation of wind and rain, and other natural processes
disclose further a dynamic regime of self-regulating change and
renewal. In this way, an inherent order is shown to lie at the heart
of *ziran*. As in Ji Kang's analysis, this forms the
basis of an ethics of naturalness.



The ideal sage, of course, embodies naturalness in his entire being.
This presupposes a profound understanding of what the
*Zhuangzi* calls the "equality of things," now
explained by Ruan Ji in terms of the oneness of *qi*. Life and
death, fortune and misfortune, and other seemingly unbridgeable
divides form but moments in the same continuum of natural
transformation. The sage, accordingly, regards them as one.
Distinctions, in the sense of value discrimination, can thus no longer
be maintained. Whether this entails a mystical union with nature
remains a question. Ruan's poetic eloquence, especially in the
"Biography of Master Great Man," often appears to rise to
mystical heights. Nevertheless, the more important point seems to be
that the sage recognizes the centrality of emptiness and quiescence in
a life of *ziran*.



Devoid of self-interest, unmoved by riches and power, completely at
ease with his own nature and the natural order of things at large, the
sage attains freedom and in this sense, "transcendence."
In contrast, as "Master Great Man" denounces, the learned
"gentlemen" of polite society are no better than the lice
that dwell in one's pants. Hiding deep in the recesses of
tradition, they dare not move against ritual and dread any threat to
the status quo. When hungry, they feast parasitically on the people.
There is ample evidence that Ruan Ji regarded the teachings of the
Confucian tradition at that time to be deficient and detrimental to
the project of naturalness.



More precisely, Ruan's theory of *ziran* envisages an
inner spirituality that must be protected from the corrupting
influence of power and desire. There is a wholesome sincerity and
innocence to natural affective expressions. When desire for gain is
allowed to dominate, however, what is spontaneous mutates into hidden
designs and false appearances. For this reason, complete openness
ranks high on Ruan's ethical agenda. In a world dominated by
small-minded "gentlemen," where sincerity of feeling is
judged a threat to the establishment, an ethics of naturalness
inevitably finds itself engaged in a struggle for freedom.



Later *Xuanxue* scholars took great pleasure in recounting how
despite venomous opposition, Ruan Ji had persisted in his unorthodox
ways. For example, we are told that he frequented a neighbor's
place for wine and the company of the latter's wife. When he got
drunk, he would fall asleep next to her. Understandably suspicious at
first, the husband nonetheless found Ruan completely innocent,
honorable and above reproach in both intention and act. In this, we
see how moral character is traced to naturalness. Another neighbor had
a talented and beautiful daughter who unfortunately died young.
Although Ruan did not know the family, he went all the same to her
funeral and cried with total abandon. Whether in these or other
accounts, the point is always that whereas rituals and taboos stifle
and corrupt the self, naturalness promises liberation and a return to
authenticity.



Does not the open display of emotions contradict the emphasis on
"emptiness"? He Yan, for example, had argued that sages do
not experience pleasure and anger, or sorrow and joy. However, as this
view entails that sages must be regarded as ontologically distinct
from ordinary human beings and that sagehood is beyond the reach of
self-cultivation, not all *Xuanxue* scholars would be amenable
to it. As we have seen, Wang Bi had countered that
"emptiness" need not suggest the absence of emotion, but
rather an enlightened mode of being not bound by emotional or other
attachments. These arguments would have been known to Ruan Ji. Given
Ruan's emphasis on authenticity, he would be concerned to show
that genuine affective responses flowing from a pure heart empty of
selfish desire belong integrally to the ideal ethical life.



In the *Da Zhuang lun*, Ruan Ji describes the sage as a
"person of ultimate attainment" (*zhiren*), whose
profound understanding of the "equality" of things in the
order of *ziran* naturally expresses itself in a simple yet
fulfilled life. On a larger scale, this should translate into a
peaceful and harmonious society. If nature had yielded an originally
pristine order, how did it come to be infested with an army of
"lice"? Ruan Ji provides a startling response in his
"Biography of Master Great Man."



At the "beginning," when yin and yang naturally took their
course, when domination and deceit were yet unknown, all under heaven
indeed lived in perfect harmony. There were neither rulers nor
ministers, and yet order prevailed of its own accord. When rulership
was established, Ruan goes on to say, domination arose; when ministers
were appointed, conflict and deceit also came into the world. It is
not entirely clear why or how kingship came to be established, but
judging from Ruan's essay on the *Zhuangzi*, much of the
blame lies with subjective discrimination. When natural distinctions
(e.g., differences in size) became value markers (e.g., that big is
"better" than small), desire and domination already began
to cloud the true picture.



