Imperishable Conversations

Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu — the timeless friendship of two philosophers, #8.

Jun 08, 2025

Why should it need an old friend to appreciate one?
A 'lowered canopy' can do away with previous words.
There is a guest who approves my tastes;
Always he admires my woods and garden.
In our talk and accord there are no common modes;
What we discuss are the books of the sages.
Sometimes we have several gallons of wine,
Which drinking at leisure, we enjoy ourselves.
Truly I am a scholar in retirement
And no longer involved with going to and fro.
'In things the new, with men it is the old.'
So with a feeble brush much may be conveyed.
Our feelings may reach beyond ten thousand li,
While our bodies are barred by rivers and hills.
May you be careful of yourself!
When will our next meeting be?


Translator's note on "lowered canopy": A chance encounter which produces immediate intimacy.

Tao Yuanming, "In Reply to Aide P'ang," in A. R. Davis, Tao Yuan-Ming: His Works and Their Meaning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 60-61.

When was the last time someone finished your sentence and improved it?

Did you have the experience that someone challenged you, but in a way that shows true understanding of who you are?

Imperishable friendship, like all precious relationships, can occur naturally, but is usually encountered by chance, sometimes forged in going through life’s critical tests, oftentimes sustained by lasting appreciation and support, but always tempered and elevated by genuine understanding.

Having a friend who is happy to see the best in us while accepting us as we are is like having a mirror, a companion that lets us know there’s someone with us in facing this world together.

This is not to say that great friendship has to be tested. Yet, it can be felt and measured by one’s absence.

In reading and organizing the interactions between Hui Tzu and Chuang Tzu, I was amazed by Hui Tzu’s sophisticated approach to balancing political participation and life as a philosopher.

Between the two brilliant minds, Hui Tzu was certainly more practical. His political ambitions and skills led him to the position of prime minister. At the same time, he was a representative of the School of names 名家, primarily concerned with language analysis and realities, with the fame and substance of a scholar.

Chuang Tzu couldn’t do it; the way of free and easy wandering was too precious to give up. In adhering to his life principles, I see a different way of living, unshackled by conventions, where he is the master of his own mind and soul, reaching beyond the phenomenal, the temporary, and the mundane world.

And despite their differences in philosophical principles and worldviews, the two considered one another as genuine friends and competent opponents in intellectual debates. They truly understood each other, intuitively, philosophically, and spiritually.

Sometimes, while reading their exchanges, I could not help but put down the book, uncontrollably thinking about the “meaningful” conversations I’ve had with the friends of the past. I kept wondering, how much can I recall from those exchanges that stirred the strings of my heart, and give something truly valuable in return?

I still don’t know whether we are more fortunate than the time when Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu lived. After all, making friends and talking to people from everywhere has become so easy in today’s world.

No one needs to be reminded that we now have all kinds of social media and messaging tools at hand, but how long does it take for us to realize that, sometimes, silence prompts us to keep the thoughts to ourselves instead of reaching out?

Reflecting on this, it makes me realize that the demise of a true friendship may feel heavier than we tend to assume.

A friend’s final farewell

What happens when we lose our closest friend? How do we face the emptiness ahead, the weight of their absence lingering in our lives?

Often, we don’t fully grasp the significance of a friend’s presence until they are gone. Their companionship can fill our lives with joy and meaning, and when they depart, the foundation of that meaning will be shaken.

Hui Tzu was perhaps Chuang Tzu’s only close friend. Despite their divergent life paths, the two were kindred spirits, bonded by a mutual understanding that transcended their debates.

One day, Chuang Tzu passed by Hui Tzu’s grave while attending a funeral. Reflecting on his friend, he turned to those with him and said:

“There was once a plasterer who, if he got a speck of mud on the tip of his nose no thicker than a fly’s wing, would get his friend Carpenter Shi to slice it off for him. Carpenter Shi, whirling his hatchet with a noise like the wind, would accept the assignment and proceed to slice, removing every bit of mud without injury to the nose, while the plasterer just stood there completely unperturbed.

Lord Yuan of Song, hearing of this feat, summoned Carpenter Shi and said, ‘Could you try performing it for me?’

