Front. Philos. China 2017, 12(1): 38–53 DOI 10.3868/s030-006-017-0004-9 SPECIAL THEME David Chai Ji Kang on Nourishing Life Abstract Ji Kang’s “An Essay on Nourishing Life” has, for much of its history, been overshadowed by his more famous work “Sound is without Grief or Joy.” Be that as it may, “An Essay on Nourishing Life” is also an important text in that it delves into the interdependence of the heart-mind, spirit, and vital breath, and into how harmony between them is the key to ensuring physical longevity. In addition to investigating this aspect of his thought, this paper will also discuss Ji Kang’s attention to the vicissitudes of knowledge and desire and to the need to temper them with tranquility and stillness. “An Essay on Nourishing Life” can thus be read as an extension of classical Daoist theories of self-cultivation while at the same time elaborating upon them by bringing together their disparate components into a coherently unified doctrine. Keywords Ji Kang, Neo-Daoism (Xuanxue 玄學), life-nourishment Ji Kang’s 嵇康 (224–263 CE) “An Essay on Nourishing Life” (Yangsheng Lun 養 1 生論) is a brief yet vivid portrayal of the quest in Neo-Daoism (Xuanxue 玄學) for longevity within the spiritual and corporeal realms of human existence. Much like he did in his “Sound is without Grief or Joy,”2 Ji Kang paints his argument in the hues of classical Daoism, preferring its elasticity to the more formalistic norms of Han Confucianism. What makes Nourishing Life particularly worthy of study, however, is its response to the question “How does one successfully nourish life?” The answer is multivalent: first, one nourishes one’s form (yu xing 毓形); second, one nourishes one’s spirit (yang shen 養神); and third, having 1 Hereafter Nourishing Life. See Dai (1962, 143–60). All translations are my own unless stated otherwise. References to the original Chinese text of Ji Kang are to Dai (1962). Robert Henricks is the only person to have thus far published a complete English translation of Ji Kang’s essays and poems. For more see Henricks (1983). 2 Sheng Wu Aile Lun 聲無哀樂論. See Dai (1962, 196–232). See also Chai (2009), and Middendorf (2010). David Chai ( ) Department of Philosophy, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong, China E-mail: davidchai@cuhk.edu.hk Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 39 mastered these two, one nourishes life itself (yang xingming 養性命). In order to nurture one’s life, however, one must also be able to grasp the “great principle of nourishing life” (yangsheng da li 養生大理) by becoming one with the great accord (da shun 大順) of Dao. Thus, while he appears to be espousing classical Daoist notions of self-cultivation, Ji Kang in fact has something new to say: knowledge must rest in tranquility, desire must be satisfied with harmony, the spirit purified with silence, and the body perfected by embodying the so-called great principle of nourishing life. 1 As he did in “Sound is without Grief or Joy,” Ji Kang opens Nourishing Life in the form of a response to an interlocutor’s unspoken query: “There are those in the world who believe immortality is possible through learning and deathlessness can be achieved through effort. Others believe the limit of old age is one hundred and twenty years, that past and present are equal, and that to say otherwise is rash and illogical. Such pronouncements miss the mark, so allow me to roughly explain” (Dai 1962, 143–44). That the initiator of the monologue turned out to be Xiang Xiu 向秀, a contemporary of Ji Kang best known for his commentary to the Zhuangzi, might come as a surprise, in that one would expect Ji Kang’s rebuttal to be directed towards a Confucian and not a fellow Daoist.3 Yet, the language of this opening clause indicates that Ji Kang is indeed addressing a Daoist of some measure. The issue he is concerned with lies in how the art of self-cultivation has changed since the time of Laozi and Zhuangzi, becoming nothing more than textual wisdom and the ingestion of medicinal herbs. True longevity cannot be found in these rudimentary methods alone however; something much more substantial is required and explicating this is thus the task of Nourishing Life. The opening passage cited above provides little in the way of clues as to what is amiss with traditional theories of self-cultivation. If we turn to Ji Kang’s reply to Xiang Xiu’s rebuttal of Nourishing Life, however, he says in no uncertain terms what the problem is: Nourishing life has five difficulties: the first is that fame and wealth are not extinguished; the second is that joy and anger are not dispelled; the third is that music and beauty do not take their leave; the fourth is that rich flavors of food are not abandoned; the fifth is a disquiet spirit and dispersed essence. If these 3 For example, in “Sound is without Grief or Joy,” Ji Kang rebukes a Confucian guest from the state of Qin. Ruan Ji 阮籍, a contemporary of Ji Kang, also wrote a treatise—Comprehending the Zhuangzi (Da Zhuang Lun 達莊論)—defending Daoist ideals against Confucian ridicule. 