《南华真经义海纂微》Vol. 9

When there is no sound, remain still and quietly let the ten thousand things change on their own. Action is not tied to one fixed pattern; it shifts as circumstances shift. Guiding and lifting the ten thousand things so they return to their own innate, spontaneous nature—this is the highest reach of Wuwei (non-action). Roaming in a realm without bounds, one walks with transformation itself (yu hua ju); entering and leaving without edge, one renews with sun and moon, so there is nothing to call a start and nothing to call an end.

The “song” that follows paints the figure of the Great Person (daren)—one who has united with the Dao—in a mode akin to Heaven and Earth. As long as the mind still holds on to “me,” one cannot truly share one great sameness with the myriad things under heaven; what people find hardest is letting go of that “me.” When even “me” is gone and one looks again at the myriad formed, shaped things, there is no need to clutch them or treat them as possessions. Those who see only “being”—appearance, names, reputation—are at best the gentlemen of old, still able to polish fame; those who can see “non-being”—emptiness, the Dao, the root—are companions of Heaven and Earth: Heaven and Earth may keep their nature on their own, and one may keep company with the Dao alone, completing life without leaning on outer things.

Brief terms: Nan Hua Zhen Jing is the Zhuangzi, so titled in Daoist tradition. Yi Hai Cuan Wei is a collected commentary on the Zhuangzi. Daren in Zhuangzi’s language is the sage who shares the body of the Dao and Heaven and Earth and is without “me.” Wuwei is not doing nothing, but not forcing against the nature of things. Yu hua ju means going along with the changes of the ten thousand things and with creation itself.

Commentary (Lu’s note) says: The Dao’s wuwei and naturalness are not only for the ruler himself to embody; those who assist the sovereign with the Dao should also follow the people, so that the state has few affairs and stays at peace. What one person hears and sees is not as broad as what many people, each with their own skill, can offer; if someone relies only on their private view and still tries to bear the heavy burden of governing the realm, it would be luck if the state did not perish.

When the Three Sage Kings rose, there was originally a side to ruler–minister relations that followed this Dao and brought benefit; in the age of decline, people mostly treated it as disaster. Those who wish to govern take only the good parts and do not see the hidden dangers within.

When the Yellow Emperor sought instruction from Guangchengzi, and Yao went to see the “Four Masters,” both treated “great things” (external objects and achievements) as calamity—so that people would understand: those who cling to things do not truly possess things. What I embody is the Dao; beyond the Dao there is no thing, hence it is called “uniquely possessing” (du you).

The teaching of great persons responds like form to sound, body to shadow, yet does not contend to be first under Heaven—this is the practice of “matching Heaven” (pei tian). Dwelling in the state of “no echo,” one is still and unmoving; moving in the state of “no fixed direction,” one is never confined. Therefore one can draw all under Heaven back to the Dao. When the world is in turmoil, one need not force it to be still—this is what is meant by “the ten thousand things arise together; I observe their return,” gathering the world into the world itself. Thus one can roam at the beginning and end of the ten thousand things, while “direction” cannot block and “season” cannot bind.

“Eulogy” (song) is discourse; discourse arises from not-speaking. “Form” is the bodily shell; the shell takes its image from the formless. This is great unity without limit. Once there is no limit, what “being” (you) is there left to guard against? Warm, thick, kind, and humane—this is called the junzi (exemplary person); hence the sage is the same as the multitude. Those who see only “being” may at best be called junzi; those who see “non-being” (wu) are friends of Heaven and Earth—being the same as the multitude is no longer enough to name them.

This passage from Yihai Zuanwei explains that at the level of ming (life-destiny), joy, anger, love, and hatred all arise from what is right; if one is pleased only with what agrees with oneself and dislikes what differs, one has taken “wanting to dominate others” as the heart—how could one truly stand apart from the crowd? Only by using study to exhaust principle, thought to exhaust nature, and continuing until one reaches ming can one avoid deliberately “standing out” yet naturally rise above the myriad things.

To understand the way of the former kings is to settle people’s hearts by drawing on what they already know; then what one knows need not surpass every craft. To gather the skills of the multitude into one’s own capacity—who but a sage could do this? When the kings of the Three Dynasties governed and the people benefited, that was not necessarily harmful; when later ages merely copied their practices without grasping their root, that was staking another’s state on luck—for a state that endures, one success is barely enough; for a state that perishes, ten thousand failures are still too many. The fear was likely that rulers who held territory did not know that relying on chance brings ruin. Whatever people “possess” counts as things, and among these land is greatest. Those who are “alive” today, however long they live, cannot live forever; those who are alive and have things, however long they hold them, cannot hold them forever. Only what does not live can give life to life; only what is not a thing can make things of things. Therefore one who has great things cannot be made a thing by things; by not being fixated on things as things, one can truly “thing” things. The sage does not treat things as things to cling to—things are not solidly real, yet neither does “not being fixated on things” mean nothing at all; grasp this and one is not merely governing the people under heaven. Such a one can pass through the six directions and wander the nine provinces; the earlier mention of “sole supreme worth” leads here to the way of the sage.

“Alone” (du) means apart from yin and yang without a counterpart; going forth with nothing to go forth from, coming with nothing to come from; possessing alone what nothing possesses. Supreme worth cannot be ennobled by rank; it is always spontaneous nature, receiving no mandate from anywhere—this is “it is so.” The teaching of the great person and the sage’s responding to things are like echo answering or shadow following—no deliberate intent toward form or sound, yet not knowing why it is so; the sage treats things the same way. Without being asked, still; when asked, responding; trusting what is natural, holding all that the world harbors, letting each settle their nature and life and become a match for the world—this describes the sage’s work.

Having said there is sole supreme worth, the text turns to the way of the sage: dwelling where there is no sound, hence hearing no voice; moving where there is no fixed direction, hence seeing no form—this is supreme stillness. Take you and the myriad things together to arrive at supreme stillness; only then does one “appear” and respond among the bustling; thus one can wander with the maker of things at the borderless, enter and exit without fixed side; daily renewal, hence no beginning or end. Delight in its meaning, then one can chant it; grasp its principle, then one can discourse on it. Mencius said, “Only the sage can fulfill the form”—“can” means merely that much. Zhuangzi, discussing the spirit person, likewise chants and discusses the body—in inner and outer agreement with Mencius. Great unity is public and without private bias, hence one can be without self; without self, how could there be “having”? Having is not really having; not-having is not really not-having. Thus those who see only having do not see its not-having; those who see only not-having do not see its having—not seeing not-having is drowning in appearance; not seeing having is drowning in emptiness; both lean on one side, not the whole. Those who see having are the gentlemen of old; those who see not-having are friends of heaven and earth. The gentlemen of old, applied to ming, become stuck in mud; friends of heaven and earth, applied within heaven and earth, have no obstruction.

In antiquity, those who attained the Dao first emptied the heart and softened the will: with an empty heart, discriminating thoughts do not arise; with a softened will, one does not strive to outdo others. Thus they could “blend with the light and take on the dust” (yu guang tong chen)—they did not sharply divide likes and dislikes when others agreed or disagreed with them. Hence they could “put themselves last and yet come first, set themselves aside and yet preserve themselves”—without deliberately standing out, they still could not help but differ from the crowd. Worldly people do the opposite: they establish themselves by what the many share; once what they hear differs, they treat countless people as enemies—how could a single private view rise above the multitude? Better to follow the crowd’s skills and the crowd’s wisdom.

Yun Jiang (Yun Jiang, the cloud lord of legend) was wild and unrestrained; the people followed him, each taking “being different from others” as their own distinction—until disaster reached birds and beasts and harm reached insects. Is this not grasping the profit of the Three Sovereigns while failing to see the calamity? Whatever has form, appearance, color, or sound is a “thing” (wu). Things can naturally differ from one another; once one understands that “thing upon thing” is not a solid “thing,” the heart is no longer bound by things. When the heart is not bound by things, it can embrace the ten thousand things; and not only embrace them—it can dwell yaoran (deeply still and silent), forgetting any grip on a “great thing,” riding clouds and dragons, moving in and out of the six directions, going alone and coming alone. What is called “uniquely possessed” (du you) is what things cannot do without; what is called “not-thing” (bu wu) is what things cannot have—one who does not stick to things finds that “not-thing” itself is not a thing either; who could still harbor a mind set on “standing out”? What is called “not going beyond the crowd” is, in another sense, precisely “going beyond the crowd.”

Shadow relative to form is inherently without feeling: when form stands, shadow appears. Echo relative to sound is inherently without feeling: when sound arrives, echo responds. Whether shadow is bent or straight is not in the shadow but in the form; whether echo is clear or muddy, loud or soft, is not in the echo but in the sound. The teaching of the great person is like this: when there is a question, respond; fully express what is in the heart; do not leave the foolish confused; match Heaven and Earth (pei) without installing oneself as master. Rest in a realm without echo (wu xiang); silence alone suffices to answer things. Act with movement without fixed direction (wu fang); movement alone suffices to circulate through the ten thousand things. Again there are naorao (turmoil) and yang (busy toil) by which to observe non-delusion, roaming together in what has no beginning and in the beginning-and-end of things. Form is the substance of life; the bodily frame is the differentiation of form. The “Song” (Song) celebrates life; the “Discussions” (Lun) probe the root—accord with the “Great Unity” (da tong), and one is born together with Heaven and Earth and is one with the ten thousand things; what burden would there be in clinging to “I have a self”?

Bixu commentary: “Great person” (daren) is the general name for sages. The great person uses the way of self-rule to lead the ten thousand things, acts from innate nature, and returns to the root. The Dao has no head or tail; it renews day by day yet stays ever fresh—hence the praise of the great person’s bearing and mutual upholding with the Dao. When that upholding is complete, outward things are stowed away; self and things are mutually forgotten—how could there still be a “person”? The junzi (noble person) cannot reach forgetting form; only by dissolving the self can one transform and nurture the ten thousand things.

Yizhai says: To want others to be like oneself, yet not want others to differ from oneself—that is to set oneself above the crowd. To need everyone to turn toward what one has realized before one is at ease is, though one seeks to stand out, still to be trapped among the multitude. If one calls oneself “sole insight,” one must require that others not understand; yet if one also wants everyone to agree with me, then my ability is not even as broad as the multitude’s. Still to want to govern the state this way is to grab the gains of the Three Kings (Yu, Tang, and the Zhou founders) without seeing that it must bring disaster. To seek the realm with such a mind is to take luck as one’s heart—one sees only loss; how could there be success? Those who hold the state do not know such people and are misled instead. Here the text plainly satirizes the itinerant persuaders who traveled among the states of the time.

“Treating each thing as a thing” (wuwu) has mind and leaves traces; “not fixing on things” (buwu) is wuwei (non-action) and spontaneity. In wuwei nothing is left undone—hence “because he does not fix on things, he can respond to all things.” If one knows the “not-fixing” within “treating things as things,” is governing the world the limit? “Going in and out of the six directions, roaming the nine provinces” means that his words rise above the ten thousand things, turn in the opening and closing of creation, and are one with Heaven—not something a human can split in two—hence going alone and coming alone, called “sole possession” (duyou), the utmost honor. The great person is one who “solely possesses”: form necessarily has shadow, sound necessarily has echo—that is the natural order. When someone asks me, I answer with this whole heart; facing the world thus, one body bears the world’s weight. I am host, the other is guest—no echo, no sound, no direction, no trace. The hubbub of the moving throng, no fixed countenance—leading all under heaven back into that hubbub: though transcending the world, not leaving the world; transcendence and the world are not two methods. Without end, without side—all is the boundless; not seeing the beginning, how know the end? As to the bodily form, to praise it as matching Heaven and Earth is to say all share this body; already the same as the ten thousand things, there is no “self”—what is there to “have”? The gentlemen of old only saw that they had; taking Heaven and Earth as friends, they then saw that they had not.

It says: the gentlemen of old—from Yao and Shun downward—all fall within this.

People commonly dislike what differs from them and seek those who agree with them; they value themselves and slight others—that is human nature, and in the heart there is always a wish to “stand out.” If one is pleased only when joining those who think alike, one is no different from the crowd—how has one truly risen above others? With such a mindset, to expect to govern a country well is to chase immediate private gain and ignore future disaster; how much luck can there be before the state is lost? The commentary says, in effect, that those who preserve others’ states are exceedingly few—perhaps one in ten thousand or more—while those who lose states are many. The tone is sharp and mournful, lamenting that rulers who hold territory do not see this; the aim is to warn those who stand above the people: if you have land and great possessions (territory and wealth) yet know only how to hold them and not share with the people, you may by chance avoid losing the state—but those who can preserve others’ states are rare among the myriad, while those who lose states are many. The sense matches the lines above: again it sighs that holders of land do not understand.

To have land and great things yet not use them to “treat all things under Heaven as things”—if one grasps and possesses them, one is instead mastered by things. If one can understand that “what makes a thing a thing is not a fixed ‘thing’” (wu wu zhe zhi fei wu), then not only can one govern all under Heaven; one can also pass through the six directions and roam the nine provinces—the same meaning as riding clouds, driving dragons, and roaming the four seas. Thus one can go and come alone, with nothing outside matching one as a pair; only this Dao is possessed—what could be more noble?

“The teaching of the great person” is like form answering sound, shadow answering echo: when struck, there is response, without going against the people’s wishes, acting as the world’s counterpart (pei—matching and assisting). Therefore one dares not be host but is guest; response arises from feeling, not from deliberate striving to respond. One dwells in “no direction” (wu xiang—being nowhere fixed yet everywhere present) and moves in “no fixed place” (wu fang—acting without being bound to one region). The line “qie ru shi fu zhi rao rao” is hard to interpret, and commentators’ readings are not very clear. Weighing the scripture’s intent, it aligns with the Daodejing’s “Who can make muddy water clear by stillness? Who can give life to what is long at rest by movement?”: the great person’s teaching stresses using movement to transform things, hence roaming where there is no beginning and no side, renewing daily with the sun, without start or end. What is called “song lun” (praise-discourse, or deliberation) is discourse on the great person’s bearing, in accord with “great unity” (da tong), no different from the Dao—the same as the Daodejing’s “The countenance of great De follows only the Dao.” Many exegeses fix too much on the words “song lun,” so what follows in the text does not connect for them.

The great person has no “self”; when self is gone, what thing can be held as “having”? The junzi (exemplary person) still applies himself to learning, hoping to reach this Dao. Before one can forget things, what one sees is all “having”—like the cook Ding when he first cut up the ox and saw nothing but whole oxen. Ancient junzi were already thus; today’s junzi need hardly be described. Hence one admires and honors those who “behold nothing” (du wu): beholding nothing means abandoning learning and arriving at the Dao, like cook Ding after three years when “the eye no longer sees the whole ox.” Heaven and Earth are born from “nothing”; one who can behold what gives birth to Heaven and Earth can befriend them—not excessive praise. If De fits nature and Dao transcends images, commanding the eight extremes and going out from being into non-being, one can lead Heaven and Earth and grasp yin and yang—far more than mere friendship. Thus Master Kangjie (Shao Yong) said: “Heaven and Earth come forth from me; what else is worth speaking of?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary

When each thing is employed according to its own nature, the realm is at peace; when nature is violated and things are suppressed, the realm falls into disorder. Only when the lowly each keep their proper place can the noble truly be noble; only when the exalted take the humble as their footing can high rank hold firm—this is inevitable principle. The work lies over there, the merit in that person’s body; there is no need to thrust “I” into the foreground. What must be done should still be done, but only by entrusting and following nature—never by forcing things awry.

“Law” (fa) is the trace of subtle affairs; one cannot display only coarse rules and hide what is subtle. If one always acts from one’s seat and insists on one’s own way, disorder follows. To stand apart from closeness and warmth is to be partial; partiality brings distress, so only what is “broad” is truly humane (ren). The flaw in ritual is that everything is tied to one fixed form; only when things each return to their place and accumulate into completeness does ritual serve its purpose. If affairs aim only at “the mean” without accord with De (Virtue/Power), or difficulty aims only at “oneness” without accord with the Dao (the Way), then to insist on “non-action” (wuwei)—even if one were like a spirit, one would not be Heaven; how much less someone who is neither centered, nor unified, nor spirit-like?

