Surrendering to and Transcending Ming 命 in the Analects, Mencius and Zhuangzi

Abstract

This article examines the concept of ming 命 (mandate/command or fate/destiny) in the Analects, Mencius, and Zhuangzi, exploring its relationship to tian 天 (Heaven). Across these works, ming retains an intrinsic connection to tian—an inviolable cosmic force beyond human control. All three texts exhibit profound reverence and submission to tian, acknowledging the boundary between human control and cosmic inevitability, yet, at the same time, advocating active alignment with tian’s ordained patterns. In the Analects, a central tension emerges between tian’s teleological purpose—centered on preserving human culture and ethical cultivation—and the seemingly arbitrary fluctuations of individual fate, particularly regarding lifespan and personal fulfillment. This tension persists in the Mencius, articulated as a conflict between the political disorder of Mencius’ contemporary era and tian’s normative moral order. The Zhuangzi, by contrast, resolves this tension through advocating for withdrawal from the political life, as well as a radical reinterpretation of tian. Stripping tian off the Confucian moral–cultural imperatives, the text deconstructs dichotomies like life and death, championing inner equanimity via flowing with the cosmic transformation.

1. Introduction Ming as Command/Mandate and Ming as Fate/Destiny

Ming 命 is closely associated with tian 天in early Chinese texts, as it is determined and bestowed by tian. Tian encompasses a broad spectrum of meanings across various contexts, as have been noted by Feng Youlan 馮友蘭 (Feng 2015, p. 43). Among the five interpretations of tian outlined by Feng Youlan, the fatal Heaven (mingyun zhi tian 命運之天) and the moral and normative Heaven (yili zhi tian 義理之天) particularly align with the connotations of ming, for ming in early Chinese texts often embraces two types of meanings: the whimsical fate that may befall one arbitrarily, and the Heavenly command based on one’s virtue, capacity or lineage.

Ming and tian are combined to form tianming 天命, a doctrine initially invoked early Western Zhou to legitimize the Zhou conquest of the Shang dynasty. It was framed as Heaven’s decree that the tyrannical Shang rulers be overthrown by the virtuous Zhou kings. In this context, tianming referred to the Mandate bestowed by Heaven, authorizing the Zhou to rule over the central plains. Bronze inscriptions from this era reveal such a parallel: subordinates received commands (ming/ling 命/令) from their rulers, just as rulers themselves received the Mandate from Heaven. In both cases, these acts represented the legitimate delegation of power within the Zhou elite hierarchy (Valmisa 2019, p. 150).

In Western Zhou rhetoric, the concept of ming as mandate or command was deeply intertwined with virtue. Heaven bestowed its Mandate based on the king’s cultivated moral character. The “Kang Gao 康誥” chapter in the of Shangshu 尚書 (Book of Documents), for example, suggests that Heaven bestowed the Great Mandate upon King Wen to destroy the mighty Shang 天乃大命文王, 殪戎殷 because King Wen was able to illuminate virtue 明德 and demonstrate such traits as benevolence and reverence by cautiously applying punishments and protecting rather than mistreating the weak.

However, from late Western Zhou onward, the meaning of ming began to transform. It shifted from a guarantee of political authority to a more personalized notion, focusing on the fate or destiny of the individual. Ding Weixiang suggests that this shift in meaning was closely tied to the widespread perception of political corruption at the time. The prevalence of evil and political injustice from late Western Zhou onward led to growing doubts about Heaven’s Mandate as a guarantee of virtuous rule. (Ding 2009, pp. 19–20). Expressions of grievance and even resentment toward tian in the Book of Odes 詩經 reflect this skepticism, as people began to question whether Heaven truly ensured that the good were rewarded and the evil punished.

Amid this growing doubt about tian, the concept of ming as blind fate emerged. This new understanding of ming became increasingly common in texts from the Spring and Autumn period, marking a significant departure from its earlier association with political legitimacy and virtue. In a seminary article on the origin of the concept of blind fate in ancient China, Chen Ning highlights an inherent tension within the Mandate of Heaven: the conflict between a transcendent, moral Heaven—particularly one that justified the Zhou’s replacement of the Shang—and the observable reality of the suffering of morally good individuals. He argues that this tension, which raised questions about Heaven’s goodness and power (a problem akin to theodicy), “stimulated the formulation of the notion of impersonal, blind Fate” during the late Western Zhou period. (N. Chen 1997, p. 154).

The tension between ming as mandate/command and ming as fate/destiny is evident in texts such as Guoyu 國語, Zuozhuan 左傳, and the Odes, as well as excavated manuscripts like “Mingxun” 命訓 and “Qiongda Yishi” 窮達以時. What is more, the conceptual division between ming as cosmic mandate and personal fate—emerging in the late Western Zhou period—manifests distinctly across three foundational texts in the Eastern Zhou period: the Analects, Mencius, and Zhuangzi. Numerous studies exist on the Confucian and Zhuangzian conceptions of ming. Scholars have observed its two dimensions in all three texts. For example, Liang Tao employs deming 德命 and yunming 運命 to distinguish the two dimensions of ming: the former denotes Heaven’s Mandate for humans to uphold moral principles, while the latter signifies inexplicable, uncontrollable forces governing human life. As Liang Tao梁濤 argues, reconciling these two dimensions of ming constitutes a central concern in the philosophical projects of Confucius and Mencius. (Liang 2024, pp. 108–10). Similarly, Luo Xiangxiang notes that ming in the Zhuangzi connotes four aspects: tianming 天命, yunming 運命, shengming 生命 and xingming 性命1, meaning Heavenly mandate, personal fate, life and human nature, respectively (Luo 2016, p. 22). However, despite similarities in ming’s connotation in the Zhuangzi and Confucian texts, no thorough comparative study exists across these three texts—likely because the Zhuangzi is traditionally viewed as a Daoist text with a philosophical message supposed to differ drastically from Confucian texts.

