《列子集释》Vol. 9

…Therefore they did not do evil deeds, and naturally they were not subjected to punitive harm either. Zhang Zhan’s commentary alludes to this point but does not spell it out clearly. The Shiwen notes that jin (near) is read in the departing tone, and the same applies later in the text. Here xing means injury or harm, not criminal punishment in the narrow legal sense. The ordering of fame and honor, and the length of one’s lifespan, are not things that can be weighed or compared on a common scale.

Commentary. The author brings up people of utmost antiquity as examples because their way of life happened to fit the principle under discussion. That people are born and die refers to the physical form; what passes through birth and death, entering and leaving the cycle of life and death, refers to shen (spirit). When one understands that life and death are only temporary comings and goings, one no longer rushes frantically after reputation; when one understands that the numinous is not cut off by birth and death, one no longer seeks the Great Way (Da) in restless anxiety. Therefore they acted in accord with their inmost heart, did not go against what nature finds pleasing, and sought only to give body and mind ease and delight—why bother chasing fame? They lived freely according to their own nature, did not oppose what each thing in the ten thousand beings finds pleasing, and sought only to satisfy the heart—why fear punitive harm? Thus neither the priority of fame and honor nor the long or short span of life need be calculated or compared. That body and mind are at ease and the heart is satisfied comes from acting in harmony with the Dao (the Way), not from drowning in emotional desire.

Yang Zhu said: “Among the ten thousand beings, what differs is life; what is the same is death. While alive there are distinctions of worth and folly, nobility and baseness—that is the difference; once dead, all alike decay and dissolve…”

Yang Zhu said: “Among the myriad things, what sets them apart is being alive; what they share is death. While alive there are the distinctions of worthiness and foolishness, nobility and baseness—that is where they differ; after death all alike rot and dissipate—that is what they have in common. Even so, worthiness and foolishness, nobility and baseness are not things a person can decide for themselves; rotting and dissipating are likewise not things a person can decide. Therefore life is not something one can make oneself live, death is not something one can make oneself die, worthiness is not something one can make oneself worthy, and foolishness, nobility, and baseness are none of them things one can determine for oneself.” The annotation takes all of this to arise spontaneously of itself (ziran), not through human agency. Yang Bojun suggests that in lines such as “therefore life is not what makes life,” the word neng (“able to”) may have dropped out after each suo, because the passage is saying throughout that these are not matters humans can decide.

“Yet all things alike pass through birth and death; worthiness and foolishness, nobility and baseness all return to nature. Live ten years and you will die; live a hundred years and you will die; the benevolent and the sage will die; the violent and the foolish will die. In life they were Yao and Shun; in death they are only rotting bones. In life they were Jie and Zhou; in death they are likewise only rotting bones. Rotting bones do not differ—who can tell their differences in life? Given this, better to give your whole mind to the life before you; how could you spare thought for what comes after death?” Yao and Shun are the legendary sage rulers; Jie and Zhou the tyrants. The annotation says this passage mocks those who cling to reputation after death.

The exegesis explains that being alive is the experience of this present span of life, and death is the end of that span. Worthiness, foolishness, nobility, and baseness are differences that life displays while one is alive, hence they are called “different”; putrefaction and dissipation are states all share after death, hence they are called “the same.” Ordinary people take only the physical body as life and death, and do not know that beyond the body there is spirit-consciousness (shenshi); when spirit-consciousness leaves, the person loses awareness. Worthiness, foolishness, nobility, baseness, rotting, and dissipating are therefore not what the body itself can control. Since nothing here is self-determined, in the essential nature of life all living beings are without high or low. People usually see only one another’s differences and miss the root they share; they scramble for the life immediately before them and have no room to attend to life as such. The exegesis adds that those who possess the Dao do not act this way.

Yang Zhu said: “Boyi was not without desire; he only took excessive pride in his lofty purity, and so in the end guarded his integrity until he starved to death. Zhan Ji (Liuxia Hui) was not without passion; he only took excessive pride in his chastity and integrity, and so in the end left his clan with few descendants. When lofty purity and chastity are treated as virtues, the outcome can be faults of exactly this kind!”

The commentary treats this as an unfair charge against worthy men. The author uses it to criticize those who pursue reputation past the point of measure: when conduct goes that far, it can no longer be called grasping the true Way and preserving one’s original nature, nor forgetting empty fame to seek what is genuinely real.

Yang Zhu said: “Yuan Xian lived in poverty in the state of Lu, while Zigong amassed wealth in the state of Wei. Poverty can damage one’s livelihood, and pursuing wealth can become a burden on the body. If poverty is bad and amassing wealth is also bad, what then is good?”

Yang Zhu replied: “It lies in securing one’s livelihood in comfort and settling body and mind at ease. Those who are good at living comfortably do not fall into destitution; those who are good at settling body and mind do not wear themselves out chasing goods.”

What is meant by “living comfortably” is having what one needs so one is not in want; what is meant by “ease of body and mind” is not overtaxing heart and mind to seek property. As the scripture explains, people of the Dao neither trade in goods to buy ease nor cling to poverty and ruin their livelihood; they rest in the Dao, preserve their inborn nature, and follow things without being dragged along.

Yang Zhu said: “An old saying goes: ‘While alive, be considerate toward one another; once dead, do not remain attached.’ That saying is very penetrating. Being considerate while alive is not merely emotional care—it also means letting the weary find rest, the hungry be fed, the cold be warmed, and those in difficulty find a way through. Not remaining attached after death does not mean having no grief; it means not placing pearls and jade in the mouth of the dead, not dressing the dead in splendid brocade, not setting out sacrificial animals, and not displaying grave goods (mingqi, burial objects) as funerary display.”

The commentary explains: To grasp that one should care for one another in life and not burden the living with lavish burial is the fitting principle, yet people often fail to live up to it. While alive, one should support and look after others so they may be secure; after death, if one merely buries jewels to win reputation, one instead invites robbers and adds to calamity—and thus loses proper measure.

Yan Pingzhong (Yan Ying) asked Guan Yiwu (Guan Zhong) about the way of nurturing life. Guan Zhong said: “Let life follow its natural course—do not block or obstruct it.” Yan Pingzhong asked: “How is that done in practice?” Guan Zhong said: “When the ears wish to hear, let them hear; when the eyes wish to see, let them see; when the nose wishes to turn somewhere, let it turn; when the mouth wishes to speak, let it speak; when the body wishes to be at ease, let it be at ease; when the mind wishes to act, let it act.”

The annotation notes that Guan Zhong was a man who assisted Qi in hegemony through achievement and stratagem; what he here calls the way of yielding to nature does not match his style of action or the actual circumstances, so this passage is likely a parable. What follows says: When the ears wish to hear sounds yet cannot hear, that is called obstructing the hearing.

When the eyes long to behold beautiful scenery yet are not allowed to look, this is called yeming (suppressing vision). When the ears long to hear pleasing sounds yet are not allowed to listen, this is yecong (suppressing hearing). When the nose longs to smell the fragrance of plants such as pepper and orchid yet is not allowed to smell, this is yedan (suppressing smell)—here “dan” is interchangeable with “shan,” referring to the nose’s passage of air and the perception of odor. When the mouth wishes to speak its judgments yet is not allowed to speak, this is yezhi (suppressing expression and judgment). When the body wishes to enjoy rich food and fine clothing in comfort yet is not allowed to do so, this is yeshi (suppressing bodily ease). When the mind wishes to follow its impulses freely yet is not allowed to act, this is yexing (suppressing one’s innate nature.

All such suppression is the root of harm to life. “Fei” (wasting or ruining) carries the sense of something great and severe, and also of injury and destruction. To cast off these bonds that ruin life, to live with abandon and freedom until death comes—whether one lives but a day, a month, a year, or ten years—I call that yangsheng (nourishing life).

