《南华真经余事杂录(陈景元)》

Chen Jingyuan compiled the Nanhua Zhenjing Yushi Zalu in two volumes. It is included in the Zhonghua Daozang under the Four Masters True Scriptures, with the base text taken from the Zhengtong Daozang in the Jade Instructions category of the Dongshen section of the Three Caverns (Dongzhen/Dongxuan/Dongshen).

This is the upper volume of the Nanhua Zhenjing Yushi Zalu.

Gongsun Long’s three discourses.

Chen Jingyuan originally collected six discourses by Gongsun Long. Here only the three cited in the Zhuangzi are excerpted.

The White Horse Discourse.

Can one say that “a white horse is not a horse”?

Someone answers: Yes. When explaining subtle principles and clarifying the kingly way (the proper path of ruling the world), one often sets up two sides of a debate. Through repeated questions and answers, one uses a particular thing to illustrate a universal principle, then uses language to eliminate discrepancies in mutual understanding. Therefore here we take the “white horse” as an example to discuss the relationship between specific differences and general categories.

Why say a white horse is not a horse? “Horse” refers to the category of physical form, “white” to color. Combining “white” and “horse” in the name means what is referred to is no longer merely the category “horse,” but a horse limited by the quality of being white; hence we say “a white horse is not a horse.” The form of the horse here can metaphorically represent how all things each have their own form and function; the color of the horse metaphorically represents how all things have different kinds, and how among people there are also distinctions of closeness and distance.

If the ruler can nurture all things equally without discrimination, the people of the world will submit and attach themselves; if he only looks after those close to him and distances others, the world will turn against him. It is like saying merely “seek a horse” without specifying color: horses of every color may come in response. If one specifies a white horse, only white horses can be obtained. Therefore, insisting on only one color when seeking a horse, one cannot obtain all horses.

Someone asks: There being a white horse, one cannot say there is no horse; since there indeed is a horse, is the white horse not a horse? Since a white horse counts as having a horse, why then say “white is not a horse”? “White” and “horse” together are called white horse—why is white still not a horse?

When seeking a horse, yellow horses and black horses are all acceptable; when seeking a white horse, yellow and black horses do not meet the requirement. Among things there is closeness and distance; those favored are few, those distanced are many, just as white is only one among many colors. Therefore, removing the limitation of white when seeking a horse, all kinds of horses can fit; adding “white” as a condition to “horse,” horses of other colors are excluded. The principle of governing the state with gentleness and considering all people is likewise.

Even if one admits that a white horse is a horse, it is still only one among them and does not thereby become more capable than other horses. This is like the subjects favored by the ruler being only one person, whose worthiness does not thereby surpass others. People’s hearts will not forever attach only to one ruler, just as the form of a horse does not belong only to one color. When the ruler draws close to someone, that person attaches; when the ruler distances someone, that person may turn away. How can one only draw close to one’s own faction and distance the people of the world?

Yellow horses and black horses all belong to horses, yet they cannot satisfy the requirement of “white horse,” because “white” and “yellow” are obviously different. From this one can see that if the ruler treats people with partiality, people will also turn away from the ruler because of that partiality and may not be willing to respond to commands. Specifying only white to seek a horse clearly cannot summon horses of all kinds.

Someone asks: Horses all have color; if for this reason one says a white horse is not a horse, then would there be no horses in the world? Since all horses in the world have color, how can one say there are no horses? Just as people all have relations of closeness and distance, one cannot therefore say there are no people in the world.

Horses originally have color, therefore there are white horses. If horses all had no color, there would be only the concept of “horse”—from where then would one speak of white horses? Therefore white itself is not a horse. Just as people, due to different ethnic groups, have distinctions between Hua-Xia and Yi-Di; if there were no clan differences, only the abstract “person,” from where would one speak of closeness and distance? “White” is white in itself, “horse” is horse in itself. White horse is a name formed by combining “horse” and “white,” therefore we say a white horse is not a horse: since “white” is not “horse,” the two are different concepts; combining them and calling it white horse, one cannot treat it merely as a separate “horse.”

Someone rebuts: The horse itself does not become a horse because of “white,” nor does white become white because of “horse.” Combining horse and white and separately calling it “white horse” is combining originally different concepts, and this way of speaking may not be appropriate. Therefore saying “a white horse is not a horse” also may not hold.

Here the two sides of the debate mutually refute each other. Horse belongs to the category of horse, white belongs to the category of white, so we say the two each have their own category; the horse does not become a horse because of white, white does not become white because of horse, so we also say the two do not constitute each other. Combining horse and white and calling it white horse is using color to limit the name of the horse. Whether saying a white horse is not a horse holds depends on how one understands this name.

If having a white horse counts as having a horse, then can having a white horse be said as having a yellow horse? No. If one considers “having a horse” different from “having a yellow horse,” that is excluding yellow horses from horses. In this way, while admitting that a white horse is a horse yet not admitting that a yellow horse is likewise a horse, is this not self-contradictory? Saying a yellow horse is not a horse yet saying a white horse counts as having a horse is as absurd as a flying bird falling into water, or the coffin and the outer coffin being placed in two separate places.

Yellow and white are colors, horse is a category of physical form, yet forcibly treating color as a category to distinguish is like saying a flying bird entering water; yellow horses and white horses are equally horses, yet taking only white horses and rejecting yellow horses is like taking apart the coffin and outer coffin that should depend on each other. Coffin and outer coffin match each other, just as lips and teeth depend on each other; lacking one, the other is also hard to be stable. The Yi-Di of the four directions guard the outside, the Hua-Xia states reside inside; inside and outside depend on each other, only then can the world be at peace. If the ruler only favors Hua-Xia and distances Yi-Di, the Yi-Di will rebel; if he sends troops on distant expeditions, it will weary the people, and there may also be chaos inside Hua-Xia. Inside and outside scattered, like coffin and outer coffin separated, even the few favored by the ruler cannot alone assist the ruler. Therefore taking only white horses and rejecting yellow horses is a very serious confusion.

Someone says: Having a white horse cannot be said as not having a horse, because one has separated “white” from the name; if one does not separate white, one cannot say there is a horse. Only saying “horse” alone is having a horse; one cannot because of having a white horse say there is a horse.