In elevating naturalness above all manmade institutions, Ruan Ji thus
found a place for anarchism, which is rarely entertained in the whole
of Chinese philosophy. During the fourth century, perhaps reflecting
the political turbulence of the period, another thinker by the name of
Bao Jingyan did take up the same theme in an essay entitled
"Disquisition on Not Having Rulers" (*Wu jun lun*).
Although the work has not survived, it was criticized by Ge Hong (ca.
283-363) in his *Baopuzi* (The Master Who Embraces
Simplicity). According to Ge Hong, Bao was an avid reader of the
*Laozi* and the *Zhuangzi* and was adept in the art of
disputation. The main thesis of his work is that rulership is but a
form of domination that violates naturalness. Nevertheless, anarchism
did not find strong support in Neo-Daoism. In fact, the majority of
*Xuanxue* scholars may be said to have espoused fairly
"conservative" political ideals. He Yan and Wang Bi, for
example, had little difficulty justifying absolute monarchical rule,
provided that it coincides with *ziran* and
"nonaction."



While the critique of government is clear, Ruan Ji was certainly not
plotting to overthrow it. Such scheming would be inimical to the goal
of naturalness. Does it entail renunciation, a complete severing from
the political world? Ruan Ji is commonly depicted as a frustrated
intellectual yearning for a life free of deception and untainted by
power relations. Indeed, one suggestion is that whereas Ruan in his
early writings had accorded a positive place to ritual and music as
the work of the ancient sages to maintain harmony in the world, in his
later years he became totally disillusioned and turned to
escapism.



This view is unhelpful, because it undermines the possibility of
renewal in the philosophy of *ziran*. The ethics of naturalness
is not about renunciation. The sages of old were all concerned with
diminishing the power of desire, so as to enable the people to live
well and prosper. From this perspective, the Daoist recluse furnishes
a powerful symbol because he abides by *ziran* and not because
he refuses to have anything to do with the world. Similarly, the
"Great Man" does not aspire to a life of freedom to
realize his own ambition, but rather to initiate a process of healing
that would revitalize the rule of the Dao, envisioned as a kind of
wholesome cooperative community. If naturalness has any restorative
power at all, disengagement should have little role to play in
Neo-Daoist ethics.


## 4. Guo Xiang: Nature, Destiny, and Self-Realization



A generation or so after He Yan, Wang Bi and the Seven Worthies of the
Bamboo Grove, Guo Xiang (d. 312) arrived on the *Xuanxue*
scene. Accomplished in philosophical debate and other forms of
cultured discourse, he was highly regarded by his contemporaries as a
new *Xuanxue* champion "second only to Wang Bi,"
whose philosophical prowess had by then acquired legendary
proportions. Guo Xiang is by far the most important interpreter of the
*Zhuangzi* in Chinese history. Through his effort, indeed, the
*Zhuangzi* has come down to us in its present form, divided
into thirty-three chapters. Yet, Guo Xiang has also been accused of no
less an intellectual offense than plagiarism.



As early as the fifth century, the charge was made that Guo had
plagiarized the work of Xiang Xiu, a close friend of Ji Kang and
fellow member of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove. Xiang Xiu is
primarily noted for his work on the *Zhuangzi*, though he is
also known to have written a commentary to the *Yijing*.
According to the *Shishuo xinyu* (4.17), "Initially,
there were scores of *Zhuangzi* commentators, but none could
grasp its meaning and essential teachings. Xiang Xiu then went beyond
the old commentaries to interpret the *Zhuangzi* [afresh]. His
explanation was subtle and penetrating, which greatly advanced the
cause of the [Learning in the] Profound." Xiang Xiu's
commentary was incomplete, as the text goes on to relate, and Guo
Xiang later "stole" it as his own.



This is a harsh judgment on Guo Xiang. The biography of Xiang Xiu in
the *Jin shu* (Chapter 49) recounts only that Guo Xiang had
"extended" the former's work. Although Guo was
undoubtedly influenced by Xiang Xiu, whose work survives only in the
form of quotations preserved in later sources, recent scholarship
generally agrees that Guo had drawn his own conclusions. Seeking to
reconcile the yearning for freedom and transcendence with
sociopolitical engagement, Guo Xiang fuses together in his
*Zhuangzi* commentary ontological and ethical insights. It is
worth noting that despite the extremely unstable political conditions
that plagued the early Jin dynasty, and the fact that Guo had come
from a relatively humble background, he enjoyed a long and
distinguished public career. Besides the *Zhuangzi*, Guo also
wrote on the *Laozi* and the *Lunyu*, although these are
no longer extant except for a few fragments cited in other
sources.



Like Wang Bi, Guo Xiang recognizes the ontological import of Daoist
philosophy. There is no disagreement that all beings originate from
Dao. However, Guo takes issue with the view that the key to unlocking
the mystery of Dao lies in the concept of *wu*, nothingness.
This is because nothingness remains an abstraction, a negation
signifying what being is not in Wang Bi's interpretation, and as
such cannot bring about creation. So defined, *wu* and the
category of beings (*you*) are mutually exclusive; as Guo
plainly states, "It is not only that *wu* cannot change
into being but also that being cannot change into *wu*"
[in the abstract sense of nonbeing] (commentary to *Zhuangzi*
22).