40 David Chai five remain in place, although one’s heart-mind (xin 心) wishes for extremely old age, and although one’s mouth utters words of perfection, sucking and chewing the illustrious medicinal herbs, though one breathes in the great Yang, one cannot avoid being separated from these and die prematurely. (Dai 1962, 191–92)4 When read in the context of Nourishing Life’s opening stanza, the difficulties stated here more than justify Ji Kang’s disdain for what has become of the Daoist praxis of self-cultivation in his own time. Immortality cannot arise from learning that is rooted in the pursuit of fame and wealth, nor can it be obtained by indulging in the sensuality of the visual, aural, or culinary arts. Outwardly adorning oneself with measures of merit is thus contrasted with the need to inwardly satiate a continuous stream of desires and their concomitant physicalemotional turmoil, resulting in a spirit that is frayed and an essence that is scattered. However, even if one could shore up the integrity of one’s personhood, this would not be enough to ensure one achieves an extraordinarily long life. The reason is this: although one may address the visible vices of longevity, there still persist vices of an unseen nature that can undermine the core of selfhood, what Ji Kang refers to as its spiritual essence (jingshen 精神). Indeed, Ji Kang says it is these invisible afflictions which pose the greatest threat to a person’s likelihood of living even a moderately long life, let alone one that is fantastically long. As to why persons of extreme longevity remain, according to the Neo-Daoist worldview, hidden from public view, and why one hundred and twenty years is considered to be a fallacious representation of such longevity, Ji Kang says that such individuals, whom he refers to as immortals (shenxian 神仙), are “special in receiving an unusual vital breath (yi qi 異氣) bestowed to them by Nature, one that cannot be incurred through accumulated study” (Dai 1962, 144). Given that true nourishment of life is affected more by one’s inherent constitution than by what can be added to it from outside, the immortal having special qi not only recognizes it as such, but competently employs it to nurture his form and spirit. This guiding and nourishing, Ji Kang says, participates in a grand harmonization whereby that which guides is nourished and that which nourishes in turn guides others. Body and spirit hence blend into one and, in this state of oneness with the world, the paradigmatic individual (shengren 聖人) conjoins with the great accord of Dao. Not everyone can attain such refinement however, which is why the vast majority of people fail to live out their allotted years, let alone go far beyond them. What, then, is required if one is to overcome the formidable obstacles to 4 Ji Kang’s reply is entitled “Replying to Xiang Xiu’s Rebuttal of an Essay on Nourishing Life” (Da Nan Yangsheng Lun 答難養生論). See Dai (1962, 168–95). Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 41 achieving grand longevity? Although the remainder of Nourishing Life is devoted to answering this question, in his reply to Xiang Xiu, Ji Kang provides us with a succinct summary: When the five difficulties are no longer within one’s breast, then honesty and compliance will increase on a daily basis, and profound virtue will day after day become ever more complete. Without praying for happiness one will have good fortune and without entreating longevity one’s life will naturally be prolonged. Such is the outcome of employing the great principle of nourishing life. (Dai 1962, 192) The five difficulties thus offer us a means of escaping the mundane tribulations of life, for all that is required is our disavowal of the power they hold over us. Doing so restores our body, heart-mind, and spirit to their original state of existence: quiet, still, and empty. This trio of terms is not unique to Ji Kang, or to Neo-Daoism for that matter, but is part of a common vocabulary used by Daoism in general. Without the temptations of physical and emotional desire, one will be truthful in one’s conduct; without the push and pull of fame and profit, one will be agreeable in one’s views of others. The idea is to maintain a position of centrality in emptiness and to dwell in stillness so as to quiet one’s heart-mind. In this way, one can mirror the unbiased and flexible nature of Dao in one’s daily life. Having started down this path of harmonization with the world, the mysteriously profound virtue of Dao grows within oneself until such time as one is considered to be immortal, figuratively speaking. Thus, when Ji Kang speaks of a self-fulfilling joy and the natural extension of one’s years arising from the elimination of the five difficulties one faces in self-cultivation, his point is that anyone can reap such rewards so long as they adhere to the great principle. The rate of success, however, is far from impressive, due in no small part to the sheer quantity of distractions and temptations present in the world. In order to convey the enormity of the challenge people face when it comes to nurturing themselves in the manner of the paradigmatic individual, Ji Kang uses the analogy of ruler and subject. Before he gets to this analogy, however, Ji Kang explains what led him to think of it in the first place and, in doing so, he concludes the first section of Nourishing Life. Among the five difficulties, the fifth is paramount and serves as the ground for the ruler-subject paradigm. Medicinal herbs, Ji Kang writes, are used to induce sweat, but not everyone experiences this effect; this is an example of how the external fails to induce a corresponding effect internally. Conversely, a state of shame immediately results in an outpouring of sweat; this indicates the primary position of the heart-mind over the body. We are thus given a warning against overreliance on one’s emotions and how the unseen can lead to potentially 42 David Chai dangerous physical