《冲虚至德真经解》Vol. 1

The Commentary on the True Classic of the Soaring Void and the Highest Virtue consists of eight volumes and was written by Jiang Yu during the Song dynasty. Jiang Yu described himself as an inner-hall student at the Hangzhou prefectural school, a higher-level student there. Little is known about his life. This book is his commentary on the Liezi. The title of an early printed edition suggests that it may originally have been a version presented to the imperial court.

The name “True Classic of the Soaring Void and the Highest Virtue” comes from a naming convention established during the Tang dynasty. In the first year of the Tianbao era, the court called the Zhuangzi the True Classic of Southern Florescence, the Liezi the True Classic of the Soaring Void, the Wenzi the True Classic of Penetrating Mystery, and the Kangcangzi the True Classic of the Numinous Cavern.

Since Wang Bi and Guo Xiang wrote commentaries on the Laozi and the Zhuangzi, more than a hundred scholars have commented on those two works. By comparison, the bibliographies of the Sui and Tang dynasties record only one eight-volume commentary on the Liezi, by Zhang Zhan. When Lu Deming compiled the Explanations of the Classics’ Texts, he included the Laozi and the Zhuangzi but not the Liezi. Chen Zhensun’s Explanatory Notes on the Book Catalogue records that Yin Jingshun, an assistant magistrate of Dangtu County, supplemented the work with a two-volume Textual Explanations of the Liezi. That book, too, has since been lost. The Bibliography of the History of the Song lists only one work beyond those in earlier catalogues: an eight-volume imperial commentary on the Liezi from the Zhenghe era. It is also no longer extant. Jiao Hong’s Bibliography of the National History additionally records commentaries by Lu Zhongyuan and Sun E, as well as the Four Commentaries on the True Classic of the Soaring Void and the Highest Virtue. Whether these works survive is now difficult to determine.

Among the commentaries on the Liezi that remain available today, apart from Zhang Zhan’s, there are only Lin Xiyi’s Oral Commentary and Jiang Yu’s work. Jiao Hong records Jiang Yu’s book as having twenty volumes, which does not match the surviving edition. Yet the extant text is complete from beginning to end and shows no sign of missing volumes. Since Jiao Hong drew much of his information from historical records and book catalogues, where errors were often copied from one source to another, the volume count he gives cannot be considered reliable.

Zhang Zhan’s commentary is concise and profound, without striving for elaborate phrasing. Jiang Yu’s commentary, by contrast, follows the approach Guo Xiang used for the Zhuangzi: instead of being bound by explanations of individual words, he directly sets out his own insights and central ideas. He often offers fresh interpretations and grasps meanings that lie beyond the wording.

Some of Jiang Yu’s explanations, however, seem far-fetched. For example, in his commentary on the “King Mu of Zhou” chapter, he says that King Mu of Zhou had once been an old companion of the “Cinnabar Terrace.” Because he had been demoted to the human realm, the taint of worldly life had not yet grown deep in him, and so he could still dwell in a sacred realm. Such a place, he says, could be reached by practitioners of a relatively low rank, but not by ordinary people in mortal bodies. This kind of claim sounds much like the ideas of Du Guangting and Lin Lingsu’s circle, and inevitably weakens the commentary’s credibility.

Similarly, in the “Yang Zhu” chapter, Jiang Yu says that Liezi was given the name “Yukou” because he regarded it as his duty to set the way of the ancient sages back on course. In the “Questions of Tang” chapter, he breaks apart the names of Wei Heiluan, Qiu Bingzhang, and Lai Dan to interpret them. “Black” is the color of Yin, and eggs belong to the Yin category; “Wei” carries the sense of height and prominence, so “Wei Heiluan” symbolizes old Yin. “Bing” suggests brightness at its height, “zhang” suggests the completion of literary splendor, and “qiu” is a raised place in the middle; thus “Qiu Bingzhang” symbolizes old Yang. “Dan” contains Yang energy, while “Lai Dan” symbolizes the gradual growth of young Yang. These interpretations, too, are difficult to regard as anything but forced.