The appeal to a divine creator should indeed be rejected, but this
does not entail a nihilistic absence. Having disposed of these
options, what does Guo Xiang have to offer in their place? He writes,
"Because *wu* [by definition] is not being, it cannot
produce being. Prior to the coming to be of being, it cannot produce
other beings. In that case, then, who or what brought about the birth
of being? [The answer can only be that] beings are spontaneously
self-generated" (commentary to *Zhuangzi* 2).



*Xuanxue* studies are fond of contrasting Wang Bi's
emphasis on *wu* with Guo Xiang's focus on being.
However, what is more critical is how Guo Xiang arrives at his
conclusion. Certainly, the mystery of creation cannot be resolved by
positing an objectified, transcendent Dao. But, this does not warrant
a flight to nothingness, which as a conceptual device cannot be an
agent of real production and change. To Guo Xiang, then, the only
logical alternative would be to recognize the reality of spontaneous
"self-production" (*zi sheng*) and
"self-transformation" (*zi hua* or *du
hua*). These ideas are already present in Xiang Xiu's
commentary to the *Zhuangzi*, but in the hands of Guo Xiang,
there is now fuller disclosure of the perceived deeper philosophical
meaning of *ziran*.



At the most basic ontological level, prior to the birth of the myriad
beings, being is "so of itself," which implies that being
exists eternally. In Guo's own words, "Generally, we may
know the causes of certain things and affairs near to us. But tracing
their origin to the ultimate end, we find that without any cause, they
of themselves come to be what they are. Being so of themselves, we can
no longer question the reason or cause of their being, but should
accept them as they are" (commentary to *Zhuangzi* 14).
In this sense, "self-production" or
"self-transformation" does not quite explain
"how" being came into existence; instead, it offers a
logical alternative, which bypasses the philosophical problems
associated with both a pure negation and the positing of a particular
causal agent. At the epistemological level, the further implication is
that self-transformation remains a mystery. Far from being a source of
perplexities, to Guo Xiang, this frees and reorients the mind to
realize the nature of Dao and a life of *ziran*.



The doctrine of self-transformation, for which Guo is particularly
remembered, affirms that the Dao is everywhere and in all things. The
logic of immanence takes full effect, once nothingness is removed from
view. Even in the most base and lowly, as the *Zhuangzi*
emphasizes, the presence of Dao can be detected (Chapter 22). To Guo
Xiang, the *Zhuangzi* can only be alluding to the pervasiveness
of *qi*.



All beings are endowed with a "share" or allotment
(*fen*) of *qi*, the inexhaustible power of the Dao,
which gives them life and determines their nature and capacity.
Moreover, the order of nature depicts not a state of random disorder,
but an organized regime in which all parts have a role to play. With
respect to human beings, for example, the body functions harmoniously
as a unified whole in accordance with specific principles
(*li*). Without undermining the interdependence of the
multitude of organs, there is a hierarchical structure to the workings
of the body, where the mind assumes sovereign control. In these
respects, guided by the concepts of *qi* and principle, Guo
Xiang follows the mainstream Neo-Daoist analysis of
*ziran*.



Given that individuals enjoy a particular "share" of the
Dao, differences in natural endowment should be recognized. For
example, due to the different allotment of *qi*, some people
are born with a high degree of intelligence or gifted in other ways.
Because everything is what it is "so of itself," Guo Xiang
must admit that "what one is born with is not something that is
undue or inappropriate" (commentary to *Zhuangzi* 5).
Because one's nature is determined by exact principles, one may
also speak of destiny in this connection. Is Guo, then, committed to a
kind of thoroughgoing fatalism? Does this entail a rigid system in
which individuals merely conform to prescribed roles?



It is a matter of destiny or "fate" that one is born of
sage character, average capacity, or disadvantaged. In all cases, Guo
maintains that one ought to accept one's natural endowment.
Extending a naturalistic reading to an old religious concept, this is
in Guo's estimation what is meant by the "mandate of
heaven" (*tianming*). As it cannot be disputed that there
are individuals who are blessed with an exceptionally rich *qi*
endowment, there is thus some truth to the view held by He Yan and
others that sageness is defined by an inborn sage nature. Yet, is it
the case that sagehood is restricted to a select few? Guo is also
concerned to distinguish destiny as fact from value, and to make room
for change and development in human flourishing.



Differences based on endowment do not constitute any basis for value
judgment. This is central to Guo's overall argument and is
reminiscent of Ruan Ji's view of naturalness in some respects.
As the *Zhuangzi* repeatedly argues, what needs to be
recognized is the "equality of things." Equality is not to
be confused with sameness. In this context, equality suggests that all
beings are partners in the larger architecture of Dao. Being gifted
does not necessarily make one "better"; even a physically
or mentally handicapped person is "complete" in his or her
own way. Differences among individuals are undeniable, but they do not
legitimize prejudice or discrimination.



At the sociopolitical level, human relationships are also governed by
constant principles; like different parts of the body, individuals
have their proper place in the social and political assembly. From
this perspective, as opposed to conventional arrangements that can be
changed or discarded at will, both the family and the state should be
understood as expressions of *ziran*.