White horse is a designation connecting “horse form” and “horse color”; one cannot treat it as two horses, nor simply equate it with a separate “horse,” therefore it is called white horse together.

White does not fixedly belong to any particular thing. All things may have white, therefore we say white has no fixed belonging. White is not only on horses, horses are not only white. Forgetting the limitation of color to seek a horse, all kinds of horses can fit; forgetting partiality to draw close to the multitude, the people of the world can all draw close.

The name “white horse” fixes white onto the horse; this fixed white is no longer white in the universal sense, but only the white of the horse. The horse itself does not reject or choose a particular color. Saying only “horse,” not abandoning yellow, black and other colors, all kinds of horses can meet the requirement. The sage is calmly impartial, using a mind of emptiness and stillness to unify and govern all things; therefore all things can be governed, and all principles can be thoroughly understood.

A white horse, however, makes selections regarding color: yellow horses and black horses are excluded due to different color, only white horses meet the requirement. If the king favors those close to himself and distances the people of the world, the people of the world will also each keep to their distant positions and eventually betray the king. At that time, who will still respond to commands? Only those favored responding will instead increase calamities, unable to quell unrest.

Not rejecting a certain color is not deliberately rejecting “rejection” itself; it means making no selection regarding color. The yellow and white on horses are like closeness and distance among people. Only drawing close to one’s own people and turning away from the distant, the distant will rebel; when they scatter, even the close ones cannot alone maintain the situation. Therefore saying “a white horse is not a horse” is thereby to remind people not to be limited by partial differences and partiality.

Therefore the sage observes all things with a mind of emptiness and stillness and thoroughly understands principles; embracing heaven and earth and the four directions, his mind is clear and has room to spare, as if reflecting all phenomena within a square inch, yet becoming even more still. He is among those close, yet without partiality; facing those distant, he also does not reject. Neither clinging to closeness and distance nor abandoning either side, therefore within the four seas all can be close to one another, and all states can be connected as one.

On Pointing at Things

All things cannot be separated from mutual designation and evaluation, yet the so-called “pointing” itself is not a fixed and unchanging designation.

The ten thousand things each have different natures and functions, yet they can all be compared with one another and mutually commented upon, so it is said that “there is nothing among the ten thousand things that is not pointed at.” Here “mutual pointing” means judging one another as right or wrong. You say I am right, I say you are wrong; as they continue to reason against each other, right and wrong become intermingled and confused, until in the end no fixed standard can be found. Therefore it is also said: “Pointing is not a fixed pointing.”

If there were no “pointing” under heaven, the ten thousand things could not be called “things.” The “pointing” here refers entirely to judgments of right and wrong. As long as there are things, people will mutually comment on whether they are right or wrong; if under heaven there were nothing that gave rise to judgments of right and wrong, there would be nothing that could be called a “thing.” Thus where there are things there is mutual commentary, and none of the ten thousand things is not designated.

Yet the fact that all things are mutually designated by people does not mean that “pointing” itself is determinate. The ten thousand things under heaven are each different, and people arbitrarily designate them to one another; therefore all “pointings” cannot be regarded as fixed “pointings.” “Pointing” is not something that actually exists under heaven; “things” are all that actually exist under heaven. To take the actually existing ten thousand things under heaven as if they were a fixed designation that does not exist under heaven is inappropriate. There is not a day under heaven without the ten thousand things, nor any thing that does not each accord with its own nature; forcibly calling all things fixed designations is not fitting.

There is no fixed standard of right and wrong under heaven. All things each accord with their own natures and uses, so one cannot simply decide who is right and who is wrong, and thus there is no absolute right and wrong. Water and fire have different natures, each with its appropriate place of application; since each exerts its function, how can one say they possess right and wrong?

Yet to say “there is no right and wrong” is not equivalent to there being another kind of absolute “absence of right and wrong.” Things will still designate one another and mutually evaluate, so one cannot say that right and wrong do not exist at all; at the same time there is no fixed and unchanging standard of “no right and wrong.” By clinging neither to right-and-wrong nor to the absence of right-and-wrong, one can remain all day amid discussions of right and wrong yet not be bound by any fixed conception of right and wrong. This is the meaning of “all things are designated, yet pointing is not a fixed pointing.”

There is no fixed “pointing” under heaven because all things each have their names and actual functions. For instance, Wang Liang was skilled at chariot-driving, Li Shou was skilled at calculation; each has his strengths, each has his uses. The ears and the eyes likewise each have their functions; neither can be lacking. One cannot, because their functions differ, judge one as right and the other as wrong. If one forcibly calls “pointing” those things that do not take mutual evaluation as “pointing,” one confuses things with designations. When things evaluate one another, right and wrong have no determinate criterion, and therefore such designations cannot be treated as fixed entities.

“Combining” refers to one thing possibly combining different evaluations: the same thing may be said to be right or said to be wrong; different things will also point at one another. The names of right and wrong arise from mutual comparison among things. Therefore one cannot say that all things have no designation whatsoever, nor that there is an independent fixed designation; this is “neither having nor pointing,” that is, neither acknowledging a fixed pointing nor completely erasing designation.

The sage seeks, amid the discussions of right and wrong, those who are not bound by right and wrong. The so-called “pointing is not non-pointing” means that designation is not entirely nonexistent; yet designation and things cannot become a fixed and unchanging corresponding relation. When people call a certain thing “pointing,” it does not mean there exists in the world a fixed designation detached from things. Since designation cannot fixedly point to things, it is not an absolute “pointing.”

Suppose under heaven there were neither things nor pointing, a complete silence, who then could say that pointing is non-pointing, or that pointing is pointing? Conversely, if there were only pointing and no things available to be designated, who could say that pointing is non-pointing, or, because there are no things, say that it is not pointing? This shows that originally there is no independent fixed designation.

Moreover, designation itself will become an object of evaluation; why must one wait until it points at other things before counting it as “pointing”? By thus repeatedly inquiring, designation itself will also lose its fixed direction; how then can it fixedly correspond to the ten thousand things?

All things have their differences, each with its own suitable place; there is no need to use one and the same standard to judge right and wrong. Therefore the sage dwells at ease, forgets right and wrong, does not exclusively preserve one kind of talent, and does not overlook any thing.