Nonetheless, I hold that a close examination of how the concept of ming or tianming evolves in the three texts is a worthwhile project, for the following reasons: First of all, philosophers in the Warring States period themselves were not bound by the school distinction. Their arguments targeted individual thinkers instead. For example, Xunzi argues against Mencius, Zisi 子思, and others in “Against Twelve Masters” (Fei Shi’er Zi 非十二子). As a matter of fact, the Warring States period witnessed extremely active dialogs and intense debate among individual texts and writers, many of them may not have considered themselves as belonging to certain “school,” except for those who admit to be the followers of Confucius and Mozi.2 Therefore treating how a key notion evolves among these texts can be helpful to reveal how the texts interacted with one another, both drawing on and reacting to rival texts. As Micheal Puett points out, “the attempt to categorize texts in terms of schools is usually unhelpful and often misleading: rather, our concern should be to explicate the claims of each text within the debates of the time.” (Puett 2002, p. 25). Similarly, Paul Goldin notes that “the real task of a modern critic is to consider the arguments themselves and the ways in which thinkers presented new ideas and responded to old ones,” instead of being limited by classifying texts according to the so-called “schools” identified by Sima Tan (Goldin 2005, p. 91).

Another noteworthy phenomenon concerns the reception history of Zhuangzi in Chinese intellectual history, which has been traced by Yang Rubin 楊儒賓 in his book Zhuangzi within the Confucian School 儒門內的莊子. Yang notes that Song dynasty scholars like Su Shi 蘇軾 and Zhu Xi 朱熹 engaged constructively with Zhuangzi’s thought rather than rejecting it, whereas later Ming–Qing Confucian scholars, with Wang Fuzhi 王夫之 and Fang Yizhi 方以智 as representatives, even integrated Zhuangzi’s ideas into Confucian ethical self-cultivation, contending that Zhuangzi fundamentally merged with Confucian philosophy. Building on this interpretive tradition, Yang Rubin argues that Zhuangzi shares with Zhongyong 中庸 and Yizhuan 易傳 a dual emphasis on cosmic constancy and dynamic transformation, thereby anchoring Zhuangzi within the core Confucian metaphysical framework (Yang 2016, pp. 126–31, 151–67).

2. The Normative vs. Descriptive Tian and Ming in the Analects

Unlike Mohist moral determinism, which posits that Heaven employs ghosts and spirits to enforce moral order, the Confucian understanding of Heaven is more realistic. Confucius demonstrates a clear awareness of the possibility that virtue may not always be rewarded, acknowledging the role of fate in human affairs, as evidenced in Analects 15.32.

“The gentleman devotes his thoughts to attaining the Way, not to obtaining food. In the pursuit of agriculture, there is the possibility of starvation; in the pursuit of learning, there is the possibility of salary. The gentleman is concerned about the Way and not about poverty.”

(E. Slingerland 2003, p. 187)

This passage underscores a fundamental distinction between what lies within and what lies beyond human control. Efforts in agriculture, for instance, do not guarantee a successful harvest, as external factors such as droughts or floods may intervene. Similarly, the pursuit of learning does not always result in securing a desirable position or salary.

Even if learning and moral cultivation do not necessarily lead to worldly success, Confucius still encourages the gentleman to devote himself to personal moral cultivation and the promotion of the Way, regardless of the “normal, non-moral good results.” (Ivanhoe 2007, p. 215).

This theme is echoed in Analects 12.5, where Zixia 子夏 aligns with Confucius’ perspective by explicitly acknowledging the role of fate (ming) and Heaven (tian) in determining life and death, as well as wealth and honor.

When Sima Niu laments, “Everyone has brothers; I alone have none,” Zixia responded: “I have heard it said, ‘Life and death are governed by fate, wealth and honor are determined by Heaven.’ A gentleman is respectful and free of errors. He is reverent and ritually proper in his dealings with others. In this way, everyone within the Four Seas is his brother. How could a gentleman be concerned about not having brothers?”

(E. Slingerland 2003, p. 127)

The tian that determines “wealth and honor” aligns with what Feng Youlan terms the “fatal Heaven”—a force that can appear whimsical and irrational. Similarly, the ming governing “life and death” refers to a realm beyond human control, shaped by a mystical and capricious power. Within this domain lie both one’s lifespan and whatever events one may encounter throughout one’s life. Scholars such as Eno (1990, p. 82), Ted Slingerland (T. Slingerland 1996, p. 567) employ the term “descriptive” to characterize this dimension of tian or ming. In contrast to the “prescriptive” or “normative” aspect, this dimension of ming indicates the absence of a causal link between one’s efforts and their external outcomes, that is, virtue and merit do not guarantee a long life, or a successful career and its attendant wealth and honor.

While acknowledging the limitations of human effort in the face of larger, uncontrollable forces, Zixia expresses an optimistic outlook on the gentleman’s ability to positively influence others and transform the world. He suggests that through ritual practice and moral conduct, a gentleman can foster a sense of universal brotherhood, transcending biological or social ties.

In early Confucian ethics, such dedication to ritual practice and moral self-cultivation is precisely what is ordained by tian. Analects 8.19 and 17.19 describe tian as a salient model for the sagely kings to follow, silently nourishing life and offering a regular pattern that the sages could discern through observation and contemplation. Without any verbal instruction, tian demonstrates its normative value, i.e., the indorsement of the constant Way and its nourishment of life, thus prescribing a specific path for human actions.

17.19. What does Heaven ever say? Yet the four seasons are put in motion by it, and the myriad creatures receive their life from it.

(E. Slingerland 2003, p. 208)

8.19. It is Heaven that is great, and it was Yao who modeled himself upon it. So vast! Among the common people there were none who were able to find words to describe him. How majestic in his accomplishments, and glorious in cultural splendor!

(E. Slingerland 2003, p. 84)

As illustrated in Analects 8.19, through emulating the patten of tian, the sage-king Yao堯 established a radiant culture. This legacy was transmitted through successive generations—from King Wen and Duke Zhou to Confucius himself—forming the bedrock of Confucian tradition.3 Furthermore, tian serves not only as the source of this brilliant culture but also as the cosmic guarantor of its continuity, as attested by Analects 9.5.

The Master was surrounded in Kuang. He said, “Now that King Wen is gone, is not culture (wen) now invested here in me? If Heaven intended this culture to perish, it would not have given it to those of us who live after King Wen’s death. Since Heaven did not intend that this culture should perish, what can the people of Kuang do to me?”

(E. Slingerland 2003, p. 87)

Analects 9.5 reveals Confucius’ confidence that Heaven has chosen him to preserve, expand and pass on the splendid culture handed down to him from the ancient sages. Similar to King Wen’s reception of Heaven’s Mandate to govern the central plain, Confucius’ reception of Heaven’s Mandate to transmit the brilliant culture is also based on virtue (de 德), as he boldly claims in Analects 7.23: “It is Heaven itself that has endowed me with virtue天生德於予.4 What have I to fear from the likes of Huan Tui?” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 71).