Furthermore, in view of the hierarchical order of nature, Guo does not
hesitate to say that the father should be the head of the family, and
that the state should be ruled by the king. This would rule out
anarchism. In this regard, while Guo Xiang and Ruan Ji agree on the
centrality of naturalness, they come to very different conclusions on
the ideal structure of the state. What needs to be made clear is that
the necessary gradation of authority for different roles and
responsibilities that comes with a hierarchical system does not
warrant any form of authoritarian government that oppresses the
people. The father may be the authoritative figure in the family, but
he would not be in that position if not for his children. As
"children" of the Dao, all beings are indispensable and
occupy an equally important station in the order of
*ziran*.



Whereas scholars such as Wang Bi emphasize unity over multiplicity,
Guo Xiang underscores the richness and diversity of the Daoist world.
Individuality is not sacrificed for political interests, or dissolved
into a sea of metaphysical oneness. On the contrary, as Guo forcefully
argues, there is no greater calamity than the loss of individuality
and authenticity, of one's identity as endowed by nature
(commentary to *Zhuangzi* 10). Conversely, the Daoist goal can
be defined as the realization of one's nature, and particularly
the optimization of one's inborn capacity. As nature blossoms,
destiny is fulfilled.



While this may not be able to detract entirely from the charge of
fatalism, Guo Xiang does aim to introduce a dynamic view of nature and
destiny. It also opens up a deeper dimension to the notion of
sagehood. The Daoist world is never static; it changes and renews
itself constantly. The mountain or ocean may appear unchanging, but it
is perpetually in flux. This is mirrored in human existence, where
individuals grow with the passage of time (commentary to
*Zhuangzi* 6). Although constituted by *qi* and
regulated by principles, individuals and societies need not be viewed
as fixed assets without possibility of change and development. Indeed,
while the order of nature must be respected, the person of Dao
recognizes the inevitability of change. The sage nourishes his nature
and adapts constantly to changes in the social and natural
environment. This, as Guo Xiang sees it, brings out the real meaning
of Daoist nonaction (*wuwei*).



Nonaction "does not mean folding one's arms and keeping
quiet," as Guo makes explicit what most *Xuanxue*
scholars implicitly acknowledge (commentary to *Zhuangzi* 11).
It is also not a technical skill, requiring special training or
discipline. In Guo Xiang's interpretation, nonaction stems from
a profound discernment of the way of naturalness, which entails not so
much doing less of certain things, as a mode of being and spirit of
action guided by the principles of nature, according to which one
performs all functions.



There are two aspects to Guo's understanding of *wuwei*.
First, as things and affairs are informed by principles, there is a
natural way of action and interaction. Like the fabulous Cook Ding
(*Zhuangzi* 3) who could cut up an ox without having to rely on
sensory perception or mental calculation, and just as spontaneous
affection characterizes the parent-child relation, the sage
accomplishes all tasks by simply following the "grain" or
nature of phenomena.



Second, in the light of the equality of things, nonaction ideally
leads to a sense of freedom and equanimity. Instead of chasing after
false ideals, trying to be like someone else, and ending up a prisoner
of restless striving and deceit, one should stay true to oneself and
develop one's nature. If self-sufficiency is assumed, there is
no point in imitating others, including those blessed with a special
*qi* endowment; to do so, indeed, as Guo Xiang puts it, would
be like a fish's aspiring to become a bird (commentary to
*Zhuangzi* 2).



This is important and marks Guo's originality. Nonaction cannot
be divorced from naturalness or reserved for those with an inborn sage
nature alone. What is required of self-fulfillment has already been
given; to clamor after what is foreign to one's genuine
"share" of the Dao is not only futile but also
self-negating. If this is true, the very idea of sageness needs to be
reconsidered. 



Again, it should be recognized that there are those who embody a
special sage nature--they are like "pines and
cypresses," which are the finest of trees (commentary to
*Zhuangzi* 5)--but more fundamentally, as Guo Xiang
explains, the term "sage" designates those who have
realized their nature (commentary to *Zhuangzi* 1). This
effectively removes any barrier to attaining sagehood. Thus, while Guo
agrees with He Yan in recognizing the decisive difference of
*qi* endowment, he is also able to address Wang Bi's
objection, discussed earlier, and offer an alternative avenue to
realizing great peace.



Against helplessness and passive resignation, Guo Xiang calls for a
constructive celebration of individuality and the plenitude of the
Daoist world. Free from the hold of desire and the ceaseless
undulation of discontent, one reaps an inner calm and grows at ease
with the external world. Even death loses its fearsome grip, for one
realizes that life and death are equally a part of the transformation
of nature. The person of Dao does not need to live in reclusion or
shun politics. In fact, any deliberate disavowal of communal life
would violate the spirit of naturalness. The important point is that
"although the sage [in the broad sense of someone who has
realized his true nature] finds himself in the halls of ritual and
government, his mind is not different from when he is surrounded by
mountains and trees" (commentary to *Zhuangzi* 1). Beyond
the sway of the emotions, the sage roams the world without being moved
or enslaved by it. This, to Guo Xiang, truly captures the essence of
"carefree wandering," which is now shown to have a place
in mundane activities.



