《庄子》Vol. 2

Interpretation

The brightness of the sun and moon comes from the vital essence of mountains and rivers, and is also woven into the changing cycles of the four seasons. Whether delicate, tiny insects or nimble creatures in flight, each preserves its own nature. How excessive, then, to delight in showing off one’s cleverness and throwing the world into disorder! This has been so since the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties: people abandon the natural ways by which all things grow, yet delight in scrambling for advantage and using clever words to please others. They give up quiet contentment and Wuwei (non-action), and instead chase after ceaseless opinions. It is these disruptive opinions that have thrown the world into disorder.

Letting Be and Being Forbearing

I have heard of letting all things in the world grow freely and live together in forbearance, but never of governing by controlling the world. “Letting be” means worrying that people will indulge their desires and damage their nature; “being forbearing” means worrying that they will alter their inherent De. But if the nature of the people is unharmed and their De unchanged, why should a ruler impose governance?

In the past, Yao governed the world, making the people joyful and pleased. He thought he was following their nature, but they were not at peace. Jie governed the world, making the people weary and distressed, but they were not at ease either. Neither lack of peace nor lack of ease accords with the De of nature, and neither can last. When people are overjoyed, their Yang Qi becomes excessive; when they are furious, their Yin Qi is damaged. When both Yin and Yang are impaired, the four seasons can no longer run their proper course, and cold and heat lose their balance. In the end, this harms the human body.

When people’s joy and anger become unruly, their lives lose their bearings, and their thoughts can no longer move freely, deviant and violent conduct begins to appear in the world. Then come robbers such as Robber Zhi, as well as men famed for their virtue, such as Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu. Even if all the wealth in the world were used to reward the good, it would not be enough; even if every punishment in the world were used against the wicked, it would not be enough. The world is too vast for rewards and punishments to suffice. Since the Three Dynasties, people have been busy rewarding good and punishing evil. How could they find time to settle into their own nature and the truth of their lives?

Those who delight in visual pleasures become absorbed in colors; those who delight in hearing become absorbed in sounds. Esteeming benevolence may disturb the De of nature; esteeming righteousness may go against the inherent patterns of things. Revering ritual may leave nothing but skill in ceremony; loving music may encourage indulgence. Honoring sages may lead people to value only talent and accomplishment; promoting cleverness may breed wrongdoing. If the people of the world could rest content in their own nature and life, it would make no difference whether these things existed or not. But once they can no longer rest in their original nature, they cling to these eight things and exalt them, thereby throwing the world into disorder. That people still honor and cherish them is deeply bewildering.

So when a noble person has no choice but to govern the world, the best course is Wuwei. Only after Wuwei can the people settle into their nature and life. One who values his own person more than the task of governing the world may be entrusted with the world; one who cares for himself more than he cares for governing the world may be given charge of it. If a noble person does not disturb his inner being and does not make a show of cleverness, he can be as still and composed as a ritual effigy, yet respond to the moment like a dragon appearing. His voice rings out like thunder, and when his spirit stirs, it follows nature. When he is still and does nothing, all things grow of themselves. Why, then, should I busy myself with governing the world?

Cui Qu asked Lao Dan, “If you do not govern the world, how can people’s hearts be settled?” Lao Dan replied, “Be careful never to stir people’s hearts. Once aroused, the human heart surges up and sinks down, driving people to struggle against one another. Though it seems soft and yielding, it can turn hard and forceful. Once carved and polished, it is like being scorched by fierce fire or frozen by bitter cold. The human heart changes with astonishing speed; in the blink of an eye, it can affect everything beyond the four seas. When still, it is deep and quiet; when moving, it hangs high and unsettled. Wild, arrogant, and impossible to restrain—what else could be like the human heart?

“Long ago, the Yellow Emperor stirred people’s hearts with benevolence and righteousness. Yao and Shun labored to nourish the people of the world until the muscles left their thighs and the hair on their shins wore away. They kept benevolence and righteousness in their hearts, then used their blood, Qi, and strength to lay down laws and measures. Yet they still could not govern the world well. Yao therefore banished Huandou to Mount Chong, moved the Sanmiao people to Mount Sanwei, and exiled Gonggong to Youdu. This shows that he was not equal to the task of governing the world.

“By the time of the three kings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou, the world was shaken even more. Then came wicked men such as Jie and Robber Zhi, and worthy men such as Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu. The Confucians and Mohists arose one after another. People suspected one another in anger and joy; the clever deceived the foolish; the good and evil accused one another; the false mocked the sincere. Human nature withered as a result. The Great Dao came to be explained in conflicting ways, and people’s nature and life fell into disorder. As everyone pursued cleverness, the people’s strength was exhausted. Instruments of torture and cruel punishments followed one another, and the world descended into chaos. Its source lay in the stirring of people’s hearts.