The sage follows each thing’s self-so (ziran), aligns with nature and with “the high,” and without scheming becomes one with it—hence what is done is easy. To rely on the name of benevolence alone is not to be truly broad; to dwell far by following one’s nature is not deliberate accumulation; to respond to ritual naturally is not born of taboo. In meeting others through ritual, can each keep to their share—moving when they should, without needless deferral? To govern the coarse by the subtle is why there is no disorder.

To trust the people’s self-so and not lightly stir weapons; to entrust things as they are and not remove their root. What is called “acting”—is it forcing action because one feels it is not enough? Keep to one’s own portion; stop when one should stop. Not understanding ziran leads to contrived action; contrived action impairs pure De. Unable to empty oneself and await things, one misses the moment in every affair—how lamentable for one who does not understand the Dao. The way of Heaven entrusts the myriad things to their self-so; the way of humans burdens itself with deliberate action and cannot lead things to their own satisfaction. To align with Heaven is to entrust the myriad things to ziran; to dwell above things while each fulfills its charge; to dwell in wuwei and delegate to the hundred offices, each office keeping its task, the ruler not mixing in miscellaneous affairs. Both sides gain satisfaction through “non-doing”: the ruler at ease, the minister at labor—the difference between ease and toil cannot be spoken of in the same breath.

Lü’s commentary

Humans are noble, things are base; the base are fit to be “officials” (the hundred offices). The hundred offices each have their charge; the ruler does not mix in miscellaneous affairs. When both sides gain satisfaction through “non-doing,” the way of the ruler is ease and the way of the minister is exertion—the distinction between ease and labor must not be conflated.

This passage explains that humans are valued while things are lowly: things seem lowly enough that one might think they need not be “employed,” yet they cannot be left unused; hence one must adapt to external things without breaking away from them, because their lowliness means they cannot accomplish things alone, yet one cannot refrain from acting—the action is merely assisting their natural course.

The ruler is honored and the people are humble: the people seem humble enough that one might think they need not be followed, yet Heaven’s seeing and hearing still depend on people; hence one relies on the populace without neglecting them. Adapting to change is called “affairs”: without facing what has not yet formed, one cannot know what is hidden; hence one engages affairs without refusing them. Regulating and applying is called fa (law/method). Fa is not the subtle Dao itself, yet the world takes it as a boundary; hence one aligns with fa without disorder.

Ren (benevolence) is what the noble person embodies and practices; ren is near and yi (righteousness) is far, yet without yi, ren cannot stand alone—yi is distant yet cannot be abandoned; hence one keeps yi light without piling it up. Ren roots in filial piety and brotherly respect; yi benefits things; yi is sparse and ren is intimate, and intimacy stops at father and son—what tigers and wolves share is not the “ utmost”; hence one joins in ren without self-conceit.

Li (ritual) takes restraining the people’s hearts as its task; when nothing escapes li, accumulation cannot be avoided; hence one responds to li without evasion.

De (Virtue/Power) is what nature shares in common; if it is not clear in human affairs it is not pure; hence one completes through de without burden. Nothing is outside the Dao, so all becomes one; yet if one clings rigidly without change, the myriad things’ responses are incomplete; hence one issues from the Dao without scheming.

Wuwei (non-action) is how Heaven acts as spirit; if there is “not doing,” it is not the fullness of wuwei; hence one observes Heaven without assisting.

What was discussed earlier—abolishing sages and discarding wisdom, rejecting ren and yi, and petty matters like tally-seals and steelyard weights, wishing to burn, smash, and break them all—would mean that from the subtlety of the heavenly Dao down to the coarse and hidden in affairs and fa, nothing could be dispensed with. Why? How Heaven is spirit: one warm breath and the myriad things are full; one cold breath and the myriad things are empty—forming things is no more than one act. Zhuangzi speaks likewise: what he said before is the time of one breath emptying the myriad things; what he says now is the time of one breath filling them—again, merely forming things. Is this not embodying spirit and entering Heaven?

The Dao is one and no more—without clarity about Heaven one cannot achieve wuwei; without purity in de one may still force matters (from the human level downward). The Dao has a heavenly aspect and a human aspect: without penetrating this, neither wuwei nor youwei has a basis of its own; if even penetration is impossible, how much less clarity! Wuwei moves things; youwei is moved by things—the heavenly Dao is wuwei and honored; the youwei honors humans; wuwei honors the human realm. The human way is youwei and burdensome. Unless Zhuangzi were deeply versed in worldly involvement and youwei, why would he instruct so earnestly? Observing the principle of Heaven and earth and the effects of past and present, he knew that gain and loss always hinge on this alone.

This passage explains that when the sage governs the realm and practices the Way, he must defer to the inherent nature of the ten thousand things and the common people. One must not strip them of the right to “each settle in their own nature” because of high or low status.

Though a thing may be utterly lowly, it must still be left to its natural course; though the people may be utterly humble, their ordinary nature must still be followed. If, because something is lowly, one does not let things each fulfill their nature, it is as if there were no things in the world; if, because the people are humble, one does not act according to their nature, it is as if there were no people in the world. How could the realm lack people or things? Therefore what ought to be done cannot be left undone—otherwise decay cannot be remedied—yet it also cannot be done too conspicuously, or the Way is harmed. If the Way is not overly crude and plain, the people will not know what to follow; if ritual and righteousness are not presented in fitting measure, the world will not stand in awe of their model. Here the text stresses again: the lowly must still be “entrusted,” the humble must still be “followed in their nature”—otherwise both things and people are lost.

Next it treats the order of righteousness (yi), benevolence (ren), ritual (li), virtue (de), and the Dao: there is a sequence of ten steps from “function” back to “substance.” The sage aligns with Heaven, observes Heaven’s spontaneity, and does not bolster it with force. Virtue arises from nature and is completed through nature—it is not treated as a burden. Planning (mou) is responding to concrete affairs by manifesting the Way toward things; it is not mere nitpicking over isolated cases. Meeting (hui) is natural accord; relying (shi) is the mind having nothing to depend on—uniting with benevolence and becoming one with nature, hence no dependency. Righteousness is moving in response to ritual; evasion (hui in another sense) is words diverging from the heart, righteousness thin and not accumulating great righteousness—though one responds to ritual, only when one does not “evade” in this way is there great ritual. When affairs succeed, one receives them without declining; when law is established, one aligns without disorder. The people are the root of the state—rely on them without stirring or slighting them; things are the use of the state—employ them without abandoning them. This section summarizes the sage’s order from substance to function: entrust the natural and follow it.

Things are born from the Dao; the Dao embraces and governs things. The sage acts for the Dao, not for things—yet each thing still fulfills itself—so things need not each be “made” by the sage one by one, yet one also cannot wholly not act (pure neglect). Xunzi said: those skilled in things are enslaved by things; those skilled in the Dao command the ten thousand things together—one must be refined in the Dao, not enslaved by things. Ancient discussants of the Way first clarified Heaven, then discussed virtue; once Heaven is clear and one seeks within oneself, virtue is pure. Without penetrating the Dao, one is obstructed everywhere.

The great Dao disperses into the division between Heaven and human: the ruler is non-active above, belonging to the way of Heaven; ministers are active below, belonging to the way of human. The way of Heaven is the natural; the way of human is the artificial. There are humans who are not Heaven—but there is no “Heaven that is not human” (Heaven and human are never truly separate, only differently tasked). Mencius said: what is done without anyone doing it is Heaven. These ten items are the order from function to substance; the sage unites with Heaven, observes Heaven’s spontaneity without forcing aid; virtue arises from nature and is completed thereby, not taken as a load.

The latter half again develops planning, meeting, relying, righteousness, evasion, and the ties to receiving affairs, establishing law, the people as root, and things as national use—continuous with what went before: the sage moves from substance to function, entrusts the natural and follows constant nature, so things serve their purpose and the people rest in their places, while the Dao runs within that.

Xiangdao commentary: First there are the myriad things, and only then the people; once there are people, there are the various affairs; once there are affairs, law is needed. Acting by law returns to righteousness (yi); acting by righteousness returns to benevolence (ren). Ritual (li) is the means to restrain and adorn benevolence and righteousness—through it one reaches “zhong” (what is fitting and balanced). What must be honored is De (Virtue/Power); what must not be altered is Dao (the Way). What in the end belongs to Shen (spirit) and must be called Heaven is the realm where one passes from the human into Heaven. There are also those who have not yet reached Heaven but still refuse to acknowledge the side of “Heaven within the human.”

Xiangdao commentary (continued): When Heaven in turn illumines the human, De can be complete in itself and Dao can be applied to the myriad things. People and things depend on each other: things are within the people, and people are within things. Those who do not understand Heaven will harm their root with benevolence, so they cannot be pure in De; those who do not penetrate Dao are drowned in achievements and affairs, so they cannot stand on their own. In that case, how can those who do not understand Dao truly penetrate the Way? The root is above and the branches below; the essentials belong to the ruler and the details to the ministers. Thus when a skilled craftsman hews wood he seems to practice Wuwei (non-action), yet when he swings the axe he acts (youwei); when a skilled driver holds the reins he seems Wuwei, yet when he pulls the reins he acts. How then can the ruler do the same tasks as his ministers? How can ministers share the same De as the ruler? The classic says: “View words through Dao and the rulers of the world are correct; view ability through Dao and the officials of the world are well governed”—the ruler sits in ease and deliberates through words; the minister rises and carries things out through ability. That is the distinction between acting (youwei) and non-action (Wuwei).

Bixu commentary: In things, nothing is discarded as worthless—one cannot call them base. Yet the classic also says: “View words through Dao and the rulers of the world are correct; view words through Dao and the officials of the world are well governed—the ruler sits in ease and deliberates through words; the minister rises and carries things out through ability.” That is precisely the separation between youwei and Wuwei.

[Commentary by Bixu]

There is nothing among the ten thousand things that ought to be cast aside; one cannot say that because something is lowly it should not be put to use. There is no person who ought to be cast aside; one cannot say that because someone is humble they should not be employed.

In action there is what shows and what stays hidden; one cannot say that what should be concealed ought not to be done. In law, what matters is fitting the times; one must not fail to clarify what seems crude or outdated. In principle, judgment and choice are needed; one must not abandon what seems remote. The humane person loves broadly; one must not narrow giving because of closeness or distance. Ritual (Li) can order disorder; one must not withhold it because it seems restrictive or ceremonial. Accumulated virtue has higher and lower degrees; one must not settle for the middle and drift downward. The Dao (the Way) is originally empty and still; one must not become rigid from clinging to oneness alone. Heavenly principle is naturally so; one must not refuse to practice it because it seems abstruse.

Observe heaven without reckless interference; at the utmost, follow things without leaving things behind.

The above again gathers the meaning of the ten preceding points: external things are trivial and not worth much talk; yet what life requires cannot be left undone. Those who do not understand heavenly principle cling to ritual and old traces; those who lose themselves in things cannot even keep “self,” let alone act rightly.

Not speaking yet persisting—therefore “speech” is precious. Dwelling below and serving—therefore one belongs among people. The ruler models heaven’s way and governs through Wuwei (non-action); ministers serve the ruler, each keeping their office. Heaven’s way and the human way differ in labor and rest; if one does not distinguish them and reverses their order, disorder begins here.

[Yun of Yizhai]

Reading this passage, there is the idea that “refined and coarse cannot be parted”: though the Dao is lofty and things are lowly, how can people wholly cast things aside? Heaven’s way and the human way differ in labor and rest; if one does not distinguish them and reverses their order, disorder begins here.

On the Yizhai Commentary: This passage explains the idea that the fine and the coarse cannot be separated.

The Dao is more exalted than the ten thousand things—how can a person wholly cast off external things? The Dao is loftier than the common people—how can a ruler detach himself from the people? What is called “understanding” means awakening to the Dao; yet if one uses the Dao to handle concrete affairs, those affairs may seem obscure, and one still cannot abandon all worldly business—what must be done still cannot be left undone. The Dao is refined while law and form are coarse; one cannot discard coarse methods entirely, so they cannot go unstated. Righteousness (yi) stands apart from the Dao, yet righteousness cannot be thrown away either, so it cannot go unupheld. Benevolence (ren) is not the highest attainment, yet it cannot be forsaken, so it cannot go unextended. Ritual (li) has its forms and seems forcibly aligned with the mundane world, so it cannot go unaccumulated. What people share in common (worldly norms) still leaves room for what each ought to uphold for himself—though the same as others in form, one must not fail to keep a lofty stance.

To follow and yield to nature is the Dao—yet there are also times when one must adapt, so change cannot be avoided. What is called “unknowable” is Shen (spirit): what Heaven does may indeed be unknowable, but human affairs cannot be left unfinished, so action cannot be omitted.

“Observing Heaven without assisting” means that mature De (Virtue/Power) does not rely on forced bolstering. “Completing through De without hoarding” means not treating virtue as capital for self-aggrandizement—it speaks of a mind free of deliberate artifice. No scheming, no calculating, no leaning on things, no assuming one has conferred favor. “Thin” and “pressing close” mean staying near things without transforming them; “without hoarding, then transformation”—not stockpiling, then natural turning and change. No evasion, no taboo-obsession, no deferential yielding, no shrinking back, no disorder—there is a sense of straightforwardness. The people may be relied upon, yet one does not slight or over-rely on external things; external things may be followed, yet one does not leave the root to chase branch tips.

From the sentences above through this point the meaning is already fully stated, yet the text raises again “things are not worth doing as ends in themselves, yet cannot be left undone”—this word “things”: in the refined sense it is the Dao, in the coarse sense it is things; all affairs and all objects are included. Seen from the mind of the Dao, nothing seems worth doing for its own sake; yet there is what cannot be left undone—this is precisely where the human mind belongs. It also says “if one is not clear about Heaven, one is not pure in De”: worldly affairs may be unavoidable, but one must understand the pattern of nature; if one does not understand Heaven’s natural order, one’s own De is impure. Failure to penetrate the Dao is failure to be clear about Heaven—then everywhere one meets obstruction.

“What is honored through Wuwei (non-action) is the way of Heaven”; “what wears one down through deliberate action is the way of humanity”—as a human being, one cannot refuse to act. The former line belongs to the mind of the Dao, the latter to the human mind; “weariness” (lei) is close in meaning to “ peril” (wei). “Lord” refers to the way of Heaven, taking the mind of the Dao as sovereign; “minister” refers to the way of humanity, making the human mind obey orders. Here the words lord and minister speak of lord and minister within the body—the same purport as in the “Discourse on the Equality of Things” (Qi Wu Lun): “they take turns as lord and minister, yet the true lord is always present.”

From “lowly yet cannot go unentrusted” through the middle of the chapter, this is a major outline of the Zhuangzi, connected with the “Heaven and Earth” (Tiandi) chapter. Su Dongpo said: Zhuangzi did not mock Confucius—this can be seen in the Tiandi chapter. The commentator adds: Zhuangzi was not unaware that fine and coarse, root and branch are ultimately one principle—this can be seen in the present chapter.

This passage unfolds in several layers of meaning.

Opening: governing by taking “the low” as foundation

It begins with “entrusting things to their course and following the people, honoring the humble as root and taking the low as base”—the ruler should align with the ten thousand things and care for the people, with humility as root and lowness as foundation. It then treats law, righteousness, benevolence, ritual, and virtue as none of which may be neglected, for they are the warp and woof of order and governance and cannot be absent for a single day. What is “one and not to be altered” is the Dao; grasping the One, the myriad affairs can be gathered under one’s hand and held within one’s control. Whether the eight principles named earlier are kept or discarded neither adds to nor subtracts from the Dao itself, yet their subtle efficacy also lies beyond those “eight items.” The closing note falls on Heaven, which is “spiritual and cannot go unspoken”—everything arises from ziran (natural spontaneity).

Observing Heaven and the order of the ten themes

“Observing Heaven without forcing assistance” reverses the preceding ten themes and assigns them back to the people and to things, and explains why the ten are arranged in that sequence, so that learners know what to hold fast to and do not drift without a center. Nothing is more refined than the Dao, nothing coarser than things; the final section again takes up “things”—seemingly unworthy of esteem yet not to be neglected—and shows how hard it is for human beings to detach from things. If one is clear about Heaven, penetrates the Dao, and is pure in De, one need not deliberately “cast off things”; things will not burden one either. Guan Yinzi says: the sage does not cast off things and does not cast off knowing; only those who have not attained the Dao have nowhere to go without being weighed down—the Dao is originally one. Here Heaven and human are distinguished again, like clarifying the roles of lord and minister, as when primordial Qi divides into Yin-Yang; Yin and Yang alternate and Heaven and human mutually depend—neither may be one-sided. “How far apart they are” is spoken from the angle of distinction, to warn those under Heaven who serve as ministers. Who says the Nanhua (Zhuangzi) speaks only of clarity and emptiness and has nothing to do with the way of governance?