If one is ruled by these constraints and, bound by rules and prohibitions, refuses to let go, one lives in fear and anxiety. Even a lifespan of a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand years is not what I mean by yangsheng. Commentators hold that if one overvalues reputation and is rigid about ritual propriety, always constrained, fearful, and sorrowful, then even a long life is not worth prizing.

Guan Zhong (Guan Yiwu), the famous minister of Qi in the Spring and Autumn period, had the talent to assist his ruler and revive the state, yet his extravagant and unrestrained ways could also violate ritual propriety and corrupt custom. Confucius praised his ability, saying: “Without Guan Zhong, we would probably be wearing our hair loose and our coats with the left lapel, reduced to barbarians.” Confucius also criticized his failure to conform to ritual, saying: “How small Guan Zhong’s capacity was! If Guan Zhong understood ritual, who would not understand ritual?” Liezi uses a man of outstanding talent who indulges his desires to expose his faults. Yet giving free rein to the ears and eyes and chasing sensual pleasure is the common bent of ordinary people. Writing such tendency to an extreme is meant to show its harm; it is not offered as a norm to hand down to later ages for imitation.

Guan Zhong asked Yan Ying (Yan Pingzhong), minister of Qi in the same era: “I have already told you how to nourish life; what should be done after death?” Yan Ying replied: “Matters at the end of life are simple—what is there worth saying?” Guan Zhong said: “I truly wish to hear.” Yan Ying said: “Once a person is dead, how can things still be up to me? Burning the body, sinking it in water, burying it, or leaving it exposed—all are acceptable; wrapping the corpse in firewood and casting it into a gully is acceptable; dressing it in embroidered ceremonial robes and placing it in a stone outer coffin is also acceptable. Whatever the situation calls for, one handles it accordingly.”

The commentary holds that Yan Ying valued frugality and conducted himself by the law in daily life, but need not have fully grasped the distinction between life and death. The examples of Guan Zhong and Yan Ying are cited only to contrast extravagance with thrift in the cultivation of the person. Ordinary people have a strong impulse to pursue desire, yet often take a lighter view of burial after death; it is easy to restrain oneself on funeral arrangements, but hard to satisfy desire. The exegesis adds that the world’s craving for desire runs deep, while attachment to posthumous rites tends to be shallow.

If ritual norms are kept simple, people find them easy to follow; if they are elaborate, people struggle to accept them wholeheartedly. Therefore, treating the living generously aligns with what most people wish for, while simplifying funerals for the dead is more readily accepted by all. Liezi thus accommodated those who favored extravagance and let them enjoy themselves to the full, and likewise accommodated those who favored thrift by simplifying the mourning rites. Wang Sun and his companions were rebuked by good officials because they had strayed from the middle way.

The Shiwen (Explanation of Characters) notes that “jian sheng” (thrift and restraint) appears in some editions as “jian se” (stingy restraint); se is read se, and another variant writes “sheng” as “xing.” “Fen” is read fu wen qie. Guan Zhong (Guan Yiwu) turned to Bao Shu and Huang Zi and said: “We two have already grasped the way of life and death.”

The commentary explains: while a person has awareness, conduct is not dictated by external things; once awareness is gone, that is no longer something I can know.

The explication says: if after death one is no longer master of oneself and everything is left to external arrangements, that is what people call knowing nothing after death; if while alive one can be master of oneself and indulge fully, that is what people praise as following one’s desires. On such a view, Yao, Shun, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius would not deserve the world’s respect, while Jie, Zhou, and Robber Zhi could become models for later ages. How could that be the standpoint of one who has the Dao?

The Perfect Person (zhiren, one who has reached the highest level of cultivation) can forget desire; the Sage establishes ritual and law. When desire is forgotten, cravings and wants no longer exist—what sights and sounds could there be to sink into? Once ritual and law are fixed, the boundary between rites for the living and the dead is clear—how could one lightly treat cremation, exposure burial, and other funeral forms? Every doctrine that urges indulgence in pleasure deviates from the Dao. The Shiwen says “jin” is read jin (exhaust, fully).

When Zi Chan (Gongsun Qiao, a minister of the state of Zheng) assisted in governing Zheng, he had the penal code cast on bronze vessels so that the laws were public and people knew what was forbidden. This took place in the sixth year of Duke Zhao of Lu. After he had directed the state for three years, good people submitted to his teaching and wrongdoers feared his prohibitions; Zheng was thereby settled, and the other states all respected him.

Zi Chan had an elder brother named Gongsun Chao and a younger brother named Gongsun Mu. Gongsun Chao was devoted to wine, and Gongsun Mu was lost in lust. In Gongsun Chao’s house the stored wine amounted to more than a thousand zhong; the lees piled up like a small hill, and the smell of dregs and ferment drifted out of the gate so that it could be detected a hundred paces away.

When he gave himself over to drinking, he paid no heed to whether the age was safe or perilous, nor to gain and loss in how one lives in the world, and he did not know whether the household’s goods were plentiful or scarce.

Relations among clan members and kin are close in some cases and distant in others; when a relative dies, people may grieve or even feel glad. Fire and water or edged weapons could be right in front of them and they would still fail to notice.

Duke Mu had dozens of rooms built in linked sequence in the inner rear courtyard, and filled them with many young, beautiful women. When he gave himself over to lust, he kept his close kin at a distance, broke off contact with friends, withdrew into the rear court, and stretched the daylight hours deep into the night. He came out only once every three months, and even then his mind was still not satisfied.

If there was a young, beautiful woman in the countryside, he was sure to use wealth to summon her, or send a matchmaker to lure and entice her; if he could not get her, he would not let the matter drop.

Zichan brooded over this day and night, went in secret to visit Deng Xi for counsel, and said:

Zichan said: “I have heard that when one cultivates oneself, one can govern the family well; when one governs the family well, one can govern the state well. That is the principle of extending from what is near to what is far. I have had some success in governing the state, yet my household is in such disorder. Could my approach be wrong? What should I do to save my two sons? Please instruct me.”

Deng Xi said: “I have long been puzzled by this matter, but did not dare speak first. Why not take this opportunity to set them straight—warn them with what matters most to life, and guide them with the dignity of ritual and righteousness?”

The meaning here is that warning them with the safety of life is meant to stop them from indulging in ease and comfort; urging them with ritual and righteousness is to entice them with fame, rank, and salary. These are all benefits that the world esteems.

Zichan took Deng Xi’s advice. He found an occasion to visit his two brothers and said to them: “Human beings are nobler than birds and beasts because of wisdom and reflection; what wisdom and reflection aim at as their essential point is ritual and righteousness. When ritual and righteousness are perfected, reputation and position follow. If one follows desire, sinks into cravings and pleasure, life falls into danger. If you heed my counsel, repent in the morning, and by evening you may receive official salary.”

Zhao Mu replied: “I have long understood this principle and long ago made my choice. Did I need you to speak before I would see it? Life is hard to obtain, yet death comes easily. To use a life that is hard to obtain to wait for death that comes easily—how can one not think carefully about that? Yet you want me to honor ritual and righteousness, show off before others, and suppress my nature to win a name; I think living like that is worse than dying.”

“This is truly penetrating speech! As for deliberately going against one’s nature and bowing to the ways of the world, adorning one’s feelings and nature in order to win a reputation—I think that is hardly better than being dead.

“‘Deliberately going along with the world’ means violating one’s nature to accommodate external things: giving up the joy right before one’s eyes and carrying long sorrow in the heart. Even if the four limbs and body are still whole, in reality one is already close to death.

“I only want to fully enjoy this one life and savor the pleasure before my eyes. I worry only about when the belly is full and one can no longer drink as one pleases, or when the body grows weary and one can no longer indulge desire as one will. I have no leisure to worry whether my reputation is bad, or whether my life is in danger.

“Besides, you parade your talent for governing the state before others, wish to use speeches (shuoci) to unsettle my mind, and hope that glory and official salary will sway my heart—is that not both base and pitiable?