Heaven has bestowed gracious mandates, and the ancestors of successive generations have sent down numinous blessings. The rites of manifesting gracious De (Virtue/Power) and performing sacrificial ceremonies have long been recorded in the ancestral classics. Zhuangzi, Wenzi, Liezi, Kangcangzi and others have all been ranked among the True Immortals. They realized the Dao (the Way) of emptiness, stillness and pure whiteness, inherited the teachings of the Xuanyuan Sage (here referring to Laozi), and promoted the Great Dao in the human world.

Regarding these scriptures, Zhuangzi’s book is still called the Nanhua Zhenjing, Liezi’s book is called the Chongxu Zhenjing, Wenzi’s book is called the Tongxuan Zhenjing, and Kangcangzi’s book is called the Dongling Zhenjing.

This edict was promulgated on the twentieth day of the second month of the first year of Tianbao in the reign of Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang.

Zhuangzi can be said to be someone who deeply knows the roots of things, and so he never deliberately restrained those remarks of his that appear wild and unrestrained. His words may not always accord with other people, yet they can each respond to the principles of matters; however, responding to principles without according with people, even if expressed aptly, may not prove useful; if words do not correspond to actual things, even if the conception is lofty, they are difficult to put into practice. This indeed differs from the condition in which the myriad things remain silent and motionless, acting only when there is no alternative. From this it is evident that he understands what is meant by “wuxin” (no-mind, not allowing preconceived views and private intentions to govern action). When the mind does not act deliberately, it responds in accordance with the stimulations of external things; when the response accords with the opportune moment, speech becomes especially cautious. Therefore he becomes one with the transformations of nature, passing through ten thousand generations while remaining in communication with the myriad things. When has he ever deliberately set up opponents, sought unique opinions in isolation, or engaged in empty talk beyond the mundane world? This is precisely why his writings, though they appear unconventional, can stand as the foremost among the various schools.

Nevertheless, Zhuangzi himself may not yet have fully realized this realm, yet his words have already attained an extremely high point. He penetrates the guiding principles of the operations of heaven and earth, discerns the original nature of the myriad things, thoroughly comprehends the transformations of life and death, and elucidates the Dao (the Way) of “neisheng waiwang” (inner sageliness and outer kingliness: cultivating sagely illumination inwardly, governing the world outwardly). Above, he can recognize the state within creation in which the myriad things have not yet taken form; below, he can clearly see how the myriad things arise from being. His words are grand and expansive, their purport profound, far-reaching and mysterious, subtle and refined yet peaceful and untrammeled; though unrestrained, they are not arrogant. Thus he says: “Not knowing where righteousness and principle ultimately tend, one acts at will yet treads upon the great Dao; holding food in the mouth, one finds contentment and joy in blandness; when the belly is full, one roams in the undifferentiated realm.”

The zhiren (perfected person, one who has attained the highest spiritual realm) no longer clings to distinctions of intimacy and distance; filial piety and compassion ultimately merge into the realm of regarding all things equally. Ritual and music return to the innate capacities of the person, while loyalty and trustworthiness naturally manifest from original nature. Employing this inner illumination, the simple original nature naturally comes to fulfillment. Thereupon spirit and the myriad things independently transform and generate within the profound and mysterious realm, with deep roots and far-reaching transmission.

Zhuangzi’s thought is like long waves undulating and high winds blowing, enabling the myriad things each to obtain what is fitting, and also allowing the aspirations of the common people to unfold; it can broaden narrow views and loosen the inner bonds. Before a person has even deliberately done anything, pretension and self-praise have already dissipated. Therefore, upon reading his books, one becomes transcendent and self-possessed, as if already having reached the ideal realm, passing through Kunlun, crossing the Great Void (Taixu), and roaming in the dim and distant, trance-like region. Even greedy people or those eager for advancement, so long as they temporarily savor the lingering charm therein, experience the overflowing flavor, as if hearing or seeing its style, it is sufficient to open the mind’s horizon, forget the physical form, and obtain a sense of ease. How much more so those who deeply inquire into Zhuangzi’s purport and savor his enduring wisdom of life? They will gradually distance themselves from the dusty world and return to the profound and ultimate source.

The Zhuangzi (Nanhua Zhenjing) elucidates the profound foundations of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power). It recounts the subtle purport of Chongxuan (repeatedly transcending distinctions and attachments), freely discusses the realm of Wuwei (non-action) marked by serene tranquility, and also explains how the myriad things each transform in their own ways, profound and inscrutable. It is able to encompass the doctrines of the Hundred Schools of Thought, truly constituting an important teaching in the human world, while also containing subtle discourses that transcend the mundane.

Zhuangzi’s surname was Zhuang, his given name Zhou, and his courtesy name Zixiu. He was born in Meng County of Suiyang in the state of Song. Legend has it that he took Chang Sang Gongzi as his teacher and received the title “Nanhua Immortal.” He lived in the early Warring States period, when the Zhou dynasty was in decline. Lamenting the meager blessings of the common people and the gradual decay of morality, he therefore composed this book in a surge of resolute indignation. The discourses in the book are extensive, its implications profound, not something people of shallow insight can hear and understand.

“Zi” is an honorific for those of virtue; the ancients called their teachers “Zi.” Some also take “Zi” as part of the book’s title. It is not merely a general designation for the Inner Chapters of the Zhuangzi, but a name commonly used in the writings of the various philosophical schools.

The designation “Inner Chapters” is used in contrast to the “Outer Chapters.” “Pian” originally referred to bound bamboo slips: the ancients processed bamboo strips into slips and bound them with leather cords to form a pian, just as paper is bound into volumes today. The ancients said that major affairs were written on ce, while minor matters were recorded on jian and du. The Inner Chapters primarily discuss the roots of principles, while the Outer Chapters more often recount specific events. Although the events are evident, without understanding the principles within them they remain difficult to grasp; although the principles are profound, they also require concrete examples to make them manifest. Therefore the Inner Chapters are placed first in order to elucidate the deeper principles. Guo Xiang provided annotations under the titles of each Inner Chapter, such as Xiaoyaoyou (Free and Easy Wandering) and Qiwulun (Discussion on Making All Things Equal); from the Outer Chapters onward, titles are mostly taken from the first two characters of the chapter, such as Pianmu (Webbed Toes) and Mati (Horses’ Hooves).