Politically, the ruler should also abide by naturalness and nonaction.
This means, besides self-cultivation, allowing and encouraging the
people to develop their nature and capacity to the fullest. Thus,
artificial restrictions and interference should be minimized. Official
appointments, moreover, must be made on the basis of capacity and not
by family background, as was commonly the case in Guo's China.
In return, as Guo confidently predicts, ministers and subjects would
naturally fulfill their duties, and all under heaven would live in
peace and contentment. As needs and circumstances change, social and
political practice should not be fossilized. Timely adjustments would
help ensure renewal and harmony in a dynamic realm.


## 5. Capacity and Nature, Words and Meaning, and the Debate on Naturalness



From He Yan and Wang Bi to the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove and
Guo Xiang, the main contours of Neo-Daoism can be discerned. Sharing
the same philosophical vocabulary and reacting to a common heritage,
the proponents of the new Learning in the Profound may appear to be
speaking with a single voice. On closer examination, it becomes
apparent that they seek in their own way to make sense of the mystery
of Dao. Friendship and patronage do play an important role in early
medieval Chinese literati culture, but they do not diminish the
premium placed on intellectual independence, rigor, and originality.
This is best reflected in the many debates that populate the world of
Neo-Daoist learning.



The view of He Yan that the sage is by nature absolutely impartial,
above the fray of the emotions, attracted a great deal of attention at
that time. The *Sanguo zhi* (Chapter 28, commentary), for
example, reports that Zhong Hui (225-264), who rivaled Wang Bi
as one of the brightest intellectual stars of the age, and others all
elaborated on it. Wang Bi, as we have seen, put forward a dissenting
view, which on the basis of a particular logic of nothingness grounds
the possibility of sagehood in an original nature untainted by
cognitive distortions and affective disturbances. Later, Guo Xiang
sought a new resolution by aligning sagehood with self-realization.
The role of the emotions and the natural differences based on
*qi* endowment may be admitted, but in the being of the sage
the burden of value attachment that they bring has been totally
"forgotten" or lifted in the light of the equality of
things (e.g., see Guo Xiang, commentary to *Zhuangzi* 2).
Bearing directly on the question of sagehood is the larger debate on
the relationship between a person's capacity and nature.



Although it is generally agreed that nature is inborn and formed by
*qi* energies, whether it is solely responsible for a
person's capacity, be it intellectual, physical, psychological
or moral, remains an issue. This is important not only because it
concerns the nature of sagehood, whether it is an attainable goal or
determined by an essential sage nature, but also because the right
talent must be identified for public office. A late second-century or
early third-century work by Liu Shao, the *Renwu zhi*
(translated into English as *The Study of Human Abilities*) has
already broached the question and attempted to map out the various
types of talent and the signs by which they might be identified. This
developed into a major debate, on which Zhong Hui composed a treatise
called "On the Four Roots of Capacity and Nature"
(*Caixing siben lun*).



Zhong's work has not survived, but it is widely reported that
the debate involved four distinct positions--namely, that
capacity and nature are "identical" (*tong*); that
they are "different" (*yi*); that they
"coincide" (*he*); and that they
"diverge" (*li*) from each other.



The first view is represented by Fu Jia (also pronounced Fu Gu,
209-255), who emerged as a major policy maker during the Wei-Jin
transition. On this account, both nature and capacity are determined
by one's *qi* endowment. Whereas nature is the inner
substance, capacity reaches outward in functional ability and conduct.
This view finds eloquent support in another third-century work, the
"Disquisition on Capacity and Nature" (*Caixing
lun*) by Yuan Zhun, who was on good terms with Ruan Ji. According
to Yuan, beings can be either excellent or of a poor quality. Whereas
the former are endowed with "pure *qi*," the latter
are constituted by energies of a more "turbid"
composition. It is like a piece of wood, Yuan adds; whether it is
crooked or straight is a matter of nature, on the basis of which it
has a certain capacity that can be made to serve particular ends.



The second is represented by Li Feng (d. 254), according to whom Fu
Jia had misconstrued the relationship between capacity and nature.
This is because whereas nature is inborn, capacity is shaped by
learning. What nature provides is simply the biological apparatus or
faculties that enable a person to grow and to learn; the person one
becomes, in contrast, is the result of learning and putting into
practice the teaching of the sages. Any accomplishment, including the
attainment of sagehood, ultimately depends on effort. Yu Huan, a noted
third-century historian, provides a helpful analogy to explain the
point--the effect of learning on a person, he says, is like
adding color to a piece of plain silk (*Sanguo zhi* 13,
commentary).