But Carpenter Shi replied, ‘It’s true that I was once able to slice like that —but the material I worked on has been dead these many years.’

Since you died, Master Hui, I have had no material to work on. There’s no one I can talk to any more.”1

“In things the new, with men it is the old” 物新人惟舊

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Chuang Tzu must have felt a general sense of intellectual loneliness after the death of his dear friend.

It would not be impossible for him to spot another intelligent mind to engage in philosophical debates. Yet, from what we know, he was well aware that there was no one left he could truly speak to.

Mastery needs an equally refined counterpart — simply having the brilliance of a philosophical mind is not enough. Hui Tzu was likely someone who shared the boredom and simple joys of everyday life with Chuang Tzu, as well as his misgivings, concerns, and anecdotes about his political adventures throughout this journey.

Most importantly, they trusted each other, bringing a sort of spiritual consolation during a time of great social and political upheaval (the latter part of the Warring States period (475-221 BC) was marked by wars and conflicts among various countries).

I can imagine that, from what we can glean from the ancient records, beneath their philosophical arguments, there must be some whispers about something commonplace, such as where to live, and the ultimate pursuit of how one is supposed to live in the midst of the great confusion of the era.

Politics is muddy waters, the game for the passionate, ambitious, and ruthless. Hui Tzu knew this and entered the field anyway. For someone wielding the power of a country, he must have known how this game was played — killing by words, schemes, plots, and manipulation of humanity.

Political circumstances are not only constantly changing, but viciously harming the purity of the human soul. How many friends can last till the end in the game of politics?

Yet, Hui Tzu was not lost. Chuang Tzu was there, like still water, a mirror; the Taoist philosopher’s way of life presented what is humanely possible, wandering above the phenomenal world, despite the irony and absurdity of the mundane life.

For both, it was a life worth living. In the midst of constant change, they were fortunate to have each other as a genuine friend, a friend who knows each other’s heart, a faithful companion.

Neither had any expectations of the other. Just an appreciation of the presence of being. Chuang Tzu’s saying becomes a proper note to their life stories,

“The friendship between gentlemen is mild like the taste of water 君子之交淡若水…2

Mountains and rivers, music and friendship

Reflecting on the lives of these two philosophers often reminds me of another beautiful ancient story about friendship.

During the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BC), there was a person named Yu Boya 俞伯牙, who was a master of guqin 古琴, a traditional musical instrument favored by the literati and scholars.3

One day, while playing his instrument in a mountainous area, he heard someone echoing and praising his music. He was surprised that someone would understand the sense of appreciation for the mountainous scenery.

Delighted and curious, he played another piece, this time reflecting the constant nature of flowing rivers. And that person made another comment, showing that he understood the feeling of being immersed in nature.

Yu Boya found that the young man, named Zhong Ziqi 鍾子期, was a woodcutter. And the two became friends and made a promise to each other that one year later, they would meet up again in the same place.

However, due to his intensive manual work, Zhong Ziqi got ill and unfortunately died.

A promise is meant to be kept. When Yu Boya visited his friend’s home village, he found that Ziqi’s family was mourning for him. So, he played one last piece for his friend and smashed his instrument.

Since his friend Ziqi had passed away, no one in the world would share his innermost thoughts through the expression of music.

Thereafter, the phrase “high mountain and flowing water 高山流水,” originating from this story, became a well-known expression — “zhiyin 知音” (literally meaning “someone who knows your music/inner voice”) — to refer to kindred spirits in traditional Chinese culture.

There is a well-known piece in the guqin tradition called “The Flowing Water Melody 流水,” played by Master Guan Pinghu 管平湖 (1897-1967), which is attributed to the story between Yu Boya and Zhong Ziqi.

A melody for the departed

With the passage of time, a few hundred years later, we arrive at the Wei-Jin period (220-589 AD), a historical era marked by significant political and social upheavals, yet also a stunning time characterized by the emergence of the individual.