Interpretations of “Xiaoyaoyou” have not been limited to one since ancient times. Here we summarize three views. Gu Tongbai held that “xiao” means to eliminate and “yao” means to distance oneself: eliminating the entanglements brought by human artifice, distancing from isolation vis-à-vis the principle of Wuwei, wandering the world by virtue of this state, this is called “xiaoyao.” Zhi Daolin believed that one responds to the myriad things yet is not enslaved by external objects, thus able to be free without depending on anything; the inner mind responds mysteriously and swiftly, so there is nowhere one cannot reach or nothing one cannot accomplish, thus wandering the world is called “Xiaoyaoyou.” Wang Muye regarded “xiaoyao” as letting nature take its course and being free and self-contented: with virtue fully sufficient within, one can be at ease at all times, setting aside preconceptions to respond to the myriad things, able to penetrate wherever one goes, thus wandering the world is called “Xiaoyaoyou.”

The Inner Chapters primarily discuss the roots of principles, the Outer Chapters primarily recount specific events, and the Mixed Chapters interweave discussions of principles and events. This is merely a division according to the emphasis of each chapter’s content, and does not imply that the Inner Chapters contain no examples or that the Outer Chapters lack profound meaning.

The arrangement of the Inner Chapters also has its reasons in each case. Xiaoyaoyou discusses how those who penetrate the Great Dao possess clear and penetrating intelligence, can be at ease wherever they arrive, and can freely respond when encountering the myriad things, therefore it is named “Xiaoyao.” Qiwulun discusses how the sage is not constrained by external things and can illuminate the transformations of things like a bright mirror; having mastered the wisdom of flexible response and grasping the root, one can regard all things equally, therefore it follows Xiaoyaoyou. Yangshengzhu (Nourishing the Lord of Life) discusses understanding that the myriad things have no fixed distinctions; with the mind-spirit settled and clear, one can nourish life, therefore it is placed third. Renjianshi (In the World of Men) discusses forgetting both good and evil, with both the external realm and the inner mind unobstructed, adapting to change while dwelling in the human world, therefore it follows thereafter. Dechongfu (The Sign of Complete Virtue) discusses inner virtue being full and complete, outwardly able to accord with things, corresponding with external objects while the inner mind does not lose its root. Dazongshi (The Great Ancestral Teacher) discusses being like still water that reflects the myriad things without harboring selfish thoughts, forgetting virtue and physical form, making inner and outer coincide, thus able to accomplish the myriad things. Yingdiwang (Responding to Emperors and Kings) discusses how the ancient True Persons and sages comprehend the Heavenly Dao and human affairs, operate in concert with creation, able both to maintain stillness and to respond to transformations, therefore it is placed last.

From Pianmu onward, most chapters take their titles directly from the first two characters of the text, without additional meaning, therefore they are not explained chapter by chapter here.

Since ancient times, the reclusive high-minded scholars of the Jin and Han periods have all loved to study the Zhuangzi. The principles in the book require annotation and elucidation; previous generations have already produced quite a few commentaries, each with its own literary flourish, all striving to probe the profound meanings. Xuanying (Cheng Xuanying referring to himself) knows that his own talent and knowledge are shallow and limited; he began his studies in his youth and has researched and pondered for thirty years. I have followed Zixuan’s (Guo Xiang’s) commentary to compose subcommentaries on the thirty-three chapters of the Zhuangzi, totaling thirty volumes. Although the diction and expression are not sufficiently precise, they nevertheless embody some understanding of the book’s purport. I dare not leave this to later generations as it is, but merely record it provisionally, lest I myself forget.

The upper volume of the Miscellaneous Records of Remaining Matters of the Nanhua Zhenjing (True Scripture of Nanhua) ends here.

Miscellaneous Records of Remaining Matters of the Nanhua Zhenjing, lower volume

The Ninefold Heart Precepts, with Preface

Composed by Yang Sifu, Minister of Rites

I, Yang Sifu, am extremely foolish, yet I do not know why I am foolish. I constantly expend effort polishing my errors and defects, seeking ever more praise with which to conceal myself...

The original text breaks off in meaning at the words “曾未录上竟.” What follows—“南华真经余事杂录下……”—is merely a repetition of the title and the preface attribution, and therefore it is impossible to continue the translation from this point.

I, Jifu, was ignorant to the extreme: I did not know my own ignorance, nor from whence this ignorance arose. I often deliberately polished my words and deeds, covering up faults, seeking only to win praise; yet I failed to discern that those clever, frivolous, and sycophantic practices were precisely the branches and leaves where great delusions sprouted, the abyss where great ignorance gathered. I was solely eager to advance, unwilling to settle quietly and reflect.

Later, upon reading the Zhuangzi, I came upon the “Nine Examinations” (jiuzheng, the nine methods of observing people) spoken of by Confucius, and I could not help but weep in sorrow, stroking my heart in shame. Only then did I realize that I did not understand the essentials of advancing and retreating, of tension and relaxation, nor the subtleties of penetrating change. My heart burned like a fierce fire, yet my muscles and bones were as cold as ice. I wrote these words upon my sash, reminding myself at all times; and like the ancients who wore a leather belt as a warning, I repeatedly contemplated these words, wishing to diminish my faults. Thus I set aside miscellaneous affairs, took up brush and ink, and, based on my own experiences, presumptuously praised and elucidated them. Though this is insufficient to fully bring forth the intent of the sages’ writings, it merely expresses my own feelings, hoping thereby to manifest the power of the “Nine Examinations.”

The Taihang Mountains have no peaks higher than themselves, the ocean no waters deeper than itself. Yet things cannot appear great of themselves; they appear great because people praise them. People likewise cannot obtain fame from nothing; they gain fame through their deeds. Therefore, a person may use things to reflect upon himself, and things may be used to examine a person. When things are examined, they reveal their beauty without blemish; when a person is examined, he may leave behind a lasting reputation. The Nine Examinations is precisely a work for examining people. It can rescue those about to fall, support those already toppled, guide people onto auspicious paths, and help identify the worthy and good. This is like a seriously ill patient taking a fine medicine, or lighting a lamp in the dark of night, bringing inexhaustible comfort and praise.