Tian not only invests virtue in Confucius and appoints him with a special mission, but also protects him and ensures that such a mission could be carried out without hinderance. Confucius appears to have cultivated an intimate and mutual understanding with tian. In the metaphorical journey of life described in Analects 2.4, Confucius is said to have understood tianming (Heaven’s Mandate) by age fifty. (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 9). He is also confident that tian understands him even when he could not be appointed by any rulers, as is revealed in Analects 14.35: “I study what is below in order to comprehend what is above. If there is anyone who could understand me, perhaps it is Heaven.” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 168). Furthermore, when Zilu offered to pray to the “spirits of Heaven and Earth” to cure him of disease, Confucius replied “I have already been offering up my prayers for some time,” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 76) suggesting that he has devoted his life to serving tian.

Although tian is not portrayed as a personal deity in the Analects, it seems to be able to perceive what happens in the human world and directs wrath against evil deeds, which is attested in the dialog between Wangsun Jia and Confucius in Analects 3.13. When Wangsun Jia insinuated that Confucius should give up his idealism for immediate political gain, Confucius rejected him, replying “Once you have incurred the wrath of Heaven, there is no one to whom you can pray for help.” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 54). Confucius’ reply implies that the practical religious actions such as prayers and sacrifices could be rendered meaningless without adherence to Heaven’s ethical path. Tian thus serves as “a source for ethical warrant” in the human world.5 (Ivanhoe 2007, p. 211).

If tian appointed Confucius a special mission, then how can we account for Confucius’ political failure at Lu and the many setbacks during his wandering among the vassal states? The Boarder Official at Ai’s comments on Confucius in Analects 3.24 provide a clue, as follows:

“The world has been without the Way for a long time now, and Heaven intends to use your Master like the wooden clapper for a bell.”

(E. Slingerland 2003, p. 27)

Edward Slingerland offers an insightful comment on this passage, stating that “Heaven has deliberately caused Confucius to lose his official position so that he might wander throughout the realm, spreading the teachings of the Way and waking up the fallen world.” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 28). This comment aligns with the teleological interpretation of Heaven’s Mandate by Robert Eno, who argues that it is exactly the political failure of Confucius that enables him to be devoted to the course of teaching and cultural transmission. In other words, tian legitimizes Confucius’ political idealism and his withdrawal from practical politics, offering a ground for the Confucian pursuit of sage-hood and prescribing a path to it, i.e., through the practices of ritual forms. (Eno 1990, pp. 85, 87, 94).

Eno insightfully notes that tian’s teleological plan “subordinates the descriptive values of experience to prescriptive dogma” by shifting the attention from the present to the distant future. (Eno 1990, p. 88). Confucius is confident that even if tian’s prescriptive order could not be realized at the present age, such an order will ultimately prevail in the long run, as the moral order of tian is timeless and universal, transcending the temporary failures of the contemporary age. Surrendering to the descriptive limitations set on him by tian, Confucius withdrew from the political arena, “tirelessly and joyously playing the part of the wooden bell,” as Eno suggests. (Eno 1990, p. 91).

While Eno perceptively points out the present/future distinction in the reception of Confucian ideal, he apparently fails to grasp the profound sorrow and poignant emotion conveyed in the words of the Boarder Official at Ai. To say that Confucius would “joyously” play the role of the wooden bell certainly misses the point, for neither Confucius nor any upright gentlemen of his age would wish to live in a world without the Way. Confucius chooses to bow to tian’s ultimate authority because he deeply recognizes the futility to resist tian. As is stated in Analects 14.36, “Whether or not the Way is to be put into action is a matter of fate. Whether or not the Way is to be discarded is also a matter of fate. What power does Gongbo Liao have to affect fate!” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 168). Here ming (i.e., the fatal Heaven) represents a mystical and absolute power that humans have to abide by. It may thwart the efforts of the wicked to protect the worthy. But under certain circumstances, it may also hinder the endeavors of the worthy people.

As a matter of fact, Confucius frequently lamented that the Way could not prevail at his age and that the gentleman (junzi 君子)6 would have to choose to “hide from the world” (yin 隱)7. The Analects records several occasions in which Confucius overtly expressed his disillusionment over the thwarted ambitions of his career. In Analects 9.9, Confucius uttered in despair: “The phoenix has not appeared, the Yellow River has not produced its chart—it is all over for me.” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 89).

The phoenix and the chart are auspicious omens sent by tian as the signal that sagely rulers will arise to bring peace and order to the world. Their absence thus signifies that time has not been ripe for Confucius to achieve his goal. While lamenting he was not born into the right age, Confucius seems to insinuate that tian is thwarting his efforts, whereby if in the past tian had appointed the sagely Yao, Shun, King Wen, and the Duke of Zhou to bring order to the world, why did tian not create favorable conditions for him to exert his influence? So far, we can safely conclude, even if Confucius’ political failure can be attributed to Heaven’s Mandate, assigning him the role of teaching and cultural transmission, he had not accepted such Mandate joyfully, without any grievance.

If the lack of auspicious omens leads to Confucius’ doubt about his mission and despair over the corruption of the current age, then the death of Yan Hui prompts him to voice a direct and anguished cry against tian in Analects 11.9: “Heaven has bereft me!” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 114). Yan Hui is undoubtedly Confucius’ most beloved disciple. On numerous occasions, Confucius openly praises Yan Hui for his exceptional qualities, including his intellectual brilliance, humility, and moral integrity. Among all his disciples, Yan Hui stands out as a paragon of benevolence (ren 仁) and wisdom (zhi 知), embodying the ideals that Confucius seeks to impart. Obviously, as the most outstanding and beloved disciple, Yan Hui is tasked with preserving the Confucian legacy. The death of Yan Hui thus gives Confucius a most devastating blow: his efforts may have been in vain not only during his lifetime but also in the near future.

