The Tao of No Affections
Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu discussed the notion of having no feelings 無情, dialogue #4.
The sea waves slapped against the shores. The light breeze gently touched your forehead, flowing into nowhere. And the moonlight shone through the night upon the horizon, drawing you into the abyss of time and memory.
Day after day, week after week, you began to notice the subtle but visible changes in nature around you.
You saw the dawn in a crisp and cold morning, and tasted the light touch of warmth from the westward tilted sun.
You heard the cicadas singing on a cool summer afternoon, and felt a bit of sorrow seeing the trees covered by green shades turning into faded yellow and colorless.
This is the normal transformation of things in nature. Everything follows what is natural to them, evolving in accordance with its rhythm and pace.
Yet, it is your heart that has been aroused, moved, and disturbed.
Such were the joys, the regrets, and the unfinished clinging to the past. You keep telling yourself.
There is dissonance at this moment. You are troubled by a lasting sense of unease. You are in much pain from the current entanglements.
You are driven by thoughts and feelings of what’s to come: worries, anxieties, pressures, and fear, leaving you no inner space to be at ease with the present.
Don’t you see that your heart-mind is no longer yours in these scenarios? It has been stuffed with distinctions, obsessions, desires, and inclinations, to the extent of paralyzing your capabilities for being aware. What is biological and sensual has devoured what is spiritual and mindful.
You are no longer in control of yourself.
Certainly, life and death, sickness and aging, likes and dislikes, longing, loss, and the unavoidable but impermanent nature of union and departure, like the change of seasons, are the things we are destined to face.
Yet, it’s often in allowing the mind and soul to dwell in this unaware state that we bring harm to ourselves. We are not internally free because our spirit is tethered to the sentiments and feelings inherited from those experiences.
The water is and has always been still. What is disturbed is the heart that is not able to calm down, the eyes that have not seen, and a spirit that always revolves around the external.
On not hurting oneself
Hui Tzu asked Chuang Tzu, “Are there men who have no affections 無情?”
“Yes”, said Chuang Tzu.
“If a man has no affection,” said Hui Tzu, “how can he be called a man at all?”
“Tao gives him the appearance,” said Chuang Tzu, “and nature gives him the form. How can he not be called a man?”
“Since he is called a man,” said Hui Tzu, “how can he be without affections?”
“That is not what I mean by affection”, said Chuang Tzu. “When I say a man is without affection, I mean one who does not inflict internal injury upon himself with desires and aversions, who is always in accordance with nature, and does nothing to increase artificially what is already in his life.”
“If he does nothing to increase what is already in his life,” said Hui Tzu, “how can he maintain it?”
“Tao gives him the appearance”, said Chuang Tzu, “and nature gives him the form. He does not inflict any internal injury upon himself. But you devote yourself to the external, and wear out your vitality. You prop yourself against a tree and mutter, or lean over a table and sleep. Nature chose for you your bodily form, and you babble with the discussion of ‘the hard and the white.’”1
What truly matters to you?
For a person with political ambitions who never shies away from intellectual debates, it does not make sense for Hui Tzu to be content with what is already within his control or live in accordance with his nature.
Hui Tzu took it for granted that he could leverage his skills and knowledge for worldly achievements. There is nothing wrong with this. What he does not realize is that his spirit is very much entangled with external things.
The gains and losses, acclaim and recognition, and the attainment of status and political power. His heart-mind is anchored with these things.
Naturally, he would experience and most likely be torn by the cycle of anger, dismay, expectations, and excitement that comes with engaging in these pursuits.
In a sense, Hui Tzu knows what it is to walk the path of ambition, yet he does not know how to take care of his heart, mind, and soul.
Chuang Tzu is reminding his friend of the price that Hui Tzu may have to pay if he were to go to the extreme, letting external pursuits harm the inborn nature.
We cannot make peace with how life presents itself to us because we do not see through appearances.
That’s why inner calm is hard to attain. It only comes to us when we are ready to see through the transitory and external things, and therefore, to discover ourselves. The serenity of the mind is cleansed and forged when one stands still, observing the vicissitudes of fortune.
It does not matter that Hui Tzu is defined by his label and achievements. What matters is whether or not he can face himself alone in moments of quietude, and if his soul can truly be appeased in the final hours of his life.
All the political and intellectual glories and rewards may not necessarily be sufficient to comfort him in that fleeting moment of awakening.
Will Hui Tzu reflect on the meaning of his pursuits, or you and I, in our peculiar circumstances, think about what really matters to us?