I shall try to illustrate with a similar example. I have heard that Laozi taught people to praise the efficacy of the Huangting Jing (Yellow Court Scripture, a Daoist classic of nourishing life and cultivation), saying that reciting it ten thousand times would enable one to ascend to heaven. The talk of ascending to heaven was to attract those in the secular world whose ears and eyes were closed. True recluses who cultivate the Dao nourish their own physical form, allow the Dao (the Way) to penetrate the four limbs, and nourish the five viscera with De (Virtue/Power); thus they composed the Huangting Neijing Jing (Inner Landscape of the Yellow Court Scripture) and the Huangting Waijing Jing (Outer Landscape of the Yellow Court Scripture). These are all books for cultivating the body and nourishing the mind. Yet worldly people prefer distant goals and dislike the effort right before their eyes; they despise what they can see with their own eyes, yet value hearsay. Thus, easy matters are spoken of as difficult, and difficult matters as easy; they even invent scenes of immortal palaces such as the Ruigong and Qionghu, so that people will attach more importance to these words.

Those who accord with the Dao obtain the Dao; those who accord with De obtain De. Cultivation must be transmitted from heart to heart, from mouth to mouth; the key lies in cultivating one’s own mind while reading the scriptures. If one recites the scriptures ten thousand times and truly cultivates according to them, one will have keen hearing and clear sight, a purified spirit and refreshed Qi (vital energy), harmonizing the Qi and blood within the body so that the six viscera are at peace. Thus, delusive thoughts no longer intrude, the sinews and bones become naturally clear and robust, and one may become a companion in cultivation of Shangqing (Highest Clarity, a Daoist immortal realm of subtle purity), a lofty adept transcending the dusty world. The scriptures use the names of immortals to exhort cultivators, yet they do not tell people merely to eat, drink, and enjoy themselves, filling the belly with thoughts and harboring right and wrong, joy and anger. If one recites the Huangting Jing with the mouth yet loses the path to the immortal realm in the heart, it is like carving regulations on frost or distinguishing crooked from straight in clouds and mist—what merit can there be? Such a person merely recites the Huangting Jing and does not cultivate the principles it teaches.

The Nine Examinations is likewise thus: even if one recites it ten thousand times, one must also put it into practice in order to understand right from wrong, distinguish shame from doubt, cut off deceit, guard against cunning, and attract all manner of blessings and emoluments. Such a person has integrity like a green pine, a reputation shining like the bright sun, comparable to the gentlemen of antiquity, becoming a worthy of the present age; of outstanding demeanor, steadfast and pure. But if one is stubbornly self-willed, fond of offending others, inwardly harsh and cruel, outwardly frivolous and perilous, content with flattery and settled in mediocrity, reciting the Nine Examinations with the mouth yet finding not a single praiseworthy deed in one’s person, it is like insisting on carving rotten wood, where the knife cannot bite; or quenching rusty iron, which in the end has no luster—mere wasted effort with no real result.

A fish basket is for catching fish; once the fish is caught, one should forget the basket. Speech is for expressing meaning; once the meaning is grasped, one should forget the speech. One must never fail to catch the fish yet cling empty-handedly to the basket, nor fail to grasp the meaning yet cling only to the words. Such a person merely reads the Nine Examinations and does not practice them. If medicine can cure illness, one must take it earnestly; if a book can cultivate the person, one must follow it earnestly. Persist to the end, and there is no ailment that cannot be cured. In this way, one can preserve the body and protect life, with effects no less than the Huangting Jing; with a tranquil mind and a leisurely body, the permeation of the Dao even surpasses that of the Neijing Jing.

Those whose aspiration is to rescue others, if they merely think of gaining fame by saving things, yet remain as uninvolved in worldly affairs as those who dwell in deep seclusion, then the former benefit only themselves, while the latter can benefit many; the two differ greatly in their efficacy of aiding the world, and thereby the Way of Confucius the Sage is also promulgated. The gentleman does not take the path of seeking fame and profit by chance; he constantly associates with those of high virtue and prestige. His speech is elegant, his inner heart sincere and solid; he can forget the self and not scheme for himself. In this way, drinking sweet wine and eating the flavors of ganoderma, it is like riding the clouds in flight, transforming and ascending as an immortal. The Daode Jing says: “Cultivate it in oneself, and its De is true.” There has never been a case of possessing true De without having cultivated oneself.

If people revere a person as they revere spirits and deities, look up to him as they look up to the sun and moon, if one word he speaks elicits response from a thousand li away, and one deed he performs causes the people of the four seas to emulate him, that is obtained through cultivating himself; there has never been a case of gaining such prestige without self-cultivation.

I, Jifu, was then forty-one years old, and in haste I rose to the third rank of officialdom; people mostly called me fortunate. In all matters of high fame and thick profit, I feared only that I would not obtain them. In the past six or seven years, I have had the wish to rescue others, beginning first with saving myself. Yet I only thought to strive to climb the clouds and tread the path of rosy mists, still feeling I had not drawn near the Heavenly River, worrying that Heaven’s grace was not deep enough. This is in fact greed for fame, not fearing fullness, being cautious of a good end, nor understanding the principles of advancing and retreating, survival and perishing. If such thoughts are not changed, they will only continually increase faults; it is like carrying a heavy load while riding a beast of burden, attracting bandits, and in the end having to wait for others to rescue one—what power does one have to save oneself?

Now I have cleansed my inner heart, respectfully receiving these teachings of De, cautious day and night as if approaching a deep valley. I must reduce my preferences, abandon ostentation, remove private feelings and delusive thoughts; until my hair turns white, I dare not abandon this halfway.

Confucius said: “The human heart is more treacherous than mountains and rivers, more difficult to know than Heaven. Heaven still has the regular periods of spring, summer, autumn, winter, dawn and dusk, yet people have a thick appearance and deep feelings, hard to fathom.” These words are indeed so. Some appear distressed outwardly yet are mild and compliant within; some appear kind outwardly yet are fierce within; some look weak yet are strong and ferocious within; some appear rigid outwardly yet are timid within. Some have beautiful speech yet do not keep faith; some speak little yet like to bully others; some appear to accord with ritual yet are skilled at concealment within; some have a forceful manner yet know no restraint. There are those who put on the appearance of a gentleman yet hide the thoughts of a petty person within; outwardly clothed in the patterns of tiger and leopard, inwardly like dog and sheep in inferiority. There are also those who appear impatient outwardly yet are quiet and peaceful within, not boasting of their own merits, secretly bestowing kindness; some govern affairs with upright speech, observe others with the correct Dao, accord with the times, bear infamy without following the vulgar. Some yield to others and speak modestly, yet attend only to their own conduct. Human hearts differ, so it is impossible to see them all clearly.