manifestations. From this, Ji Kang discusses how hunger and sleep-deprivation give rise to similar conditions of physical weakness and spiritual uncertainty, preventing one from living a long life. The sum result is akin to a ruler and his subjects: The relationship between vital essence and spirit to the form and body is like that between a ruler and his people. When one’s inner spirit is disturbed, one’s external form is lost; when the ruler above is confused, the people below will be in chaos. (Dai 1962, 145) What we see in the above analogy is the building of momentum towards the first measure of nourishing life: emotional serenity. Vital essence is to form as spirit is to body, and both pairs can, in turn, be applied to the ruler and his realm. We can illustrate this as follows: the corporeal is defined and comprised of the incorporeal just as the ruler is defined and comprised by an incorporeal realm. Both the body and the ruler, however, are dependent upon and susceptible to the vicissitudes of their inborn nature. Vagaries of spirit can sap one’s vital essence just as easily as can an improper diet. Likewise, a weak ruler finds his weakness mirrored throughout his kingdom as people blindly chase after personal aggrandizement and selfish pleasure. In order to rectify this situation, the ruler must serve as an unseen model for the people, a model whose corporeal-spiritual cultivation embodies and reflects the great accord of Dao. The ruler hence “faces the world only when he has no choice, taking the myriad things as his heart-mind while letting-be their collective lives, guiding himself only with Dao.” In this way, “rulers and ministers forget one another above while the people are content with their families below” (Dai 1962, 171). Harmony thus plays an essential role in both social cohesion and one’s ability to master the essentials of life. After outlining the fundamental principles and barriers to attaining a life that is long in years and firm in vitality in the first section of Nourishing Life, in the second section Ji Kang explicates the specific details of this endeavor. 2 The middle portion of Nourishing Life sets forth the faults of three sets of people: those who are short-lived, those who die prematurely in middle age, and those who are able to reach old age through common means. None of the people in these three groups succeed in mastering the great principle of nourishing life and, as a result, none are able to enjoy the life of extraordinary richness and longevity that is seen in one enlightened by Dao (i.e., the sage). In lamenting the fact that failure to properly nurture oneself is seen throughout society, Ji Kang draws Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 43 attention to the transient nature of bodily and spiritual existence and how their fluctuations and transformations are wholly natural and thus deserving of our undivided attention. There is, however, one category of individuals whom we expect to be capable of comprehending this simple yet fundamental point—the gentleman (junzi 君子): “It is the gentleman who knows that the form relies on the spirit to stand, that the spirit requires the form to exist. He realizes that the principle of life is easily lost and knows that a single wrong can injure life” (Dai 1962, 146).5 The metaphorical link between a ruler and his people is thus played out in the literal co-dependency of body and essence (spirit) as seen in the refined person, or junzi. Allowing harmful agents to accrue in the former or to slowly destabilize the latter will prove disastrous for both, which is why the gentleman strives to simultaneously harmonize them both. This is easier said than done however; indeed, as the average person goes about her daily life, it seems unreasonable to expect she will pay equal attention to how the physical self impacts the spirit and vice-versa. Indeed, in his assessment of ordinary people, whom Ji Kang bluntly characterizes as having little intelligence, he comes across as unforgiving and unnecessarily harsh in his criticism of their lifestyle. Contrasting rusticity with sophisticated urbanism, Ji Kang speaks of steaming and injury as giving rise to heaviness and stupidity instead of lightness and wisdom, and of the use of plants to merely make things fragrant instead of using them to increase one’s lifespan (Dai 1962, 149–50). To reinforce the difference between those having knowledge of the great principle of nourishing life and those lacking it, Ji Kang invokes the name of the ancient sage-king Shen Nong 神農, who reputedly said: “‘Superior drugs nourish fate and middle drugs nourish nature,’ thus he [Shen Nong] truly comprehended the principle of life and assisted it in its entirety” (Dai 1962, 150). Invoking the name of a great figure from antiquity is not enough for Ji Kang though; he has to explain why, having introduced medicine that can prolong life, Shen Nong felt it necessary to subsequently teach people how to plant and harvest the five grains: Having discussed the superior drugs, he [Shen Nong] sang the praises of the five grains; given the superior drugs are rare and scarce, being difficult and hard to come by, the five grains are easy to grow, and through farming, can be sustained for a long time. As they aid the general population and continue to prevent their early death, he thus kept them both. (Dai 1962, 180–81) 5 The term junzi appears only once in Nourishing Life but four times in Ji Kang’s reply to Xiang Xiu; what is more, the sage also appears four times in Ji Kang’s reply to Xiang Xiu, and the context in which they appear suggests these two references are used interchangeably when referring to the paradigmatic individual. 