“The worthy withdrew into mountain caves and rocky hollows, while rulers of ten thousand chariots sat anxiously in their courts. Today the bodies of those sentenced to death lie side by side; people wearing cangues crowd together; those being punished are everywhere. Yet the Confucians and Mohists still stand on tiptoe and wave their arms, holding forth even as they remain in shackles. They feel no shame—how shameless they are! I do not know whether so-called sagacity and wisdom have become the pegs for the shackles, nor whether benevolence and righteousness have become the holes for the stocks. How can I know that Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu were not the first signs of the coming of Jie and Robber Zhi? Thus I say: cast off so-called sagacity and cleverness, and the world will be well governed.”

The Yellow Emperor had been Son of Heaven for nineteen years, and his commands were followed throughout the world. Hearing that Guangchengzi lived on Mount Kongtong, he went to visit him and said, “I have heard that you understand the utmost Dao. I would like to ask about its essential principles. I wish to draw on the vital essence of Heaven and Earth to help the grain grow and nourish the people. I also wish to govern the transformations of Yin and Yang so that all things may flourish. How should I do this?”

Guangchengzi said, “You want to ask about the nature of all things, yet you wish to control them. Since you began governing the world, clouds have not gathered before rain falls, plants wither before their leaves turn yellow, and the light of the sun grows dimmer and dimmer. Your heart is full of narrow, contrived cleverness. How could you be fit to discuss the utmost Dao?”

The Yellow Emperor returned, set aside the affairs of state, and built a quiet room. He spread a mat of white thatch and lived there alone, at ease. After three months, he went to visit Guangchengzi again. Guangchengzi was lying with his face to the south. The Yellow Emperor approached on his knees from the direction of the wind, bowed, and asked, “I have heard that you understand the utmost Dao. How should I cultivate my body so that I may live long?”

Guangchengzi sprang up and said, “A good question! I will tell you about the utmost Dao. Its subtlety is too deep to be put into words; its ultimate state is still and silent. Do not look, do not listen. Guard your spirit and keep your heart quiet, and your body will naturally become upright. Be sure to remain still and clear. Do not wear out your body or dissipate your spirit, and you will live long. Let your eyes remain free of attachment to what they see, your ears free of attachment to what they hear, and your heart free of pursuit after knowledge. Keep your spirit within, and your body will endure. Guard what is within you carefully; do not covet what is outside. Too much knowledge will bring failure.

“I can lead you to the heights of brightness, to the source of the utmost Yang; I can also take you through the gate of darkness, to the source of the utmost Yin. Heaven and Earth each have their own functions, and Yin and Yang each have their places of repose. Guard yourself carefully, and all things will naturally grow strong. I preserve what is true within me and dwell in harmony between Yin and Yang. Thus I have cultivated my body for twelve hundred years, and it has never grown old.”

The Yellow Emperor bowed again and said, “You truly understand the way of Heaven!” Guangchengzi said, “Come, I will tell you more. All things have no end, yet people think they all have a final limit. All things are unfathomable, yet people think they have boundaries. One who has attained the Dao can be a ruler above and a king below. One who has lost the Dao sees only outward appearances when above, and will eventually become dust when below. Every living thing grows from the soil and eventually returns to it. I am about to leave you and enter the gate of the infinite, roaming the boundless realm, sharing the light of the sun and moon, and lasting as long as Heaven and Earth. As I draw near, you will find me distant and hard to fathom; as I depart, you will find me dim and impossible to seek. All people will die; I alone will remain.”

Cloud General was traveling east when he passed the branch of Fuyao and happened to meet Hongmeng. Hongmeng was slapping his thighs and dancing about in play. Cloud General stopped and stood respectfully, asking, “Old sir, who are you, and what are you doing?” Hongmeng kept slapping his thighs and dancing, and replied only, “Playing!” Cloud General said, “I would like to ask you something.” Hongmeng looked up at him and said, “Ah!”

Cloud General said, “The movements of Heaven are out of order, the vital energy of Earth is stifled, the six natural Qi are out of harmony, and the four seasons have lost their proper measure. I would like to harmonize the essence of the six Qi and nourish all things. How should I do this?” Hongmeng shook his head as he slapped his thighs and danced, saying, “I don’t know! I don’t know!” Cloud General could not get an answer.