The gentleman uses the “Nine Examinations” to observe people, like holding a bright mirror to the face, where even the minute cannot hide; after illuminating all things, right and wrong, crooked and straight have nowhere to conceal themselves. Whether the observer advances can be known from the observed; whether the observed yields can conversely be known from the observer. After thorough examination, the heart can make a judgment; when the judgment is clear, the observation can be put into practice.

If from the nine signs one roughly possesses one, it is like an orchid just putting forth a single leaf—who can say it has no fragrance? Or like a cassia tree just sprouting a branch, already showing the appearance of a fine tree. Possessing two or three is like a fishing boat entering the harbor, not mixing with the turbid current; a woodcutter climbing the mountain path, not competing with the worldly for the road. Possessing four or five is like a sharp precious sword that none can block, or the luster of fine jade with which nothing can compare. Possessing six or seven is like metal and stone displayed in the courtyard, allowing one to appreciate the elegant and correct flavor; or like a splendid ceremonial robe stored in a chest, allowing one to delight in seeing the patterned elegance. Possessing eight or nine is like a black dragon emerging from the sea, its radiance piercing layer upon layer of waves; or like the great peng bird spreading its wings in high flight, its fame spreading far to the four directions. Encountering such a person, one should wholeheartedly revere, draw near and follow; who would dare not strive, in order to fulfill the wish to learn from the worthy?

Toward those of high De, one should draw near; toward those of low status, one should lift them up; those who suffer injustice, one should redress for them; those who have sunk, one should help them rise; those with De, one should honor as teachers; the humble, one should befriend; those close, one should treat generously; those distant, one should also treat with ritual. A person must be able to reflect upon himself, because he himself is also being observed by others. Knowing that there are still higher realms above, one should not be self-satisfied; knowing that the situation below is worthy of caution, one should harbor reverence and awe.

Cui Ziyu (a man of the Eastern Han) wrote a “Motto on the Right of the Seat,” Zhuge Liang wrote “Admonitions for Examining the Heart,” both used to restrain deceitful and reckless conduct, to suppress arrogance and self-satisfaction. I dare not imitate the ancients by creating a new title, but only wish to borrow the teachings of the ancients, to delete and correct right and wrong; thus I title this essay “Admonitions of the Heart from the Nine Examinations,” to measure myself and restrain unchanging conduct. The text below the main body is all my, Jifu’s, composition. Respectfully recorded on the eleventh day of the fourth month of summer in the first year of Taihe, the dingwei year.

The Nanhua Zhenjing Yushi Zalu states that deliberately sending a person far away can serve to observe his loyalty.

To determine whether someone is loyal, hypothetical methods may be used to test him and thereby fathom his inner heart. For example, if one pretends to distance him by dispatching him to a remote place, he may complain; if one pretends to suppress him and subject him to grievance, he may utter words of resentment; if one pretends to slander him and conceal his merits, he may speak offensively; if one pretends to frustrate him and dull his edge, he may display arrogance. Moreover, if tempted by profit his conduct may stray from the proper path; if provoked by veiled remarks his thoughts may become apparent; if drawn in by personal favors affairs may proceed easily; if entrusted with official duties matters may instead prove difficult. None of these eight responses can be regarded as true loyalty.

The gentleman possesses a clear and detached inner heart, unswayed by such illusory appearances of joy and anger, proximity and distance. When someone deliberately employs unreasonable circumstances to stir and test him, it is to observe his innate nature and speech and thereby judge whether he is of generous or shallow character. This resembles the tempering of a blade or the polishing of fine jade: even if the gentleman suffers defilement he does not alter his true color; even after being honed he does not lose his solidity. The petty person, with his narrow mind, cannot endure such trials; failing to understand that elders sometimes use fabricated situations to discern truth and empty words to elicit reality, he readily harbors resentment and invites calamity. Speech is the sprout of the inner heart, from which one may observe a person’s fortunes and misfortunes as well as his character.

To judge whether a person is respectful, one may examine their inner mind through the standards of right and wrong and the proper measure of advancing and withdrawing. When close they do not lose propriety; when distant their speech remains restrained. When angry they do not lose courtesy; when joyful they do not lose their bearing. They are not negligent, do not insult others, do not joke wildly, and do not act rashly. Upon entering a room they compose their appearance; upon going out it is as if they were paying a visit to an important guest. Even in a secure environment they do not therefore relax their vigilance; even when they allow themselves to play they still maintain dignity. They do not rely on favor to act willfully, nor use power to indulge their desires—this is true respect.

If they see a worthy person yet remain as if blind, hear instruction yet remain as if deaf, greedily pursue amusement without knowing shame, and treat their own loss of composure as something admirable, how could such people understand respect? If others flog them they lose composure before people; when they become close to others they slacken and grow unrestrained; when others attach themselves to them they become proud and arrogant; mixed among the clear they cannot keep themselves pure, placed in the turbid they become corrupted along with it; their conduct lacks integrity, their speech is unconsidered, and their handling of affairs is incomplete—none of this counts as respect.

Therefore even if a gentleman encounters the greatest favor he must still cautiously guard against petty people; even if he receives unexpected good fortune he should still consider that fortune and misfortune may reverse. If he thereby forgets ritual propriety he will lose the mind of respect.

Assign him heavy and burdensome duties and thereby observe his abilities.

People are often difficult to trust, and those who boast of themselves are especially numerous among them. If one wishes to examine a person's capabilities, one must first put him to the test: assign him various tasks, allowing him to undergo trial amid complexity; observe whether he can properly handle the imperfect aspects, thereby judging the superiority or inferiority of his abilities.

A capable person, in handling affairs, has a mind that is calm and orderly, able to concentrate matters and complete them well. He does not deliberately create discord, nor does he seize opportunities for personal gain. When in a state of abundance, he appears not to be self-satisfied; when possessing much, he is able to restrain his consumption. If someone seizes the chance to indulge his own desires, using his position to interfere with others, or acts inconsistently, violating regulations and laws, then even if the planning is comprehensive, there will be instances of beginning without conclusion; matters already undertaken will fail midway.