44 David Chai Medicinal products are thus used to enhance a person’s natural biological capacity for life and are not meant to replace natural kinds of sustenance such as the five grains. Those who abstain from eating the five grains will fail to attain extreme longevity just as easily as those who gorge themselves on meat and wine. The scarcity of superior drugs also makes them so valuable as to be beyond the reach of the general population. Thus, rather than have people turn to deficient drugs which might lead to illness or even death, Ji Kang advocates that access to superior and mediocre drugs should be maintained alongside more accessible forms of nutrition such as the five grains. Moreover, while the common people were seen to lack erudition, they were not entirely dismissed from the possibility of enjoying a long life even though this proved not to be the case in reality. The ordinary ranks of men were constantly beguiled by rich food and wine, delighted by lascivious music, and intoxicated by the feeling that accompanies physical beauty. In the end, they wore out their bodies and suffered calamities from within and without, hence “those who use themselves to the extreme, drinking and eating without reservation, will give rise to the one hundred diseases. Those who do not grow weary of the lustful will succumb to exhaustion” (Dai 1962, 152). Such an account does not apply to all ordinary people however; there are some that pay attention to their physical well-being. Nonetheless, even these people will inevitably end up ignoring the principle of nourishing life. For such individuals, their failure lies not in the visible qualities of life, but in those that are hidden. Physiological and emotional signs of decline are hence treated only in terms of their immediate discomfort, with no regard for their long-term impact. These signs are dismissed as the result of something they did or did not do; they are never seen as something of an altogether different order, and thus they fester and flourish completely unnoticed: When the unseen accumulates, it becomes harmful and accumulated harm results in decline. With decline comes white hair, with white hair comes old age, and with old age comes death. Blind to what is happening to them, such people believe it is without cause. Those with low intelligence call this natural. (Dai 1962, 152) Such a snide remark would not have made a good impression on the general public, let alone have encouraged them to nurture themselves more earnestly. What the common people take to be the natural process of aging is, for Ji Kang, the culmination of poor self-regulation and cultivation. Eager to avoid the inevitability of their own demise, the ordinary person magnifies the speed of their decline by fixating on the symptoms rather than the root. Thus “even those of little intelligence all sigh at and resent the first sign of trouble…they run around in the realm of ordinary men, hence their long life is merely of the Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 45 ordinary kind” (Dai 1962, 152–53). What is more, those having a modicum of intelligence only manage to live a moderately long life because they stubbornly refuse to recognize that their fate is not rigid but can be stretched to approach that of the gentleman. The principle of heaven and earth (tiandi zhi li 天地之理), as Ji Kang refers to it, is not akin to the great principle of nourishing life (yangsheng da li 養生大理) but complements it as a lesser ideal; the former targets the concerns of the heart-mind while the latter addresses the vision of the spirit. Having faith only in that which stands before their eyes, persons of a common sort cannot open their minds to the mysterious, unspeakable nature of Dao. Unable to verify that which is profoundly subtle, people of common and middle intelligence deny and dismiss out of hand the possibility of partaking in a fate other than that supposedly bestowed to them by heaven. This is the failure of rational thought; those individuals with the capacity to think authentically, that is, to think in line with the great accord of Dao, open themselves to an alternative lifestyle and hence are free from the trials and tribulations of the common rank of people. Ji Kang expresses it as such: If you can use your eyes to see what the blind can see, your mouth to taste what those who are without taste can taste, keep afar that which harms life, and manage those things that benefit your nature, then we can start to discuss the idea of nourishing life. (Dai 1962, 180) Having thus described and discounted the lowest two groups of individuals in the world, Ji Kang turns his attention to those whose life is of reasonable length but yet falls short of the extreme longevity of the immortal. Recalling how Shen Nong employed the use of medicinal herbs to regulate and extend his lifespan, Ji Kang upholds this practice as the one closest to his ideal standard of nourishing life. The problem with people who turn to such herbs is that they too will ultimately succumb to the limitations of human nature such that “after half- or one-year’s work and not seeing any result, their will becomes dejected and weak and so they stop midway into their journey” (Dai 1962, 154). On the cusp of a great triumph, impatience gets the better of them and they collapse in a