Chapter aim: rule through Wuwei and preserve the people

The chapter’s gist: when the noble person has no choice but to preside over the realm, better Wuwei (non-action); with preserving the people and sparing the multitude at heart, one is fundamentally without designs on the word “governance.” The people’s nature is not dissolute and their De does not shift; above, joy and anger are level and reward and punishment are balanced; because the realm can transform itself, there is no need to toil at governing, so the people are easy to follow and law is not bent. Later rulers of the realm lost the essentials of aiding the age and nurturing the people and made reward and punishment their sole business: above, the right and wrong of Ru and Mo and figures like Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu; below, the restraint of cangue and fetters—so those who govern are exhausted beyond bearing and the people’s hands and feet have nowhere to place themselves. They still take benevolence, righteousness, sagehood, and cleverness as enough to grasp the people’s sentiments and to honor and cherish them, until every household imitates this without seeing that these are instruments for disturbing the people—precisely what the Nanhua would cast away. If it were truly so, what the realm relies on and what thunder reveals would lie here: statecraft would not end up an empty purse and people’s hearts would not rot from within; at ease in Wuwei, one lets the ten thousand things breathe and dance—who then has leisure to “govern the realm”?

Cui Qu’s question and Laozi’s precaution

Next the text sets up Cui Qu’s question and opens Laozi’s warning: the fault in governing lies in agitating people’s hearts—cangue and fetters arise from this, and Jie and Zhi profit thereby. So the Yellow Emperor questioned Kongtong, who answered with embracing spirit, rectifying form, and quiet clarity for long life as the root, with state and family secondary; never has the body been well ordered while the state was in chaos. If today’s rulers of the realm could practice Guangcheng’s words, the governance of the Three Dynasties would not be hard to restore; taking Heaven and Earth and officiating Yin-Yang all lie within Wuwei—this is the way of zai you (letting be, “keeping all under Heaven in their proper place”). Hong’s precaution says: one will discard the body and dull hearing and sight, guarding the root without leaving it—this is the way of ordering the self. At the end the text surveys the rites of lord and minister and discusses the difference between the Way of Heaven and the human way, and between youwei ( purposive action) and Wuwei; outwardly they seem mismatched, yet what issues from the heart and appears in achievement is one; especially to display the division of lord and minister and set right what each should do. Taishang (the Supreme) says: public spirit makes kingship, kingship makes Heaven, Heaven makes the Dao—public De is the foundation of kingship, royal law is Heaven’s norm, and Heaven’s norm returns to the Dao.

Source Note

This passage comes from Nanhua Zhenjing Yihai Zuanwei (Collected Subtleties of the Ocean of Meaning on the True Classic of Nanhua), compiled by Chu Boxiu in the Song dynasty. It expounds on the Zhuangzi chapter “Heaven and Earth” (Tiandi). Volumes 33 and 34 are consecutive volume titles for the same work; the main text is a curated commentary on the essentials of the Tiandi chapter.

Plain-Language Interpretation

Heaven and earth, vast as they are, follow one and the same pattern in begetting the myriad things; the myriad things, numerous as they are, are governed by a single underlying principle. People, though many, need one ruler as their head. The ruler’s standing rests on De (Virtue/Power), and De in turn is completed by the Dao of Heaven—hence the ancients said: those who ruled the world in antiquity took wuwei (non-action) as their model and relied on nothing other than Heaven’s De.

When one views speech through the Dao, the ruler’s commands throughout the world are correct; when one views titles and roles through the Dao, the righteousness between ruler and minister is clear; when one views talent through the Dao, offices throughout the world each find their proper appointee; when one views broadly through the Dao, the responses that the myriad things ought to give are complete.

Therefore, what connects with Heaven and Earth is De; what moves among the myriad things is the Dao; what above governs the people is neng (capacity for governance and coordination); what within neng divides into concrete skills is called ji (technique). Ji belongs to affairs; affairs belong to righteousness; righteousness belongs to De; De belongs to the Dao; the Dao belongs to Heaven.

Thus the ancients said of those who nourished and completed the world: without selfish desire, the world was itself sufficient; without reckless action, the myriad things transformed of themselves; with mind deep and still, the common people were naturally at peace. The Record says: when one is united with the “One,” the myriad things each attain their place; when the heart holds no thought of greed or possession, even ghosts and spirits will be pleased.

Brief Glossary of Terms

• Wuwei: Not doing nothing at all, but not forcing one’s way by private cleverness or selfish desire—acting in accord with Heaven’s De.
• Heaven’s De: The natural virtue that Heaven’s Dao bestows, as opposed to human artifice.
• Nourishing the world (xu tianxia): Nourishing and completing the world so that the people and the myriad things each fulfill their lives.
• United with the One (tong yu yi): The “One” denotes the root and wholeness of the myriad things; when one is one with it, boundaries and roles clarify themselves.

Guo Xiang’s commentary on the Tiandi (Heaven and Earth) chapter of the Nanhuazhenjing (Zhuangzi) can be summarized as follows.

Heaven, Earth, and the Way of Governance

Heaven and Earth alike rely on “not acting rashly” to transform and nurture the myriad things; governing the realm should likewise take as its foundation that each thing obtains its place and finds its proper fit. People’s hearts differ throughout the world—only someone who “does not cling to private motives or misuse the mind” is fit to be sovereign. With virtue as the root, nothing among the myriad things fails to receive its allotted share; having received it, one does not grasp or display it, and only then can the Way of Heaven be complete.

The Division of Wuwei and Youwei

“Wuwei” (non-action) means yielding to the natural course of things itself. To be ruler by the way of nature does not violate what is right. Above and below each keep their station: those above are wuwei, those below are youwei (active), officials each use their capacities, and the realm can be governed. When those above are wuwei, those below respond with wuwei; the myriad things can each find their place, the passage between Heaven and Earth is not blocked, things follow their own paths, and each person attends to their own affairs.

On “Skill” (Ji)

What is called “ji”—deliberate, artificial skill—is precisely what things do not need. Over-reliance on technique in fact distances one from the natural Way.

Root and Branch as One

Root and branch must work together, like arm and body mutually enclosing each other. When the body is in harmony, every joint can connect; when the Way of Heaven flows smoothly, root and branch can both flourish. If above there is one person with robes hanging loose, hands folded, quiet and without speech (chuigong yanmo), the people can be safe in every household (biwu ke feng). Therefore, above need only hold to this single wuwei, and every principle and order will arise of itself.

(Note: The passage in the original that repeats “when those above are wuwei… each person attends to their own affairs” appears twice with the same meaning; the above merges that into one explanation.)

Heaven and earth are vast, and the myriad things change without end, yet “change” itself is not the root of change. When all returns to evenness and there is no longer any split between small and great, beautiful and ugly, long and short, that is the true source of change.

The Dao proceeds from the One and unfolds into the myriad things—how, then, should one govern the world? The answer lies in the One: let each thing return to its own root without forced interference. That is genuine governance.

Though people are many, the ruler stands foremost; with De as the foundation, transformation and nurturing can run through heaven and earth; by completing what heaven begins, governance comes back to the One that is innate in the myriad things.

These two sides together the ancients called Xuan (the Mysterious). Those who governed the world in olden times did nothing but Wuwei (non-action)—nothing but embody heavenly De. When the True Lord’s way holds sway over the world, is there anything among the myriad things that is not transformed and nurtured?

Viewed from the Dao, language has no fixed “words” to begin with; there is speech yet it is as if there were none—would any ruler under heaven fail to be upright? Viewed from the Dao, in titles and roles the ruler is Wuwei and the minister acts—would the meaning of ruler and minister be unclear? Viewed from the Dao, in talent there is no talent yet nothing is impossible—would any office under heaven be badly run? Viewed from the Dao in the broadest sense, the myriad things are nothing but the Dao—is there any response among them that is not complete?

Heaven and earth are heaven and earth because they hold to this. If a person can hold to it too, De aligns with heaven and earth, and the myriad things are none other than oneself.

The Dao as being is so vast. Those in high place use it to govern, and what they touch is only human affairs; ability shows itself as craft, craft gathers achievement, achievement gathers righteousness (yi), yi gathers De, De gathers the Dao, and the Dao gathers Heaven—only then is it fitting. If one truly sees that all is ultimately gathered in Heaven, then to nurture the world—why strain over craft, achievement, and artificial effort?

So the world’s self-sufficiency, transforming and nurturing the people, and settling the myriad folk—all turn on “I”: unity with the Dao, the mind at rest and things left to run their course. Whoever gains anything by penetrating the One does so precisely through no-mind. Nothing is not born from the One. That spirit is efficacious is also only because it arises from one’s own heart-mind.

Human beings dwell among the myriad things and ultimately receive spiritual intelligence from them. Heaven and Earth have not yet departed from the realm of form; among forms, humankind is the most numerous and beyond counting—yet what they jointly revere is nothing other than the single word “Dao.”

What is meant by “transforming equally” (hua jun) is as the Book of Changes says: encompassing the scope of heaven and earth’s transforming and nurturing without overstepping bounds. What is meant by “governing through oneness” (zhi yi) is as “the movement of all under heaven is stabilized by the one”—amid change, holding to unity. In the relation between ruler and subject, the ruler is the few toward whom the many turn. The ruler takes people as his instrument and virtue (De) as his root, and in the end must be fulfilled through the transforming operation of Qi (vital energy). The beginning of number—Yang Xiong said “one Qi gives birth to the three directions.” The so-called rulers of high antiquity (above the Three Sovereigns) governed through non-action (wuwei), precisely in accord with heaven’s virtue (De): those above act without acting, issuing commands only to set right those below; those below act with action, exhausting heart and strength in serving those above. Viewing the commands issued from above through the Dao, the ruler of all under heaven may be called “correct,” and his institutions may be called “distinction.” Taking goodness as the standard may be called “righteousness.” A few rulers governing the many common people, with noble and base, ease and toil each in their place—this is “distinction”; viewed through the Dao, its meaning becomes clear. Viewing “capacity” through the Dao, the officials of all under heaven each fill their posts—Mencius said “the capable hold office”; this is exactly that meaning. Viewing broadly through the Dao, the myriad things each respond in kind; paths differ yet return to one, thoughts branch in a hundred ways yet the aim is one.

The Dao has root and branch: the root establishes its substance; the branch clarifies its function. In the Zhuangzi, those who wander “outside the square” are not speaking too loftily—they stress establishing substance. When one enters “inside the square” through the “four perspectives,” it is not speaking too humbly—they stress clarifying function. What penetrates heaven and earth is called De (Virtue/Power); what circulates through the myriad things is called Dao. What above follows principle to govern people and adapts to change in handling affairs is called “affairs”; what can complete a certain craft is called “skill” nothing more. Skill is the branch of affairs, affairs the branch of righteousness, righteousness the branch of De, De the branch of the Dao, and the Dao the branch of heaven—root and branch depend on each other. Thus the ancients who nourished all under heaven reached from skill below up to heaven above. The people of all under heaven and the myriad things are both vast and wide; to make them self-sufficient, self-settled, and self-transforming, the root lies simply in the Dao of heaven’s non-action. Its clarity suffices to finish ten thousand affairs; its subtlety suffices to subdue ghosts and spirits.

Chen Xiangdao said: Heaven and the myriad things depend on each other as root and branch. In antiquity, those who nourished the world were able below to master every kind of skill and talent, and above to align with Heaven (the Way of Heaven). The people and the myriad things were vast and numerous; to let them be self-sufficient, self-ordering, and self-transforming depended entirely on relying on Wuwei in accord with the Way of Heaven—not forcing or contriving, but acting in line with nature. Thus clarity was enough to handle all affairs, and depth enough to win the trust of ghosts and spirits.

Chen Xiangdao also commented: Heaven and Earth are vast; all transformation and nurturing return to Wuwei (non-action). The myriad things are innumerable; each settles in its own place through self-so-ness (ziran). Can a ruler who governs the people go beyond this? The ruler must root himself inwardly and cannot fail to elevate his De (Virtue); he must complete himself in subtle efficacy and cannot fail to take the Way of Heaven as his model. Then what looks like action is in truth not deliberate doing. Hence the ancients ruled the world by the Dao—they simply entrusted things to their natural course.

The ruler uses the realm through speech (commands, teaching, and policy); ministers serve the realm through ability (talent and competence). Ruler and minister must harmonize through righteousness (yi); the myriad things must interact through mutual response (ying). Yet if speech does not accord with the Dao it cannot set things right; if ability does not accord with the Dao it cannot govern; if roles do not accord with the Dao they are unclear; if responses do not accord with the Dao they are incomplete—nothing between heaven’s canopy and earth’s bounds is outside the Dao.

Each art (specialty, branch of skill) has its utmost; each technique has its craft. Technique gathers in affairs, and within that lies yi; for affairs gather in the arts. Yi gathers in De, and within that lies the Dao; for De gathers in the Dao. When one sees how root and branch, fine and coarse, mutually include one another, then even chaff and rubble are none other than the Dao, and people and the myriad things are none other than Heaven. Why should one who holds the realm seek elsewhere? Extend this and nourish the world—that is all.

When emotion has no craving, conduct is Wuwei, and nature is deep and still—the heartless (wuxin) can achieve this. Thus within the “One” nothing is excluded; in the ten thousand and the thousandfold, nothing fails to return to the One. The classics say: whoever can know the “One” knows all; whoever does not know the “One” knows nothing. The sage embraces the One (baoyi—holding to the root) and becomes the world’s standard; lords and kings obtain the One (deyi—grasping this root) and become the world’s foundation. To win the spirits’ assent without contriving in the heart is only to be expected.

Commentary by Chen Bixu

Heaven and earth have no private partiality, and so they treat the ten thousand things fairly; each thing follows its own nature in governing itself, and so they align without disorder. Though the people differ in countless ways, they share one whole, each keeping to their proper work. Only when the ruler governs through Wuwei (non-action), rooted in the virtue of Heaven and completed in naturalness, can this be so. What is called the virtue of Heaven is the self-transformation and self-governance of the ten thousand things, within which there is inherent subtle efficacy.

Viewed through the way of naturalness: teaching that emphasizes clarity, stillness, and Wuwei succeeds when the ruler’s person is upright; when lord and minister each keep their roles and do not overstep, the meaning of lord and minister is clear; when each person fits their station, the hundred officials can be governed; when one can survey things comprehensively and let the ten thousand things each find their use, the people’s occupations can be complete.

The Dao is empty yet pervades; above it returns to supreme De; in yielding and softness it harmonizes below with righteousness. When the Dao flows through affairs, affairs respond; when governance employs craft and skill, it follows capacity and meets every kind of ability. Therefore: when craft is gathered under governance, government can be ordered; when governance is gathered under righteousness, affairs are fitting; when righteousness is gathered under De, conduct can follow; when De is gathered under the Dao, the heart can penetrate; when the Dao is gathered under Heaven, it accords with naturalness.

Phrases such as “when there is no desire, the world is sufficient” echo three lines from the Daodejing: “when there is no desire, the people are simple of themselves”; “through Wuwei the people transform of themselves”; “when stillness is loved, the people correct themselves of themselves.” When these three are fused into one and reach the “one true,” nothing fails to succeed and no spirit fails to submit.

This commentary in the style of Yihai Cuanwei uses “the One and division,” Heaven and humanity, ruler and minister, and De versus craft to unfold meanings in the Zhuangzi such as “transformation is even” and “heavenly De.”

“Its transformation is even” (qi hua jun): Though the ten thousand things are many, behind them all is the same primordial Qi in transformation and operation—hence the idea that “creation and transformation are unified as one.” Though people are many, there must be one who holds the overall pattern of order—hence “the ruler is the One.” Heaven bestows De upon human beings; at root they cannot “add” anything Heaven has not given. When the ruler truly grasps this, he inclines toward Wuwei (non-action) and ziran (naturalness), aligning with heavenly De. The ancients also spoke of suigu—“profound antiquity”—meaning the remotest past; once the title “ruler” exists, the named order of all under Heaven is settled; with named order come the obligations of ruler and minister; high and low, superior and inferior each keep their place, and noble and base acquire their sequence.