You are already enough
By pointing out the possibility of having no affections 無情, Chuang Tzu is suggesting that Hui Tzu go inward to discover and reconnect with his inner self.
Here Chuang Tzu speaks about a fundamental Taoist perspective on the sense of belonging, identity, or individuality.
“Tao gives him the appearance and nature gives him the form 道與之貌，天與之形.”
You are unique, enough, and precious with your inborn nature intact. Within you, there is a spiritual force 靈氣, whether you see it or not, that defines your existence.
The Tao does not control or dictate your actions. You are not obligated to revere or fear the Tao.
You are spiritually liberated and awakened, with spontaneous freedom from within.
That means you are the son and daughter of the natural Tao, a product of Heaven and Earth.
Yet, if you decide to follow the Tao, you must be responsible for all your actions. Your conscience does not answer to any intermediaries or authorities.
You are religious, but not shackled by religious formalities. This liberating spirit of the Tao inspires a lasting sense of awe, appreciation, and care for the myriad things, including humanity.
In a sense, the Tao cannot be possessed, controlled, or given. You must see it yourself from your own experiences. A simple description of it is still insufficient.
For languages have inherent limitations, which limit our understanding of the ultimate reality. So, there’s always room and the possibility to get a glimpse of the truthful and the mysterious, from which to obtain clarity and understanding.
So we hear Lao Tzu spoke that “The way that can be spoken of is not the constant way.”
Do not be inhibited and tamed by your circumstances. Do not be terrified and mended by external opinions and conventions. Most of them are destined to disappear in the unstoppable currents of history.
The various forms of political correctness, ideological propaganda, and limiting beliefs of all sorts are all appearances that lull you into a state of enchantment and fixation. Without seeing through this, we are still entrapped, harming our inborn nature and natural endowment.2
You always have the choice to make a change. It’s up to you to decide how you are supposed to live. Your life’s meaning awaits you to own it.
But, we have to deal with this earthly life, a life full of distractions, allures, noises, and disagreements, the everyday and mundane aspects of living.
To this, the Taoists would say that we practice freely mingling with others and circumstances while following the liberating Tao within. We preserve a way of life that is proper with our inborn nature, but live with the vulgarity and conventions of the circumstances without contempt.
There’s no more contention and conflict, but understanding and letting things go. In following the Tao, you become water, flowing everywhere without confronting but adapting, resigning yourself to the forces of change.
In the grand transformation of things, we are simply a tiny and temporary part of the constant change. Yet, there’s always a path reserved for us to protect our authenticity, to add a bit of a humanist touch to this spontaneous evolution of things.
Unfortunately, we can never avoid the cycles of political and social upheaval, the twists and turns of events. In this sense, the ancients understood our circumstances.
During the Wei-Jin era (220-589 AD), when usurpers and opportunists were busy with schemes and power-grabbing, in the time of the fall of humanity, the breakdown of the moral order, and where to place our heart-mind in the midst of radical changes became an existential crisis, we hear Run Ji 阮籍 (210-263 AD), in silent observation and reticent anguish, whisper to us,3
Searingly hot, this summer now
in thirty days will be ready to move on.
Fragrant trees let their green leaves hang,
blue clouds wind off on their own,
The four seasons change place in succession,
sun and moon take turns speeding by.
I pace about in my empty hall,
miserable that no one understands me.
I want to witness pleasure and joy to the end
and not encounter grief over separation.Next in this series:
Fung Yu-lan, “The Evidence of Virtue Complete,” in Chuang Tzu: A New Selected Translation, 71-72.
Guo Xiang 郭象 on the transitory nature of institutions and moral order: “The institutions of the former kings were to meet the need of time. If they continue to exist when time changes, they become bogy to the people, and begin to be artificial.” See Fung Yu-lan, Chuang Tzu: A New Selected Translation with an Exposition of the Philosophy of Kuo Hsiang (Beijing: Foreign Language Teaching and Research Publishing, 2016), 108.
Ruan Ji and Xi Kang, The Poetry of Ruan Ji and Xi Kang, trans. Stephen Owen and Wendy Swartz (Boston/Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2017), 37.
The Chinese version of the poem: 炎暑惟茲夏，三旬將欲移。芳樹垂綠葉，青雲自逶迤。四時更代謝，日月遞差馳。徘徊空堂上，忉怛莫我知。願睹卒歡好，不見悲別離。
"You always have the choice to make a change. It’s up to you to decide how you are supposed to live. Your life’s meaning awaits you to own it." - See this is the part I struggle with, the making a choice, which I find it increasingly likely we aren't making consciously. Lovely article, always inspired me to think.