Three years later, Cloud General went traveling again. In the outskirts of Song, he met Hongmeng once more. Delighted, he hurried forward and said, “Heaven has not forgotten me, has it? Heaven has not forgotten me, has it?” He bowed and asked Hongmeng to guide him. Hongmeng said, “I wander as I please, without knowing what I seek. I move freely, without knowing where I am going. At ease and unoccupied, I simply observe the state of things in their original nature. What could I know?”

Cloud General said, “I thought that I acted as I pleased, yet the people followed me. I could not go against their needs, and now they look to me for support. Please give me a word of guidance.” Hongmeng said, “When you disrupt the constant patterns of the Dao of Heaven and go against the nature of all things, you cannot bring them to fulfillment in their natural state. Break up a flock of beasts, and the birds will shriek in alarm at night. Disaster will befall the plants and trees, and harm will come to the insects. Ah! This is where the fault lies in governing people.”

Cloud General asked, “What should I do, then?” Hongmeng said, “Ah, what a calamity! Go back at once!” Cloud General said, “I have encountered hardship in following the Dao of Heaven, yet I still hope to hear a word of guidance.” Hongmeng said, “Ah, you must care for your heart. Simply dwell in Wuwei, and all things will transform of themselves. Let go of attachment to your body, and set aside the cleverness of your eyes and ears. Become one with all things, and merge with primordial chaos. Release your thoughts, set aside deliberate distinctions in your spirit, and rest in Wuwei, without letting your heart and spirit be drawn away. All things flourish in profusion and each returns to its root, unaware that it is returning. They are one undivided whole, never separated throughout life. To try to know and investigate it deliberately is to move away from it. Do not ask for names or cling to appearances, and all things will grow naturally.”

Cloud General said, “Heaven bestowed De upon me and instructed me through silence. I sought the Dao with my own body, and only now have I received guidance.” He bowed again, rose, and took his leave.

People of the world all like others to be the same as themselves and dislike those who differ. They take themselves as the standard, favoring those who are alike and rejecting those who are different, thinking this will set them above the crowd. But with such a mindset, how could they truly rise above the crowd? Only by following the customs of the people can one bring them to stability. What one learns from one’s own observations is inferior to learning from the experience of the many.

To try to govern another’s state is like risking everything to seize the gains of the Three Kings, without considering the dangers involved. It is gambling with the state. How long can a state survive by luck? The chance of preserving it is very small, while the risk of losing it is immense. It is lamentable that those who possess territory fail to understand this.

Territory is a great thing within Heaven and Earth. One who possesses such a great thing should not regard himself as something to be controlled. Only by not treating oneself as an object can one employ all things without being employed by them. One who understands that the master of all things must not be mastered by them is capable of more than governing the people of the world. He can move through Heaven and Earth and the four directions, roam the nine provinces, and come and go alone. This is called truly possessing oneself. One who can do this is the most noble.

The teaching of a great person is like a shadow following a body, or an echo answering a sound. When someone comes with a question, he responds to that person’s actual situation, while resting himself in a state without traces or demands. His actions are not limited to any fixed direction; he takes you back into the midst of change and turmoil, and lets you roam in a realm without end. He enters and leaves without boundaries, with no beginning, like the sun and moon. Let the body accord with the great sameness of all things; merge into that sameness and no longer cling to the self. When there is no clinging self, what could one cling to as one’s possession? The gentlemen of old saw what is concretely present; those who understand “nothingness” follow the workings of Heaven and Earth, unconfined by any fixed direction.

What is lowly yet indispensable as a support is the myriad things. What is humble yet indispensable to heed is the people. What is hidden and difficult to see yet indispensable to address is affairs. What is simple and basic yet indispensable to make clear is law. What seems distant yet indispensable to follow is righteousness. What is close at hand yet indispensable to extend outward is benevolence. What must be restrained, without piling up into elaborate formalities, is ritual. What stands upright and balanced yet must be honored is De. What is unified yet must change with the times is the Dao. Some things must be done, but should be done in accord with the time set by Heaven.

Therefore, the sage observes the Dao of Heaven but does not force his intervention; acts according to De but is not burdened by it; follows the Great Dao without deliberate scheming; accords with benevolence without relying on it; acts with restraint without accumulating contrivances; conforms to ritual without avoiding practical affairs; engages with affairs without refusing them; orders the laws without creating confusion; relies on the people without looking down on them; and faces all things without casting any aside. There is nothing among the myriad things that is worth manipulating deliberately, yet nothing that can be left entirely unattended. Without understanding the Dao of Heaven, one cannot make one’s De pure. Without understanding the Great Dao, one has no proper way to act.