Further, the death of Yan Hui introduces yet another tragic dimension: Yan Hui died of sickness at a very young age. Another disciple of Confucius, Bo Niu 伯牛, died of leprosy, also at an early age. As Ivanhoe points out, the tragedy of Yan Hui and Bo Niu’s premature death lies in the fact that “they were morally fine people cut down early in life for no apparent reason and in the service of no greater cause.” (Ivanhoe 2011, p. 140). Ultimately, it is death that carries fate (ming)’s sharpest sting, for in a tradition that prizes life for its ethical and intellectual potential, death signifies the deprivation of all such possibility. Consider the portrayal of Confucius’ spiritual autobiography in Analects 2.4: It is only through a long and devoted journey of ethical cultivation starting at age fifteen that he was able to reach the final stage of “following my heart’s desires without overstepping the bounds of propriety” at seventy. (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 9). It seems that a relatively long life span is set as a necessary condition for the attainment of full-fledging virtue. A short life span, on the other hand, implies less chance for one to fully display an ethically flourishing life.

The high value placed on longevity in early Chinese culture can be evidenced by the prevalence of shou 壽 (longevity) as a blessing in bronze inscriptions from Western Zhou onward. The Analects also reveals a deep esteem for longevity, as is attested to in the assertion “the Good are long-lived” 仁者壽.8 (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 60). When asked by Duke Ai about which disciple can be said to love learning, Confucius laments “There was one named Yan Hui, unfortunately, his allotted lifespan was short, and he has passed away 不幸短命死矣.” (E. Slingerland 2003, p. 53). If a premature death is perceived as a profound misfortune, then the untimely death of Yan Hui, the quintessential exemplar of Confucian virtue, may be interpreted as an unparalleled tragedy.

As the preceding analysis demonstrates, Confucius’ attitude toward tian is complex, marked by a blend of optimism and despair. He surrenders to tian’s ultimate authority, not only out of his confidence in the normative correctness of Heaven’s order, but also because of his awareness of the futility of rejecting the Heaven-conferred fate. Further, as long as life is normatively privileged over death in the Analects, an irreducible tension persists between the prescriptive Mandate and descriptive fate, as tian does not guarantee one an extended lifespan as a reward for one’s virtuous conduct. In other words, tian does not necessarily provide the chance for an upright individual to fulfill its normative imperatives. Such a tension, however, can somehow be resolved in the Zhuangzi, wherein the life-death dichotomy is deconstructed, as will be discussed in part 4 of this article.

3. Tension Between Tian as an Ethical Warrant and Tian’s Whimsical Will in the Mencius

The divergence between the normative tian, as an ethical warrant and a source of moral order, and the fatal tian that is beyond human comprehension persists in the Mencius. In the text of Mencius, the Mandate of Heaven is internalized within the individual, manifesting as innate capacities that encompass both rational and affective faculties, as is revealed in 6A15.

It is not the office of the ears and eyes to concentrate (si 思), and they are misled by things. Things interact with things and simply lead them along. But the office of the heart is to concentrate. If it concentrates then it will get [virtue]. If it does not concentrate, then it will not get it. This is what Heaven has given us. If one first takes one’s stand on what is greater, then what is lesser will not be able to snatch it away. This is [how to] become a great person.

(Van Norden 2008, p. 156)

Here the “greater part” of human being, xin 心, is regarded as the Heavenly endowed 天之所與我者 and possesses the capacity to si, concentrate. Bryan W. Van Norden points out that the mental activity of si should involve both the affective aspect of longing for and the cognitive aspect of thinking and judging. (Van Norden 2007, pp. 231–32). On the cognitive side, si is the capacity to make correct judgment and select the most appropriate course of action, without being clouded by external objects or misled by sensual desires.

The affective aspect of xin deserves fuller elaboration. As is shown by Manyul Im’s pioneering study, the importance of emotion in Mencian ethics can be amply attested.9 It is reiterated in the Mencius that good actions can leave our hearts pleased 慊於心, and that reason and righteousness please our hearts 理義之悅我心. (Lau 2003, p. 251). And, as revealed in 4A27, virtues of benevolence and righteousness can bring great delight and joy to an individual. (Lau 2003, pp. 168–69). Even shame and anger, commonly viewed as negative emotions, are seen in Mencius to be the source of righteousness. As the thought experiment in 6A10 suggests, anger aroused when one’s dignity and fame are at stake will lead one to righteous acts. (Lau 2003, p. 255).

Furthermore, as is revealed in 2A6, xin contains “our innate moral feelings and dispositions” (Nivison 1996, p. 8) that will grow into the four cardinal virtues if properly cultivated:

My reason for saying that no man is devoid of a heart sensitive to the suffering of others is this. Suppose a man were, all of a sudden, to see a young child on the verge of falling into a well. He would certainly be moved to compassion, not because he wanted to get in the good graces of the parents, nor because he wished to win the praise of his fellow villagers or friends, nor yet because he disliked the cry of the child. From this it can be seen that whoever is devoid of the heart of compassion is not human, whoever is devoid of the heart of shame is not human, whoever is devoid of the heart of courtesy and modesty is not human, and whoever is devoid of the heart of right and wrong is not human. The heart of compassion is the beginning of benevolence; the heart of shame, of righteousness; the heart of courtesy and modesty, of observance of the rites; the heart of right and wrong, of wisdom. Man has these four beginnings just as he has four limbs.10

(Lau 2003, pp. 72–73)

The four beginnings encompass emotional reactions (i.e., the heart of compassion and the heart of shame) that may prompt one to do good as well as the cognitive capacity (i.e., the heart of courtesy and modesty, and the heart of right and wrong) to make sound judgments that may prompt one to walk on the right path. Heaven plants these innate sprouts into our heart, and prescribes us to cultivate them so that they may grow into full-fledging virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom. To serve Heaven 事天, therefore, is to preserve, cultivate and expand “what tian has given us” to the fullest extent. As revealed in 4A1, the sages are those who have “taxed the faculty of si in our heart to its utmost capacity 竭心思.” (Lau 2003, p. 149). A direct articulation of how to serve tian, however, is contained in 7A1.

To fully fathom one’s heart is to understand one’s nature. To understand one’s nature is to understand Heaven. To preserve one’s heart and nourish one’s nature is the way to serve Heaven. To not become conflicted over the length of one’s life but to cultivate oneself and await one’s ming is the way to take one’s stand on ming.