Zhong Hui himself held the third view, which attempts to mediate
between the first two positions. Although native endowment is
necessary for realized capacity, it is not sufficient. What is
endowed, in other words, marks a person's potential, which must
be carefully nurtured and brought to fruition. For sages and
immortals, who are different in kind because of their exceptional
*qi* constitution, innate capacity naturally manifests itself
completely in extraordinary achievements. For ordinary human beings,
however, nature does not amount to actual ability but only furnishes
certain aptitude, dispositions or directions of development. Of
course, if the native endowment is extremely poor, there is not much
that can be done. Nevertheless, the real challenge to Fu Jia's
identity thesis is that an excellent endowment may go to waste because
the person succumbs to desire and would not learn.



Finally, Wang Guang (d. 251) argued for the last position, which is
stronger than Li Feng's and appears to be directed especially
against Zhong Hui's modified identity thesis. Inborn nature does
not provide the necessary fertile ground for cultivation; rather, it
needs to be rectified by learning. Human beings are inherently driven
by desire and therefore must rely on rituals and instruction to become
responsible individuals. In this sense, capacity and nature do not
coincide but diverge from each other.



It has been suggested that the debate should be understood in the
context of the power struggle between the main rival factions in Wei
politics. Specifically, Fu Jia and Zhong Hui both sided with the
faction that was to emerge victorious and strike down Li Feng and Wang
Guang. Political affiliation, like patronage, is certainly important,
but it does not dictate philosophical opinion in Neo-Daoism. He Yan,
for example, would favor Fu Jia's identity thesis, given his
understanding of human nature, despite the fact that the latter had
criticized him openly. Similarly, Ji Kang would find Zhong Hui's
attempt to accommodate learning and effort agreeable, even though he
had rejected Zhong's overtures to befriend him and in the end
was put to death at Zhong's instigation.



Another key debate in Neo-Daoist philosophy concerns the relationship
between "words" (*yan*) and "meaning"
(*yi*). The debate has its roots in the *Yijing*, where
Confucius is made to ask whether words can fully disclose meaning.
This goes beyond the interpretation of any one work, but probes the
nature of understanding itself. As common experience seems to suggest,
words often fail to express intense emotions or complex ideas. A
minority view, represented by the late third-century thinker Ouyang
Jian, defended the thesis that meaning is completely
"exhausted" or expressed by words (*yan jin yi*).
The majority of *Xuanxue* scholars, however, regarded words as
necessary but insufficient to understanding.



A spokesman for the position that "words cannot fully express
meaning" (*yan bu jin yi*) was Xun Can (ca.
212-240), who gained considerable notoriety for his claim that
the classics were but the "chaff" of the sages'
profound learning. The conclusion is inescapable, according to Xun,
for meaning transcends the limiting confines of language. Wang Bi
supplies a fuller and more nuanced argument. Although meaning is
mediated by words and images, the means of interpretation must not be
confused with the end itself. Words can in fact become an obstacle to
understanding if they are made the focus of interpretation. Citing the
*Zhuangzi*, Wang maintains that the words and images that make
up a text must be "forgotten" before its meaning can be
comprehended. To understand a poem, for example, it is not enough to
assemble an exhaustive list of definitions. The words are
"forgotten" or left behind in the sense that understanding
reaches into the underlying world of ideas where a deeper meaning
resides. Guo Xiang also makes clear that although ideas issue from
words, they cannot be reduced to their literal, surface meaning. This
is especially important to understanding the *Zhuangzi*, which
employs a large number of parables and metaphors, often involving
spiritual figures or supernatural exploits. Taken literally, they
verge on the fantastic; understood properly, they intimate the wonder
of the Dao and the order of *ziran*.



This diverges sharply from the Han hermeneutical model, which
typically on the basis of a kind of correspondence theory assumes that
words have fixed meanings located in external referents. Specifically,
under the dominance of yin-yang theories, the classics were seen to
refer to particular cosmological phenomena. For example, Han
commentators commonly took the word "one" to mean the pole
star. In contrast, Neo-Daoist writings show little interest in
cosmological speculation. This does not mean that the authors had
abandoned the yin-yang cosmology; rather, they took the classics to be
concerned with issues more profound than naming the various components
of the cosmos. A poem may depict actual objects or events; but sense
is not limited to reference, and the meaning of the whole transcends
the identity of its parts. From a new hermeneutical perspective,
proponents of *Xuanxue* thus endeavor to reverse an
"outward" interpretive course to return to the
"roots"; that is to say, to recapture the perceived core
teachings of the sages. This may suggest direct illumination or
intuition, a sudden apprehension of meaning. However, it should be
remembered that all the major Neo-Daoists discussed here excelled in
the art of argumentation, which is to say that there is no substitute
for careful philosophical analysis. Once the chain of references is
broken, once the hermeneutical perspective is altered, interpretation
is free to pursue the deeper meaning of the "dark" and
profound, which in the final analysis is what *Xuanxue* is all
about.








From a broader perspective, given the dissatisfaction with Han
Confucianism, many of the debates in *Xuanxue* revolve around
the relationship between "orthodox teachings"
(*mingjiao*)--the normative "naming"
(*ming*) that determines standards and values--and
*ziran*. Both offer an idealized picture of the world, an
imagined state in which order and harmony prevailed and to which the
troubled world of the present must seek to return. Does the former,
bound by doctrines of propriety, rituals, and government, oppose
naturalness and thwart all aspiration toward a life of "carefree
wandering"? The debate on "nourishing life," for
example, reflects this concern. Two main approaches may be
distinguished, whose impact far exceeds the quiet preserves of the
philosophers' "bamboo grove," to spark new trends in
both politics and culture.