There is the Dao of Heaven and the Dao of humanity. What is honored through Wuwei is the Dao of Heaven; what involves deliberate action and brings exhaustion is the Dao of humanity. The Dao of Heaven occupies the leading position; the Dao of humanity occupies the subordinate one. The Dao of Heaven and the Dao of humanity are far apart, and must be clearly distinguished.

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Interpretation

Heaven and earth are vast, yet their transformations follow one and the same pattern. The myriad things are many, yet the basis for governing them is consistent. The people are numerous, yet there is only one ruler. Heavenly De (Virtue), the virtue of following nature, comes from Heaven. Thus the rulers of antiquity governed the world through Wuwei (non-action), simply following heavenly De. When words are examined in light of the Dao, the duties of rulers throughout the world can be set right. When titles and roles are examined, the proper relations between ruler and minister become clear. When abilities are assessed by the Dao, offices throughout the world can be properly assigned. When all things are viewed from the perspective of the Dao as a whole, each can be given a fitting response.

What comprehends the principles of things is De; what moves through the myriad things is the Dao; what governs people is government; what has a particular specialty is a skill. Skills must be brought within government, government must accord with right principles, right principles must be grounded in De, De must be connected to the Dao, and the Dao must accord with Heaven. Therefore, the ancient rulers who were skilled at nurturing the world were free of desire, and the world was well supplied. The myriad things transformed of themselves; their minds were still, and the people were at peace. The Record says, “Grasp the single principle at the root, and all affairs can be handled. Seek nothing within the heart, and even spirits and ghosts will show respect.”

A certain Master said, “The Dao is boundless and vast, covering and sustaining the myriad things. A junzi must cleanse the heart of selfish desires. Acting in accord with nature is called Heaven; speaking without forcing words upon things, in accord with nature, is called De. Caring for people and benefiting the myriad things is called humaneness. Not forcing different things into sameness is called greatness. Acting without deliberately setting oneself apart from ordinary people is called broadness. Making room for all things in their differences is called abundance. By holding to De, one has a standard; when De is cultivated to completion, one can establish oneself. Following the Dao makes one whole; not letting external things injure one’s purpose makes one complete. Understand these principles, and the heart will become broad and deep, while one’s actions flow freely in response to the myriad things.

“Such a person stores gold in the mountains and pearls in the depths. He does not covet wealth or associate with the powerful and affluent. He does not rejoice in longevity or grieve over an untimely death. He does not take prominence as an honor or hardship as a disgrace. He does not claim transient gains for himself, nor does he regard ruling the world as a position of distinction. Prominence will make itself known. The myriad things belong to one body, and life and death are not fundamentally different.”

The Master continued: “The Dao is deep, still, clear, and empty. Metal and stone make no sound unless struck; though metal can ring, it will not ring without being struck. Who can prescribe everything for the myriad things? One who has the De of a king acts in accord with nature and is not ashamed of understanding affairs. He stands on the root and comprehends the principles of things; his De is vast. His intentions emerge when external things stir them. Thus, without the Dao, a body cannot come into being; without De, life cannot flourish. To preserve the body and fulfill its life, to establish De and make life clear—is this not the De of a king? It is vast and boundless; it appears suddenly and springs into action, and the myriad things move with it. This is the De of a king.

“He sees understanding in the depths of darkness and hears harmony amid silence. The deeper it is, the more it gives rise to the myriad things; the more mysterious it is, the more finely it brings things to completion. When he meets the myriad things, he is empty and still, acting through Wuwei, yet he meets their needs. He moves with the times and lets each thing find its place. The myriad things differ in size, length, distance, and nearness, and he responds to each as it is.”

The Yellow Emperor traveled to the northern bank of the Red River and climbed Mount Kunlun to look south. On his way back, he lost the Dark Pearl, a symbol of the precious substance of the Dao. He sent Knowledge to look for it, but it was not found. He sent Li Zhu, a man of exceptionally keen sight, but it was not found. He sent Chigou, but it was still not found. At last he sent Xiangwang, a symbol of the mindless and formless, and Xiangwang found it. The Yellow Emperor exclaimed, “How strange! It was Xiangwang who was able to find it!”