(Van Norden 2008, p. 171)

This passage provides a succinct summary of how the four key notions in Mencian ethics—xin, xing 性, tian, and ming—are interrelated. The goodness of human nature (xing) should be accounted for in terms of the moral sprouts in our heart. As Kwong-Loi Shun notes, “he [Mencius] regarded xing as constituted primarily by the development of the ethical predispositions of the heart/mind.” (Shun 1997, p. 198). These moral sprouts are in turn endowed by tian, as our previous discussion reveals. “To preserve one’s heart and nourish one’s nature” thus denotes a process of moral cultivation during which the Heavenly endowed affective and rational capacities are carefully attended to over time and fully actualized in the end. Tian in this context clearly stands for the moral and normative Heaven. Corresponding to this normative dimension of Heaven, ming here denotes Heaven’s moral command for man. “To take one’s stand on ming” then suggests that we obey Heaven’s order to cultivate ourselves by attending to the Heavenly endowed moral sprouts.

On the other hand, by stating that one shall not “become conflicted over the length of one’s life” 殀壽不貳, this passage also implies the existence of a whimsical fate, which may not reward the virtue-seekers with longevity. Nonetheless, it encourages us to focus on that which is within our control: a persistent and steadfast effort of self-cultivation, instead of worrying about the realm that is controlled by the arbitrary fate.

The distinction between what is within and what is beyond human control implied here11 is explicitly stated in 7A3.

Seek it and you will get it. Abandon it and you will lose it. In this case, seeking helps in getting, because the seeking is in oneself. ‘There is a Way to seek it, but getting it depends on fate.’ In this case, seeking does not help in getting, because the seeking is external.”

(Van Norden 2008, p. 172)

A reference to 6A6 and 6A16 will help to clarify what “the seeking that is in oneself” represents. As Mencius suggests in 6A6, “Benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are not welded to us externally. We inherently have them. … Hence, it is said, ‘Seek it and you will get it. Abandon it and you will lose it.’” (Van Norden 2008, p. 149). In 6A16, Mencius makes a distinction between Heavenly honors and human honors, stating that “Benevolence, righteousness, devotion, faithfulness, delighting in goodness without tiring---these are Heavenly honors 天爵. Being a duke, High Minister, or Chief Counselor---these are human honors 人爵.” (Van Norden 2008, pp. 156–57).

We can thus conclude that moral virtues, which lie within us, are what we will definitely attain provided we direct enough efforts at them. They should be the single path that we set our feet on if we want to live a flourishing life. On the other hand, such external things as wealth, success, power, and fame should not be set as the primary goal of life. At most, they are the by-products of our self-cultivation. As Mencius suggests in 6A16, “The ancients cultivated Heavenly honors, and human honors followed upon them.” (Van Norden 2008, p. 157).

In an excellent study on ming in early Confucianism, Ted Slingerland highlights the inner-outer dichotomy reflected in 7A3, pointing out that “an emphasis on external things not only diverts energy away from the process of self-cultivation, but is also pointless in a purely practical sense, since these things lie outside human control.” (T. Slingerland 1996, p. 573) Shifting our attention from the concerns such as wealth or poverty, fortunes or misfortunes, longevity or premature death, which belong to the realm of fate, Mencius thus offers “a mature and realistic assessment of the limits of human power coupled with a firm resolution to attend to one’s proper task.” (T. Slingerland 1996, p. 577).

As the above analysis demonstrates, Mencius’ attitude toward ming is to embrace its normative dimension, by realizing the moral mandate of Heaven, while fully accepting its descriptive dimension without any complaint. As 7A2 suggests, “Everything is fate. But one only accepts one’s proper fate….To die through fathoming the Way is one’s proper ming”12 盡其道而死者，正命也. (Van Norden 2008, p. 171). So far, the tension between normative and prescriptive Heaven seems to be reconcilable, since Mencius encourages man to be focused solely on moral self-cultivation, regardless of external circumstances, so as to transcend the whimsical fate and the descriptive dimension of tian. But this conclusion apparently fails to encompass the complexity of Mencius’ thought.

While Mencius dismisses worldly honor or prestige, his teachings are inextricably tied to governance. On numerous occasions, he urges the vassal rulers to adopt a benevolent policy or to rule with kindness and virtue. His commitment to political ideals is also widely attested in the text. 2B13 reveals his ambition to shoulder the responsibility of fostering order and prosperity across the world, once tian raises a sage king for him to assist or counsel.

Every five hundred years, a King must arise. Between them, there must be those illustrious in their time. Since the founding of the Zhou, it has already been more than seven hundred years. This is more than enough time. And if one examines the situation in our era, it seems an appropriate time. Nonetheless, Heaven does not yet desire to pacify the world. If it desired to pacify the world, who besides me in the present time is there?

(Van Norden 2008, p. 61)

This passage exposes an irresolvable tension between tian as an ethical warrant and the mysterious will of tian that defies human understanding. The statement that “Heaven does not yet desire to pacify the world” is very revealing. How is it possible that tian, as the collective will of people, does not desire to bring peace and order to its people? Apparently, tian’s descriptive dimension (i.e., the political situation in certain historical period) here runs counter to its own normative order. Further, not only can tian’s decision inconsistent with its normative course, but also tian may block the path of a true sage, including Mencius himself, as Michaeal Puett points out. (Puett 2002, pp. 136–40).

As far as the political order is concerned, historical precedent does not always apply, for the pattern for a sage king to arise every five hundred years is now revoked at the age of Mencius. As a matter of fact, tian’s will can be completely beyond human understanding. Recognizing the futility to predict Heaven’s work, Mencius cannot help but lament that time has not been ripe for him to make any grand achievement, irrespective of his confidence to be one among “the illustrious” 名世者. 5A6 reflects a similar tendency to ascribe whatever cannot be explained by human reason to Heaven’s mystical will.

The differences in the periods during which Shun, Yu, and Yi were Prime Ministers, and that the sons of the former two were not worthy—these are all due to Heaven. These are not the doings of a human. When no one does it, yet it is done—this is due to Heaven. When no one extends to it yet it is reached—this is fate.

(Van Norden 2008, p. 125)

This passage appears in the context where Mencius explains to his disciple, Wan Zhang 萬章, the transition from abdication 禪 to hereditary succession 繼 in kingship. Here, tian is granted absolute and ultimate authority to decide who shall become the king of all under Heaven, or by what means the king ascends the throne13. To possess perfect virtue is a necessary condition for a commoner to have the world 有天下. However, not all worthy individuals who possess virtue comparable to Yu or Shun could become the king. Only if a worthy person acquires the king’s recommendation to Heaven and no worthy heir exists among the king’s sons can a commoner like Yi 益, Yiyin 伊尹 or Confucius ever ascend the throne. However, whether one can get the recommendation of the Son of Heaven or whether the king’s heir is worthy or not is purely decided by the will of Heaven, which is a mystery beyond human comprehension: “When no one does it, yet it is done—this is due to Heaven.” As Chen Daibo 陳代波 points out, tian becomes the sovereign who ultimately determines all the inexplainable events in human sphere, be it the personal fate or the political order of an age (D. Chen 2014, p. 57).