For Wang Bi, it is clear that government and society should ideally
conform to the principles of *ziran*, as they stem from the
same "root." Guo Xiang is even more specific in arguing
that the norms and rites that define civilization are not alien to
*ziran* but in principle flow spontaneously from it. The
natural bond between mother and child, for example, attests to the
inherent harmony between ideal *mingjiao* and *ziran*.
Although decay and corruption may have set in, the ethics of
naturalness does not seek to escape from the roles and
responsibilities of sociopolitical life.



To Wang Bi, it is imperative that the ruler and those in power
"return" to "emptiness and quiescence," in
which state the right policies would naturally prevail, resulting in
peace and abundance, and more importantly, simplicity, genuineness and
contentment. To Guo Xiang, the hierarchical structure of society need
not be oppressive, for each and every person is "equal"
and self-sufficient, which enables an inner transcendence that is the
mark of authenticity and the full realization of one's nature
and capacity.



Differences in interpretation notwithstanding, Wang Bi and Guo Xiang
converge in recognizing the place of certain basic normative patterns
and principles in the order of nature, and the need to ensure that
they do not deviate from it. This is the first main approach to the
debate between *mingjiao* and *ziran*. It is perhaps not
incorrect to speak of their having brought together Confucian and
Daoist concerns, inasmuch as Confucianism pays special attention to
propriety and government, whereas Daoism focuses on naturalness. The
same may be said for Xiang Xiu, who wrote an essay entitled "On
Confucianism and Daoism" (*Ru Dao lun*) in his youth.
Although he apparently discarded it and we have no knowledge of its
content, the famous poet Xie Lingyun (385-433) later spoke of
Xiang Xiu as having treated "Confucianism and Daoism as
one." Nevertheless, *Xuanxue* is not a kind of
scholasticism that pitches one school against another. Instead of
seeing them as attempting to reconcile Confucianism with Daoism, it
may be suggested that they were primarily concerned with the
substantive issue of the relationship between *mingjiao* and
*ziran*.



Ji Kang and Ruan Ji took the stronger view that the then prevalent
orthodox teachings impinged on naturalness. The burden of worldly
striving, ultimately driven by desire, has become so great that it
would not be possible to maintain an inner purity and transcendence
while following the norms and rites of society and tradition. Genuine
freedom is possible only if one goes beyond the strictures of
normative orthodox teachings and aligns oneself completely with
*ziran*, as Ji Kang boldly asserts in "On Dispelling
Self-interest." Going beyond *mingjiao* does not mean
leaving the world behind in this context; again, the point is not
renunciation, but radical change, by reorienting one's sense of
propriety and value. This not only invites philosophical debate but
also gives impetus to an avant-garde counter-culture development,
which adds a tinge of romanticism to the *Xuanxue*
movement.



As the idea of naturalness gained currency, many prominent men of
letters came to appreciate strong emotions as a sign of authenticity.
Thus, Wang Rong, the youngest member of the Seven Worthies of the
Bamboo Grove, did not try to contain his grief in accordance with the
requirement of ritual when his son died. The sage may be oblivious to
the call of the emotions, he explains, and men of inferior nature are
incapable of experiencing true affection; "it is precisely in
people like us that the deepest and most intense emotions find their
place" (*Shishuo xinyu* 17.4). Although there is some
dispute whether these words should be attributed to Wang Rong or his
cousin, Wang Yan, the point remains that naked emotions had come to be
cherished as a Neo-Daoist ideal. In the same spirit, Xun Can was
devastated by the death of his wife. In response to Fu Jia's
criticism that he was overreacting, Xun simply lamented that it would
be difficult to find again a woman of true beauty. His grief was so
intense, we are told, that he died shortly after at the age of
twenty-eight (*Sanguo zhi* 10, commentary; cf. *Shishuo
xinyu* 35.2).



The unaffected display of emotion often came into conflict with the
code of conduct sanctioned by orthodox teachings. Ruan Ji was
criticized on several occasions for his unorthodox behavior. These
accounts, more than a record of events, serve to underscore the vast
divide that separates an idealized naturalness from the artificial and
often hypocritical observance of orthodox customs in early medieval
China. Once unconventional behavior is seen to express naturalness and
authenticity, it is perhaps inevitable that more radical gestures
would come to create a colorful but nonetheless extremely slippery
slope. For example, Liu Ling, another member of the Seven Worthies, is
well known for his fondness for wine. Never without a bottle in hand,
when travelling he would ask an attendant to carry a shovel, so that
he could be buried on the spot should he die from a bout of
drunkenness (*Jin shu* 49). Answering his critics, who found
him naked, drinking with abandon in his house, Liu said, "I take
heaven and earth to be my dwelling, and my rooms are my coat and
pants; so what are you gentlemen doing in my pants?"
(*Shishuo xinyu* 23.6)