Affairs under Heaven are not for one person to finish alone; each person does their part according to capacity—and that very capacity is taken as Heaven’s gift. Nothing among the ten thousand things stands alone; above and below, before and behind answer to one another, all from ziran: Heaven covers, Earth supports, each fulfills its role, and all return to this one De, so each thing holds its “natural station.” (The passage then repeats the same emphasis: no single person can exhaust every task; the able are Heaven’s endowment; things pair and respond; above and below, before and behind correspond; Heaven covers and Earth bears—so the ten thousand things each have their “natural principle.”)

What those above use to govern all under Heaven are ritual, music, penal law, and administration—the “work of governing.” Within that work are various skills and posts, matched to what each person can do—this is human “craft” or technique. Whether moral refinement is pure or affairs and arts are coarse, fine and coarse alike spring from ziran; one can then read the levels as continuous: craft is affair, affair is art, art is De, De is Dao, Dao is Heaven. “Jian” (comprehensive unity) means taking these layers as “merged into one.” (Note: “he zuo yi” in the text may be a scribal error for “merged into one,” tying the chain to “art is De.”)

The gist of the whole passage: starting from the “One” of primordial Qi, through the division of ruler and people, then division within which there is rank, rank within which there are offices, offices within which there is craft, it finally links craft, affair, art, De, Dao, and Heaven in one line—showing that governance and technique are nothing but each resting in ziran and each fulfilling capacity, not the ruler holding everything alone.

Chu’s (the commentator’s) reading runs roughly as follows:

Heaven and earth are vast, people and things are innumerable, and the processes of nurturing and governing cannot be counted—yet what presides over all of this is the ruler. That a ruler appears in the world is no accident: because he is rooted in De, the myriad things cannot leave him; because he is completed by the Dao of Heaven, the people naturally gather to him. The way he acts is too subtle to name, so we speak of it only with difficulty as “the Dao.”

In antiquity, those who ruled under Heaven governed through Wuwei (non-action); their De matched nature, and so they endured and grew great. When they issued orders and proclamations, none failed to obey. When they viewed words through the Dao, and words accorded with the Dao, the ruler was never crooked; when they viewed titles and roles through the Dao, and names accorded with the Dao, right and wrong were never confused; when they viewed talent through the Dao, and ability accorded with the Dao, every office was well governed. When they surveyed the myriad things broadly through the Dao, and things accorded with the Dao, nothing was missing in response. From this we see that nothing in the world can stand on its own apart from the Dao.

One who communicates with Heaven and earth has De that matches the De of Heaven and earth; one who moves among the myriad things connects with things through the Dao. If one puts governing people first and relies only on punishments, laws, rewards, and penalties, one is still at the level of “affairs”; if one then enters “craft” through skill and clever contrivance, one drifts even farther from Dao and De. In antiquity, those who were good at nurturing the world had no other method: without desire, the world was itself sufficient; through Wuwei, the myriad things transformed themselves. When the heart was still like deep pool water—stirred yet never muddied—how could the people fail to be at peace?

The text also cites an old book: “Penetrate the One, and the ten thousand affairs are complete”—words Laozi spoke to Yin Xi when he went west. Without selfish intent, even ghosts and spirits obey; this is what the Yijing means when it says: Heaven itself does not violate this Dao—how much less human beings? How much less ghosts and spirits?

The Master (Zhuangzi) said: The Dao covers and carries the myriad things—how vast! The noble person cannot fail to empty the heart within it (“kouxin”—clear away fixed views and meet things with an open mind). Acting through Wuwei is called “Heaven”; speaking through Wuwei is called “De.” Loving people and benefiting things, without selfish intent, even ghosts and spirits obey—again the Yijing idea that “Heaven itself does not violate it, how much less human beings, how much less ghosts and spirits,” pointing to the same ladder: when all accord with the Dao, Heaven, earth, humanity, and spirits all fall into place.

Note: In the base text, the passage “view words through the Dao… survey things broadly through the Dao and when things accord with the Dao nothing is missing in response” appears twice; the vernacular explanation translates it once to avoid repetition. The closing “The Master said” echoes the earlier Yijing citation, on the same theme of alignment with the Dao at every level.

Main Text

Confucius said: The Dao covers and upholds all things—it is vast and boundless, how magnificent! The noble person cannot fail to open the heart and wash away fixed opinions.

Acting without deliberate effort yet achieving naturally is called aligning with Heaven’s way; speaking without deliberate effort yet expressing naturally is called true De; caring for others and benefiting the myriad things is called benevolence; honoring difference without forcing uniformity is called breadth; acting without clinging to fixed patterns is called magnanimity; embracing ten thousand kinds of difference is called fullness.

Therefore, upholding De is the thread of human conduct, the fulfillment of De is the root of establishing oneself, following the Dao is the state of completion, and not letting outer things bruise the mind is called wholeness.

When the noble person understands these ten realms, they can hide their ambition deep and keep the heart vast, abundantly allowing the myriad things to flow on their own. Such a person: stores gold in the mountains and sinks pearls in the deep—does not crave goods, does not cling to wealth and rank; does not rejoice in long life or grieve at early death; does not take success as glory or poverty and obstruction as shame; does not treat profit in one lifetime as private property, does not treat ruling the realm as capital for self-display—once one displays oneself, clarity is lost. The myriad things belong to one treasury; death and life are only shifts of form.

Essence of Guo Xiang’s Commentary

• Opening the heart (kōu xīn): Having a fixed mind burdens what is natural; therefore one should cut away preconceptions.
• Acting in non-action / speaking in non-action: Achieving without deliberate effort is Heaven’s way; expressing without deliberate effort is true De.
• Harmonizing without sameness: Not dragging others to match oneself—each thing rests in its place, and thus greatness is achieved.
• Acting without cliff-like oddity / possessing ten thousand differences: Tolerating what differs, uniquely holding ten thousand differences—that is how fullness is achieved.
• Upholding De / De fulfilled / following the Dao / not letting things bruise the mind: De is the outline of the person; without De one cannot stand. The Dao does not lean on things; inward self-sufficiency makes the mind great and nothing is refused.
• Abundantly letting the myriad things pass: Let the myriad things go their way—full and overflowing.
• Storing gold in the mountains…: Not prizing rare goods, thus one can forget the self—how much more goods, wealth, and rank; forgetting both long life and early death is what is called “suspending constraint”—how much more the gap between obstruction and success.
• Not taking ruling the realm as one’s place of display: Not privatizing worldly profit, entrusting it to the myriad things; suddenly one no longer feels glory in the body—without display, one silently stops; shedding, there is nowhere fixed to be.

(Lü Huiqing’s commentary) The Dao is so vast that unless the heart is “hollowed out”—emptied of fixed opinions and stubborn attachments—one cannot adequately comprehend it. Comprehending the Dao and abiding in Wuwei (non-action), outwardly one still appears an ordinary person, yet inwardly one is aligned with Heaven. Using this to cherish and benefit all living beings is called benevolence (ren); using it so that the myriad kinds each find their place and return to unity is called great conduct (da xing).

Not cutting oneself off from the ordinary world is the utmost of tolerance; embracing every kind of difference is the utmost of fullness.

One who holds De (Virtue/Power) threads the one through the ten thousand, like the mesh of a net gathered at its single head. When De is complete, one stands firm without leaning on external things; when the Dao is present in one’s person, nothing fails to respond in season and nothing lacks completion. When nothing in the outer world can overturn such a person, that is fulfillment.

The reason the noble person must “hollow the heart” lies in these ten aspects. Turning inward to clarify this heart, so that no great matter lies beyond its scope—that is the effect of hollowing the heart: flowing fully with the myriad things in their turning, circling through the cycle without exhaustion.

Thus one may store gold and jade in mountains and deep pools yet neither crave wealth nor despise poverty and early death. One does not treat the hoarded gains of a single lifetime as private property, but takes all under Heaven as the storehouse. One does not treat ruling the realm as personal possession; occupying a lofty position, one benefits things rather than oneself, and in eminence remains clear—clear through bright De, not through rank alone. In high station one embodies the virtue of emperor and Son of Heaven; in low station one walks the path of the uncrowned king and sage.

The myriad things are complete in me, like a single treasury. Now living, now dying; now dying, now living—these are only different moods within one great transformation.

(Commentary attributed to Yidu) What is meant by “opening the heart, shedding desire, and emptying the inner self” refers to human cultivation; “youwei” (deliberate action) is what people do, while “wuwei” (non-action) is how Heaven operates. Sun, moon, and stars turn above; birds, beasts, and plants transform and grow in the upper and lower realms. Each changes on its own without needing to know how to transform; accomplishment comes naturally without needing to know how to succeed. This is “accomplishing through wuwei.” As for “speech,” the sage speaks only when compelled, using wuwei as the way to speak—here “Heaven” (tian) means what is naturally so; “De” (Virtue/Power) means what one originally possesses. Acting for others’ benefit and for benevolence, able to share the same aim with the multitude, their achievement is likewise completed without conscious striving—still “acting through wuwei.” The sage, when forced to speak in this wuwei way: Heaven means the natural; De means self-possession; acting for benefit and for benevolence, able to be “one with” the multitude in what they share, therefore can be “great.”

“Broad” (kuan) is the capacity to hold what by nature cannot be stored; “rich” (fu) is the wide scope of what is shared in common. Only by “holding to De without turning back” can one establish order and measure; only by unity that can become great can one establish virtue. Following the Dao, all affairs are complete; not letting external things bruise one’s resolve, nothing is lost. Understanding these ten—breadth, richness, holding De, establishing measure, oneness, greatness, establishing virtue, following the Dao, completing affairs, not letting things crush the will—the mind holds nothing in exclusion and flows fully in interchange with things. Joy lies within; goods and wealth, rank and riches cannot shake it; longevity and brevity, success and obstruction are merely secondary matters. Therefore one does not treat worldly profit as “having,” nor holding the realm as ease and delight. If one takes this as “manifest,” it is already clear; if one does not take it as manifest, it seems hidden, yet day by day it shines forth. The myriad things return to one storehouse; death and life share one form—then one merges with creation and transformation. Those who cannot embody the great Dao cannot reach this depth.

(Commentary attributed to Xiangdao) The myriad things are originally complete in “me”; to keep and not lose them is “rich.” When measure and order scatter, many eyes fall into confusion; when De is lost, many actions go astray—hence one must hold to measure and order, hold to De without turning back, and contract with creation and transformation.

[Xiangdao Commentary]

All things are originally complete within “me”; to keep them without losing them is to be truly rich. When the guiding principles fall apart, people’s eyes grow confused and their hearts bewildered; when virtue is lost, each goes their own contrary way. Therefore, acting in accord with the Dao is called “being complete” (bei); not letting external things wound one’s resolve is called “being whole” (wan).

Keeping affairs hidden in the heart without flaunting them, the heart vast enough to hold fast to the Great Image (the form of the Great Dao)—then virtue is full, and all things come and go as they will; people under Heaven naturally turn toward such a one. In antiquity, those who governed the world by the Dao showed the way without leaving traces, taught without relying on verbose speech, and let people grasp it for themselves.

Those above transform those below not by baiting them with pleasure to win favor; those below delight in those above not because they seek “rank stench” (private gain and flattery). They store gold and pearls in mountains and deep pools, not letting wealth burden the body; they do not count longevity or early death, success or failure, and do not abandon the Great Dao for the sake of one body.

Though profit for a single lifetime be great, they do not claim it as private property; though authority over the world be weighty, they do not use it to show off. In the end they are one with the myriad things without setting themselves apart, one with death and life and change without following change along—who but one whose heart is bound to nothing can be like this?

[Bixu Commentary]

The opening “The Master said” means Zhuangzi is expounding the subtle intent he received from Master Changsang.

The Dao spreads vast and fills the Great Void; only one whose spirit-store is empty and bright can receive it. Regulating one’s conduct to accord with what is natural, holding the center in action, staying far from dejection; passing through this life and meeting every circumstance, the heart does not turn back. What others detest, I do not breed suspicion toward; harmonizing light and blending with dust, I do not stand out with sharp corners. The myriad kinds flourish and together enrich one region.

Taking supreme virtue as the guiding principle, following supreme principle to establish well, accord with true constancy without straying; using the outer scene to complete inner clarity—thus refining the heart, then nothing in affairs is not contained, no principle is not embraced, no grace is not poured forth, and no thing fails to succeed.

Gold, pearls, goods, and wealth are the root of calamity; longevity, early death, success, and failure are the source of inner turmoil; claiming shares of profit and displaying one’s position are the sickness of emotion. Once the heart is tied to something, the will can no longer be whole.

Yue Zhai (a commentator on the Zhuangzi) says: Empty the kind of mind that knows through the senses and through discrimination—that is, drop the layer that clings to “I am sensing, I am judging.”

Acting in accord with nature is called “Heaven”; truly attaining something in oneself is called De (Virtue/Power).

As for Wuwei (non-action), it means there is no fixed “self” that must be defended; though words differ, the principle can converge—this is the margin where “different yet the same”—distinctions still show on the surface, yet the ten thousand things are each different, while “I” can be present with all of them and refuse nothing—this is called “abundance”; when the De one holds has its own order and does not fall into disorder, it is called “discipline”; when De stands forth distinctly, as if something has been established, that is the fulfillment of De.

Following the Dao, nothing is lacking; when outer things cannot shake this mind, what is within is complete in itself. Understanding these essential points (what the text calls “the ten”), all affairs are gathered into this mind; this mind is so great that nothing outside can bound it; hence full and vast, the flow of the ten thousand things all passes through this mind—like hiding gold and pearls in deep mountains and valleys, spreading abundance through the realm, without taking long life or early death, success or hardship, as glory or shame, and without treating profit in one lifetime as private property. This carries the sense of “someone lost a bow, someone found a bow”—no need to hoard, no need to cling: even ruling the realm, one does not see oneself as uniquely honored and grand—the imperial yellow carriage is not what the heart is tied to; the clarity in the breast illuminates Heaven and Earth—only that is true “manifestness”, so one does not take being king over the realm as manifestness.

Gathering the ten thousand things and returning them to one is therefore called “one storehouse”; when life and death do not alter oneself, it is called “same condition.”

Heaven and Earth themselves do not “cover and support” the myriad things; what truly covers and supports them is the Dao. The sage is not by nature someone who “knows how to speak”; what makes speech possible is likewise the Dao.

The Dao is vast and boundless, present everywhere. Yet if the heart is not empty, it cannot receive the Dao. Only by hollowing the heart and keeping the inner chamber still does “when the empty chamber produces white” occur, and brightness arise of itself. The movement of Heaven’s Dao is wuwei (non-action) and spontaneous. The capable person acts through wuwei and thus harmonizes with Heaven’s Dao; to speak through wuwei is inner De (Virtue/Power); to extend that De outward is Ren—benevolence that cares for and benefits sentient beings.

The myriad things differ in kind, yet may be seen as one body; to live this way is the great Dao, not treating outer things as strangers—is this not magnanimity? Things are inherently unequal, yet I can “embrace” them all—this may be called true wealth. To cling to De is still to cling; when De is complete, there is no need to “hold on” to it. First there must be principle and order, only then can one stand firm. To follow the Dao to completion—who could defeat such resolve? With genuine faith and genuine clarity, the heart is self-sufficient and kept hidden; in all affairs one moves with things. Things have no end, and I share their endlessness with them—this is called “becoming one with transformation,” and thus one can transform and guide others.

As for making gold and pearls useless and storing them in mountains and depths, treating goods, wealth, and honor as external things—then longevity and brevity, success and failure, what can anyone use to trouble the mind? Not treating worldly profit as private gain is forgetting profit; not taking ruling the realm as self-display is forgetting fame. What “shows” lies in understanding: the myriad things return to one storehouse; death and life share one form. One storehouse for all things—then there is no you-and-me; death and life in the same shape—then no burden of coming and going. This is perhaps the utmost of “hollowing the heart” (kōu xīn)—emptying the heart completely.

Note: phrases such as “hollowing the heart to make it empty,” “when the empty chamber produces white,” and “becoming one with transformation” come from the Zhuangzi and from Daoist cultivation and theories of the heart-and-mind. Chū Bóxiù here is expounding the meaning of the “Heaven and Earth” chapter, stressing aligning with the Dao through an empty heart, forgetting name and profit, and equalizing things and death-and-life. Collation notes at the end of the fascicle (Guō Xiàng’s punctuation, Fàn Yìngyuán’s linkage with the following text, etc.) are editorial; they are not unfolded line by line above.