heap of despair. Their failure is not due to impure drugs or incorrectly administering them; rather, it is because of the fallibility of the human heart-mind that they cannot persevere. Ji Kang explains: Repressing their feelings and clinging to their desires, they abandon and discard their desire for fame. However, such desires and pleasures are always before their eyes and ears, while that which they crave most is many years away. Afraid of losing both, they have doubts within. With their heart-mind divided on the inside and things tempting them on the outside, near and far 46 David Chai topple one another, and their endeavor fails. That which is highest is subtle and unseen; it can be known through principle but it is difficult to find using one’s eyes. It is similar to the silky spice bush and camphor tree whose differences can only be seen after seven years of growth. Nowadays people cross the road of silence and tranquility with heart-minds that are unsettled and divided. Though they wish to hurry, such matters require time; though they long for what is near, the answer lies afar. In this way, none can make it to the very end. (Dai 1962, 154–55) Four points can be made with regard to the above quote. First, there is a particular linguistic convention at work here: terms such as repress, hold back, cut-off, reject, loss, doubt, division, and topple all speak of a heart-mind that is discordant with the body. Furthermore, such terms emphasize the detrimental effects of living one-sidedly, that is, of focusing on the immediacy of sensory and corporeal pleasure. Ji Kang is, in other words, effectively asserting that successful life-nourishment lies in doing precisely the opposite of what is written here. Second, there is an intimate connection between the heart-mind and the spirit, a bond of mutuality wherein the one feeds and sustains the other. Repressing one’s feelings and desires is taken by some to be a means to achieving mental quietude and spiritual integrity, but such suppression will inevitably fail as one yields to the temptation of having that which is known to one’s eyes and ears. Such wanting is, of course, artificial and will do nothing for one’s well-being; this is why people such as these must realize what they actually long for is many years away. Third, the inner-outer divisiveness wherein the heart-mind and spirit work to undo one another, creates a tension between the subjective immediacy of the things of the world and the perceived distance of their truth in Dao. Thus, the spirit seeks a means by which to escape the body in order to roam carefree, while the body seeks a means by which to retain the spirit so as to preserve its corporeal integrity. The fourth point shows a movement away from the dyad of heart-mind and spirit towards the heart-mind itself, and illustrates how any decline in its pairing with spirit will affect it in its own right. Ji Kang thus outlines the difference between people of common rank and those who belong to the order of sages: the former seek life-nourishment using their eyes and ears, while the latter embody it in their spirit. This is because Dao, as the ultimate source and root of reality, is lofty so as to be mysterious, and minutely subtle so as to be incomprehensible. For this reason, one who follows along with Dao shelters it within, and in so doing can know its principle, which is to recognize the naturalness of the myriad things of the world. It is interesting that the example Ji Kang provides of trees needing seven years of growth to tell them apart should appear at this stage in the dialogue. These trees might also be taken as symbolizing the founding pillars of classical Daoism Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 47 (i.e., Laozi and Zhuangzi), for they reveal their hidden beauty only with the passage of time. Silent and solitary, they embody the core attributes of Dao, and, while the world tries to emulate them, such an endeavor is akin to crossing the road of silence and tranquility with a heart-mind unsettled and divided. Thus, Ji Kang says: “When planting a pine or cypress, each must be well situated such that it can properly satisfy its nature…This is one aspect of nourishing the form” (Dai 1962, 179). The impatience of common people gets the better of them as they strive to make near what is far and distance themselves from what is already at hand. And so, Ji Kang notes, none save the paradigmatic individual is able to overcome the inner-outer conflict and maximize their lifespan. The exemplary figure that is the sage completes himself via emptiness by harmonizing the realms of inner and outer without prioritizing one over the other. Equalizing these realms using the principle of Dao also preserves their mutual arising and dependency without the need for subjective dualism, which is why the sage: Cultivates his nature to protect his spirit and calms his mind to keep his body intact. Love and hate do not dwell in his feelings; anguish and delight do not stay in his thoughts. Quiet is he and unmoved, his body and qi harmonious and still. Moreover, he exhales the old and inhales the new and swallows the medicinal herbs to nourish his health, causing his body and spirit to draw together, such that externally and internally they benefit him alike. (Dai 1962, 146) The theme of mental quietude is especially poignant in that it presents a direct correlation between extreme levels in one’s emotive condition and one’s physical longevity. Stress, anger, excitement, envy, and