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The Image of Music and Sound in Xunzi's 'On Music': A Study of Character, Cosmos, and the Cultivation of Rites and Music

This paper offers an in-depth interpretation of the 'Image of Music and Sound' (Sheng Yue zhi Xiang) discussed in Xunzi's 'On Music,' clarifying the Pre-Qin meaning of 'Xiang' (image/analogy) and elucidating how the qualities of sound correspond to the myriad things in the cosmos. It further situates this correspondence within Xunzi's Confucian framework of 'transforming human nature through rites and music' to explore the cosmological significance and pedagogical function of music.

Tianwen Editorial Team February 12, 2026 101 min read PDF Markdown
The Image of Music and Sound in Xunzi's 'On Music': A Study of Character, Cosmos, and the Cultivation of Rites and Music

Section 5: Why "Not Seeing Oneself, Not Hearing Oneself"$23

Fifth Question: Why does Xunzi consider "not seeing oneself, not hearing oneself" ($\text{mù bù zì jiàn, ěr bù zì wén}$) the highest state of dance$24 Why not aim for precise self-control$25

This question touches upon the core Confucian discussion of the relationship between "nature" ($\text{xìng}$) and "effort" ($\text{miǎnqiáng}$).

Logically, the highest state of dance might seem to be flawless self-control—the dancer constantly monitors every movement to ensure zero error. However, Xunzi argues the opposite—"not seeing oneself, not hearing oneself," meaning no self-monitoring, is the highest state. Why$26

Because "self-monitoring" implies a separation between the actor and the action—"I" am watching "my movements"; "I" and "my action" are divided. While this division allows for error correction (because one can see the error), it limits the fluency and naturalness of the action—one must constantly switch between "thinking" and "doing," judging and adjusting, making truly fluid action impossible.

Conversely, "not seeing oneself, not hearing oneself" implies a complete unity between actor and action—no distance, no division, no switching between "thinking" and "doing." The dancer is the dance—the dance is simply happening. Under this condition, movement is most fluid, most natural, and most precise, because there is no interference from conscious deliberation.

This state resonates with Confucius's statement on reaching seventy: "At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired without overstepping the boundaries ($\text{bù yú jǔ}$)." (Analects, Wei Zheng)

"Following what the heart desires without overstepping the boundaries" ($\text{cóng xīn suǒ yù bù yú jǔ}$) is not about suppressing desire to obey the rules, but about the desire itself becoming integrated with the rules—what the heart desires is what the boundary requires.

The dancer’s "not seeing oneself, not hearing oneself" is the bodily equivalent of this—bodily actions flow naturally and perfectly align with the measures of the bell and drum. It is not that the body is forced to obey the rhythm, but that the body’s natural movement is the correct rhythm. This is the ultimate achievement of cultivation—where "nature" ($\text{xìng}$) and "artifice" ($\text{wěi}$) are perfectly merged, and naturalness and regulation are completely unified.