As Pure Conversation and *Xuanxue* culture captivated high
society, many literati were quick to imitate such behavior. It became
fashionable to give free rein to one's impulses, and many had
hoped to acquire a reputation as a high-minded intellectual of pure
character and lofty ideals by opposing established norms and rituals.
Whether this represents a deterioration of Neo-Daoism need not concern
us. The point to note is that serious implications follow from a
philosophy of *ziran*. Of course, there were Neo-Daoists who
objected to this trend. For example, Yue Guang
(252-304)--whom Wang Rong, Wang Yan, and other leading
scholars praised as a rare talent capable of taking *Xuanxue*
to new heights--was obviously unimpressed by the extent to which
many of his contemporaries had gone in search of a
"carefree" life. "In *mingjiao* itself there
is a blissful abode," he asks, "so why go to such
extremes?" (*Jin shu* 43)


## 6. Concluding Remarks



In the early fourth century, the Jin dynasty was forced to flee its
capital and to rebuild in south China. As the literati settled in a
new land, they looked back to the time of He Yan and Wang Bi as the
golden age of *Xuanxue*. Although Pure Conversation continued
with undiminished rigor, it did not introduce many new ideas. In the
southern court, the senior statesman Wang Dao (276-339) is
reported to have said that he would only talk about "nourishing
life," "words and meaning," and Ji Kang's
theory of music (*Shishuo xinyu* 4.21). Throughout the Jin
period and beyond, as another early source relates, whether
"sounds do not have sorrow or joy" and the "four
roots of capacity and nature" remained the stuff of
philosophical discussion (*Nan Qi shu* [History of the Southern
Qi Dynasty] 33).



As Neo-Daoism entered its last phase, another Daoist work, the
*Liezi*, came to rival the "Three Great Works on the
Profound." Zhang Zhan (ca. 330-400) wrote an important
commentary on the work--indeed, some would argue that Zhang had a
hand in the formation of the *Liezi* itself--in which he
recapitulated many of the ideas that spanned the entire spectrum of
Neo-Daoist philosophy. What is of particular interest is that Zhang
explicitly introduced Buddhist ideas into *Xuanxue*.



Buddhism had entered China long before the Jin period. Given the
similarity between the Daoist concept of *wu* and the Buddhist
emphasis on "emptiness," it has been suggested that
Neo-Daoism was influenced by Buddhist philosophy from the start.
Though possible, there is so far no strong evidence linking He Yan,
Wang Bi and other early Neo-Daoists to Buddhism. On the contrary, it
is clear that *Xuanxue* had exerted considerable influence on
the development of Chinese Buddhism. From the fourth century onward,
Buddhist masters frequently engaged in Pure Conversation and
challenged *Xuanxue* scholars at their own game. For example,
the *Shishuo xinyu* (4.32) reports that the monk Zhi Dun
(314-366) challenged the "Xiang-Guo"--i.e.,
Xiang Xiu and Guo Xiang--interpretation of the *Zhuangzi*,
arguing that only the enlightened sage could truly experience
transcendental freedom. In another episode, we find Zhi Dun taking
part in a debate on the "four roots of capacity and
nature" (4.51). During the Northern and Southern Dynasties that
followed the Jin, *Xuanxue* reached the pinnacle of its
influence when it was admitted into the official curriculum of the
imperial academy. At the same time, however, Neo-Daoism also began to
lose its vitality. As the early medieval period drew to a close, it
was Buddhism and religious Daoism that commanded the attention of the
literati.



*Xuanxue* or Neo-Daoism occupies a key place in the history of
Chinese philosophy. Arriving on the Chinese scene at a point of
rupture, it redefined the classical tradition and brought into
currency new ideas in metaphysics, ethics, hermeneutics, and other
areas of philosophical concern, which facilitated the reception of
Buddhist philosophy and laid the foundation for the Neo-Confucian
movement later. To recapitulate, mainstream Neo-Daoism is not a
partisan Daoist school. Properly understood, Confucius, Laozi, and
Zhuangzi converge in their understanding of Dao. Secondly,
*Xuanxue* cannot be divorced from the goal of "great
peace." The philosophy of nothingness and naturalness does not
give rise to pessimism or renunciation. Even Ji Kang and Ruan Ji did
not abandon the promise of renewal. Although many scholars had found
in the figure of the ancient recluse a source of inspiration, and
despite the fact that it was common for the literati to refuse office,
there was an optimism that naturalness and nonaction would in the end
bring about harmony and peace. Finally, it should be emphasized that
Neo-Daoism is not monolithic. The concept of nothingness, for example,
may have been central to the *Xuanxue* project, but it is
subject to debate and interpretation. Toward the end of the third
century, for example, Pei Wei (267-300) composed a treatise
provocatively titled "Extoling [the Philosophical Primacy of]
Being" (*Chongyou lun*), which should give an indication
of the vibrancy of the Learning in the Profound.