To conclude, when it comes to one’s individual life, the tension between the norma and descriptive tian and ming can partially be resolved—for neither Mencius nor Confucius shows the slightest concern for personal wealth, honor, or worldly success, they instead encourage people to be dedicated to moral self-cultivation regardless of the external rewards. Nonetheless, so long as political order matters—or one still aspires to establish virtuous governance to impose peace and order on the world—the tension between the “normative” and “fatal” Heaven remains fundamentally unresolved.

4. The Zhuangzi: Resolving the Tension Between the Normative and Descriptive Tian and Ming

The Zhuangzi reveals a similar recognition of the absolute authority of tian and a wholehearted embrace of whatever ming that tian confers upon a person. It defines ming as the limitations imposed on humans by both nature and society in a passage in the “Symbols of Integrity Fulfilled” (Dechong fu 德充符) chapter.

Life and death, preservation and loss, failure and success, poverty and wealth, worthiness and unworthiness, slander and praise, hunger and thirst, cold and heat—these are all the transformations of affairs and the operation of destiny (ming 命). Day and night they alternate before us, but human knowledge is incapable of perceiving their source.”

(Mair 1994, p. 47)

This passage reveals the same tendency as in the Mencius to regard ming as a mystical force beyond human comprehension: human knowledge is incapable of perceiving the source of ming. Ming in this context connotes the limitations The scope of ming here includes but is not limited to the Confucian dimensions. Besides life span, wealth, success and honor, ming in the Zhuangzi includes the tags of worthiness and unworthiness that society attaches to an individual. (Sarcastically, these are often judgments made through the Confucian lenses.)

While Mencius proposes that such physical desires like the longing for tasty food and beautiful sights should belong to the scope of ming, the Zhuangzi adopts “hunger and thirst, cold and heat” to emphasize the basic needs of human life as well as the limitations that nature imposes on human body. The Zhuangzi also depicts certain circumstances in which man suffers from extreme hunger, which is thought to be the harsh blow of ming, as is revealed in this anecdote in the “Great Ancestral Teacher” (Da zongshi 大宗師):

Ziyu and Zisang were friends. Once it rained incessantly for ten days. Ziyu said to himself, Zisang is probably having a bad time, and he wrapped up some rice and took it for his friend to eat. When he got to Zisang’s gate, he heard something like singing or crying, and someone striking a lute and saying: Father? Mother? Heaven? Man? It was as though the voice would not hold out and the singer were rushing to get through the words. Ziyu went inside and said, “What do you mean—singing a song like that!” “I was pondering what it is that had brought me to this extremity, but I couldn’t find the answer. My father and mother surely wouldn’t wish this poverty on me. Heaven covers all without partiality; earth bears up all without partiality—heaven and earth surely wouldn’t single me out to make me poor. I try to discover who is doing it, but I can’t get the answer. Still, here I am—at the very extreme. It must be fate.”

(Watson 1968, p. 91)

The natural disaster of incessant rain would have deprived Zisang 子桑 of his life, were it not for his friend Ziyu 子輿, who came to his rescue with food. Zisang could not figure out why Heaven was subjecting him to this and ascribed it to ming. Again, we find in Zisang’s words the same tendency as in Mencius 5A6 to ascribe whatever is beyond human understanding to ming. Although Zisang was not openly blaming tian, one can still sense his helplessness and despondency, for, after all, the so-called ming is ultimately governed by tian. Zisang’s predicament can thus remind us of the direct questioning of tian’s benignity in the Daodejing, which says, “Heaven and Earth are not humane. They regard the ten thousand things as straw dogs” 天地不仁，以萬物為芻狗. (Boshu Laozi Jiaozhu 1996, p. 243; Henricks 1989, p. 196).

At the first glance, Zisang’s reaction to his predicament seems to be different from other Zhuangzian sages, who are described to be able to face sickness, deformation and even death with equanimity. For example, Ziyu, the interlocutor of Zisang in the above passage, is presented in another anecdote in the same chapter to have calmly accepted his physical condition without any resentment, when he suffered from a fatal disease that completely transfigured him.

Soon Ziyu became ill, and Zisi went to visit him. Ziyu said: “Great is the Creator of Things—putting me out of shape like this! My back is hunched; my five sense-organs are on top; my chin is hidden in my navel; my shoulders are higher than the crown of my head; my neck-bones point to Heaven.” There was a disorder in his yin and yang qi, but his mind was at ease, as though there was nothing the matter. He limped over to a well and saw his reflection; he said: “Alas! The Creator of Things has put me out of shape like this!”

(Goldin 2003, p. 228)

Ziyu is portrayed as being completely at ease. When Zisi asks him if he resents such disfigurement, he replies that there is no reason for him to do so. And his action conforms with his words: he jauntily observes his own reflection in the well with great interest and wonders how amazing it is for the “creator” 造物者 (i.e., tian or dao) to have transformed him into such a crooked shape. It seems that what such physical changes bring him is not sorrow and bitterness, but amazement and awe.

However, although Ziyu ultimately submits to the “creator”, he does it only after careful and somehow painful deliberation, as is shown in the latter part of Ziyu’s speech:

Moreover, what we obtain, we obtain because it is the right time; what we lose, we lose because we must follow [the flow of Nature]. If we are at peace with our time and dwell in the flow, sorrow and joy cannot enter into us. This is what the ancients called “unencumbered.” Those who are unable to release themselves are tied down by objects. But nothing can ever win against Heaven—that’s the way it’s always been. Why would I resent it?