On the whole, this book’s elegant prose and far-reaching ideas make it a worthy counterpart to the commentaries of Guo Xiang and Zhang Zhan. Lin Xiyi’s commentary does not measure up to it.

The opening of “Heaven’s Portents” says that Liezi lived in the gardens of Zheng for forty years, and no one knew who he was. Even when the ruler and high ministers saw him, they regarded him as an ordinary person. The commentary explains that this was because Liezi had cultivated himself deeply without drawing attention to it. Later, when famine struck Zheng, he planned to move to Wei. His disciples feared they would not know when he might return, so they asked him to stay and teach them. Liezi then recounted what he had heard from his teacher, Huqiu Zilin.

Huqiu Zilin said that in the world there is birth and transformation, and there is also a fundamental source that is neither born nor transformed. Once things take shape, they cannot escape birth, change, and extinction. Yet the source that brings about the birth and transformation of things is not cut off when individual things come into being or pass away. Birth and transformation do not come from an external ruler, nor are they deliberately arranged by things themselves; they happen naturally. Things are continually born and transformed, and this process never stops for an instant. It is therefore called “constant birth and constant transformation.” Yin-Yang and the four seasons are simply manifestations of this process in the world of formed things.

This source is independent and impossible to exhaust. The classic calls it “the Solitary and Unfathomable,” meaning that it exists alone and cannot be compared with ordinary things. Its movement turns back and forth without end, and its beginning and end cannot be traced.

The classic also quotes the “Yellow Emperor’s Book”: “The valley spirit never dies.” “Valley spirit” uses the emptiness of a valley as a comparison: though empty, a valley can contain and respond to all things. The breath within the human body, too, moves in and out. The commentary explains that by maintaining this state of emptiness, stillness, and harmony, one can keep life’s foundation full and vital. The “gate of the mysterious female” uses the female, whose receptive nature gives birth to all things, as an image for the inexhaustible gateway of generation. The “root of Heaven and Earth” refers to the source from which Heaven, Earth, and all things are generated. “Continuous, as if it were there; use it without exertion” means that it is subtle yet unceasing, and that when it is put to use, it is neither hurried nor strained.

The forms, colors, intelligence, strength, growth, and decline of things are all different appearances of the process of generation and transformation. These particular manifestations should not be mistaken for its source. Liezi goes on to say that the sages of antiquity governed Heaven and Earth by relying on the changes of Yin-Yang. Though Heaven and Earth are vast, each still has its proper function and limits: Heaven nourishes and covers; Earth gives form and bears; sages teach and transform; and each thing has its appropriate use. Once things acquire definite forms, each has its strengths and its limitations. They can fulfill their function only by following their nature and what suits them.

The classic describes things growing, taking shape, making sounds, showing colors, and having flavors. It points out that every particular thing depends on a deeper source: behind what is alive is the source that brings life about, and behind what has form is the source that makes form possible. Forms, sounds, colors, and flavors can be perceived, but they are not their own ultimate origin. Through the natural action of Wuwei (non-action), all things follow their own course. This action displays no will or power, yet encompasses everything and can do anything.

On the road, Liezi saw a hundred-year-old skeleton and used it to illustrate the transformation of all things. He listed many accounts of plants and animals transforming into one another to show that living and nonliving things, and life forms of different sizes, all transform into one another. Things emerge from nature’s “pivot” and return to it. The “pivot” means the hinge or action that sets generation and transformation in motion. The classic also compares the way moving forms produce shadows and moving sounds produce echoes. These images show how formed things bring about changes in one another, while the fundamental action of generation and transformation cannot simply be attributed to any one formed thing.

All formed things eventually come to an end, and Heaven and Earth, too, will one day end. When life ends, spirit and body return separately to where they came from: the clear and light spirit returns to Heaven, while the heavy and turbid bones return to Earth. The classic uses this to remind people not to mistake the body, temporarily gathered together, for an eternal “self,” or to insist on pursuing an imperishable body.