so forth, take an untold toll on the body when left unchecked and manifest in physical symptoms, premature aging, and an untimely death. The common person unwittingly takes these ailments to be natural occurrences of daily life, unaware that they are avoidable and, in most instances, self-induced. The sagacious individual, on the other hand, grasps the principle of Dao and thus avoids these afflictions of the mind; he tends to his inborn nature, not in order to advance in the world, but because it is what comes naturally to him. With a quiet mind, his spirit is at ease, and with a spirit unperturbed, his body is free of distress. Not only is emotional restraint encouraged so as to not churn up one’s inborn nature, avoidance of fame and wealth is addressed too. To crave what the eyes see and the ears hear is to be blind to what the heart-mind does not know; what the heart-mind knows is not the art of Dao but the misguided ways of man. If we take such skill-driven knowledge to be the epitome of knowing, how can we not delude ourselves when it comes to discussing nourishing life? If the body is to 48 David Chai right itself, it cannot be guided by something that is itself a guide (i.e., the mind); rather, it should aspire to follow the guideless, traceless model of Dao. Given how the minds of men are enthralled by sensory encounters and the attainment of fame and wealth, Ji Kang’s wish that these desires be abandoned so as to protect the spirit and keep the body whole should go without saying; and yet, nothing could be further from the truth. In his response to Xiang Xiu, Ji Kang explains the reason why: On why intelligence is treasured and action valued, it is because they can benefit life and deepen one’s self. However, if desire becomes active, then regret and remorse are born, and when intelligence is put into motion then anticipation establishes its position. When anticipation has its position then the will is exposed and things are pursued, and when regret and remorse are born then worry accumulates and the body is threatened. Regarding these two, one will either be hidden within or connected to you externally. They are only sufficient for bringing calamity upon oneself, they are not sufficient for enhancing one’s life. (Dai 1962, 168) Although desire arises in the hearts of men, these desires are not for things proper to Dao. Knowing what is proper to Dao and what is improper is hence an essential quality of life nurturing. Gorging one’s body on food, one’s mind on vulgar learning, and one’s spirit on exhaustion and anxiety is to move further down the slope towards death, not closer to one’s goal of purity of life. And yet, to live a life that is pure is to possess a special type of knowledge, one that acts for the sake of its own volition rather than to fulfill the fleeting whims of the heart-mind. To act in accordance with the naturalness of Dao is to move authentically, to follow the motion of life itself. In this way, the sage’s behavior lacks the component of anticipation, of fore-knowing that which has yet to appear, which is why he is able to continuously conceal his will from others. The will that is exposed is a will open for the world to see and abuse; what is more, barring the will altogether removes the fortifications around it supplied by the spirit, making resistance to desire and mental duress a futile enterprise. In other words, if one wishes to prolong one’s life, one must constantly be on guard against the vices of anticipation and regret. Thus “intelligence is a thing of beauty, a beauty that increases life without coveting it and so makes it treasurable” (Dai 1962, 170). 3 Having illustrated the faults of the common people, including those able to reach Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 49 old age, Ji Kang turns to the exemplary person, the only figure in the world who has proven successful in nourishing life to its utmost: Clear, empty, quiescent and still, he lessens his self-interests and makes few his desires. Knowing that names and social standing harm virtue, he ignores and does not seek them out, not because he desires them but because he strongly forbids them. Knowing that rich flavors harm one’s inborn nature he thus abandons and heeds them not, though not because he first craves and then later represses them. As external things entrap the heart-mind, he does not allow them to exist therein; as spirit and qi are pure in nature, he focuses on these alone. Free from worries and without hardship, he dwells in the silence of no-thought. What is more, he guards this oneness by nourishing himself with harmony; as harmony and principle aid each other daily, he submits to the great accord. (Dai 1962, 156) Three observations can be made about this passage: external things ensnare the heart-mind; the spirit and qi are one with Dao in their purity; and the sage nourishes himself with harmony, thereby conjoining with it. The first point begins with the opening sentence and extends through the fourth. What we discover from the first line is that the sage is painted using two very different brushes: the cosmological and the human. Clear, empty, quiet, and still are not only attributes of the paradigmatic person, they are also applicable to Dao. When Dao is left to its own devices, it returns to the state most natural to its own condition; thus, for the sagacious person to be in unison with Dao, he must emulate these same characteristics. If the ruler is to preserve his position and retain the favor