“I also want to distinguish one thing with you: one who is good at governing external things is not necessarily able to govern them well; rather, he may only bring suffering upon himself everywhere. One who is good at cultivating the inner may not see external things thereby thrown into disorder, while his own disposition can rest at ease.

“Your way of governing external affairs might temporarily be applied in one state, yet it may not accord with people’s hearts. My way of cultivating the inner can be extended throughout the world. Then the ritual order between ruler and minister could also come to rest. I have always wanted to instruct you with this method—how is it that you instead use that other approach to teach me?”

Commentary holds that in some versions shuoci (“speeches”) appears as weici (“false rhetoric”). Bie zhi means to clarify this matter. Bo Jun’s textual research suggests that the closing phrase yu zhi may originally have read yu ruo, meaning “to instruct you”; in manuscripts a duplicated ruo was dropped through a repetition mark and was misread, yielding the wording we have now.

Those two men drowned themselves in wine and clung to sensual pleasure; they did not care about ritual and righteousness. They did not use their fathers’ and brothers’ standing to grab opportunities or chase reputation, but gave free rein to inclination and desire and never looked back—something that could fairly be called “Zhenren” (those who live in line with their inborn nature). You, by contrast, want to dress up their behavior, turn against your own heart, and chase office and salary to feed private wants. If a state happens to be well governed, that is not because of your great public spirit—so how can anyone call you wise?

The “Zhenren” meant here are not truly sage and clear-minded people, but people who really are without talent or ability.

Note: In one edition the word rendered as “tai” appears as “da.” Lu Wenchao observed that the commentary’s “jing ting” corresponds to variant forms in the Zhuangzi such as “ting jing” and “jing ting.” Qin Enfu noted that “wei” in “wei qi xin” and “wei” (artifice, what is made rather than given) were often the same word in old usage; Yang Liang, commenting on the “Xing’e” chapter of the Xunzi, takes “wei” as artificial and contrived—anything not native nature but shaped by human effort. In the Shiwen, “jing ting” is written “jing ting,” with “ting” read as ting; “kang” as ku lang qie, “qu” as qiu lü qie, and “lei” in the departing tone.

In the state of Wei there was a man named Duanmu Shu, a descendant of Zigong. The word rendered as “generation” or “line” refers to descendants and continuation of the line—not “uncle on the father’s side”; later readers who added the character for “father” or misread “son” were not faithful to the original meaning. Duanmu Shu lived on property left by his ancestors. Zigong was skilled at managing goods and wealth, so commentators take this passage to mean he inherited Zigong’s estate.

Duanmu Shu’s household assets amounted to ten thousand in gold, yet he paid no heed to worldly affairs and only followed his heart in pursuing what he loved. Whatever ordinary people wanted to do and whatever pleasures people sought, there was nothing he did not do and nothing he did not enjoy. His residences, terraces and pavilions, gardens and ponds, together with food and drink, carriages, horses, clothing, music, and concubines, were all on a scale that could rival the rulers of Qi and Chu.

Whatever his heart desired, his ears wished to hear, his eyes wished to see, or his mouth wished to taste—even things that remote border regions of other states did not produce—he was sure to obtain somehow, as if they all lay within the walls of his own compound. Here “fence wall” means the enclosing wall of the estate; textual critics hold that the character “it” in the phrase “there was nothing he did not obtain” may be a spurious addition in the transmitted text.

When Duanmu Shu reached sixty, his strength began to fail. He stopped managing the household and gave away everything in his storehouses—treasures, carriages, clothing, and concubines—to others. Whatever property was left in the countryside he also distributed among the people of his state. Within a year he had spent down his entire estate and left no money for his descendants.

Later he fell ill with no medicine set aside; when he died, there was nothing for his funeral. Those who see how things really work understand that nothing in the world stays the same forever, and that wealth is only a temporary pile-up. Gathering riches is not one’s own merit; it is only doing what is needed to keep oneself provided for. Giving everything away is not doing others a kindness—it only shows that possessions were never meant to stay gathered in one place forever. A man like that—why would he chase reputation, or let ritual and law tie him down?

People throughout the state who had received his gifts pooled money in proportion to their numbers, paid for his burial, and handed funds back to his descendants. Qin Gu said, “Wrong again.”

When Qin Gu Li heard of this, he said, “Duanmu Shu is a reckless man who has disgraced his ancestors.”

When Duan Gansheng heard this (the quotation in Taiping Yulan reads “Duan Ganmu”), he said, “Duanmu Shu is a man who sees things clearly; his virtue surpasses that of his ancestors. Although his words and conduct startle everyone, they accord with what is truly so. The gentlemen of Wei for the most part bind themselves with ritual propriety—they are naturally not equal to understanding Duanmu Shu’s intent.”

Meng Sun Yang asked Yang Zhu: “Suppose someone sets the highest value on life and cherishes the body, hoping in that way to attain long life without dying—is that possible?”

Yang Zhu said: “According to how things are, there is no one who does not die. As for hoping to live a very long time—is that possible?”

Yang Zhu replied: “According to how things are, there is no endless longevity either. Life is not preserved just because people prize it; the body does not grow stronger just because people care for it. Besides, what would long life be good for? People’s feelings and their likes and dislikes have been the same in every age; ease and illness in the body have been the same in every age; the bitterness and joy that worldly affairs bring have been the same in every age; and the shift from order to disorder and back again has been the same in every age. In all of this, people have heard and seen, and have lived through it themselves. Even at a hundred years, one still feels the days are too many—how much less could one bear the hardship of unending long life?”

Meng Sun Yang said: “If that is so, then dying soon is better than living long. One could step onto a blade or throw oneself into boiling water or fire, and the wish would be fulfilled.”

Yang Zhu said: “That is not so. Since one is already alive, follow what is natural and let oneself do what one wishes to do, until death arrives. When death is near, again follow what is natural and allow things to run their course to the end. Life and death are not in one’s own hands, so there is nothing one need cling to. What should be let go, let go; what should be yielded to, yield to—why be fixated on whether one dies a little sooner or a little later?”

Yang Zhu said: “Boyang Ziguao refused to use even the smallest portion of what was his to benefit others; he would rather give up his position as ruler and withdraw to farm in seclusion. Yu the Great, by contrast, did not put his own interest first—even to the point of harming part of his body. The ancients held that one ought not sacrifice the slightest part of oneself for the good of the world, and that one ought not accept the world even if it were offered entirely to oneself. If no one harmed the smallest part of himself, and no one used his own gain for the sake of the world, the world would be at peace.”

Qinzi asked Yang Zhu: “If pulling a single hair from your body could relieve the whole world, would you do it?” Yang Zhu replied: “The world is not something that one hair can relieve.” Qinzi pressed: “Suppose it truly could relieve the world—would you do it then?” Yang Zhu did not answer. When Qinzi left, he repeated this exchange to Meng Sunyang.

Meng Sunyang said: “You do not grasp the Master’s point. Let me explain. Suppose someone could harm your skin and in return give you ten thousand in gold—would you agree?” Qinzi said: “I would.” Meng Sunyang asked again: “Suppose you could obtain an entire state by giving up one of your limbs—would you agree?” Qinzi fell silent for a while.

Meng Sunyang said: “A hair weighs less than skin, and skin less than a limb—that much is plain. Yet hairs add up to form skin, and skin adds up to form limbs. A single hair is, in its own right, one part in ten thousand of the body—how can it be treated as negligible?”

Qinzi said: “I do not know how to reply to you. Still, if one put your case to Laozi and Guan Yin, they would say you were right; if one put my case to Yu the Great and Mozi, they would say I was right.” The standpoint of Laozi and Guan Yin is to value the person and treat external things lightly; that of Yu the Great and Mozi is to forget oneself and succor others. Meng Sunyang then turned aside and spoke with his companions of other matters.