Human life broadly passes through four stages: infancy, youth, old age, and death. Infants have focused breath and a simple mind, and are not easily harmed by external things. In youth, vital energy is abundant, while desires and thoughts multiply, making people susceptible to external influences. In old age, desires diminish and the body declines, so people are less driven by external things than they were in youth. Death is when the breath of life returns to stillness. The commentary explains that one who embodies the Dao changes along with life but is not dragged along by change.

Rong Qiqi played the zither and sang in the countryside near Cheng. Confucius asked him why he was happy. Rong Qiqi said he was fortunate to have been born human, to have been born a man, and to have lived to the age of ninety. Poverty is the usual lot of a scholar, and death is everyone’s destination. If one accepts what is usual and follows things to their end, there is nothing to worry about. The commentary explains that this is a happiness founded on the ability to console oneself, and does not yet amount to complete transcendence of life and death.

Lin Lei was nearly a hundred years old. Wearing a coat of skins, he gathered fallen grain in the fields, singing as he walked. Zigong asked why he had no regrets about failing to pursue success in his youth or seize opportunities in his prime, and about now having neither wife nor children as death approached. Lin Lei replied that because he had not busied himself with fame and achievement in his youth or chased opportunities in his prime, he had lived to a ripe old age. And because he had no wife or children and was nearing death, he could be at ease and happy. He thought that life and death were like coming and going, and that death might be another kind of beginning; there was therefore no need to frantically pursue long life. Confucius heard him and said that Lin Lei did indeed have something worth discussing, but had not fully understood. To take pleasure in being near death was still to care about life and death. One who truly embodies the Dao is neither especially afraid of life and death nor deliberately glad about them, but simply follows their transformations.

Zigong had grown tired of studying and wanted to find a time to rest. Confucius told him that life itself has no moment of rest, but that death can be seen as rest. Zigong then said that after death, the noble rest in peace, while the base are subdued, as if forced down into death. Confucius praised him for grasping something. Yan Zi likewise said that the benevolent rest in peace after death, while the unbenevolent are overcome by death. Here, “rest” means returning to stillness, while “subdued” means being controlled and forced to submit.

The classic calls death “the boundary of De (Virtue/Power),” meaning the limit of life’s transformations. The ancients called the dead “those who have returned,” so the living are like travelers on the road. If they cling only to life and lose sight of their destination, they are like people who leave home and never return. People in the world often regard those who abandon their homes and wander as mad, yet regard those who pursue fame and boast of their abilities as wise. Liezi argues that both kinds of people may be lost; only worldly opinion treats them differently. The sage knows what is worth taking and what should be relinquished.

Speaking of “emptiness” and “stillness,” Liezi says that emptiness is not a title to boast about. Emptiness and stillness allow people to remain in their proper place and respond to all things with composure. Once they keep choosing, rejecting, and chasing external things, their minds lose their steadiness. When things have already fallen into ruin, trying to repair them with benevolence and righteousness often cannot restore them to their former state.

All things are constantly changing, but their changes are subtle and difficult for people to notice. Something may diminish in one place while increasing elsewhere; as things take shape, they also begin to decline. A person’s appearance, intelligence, and physical condition change day by day, though the differences may become visible only later.

A man in the state of Qi was afraid that the sky would collapse and the earth would sink. His worry kept him from sleeping and eating. Someone told him that the sky was accumulated Qi, and the earth accumulated soil, and that since people lived within them all the time, there was no need to worry about their collapsing. Changlu Zi heard this and argued that the explanation only described how Heaven and Earth were constituted at present; it did not prove they could never be destroyed. In the end, Heaven and Earth might come to an end. Liezi, however, said that neither the claim that Heaven and Earth must perish nor the claim that they cannot perish is necessarily correct. Life and death, coming and going, and the destruction or endurance of Heaven and Earth are all transformations of one and the same whole. The mind need not cling to any particular outcome.

Shun asked Cong, “Can the Dao be possessed?” Cong replied that the body was not one’s own; it was a form temporarily entrusted by Heaven and Earth. Life was the harmonious Qi entrusted by Heaven and Earth; one’s allotted life span followed a course entrusted by Heaven and Earth; and descendants were the transformations left behind as the body continued. A person’s walking, standing, eating, and drinking all depend on the breath of Heaven and Earth in motion. How, then, could anyone possess the Dao?