The Master said: Dao dwells in depth and mystery, yet is clear and pure. Things like metal and stone do not sound unless struck—they can sound, but without being struck they will not. All things are like this: who can forcibly dictate how they should move?

Those who embody “kingly virtue” (wang de): in daily life they remain plain and unadorned, and do not take worldly cleverness as something to boast of; they first establish the root, then let understanding reach the realm of spirit and wonder, and so their virtue is vast. When their heart responds outward, it is because outer things touch and provoke them—there is a reason—not because the heart jumps ahead to lead the chorus. The body’s preservation cannot do without Dao; the manifestation of life cannot do without De—preserving form, fulfilling life, establishing virtue, and clarifying Dao: are these not the person of kingly virtue?

Vast and open, as if suddenly appearing or stirring abruptly, the myriad things naturally follow. The person of kingly virtue looks at things as though seeing yet not quite fixing on them; listens to sounds as though hearing yet not quite taking them in. In this “seeming to see yet not seeing,” they alone perceive clarity; in this “seeming to hear yet not hearing,” they alone discern harmony. Only by going deeper and deeper can they transform and nurture the myriad things; only by being more and more spirit-like can they reach utmost refinement.

When they meet the myriad things, they themselves are nearly “nothing,” yet can supply what all things need; they let time flow and let outer things run free, yet can settle each in its proper place of return. Great and small, long and short, near and far—each keeps its allotted place.

(Following Guo Xiang’s reading) Sound only shows itself from stillness—this illustrates the person who embodies Dao: they respond when things come, accord with what is natural, and do not take “being adept at affairs” as their ability. When the root is established, knowing without going against it, virtue and De become broader still. The heart arises from being touched by things—it is not that the heart moves before things do. “Suddenly,” “abruptly”—these are all the manner of responding without deliberate intent, and so they can preserve form, fulfill life, establish virtue, clarify Dao, and complete kingly virtue. If seeing and hearing do not rest in stillness, one is dim and not bright; only by fathoming the source can one transform and nurture the myriad things; only when things accord to the utmost can subtle principle be exhausted; I am empty and still, they seek and supply themselves—I simply let them run and meet their limit.

This passage explains that the Dao is like a deep pool—speech rests in it without restless movement, and like clear water—penetrating without turbidity. That is simply how the Dao is.

If one says “the Dao is empty,” metal and stone have no notion of “emptiness,” and so cannot produce sound; if one says “the Dao has content,” without examining metal and stone as they are, sound likewise cannot arise. Who can fix a standard by which to define the myriad things? When it is plain and pure, it does not mix with miscellaneous affairs; when it spreads abroad, it is nowhere absent. To take the Dao as merely “penetrating affairs” may make things thoroughly clear; to take wisdom as merely “penetrating the numinous” may encompass all things without omission—yet why be satisfied with “penetrating affairs” alone? The fundamental origin is the root of the Dao and the myriad things. Establish this root, and the Dao stays hidden within, without display, while all affairs naturally become open and clear.

When the heart does not grasp at outer things but simply rests in stillness—it neither actively welcomes nor deliberately rejects, responds to events without hoarding outcomes in the mind—then hearing, seeing, speaking, and thinking are none other than the Dao. The life of the body cannot leave the Dao behind; in daily use one may not know why things work as they do, not because “the Dao is not in me,” but because one has failed to illumine it—without the light of De (Virtue/Power), life cannot truly shine forth. Only by preserving the body, fulfilling one’s nature and completing life, establishing De and clarifying the Dao, does one grasp it in oneself and govern present affairs with the Dao of antiquity.

When the Dao suddenly stirs, the myriad things naturally follow; hidden deep within, it does not rely on prior scheming or forced planning. As a “thing,” the Dao cannot be seen directly, yet it is the root of whatever can be seen; it cannot be heard directly, yet it is the root of whatever can be heard. Deep, it can transform and nourish the myriad things—within it there is “thing”; numinous, it can concentrate essence—within it there is Jing (essence). Reaching utmost non-being, it can supply every need, like the inexhaustible wealth of the “Heavenly Storehouse.” It runs constantly, yet each thing returns to its place—great and small, long and short, fine and coarse, near and far; the allotments given to the myriad things are never insufficient. This is what the Yijing means by “each rectifies its nature and destiny, preserving and harmonizing the supreme harmony.”

“Yi du” (standing alone in deep mystery) is like being wholly poured into an abyss: it describes a dwelling so deep it cannot be fathomed—the utmost depth in the world. “Liao hu” (limpid and clear) describes utter clarity—the utmost refinement in the world. Here abyssal water stands for the great Dao: metal and stone give no sound until struck; what matters is whether someone strikes and tests them. Sound emerges from silence; response comes from the knock. So deep that it cannot be measured, nothing in the ten thousand things can fix a name upon it.

“Su shi” (departing in simplicity) means holding to plainness and going forward—hence not busying oneself with outer affairs. Affairs are the branch tips of the Dao; Shen (spirit) is the root of the Dao. Setting aside the branch and establishing the root, such virtue is vast.

When something comes to gather or to inquire, one responds without leading the harmony—the body cannot give itself life; what gives it life is the Dao. The form cannot clarify itself; what clarifies it is De (Virtue/Power). Making the Dao visible through the form, one can jian xing (practice through the body); exhausting life to establish De, one can jin xing (fulfill one’s nature). Thus when such a one moves, the ten thousand things follow without exception—this is called a person of kingly virtue (wang de zhi ren): in fang fang (easy harmony) there is dawn, in silence there is heard accord—this is the utmost of the Dao.

Hence depth that can transform things, spirit that can bring essence to perfection; in meeting things, utmost non-being yet supplying what the ten thousand things seek, ever moving yet always returning to the constant place—this is why the Dao is inexhaustible.

Brief notes on terms first used above: Wang de zhi ren is Zhuangzi’s figure whose virtue is complete like a true king and who is one with the Dao. Jian xing and jin xing are shared Confucian and Daoist language for embodying the Dao in concrete life and in one’s native endowment. Ying er bu chang means answering when approached without taking the lead in speech or initiative—like the Dao’s passive, wuwei (non-action) responsiveness.

Xiangdao Commentary

The Dao is wondrous through stillness and clarity: unless stirred, it does not respond. Metal and stone hold sound through stillness and clarity: unless struck, they do not ring. When they respond, the ten thousand things pull one another on with no fixed direction; when they ring, the five tones transform one another without end—who could fix them in place? To be wholly bent on outward things is to lose oneself; to refuse all engagement with things is to lose connection with them. The sage moves with things without drowning in “connection,” takes up affairs without daring to refuse them—thus able to settle and to respond.

Fire lies in wood but does not burn unless drilled; water lies in earth but does not flow unless dug out. Yet the work of fire and water can pervade the world—precisely because they can respond. Laozi said, “Know the male, keep to the female”: once the heart turns outward, it is drawn and harvested by things. People who do not understand this bustle about, treating outward things as the real business, fame as a corpse on a seat, scheming as a treasury, craft as master—all grasping at possession. The harm goes as far as disturbing heaven’s constancy and going against the nature of things, without knowing it—how sad!

What is called preserving form and exhausting life is not “forgetting form and forgetting life”; yet those who truly forget form and life often come out of clinging to “preserving form” and “exhausting life.” Establishing virtue and clarifying the Dao is not “forgetting virtue and forgetting the Dao”; yet those who truly forget virtue and Dao often remain stuck in the attachment of “establishing virtue” and “clarifying the Dao.” Then one may still disorder heaven’s norm and resist the nature of things without knowing oneself—how sad? (This passage matches the point above: clinging to fame, form, and labels is what separates one from the Dao.)

Therefore one can stay indoors yet share the people’s fortune and misfortune; suddenly and vigorously, the ten thousand things follow along. Be cautious and you will see dawn: see not with the eyes but with spirit; hear not with the ears but with qi. Deeper and deeper—inward, distinguishing among things yet able to “thing” things, not forgetting oneself because of outward things—this connects with the Yijing: “Refine meaning to enter spirit, thereby reaching use.” One with spirit and yet spirit—outward, connecting with things yet able to guard essence, not burdening oneself because of outward things—this connects with the Yijing: “Use it to settle the body and elevate virtue.” Able to go deep and to “thing,” one reaches nothingness yet still supplies what is sought; able to be spirit and to guard essence, one may sometimes roam freely yet still require a home to return to.

Bixu Commentary

Water is closest to the Dao: at rest, deep, clear, and still; in motion, lucid and bright. Still like metal and stone—no examination, no ringing—things have “ultimate nothingness” yet supply what is sought; spirit and essence guarded, so that even when roaming far, one still needs a place to come back to.

Bixu’s commentary: Water comes closest to the Dao. When it gathers and stays still, it is deep and clear, like a deep pool or a clear pond; when it moves, it is clear and bright again. Metal and stone do not sound until they are struck—each of the ten thousand things has its own nature, and only by seeking in accord with that nature can one gain anything.

One who keeps to plain simplicity, walks alone, and is ashamed to be clever at worldly affairs has planted the root and returned to the source to recover the mandate (gui gen fu ming). When knowing can reach through to spirit (Shen), knowing the constant is illumination (ming). De spreads over everything without exception, so the least movement already touches true resonance and is taken up and gathered by things.

The body of the Dao begets the ten thousand things; the working of De shows forth brightness. Those skilled at preserving form can exhaust the principle of life; those skilled at establishing De can grasp the subtlety of the Dao. Thus the achievement of De is vast: what issues from it has no shape, what moves in it leaves no trace; in careful guarding one can see the dawn and hear harmony. Jade stored long still gleams in the dark of night; spirit kept within still brings auspicious quiet. To be able to become things and to become essence (Jing) is what is called the wondrous thing in vagueness (huanghu), the true essence in the hidden depths (yaoming)—supplying every need from non-being, doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone (wuwei er wu bu wei); at times one may roam freely, but in the end one must return to one’s resting place; when movement reaches its limit it turns back to stillness.

Great and small, long and short, near and far—all are held together by the one Dao, and nothing more.

Yanzhai says: Metal and stone can sound—that too is in their nature; doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone, at times ranging freely yet holding to one’s abode, movement at its limit returning to stillness; great and small, long and short, near and far—all threaded through by the Dao alone.

Yan Zhai said: Metal and stone can give off sound; within nature, Heaven and the human mutually strike and respond—this too is a manifestation of the cosmic mechanism (tianji). How can one insist that what we call “Heaven” is not “human,” or that “human” is not “Heaven”?

To remain in plain simplicity and follow one’s nature is the way; if one takes skill in affairs and display of talent as the root, one strays from the origin. To stay close to the mind of things at their beginning and respond to the outer world—even when one only gathers and reacts—still leaves some trace of “feeling” or stimulation. All that has form and life is the same in principle; unless one truly realizes it for oneself, this Dao cannot be made clear.

What is called “not knowing” means not yet knowing how first to guard one’s own body and to fathom the principle of first arising; to establish one’s own De and thereby manifest the natural Dao—only a sage can do this. Suddenly one stands above the ten thousand kinds of things, stirs into motion from sheer necessity, and the myriad beings follow, as if all things were watching. Seeing clearly and hearing in harmony are in the end only one’s own seeing and one’s own hearing. Going further, one can respond to things: fine and coarse are both held within, and one meets things with emptiness, without stopping. Thus one reaches utmost non-being, supplying what the myriad things need, issuing forth at the right moment and putting it to use. Where it finally rests cannot be pinned down in a single phrase. Large or small, long or short, near or far—all are meanings in the present moment; only when “long journey” and “near and far” are read together does this meaning come fully into words. Fine and coarse are stored within, one responds to things with emptiness and without end, until utmost non-being supplies the myriad things’ needs and timely issuance puts it to use—the destination cannot be fixed in one saying. Large or small, long or short, near or far—that is the meaning of being timely.

On the Dao and Heaven and Human

The Dao is as vast and deep as Heaven. When metal and stone give forth sound, that too is Heaven’s manifestation; when people are moved and respond, when someone strikes and they ring—that is human action. Heaven and the human depend on each other and show themselves through the myriad things. The image is this: one who embodies kingly De has a plain, unadorned nature and a heart that can penetrate affairs—not because he cannot act on his own, but like bells and chimes that sound only when struck: standing in the root source, like metal and stone shaped into instruments; wisdom communing with spirit, like sound within the strike. Where there is sound, sound dwells within—how could such De not be vast? When the heart is stirred by gathering from outer things, that is what “moved, and thus it penetrates” means. Only by guarding this form can one exhaust the principle of life; only by establishing one’s own De can one clarify the Dao’s spontaneity. Whoever truly nourishes himself—in every movement and stillness—how could things not follow? As for catching the subtle before it appears, hearing harmony without sound, seeing and hearing beyond what ordinary people reach—deep enough to “thing” things, then things are not far from the Dao; spirit enough to refine essence, then essence does not leave spirit. Utmost emptiness supplies what is sought; empty yet never exhausted, in motion it pours out more and more. At times it ranges freely yet returns to its home; “far” is called far, “far” is called return—closing with the six characters “size, length, cultivation, and distance” is a striking stroke of composition: the whole argument never steps outside this. “Cultivation and distance” may be read as “near and far”; Yizhai’s reading is worth taking.

Xiangwang Obtains the Dark Pearl

The Yellow Emperor wandered north of the Red Water, climbed the hill of Kunlun, gazed south and turned back—and lost the dark pearl (a figure for the great Dao, the original true self). He sent “Knowledge” (cleverness) to find it: no success. He sent Li Zhu (sharp sight) to find it: no success. He sent Chigou (skill in disputation) to find it: still no success. Finally he sent Xiangwang (no fixed image, dim uncertainty) to find it—and Xiangwang got it. The Yellow Emperor said: How strange! So Xiangwang can obtain it after all?

Guo Xiang’s note: This shows where obtaining the true lies—cleverness is not enough to grasp the true; keen eyes and eloquent argument take one further from it. Who obtains the true does not use the calculating heart; Xiangwang is the true itself.

Lü Huiqing’s note: North of the Red Water and the hill of Kunlun are fairylands in the allegory; the dark pearl stands for the body of the Dao and the original heart-mind. Knowledge, Li Zhu, and Chigou stand for intellect, the eye, and debate—each loses the pearl. Xiangwang has no discrimination and no grasping, hence merges with the Dao in darkness and obtains it.

Guo Xiang’s commentary

The point here is that to grasp the true, one must awaken through clarity (ming); relying on cleverness and book knowledge alone will not yield it. The more one depends on artifice and clever speech, the farther one drifts from the true. Whoever truly attains it does not depend on deliberate scheming—Xiang Wang (xiang wang: “image” and “obscurity”) is precisely that true.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary

“North of the Red Water” stands for mystery pushed to the limit; “Kunlun heights” is the loftiest place in form. To look south, toward the bright—such a thing as the Xuan Zhu (mysterious pearl) cannot be sought through “knowing,” through “recognizing,” or through words, so however one searches, one does not find it. Xiang (image) is not utterly absent; wang (obscurity) is not truly present—neither being nor non-being, neither bright nor dark: that is how the Xuan Zhu is attained.

Yidu’s commentary

Looking south and then turning back was meant to use brightness to recover the root, yet instead the true nature was lost; searching with “knowing” only puts true nature farther away. Seeking it with cleverness or disputation never succeeds. Only by leaving form behind, dropping knowing, silencing cleverness, and forgetting speech—what is called Xiang Wang—can one speak of attaining true nature.

Bixu’s commentary

When the mind moves, the true water no longer reflects clearly; craving height opens a gap in ultimate principle. Wanting to return to the root, the subtle Way is lost first. On the side of the Dao there is no “not sharp,” so knowing does not match; no “not bright,” so seeing does not fit; no “not eloquent,” so speech does not accord. Xiang Wang is that hazy, indeterminate state. The person without mind merges with the Dao, the Dao without mind merges with the person—one can only awkwardly say “obtaining it.” When the Yellow Emperor sighs, “Can it really be obtained?” he is really saying: there is nothing that is truly “obtained.”

Yanzhai kouyi

These words mean: seeking the Way is not in cleverness or words—as Buddhist scripture puts it, using a thinking mind to seek the great perfect awakening is like a firefly trying to burn Mount Sumeru. Xuan Zhu figures the Way; Xiang Wang figures being without mind.