of heaven in the process, he must not only exemplify Dao but learn how to put its ways into practice so that his subjects will willingly transform themselves—not to be like him, but to return to the time when they lived free and in harmony with one another and the world. How the sage does this is stated in the second part of the sentence: by reducing self-interest and desire. By reducing dependency on sensory experience—for it is the most subjective and prejudicial form of knowledge—the sage opens himself up to a whole new reality, one in which the spirit guides the heart-mind. Continuing to the second and third lines of this paragraph, we are told how the pursuit of fame and wealth ensnare the heart-mind, pilfering its purity and virtue, while the spirit and qi remain intact due to their oneness with Dao. Based on the preceding four lines, Ji Kang decries the entrapment of the heart-mind to the values held dearest by society. It is here that the sage distances himself from the rest of society, doing so by turning away from the very things that haunt the heart-mind of ordinary people and turning his attention to what is already at hand within: spirit and qi. The outcome of concentrating on spirit and qi is an 50 David Chai immunity to anxiety or hardship. With a heart-mind given over to the silence of no-thought, the sage partakes in the quiescence of Dao and so stills himself; in doing so, he protects his connectedness to Dao because this alone grants him a carefree life, one enriched through the mysterious virtue of cosmic unity: The sage uses his heart-mind thusly: he sees fame and position as but an unwanted tumor, and materials and wealth as but dirt and dust. What use has he for wealth and rank? Thus, what is most difficult to attain in the world is neither wealth nor honor; rather, it is to worry that one’s heart-mind is discontent! When the heart-mind is content, though he ploughs and irrigates the fields, wears coarse clothes and eats beans, how is he not self-fulfilling? When the heart-mind is discontent, though he is nourished by the entire world and appointed to care of the myriad things, he is still not satisfied. (Dai 1962, 173) The first line serves as a precondition for the others that follow. Taken as a whole, these four lines prepare the reader for the text’s grand conclusion; however, before we can get to it, there is one final point to be made on how the exemplary person nourishes himself with harmony. Ji Kang says: “he guards this oneness by nourishing himself with harmony; as harmony and principle aid each other daily, he conjoins with the great accord.”6 What, then, is the relationship between oneness and harmony? Ji Kang will offer an answer shortly, but in the meantime, we can say this. Oneness is the praxis through which the principle of harmony is realized. There can be oneness without harmony, what the Zhuangzi calls primal chaos (hundun 渾沌), but there cannot be harmony without oneness. The reason for this is as follows: while the One is the first onto-cosmological condition of the universe, what ensures that its undifferentiated wholeness remains intact and does not annihilate itself is harmony. To be one with the myriad things is to see them from the perspective of the great accord, observing the transformation of things in an unhindered manner. Since harmony is the principle of Dao, and oneness with the world embodies this accord, we can thus support Ji Kang’s claim that, in the case of the exemplary person, harmony and principle are two orders of the same concept; that is, the harmony of Dao is a first order principle expressed as the One, while the harmony between things is of a secondary magnitude, signified by terms such as 6 The great accord (da shun 大順) appears in both the Dao De Jing (chapter 65) and Zhuangzi (chapter 12), and in both cases, it is associated with the mysterious virtue (xuande 玄德) of Dao. It should also be noted that da shun appears in the “Li Yun” chapter of the Liji 禮記, which states: “With the great accord, there is life-nourishment, burying the dead, and tending to departed spirits.” Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 51 unity and collectivity. In this way, the sage embraces the orders of cosmological and mundane harmony, using them to nourish one another and himself in the process. Such being the case, he can successfully grasp the great principle of nourishing life. The principle of life-nourishment is none other than the ordering of things as bestowed by Dao; it is, however, a bestowal that is completely “self-so” (ziran 自 然) in its honoring of the inborn nature of things. Unadulterated pureness, undisturbed quietude, and unperturbed stillness, are the qualities comprising a harmonious world; however, should the world be in a state of disunity, the sage will hide his presence until such time as the world is ready to heed his words. Though the sage’s heart-mind is constantly illuminated by the virtue of Dao, to others, Dao appears fragmented and stagnant; indeed, such people are the ones that fail in their attempts at self-nourishment. This is because clarity of the heart-mind cannot occur so long as it remains in a state of befuddlement (i.e., engages in vulgar learning). Given the Shuowen dictionary defines shun 順 as “ordering” (li 理), Ji Kang’s use of it nicely reflects his notion of principle qua harmony: The sage knows that because intelligence lacks constancy, it harms life, that because desire chases after things, it injures one’s nature. Thus, if his