The Guo family of Qi was wealthy, while the Xiang family of Song was poor. Xiang asked Guo how to become rich. Hearing that “being a thief” could make him self-sufficient in a year and wealthy in a few years, he took the words literally and began stealing. As a result, he was caught and his property was confiscated. Guo explained that by “stealing” he meant following the seasons and the lay of the land, using resources such as rainwater and mountain marshes to grow crops and build houses, and taking birds, animals, fish, and turtles from the land and water. These are resources that Heaven and Earth bring forth naturally. Stealing the wealth accumulated by other people is different, and so incurs punishment. Dongguo Xiansheng went on to point out that the human body, too, is formed by borrowing the Qi of Yin-Yang, so how much more is this true of external things? All things depend on one another. To insist that something belongs entirely to oneself is itself a delusion. Liezi’s commentary uses this to explain that all things in Heaven and Earth draw on and bring about one another; taking what nature provides in accordance with its course differs in kind from seizing things out of selfishness.

The commentary at the end summarizes the teachings of “Heaven’s Portents” as the Dao of natural generation and transformation: all things emerge from the formless into form, grow and perish through the changes of Yin-Yang, and then continue in an unceasing cycle. Though people cannot escape generation and transformation, they can understand its source within that process and avoid being constrained by changes in life and death. They should also let go of the idea that they possess their bodies and external things absolutely, and follow the natural course of all things.

In the fifteenth year of his reign, the Yellow Emperor was pleased that the people of the realm supported him. He wanted to keep himself healthy and enjoy the pleasures of sight, hearing, smell, and taste. Yet gradually he grew haggard and old, and his mind and spirit became confused and unsettled. Fifteen years later, he worried that he was failing to govern the realm well. He exhausted his intelligence and strength of mind in governing the people, but again he grew haggard and old, and his mind and spirit became confused. The Yellow Emperor sighed: “I have made a grave mistake. When I sought only to care for myself, these troubles followed. When I governed all things, these troubles followed too.”

So the Yellow Emperor set aside his many duties. He left his sleeping quarters, dismissed his attendants, took down the hanging bells and chime stones, reduced his meals, and withdrew to the Great Court Lodge to rest. He purified his mind and body, gathered in his form, and for three months did not personally attend to affairs of state. One day, as he slept during daylight, he dreamed that he had traveled to the land of Huaxu.

The land of Huaxu was said to lie west of Yanzhou and north of Taizhou, countless tens of millions of miles from the Central Plains. It could not be reached by boat, carriage, or on foot; one could travel there only in the mind and spirit.

There were no rulers or teachers to govern the people, who lived in accordance with their nature. The people had no greed and likewise followed their nature. They did not cling to life or despise death, so none died young. They neither favored their own kind nor kept their distance from other things, so they felt neither love nor hatred. They made no distinction between betrayal and obedience, and so they did not calculate advantage and harm. They had nothing to cherish and nothing to fear. They could enter water without drowning and walk into fire without feeling its heat. Blows and cuts did not injure them; scratches and pricks caused no pain. They could travel through the air as if walking on solid ground, and lie in empty space as if sleeping on a bed. Clouds and mist did not block their sight, thunder did not disturb their hearing, beauty and ugliness did not sway their hearts, and mountains and valleys did not impede their steps. They moved freely, guided only by their spirit.

When the Yellow Emperor awoke, he felt refreshed and content. He summoned Tianlao, Limu, and Taishan Ji and said to them: “I withdrew for three months, purifying my mind and nourishing my spirit, hoping to discover how to care for myself and govern the world. I found no answer. Exhausted, I fell asleep, and my dream was like this. Now I understand: the highest Dao cannot be sought through feelings and thought. I have understood it and attained it, but I cannot explain it to you.”