Brief notes on terms

• Xuan Zhu: the dark pearl in the parable, often standing for the great Way or true nature.
• Xiang Wang: a figure in Zhuangzi’s parable—xiang “as if present,” wang “as if absent”—together naming a stance that does not fix on being or non-being and does not seek with the mind.
• Guo Zhu / Lü Zhu, etc.: successive commentators on the Zhuangzi (Nanhua zhenjing) explaining the same passage.

People who seek the Way in the world often take cleverness, talent, and eloquence as their real skills, while throwing away their original simplicity and innocence. They do not understand that there is a kind of “knowing without knowing, seeing without seeing, speaking without speaking” that is knowing everything, seeing everything, and saying everything. The pearl stands for the heart’s full, bright wholeness; the mysterious pearl (xuanzhu) stands for the heart’s subtle power—you should nourish it in obscurity, and only then can you use it without end. Now they chase brightness instead, and that is why they lose it. All three—knowing, seeing, and speaking—fail when sought because they use “intentional mind.” As for Xiangwang, even form is gone—where could mind be found? Only then can one obtain the mysterious pearl and draw forth the Yellow Emperor’s sigh of wonder. Every person already has this pearl; it illumines past and present and shines through heaven and earth. In stillness it gathers; in movement it scatters, the heart’s depths churn and dust and turbidity block its light, the sea of nature (xinghai) surges like waves and loses its true place—when the body itself cannot be lit, how can there be spare strength to illumine things? At first the Yellow Emperor thought cleverness and talent were enough to win the pearl, not knowing that was precisely “stealing the pearl”; only when he sent Xiangwang did he obtain it. The point is to set aside cleverness and talent, return the sea of nature to clear depth, and let the mysterious pearl appear without seeking. Those who truly believe should begin from here.

Yao’s teacher was Xu You; Xu You’s teacher was Nie Que; Nie Que’s teacher was Wang Ni; Wang Ni’s teacher was Bei Yi. Yao asked Xu You: “Can Nie Que match Heaven (serve as Son of Heaven)? I want to ask Wang Ni to recommend him.”

Xu You said: “Dangerous—it would ruin the realm! Nie Que as a person is clever, perceptive, quick, and scheming; his inborn nature surpasses ordinary people, yet he also uses human affairs to bear Heaven’s mandate. He is clear about forbidding faults but does not know where faults come from—can such a person match Heaven? He will ride human affairs over Heaven, take the human body as root and let form change, honor cleverness like a racing fire, act as driver for every kind of task and bond to outer things, look everywhere to respond to the ten thousand things, echo the crowd without fixed standard, follow things in change without constancy—how could he be fit to be Son of Heaven? He may have kin and ancestors and be father to the masses, but he cannot be the father of the masses’ father; that is the root of order and chaos, the disaster of facing north (as minister), the thief of facing south (as ruler).”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: What is meant by “matching Heaven” (pei tian) is the capacity to bear the role of Son of Heaven and to stand in accord with the Way of Heaven. If one relies on exceptional cleverness to inspire awe, then uses contrivance to try to recover naturalness, one becomes less natural the more one tries. So the crux is not harsh prohibition but the removal of clever contrivance. If the realm were entrusted to such people, later ages would lean on intellectual knowing and lose their original genuineness. Taking the myriad things as root, the various transformations can be gathered into one and diverse forms can be equalized—that is a sound direction; but later ages take themselves as the standard to dominate the myriad things, directing outer things to cope with public affairs, unable to forget “goodness” in benefiting others or to respond to things as they fit, chasing externals without inner sufficiency: enjoying their virtue today and suffering their harm tomorrow, with no constant Way—how can that be called “matching Heaven”? “Having clans and having ancestors” means following the traces of the many fathers; “the father of the many fathers” is what those traces rest upon. If the realm were entrusted to them, they would not only fail to become rulers who order the age but would become sources of disorder. Jie and Zhou were not born able to kill worthy ministers; they borrowed the empty name and routines of “sagely wisdom” to harm people. Tian Heng (Chen Heng) did not seize Qi by brute force alone; he used the name of benevolence and righteousness to carry out usurpation. Hence it is said: facing north (occupying the ruler’s place) invites disaster; facing south (proclaiming kingship and hegemony) makes one a thief.

Lü Huìqīng’s commentary: Nie Que is someone whose native cleverness and knowing surpass ordinary people; he is not one who truly dismisses cleverness and abandons knowing, acting from necessity in accord with Heaven. To receive Heaven “as a person” is not to be complete in Heaven. He knows only to forbid transgression, not where transgression arises; using the traces of benevolence and righteousness to commit seizure is precisely what is meant by the disaster of facing north and the thievery of facing south.

Lü's Commentary (Lü's annotation on this passage)

As for the man Nieque, to say his native endowment surpasses ordinary people is not the same as truly "divesting intelligence and abandoning knowledge"; if he acts only when he has no choice, that is not the same as "receiving Heaven through human effort" in order to be "whole with Heaven."

To know only how to forbid faults without understanding where faults arise, and to stop one's effort at the point of "forbidding" alone, then think this accords with Wuwei (non-action) and can "match Heaven" (be commensurate with the Way of Heaven)—would this not use human affairs to harm and discard the Way of Heaven?

Issuing from one body yet each showing a different form, one cannot be "without self"; exalting cleverness while the heart races like fire, one cannot put cleverness aside—thus one is turned into a servant of the world. External things have their own tangles, yet one cannot untie them oneself.

Looking everywhere and responding to whatever comes is not sitting like a corpse, yet it leaves the people not knowing where to go; turning about everywhere to meet every occasion is not standing on the root, while cleverness reaches into the numinous—so one becomes the same as things, yet never holds to the constant Way; how then could one be enough to match Heaven?

That said, what Wuwei gives rise to never fails to begin first with "subtraction" (reducing selfish desire and clever artifice). Thus there are clans and ancestors who can serve as "father of the multitude" (the one the many look up to); but what is "subtracted" is not the source from which the "father of the multitude" arises, so one cannot be "father of the fathers of the multitude."

In other words: if one cannot achieve non-knowing, the divide between Yao and Jie, the constant Way of order and disorder, arises from this. Those who govern the state by cleverness and through cleverness bring calamity above and are thieves below—what is meant by "calamity in the north-facing role, thief in the south-facing role" is precisely this.

Commentary on Yidu

Although Nieque possessed keen intelligence and penetrating wisdom, he knew only the outward traces of the Great Dao; he also tried to govern through human contrivance, going against the natural endowment Heaven gives, and thus stood far from the Dao. Faults often arise from “being too clever”; when one uses cognitive knowledge to suppress faults, faults only multiply and cannot be held down. The body already has its various forms and shapes, yet one still cannot forget form; when intellectual knowledge is honored like a blazing fire galloping ahead, spirit is exhausted and qi is harmed in the chase after stray thoughts—this is the beginning of letting outer things serve cognitive knowledge and letting knowledge obstruct things. One looks about in every direction and responds to outer objects, yet not one thing truly returns to one’s own original mind. Just when one should respond to the multitude and harmonize with what each thing needs, one cannot preserve unity with creation and transform together with the ten thousand things—if it remains thus, all may still spring from the natural, yet one knows only when to exert and when to stop, bearing both its virtue and its harm, and never holds to constancy. Though one may respond to the many appropriatenesses and transform with things, one does not know the root of the Great Dao; hence it is said there is clan and ancestor, and one may be “father of the multitude,” but cannot be “father of the fathers of the multitude.” “Father of the fathers of the multitude” means one who has a still higher ancestor. The marrow of attaining the Dao is no governance and no disorder, accomplishment through non-action (wuwei); then one will not become calamity or brigand. If one clings only to traces and relies on the sage’s governance and cognitive knowledge, one inevitably still becomes calamity and brigand.

Commentary on Xiangdao

When government is overly fine and scrutinizing, the people become incomplete and deficient (in the sense of Laozi’s “when governance is scrutinizing, the people are lacking”). “Nieque” means biting into things and making them defective. From “keen intelligence and wisdom” through “never holding to constancy” the passage speaks of “nie” (biting/defect); from “the measure of order and disorder” through “thief on the throne facing south” it speaks of “que” (lack/defect). “Clan” is the group to which one belongs; “ancestor” is the beginning from which one starts. Those who governed the people in antiquity never failed to rely on keen intelligence and wisdom, yet their subtle reach extended to divine martial power without killing—only that counted as supreme governance. Today Nieque has only keen intelligence and wisdom; therefore he can be father of the multitude but cannot be father of the fathers of the multitude. Qian (Heaven and Earth) is the father of the ten thousand things, hence father of the multitude; Great Beginning (Taishi) is the father of Qian, hence father of the fathers of the multitude. The father of the multitude is one who governs the world; the father of the fathers of the multitude is one who “lets the world be as it is” (you tianxia)—when the world is left as it is, there is no governance and no disorder; forced governance breeds disorder, hence this is called the measure of order and disorder. One who understands this principle and faces north is not truly a subject, hence “calamity of facing north”; one who understands this principle and faces south is not truly a ruler, hence “thief on the throne facing south.”

Main Meaning of the Scripture

In the state of zaiyou—letting things be, with little deliberate governance—there was originally no forced rule and no great disorder. Once people push hard to “govern,” disorder arises in turn; that is why this is called the root from which order and chaos keep alternating.

Think this through: if one still stands as a subject facing north yet uses the wrong approach, one is not a true minister—this is the misfortune of the northern-facing subject (the harm that comes from failing the way of the minister). If one stands as a lord facing south yet uses the wrong approach, one is not a true ruler—this is the usurper of the southern-facing throne (the corruption of the ruler’s position).

Bixu Commentary (in plain language)

Relying on cleverness, one’s share of blessing grows smaller; when one’s nature towers above the crowd, harm multiplies. The heart is full of scheming and calculation, yet one expects a response as pure and unmixed as nature—that only drives one further away. How can such a person be worthy of Heaven (peitian)?

Such people also lean on royal power and slight the Way of Heaven, exalt their own bodily form while deploying stratagem, fix laws and standards to constrain the ten thousand things, survey every task, and try to meet endless change with a single rule—chasing externals without end. That is not enough to accord with naturalness (ziran).

Yet if one recounts the whole course: even when government and teaching are severe, one still cannot forget traces (still clings to form and name)—such a person may suppress crisis and settle calamity, but can hardly be an ideal minister. What is meant by governing the realm through knowledge (through cleverness and expedient rule) is precisely this kind of situation.

Commentary by Yizhai (in plain language)

Peitian means ruling under Heaven and matching the Way of Heaven. Cleverness, insight, quickness, and sharp wit are ways of surpassing others; cultivating human affairs to respond to Heaven is why it is said one “accepts prohibition” (accepts constraint and taboo)—but when prohibition goes too far and still does not stop, it is as if the heart is still held and not transformed. If one knows where “excess” comes from, one need not rely on prohibition.

Riding on human effort without Heaven (cheng ren er wu tian): leaning on human power and artifice, without the Way of Heaven. Knowing action but not knowing wuwei: understanding only doing, not non-action.

Meeting things with “I” is called fixing the self while forms diverge (ben shen er yi xing); exalting stratagem and using it in haste is like galloping fire; being driven by minor ends without knowing the root is called entangled in threads and tied by things (xu shi wu gai); being bound by affairs is called stirred and muddied by things (wei wu suo mi). When things come, one responds and gauges each as fitting—yet one is stirred by things and loses the constant of nature; that is not the ability to stay settled and respond to things.

Even so, one still cannot be worthy of Heaven—yet there is something in such a person that can be honored: when a clan gathers, they must honor their ancestor; the father of the multitude (zhong fu) emerges from the people and can be a father, and the father of the fathers of the multitude stands higher still. Shuai (command) is like a general: such a person, put to use in the world, can bring order or bring disorder; as ruler or as minister, harm may arise in either role.

Xu You pointed out that Nie Que was intelligent and wise, with an innate nature surpassing ordinary people; this only evaluates his talent and does not touch on his Dao (the Way). The phrase “receiving Heaven through the human” means that he still brings the methods of youwei (action) to seek harmony with Wuwei (non-action); he is keen-sighted in prohibiting faults, yet does not know the source from which faults arise. If the world were handed over to him, he would rely on traces of youwei to rule over the people as sovereign, causing the world to lose its natural original nature. Starting from himself to distinguish the forms of what is other than himself, things originally as intimate as liver and gallbladder would become as antagonistic as Chu and Yue. He esteems cleverness and cunning and races like fire, with schemes urgent and pressing; driven by the threads of affairs, he becomes enslaved by trivial matters; entangled by external things, he is obstructed by external things. He glances in all directions and external things respond, which shows that external things have not yet been forgotten from his mind; he is about to accord with what is fitting in the myriad affairs, which shows that the self has also not yet forgotten external things. As he changes with things, he chases after external things and drifts along; never having constancy, he loses his original self. How then could he match Heaven? Nevertheless, he has lineage and ancestry and a patriarchal transmission; broadly speaking, he is one who has heard the Dao. He can be a “father of the multitude” (zhongfu), but cannot be a “father of the fathers of the multitude” (zhongfufu). The “father of the fathers of the multitude” is the realm of the mysterious and yet more mysterious. Precisely because he cannot reach the father of the fathers of the multitude, governing the world through youwei would in fact throw the world into disorder; ruler and minister alike would inevitably court disaster and suffer harm. This is to say that the exercise of cleverness and cunning is not sufficient to govern the world.

Nie Que was Xu You’s teacher, yet Xu You did not permit him to match Heaven. Why was this? Because matching Heaven belongs to the learning of outer kingship, whereas what the four masters in this lineage—Wang Ni, Nie Que, Xu You, and Pi Yi—transmitted was the way of inner sageliness. In office one can be a teacher of emperors and kings; in retreat one can be a father of the fathers of the multitude. What need is there for the world? Therefore Xu You did not praise Nie Que’s strengths but pointed out his shortcomings, so that he need not be admired and followed by people like ants swarming to a rank smell, and thus could preserve his loftiness and distance. This is the utmost respect for the teacher and the most earnest defense of the Dao. Students should earnestly reflect on this.

The end of the chapter identifies fascicles 35 and 36 of the Nanhua Zhenjing Yihai Zuanwei and “Heaven and Earth, Chapter Three,” and cites the Zhuangzi passage “Yao was inspecting Hua. The border guardian of Hua said, ‘Ah, sage! Please let me offer a blessing…’” This means that Yao went on an inspection tour to Hua, and the border guardian of Hua exclaimed, “Ah, sage! Please let me pray for blessings for you.”

Heaven and Earth, Chapter Three

When Yao went to inspect the region around Mount Hua, the frontier guard there said to him, “Ah! Sage! Allow me to offer the sage a blessing: may the sage live long.” Yao said, “No.”

“May the sage be wealthy.” Yao said, “No.”

“May the sage have many sons.” Yao said, “No.”

The guard said, “Long life, wealth, and many sons are what people desire—yet you alone refuse them. Why?”

Yao said, “Many sons bring many burdens; wealth brings many troubles; long life brings much humiliation—these three are not means to cultivate De (Virtue/Power), so I decline.”

The guard said, “At first I thought you were a sage; now I see you are only a gentleman. When Heaven brings forth the myriad people, it surely assigns each his proper role. If there are many sons and roles are assigned accordingly, what is there to fear? If one is wealthy and lets others share in it, what business cannot be finished? The sage dwells like a quail and feeds like a fledgling; he moves like a bird and leaves no trace. When the world is in order, he flourishes together with the ten thousand things; when the world is not in order, he cultivates virtue and withdraws. Living a thousand years, he wearies of the dusty world and departs, becoming a superior immortal, riding white clouds to the abode of the Celestial Emperor. When the three kinds of harm do not come, the body is free of calamity—what humiliation is there to speak of?”

The guard walked away. Yao followed him and said, “Please allow me to ask something.” The guard said, “Go back.”

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (as compiled in Yihai)

“Many sons, and if offices are assigned to them—what is there to fear?”

When sons are many, as long as duties are properly arranged, each thing finds its place and names and roles are settled.

“Wealthy and letting others share—what business is there?”

When one is rich and hands it over for the world to share, nothing remains unfinished.

“Dwells like a quail, eats like a fledgling, moves like a bird without display”

To dwell like a quail is not to seek ease on purpose; to eat like a fledgling is to rely on what is outside and be self-sufficient; to act according to one’s nature without leaving a fixed mark.