Rights and wrongs arise in confusion, leaving one uncertain what to follow; various methods interweave, leaving the mind without a definite view. If a person does not understand the sequence of affairs, he will be thrown into chaos by the tasks; when vexation reaches its peak, sorrow arises, and one becomes immersed as if intoxicated. Unable to proceed step by step, the mind and spirit become inverted and disordered; this only exhausts and weakens oneself, so how can one accomplish the tasks well?

In treating defects, one should feel that one's efforts are still insufficient; in governing complex affairs, one should appear composed. Possessing numerous strengths without flaunting them, dwelling amid many shortcomings without thereby abandoning oneself. After accomplishing a matter, one becomes even more modest; the more effective the governance, the more cautious the demeanor. One does not pursue empty reputation to elevate oneself, nor is one deluded by perverse calculations that harm public business; this is the essential principle of handling complex affairs.

Finally, one may suddenly pose questions to him in order to examine his intelligence.

When a person has not previously considered a question, yet upon being suddenly asked can reply fittingly and with reasoning that accords with principle, this is wisdom. The Book of Songs says, “Being both enlightened about principles and possessed of wisdom, one can preserve oneself.” If one answers without reflection, how can this be called discernment? If one responds without regard for propriety, how can this be called wisdom?

The ability to handle questions posed unexpectedly depends on adapting to circumstances as they arise. Finding a way out even in difficulty, and seeking change when one’s situation is arduous, is likewise the gentleman’s way of conducting himself in the world. The saying that “by observing how a person begins to speak, one may know his wisdom” has as its crux whether he is cautious and does not speak rashly. Only when, in adapting, he does not rely on deceit to conceal, does not cling to crooked views, his words sincere and his reasoning clear, his conduct upright and his considerations far-reaching, can this be called great wisdom.

If someone uses speech to assert himself forcefully, suddenly diverting the matter toward considerations of gain and loss, seizing the chance to pursue private advantage, and readily encouraging arrogance and self-satisfaction, such conduct is shallow and base—how can it be spoken of as wisdom?

Water, for human beings, stops when blocked and flows when the sluice is opened to channel it; what is essential is to build the dikes firmly and take care to prevent flooding. A person’s speech is like water: the mouth is the dike. How can one fail to consider the harm that may come from speech getting out of control? Before opening one’s mouth one ought to weigh matters carefully.

When a person is examined by being given an urgent deadline, one can then see whether he keeps his word.

If one acts with composure, it is easy to go along with and follow the proper course; if one acts in haste, it is difficult to hold fast. Even when a matter is difficult, one can still keep one's word, which shows that trustworthiness is reliable. Trustworthiness is the standard for all conduct and the key to the functioning of all things; once there is any deviation, disaster may follow.

The sun, moon, and stars revolve in endless cycles, and the four seasons change according to their proper times: this manifests Heaven's trustworthiness. The earth nurtures the myriad things according to the different conditions of height and depth: this also manifests Earth's trustworthiness. A five-colored halo appearing around the sun's disk is regarded as an auspicious omen, a sign of the sun's regular course; the moon is sometimes as bright as a mirror, sometimes like a curved hook, and then gradually becomes round again: this is a sign of the moon's regular course. People discard weapons and grain as a warning, and upon seeing the marks on the carriage shafts and yokes they feel sincere reverence: these too are expressions of keeping faith.

If Heaven loses its regular order, cold and heat will be thrown into disorder; if the earth loses its regular order, the myriad things will decline; if the sun and moon lose their regularity, their brightness will diminish; if a person loses trustworthiness, De (Virtue/Power) will have nothing on which to rely. The gentleman speaks with trustworthiness and his words and actions have a basis, therefore resentment and misfortune do not easily befall him. The petty person speaks beyond bounds without any basis, therefore is not worthy of trust; how can such a person avoid resentment and misfortune? When it has come to this, who can still save him?

Entrusting wealth to a person allows one to observe his humaneness and De.

The phrase “tuo zhi hou gui” means to entrust a heavy responsibility to him and then see how he returns it and accounts for it. The later text again repeats the earlier discussion of the gentleman keeping faith and the petty person losing faith, as well as the sentence “wei zhi yi cai guan qi ren.”

Give him wealth and possessions, and let him confront substantial profits, while secretly observing the intentions of his heart. If he neither deceives nor fraudulently seizes them, this is a manifestation of benevolent De (Virtue). A bright mirror is not obscured by dust and dirt, and a person of lucid Shen (spirit) and clear mind is not deluded by addictions and desires.

If a person honors De (Virtue) and values the righteousness of the Dao (the Way), his heart is as clear as a bright mirror. If he emphasizes ritual propriety and associates closely with the worthy, then few miscellaneous thoughts arise in his mind. Such a person naturally possesses upright conduct, as pure as white jade and as clear as ice; dust and dirt can hardly stain him, and greedy desires can hardly harm him. He establishes himself with stern integrity, and few can compare with him—this is the gentleman.

In handling affairs, one sometimes needs to adapt flexibly to changing circumstances and remain at ease in variation, not remaining rigidly unchanging like one who glues the pegs of a zither. Yet one should keep contentment in mind, and the acquisition of wealth must accord with the righteousness of the Dao. Taking and using what accords with the Dao's righteousness will not be regarded by others as the greedy plunder of beasts. Petty people, however, regard desire as a bottomless ravine; whatever they take does not accord with the Dao, and thus they inevitably incur the reproach of others.

An ancient saying states: “Restraining selfish desires so that words and actions accord with ritual is ren (humaneness).” This refers to restraining one's inner heart. Facing wealth without changing one's aspirations can be said to approach “overcoming the self”; seeing profit without altering proper conduct can be said to approach “returning to ritual.”

Beautiful appearances can damage the integrity of the upright scholar, and substantial profits can corrupt the resolve of the true gentleman; one should take this as a warning.

Inform him through peril and difficulty, and observe his moral integrity.