Twenty-eight years later, the realm was well governed, almost like the land of Huaxu. The highest Dao the Yellow Emperor spoke of was not attained through clever methods. Only after he set aside thought and gathered in his impulse to engage with the world did he experience it in a dream. The realm was not brought to order through complete inaction, either. Rather, its ruler did not impose his private wishes, but let things follow their own patterns.

On Mount Miaoguye, in the middle of the Sea River Continent, lived spiritual beings. They breathed the wind and drank the dew; they ate no grain. Their hearts were still and deep as an abyss, and their appearance was like that of young women. They favored no one and feared no anger. Immortals and sages were willing to serve them as ministers; the loyal and conscientious were willing to be at their command. They did not deliberately bestow favors, yet all things had what they needed. They hoarded no wealth, yet suffered no lack. Yin and Yang were in harmony, the sun and moon shone brightly, the seasons proceeded smoothly, and wind and rain were evenly balanced. All things grew at their proper times, and each year brought a good harvest. The land was free of calamities; people suffered neither premature death nor serious illness; all things were free of disease, and spirits did not appear to work mischief.

Liezi studied under Laoshang and befriended Bogaozi. Later, when his learning was complete, he returned riding the wind. Yinsheng heard of this and followed Liezi, living with him for several months, but he never received instruction. He repeatedly looked for chances to ask Liezi to teach him his art. He asked ten times, and ten times Liezi gave no answer. Displeased, Yinsheng took his leave. Months later, unable to put the matter out of his mind, he returned to ask again.

Liezi asked why he kept coming and going. Yinsheng replied: “Before, I had questions for you, but you would not answer me, and I held a grudge. Now I have let the matter go, so I have come back.” Liezi said: “I used to think you were perceptive. I did not realize you were so shallow. Now I will tell you what I learned from my teacher.”

Liezi said: “I served my teacher and kept company with my friends. After three years, I no longer dared to weigh right and wrong in my heart, or speak of gain and loss. Only then did my teacher glance at me. After five years, I naturally began to think about right and wrong again and speak of gain and loss. Only then did my teacher relax his brow and smile. After seven years, I followed my thoughts as they arose and spoke as words came to me, no longer distinguishing right from wrong or gain from loss. Only then did my teacher let me sit beside him. After nine years, whatever I thought or said, I no longer clung to judgments of right and wrong or gain and loss, whether concerning myself or others. I no longer clung to the idea that my teacher was a teacher or my friends were friends. All distinctions between inner and outer dissolved.

“At that point, my eyes, ears, nose, and mouth seemed to communicate with one another. Doubts of mind and body vanished, and even my bones and flesh seemed to melt away. I no longer felt where my body rested or what my feet stood on. I felt like a dried leaf or an empty husk drifting on the wind, not knowing whether the wind carried me or I carried the wind.

“You have been with my teacher for less than a month, yet two or three times you have felt dissatisfied and resentful. A person like that seems likely to have even a part of his body rejected by Heaven and Earth. How could he possibly tread on emptiness and ride the wind?”

Hearing this, Yinsheng was deeply ashamed. He held his breath and remained silent for a long time, afraid to speak again.

Liezi asked Guan Yin: “A Perfected Person can enter water without choking, walk through fire without feeling its heat, and move among all things without fear. How can one reach such a state?”

Guan Yin replied: “It comes from holding fast to pure, unified Qi. It is not achieved through cleverness, skill, bravery, or resolve.”

Liezi then said to him: “Everything that has form, appearance, sound, or color is a thing. What fundamental difference is there between one thing and another? How could such things reach the state that existed before all things appeared? They are merely forms and colors. All things arise from the formless and come to rest when change ceases. Whoever investigates this principle to its furthest point reaches true stillness.

“Such a person dwells within a measure that knows no limits and hides within a pattern that has neither beginning nor end. They move freely between the end and beginning of all things. They make their nature single, nourish their Qi, and hold their De within. In this way, they are in tune with the generation and transformation of all things. Their nature remains whole and their spirit suffers no loss. How, then, could external things intrude upon them?”