“Flourishing together with things”

(When the world is in order) flourishing together with the ten thousand things—acting from genuine feeling and accord with the great Dao (the Way).

“Cultivating virtue and withdrawing to seclusion”

Cultivating virtue and living apart. Even one who responds to Heaven like Tang or Wu is not said to fail to “withdraw to seclusion” (jiujian—stepping back into quiet).

“A thousand years, wearying of the world and departing as a superior immortal…”

Living to the utmost span, accepting rise and fall as they come; in life following nature, in death transforming into the ten thousand things. Wearying of the dusty world and becoming a superior immortal, riding clouds to the emperor’s realm—when the one breath disperses, there is nowhere one cannot reach. When the three harms do not come, what humiliation is there?

(Note: “Huafeng ren” in the text is the frontier guard of the Mount Hua region; this passage is from Zhuangzi, “Heaven and Earth”; Guo Xiang’s commentary is as preserved in the Yihai compilation.)

Lü Commentary: The sage lives out the “way of Heaven” to the full: body and mind are one with the transformations of the ten thousand things, and outer things cannot drag him down. The noble person lives out the “way of humanity” to the full: fortune and misfortune are shared with the people, so blessings everyone desires—long life, wealth, many sons—Yao had to decline with “much trouble, much fear, much disgrace.” That is not because Yao failed the way of Heaven, but because he deliberately shared the people’s hardship and joy within the “way of humanity.” “Quail dwelling” (living like a quail, at ease anywhere, not knowing where one will alight), “nestling feeding” (eating like a fledgling, fed from above, not knowing whence food comes), and “bird flight” (moving like a bird in flight, leaving no trace)—all are images of non-attachment and acting in accord with the natural course.

People who seek transcendence sometimes fixate only on diet and breath practices; Confucians dismiss that as delusion—both sides skew. Yet humans are born holding spirit (Shen), endowed from Heaven; if at death one still holds spirit and keeps Heaven whole without dispersing it, the classics already speak of “resting in Heaven” and “upper immortals”—it is not incredible. When Yao speaks of “having a person” and “not appearing to have a person among people,” he means not taking “self and other” as truly existent. The border guard’s withdrawal is precisely the untrammeled state Yao embodies.

Yidu Commentary: The man who guarded the frontier of Huá prayed for Yao: long life, wealth, many sons. Yao declined each in turn: many sons mean being bound by household affairs—“entangled burden”; wealth means being bound by goods—“much trouble”; long life means being bound by clinging to life—“much disgrace.” These three cannot nourish the virtue of Wuwei (non-action); they become the burdens of having a life. The border man said: at first I thought Yao was a sage who embodied the Way; now I see him leave “having” and move toward “non-having”—almost like a worthy noble. Yet if many sons are given their roles, what is there to fear? If wealth is shared with others, what trouble is there? Quail dwell without fixed abode; nestlings eat whatever is offered and suffice; birds fly without trace. Flourishing with things, benefiting all under Heaven—or cultivating virtue in seclusion, perfecting oneself alone—at the end of a thousand years, weary of the world, ascending as an immortal: whence would the three woes of much trouble, much fear, and much disgrace come? Yao’s declining the blessing is to show people: what the true sage values is not worldly fortune but being untrammeled in accord with the way of Heaven and the way of humanity.

Plain-Language Reading of Nanhuang Zhenjing Yihai Zuanwei

Main idea of the commentary

Commentary by Bixuzi: When the border guard wished Yao “many sons and long life,” he was handing each person’s allotted role back to them to live out; “wealth shared with others” is like hiding gold and pearls in mountain pools; the quail has a roost but does not fuss over nesting, nestlings eat their fill without striving on their own, birds in flight leave no tracks—all of this is sharing prosperity with the myriad things. Acting in season, one cultivates virtue in quiet leisure; shedding defilement, one treads on light and rides the void—the white clouds stand for the true realm of the Emperor’s homeland where Dao-Qi (vital energy of the Way) takes form.

What the border guard praised were blessings the world values; Yao was not taken in by them and declined. When Yao pressed further, the border guard only said: Please withdraw—hinting at forgetting the self and guarding deeply against outer entanglements.

Editorial note by Yanzhai

Wealth, long life, and many sons are what ordinary people desire; those who study the Way think there is no need to fix the mind on them. Heaven gives birth to the myriad people and surely assigns each a role—as soon as one is born, one’s portion of food and clothing is set; “wealth that lets others share” means returning each person’s limit to them to bear. The quail’s dwelling has no fixed place, the young do not feed by their own striving, birds leave no trace in flight—all speak of “no deliberate mind.” “Flourishing together with things” means self and things each obtain what they are born for; cultivating virtue in intervals of rest—without the Way one is cramped; there is also weariness of the world’s nets and a wish for release and immortality. White clouds and the Emperor’s homeland point to the true realm above emptiness.

The “three afflictions” mean youth, prime, and old age—like the metaphor of the Ganges’ flow in the Surangama Sutra; Yao still wanted to ask more, but the border guard did not answer and only said “withdraw”—Jie Yu hurrying away to avoid the world, and the old man with the burden basket who leaves when others arrive, express the same layer of meaning: the true Way is not in questions of mouth and ear, but in withdrawing the body and keeping quiet.

Section 1 (On Yao and the Man of Hua)

When Yao ruled, his benevolence shone forth and righteousness was established; his virtue ran deep and his transforming influence spread wide, until the realm was at peace. He went to Hua to tour the region. The local people, following custom, rejoiced together and praised Yao’s way of governing. A man of Hua offered the sage the “three blessings”—returning to the ruler the finest wishes one could wish for the world—showing that this was a “Way” (Dao) that could be offered upward. Yao declined as usual, knowing this was not a practice for nourishing virtue. The man of Hua spoke again, saying those were superfluous, redundant words about the Way. Consider how Yao handed over his nine sons and two daughters to Shun, served Shun in the fields, and possessed the realm yet did not treat it as his own; he lived to one hundred and eighteen and then passed away, vast and boundless, beyond the “three anxieties” (wealth and rank, long life, and many sons—what ordinary people envy and sages treat with caution). Set the man of Hua’s remarks beside Yao’s conduct, and the man of Hua might be counted among Yao’s kind. Yet Yao’s ultimate state—“like Heaven, like a spirit, like the sun, like clouds”—how could the man of Hua fathom it? The phrase “without display” (wu zhang) here should mean having no deliberately shown writings or outward traces.

Section 2 (Bo Cheng Zi Gao Declines the Feudal Lordship and Takes to Farming)

While Yao governed the realm, Bo Cheng Zi Gao was installed as a feudal lord. When Yao passed the throne to Shun and Shun to Yu, Bo Cheng Zi Gao resigned his lordship and went to farm. Yu went to see him and found him plowing in the wilds. Yu hurried to where he stood on the leeward side, then asked: “Formerly, when Yao governed the realm, you were made a feudal lord; when Yao passed to Shun and Shun to Yu, you resigned your lordship and farmed—what was your reason?”

Zi Gao said: “Formerly, when Yao governed the realm, he did not need rewards for the people to encourage themselves, nor punishments for them to feel awe. Now you use rewards and punishments, and the people are the less humane; virtue declines from this point, punishments are established from this point, and the disorders of later ages begin from this point. You had better go—do not hinder my work.” With that he bent to his plowing and paid Yu no further heed.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: In the age of Yu the Great, Yao, Shun, and Yu succeeded one another in governing the realm; merit accumulated and instruction was complete, so ancient records in fact say little about this stretch on its own; Confucius never heard it firsthand either. Thus although there was a realm, it was as if “having it yet not having it”—the realm was not truly held in any one person’s hands. In terms of the age, Yu stands out; in terms of character, the three sages are one continuous line of Yao’s spirit. At that time the realm lacked a sage who could win universal assent, and hearts quickly turned to Qi. Rule of supreme impartiality means entrusting the realm to the people; gain and loss, take and leave, did not come from private whim, so what was lost was not clung to and what was gained was not grasped—coming and going were natural. Hence though men of strict integrity criticized this, the three still rank among the Three Sage-Kings, which is not surprising. Zhuangzi uses this to show: the flaw began with Yao, while the seed of trouble was cast in Yu’s time—and how much less could later ages produce sages! He lodges the deeper point in Bo Cheng Zi Gao, who abandoned his post and refused to govern, intending “to abandon sageliness and discard wisdom” and return to simplicity. Yet a literal reading alone still cannot exhaust his meaning. Zhuangzi’s words cannot be pinned to a single reading; when he speaks of the traces of the Yellow Emperor or the shins of Yao and Shun, that is not simply to honor Yao and slight Yu. One should set aside the concrete persons and grasp the broad intent of “abandoning sageliness and discarding wisdom.”

Lü Huíqing’s commentary: The ancients called Yu “Divine Yu”; virtue reached the level of divinity, and he ought not to have differed from Yao and Shun. Without rewards the people still exhort one another; without punishments they still fear—yet even when rewards and punishments are used, the people may still lack benevolence. That is largely a matter of historical circumstance. The point of saying this is to show that the ruler should govern the realm through virtue; reward and punishment were never arbitrary indulgence but measures taken only when there was no alternative.

Yí Dú’s commentary ( gist): Bo Cheng Zi Gao was a feudal lord under Yao; under Yu he withdrew to farm in the countryside. The reasoning matches the above: without rewards the people exhort themselves, without punishments they fear; with rewards and punishments they may still lack benevolence—again a matter of circumstance. The aim is to show that one who governs through virtue does not treat reward and punishment as something to wield at will, but as forced by the times.

Commentary on “Doubt and Solitude”

When Bog Cheng Zi Gao was a feudal lord under Yao, he withdrew to farm in the wilds once Yu came to power. The gist is this: Yao governed the realm through wuwei (non-action), so the people did not need rewards and punishments to choose what is good or to know fear; Yu relied on rewards and punishments, and the people grew less humane. As de (virtue/power) waned, penal law took root—and the disorder of later ages began from there. Bog Cheng said to Yu: You walk a crooked path; do not ruin our farming—just plow with all your strength and never look back at him.

Commentary on “Auspicious Dao”

The ancients acted faithfully without knowing they were being faithful, and acted sincerely without knowing they were being sincere. They did good without chasing a fine reputation, and did not even know the idea of “encouraging goodness”; they did evil without dodging punishment, and did not even know the idea of “fearing punishment.” Under Yao and Shun there were neither rewards nor punishments, yet the people still encouraged goodness and feared wrongdoing. Compared with people of later times who could no longer say clearly what should be encouraged or feared, that age was already one layer “thinner”; then relying on rewards to get people to encourage goodness and on punishments to make them fear wrongdoing made de decline further and penal law stand firmer. This does not mean Yao never rewarded or punished at all, but that when one person was rewarded, the whole realm rejoiced in the fairness of the reward, and when one person was punished, the whole realm accepted the justice of the punishment—few rewards and punishments, yet broad approval and submission. So one can speak of “no rewards and no punishments.” Huafeng held Yao to the standard of a “sage,” and Zi Gao held Yu to Yao’s standard; Yu already looked “coarse” beside Yao, and Yao looked one layer “coarser” still beside a true “sage” (in each case, the gap against a higher relative standard).

Commentary on “Azure Emptiness”

When Yao, Shun, and Yu ordered the realm, it was like the Dao, de, and humaneness spreading benefit to the myriad people—benefit on a vast scale. When Bog Cheng Zi Gao spoke, his resolve was lofty and his conduct utterly apart from the vulgar; unyielding and upright, he could truly be called a teacher fit for a king. Having finished, he bowed his head to the fields and did not look back—expressing the intent to honor farming as the foundation and to return to simplicity.

Yizhai

Customs grew worse generation by generation; by Yu’s time they no longer matched Yao and Shun. “Do not neglect our business” means do not waste our farming; yiyi describes the posture of bowing the head while tilling. Yao neither rewarded nor punished; Yu used rewards and punishments and the people were not humane—much like the ideal in the Analects of “surely making it so that there are no lawsuits.” The passage uses the three sages Yao, Shun, and Yu to speak of how the age changed.

Closing

The explanations above from the various commentators are already clear and thorough enough; there is no need to repeat or add more.

Summary of the Scripture (Conceptual Chain)

In the primordial beginning, there was a distinction between non-being and being, and the rise of the nameless and the One. The One had already appeared, yet the myriad things had not yet taken shape; what could be generated from this stage is called De (Virtue/Power). Before forms existed, there were already boundaries yet also a thorough blending with no gap between them—this is called Ming (allotted coherence). Where things rest and move, the myriad things are born; when they mature, each has its own pattern—this is called form. When the bodily form preserves spirit and each thing has its own law and norm, this is called Xing (nature).

(Note: The opening lines are a step-by-step account of terms such as De, Ming, form, and Xing; traditional commentaries have treated them at length, so they are abbreviated here.)

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (Plain Language)

“Non-being and being” means there is no name that can be fixed upon it; “the One” refers to the primordial utmost subtlety—the One that as yet has no physical trace.

“The rise of the One” means it rises from the One at the utmost, not from empty non-being. Zhuangzi speaks of “the beginning” again and again because: what has not yet been “born” is already “given life”—and being given life has its own difficulty from the start. If it does not lean on non-being above or depend on knowing below, yet suddenly obtains this life on its own, why bother with extra scheming about “self-generation”? If it is already self-generated but then loses that self-generation, the path is skewed.

Non-being cannot produce things, yet the text says “things thereby obtain life” to show that the birth of things comes from self-obtaining—only then can it be called De.

De, form, Ming, and Xing are merely different labels set up along change; in what is originally so, they are the same thing.

“When Xing is cultivated, it returns to De”: obtaining by non-doing differs from the primordial beginning; if halfway one deliberately acts, the mind has “things” and grasping, and one goes on to nurture that—then De becomes small.

“No mind in speech, yet speech itself” is called accord with the chirping of mouths (many voices naturally sounding together); when chirping accords, that is accord with Heaven and Earth—Heaven and Earth too operate without mind, of themselves.

“Their accord, subtle and continuous”: like Zuowang (sitting in forgetfulness), accord that is natural—not accord achieved by scrutiny and comparison; this is what is called mysterious De. When De is thus subtle, what it follows is great accord (accord with the great Dao).

One layer of meaning: From “primordial beginning—the One—De—Ming—form—Xing” runs a sequence from the nameless to the formed; Guo’s note stresses that life comes from self-obtaining—not that “non-being” manufactures things, nor that it is something painstakingly nurtured afterward; accord with Heaven and Earth is mindless, spontaneous accord—not clever contrivance to fit.

Commentary by Lü: If you speak of “nothingness” (wu), you cannot even grasp “the One.” If you speak of “the nameless,” that is the stage when the One has just sprouted and has not yet taken form—the “beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Once it is already called the One, how can you say it has no name? The ten thousand things rely on this to come into being; that is called De (Virtue/Power)—the “mother of the ten thousand things.” What has not yet taken form, already distinguished but not yet fully connected, is called ming (life mandate); what ming attaches to is the earliest phase before form. When retention and flow generate the ten thousand things, and things are formed and life is ordered, that is called xing (form). When form preserves Shen (spirit) and never disperses it, each with its measure and never acting recklessly, that is called xing (nature). Xing here means what is not lost even after form is complete. All of this simply shows: the ten thousand things alike obtain life through the One—ming has distinction without full continuity; xing preserves spirit without losing spirit—and spirit subtly reaches the ten thousand things and fills Heaven and Earth. Therefore, cultivating xing and returning to De accords with the state when the One had not yet taken form; when De reaches identity with the origin, there is nothing left to grasp even in “nothingness.” Sameness is emptying the empty until “there is not yet a thing”; emptiness is enlarging the large until even “difference” can be the same. Put in terms of wuwei (non-action), it is aligning with “matching calls”—when calls match, their pattern communicates with Heaven and Earth, and merges with Heaven and Earth. Between Heaven and Earth it is like a bellows (tuoyue); matching calls and merging with Heaven and Earth is no more than this. Such merging is continuous and unbroken—not merging by deliberate effort, not merging through knowing and seeing—this is called xuan de (mysterious De): rooted in De and fulfilled in Heaven, same as great accord (dashun), so nothing is violated—that is the meaning.

Commentary by Yidu: “Great Beginning” (taichu) is the opening of Qi; because form is not yet seen, it is called “nothingness.” Where there is a thing, a name follows; here there is none—what can a name attach to? The One is what the Dao uses for naming and what things use to receive ming—it can neither be obtained as something present nor obtained as something absent—this is called “one reversal.”