When the situation is urgent and troubles draw near, still remaining centered and upright, steadfastly adhering to the correct Dao (the Way) without wavering—this constitutes moral integrity. When a gentleman faces peril, he does not opportunistically evade it, precisely in order to preserve his integrity and righteousness. To abandon the Dao and righteousness merely in order to survive, preferring to lose one’s integrity rather than one’s life, or even to kill others and cause them harm for the sake of self-protection—such things a gentleman will never do.

The person of humanity possesses courage, yet also knows how to restrain that courage by means of the Dao and righteousness; although the petty person may have boldness, misfortune often arises from it. A gentleman, even in straitened circumstances, does not forget ritual propriety, and when facing danger does not alter his moral principles; a petty person, once constrained, changes his fundamental nature, and once encountering peril, loses the correct Dao.

Once the correct Dao has been lost, it is like sliding down a steep slope into a raging torrent, or like standing on high ground and hurling down a whirling pellet; it is also like thunder that has already sounded and cannot be recalled, or a bowstring that snaps as the arrow has already flown swiftly forth. After the event has occurred it is difficult to retract, and even attempting to remedy it proves extremely hard. Only through cautious reflection and thorough consideration can one avoid lifelong regret; by placing joy before one’s eyes and leaving sorrow behind, one can preserve the great name of moral integrity. As the saying goes: “To remain unshaken when facing a major crisis of integrity and righteousness—this is what makes a gentleman.” The petty person has no long-term plans; fearing only that disaster will overtake him, he seeks merely to survive by any expedient, and consequently cannot preserve his integrity.

“Intoxicate a person with wine and observe his bearing and manifestations.”

Wine often makes people’s speech unrestrained, yet when one is not yet intoxicated, one ought to speak with even greater caution and respect; this is the fitting course. Therefore, after three jue (ancient wine vessels, also meaning three cups), one should know to stop at the proper point. Even when repeatedly bowing in thanks to guests, the hat need not go askew or proper bearing be lost, still less should one collapse drunk in the carriage and leave behind regrets of lost composure. All these practices exist to avoid the misfortunes wine can bring.

When wine is taken sparingly, it can render a person’s heart-Qi (vital energy) peaceful; drunk in excess, it disorders the Shen (spirit). Even those who in ordinary times are cautious in speech and upright in mind may, once drunk, utter disgraceful words, their voices rising ever higher. Their conduct turns wayward, their imposing manner grows all the more vigorous. Disputes follow one after another; some wave their sleeves and roll up their arms, indulging every wicked impulse without restraint, no longer even able to say what they are arguing about, and even rushing heedlessly toward water or fire. After they sober they feel shame, yet at the time they still persist in bluster and wildness, unable to undo the calamities that remain once they have returned to clarity. This is the plight into which the muddled and ignorant willingly sink. They bring troubles upon themselves and deserve no sympathy.

If wine vessels stand arrayed and cups pass back and forth at the banquet, yet someone can still maintain a dignified De (Virtue), restraining conduct with solemn rules that inspire awe in others; if the countenance remains respectful, if one can examine oneself and not display any slackness that would offend others, then such a person can weigh their own station, take part in the drinking in due measure, gauge their capacity, respond with composure, and carefully avoid any breach of etiquette.

An ancient saying states: “One may drink wine without a fixed quantity, yet one must not drink to the point of confusion.” Even the sages issued stern warnings on this matter.

“Place them in mixed company and observe their expression” (putting a person in a heterogeneous setting to watch their looks and demeanor). Chao Fu explained “mixed” as “feigning to mingle,” that is, pretending to blend in among the crowd. On this reading, the phrase refers to observing how a person behaves when present at a banquet.

Do not regard women lightly, nor treat them as objects with which to mingle freely, jest, and take amusement. From their speech and laughter one can tell that they too possess a love of beauty. Their brows are finely shaped, their features radiant, their bearing captivating; their complexion is rosier than the lotus, their skin as white as ice and snow. Golden sparrow hairpins hang from their heads, and fine jade is worn at their waists; their bright eyes turn like those of the goddess of the Wu Gorge, and when they reveal their gleaming teeth they resemble the goddess of the Luo River. When they weep, it is as if they could bring a traveling horse to a halt; when they smile, it is as if they could topple a city. Even those who guard their integrity will be stirred by them, and chaste gentlemen, upon seeing them, will turn to look again. A fragrant breeze brushing past adds to their allure, leaving the heart and spirit dazed and unable to settle; sunlight falling on their makeup makes one linger and forget where one stands. If ordinary people of the world are already thus, how much more those who are easily led into temptation?

There are some who can hold filthy desires in low regard and steer clear of seductive allurements. They hold De (Virtue/Power) within their breasts, yet do not set their minds upon artificial splendor, and they do not allow worldly habits to drag them along by force. They are ashamed to recite poems of the Sangzhong type, which describe illicit relations between men and women, and they are moved when they read poems of the Xinglu type, which exhort people to keep propriety and hold themselves in check. At night they keep a lamp lit in order to avoid suspicion; when they enter a household by day they lower their voices. Their conduct is not entangled by external things, and though they dwell amid such circumstances they do not allow their inner hearts to be stained. Their homes are quiet and at ease; their De is upright, pure, and sincere. When they listen to others speak they are as close as to their own flesh and blood; when they look at others they are as cautious as if facing an enemy, and they do not lightly let their gaze run free. If one can turn the heart that loves beautiful appearances toward a love of worthy De, that would be excellent. People of the world ought to take this as a warning.

The ancients did not speak lightly, because they were ashamed whenever their conduct fell short of their words. My own endowment is shallow and dull, yet I too delight in grasping such principles. Now that I have presumed to compile and explain these writings, I feel all the more ashamed: although I have spoken these words, I have not in truth lived up to them. I ought each day to examine the principles they contain, and after reading them to strive to correct myself. Those who are penetrating will take pleasure in these words, yet worry that my conduct will not keep pace with my speech; those who are lost will mock me because my words and deeds do not accord. Since I am a man and have already uttered these words, how can I leave off halfway? I must see to it that those who worry about me need worry no longer, and that those who mock me need mock me no longer. Those who understand me will of themselves make clear what is in my heart; as for those who do not understand me, how would I dare to proclaim my aspirations of my own accord? I ought at every moment to examine and alert myself, and to put these things into practice.

Nanhua Zhenjing (True Scripture of Nanhua): Miscellaneous Records on Practical Affairs, Lower Volume