intelligence is used, he draws it in with quietude; if his nature is moved, he collects it with harmony. He forces his intelligence to rest in quietude and his nature to be content with harmony. Only then will his spirit be purified by silence, his body perfected by harmony, and he rids himself of accumulations and eliminates harms, being born once more with Dao. (Dai 1962, 175) Having declared that the paradigmatic person cultivates and nourishes his spirit and qi via harmonizing them with Dao, Ji Kang draws his treatise to a close with the following statement: “In non-deliberate action [the sage] fulfills himself, makes his body marvelous, and his heart-mind profound. In forgetting pleasure his joy is complete, and in leaving behind life he preserves his self” (Dai 1962, 157). We can say two things about this summary sentence. First, he who is one with Dao will be whole in virtue. Second, with complete virtue the paradigmatic person transcends the distinction between life and death and thus perfects himself. On the first point, the operation of non-deliberate action (wuwei 無爲) would appear to be a critical component, in that self-attainment, or self-completion, is facilitated by way of the four characteristics of Dao previously mentioned (i.e., clarity, emptiness, quiescence, and stillness). Without these traits, the sage would not possess a heart-mind that is ready to act as an abode for Dao; he would not be ready in that a heart-mind used to investigate the nature of things would be one with a purpose, working against its ability to carry-out and nurture the traits of 52 David Chai Dao. Thus, wuwei is more than passive non-acting; it is a passive mode of living that neither distorts the harmony between things nor introduces an artificial standard by which said things’ spiritual perfection is judged. In this way, the person who masters the art of self-cultivation can be said to have a body that is marvelous and a heart-mind that is profound. As the vital essence of Dao resides in the spirit, and given how this essence’s virtue is the most mysterious, the enlightened individual no longer seeks such qualities within himself, but in Dao alone. He can forget pleasure because in Dao joy persists unabated; he can forget life because in Dao life and death meld into a continuous flux of change and transformation. Thus, Ji Kang presents the sagely figure as one whose spirit is unbounded and whose qi flows with the harmonious tide of the universe. He is hence the paradigmatic person not because he is able to live a long life, but because he attains longevity through adherence to the principle of Dao—and this is the most genuine form of life-nourishment possible. 4 Ji Kang’s Nourishing Life is a work whose primary objective is to push human well-being in a non-materialist direction. Having witnessed the pitfalls and self-inflicted damage arising from a lifestyle discordant with Nature, Ji Kang saw himself in a world surrounded by emotional instability and spiritual malaise. His solution was to argue for the banishment of physical and emotional temptation from one’s heart-mind by making emptiness its abode and stillness its path to quietude. The reason for doing so is to rectify one’s physical manner of living and from this, Ji Kang says, one’s non-corporeal experience will become richer and prolonged. In this way, harmony plays a vital role not only in the cohesiveness of the world, but also in one’s ability to successfully master the essentials of life. Ignorant of invisible ailments and their causes, the average person allows them to reside within the body and mind unguarded. Over time these symptoms give rise to disease, at which point harm arises and the individual’s vitality retreats towards death. This can be avoided, says Ji Kang, if we emulate the way of the sage. Having grasped the principle of Dao, he avoids afflictions of the mind by first and foremost caring for his inborn nature; with a peaceful heart-mind, there is nothing that can agitate him and so he is free of duress and anxiety. Thus, Ji Kang argued for the ephemeral beauty of knowing the principle of nourishing life because this is the only knowledge that is universally covetable and hence treasured the world over. What is required, however, is to make people aware of its presence—a presence whose hiddenness is lost on the desirous mind of the selfish and arrogant. Knowing how to free the heart-mind is knowing how to free Ji Kang on Nourishing Life 53 the spirit, and when both are allowed to return to their primal root in Dao they will, as a result, mutually nourish one another. Thus, a person who guards their oneness with the world by holding fast to the mystery of Dao nourishes himself with harmony and, with harmony and self-nurturing assisting one another on a daily basis, obtains a life of extraordinary length. References Chai, David. 2009. “Musical Naturalism in the Thought of Ji Kang.” Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy 8.2: 151–71. Dai, Mingyang, ed. 1962. Ji Kang Ji Jiaozhu 嵇康集校注 (Annotations and Commentaries on Collected Works of Ji Kang). Beijing: Renmin Wenxue Chubanshe. Henricks, Robert. 1983. Philosophy and Argumentation in 3rd Century China: The Essays of Hsi K’ang. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Middendorf, Ulrike. 2010. “The Sage without Emotion: Music, Mind, and Politics in Xi Kang,” in Philosophy and Religion in Early Medieval China, edited by Alan K.L. Chan and Yuet-Keung Lo, 135–72. Albany: State University of New York Press.