Yang Zhu said: “All the world’s good repute goes to Shun, Yu, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius; all the world’s bad repute goes to Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang. Yet Shun once plowed at Heyang and made pottery at Leize. According to a note citing the Records of the Grand Historian, Shun plowed on Mount Li and made pottery on the riverbank—the riverbank being the area of today’s Leize county near Puyang. His labor was grueling: his limbs knew no moment’s rest, and his food and clothing were far from ample. His parents did not love him, and his younger brother and sister were not close to him. By the age of thirty he had taken a wife without informing his parents.

When he received Yao’s abdication—the ruler’s transfer of the throne to another—Shun was already advanced in years and his talents were beginning to fade. Shang Jun, Shun’s son, lacked ability, so Shun in turn abdicated the throne to Yu and lived in worry and distress until he died. This is what it looks like when fate and human affairs are pressed to the utmost extremity.

Yu’s father Gun worked to control the waters and failed; he was exiled to Mount Yu and put to death. Yu took up his father’s task and also bore the burden of avenging his father, applying himself wholly to opening wasteland and regulating water and soil. When his son was born he did not perform the naming rite for the child, and when he passed his own door he did not enter. Because of this his body was partly crippled and his hands and feet grew thick with calluses. In time he received Shun’s abdication.

“Bi gongshi” means building palaces that are plain and low. In the Shiwen commentary, “bi” is also written with the graph for “bi/shield,” and the readings are interchangeable. In old books, graphs like those for “pai” and “bi” (plant names) were sometimes read as “bi” because they shared the phonetic element “bi”; so “bi gongshi” could also appear as “bi gongshi” in the sense of using simple halls to shelter one’s dwelling. In “mei fu mian,” “fu mian” is read “fu mian” and denotes ceremonial robes and the official cap.

Some people live in constant fear and anxiety until they die—that is the distress of one who stands in the place of the Son of Heaven. After King Wu of Zhou passed away, King Cheng was still young, and the Duke of Zhou acted as regent and handled government in the king’s name. The Duke of Shao was displeased, and slander against the Duke of Zhou spread in all directions. The Duke campaigned in the east for three years, executed Guan Shu, and banished Cai Shu; he himself came close to ruin. “Jin” is read as “jin” (to present oneself at court). This describes the dread of one in the Son of Heaven’s position when danger closes in.

Confucius clarified the way of the sage-kings and answered the invitations of the feudal lords of his time, yet again and again met with hardship: in Song he was trapped under a felled tree, in Wei his tracks were hunted down, he was worn down between Shang and Zhou, besieged between Chen and Cai; he was constrained by the Ji clan and humiliated by Yang Hu. Such fear and unrest lasting until death describes the desperate straits of the tianmin—one who takes the people of all under Heaven as his own charge.

These four sages had scarcely a day of joy in their lives, yet after death left names that would last ten thousand generations. But lasting name was not what they truly sought. Even if others praised them, they could know nothing of it once dead; even if others rewarded them, they would not know. For the dead, such praise and reward are no different from a rotted tree stump or a clod of earth.

Observed from outward appearances, signs of worry and peril already show themselves; probed from the innermost heart, nothing fails to stir and unsettle the mind. To explain the most fundamental principle, beauty and ugliness are often pushed to extremes and set forth in pairs.

Jie of Xia relied on wealth accumulated by his ancestors and sat in the position of ruler. His talent was enough to cope with his ministers, and his authority was enough to awe the whole realm. He let eyes and ears chase pleasure and fully indulged the desires of his heart, living in joy until death. Such a person is one who by nature indulges in pleasure. Zhou of Shang likewise relied on ancestral wealth and held royal power; his might reached everywhere, and no wish went unfulfilled. In the Qingshi Palace he abandoned himself to pleasure, indulging his desires all night long, refusing to restrain himself with ritual and propriety, until at last he was put to death amid joyful excess. Such a person is one who by nature acts without restraint.

These two tyrants enjoyed doing as they pleased while alive, yet after death bore the evil names of folly and cruelty. How things really stand was never decided by reputation in the first place: even if people slandered them, they had no way to know it; even if people praised them, they equally had no way to know it.

Yu Yue held that the wording here may be mistaken. The passage above says that Shun, Yu, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius, even when praised and rewarded, did not know it. By the same logic, when Jie and Zhou are discussed here, it should say that even when slandered and punished, they did not know it. “Slander” pairs with “praise,” and “punishment” pairs with “reward.” Only then does it align with what follows: “Those four sages are where good repute belongs; those two tyrants are where evil repute belongs.” Praise and reward belong to good repute; slander and punishment belong to evil repute.

The word jin (“now” / “here”) picks up from what came before; yet if the text is also written as cheng zhi (“to call it thus” / “to name it so”), the sense no longer holds. How is that different from treating a tree stump or a lump of clay as if it had a soul?

[Note] To push arrogance and indulgence to the limit and let an insatiable, greedy nature have its way—even if everything under heaven were gathered to serve such a person—would still not satisfy him. That is in fact a lifetime of worry and hardship. [Phonetic glosses: jin read as in zi ren qie; yan (satiety) as in yi yan qie; qie (contentment) as in kou tie qie.]

Those four sages, though the end-point of virtue (de), finally endured bitterness until life’s end and still returned to death in the same way. Those two wrongdoers, though the end-point of vice, finally enjoyed pleasure until life’s end and likewise returned to death. [Phonetic gloss: here le (joy) is read as luo.]

Yang Zhu called on the King of Liang and said that governing all under heaven is as easy as turning something over in the palm of one’s hand.

The king asked: “You, sir, have one wife and one concubine yet cannot keep order among them; you have a garden of three mu yet cannot even keep the weeds down—so why do you say that governing all under heaven is as easy as turning something over in the palm of one’s hand?”

Yang Zhu answered: “Have you ever seen someone herding sheep? A flock of a hundred may be driven by a child five chi tall, whip in hand, walking behind—they go east when he wants east and west when he wants west. Yet if Yao were to lead a single sheep and Shun were to follow with the whip, the sheep would not budge.

“I have also heard that a fish big enough to swallow a boat does not swim in brooks and side streams; the swan goose that soars on high does not come to rest in muddy ponds. Why? Because their aims are lofty.

“The yellow bell and the great bell tone cannot match the dense, hurried music of a dance. Why? Because their pitch is broad, slow, and far-reaching. One who handles great affairs need not personally manage every detail; one who would achieve great merit need not begin from every small chore. That is the point.”

Yang Zhu said: “Matters of remote antiquity have already sunk into oblivion—who can still remember them clearly? The deeds of the Three Sovereigns seem almost to exist, yet seem already to have vanished; the deeds of the Five Emperors feel as if one truly lived through them, yet also like a dream (the character is read jiao, ‘to sleep’); the deeds of the Three Kings of Xia, Shang, and Zhou—some have faded from view, some still show on the surface, but taken together, not even one part in ten can be made out. Events of one’s own generation—some one has only heard of, some one has seen with one’s own eyes—yet still there may be less than one part in ten thousand that one truly understands; what is happening before one’s eyes—some is still present, some has already passed—yet there may be less than one part in a thousand that one sees clearly.

From remote antiquity down to today, the years are too many to count. Yet from the time of Fuxi through more than three hundred thousand years, the wise and the foolish, the beautiful and the ugly, success and failure, right and wrong—all have dissipated; only the time of their dissipation came sooner or later. [Note] If one is endlessly confused because dissipation comes sooner or later, and spends the whole day rushing about in rivalry and pursuit—is that not shallow?

People prize momentary slander and praise, wearing out spirit and body, all to win a sliver of reputation that might linger a few hundred years after death. [The character is read yao, meaning to seek or obtain.] How can that reputation moisten dry bones? What joy is there in such a life?”

Yang Zhu said: “In bodily form humans resemble heaven and earth and are endowed with the nature of the five constants; among living beings they are the most spiritually gifted. Claws and teeth are insufficient for self-defense, flesh and skin insufficient to ward off harm; running is insufficient to chase gain or escape calamity, and there is no coat of fur or feathers to bear cold and heat—so one must depend on external things to sustain life. Humans rely on wisdom, not on brute force. Therefore what wisdom holds most dear is preserving the person.”