Yao’s teacher was Xu You; Xu You’s teacher was Nie Que; Nie Que’s teacher was Wang Ni; and Wang Ni’s teacher was Bei Yi. Yao asked Xu You, “Could Nie Que be matched to the Way of Heaven and made ruler of the world? Could you introduce him through Wang Ni?” Xu You said, “That would probably put the world in danger. Nie Que is clever and quick-witted, and his nature surpasses that of ordinary people, yet he wants to bear the Way of Heaven through human ingenuity. He knows how to prevent mistakes, but not where mistakes arise. If he were to rule the world, he would rely on human contrivance and forget the Way of Heaven. He takes himself as his starting point and makes distinctions among things. He honors cleverness and is eager in his thinking. Pulled in every direction by affairs and bound by external things, he looks around and responds to whatever comes, busily catering to countless needs. He changes with the myriad things and has no constancy. How could such a person be matched to the Way of Heaven? There are indeed clans and ancestors in the world, and one may become the forefather of a people, but one cannot be the primordial ancestor of the myriad things. A ruler may become the source of disorder or bring calamity upon those who submit to him. Seated on the throne, he may become a scourge to the world.”

When Yao went to inspect the lands of Hua, the border guard wished him well: “May the sage live long.” Yao declined. The guard then wished him wealth and many sons, but Yao declined again. The guard asked, “Long life, wealth, and many sons are all things people desire. Why are you the only one who does not want them?” Yao replied, “Many sons bring many worries; much wealth brings many affairs; long life brings many humiliations. None of these three helps cultivate De, so I decline them.”

The guard said, “At first I thought you were a sage, but now I see you are merely an ordinary junzi. Heaven gives birth to the people and assigns each of them a role. If you have many sons, give each one a role to fulfill—what is there to worry about? If you are wealthy, share it with everyone—what is there to be busy about? A sage dwells like a quail and feeds wherever he finds food, like a bird. He leaves no deliberate tracks. When the world has the Dao, he flourishes together with the myriad things; when the world lacks the Dao, he cultivates De and withdraws into stillness. After living a thousand years, weary of the world, he departs as an immortal, riding the white clouds to the abode of the Celestial Emperor. None of the three worries will befall him, and his body will remain free of calamity. What humiliation could there be?” The guard left. Yao followed him, saying he still wished to ask for instruction. The guard only said, “Go back!”

When Yao governed the world, Bocheng Zigao was appointed a feudal lord. Later, Yao yielded the throne to Shun, and Shun yielded it to Yu. Bocheng Zigao gave up his position and returned home to farm. When Yu went to see him, he found him working in the fields. Yu approached from the downwind side and asked respectfully, “When Yao governed the world, you were made a feudal lord. Later Yao yielded the throne to Shun, and Shun yielded it to me. You, however, resigned and went back to farming. May I ask why?” Bocheng Zigao said, “In the past, when Yao governed the world, the people worked diligently of their own accord, without rewards, and knew to be wary without punishments. Now you govern through rewards and punishments, yet the people are still not humane. From this point on, De will decline and punishments will be established; the disorder of later generations will begin here. Go away, and do not keep me from my farming!” Then he bent down to work and did not look back.

In the beginning, before anything had divided into being and nonbeing, there were no names. The unity of the Dao began there: there was already the One, but it had no concrete form. From it, the myriad things received life; this is called De. When things acquired form, they became distinct, each taking shape and no longer blending with the others; this is called destiny. The movement of Qi gave rise to the myriad things, and each developed its own bodily structure; this is called form. The body preserves the spirit, and each has its own pattern; this is called nature. Cultivate one’s nature and one can return to De. When De reaches fullness, one joins with the beginning. Joining with the beginning leads back to emptiness and stillness. In emptiness and stillness, one becomes boundless and vast. The myriad things give voice to themselves and answer one another together, until at last they accord with Heaven and earth. They blend together as one, seeming dull and dim. This is called Mysterious De: being in accord with the great harmony of nature.

Confucius asked Lao Dan, “Some people who discuss principles insist that what can be said to be possible is impossible, and that what is right is wrong. Debaters say that hardness and whiteness can be separated as though they were suspended apart in the air. Can such people be called sages?” Lao Dan said, “They are merely people who make a living by skill, exhausting their bodies and agitating their hearts. They cling to ready-made lines of thought, like apes that rely on their agility to move through the mountains and woods. Kong Qiu, let me tell you something you cannot hear or put into words. There are many things with heads and feet but no mind or hearing; likewise, everything that has form, and everything that exists without form or shape, is like this. Movement and stillness, life and death, decline and flourishing—within change, each has its own course; none is arranged by human beings. The root of governance lies within oneself: forget external things and follow Heaven. This is called forgetting oneself. One who forgets himself has entered the Way of Heaven.”

Jianglü Mian went to see Jiche and said, “The ruler of Lu asked me for advice. I could not refuse, so I have already given him my thoughts, though I do not know whether they were suitable. I told him: ‘Be sure to act with respect and frugality, appoint those who are fair and loyal, and show no favoritism. How could the people fail to live in harmony?’” Jiche laughed uneasily and said, “Your words, when measured against the De of a sovereign, are like a praying mantis raising its arm to block a wheel. If you govern this way, you will put yourself in danger. Those who like to spy and pursue profit will also come flocking to watch for opportunities.” Jianglü Mian was startled. “I am completely at a loss about the sovereign’s De you speak of. Please tell me more.”