The shining stars of this era, the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove 竹林七賢4, through their metaphysics, poetry and literary works, their communing with nature and unbridled mingling with wine, their outlandish social behaviors and individualist spirit, their open confrontations against political authority, and their silent resistance toward the injustice, darkness, and brutality of political power and warped humanity, and their disillusionment and agony, after fighting whole-heartedly for their ideals, in the face of ruthless realities and the currents of history, became the strongest voice for the awakening of the human soul.

After the execution of Ji Kang 嵇康 (223-262 AD) by the government, Xiang Xiu (227-272 AD) 向秀, a close friend of the deceased, expressed his thoughts when coming across Ji Kang’s home where they used to gather for philosophical talks, wine, and music.

Recalling Old Times

Obeying orders, I journeyed to the distant capital, 
Turned around at last and came back north,
Setting out by boat to cross the Yellow River,
Going by way of my old home at Shan-yang.
...

I grieve that Master Hsi (Ji Kang) had to leave forever,
Looking at the sun and shadows, playing on a lute (guqin),
Entrusting his destiny to a deeper understanding,
Giving his life's remainder to that moment of time.
When I heard the wailing flute with its troubling sound,
Wonderful notes that break and begin again...

For the full script, see Burton Watson, "Recalling Old Times," in Chinese Rhyme-prose: Poems in the Fu Form from the Han and Six Dynasties Periods (Hong Kong: The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2015), 75.


思舊賦

將命適於遠京兮，遂旋反而北徂。
濟黃河以泛舟兮，經山陽之舊居。
...
悼嵇生之永辭兮，顧日影而彈琴。
托運遇於領會兮，寄餘命於寸陰。
聽鳴笛之慷慨兮，妙聲絕而復尋。
...

I feel that Xiang Xiu, in the moment of drafting this writing, could still see the silhouette of his friend and hear his laughter in the old time, playing the “Guangling Melody 廣陵散”5 with his cherished guqin under the sun, for the one last time, right before being executed.

This was the era of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Groves. This was the glory of the Taoists, the strongest voice of Chinese individualism, the ultimate awakening to the discovery of the individual.

Their legacy, despite the purges of the past and the ashes of time, will not be forgotten or lost.

Centuries have passed. Everything changes and renews in nature, as if nothing had happened.

Yet, in the human world, everything has happened.

Subtle tears and hidden words

When the dark and foreign forces of Communist totalitarianism had conquered old China, the culturally minded individuals, the spiritual warriors, the real fighters of this ancient tradition, and the most ordinary person with a basic human decency and common sense would not forget their mission.

Given the malicious political and cultural climate under communist rule, numerous scholars were persecuted if they did not betray their conscience to submit to Marxism-Leninism.

Chen Yinke 陳寅恪 (1890-1969), a renowned historian, had to incorporate his reflections and agony into a rather elusive work published in 1954, “On Zaishengyuan 論再生緣,” a research essay focused on a romantic novella from the late Ming dynasty (1368-1644).

After the essay was circulated to overseas academic circles, Yu Yingshih 余英時 (1930-2021) had observed the author’s subtle emotional attachment to a bygone China and a tragic sense of spiritual and cultural exile. So, Yu wrote a paper to thoroughly trace and explain the motive and details of Chen’s essay. After reading Yu’s paper, Chen Yinke said to his daughter, “The author knows me.”6

I think there can be no better consolation than showing genuine understanding to a friend who is trapped in deep confusion, distress, and spiritual suffering.

What makes the human heart stir, in the midst of the impermanent and unfathomable changes, is perhaps the wish to keep to the original self, the unique and singular cultural identity, and preserve what is genuine, authentic, and intrinsically good and beautiful. For these are the things that belong to the universal yearnings of all humankind.

Echoes beyond farewell

In drafting this series of conversations between Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu, I’ve often felt that the two great minds have truly lived in accordance with their natural dispositions and aspirations, no matter the external circumstances.

I can hear their laughter and complaints, the exchange of words and views, humorous jabs and straightforward charges, tacit understanding and unexpressed disagreements, and occasionally, suspicions and even anger, as well as lasting affection and appreciation.

Like all great shows, there’s always an ending. Yet, in the case of these two brilliant minds, after the music stops, their sparring exchanges and life wisdom continue to echo, reaching us in the modern age and beyond.