Using strength to seize external things is a base act. Yet the body is not truly one’s own: once one is born, one cannot but preserve it. External things are not truly one’s own either: once one possesses them, one cannot simply cast them away at will.

The body is indeed what life depends on, and external things can sustain life. Even while preserving life, one must not treat the body as private property; even while not discarding external things, one must not treat them as one’s exclusive possession. To treat both body and external things as private property is to arrogantly occupy the bodies and goods of everyone under heaven. Only the sage does not occupy the bodies and goods of everyone under heaven in this way.

The commentary states that only the sage knows that the body cannot be held as private property and external things cannot be held as one’s own. Tao Hongqing argued that Zhang Zhan’s gloss misread the punctuation: “qi wei shengren hu” (“is it not only the sage?”) should be read with what follows, meaning that only the sage can make the bodies and goods of all under heaven belong to the public good of all under heaven—and only the zhiren (perfected person) can truly achieve that.

“Can only a sage accomplish this? One who regards the bodies of all under Heaven as one’s own body and the myriad things of all under Heaven as one’s own possessions—such a person is a zhìrén (a person of the utmost moral attainment and spiritual stature)!” This line first praises the sage and then goes further to commend the person of utmost attainment.

The Yijing (Classic of Changes), Qian hexagram, Wenyan commentary, has: “Is it not the sage alone! Knowing when to advance and retreat, to survive or perish, without losing what is right—is it not the sage alone!” The sentence pattern is the same here. Yang Bojun notes in his commentary that the version Tao Yuanming relied on had dropped fourteen characters including “not to impose private bias,” and so he drew that inference; now that those fourteen characters are restored, Tao Yuanming’s reading can no longer be taken as reliable.

The Shiwen (Textual Notes) states that from “such a person is the person of utmost attainment” onward should be read as one continuous passage: “regard the bodies of all under Heaven as one’s own body and the myriad things of all under Heaven as one’s own things—such a person is a person of utmost attainment. This is called reaching the highest level of attainment.” The annotation explains: to see the bodies of all under Heaven as no different from one’s own body and the myriad things of all under Heaven as no different from one’s own things—if one is not a person of utmost attainment, who could do this? Having awakened to the wrongness of partiality and knowing that impartiality without private bias is correct, it is therefore called “zhì zhì” (utmost of utmost)—that is, attainment brought to its extreme.

Yang Zhu said: “The people cannot rest because of four things: …” In this passage the character read as wéi is to be read as wěi (artifice/falsehood); the same applies in what follows.

Yang Zhu said: “The reason people cannot rest in peace comes down to four things. First, craving long life, so they dare not fully indulge their tastes and desires. Second, craving reputation, so they dare not act as their heart moves them. Third, craving status, so they go against their true intent and bend themselves to win advancement. Fourth, craving wealth, so they fix their minds on profit and grudge every expense.

Those who pursue these four things fear ghosts, fear other people, fear power, and fear punishment. Such people are called dunmin—those who live at odds with their innate nature. Whether they live or die is decided by external things; whether they survive at all, their fate rests in others’ hands.

If you do not violate the natural order of life, why envy long life? If you do not pride yourself on rank, why envy fame? If you do not hanker after power, why envy position? If you do not grasp for riches, why envy wealth? Such people are called shunmin—those who follow their innate nature. They preserve the original condition of life; nothing in the world can stand against them. Their fate is in their own hands and is not ruled by external things.

Hence the proverb: If a person holds no office, half his desires fall away; if people neither clothed nor fed themselves, the logic of ruler and subject would never have arisen.”

Jiang Yougao observed that huan (office or official rank) and ban (half) rhyme because in Old Chinese both fell in the Yuan rhyme group, while shi (food) and xi (rest or breath) rhyme because both fell in the Zhi rhyme group. On that basis one finds the saying: if a person holds no office, desire and appetite are cut by half; if a person lacks food and clothing, the bond between ruler and minister cannot be sustained.

A Zhou-dynasty proverb runs: “The farmer may die sitting at ease.” Out at dawn and home at night, he treats that rhythm as the norm; beans and bean leaves are, for him, the summit of taste. Thick muscle, sinews and joints drawn tight and stiff—that is the rough, unrefined cast of the body.

Much of what follows is the collator’s work on the wording behind “sinews and joints drawn tight”: alternate manuscripts use different graphs, commentators treat some forms as scribal corruption, and they appeal to the Huainanzi, Erya, Yupian, and similar sources to settle reading and shape.

If they go on like that, they cannot even keep it up for long before they are worn out. Commentators say: whatever one has already grown used to and finds comfortable cannot be changed all at once—how much more when it is the way one is born to be?

So whatever country people find comfortable and good, they take to be the best there is under heaven. Long ago in Song there was a farmer who usually wore clothes patched from old hemp wadding and relied on that alone to get through winter. When spring farming began, he would warm himself in the sun. Commentators note that dongzuo means the start of spring tillage, and yunfei means garments sewn from worn hemp padding.

He said to his wife: “This warmth from the sun is truly pleasant—what a pity that people under heaven do not all know it.” He did not know that the world also had spacious houses, warm rooms indoors, silk-padded clothes, and coats of fox or badger fur.

The man turned to his wife and said, “Basking in the sun with a warm back—others don’t know how good that feels. If we offer this to the king, we’re sure to get a rich reward.”

When a wealthy man in the village heard this, he said to him: “Long ago someone thought soybeans, hemp stalks, celery, and duckweed seeds tasted wonderful, and praised them to the local magnate. A ‘local magnate’ (xianghao) is a man of standing in the countryside. The magnate tried them: they stung in the mouth and upset the stomach. Everyone mocked and blamed the man, and he was deeply ashamed. You’re that kind of person.” The “soybeans, hemp stalks, celery, and duckweed seeds” mentioned here were common plants of the time; some could be eaten, but they might not suit another person’s taste.

Bo Jun notes that a similar story appears in Ji Kang’s Letter Breaking with Shan Juyuan, preserved in the Wenxuan: a countryman found sun-warming his back pleasant and thought celery delicious, and wanted to offer these things to the king. So this tale was already in circulation; whoever compiled the Liezi applied it in this chapter.

Yang Zhu said: “To dwell in spacious houses, wear splendid clothes, eat rich food, and enjoy a pleasing appearance—with these four things, what more is there to seek outwardly? To seek outwardly when one already has them is the nature of insatiable greed. Insatiable greed is the harm that violates the harmony of yin and yang; it not only drags down the person but also injures upright qi.

“If loyalty cannot keep the ruler secure but instead puts oneself in danger, and if devotion to the Way cannot benefit the myriad things but instead harms life, then keeping the ruler secure need not rely on a reputation for loyalty, and benefiting the myriad things need not rely on a reputation for righteousness. When ruler and minister are both secure and the myriad things and oneself both benefit—that is the principle of the ancients.

“The Yuzi says: ‘Cast off reputation and there is no worry.’ Laozi says: ‘A name is the guest of substance.’ Yet people never stop chasing reputation. Can reputation truly be cast off? Can it truly be treated as a mere guest of substance? Today, those with a name are honored and enjoy glory; those without a name are low in status and despised. To be honored and enjoy glory is ease and joy; to be low in status and despised is sorrow and pain. Sorrow and pain go against human nature; ease and joy accord with human nature. These are what actual living depends on—how can reputation be said to be cast off at will or treated as a mere guest of substance?

“What I detest is only prizing reputation at the expense of actual living. Those who act this way cannot save themselves even when facing ruin and death—and the issue is hardly limited to ease and joy versus sorrow and pain alone.”

Liezi Jishi (Collected Commentaries on the Liezi), Volume 8, Chapter 8: “Shuo Fu” (Explaining Signs).

Commentary: The course of worldly affairs has no fixed pattern; misfortune and good fortune depend on each other and turn into one another. Whether a claim can be borne out depends above all on catching the moment when things shift and change.