A drunk who falls from a carriage often escapes death, even when the carriage is moving fast. His bones and joints are like those of anyone else, yet he is different when he is hurt, because his spirit is entirely unaware. He does not know he is riding in a carriage or that he has fallen from one. Fear of life and death cannot enter his heart. So he is not afraid when he encounters external things. If drunkenness can temporarily preserve the spirit, how much more so can one who is truly in harmony with nature? The sage hides the spirit within nature, and so external things cannot harm him.

Lie Yukou demonstrated archery for Bohun Wuren. He drew his bow to its full stretch, balanced a cup of water on his elbow, and shot one arrow after another, hitting the target every time. His movements were as nimble as a wooden puppet’s. Bohun Wuren said: “This is the skill of someone who aims deliberately. It is not yet the state of shooting without intention. Would you dare climb a high mountain with me, stand on a perilous rock, and shoot with a hundred-yard chasm before you?”

Bohun Wuren climbed the mountain and stood on a dangerous rock, with half the length of his toes hanging over the edge. He turned and invited Lie Yukou to come forward and shoot. Lie Yukou was so terrified that he fell to the ground, with sweat running down to his heels.

Bohun Wuren said: “The Perfected Person looks up at the blue sky, sinks down into the Yellow Springs, and ranges in all eight directions without his spirit changing. You are now so frightened and unsettled that your eyes are darting about. You are far from hitting the target.”

Bohun Wuren wanted to show that true mastery lies not in refined technique but in a heart unmoved by fear and concern for gain or loss. A high mountain, a perilous rock, and a deep chasm do not in themselves cause harm. It is clinging to life, showing off one’s courage, and worrying too much that first trap a person in their own thoughts.

The Fan family had a son named Zihua, who was skilled at cultivating his reputation and raising his standing. Everyone in the country admired and obeyed him. He was favored by the ruler of Jin; though he held no official post, his status was above that of the Three Ministers. If he took a liking to someone, the state of Jin granted that person a title. If he disliked someone, the state stripped that person of rank. His household was crowded with visitors, as bustling as the court.

Zihua set his retainers to compete against one another in intelligence and foolishness, strength and weakness. They even injured one another, but paid no attention to it, treating it all as a game. One day, two of the Fan family’s senior guests, Heshen and Zibo, were traveling and stayed overnight at the home of Tian Gengshang. In the middle of the night, they talked about Zihua’s power, saying that his influence was enough to make the living die and the dead live again, and to make the rich poor and the poor rich. Shangqiu Kai, who was suffering from hunger and cold, was hiding by the window and heard them. He believed everything they said, gathered some grain and a winnowing basket, and went to serve Zihua.

Most of Zihua’s retainers came from distinguished families. They wore fine clothes and acted arrogantly. When they saw Shangqiu Kai, old and frail, with a dark complexion and disheveled clothes, they laughed at him. Later they mocked, deceived, shoved, and tormented him in every way they could. Shangqiu Kai never grew angry. The retainers exhausted every trick they could think of, until they themselves grew bored.

Later, in front of a crowd, the retainers said: “Whoever dares to jump from that high platform will be rewarded with a hundred gold pieces.” Everyone eagerly agreed. Shangqiu Kai believed they meant it and jumped first. He landed as lightly as a bird, without injury.

The retainers thought it must have been a fluke. Pointing to the deep part of a bend in the river, they said: “There are precious pearls down there. Dive in and you can get one.” Shangqiu Kai did as they said and brought up a pearl. Only then did the others begin to suspect that he had some kind of Daoist power. Zihua ordered people to provide him with food and silk.

Not long afterward, a fire broke out in the Fan family’s storehouse. Zihua said: “Whoever can go into the fire and bring out the brocade will be rewarded according to how much they retrieve.” Without hesitation, Shangqiu Kai went into the flames. When he came out, there was no ash on him and he was not burned. The Fan family’s retainers thought he possessed the Dao and apologized to him: “We did not know you had such abilities. We deceived and humiliated you before. Please tell us what kind of Daoist power you have.”