Jiche said, “When a great sage governs the world, he lets the people’s hearts unfold naturally and makes customs and teachings easy to change. He removes thoughts of harming others and lets each person’s nature develop. People act in accordance with their own natures, yet they do not know how the change came about. Why should we regard Yao and Shun’s methods of teaching the people as especially lofty and the way of nature as inferior? True governance lets people return together to De, with their hearts at ease.”

Zigong traveled south to Chu. On his way back to Jin, he passed along the southern bank of the Han River and saw an old man working in a vegetable garden. He had dug a channel to draw water and was lifting it with a jar to irrigate his crops. The work was arduous, yet he accomplished little. Zigong said, “There is a device that can irrigate a hundred plots in a day, with little effort and great results. Would you like to try it, old sir?” The man looked up and asked what it was. Zigong replied, “It is a wooden device, heavy at the front and light at the back. It draws water as though pulling it up, and the water pours out swiftly, like boiling broth. It is called a shadoof.”

Hearing this, the old man laughed angrily. “I have heard my teacher say that where there are devices, there will be tasks that depend on devices. Once such tasks arise, cleverness will grow in the heart. When cleverness takes root in the heart, simplicity can no longer be complete. When simplicity is incomplete, the spirit is unsettled; and when the spirit is unsettled, the Dao will not remain in the heart. It is not that I do not know about this device. I consider it shameful, so I will not use it.”

Zigong lowered his head in embarrassment. After a while, the old man asked who he was. Zigong said he was a student of Kong Qiu. The old man said, “Aren’t you the sort who is widely learned and compares himself to sages, traveling about to impress people and outshine others, singing your own praises to win fame throughout the world? Quickly forget your own spirit and vital character, and let go of your attachment to your body! You cannot even settle yourself, so what time have you to govern the world? Go away, and do not keep me from my work.”

Zigong’s face grew red with shame and he was deeply unsettled. He walked thirty li before recovering. A disciple asked him, “Who was that man just now? Why did you change color when you saw him, and remain uneasy all day?” Zigong said, “I used to think there was only one person in the world who truly understood the Dao. I did not expect there to be someone like this as well. I once heard my teacher say that to act successfully, one must accomplish much with little effort: that was the Way of the sage. Now I see it is not so. One who keeps to the Dao has complete De; when De is complete, the body is at ease; when the body is at ease, the spirit is whole. A whole spirit is the Way of the sage. He lives in the world and goes along with the people, yet does not cling to where he is going. He is vast and all-embracing. Benefit and cleverness would surely make a person like this lose the simplicity of his heart. He does only what he wishes to do and does not do what displeases him. Even if he possessed the whole world, he would think nothing of it; even if the people of the world condemned him, it would not harm him. Neither praise nor blame from the world can change him. This is what it means to have complete De. I myself am like a man tossed about by the wind.”

When Zigong returned to Lu, he told Confucius what had happened. Confucius said, “That man practices the arts of Hundun. He knows one side but not the other; he cultivates the inner but does not attend to the outer. To be clear and simple, to act through Wuwei and return to the root, to preserve the spirit while living among ordinary people without being disturbed—you are surprised by this? How could you or I fully understand the art of Hundun?”

Zhunmang was preparing to travel east to the sea. On the eastern shore he met Yuanfeng. Yuanfeng asked where he was going. Zhunmang said he was going to the sea, because rivers flow into it but it never fills, and water is taken from it but it never runs dry. He wanted to roam there. Yuanfeng asked, “Have you given no thought to governing the people? I would like to hear how a sage governs the world.”

Zhunmang said, “Sage governance means assigning offices without misplacing their proper functions, and appointing people without misjudging their abilities. It means understanding the facts of a matter thoroughly, then letting people act according to their own natures. Each person acts in their own way, and the world transforms of itself. A slight gesture of the hand is enough for the people in all four directions to come and join you. This is the governance of a sage.” Yuanfeng then asked what a person of De was like. Zhunmang said, “A person of De lives without deliberate thoughts and does not keep right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, stored in the heart. People within the four seas all benefit from him, and he is glad; everyone receives what sustains them, and he is content. He is bewildered like an infant who has lost its mother, and as helpless as a traveler who has suddenly lost the road. He has plenty of goods but does not know where they came from; he has enough to eat but does not ask where it came from. This is what a person of De is like.”