Explication: This chapter sets aside side issues and clarifies the root. It briefly gathers interpretations from various traditions, uses concrete cases to show what things really are, and from names probes how things actually stand. From this we see that acting on private inclination strays from the Dao (the Way), and indulging desire loses one’s true self. Hence one who grasps the principle does not miss the chance to fit the times; one who knows how to use people’s strengths need not, for that reason, keep away from harm.

Qin Enfu remarks that the word zi in the explication may be redundant.

Liezi sought instruction from Master Huqiu Lin. Master Huqiu Lin said: “Once you understand how to place yourself behind others, we can discuss cultivating the self.” “Holding back” (chi hou) means not striving to be first and not putting oneself in the foremost place. Laozi said: “Put the self behind others, and yet one can come to the fore.”

Liezi said: “I have heard about placing the self behind.” Master Huqiu Lin said: “Turn and look at your shadow, and you will understand.” Liezi turned to watch his shadow and saw that when his body bent, the shadow bent; when his body stood straight, the shadow was upright. From this it is clear that whether the shadow is crooked or straight follows the body—it is not decided by the shadow itself; whether affairs bend or straight depends on external things, not on my forcing control. This is the principle of placing the self behind yet ending up in front. Because one does not contend with the myriad things, one can often remain ahead.

Commentators explain: Master Huqiu Lin did not spell out every point of the doctrine; Liezi grasped the meaning of “holding back” and explained it on his own; Master Huqiu Lin approved his understanding and therefore did not reply further. The shadow appears according to the body, and the shadow’s crookedness or straightness is determined by the body; the body exists according to spirit (shen), and whether conduct is upright or hypocritical depends on how spirit is applied. Seeing the shadow, one can infer the body; knowing the body, one can reveal spirit. Do not blame the shadow in order to make the body upright, and do not cling to the body in order to manifest the Great Dao. Observe appearances and trace back to the root; from what is manifest recognize subtle principle—then one can constantly remain in front.

Guan Yin said to Liezi: “When words are fine, the echo is fine; when words are foul, the echo is foul. When the body is tall, the shadow is long; when the body is short, the shadow is short. Reputation is like an echo; the body is like a shadow.”

Note: The retribution that beauty and ugliness draw upon themselves works like echo and shadow—the principle of mutual correspondence is the same in both cases.

Tao Hongqing argues that when the text above says “the name is the echo,” it continues the idea that “speaking fine words brings a fine echo; speaking foul words brings a foul echo.” An echo comes from words, but the words themselves are not the echo. The present line continues “when the body is tall, the shadow is long; when the body is short, the shadow is short”: a shadow comes from the body, but the body itself is not the shadow. To say now that “the body is the shadow” is therefore hard to make sense of. Here “body” (shen) means the person who bears retribution—not the same “body” as in the lines about height and shortness. What follows—“Measure on yourself; look for the proof on others. If others love me, I will surely love others; if others dislike me, I will surely dislike others”—means that from whether others love or dislike you, you can tell whether you love or dislike them. Loving or disliking others is your own conduct; the retribution that others’ love or dislike fixes upon you is like a shadow. Hence “the body is the shadow.”

Wang Shumin holds that “body” should be read as xing (conduct, behavior). The next line, “Be careful in your conduct, and a fitting outcome will follow,” picks up directly from this. The received text has “body,” probably corrupted under the influence of “body long, shadow long; body short, shadow short.” The encyclopedia Taiping yulan, juan 430, citing the Shizi, has “the actor is the shadow” (xing zhe ying ye)—a useful parallel. Yang Bojun finds Wang’s reading convincing and Tao’s gloss strained and roundabout.

The classic therefore says: “Be careful in your speech, and people will respond in harmony.” For the word “harmony” (he): the Northern Song edition reads “know” (zhi); Wang’s text keeps “know.” The present translation follows the Jifu and Shide Tang editions in reading “harmony.” The Shiwen notes that “harmony” is read huwo qie and that some versions have “know” instead.

Be careful with what you say and do, for they draw matching responses. When words go out, people answer from a thousand miles away; when you act nearby, the effect shows at a distance. For that reason the sage can infer what has not yet appeared from what already has, and read the future from the past—this is what is meant by foreknowledge.

When speech is uttered, echo follows; when the body moves, a shadow falls. The logic of retribution works the same way, though people have not grasped it, so it is called “knowing beforehand.” Echo comes from sound: when sound is kind, the echo is pleasant. Reputation comes from real conduct: when conduct is upright, the name is genuine. Thus reputation is like the echo of a voice, and bodily bearing is like the shadow of the spirit. Words spoken bring answering tones; habits of action form, and the spirit shows through them. The sage hears the echo and knows the sound; sees the conduct and knows the inner state.

Law and measure must be rooted in oneself; to test them, look at others. If others love me, I will surely love them; if others hate me, I will surely hate them. Tang and Wu cared for all under heaven and so completed their kingly work; Jie and Zhou despised all under heaven and so met ruin. These cases are outcomes you can verify by examination.

Ritual and rule appear in the person; verification is read from others, as shadow follows form and echo follows sound. The deeds of Tang, Wu, Jie, and Zhou can be looked up, and the standards they followed become clear through them. The mind of love and hate must not be treated lightly. Once rule and verification are understood, not acting accordingly is like going out without using the door or walking without following the road.

Once the standards and patterns for understanding things are clear, yet one still refuses to act according to the proper Way, it is like going out without using the door or walking without following the road. Since principle is violated, how can one expect to gain any benefit? The commentator says that there has never been a case of going against how things work and still obtaining profit. The exegesis holds that when one can grasp the norms of things yet will not walk the correct path, it is like traveling without passing through gates and streets. To seek one’s own advantage in the world by such means—is that not extremely difficult?

When we examine the virtue of Shen Nong and the Flame Lord (Yan Di), cross-check the records of the Yu, Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, and weigh them against the words of legalist scholars and worthies, we see that from earliest times, whether a state endured or perished, declined or flourished, not one outcome has failed to unfold along this same principle. The commentator says that from antiquity until now these patterns have always been confirmed. The exegesis holds that when we look at their conduct and achievements, the sayings of ancient emperors, sages, and worthies match what actually happened, and the logic of national rise and fall stands clear; to govern all under Heaven without following this Way has never succeeded.

Yan Hui said, “People pursue learning and the Way in order to grow rich. If one already possesses pearls, one is wealthy—what need is there for the Dao?” The commentator explains that “inquiring into the Way” means studying the Dao. The Dao is the root of wealth; pearls are merely the tips of the branches. With the root in place, branch and leaf can endure; clinging only to the tips, one loses the root.

Liezi replied, “Jie and Zhou prized profit and slighted the Dao, and so they lost their states.”

A person is not incapable of becoming wealthy, but if one loses the root, in the end one loses oneself. Fortunately I have not yet told you these things.

If a person lacks moral principle and knows only eating and drinking, he is no different from chickens and dogs. What is meant here by “yi” (righteousness or propriety) is what is fitting and in accord with reason. One who can hold to what is fitting and reasonable cannot be stripped of it by external things. Chickens and dogs only scramble for food and even rub horns against one another to struggle and compete; if people prize profit and slight moral principle, knowing only to fight over food and victory, they too are like birds and beasts. “Mojiao” here means rubbing horns together to test strength; the victor takes the advantage.

If one lives like chickens, dogs, and beasts yet still wants others to respect one, that is impossible. The key to respecting oneself lies in holding to moral principle; only then will people gladly honor one and not reject one. To go against this principle is to invite danger and disgrace.

If one goes against this principle, ruin will follow. The “wealth” spoken of here means living without want and having enough to get by—not amassing riches by chasing profit. Valuing profit above and duty below is precisely why Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang perished. Chickens, dogs, and other animals do not understand benevolence and righteousness; they only scramble for food and prevail by brute strength, knowing no other rule. Act in that way and danger and disgrace fall on you; how could you expect others to respect you? That is pursuing reputation without the conduct that should go with it.