Plain-language commentary

Commentary by Xiangdao says: Tracing upward from Taichu (Great Beginning) to the “nameless” is viewing how the cosmos unfolds step by step from below; tracing downward from the “One” to what is called xing (inherent nature) is viewing how the myriad things are realized layer by layer from above.

In the interval before chaos was divided, there was first Taiyi (Great Change)—change giving rise to qi, which is Taichu; qi changing to form is Taishi (Great Commencement); form changing to life is Taishu (Great Simplicity). Because there is Taichu, there is the stage of the “One” not yet formed; because there is Taishi, the myriad things acquire their living pattern; because there is Taishu, each thing has its measure and norm.

“Having the One but not yet formed”: its essence is utmost truth; before form appears, distinction already exists, and within it there is trustworthiness and reality. “About to” (qie) points to a future whose beginning is not yet known; “without gap” (wujian) means just born just dying, just dying just born. Resting belongs to yin, moving belongs to yang; things rely on yin’s resting and yang’s moving before they gain their living pattern, and only after things are complete is there bodily form. Therefore spirit (shen) is established to preserve it: spirit gathers the form and commands the myriad things. When the myriad things are complete in the body, none lacks its emblem and law—this is called xing. De (Virtue/Power) comes after xing exists, so the text first speaks of things obtaining life, then of each having its norm. The path of human cultivation runs from xing through to De: when xing is cultivated, De arrives; when De arrives, one is the same as Taichu—sameness is emptiness, emptiness is vastness, and one returns to the infant state; this is what the Great Person (daren) does.

“Closed beak, crying beak”: united, one reaches harmony with Heaven and Earth and returns to Pu (Simplicity, the uncarved block)—this is what the Sage (shengren) does. United in continuous softness, as if stupid, as if dim, one returns to Wuji (the Limitless)—this is what the Divine Person (shenren) does. One stops at “nothing” (wu); nothing can be added beyond that.

Commentary by Bixu says: Once there is “having,” it is no longer the very first; one reluctantly names it Taiyi (the Great One). Where the “One” arises, there is still no trace to follow—it still belongs to primordial yuanqi (original qi). A thing of numinous light stands forth alone—this is called De. Before the qi shows signs, clear and turbid are already divided; what is received is without break—this is called ming (life-mandate). In one stillness and one movement, the myriad things are generated; when things are complete there is a living pattern—this is called xing (form/nature in embodiment). When form and shen each keep their norms, this is called xing. Cultivate natural xing, return to the De of first birth; when De matches Taichu, one is empty and vast, without boundary.

“Closed beak” is like mutual fit—fitting with nature; its cry is without deliberate mind—the so-called “talking all day yet never having spoken.” The beak has upper and lower, like the joining of Heaven and Earth. “Stop up the openings, shut the gates”: subtle principle is silent and still; utmost De is guarded deep, the same as the way of great accord (dashun).

Liu Gai explains in his commentary that Tai Chu (the Grand Beginning) is the opening of qi, which is why the text speaks in terms of “having”; Tai Shi (the Grand Inception) is the opening of form, which is why it treats “non-being.” Names arise from the One. Though the One has not yet taken a definite image, the myriad things can still come to be—only because there is the One. Before the One becomes images, it is sheer hundun (primordial chaos); within that chaos, distinction is already present.

Here, qie does not mean something settled for long; wu jian (without gap) means something always like a closed ring, with no point one can call a beginning or end. Inside it there is already jing (essence) and xin (trust)—not yet shaped, yet already differentiated. That is the point. Jian de ru tou and qie ran depict a state that seems to be there and yet not quite there, not showing itself openly; min min ruo cun and wu jian depict a threadlike continuity without break or interval.

Heaven’s mandate descends. If it never pauses, it cannot fully generate and transform; if it pauses and becomes utterly still, it can produce only one thing, not the myriad things. In the very moment of pausing, it is never without movement; in the moment of flowing, it does not block its own passage—so it can bring forth things. When a thing completes the pattern by which it lives, that is called form (xing as shape). When form upholds spirit and each thing has its own measure and norm, that is called nature (xing as inner character). Where there is life, there is nature; to hold fast to nature is enough to know Heaven; knowing Heaven, one turns back toward De (Virtue/Power); when De is full, one aligns with the Dao (the Way).

Yan Zhai explains: Great Beginning (Taishi) is the stage at which cosmic creation first unfolds. At that point only Wu (non-being) is present; the word “you” (being) does not yet exist—how could one even speak of names? This is the arising of the One. The One itself is Wu, hence the saying “there is a One, but it has not yet taken form”—from this all things can be generated, and then there is “you”; each thing possessing its own “you” is De (Virtue/Power).

“Has not yet taken form” means that when the One has just arisen, it seems as if distinctions already exist; yet if there are distinctions, they cannot be cut off from one another entirely—one may provisionally call this “no gap” (wujian). No gap is undifferentiated unity; distinction is clear differentiation. The word “ming” here is Tianming (Heaven’s mandate)—what nature is endowed with. Primordial Qi (yuanqi) remains in movement and thereby generates the myriad things; movement that gives birth to things means the moving aspect stays here. Movement belongs to Yang; remaining in stillness, stillness belongs to Yin. This line carries the meaning of “Yang generates, Yin completes”: when things receive this and come into being, the principle of ceaseless generation is fully present. Taking the moving aspect of primordial Qi as what gives birth to “me” is called xing (form); when form preserves spirit and each has its own measure, that is called xing (nature). This is what the Classic of Poetry means by “there are things and there are norms”—what Zuoshi’s tradition calls “the people receive the mean of Heaven and Earth to be born.” The standards of action and dignified bearing are all governed by this spirit; that is the sense in which benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are originally inherent in nature. Cultivating nature to restore its natural De—when De is complete, one is the same as the beginning before there were things; sameness with the beginning is emptiness, and emptiness is vastness. Being both empty and vast, there is speech that does not speak—“he chime” (he hui) means aligning with speech that does not speak; what cries out is language, and mouth and cry unite. This “he” (union) differs in meaning from the “he” above: once the mouth’s cry takes non-speech as speech, one unites with what is natural; through this natural union, one unites with Heaven and Earth.

“Mianmian” is like “minmin”—describing something muddled as if foolish or dim; that is precisely the appearance of this “he” (union). This is mysterious De, the same as great accord (da shun); great accord is the principle of primordial nature at the Utmost Beginning (Tai Chu).

Before vital energy has shown any sign, one can neither call it “non-being” nor “being.” When we speak of the Grand Beginning, there is only the intermingling of being and non-being—yet it cannot be seized or put into words. This is “the One before form,” and also the place where the One itself first rises.

Once the One is fixed, names appear. The ten thousand things live by the One, each holding its own natural De (Virtue/Power). From here creation assigns numinous quality and sends down excellence—the root of persons and things. Though shapes are not yet visible, what clear and turbid Qi condenses into is already distinct: what humans receive becomes persons, what things receive becomes things—and so it goes. Moreover, the ten thousand things are still uneven and kinds differ, yet primal Qi moves among them without gap. This is called ming (fate, the allotment): what Heaven gives and what things receive as their allotted span.

All of this is creation working in the dark, its tracks hard to see; only the sage who understands change can infer it by principle. As for “lingering motion and then producing things” (here “lingering motion” is hard to make sense of; it should read “flowing motion”—likely a copyist’s error for a homophone): once things exist, their life-patterns take shape, and only then do the moving and growing realms of persons and things stand out clearly. The world treats that moment as the start, not knowing how much earlier the process already was. Each thing has its own life-pattern; only spirit (Shen) can keep its numinous bearing intact—then norms are already there. Where there is a thing there is a rule; all of this springs from nature (xing), the ground on which life stands. Nature at root does not need artificial cultivation; what we now call cultivation is not losing those forms and norms, fulfilling what Heaven grants, and returning to the De of the life one was first given. When De is complete, one is again like the Grand Beginning—flowing back to the source, aligning the human with Heaven.

“Sameness” is emptiness; in emptiness one returns to non-being. Without emptiness there is “great non-being”; nothing can adequately compare to “the great”—we only force a name. The beak’s cry is the nestling’s sound: the bird’s beak sounds without intent; wordless speech matches the beak’s cry, and the beak’s cry matches it in turn. Heaven and Earth are without intent yet respond well— the same pattern.

Person and Heaven and Earth align—not through deliberate mind or contrived action. In seated forgetting one joins naturally—dim, unbroken, like mother and child’s Qi answering, peck and chirp in the same instant, not knowing how yet so. That is clear proof of De complete enough to match the beginning. When it is so, De is unified; there is no split between Heaven, human, thing, and self—and under Heaven no greater harmony than this.

Nanhua Zhenjing Yihai Zuanwei, Scrolls 36–37: Heaven and Earth, Chapter 4 (Excerpt)

Source note: This passage is taken from Chu Boliu’s Song-dynasty Nanhua Zhenjing Yihai Zuanwei, corresponding to chapter 4 of Zhuangzi (Heaven and Earth), with annotations by Guo Xiang of the Jin dynasty.

Main text (paraphrase)

Confucius asked Laozi: “If someone governs the Way by ‘mutually imitating and copying one another,’ can that work?”

Laozi said: It can.

(Confucius asked again:) Then why is it also said that it cannot?

Those who love disputation will say: If you split “hard and white” apart and hang your reasoning up as if suspended in midair, how can that count as a sage?

Laozi replied: That is someone shackled by clever tricks—wearing out the body and unsettling the spirit.

It is like a dog trained only to catch raccoon-dogs, which grows more and more trapped in one narrow groove; or like mountain apes, agile in the wild, but once caught and brought to the human settlements, they have nothing left but that one skill.

What I can tell you is meaning that your ears cannot take in and your mouth cannot speak.

Most people in the world have heads and feet yet do not use the heart or truly listen with the ears.

The formed, the formless, and what has no fixed shape all have their proper place within the Dao.

Their movement and rest, birth and death, decline and rise are not roots laid down for them by some outside arranger.

If we speak of “governance,” the crux lies in the human heart: let go of fixation on external things and let go of a forced opposition to “Heaven”—this is forgetting the self.

One who can forget the self is what we call uniting with Heaven and entering into Heaven.

Guo Xiang’s commentary (plain language)

Forcing “what cannot be” into “what can be,” and “what is wrong” into “what is right,” is to twist one’s own nature.

“Suspended lodging” is a metaphor for hanging doctrine high and conspicuous so everyone can see it—that posture of debate.

“The dog that catches raccoon-dogs” and “the ape’s dexterity” are both examples of straying from what is natural and being bound by use and technique.

“Having head and feet” can be read as having beginning and end, form and trace; “no heart, no ears” means that if one does not use the heart or the ears and merely turns with external things, one is the same as the crowd.

Things adept at change in visible form cannot be placed on the same level as the formless, shapeless body of the Dao; to treat “acceptable” and “unacceptable” as if one’s own say-so decided them is to distort nature.

One who is good at governing the Way does not cling to old formulas but only follows the daily renewing work of transformation.

Movement and rest, death and birth have no fixed master; they are simply thus by nature—not results “produced” by someone’s deliberate “use”—so letting go brings ease.

“Governance lies in the person” means the key to order is in people, not in clinging to self and imposing one’s will.

To forget things and forget Heaven is not finished when you forget only “me”—you must also release what “I” stands opposed to; only then is there nothing left to grasp.

Reading notes

• “Mutual imitation” (xiangfang): copying fixed patterns from one another in governing the Way.
• “Splitting hard and white” (li jian bai): a term from the name-dialecticians Hui Shi and Gongsun Long, figuratively splitting a whole truth into fragments for argument.
• “Entering into Heaven” (ru yu tian): not going to a place called Heaven, but merging with nature’s transforming process and no longer forcing right and wrong from one’s own will.

Lv’s commentary reads as follows: If you take “acceptable and unacceptable, right and wrong” as work to be done, that is making qi wu (treating all things as equal, without ranking high and low) your occupation; if you take “splitting apart hard and white, drawing boundaries as if building suspended defenses” as the main task, that is making bian wu (discriminating and debating among things) your occupation.

If “is” truly is only “is,” then the gap between “is” and “is not” need not be argued further; if “so” truly is only “so,” then the gap between “so” and “not so” need not be argued either. Given that, why insist on guarding against “acceptable or not, so or not”? Yet treating those two attitudes as the proper business means only knowing that one should equalize without knowing why one should equalize; only knowing that one should debate without knowing why one should debate.

Confucius said: Is it not called hard? Yet grinding cannot wear it thin; is it not called white? Yet dye cannot stain it black. Hard and white were never really split apart, yet they seem as separated as a hanging barrier—what could be “impossible” about that? But if you take the debate over hard and white as the real task, again it is only knowing how to debate without knowing why one debates.

These two approaches oppose each other, yet amid the shifts of things they amount to nothing more than skill (a narrow craft) binding a person, toiling the body, and frightening the heart—how could that measure up to a sage? Where there is a skill, the body is worn down; where the heart is attached, the heart is shaken. Gibbons are nimble because skill wears down the body; hunting dogs that catch raccoon-dogs are shaken because thought frightens the heart—what Gaozi (or “I tell you”) could not hear and could not speak of actually points to something else: in heaven and earth there are beings with head and feet yet without heart and ears—in the sky, sun, moon, and stars; on earth, mountains, rivers, plants, and trees. Having head and feet yet no heart and ears does not stop them from still being sun, moon, and stars, mountains, rivers, and plants. Why alone for human beings does “without knowing and without feeling” raise doubt?

If you really fixed “without knowing and without feeling” as a final verdict, then whatever can “exist”—you xing (embodied beings), wu xing (ghosts and spirits), wu zhuang (formless creation)—could in the end all be reduced to nothing; if you clung to “a scrap of fixed being,” you could not achieve “everything exists”; what is called “everything exists” is still, at the ultimate point, utter nothingness. If it is already utter nothingness, whence “able to hear, able to speak”? Movement and rest, death and life, decline and rise are not decided solely by those nameable “others”; what makes things so lies beyond what the six eyes (the sensory gates—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) can reach—why must equalizing and debating be taken as the ultimate?

What people call disorder is not true disorder; what they call order hinges on the person: forgetting things, forgetting Heaven (even letting go of names), forgetting the self—one who can forget the self is called entering into Tian (Heaven); entering Tian, one rests in its order and does not treat the fixation on equalizing and debating as disorder.

Commentary on “Yidu” (Doubting Independence) says: Some people practice the Way as if they were copying one another and using other people’s methods to constrain the ten thousand things—is it acceptable to take “me” as the measure? It is not. Why not? Because they do not know how to root themselves in the Dao; they only brandish nominal disputes in the style of “hard and white” (the Gongsun Long–type splitting of concepts such as “hard” and “white”) to advertise themselves, saying “I can rise above the hard-and-white debates,” conspicuous as a banner hung high—can such people be compared to sages?

The reply is that this is merely swapping what is right for what is wrong and binding oneself with technical skill, wearing out the body and disturbing the spirit—like a hunting dog tied by the neck, or an ape dragged from the forest: all have lost their original nature. The text then turns to what cannot be heard and what cannot be fully said: head and feet are still there, heaven and earth are still there, yet the Great Dao is deep; it was never something the ears could take in whole or the mouth could exhaust in words.

Whatever has heaven and earth and has beginning and end—when words meet the Dao, far too many people are “without mind” and “without ear.” What has form is the body; what has no form and no fixed shape is the mind. Everyone treats “being” as real; I treat whatever they cling to as “being” as “non-being.” Then birth and death, movement and stillness, decline and flourishing are all patterns in the waxing and waning of yin and yang—yet people do not truly grasp why this is so.

To speak of “someone who has a Way of governing” is really to polish phrases for other people’s ears. Having already forgotten things and heaven, where would one find spare energy to govern others? To forget heaven and things together is called forgetting the self. At that point, aligning with the natural order is enough—why parade flood-like eloquence again?

Commentary on “Xiangdao” (Auspicious Way) says: “Acceptable and unacceptable, so and not-so” describes human contrivance through inverted phrasing; “parting from hard-and-white, like a raised barrier” describes how people pile up parallel rhetoric in disputation. The dog that catches raccoon-dogs, the neck-bound hunter, the gibbon or macaque taken from the hills—all are images of losing one’s constant nature.