Shangqiu Kai replied: “I have no Daoist power. I do not even know how this happened. I simply heard those two guests say that the Fan family had power to overturn poverty and wealth, life and death. I believed them completely, without a trace of doubt, and came a long way here. Once I arrived, I took everything you said as true as well. I was afraid my sincerity might not be enough, or that I might not do enough. I paid no attention at all to where my body was, or to gain and loss. My heart held only a single, unwavering conviction.

“Now I know you were deceiving me. I have begun to doubt, and I keep watching and listening for danger. When I think back to how I was not burned or drowned before, I feel afraid. With my heart now so full of fear, how could water and fire come near me?”

From then on, when the Fan family’s retainers met beggars or horse doctors on the road, they did not dare treat them lightly. They always got down from their carriages and bowed. They had learned that an imposing reputation was not true moral power, and that sincerity could change a person’s attitude.

Zai Wo told Confucius this story. Confucius said: “Do you still not understand? A person of perfect sincerity can move external things, touch Heaven, Earth, and the spirits, and travel throughout the Six Directions without hindrance. Why should this apply only to walking through danger and entering water or fire?”

Shangqiu Kai believed what was false, and external things still could not hinder him. How much more would this be true when both sides were sincere? Confucius urged his disciples to remember: when sincerity is in one’s own heart, even false circumstances may be taken as real. When the heart is filled with doubt, even a favorable situation can feel obstructed at every turn.

Among the pastoral officials of King Xuan of Zhou was a servant named Liang Yang, skilled at raising wild birds and fierce beasts. He put food in the garden, and fierce animals such as tigers, wolves, and eagles all became tame. The animals mated and bred in his presence, and creatures of different kinds lived together without fighting. King Xuan wanted to pass on this skill and ordered Mao Qiuyuan to learn from him.

Liang Yang said: “I am only a lowly servant. What Daoist art could I teach? But I am afraid the king may think I am deliberately keeping something from him, so I will say a little about raising tigers. Treat a tiger in keeping with its nature, and it will be pleased; go against its nature, and it will grow angry. All living creatures with blood and breath have much the same disposition. But happiness and anger do not arise without cause; they arise when something offends them.

“One who raises tigers must not feed them live prey, lest the act of killing stir their ferocity. Nor should one give them whole prey, lest tearing it apart make them angry. One must understand when they are hungry and when they are full, and know their moods. Though tigers are not of the same kind as humans, they become close to their keeper because he accommodates their nature. Killing makes them angry.

“Yet I do not deliberately oppose them and make them angry, nor do I deliberately indulge them and make them happy. Happiness can turn to anger, and anger can turn back to happiness. Neither is the right way. In my heart, I make no distinction between accommodating and opposing them. The birds and beasts see me as one of their own kind. They come into my garden without thinking of fleeing to tall forests or great marshes. They sleep in my courtyard without wanting to hide in deep mountains or remote valleys. This happens naturally.”

Liang Yang explained that knowing an animal’s hunger, fullness, and moods is only a skill of animal keeping. What truly lets the animals live together in peace is having no fixed bias in one’s heart toward obedience or resistance, pleasure or anger. The same applies to living with animals and governing people: the less one imposes, the more at ease they can be.

Yan Yuan asked Confucius: “I once crossed the deep Shang River. The ferryman handled his boat as if guided by spirits. I asked him, ‘Can anyone learn to handle a boat?’ He said, ‘A good swimmer can be taught; someone who swims expertly will learn quickly; and a diver can handle a boat at once, even if he has never seen one before.’ I asked why, but he would not answer. What does this mean?”

Confucius said: “Alas, I have spoken with you for a long time about writing and words, yet you still have not grasped their real meaning. How, then, could you understand the Dao? A good swimmer learns to handle a boat easily because he is not afraid of water. Someone who swims expertly learns quickly because he has forgotten the water. As for the diver who has never seen a boat yet can handle one at once, he sees a deep abyss as if it were high ground, and a boat capsizing as if a cart were rolling backward. He keeps before him every possibility, including the boat capsizing and the cart rolling back, yet does not let them disturb his heart. Such a person can remain composed whatever happens.”