Liezi was learning archery and once happened to hit the mark. Commentators say this was merely a lucky shot, not reliable skill. He went to Guan Yinzi (a figure associated with the Daoist tradition) for instruction. Guan Yinzi asked: “Do you know why you hit the target?” Liezi answered: “I do not.” Guan Yinzi said: “Then you are not there yet.”

Liezi went back and kept practicing. After three years he reported again to Guan Yinzi, who asked: “Do you know why you hit the target?” Liezi said: “I know.” Guan Yinzi said: “That will do. Hold to this understanding and do not lose it.”

The point is this: with a calm mind and a straight body, looking inward, one truly grasps how to hit the mark—only then can one shoot with confidence. That lesson applies not only to archery but equally to governing a state and cultivating the self. Sages do not merely note whether a person or a state survives; they examine why it can survive.

To hit the target without knowing why is not yet to have the way of archery; to preserve oneself without understanding how preservation works is not yet to know how to secure one’s place in life. Archers of every level may hit the mark, but those who know how to hit are not the same; the wise and the foolish may both keep body and state going for a time, but they differ in how far they understand the reason for that survival. One who is truly skilled at archery does not prize a chance hit but values the method that makes hits steady. One who is skilled at governing and self-cultivation likewise does not fix on momentary peace alone but on what keeps state and self secure over the long term. The gap between worth and folly, order and chaos, lies in whether this is understood.

Liezi said: “When one’s looks are at their peak, pride comes easily; when one’s bodily strength is at its height, showing off comes easily—someone in that state is not yet fit to discuss the Dao.” [Note] Looks and physical strength are what ordinary people prize. Only taking up talk of the Dao after the hair has turned grey means the right moment is already gone; even discussing the teaching may fail to bring understanding, to say nothing of practicing it oneself. [Note] To wait until looks and strength have faded before one wants to speak of the Dao is to wake up far too late.

Yu Yue took the thrust of “not yet grey-haired when speaking of the Dao—shi” to be that discussing the Dao before one’s hair has turned grey often means one cannot truly grasp it. Zhang Zhan’s commentary reads shi as failing to comprehend despite talking about the Dao. Wang Chongmin suspected that words were lost before “therefore not grey-haired,” and that shi was a miswritten form of the particle yi. Yang Bojun argued that Wang’s view is unpersuasive: Zhang Zhan glossed yu dao as discussing the Dao and shi as not comprehending; Lu Chongxuan likewise explained shi as “cannot obtain” (bu neng de)—which shows that the texts they used all had shi, and that yi is the corruption. Yu Yue’s reading comes closer to the original sense.

So someone who only pushes himself to excel and strut will not find others willing to teach him the Way.

If no one tells him, he is left isolated and without support. Commentators explain that the proud and forceful refuse counsel even when they hear it, because they shut others out inwardly; their ears and eyes are naturally blocked, so who can help them? Tao Hongqing argued that the two characters for “self-pride” (zijiao) were lost before “self-exertion” (zifen); “self-pride and self-exertion” continues the earlier point that people of striking looks tend toward pride and those of great physical strength toward forcefulness. Zhang Zhan’s note—“the proud and forceful will not accept advice even when someone counsels them”—shows that the text he used was sound.

The sage knows how to put others to use, so in advanced years the spirit does not wane, and though wisdom is spent, the mind stays clear. Commentators add that by not keeping wisdom to oneself, others willingly serve.

Thus the hard part of governing a state is recognizing worthy talent, not fancying oneself capable. Those who think themselves capable are exactly the isolated, unsupported figures described above. Whoever knows how to spot and employ the worthy finds the intelligent planning for them and the skilled at their command. When every person’s ability is used, the state is easy to rule.

Ordinary people rely on nothing but looks and bodily strength. Trusting in appearance invites pride and slackness; trusting in strength invites forcing one’s will and quarrel, until no one nearby will assist. Such people are not fit to talk about the Dao. When looks and strength fade and the hair turns white, even hearing the Way only then may not bring understanding—still less living by it. So those who keep to humility and softness draw easily toward the Dao; those who trust in their own power and love to compete find no one willing to teach them. With no one to teach them, how could anyone assist them? The sage employs others well, and therefore keeps vigor through life and a steady heart even when wisdom is fully drawn upon.

To govern a state by this principle means knowing how to recognize the worthy and put them to use, so that talent serves the realm; if one only flatters oneself as wise and has no one to assist, one loses capable people. Here the character read as yi follows the pronunciation yi qi qie.

In the state of Song, a man carved a paper-mulberry leaf from jade (in another version the material is xiang, ivory) for his ruler. The paper mulberry is a tree. He worked three years before it was finished; the margin, petiole, and veins were cut with fine detail, and the surface was dense, moist, and lustrous. When it was mixed among real paper-mulberry leaves, no one could tell it apart. He won reputation and profit in Song through this exquisite craft.

When Liezi heard of it, he said: “If heaven and earth needed three years to produce a single leaf for every living thing, few things would bear leaves at all. Therefore the sage transforms and nourishes the ten thousand things by relying on the Dao, not on human ingenuity.”

The commentary explains: Skill alone is limited and cannot sustain all beings; transformation and nurture that follow the Dao can reach everything. To carve and polish excessively and then return to simplicity is the way to restore plain authenticity. Those who truly know how to bind do not depend on lacquer; those who truly know how to shut a gate do not depend on bars or keys; the finest argument sounds like poor speech, and the greatest art looks like clumsiness. Even a leaf indistinguishable from a real one after three years of carving is not the kind of cleverness needed to govern a state and align with the Great Dao. Sages transform and nourish the ten thousand things through the Dao, as when warm qi spreads and things grow of themselves—they do not rely on human cleverness. To violate natural principle and chase hollow ingenuity is to mistake the root for the branches.

Liezi lived in poverty, his face marked by hunger. Someone said to Zheng Ziyang: “Lie Yukou (Liezi) is probably a person of the Dao. He dwells in your state yet is reduced to such want—do you perhaps fail to cherish worthy men?”

Zheng Ziyang then sent an official to bring grain to Liezi. Liezi went out to meet the envoy, bowed twice, and declined. After the envoy left, Liezi returned home. His wife beat her chest and reproached him: “They say that the wives and children of those who possess the Dao live in ease and contentment. We now wear hunger on our faces; the ruler himself sent us grain, and you, Master, refuse it—is this not simply our lot in fate?”

Liezi smiled and told his wife: “The ruler does not truly know me. He sent grain because he heard what others said; if later he wished to punish me, he would punish me for the same reason—because of what others said. That is why I would not take the grain.”

Later Ziyang met disaster; the people rose and killed him. Liezi was not drawn into the affair.

This episode illustrates that to accept another’s stipend is to take on that person’s affairs. Ziyang did not understand Liezi and bestowed grain only because others urged him; had he moved to punish Liezi, he might equally have acted on hearsay alone. Liezi cared that the giver truly knew him, and for that reason refused the gift. Commentators note that Liezi later escaped harm in the upheaval around Ziyang, showing that he was not entangled by outward gain or calamity.

In the state of Lu, the Shi family had two sons: one devoted to learning, the other to military affairs. The son who loved learning went to the Lord of Qi and offered what he had mastered in the Way and its arts. The Lord of Qi took him in and made him tutor to the royal sons. The son who loved military affairs went to Chu and presented his knowledge of strategy to the King of Chu. The king was pleased and appointed him director of military affairs. The family’s stipend grew ample, and parents and kin shared in the honor of his rank.

Their neighbor, the Meng family, also had two sons trained in the same skills as the Shi brothers, but they lived in poverty. The Mengs envied the Shi family’s wealth and asked how they had won office. The two Shi sons told them plainly.

One Meng son went to Qin and sought audience with the King of Qin through the arts of the Way he had learned. The king said: “Today every feudal state struggles to the utmost; what matters most are arms and grain. To govern my realm with benevolence and righteousness would be to march toward ruin.” He had the man punished with castration and banished him.