Yuanfeng then asked about the spirit person. Zhunmang said, “The spirit person is supremely high and numinous. Riding on light, his form seems to dissolve, and he reaches a state of open clarity. He fulfills his heavenly allotment and fully develops his nature, rejoicing with Heaven and earth. He lets all affairs dissolve into stillness and lets the myriad things return to their nature. This is called the dark and obscure.”

Men Wugui and Chizhang Manji watched King Wu’s army. Chizhang Manji said, “It is not as good as the age of You Yu! In that age, the calamities of war were avoided.” Men Wugui said, “Was the world already well governed when You Yu governed it? Or did it first fall into disorder, and only then get governed?” Chizhang Manji said, “A peaceful world is what people want. Why make so much of You Yu? You Yu was like a doctor treating someone with sores: applying medicine only after the hair had fallen out, seeking a physician only after illness struck. If a filial son brings medicine to treat his kind father, his face anxious with concern, a sage would be ashamed of him. In the age of utmost De, people did not honor reputation for worthiness or deliberately appoint the able. The ruler was like a branch growing naturally, and the people were free like wild deer. They acted rightly, but did not know this was called righteousness. They loved one another, but did not know this was called humaneness. They were sincere without calling themselves loyal, and acted appropriately without calling themselves trustworthy. People acted naturally and helped one another without thinking they were bestowing a favor. Thus, their deeds left no trace, and their actions gave rise to no tales.”

A filial child does not flatter the parents; a loyal minister does not fawn on the ruler. This is the highest form of virtue in children and ministers. If children agree with everything their parents say and praise everything they do, the world calls them unworthy. If ministers agree with everything their ruler says and praise everything he does, the world likewise calls them unworthy. Yet the world’s judgments are not necessarily right. When the world decides something is right, people follow along and call it right; when it decides something is good, they follow along and call it good. Is this not ingratiation and flattery? Yet people do not think of themselves as flatterers. If someone is called an admonisher, he grows angry; if called a flatterer, he also grows angry. Yet all his life he admonishes others and caters to them. Those who excel at inventing analogies, embellishing their words, and gathering crowds never see whether their words and conduct agree.

One who wears fine clothes and adorns his appearance to please the world, yet does not think he is flattering it, is profoundly foolish. To know that one is foolish is an even deeper folly; to know that one is confused is still not to have escaped confusion. The deeply confused never awaken in their lifetime; the profoundly foolish spend their lives believing themselves wise. If three people travel together and only one loses the way, they may still reach their destination, because the one who is lost is in the minority. If two lose the way, they will struggle and fail to arrive, because most of them are lost. Today the whole world is confused. Even if I wished to guide people, I could not. Is that not tragic?

Grand music cannot enter the ears of villagers; when they hear popular tunes such as “Yang” and “Huanghua,” they clap and laugh. So lofty words cannot enter ordinary people’s hearts. The highest principles cease to circulate, while vulgar opinions gain the upper hand. When everyone is confused, it is like having bells hanging on both sides and being unable to tell which way to go: in the end, no one reaches the destination. Today the whole world is confused. Even if I wished to guide people, how could I do it? To know that one can do it and force oneself to do it is another kind of confusion. Better to let go and stop forcing things along. If one does not force them, who will be troubled? A man with leprosy has a child in the middle of the night and hurriedly lights a fire to look, worrying only that the child might resemble him.

A hundred-year-old tree is cut down and made into a ritual wine vessel, painted blue and yellow and carved with designs; the remaining wood is thrown into a ditch. Though the ritual vessel and the wood in the ditch differ in beauty and ugliness, both have lost their original nature. Robber Zhi, Zeng Shen, and Shi Qiu differed in their conduct and principles, yet all might lose their nature in the same way.

There are several ways to lose one’s nature. The Five Colors disturb the eyes and blur sight; the Five Tones disturb the ears and dull hearing; the Five Odors overwhelm the nose and make the chest feel oppressed; the Five Flavors mingle in the mouth and spoil the sense of taste; choices, preferences, and aversions agitate the heart and make one’s nature restless. All of these harm life. Yet Yang Zhu and Mozi treated biased striving as an achievement. This is not what I mean by achievement. If what is called achievement instead leaves a person exhausted, can it still be called achievement? By that measure, even a dove in a cage could be called free.

Moreover, pursuing choices and preferences, sounds and colors, can clog the heart like tangled brushwood. Wearing a ceremonial cap, carrying a tablet at the waist, and putting on a long robe can bind the outside like ropes. The heart is stuffed with distractions, and the body is bound by layers of rules, yet one still thinks oneself free. This is like a criminal with his hands tied behind his back, or a tiger or leopard shut behind bars, each believing itself free.