(Goldin 2003, p. 228)

Let us follow Ziyu’s train of thought: First, Ziyu does not allow concerns over gains and losses and the negative emotions brought about by such concerns to penetrate into his inner self. Second, Ziyu admits that any attempt to fight against tian is doomed to fail. It is only after the aforementioned reasoning that Ziyu elects to accept his fate with equanimity. His immediate reaction to the disease and disfigurement, however, is not presented in the text. But we can infer it through comparing Ziyu’s case with Zisang’s lamentation and the changes in Zhuangzi’s attitude toward the death of his wife in an anecdote in the “Ultimate Joy” (Zhile 至樂) chapter. Confronted with the death of his wife, Zhuangzi’s first reaction was not different from that of the ordinary people: “When she first died, do you think I didn’t grieve like anyone else?” (Watson 1968, p. 192). Later, upon thinking over the nature of life and death, Zhuangzi realized that there was no reason for his grief. Therefore, when Hui Shi came to offer condolences to Zhuangzi, he was surprised to see the latter banging at a basin and singing a song, instead of wailing and weeping, as regular mourners would do.

Viewing Zisang’s lamentation and Ziyu’s explanation in light of the changes in Zhuangzi’s reactions to his wife’s death, we start to understand that Zisang’s response, which is seemingly inconsistent with the attitude of other exemplars, is nothing but a representation of the authentic reaction of all Zhuangzian sages when they are first confronted with a harsh situation that tian pours on them, be it sickness, poverty, or death.

Nonetheless, like Confucius and Mencius, the Zhuangzian sages eventually realize the futility of fighting against tian and thus achieve an equanimity in the face of the capricious fate that Heaven confers upon man. Unlike the morally normative Confucian Heaven, however, the Zhuangzian tian is cosmically normative. In the Zhuangzi, tian embodies a cosmic principle that humans cannot defy at all.14 Therefore, surrendering to tian and accepting whatever tian endows is the only choice left for man. This is why the attitude “to know that these things could not be otherwise, and be content with them as our destiny” 知其不可奈何而安之若命 (Graham 1981, p. 70) is reiterated in the Zhuangzi. Another term that conveys similar message, “having no choice but to” 不得已 occurs fifteen times in the Zhuangzi. Such expressions are so prevalent that Liu Xiaogan even regards “the fundamental enigma of haplessness and inevitability in human existence, which is usually represented by the conventional term ming” as the primary dimension of Zhuangzi’s philosophy. (Liu 2015, p. 222). Similarly, Chong Kim-chong stresses that the Zhuangzian notion of ming connotes “an acknowledgement of the contingencies of life over which people have no control.” (Chong 2016, p. 130).

In a sense, it is not that the sages are so pleased with tian’s gift that they cheerfully receive it, but that they have no other choice but to accept it without grievance, for fighting tian with human cleverness will only worsen one’s situation, as Ziyu says, “nothing can ever win against Heaven” 物不勝天. (Goldin 2003, p. 228). The Zhuangzi adopts the image of the mantis trying to stop the carriage with his arms to convey the futility of such efforts.15

Thus far, we observe that the Zhuangzi adopts an attitude toward ming similar to that of the Analects and Mencius. All three texts reflect a submission to tian’s order, grounded in the acknowledgment that humans must accept the fate it decrees. The key distinction lies in the Zhuangzi’s complete absence of the Confucian expectation that tian ought to act as a moral arbiter. As discussed earlier, Mencius articulates hopes for tian to elevate sage-kings and restore worldly order, while Confucius voices sorrow over the fact that the Way could not prevail at his age. The Zhuangzi, however, displays little concern for the political order. The Zhuangzian sages are known for shunning political duties to pursue spiritual freedom instead.

The chapter of “Free and Easy Wandering” (Xiaoyao you 逍遙遊) records an anecdote about Xu You 許由 rejecting Yao’s offer to cede the empire to him, saying “I have no use for the rulership of the world.” (Watson 1968, pp. 32–33). In the “Autumn Flood” (Qiushui 秋水), there is an anecdote about Zhuangzi rejecting the King of Chu’s invitation to be the prime minister, declaring the following:

I have heard that in Chu there is a sacred tortoise that has already been dead for three thousand years. The king stores it in his ancestral temple inside of a hamper wrapped with cloth. Do you think this tortoise would rather be dead and have its bones preserved as objects of veneration, or be alive and dragging its tail through the mud?” “It would rather be alive and dragging its tail through the mud,” said the two officials. “Begone!” said Master Chuang. “I’d rather be dragging my tail in the mud.

(Mair 1994, p. 164)

The image of the tortoise dragging its tail through the mud conveys Zhuangzi’s determination to avoid the dangers of political struggles and freedom from worldly prestige. In “Responses for Emperors and Kings” (Ying Diwang 應帝王), the Zhuangzi again critiques the preoccupation with ruling the world through the figure of an “Anonymous” 無名人, who asserts:

I’m about to become a companion of the Creator of Things. When I get tired, I’ll mount upon a nebulous bird to go beyond the limits of the universe and wander in Never-never Land so that I may dwell in its wide open spaces. Why the dickens are you disturbing my mind with this talk of governing all under heaven?

(Mair 1994, p. 67)

By advocating withdrawal from political life and detachment from worldly affairs, the Zhuangzi thereby sidesteps the Confucian tension between normative moral Heaven and descriptive fatalistic Heaven. In the Zhuangzi, tian is stripped of the ethical dimension central to Confucianism, aligning it instead with the spontaneous cosmic transformation. Humans should never impose self-centered expectations on tian, including the expectation for tian to restore a peaceful and harmonious age wherein the Way prevails.

Another point that helps to resolve the tension between the normative and descriptive aspects of tian in the Zhuangzi lies in its transcending the boundary between life and death. As noted earlier, longevity is valued in Confucian tradition, primarily because it provides greater opportunity to cultivate virtues and live a fulfilled life. The Zhuangzi，in contrast, does not prioritize life over death. It is noted for the destruction of the artificial distinctions, such as those between benefit and harm, wealth and poverty, nobleness and baseness, with the distinction between life and death being the most seemingly insurmountable.

The Zhuangzi adopts a series of strategies to deconstruct the binary opposition between life and death. The first step is to question ordinary people’s tendency to detest death and cling to life—the story of Lady Li serves this purpose.

How do I know that loving life is not a delusion? How do I know that in hating death I am not like a man who, having left home in his youth, has forgotten the way back? Lady Li was the daughter of the border guard of Ai. When she was first taken captive and brought to the state of Jin, she wept until tears drenched the collar of her robe. But later, when she went to live in the palace of the ruler, shared his couch with him, and ate the delicious meats of his table, she wondered why she had ever wept. How do I know that the dead do not wonder why they ever longed for life?