The other Meng son went to Wei and sought audience with the Lord of Wei through military strategy. The Lord of Wei said: “Our state is small and squeezed between great powers…”

A great state—I serve it; a small state—I pacify it. That is the way to seek stability. If you rely on military force, destruction is not far off. If you send him back whole, when he reaches another state he will still become a great calamity for us.” So they cut off his feet and sent him back to Lu.

When the Meng father and sons returned, they beat their chests and blamed Shi. Shi said, “Whoever accords with the times will prosper; whoever misses the times will perish. Your intentions and mine are the same, yet your outcome differs from mine. This is because you missed the right moment—it is not that the method itself was wrong. Moreover, in the world there is no principle that is forever correct, and no affair that is forever wrong. [Note] To accord with the times is correct; to miss the times is wrong. What was adopted in the past may now be abandoned; what is abandoned today may again be adopted later. Therefore, whether to adopt or not adopt has no fixed right or wrong.

“To be good at seizing opportunity and grasping the moment, and in handling affairs to be able to change according to circumstances—all this depends on wisdom. [Note] Even if one understands benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety, if wisdom cannot adapt to the times, action will still miss the opportune moment. If wisdom is insufficient, then even if one were as learned as Kong Qiu or as resourceful as Lü Shang, where could one go without falling into difficulty?” [Note] The reason these two fell into difficulty was not that they lacked learning or strategy, but that they failed to accord with the times.

The commentary glosses yuan as yu-qian in fanqie notation. The father and sons of the Meng clan at once became at ease (shiran), and the displeasure vanished from their faces. Tao Hongqing held that sheran and shiran meant the same thing, since she and shi could be used interchangeably in early usage. The commentary also gives she as she and yun as yi-wen in fanqie.

Meng said, “I have understood—say no more.”

Interpretation: To study the way of ren and yi and to master the skill of wielding stratagem differ in whether one excels in civil or martial arts, yet in the end both depend on talent and character to take effect, and both must rely on wisdom to respond to the times. Wisdom is the functioning of the Dao; if one clings only to clever scheming, one has strayed from the Dao. To strike only where there is an opening, to act only when the moment is right, and to adapt without a fixed method—all of this is wisdom. Therefore only one who is good at following the times will not find his abilities hemmed in; only one who understands the Dao will not be destitute of wisdom. When wisdom falls short, even someone with Kong Qiu’s literary gifts or Lü Shang’s military genius may still land in straits. Meng had already grasped this, which is why he said, “Say no more.”

When Duke Wen of Jin was away at an alliance gathering and intended to attack the state of Wei, Gongzi Chu threw back his head and laughed aloud. When the duke asked why he was laughing, he answered: “I am laughing at a neighbor of mine. He was escorting his wife back to her parents’ home; on the way he saw a woman picking mulberry leaves, felt drawn to her, and went over to flirt with her. Then he turned around and saw that his own wife was likewise being courted by someone else. That is exactly what I am laughing at.”

Duke Wen understood his point, so he called off the campaign against Wei and ordered the army to turn back. Before they had even reached the border, they heard that someone was already attacking Jin’s northern frontier.

Note: What I do to others, others may do to me. If one only indulges one’s whims and assumes others have no minds of their own, one is deluded by the distinction between “self” and “other.”

Commentary: People crave gain yet do not see that what is gained must also be guarded—this is a common worldly attitude. Thus desire knows no limit, and the true Way is daily lost. One who understands the Way keeps to it inwardly without losing it; toward external things, one can respond without neglecting what matters. Ordinary people are not like this: outwardly they covet beauty and desire another’s wife; inwardly they lose the Way, and their own wives may be enticed by others.

The state of Jin was sorely plagued by thieves. A man named Xi Yong could pick out thieves from people’s faces: by watching the subtle expression between eyebrows and eyelashes, he could read what someone was really about. The ruler of Jin had him identify thieves, and hardly anyone he pointed to was wrongly accused. The ruler was delighted and said to Zhao Wenzi, “With a man like this, I can exhaust the thieves in the whole realm—why keep a huge force for it?”

Zhao Wenzi said, “If my lord relies on reading faces to catch thieves, thieves will not disappear because of that; and Xi Yong may not come to a peaceful end.” Before long the thieves took counsel: “The one who threatens us most is Xi Yong.” They went out stealing together and killed him. The gloss explains that can (to maim or slaughter) means to injure cruelly or to kill.

Wang Chongmin held that in the passages quoted in Essentials for Government by Category and in Imperial Readings of the Taiping Era, juan 499, the character written as can (violence/destruction) in some versions appears as qiang (to kill, especially a ruler of another state), and he suspected qiang was closer to the original wording. Qiang means to kill the ruler of another state, which is why Zhang Zhan’s comment glosses it as “zei sha zhi”—that is, to kill by violence. Lu Deming’s Classic Commentary records that can could also be written as qiang, read with the pronunciation qiang (like “wall”), with the same gloss; other versions simply wrote can.

When the Duke of Jin heard this, he was greatly alarmed and immediately summoned Wenzi, telling him: “It has indeed turned out just as you said—Qie Yong is dead! But what method can we use to catch the thieves?” The Qin carved edition and Lu Jie’s edition omit the word “thieves.”

Wenzi replied: “There is a Zhou proverb: ‘Seeing clearly the fish at the bottom of a deep pool brings ill fortune; being so clever that one can infer hidden matters invites disaster.’ Here, ‘fish in a deep pool’ is a metaphor for what is secret and hard to detect. Commentators take this answer as precisely the reason Wenzi later met with death. Jiang Yougao pointed out that xiang (auspicious sign) and yang (calamity) rhyme; in Old Chinese both belonged to the yang rhyme group. Yang Bojun’s note says that Han Feizi, “Upper Chapter of Shuo Lin,” quotes it as: “In antiquity there was a proverb: knowing the fish in a deep pool is inauspicious.” Classic Commentary explains that liao here is read in the departing tone.

Wenzi continued: “If Your Lordship wishes to make thieves disappear, you would do better to recommend the worthy and entrust them with responsibility; let laws and instruction be clearly promulgated above and thoroughly implemented below, so that the people develop a sense of shame in their hearts—then who would still become a thief?” Commentators take this as the method for stopping theft.

Thereupon Jin put Sui Hui in charge of government, and the thieves fled to Qin. The commentary says that relying on keen intelligence to distinguish right from wrong leaves no room for all kinds of deceitful people; relying on foresight to expose hidden wrongdoing in turn draws the resentment of evil men. Is the disaster brought by stratagem mere empty talk?

The gloss explains: jiao (instruction) denotes visible norms of conduct that the multitude follow in action; hua (transformation) denotes inner principles that people live by day to day, so that inwardly they submit. Inward submission gives rise to a sense of shame; when norms are clear, transformation can take shape. Recommend the worthy and employ talent, and thieves will naturally flee.

Someone asked: “Zhuangzi says…”

When worthies are promoted and the capable are employed, bandits will disperse. Someone asked: “Zhuangzi said: ‘When a sage is born, great robbers arise.’ Yet here it says that promoting worthies and employing the capable makes bandits leave. What do these two sayings mean?”

The reply was: “Those who chase empty reputation and lose what is real—great robbers will arise; those who gain real benefit and do not chase fame—bandits will leave. Therefore promoting worthies and employing the capable is done to pursue reputation; employing Sui Hui (a worthy minister of Jin in the Spring and Autumn period) is a case of gaining a truly capable person. The principles do not contradict each other—what is there to doubt?”

The commentary line about “employing the foreknowing” (yong xianshi): in the quotation from the Qunshu Zhiyao (Essentials of Government from the Collected Books), the character written as “xian” (prior/first) appears instead as “shao” (few/little)—that reading is more appropriate. The Shiwen (Textual Notes) says: “Ti” (to select/pick out) is read with the fanqie spelling zhi-ge (the traditional fanqie gloss for that character’s pronunciation).