(Watson 1968, p. 47)

The analogy between Lady Li’s sadness over her captivity and the fear of death shows that the desire for life and hatred of death may be caused sheerly by the ignorance of what is to come after death, whereby it is very possible that what death offers is a much more promising future than life—like the happy life Lady Li enjoys at the palace of the king of Jin. At the same time, the rhetorical questions that precede and follow the anecdote, with its strong skeptical tone, serve to remind us of the existence of different perspectives. Together, they prompt us to reconsider the legitimacy of our long-held beliefs on death and shakes our certitude that life is preferable to death. The entire passage thus dissolves the binary opposition between life and death.

The second strategy is to portray death as part of the cosmic transformation. The Zhuangzi often compares the change between life and death to that between day and night or the four seasons, indicating that life and death are equal stages in an endless cycle of changes. “Life and death are destined. Their constant alternation, like that of day and night, is due to heaven.” (Mair 1994, p. 53). As the above quote indicates, what underlies the cosmic transformation is tian, the basic cosmological principle nothing in the world can resist. The Zhuangzian exemplars thus joyfully await their tian-conferred fate, embracing each stage of transformation granted by tian: “So if I think well of my life, for the same reason I must think well of my death.” (Watson 1968, p. 80).

Not only do these Zhuangzian sages embrace every stage of human life, but also they joyfully conjures up what further transformation might take place on their bodily form upon death, as the previously cited anecdote about Ziyu indicates: “Suppose my left arm is transformed into a rooster; I would comply and keep track of the time of night. Suppose my right arm is transformed into a crossbow; I would comply and look for an owl to roast. Suppose my buttocks are transformed into wheels and my spirit into a horse; I would comply and ride—why would I ever need a car?” (Goldin 2003, p. 228).

Apparently, Ziyu is not clinging to his human form of life. Instead, he readily joins the cosmic transformation wherein human life and other animate or even inanimate lives are seen, from the perspective of the dao, to be all equal.16 Not only does Zhuangzi views human life as equal to animal life, he also suggests that the distinction between them should be dissolved, as in the anecdote of Zhuang Zhou dreaming himself being transformed into a butterfly. In addition, he uses images of the kun-fish, peng-bird, and the turtle wagging its tail in the mud to embody the freedom derived from following tian and dao—a freedom humans cannot enjoy due to their self-consciousness about a human-centered world filled with values and judgments.

Paradoxically, by surrendering himself to ming and flow with the cosmic transformation, Ziyu has actually transcended ming. In other words, we transcend ming by surrendering to the irresistible fate yet at the same time keeping those beyond our control outside the mind—our inner being, as is stated in the “Symbols of Integrity Fulfilled” (Dechong Fu 德充符) chapter, immediately after the list of items that belong to the realm of ming: “Therefore, we should not let them disturb our equanimity, nor should we let them enter our numinous treasury.” 故不足以滑和, 不可入於靈府 (Mair 1994, pp. 47–48). In this sense, the inner-outer dichotomy in the Mencius persists in the Zhuangzi: whereas Mencius encourages us to focus on what is within our control regardless of the external rewards, the Zhuangzi reminds us to guard our inner equanimity against disturbances from external factors—despite social disgrace, natural disasters or even the imminence of death.

To conclude, surrendering to ming in the Zhuangzi signifies an alignment with cosmic transformation, which in turn liberates one from the artificially constructed distinctions between right and wrong, worthy and unworthy, as well as life and death. The liberated spirit thus wanders freely in the sphere beyond the human cultural realm 方之外, roaming in infinity 遊無窮, in companionship with the creator of things 造物者 (i.e., the Dao), completely transcending the limitations set on human beings by ming.

5. Conclusions

This examination of ming and tian in the texts of Analects, Mencius, and Zhuangzi reveals both subtle interconnections and profound divergences within early Chinese philosophical discourse. Synthesizing the core interpretations, we find that for Confucius, tian retains a potent, awe-inspiring authority deeply intertwined with the moral–cultural order, while ming signifies the inevitable constraints and destinies individuals must recognize and accept with virtuous composure. Mencius significantly internalizes tian, presenting it as the ultimate source of inherent moral dispositions and tendencies (xing) within humans; ming thus signifies the “mandate” to cultivate one’s xing and fully actualize one’s Heavenly endowed moral potentials. Nonetheless, from a historical-political perspective, tian may represent a mysterious and whimsical force that thwarts the efforts of the sages. In contrast, the Zhuangzi radically naturalizes and de-moralizes tian, equating it with the spontaneous, transformative processes of the cosmos; ming is understood as the necessary, impersonal flow of events within this vast web of existence, advocating for alignment rather than moral striving.

The overarching significance of this comparative analysis lies in its illumination of a major creative evolution in the concept of tian during the pivotal transition from the Chunqiu to the Warring States periods. The trajectory moves from Confucius’ more personalized tian to Mencius’ immanent moral foundation, culminating in Zhuangzi’s utterly impersonal and natural cosmic force. This evolution reflects broader shifts in philosophical concerns—from maintaining ritual order and social harmony (Confucius) to grounding ethics in human nature (Mencius) and, ultimately, to seeking liberation through cosmic perspective and spontaneity (Zhuangzi). Furthermore, the dialectic between Confucian and Daoist perspectives on ming and tian emerges as a central comparative theme in early Chinese thought: the tension between Confucian emphasis on moral cultivation within the bounds of fate versus the Daoist emphasis on transcending human-centered values, embracing natural necessity (ming), and finding freedom through attunement to the cosmic tian.

Despite their divergent philosophical frameworks, the Analects, Mencius, and Zhuangzi collectively articulate a transcendent vision of human existence. Each text, while unequivocally acknowledging the constraints of fate (ming 命)—expressed through Confucius’ call to “know Heaven’s Mandate” 知天命, Mencius’ injunction to “accept one’s proper fate” 顺受其正, and Zhuangzi’s ideal of “being at peace with ming” 安命—simultaneously elevates human agency as the catalyst for eternal significance. This agency manifests not through external conquest, but through the cultivation of an imperishable inner realm—whether Confucius’ moral–cultural order, Mencius’ innate moral sprout, or Zhuangzi’s spiritually liberated mind. Crucially, this pursuit of transcendence through inner self-realization dissolves superficial boundaries between Confucian ethics and Daoist spirituality, revealing a foundational unity in classical Chinese thought—one that transforms fatalism into existential freedom through ethical–esthetic mastery of the self.