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Interpretation

The Dao of Heaven moves without ceasing, yet neither stores up nor possesses. Thus all things are able to grow and take shape. The way of an emperor is the same: he acts without accumulating for himself, and so all under Heaven turns toward him. The way of the sage involves a kind of accumulation, and so people within the four seas are willing to follow him. Understand the Dao of Heaven and grasp the way of the sage, and you can understand the changes and principles of things.

The Dao of Heaven moves without ceasing and does not possess; therefore all things come to completion. An emperor follows the Dao and does not accumulate for himself, so all under Heaven turns toward him. The sage has a store of his own, and the people under Heaven follow him. One who understands the Dao of Heaven and grasps the way of the sage can penetrate change and reach in all directions. A person who embodies the virtue of an emperor naturally has a clear and tranquil heart, undisturbed by external things.

The sage remains tranquil not because he believes tranquility itself is good, but because nothing can disturb his heart. When water grows still, it clearly reflects a person’s features; when its surface is level, it can serve as a carpenter’s guide for measuring and aligning wood. If still water is so clear, how much more so the human spirit? When the sage’s heart is tranquil, it is like a mirror of Heaven and Earth, reflecting all things.

Emptiness, stillness, serenity, and Wuwei (non-action) are the balanced state of Heaven and Earth and the highest expression of Dao and De (Virtue/Power). Emperors and sages therefore use them to settle body and mind. When one rests, the heart becomes empty and clear; when the heart is empty and clear, it can be filled; once filled, things each find their proper order. An empty heart can be still, and from stillness one can act; action then accords with what is fitting. Stillness and Wuwei do not mean doing nothing at all. When something is to be done, it should be entrusted to those responsible for that duty. Wuwei allows a person to remain at ease, free from the distress of worry, and also helps prolong life.

Emptiness, stillness, serenity, and Wuwei are the foundation on which all things depend. Yao governed the world by them, and Shun used them to assist his ruler. In a position above others, this is the way of emperors and Sons of Heaven; in a position below them, it is the way kept by sages in seclusion. If a person withdraws to rivers, lakes, and mountains, scholars will respect him. If he takes office and governs the world, his achievements will be remarkable and his reputation far-reaching, and the world will be united under him. In stillness he is a sage; in action he is a king. He is honored through Wuwei, and his simplicity has no equal. This is the way practiced by sages in seclusion and by those who hold the virtue of kings without occupying a throne.

Understand the virtue of Heaven and Earth, and you will grasp their foundation and guiding purpose; this is to be in harmony with Heaven. Use this understanding to bring harmony to the world, and you will be in harmony with people. Harmony with people is called human joy; harmony with Heaven is called heavenly joy. Zhuangzi said, “I take all things as my teachers. It gives birth to the myriad things, yet does not make them harm one another. Its grace extends to all ages, yet it does not call itself benevolent. It exists alongside remote antiquity, yet does not call itself long-lived. It covers and sustains Heaven and Earth, and shapes the myriad things, yet does not call itself supremely skillful.” This is heavenly joy.

Those who understand heavenly joy follow the natural course of things in life, and after death change along with the myriad things. In stillness, they settle together with all things; in action, they rise and fall with the changes of Yin-Yang. Thus they do not incur Heaven’s resentment, people’s blame, or entanglement in external things, nor do they suffer punishment from spirits. In action they move like Heaven; in stillness they are settled like Earth. If the heart is single and at peace, all under Heaven will submit, spirits will not bring misfortune, the hun and po souls will not be troubled, and all things will return to their proper course. Extend the way of emptiness and stillness through Heaven and Earth and across the myriad things: this is heavenly joy. Heavenly joy is the state of mind by which the sage brings peace to the world.

The virtue of emperors takes Heaven and Earth as its foundation, Dao and De as its governing principles, and Wuwei as its constant way. Through Wuwei, a ruler can draw on the efforts of his ministers and still have strength to spare. If he acts in everything himself, he becomes a servant to the affairs of the world and has too little energy left. That is why the ancients valued Wuwei. If the ruler practices Wuwei and the ministers also practice Wuwei, they share the ruler’s De. But if the ministers take the leading role just as the ruler does, they are no longer ministers. If the ministers act and the ruler also acts, ruler and ministers follow the same path. If the ruler shares only the ministers’ way, he cannot exercise authority as the one who governs. Therefore the ruler should practice Wuwei and employ the people of the world, while the ministers should act and serve the world. This is an unchanging principle.

The wisdom of the ancient emperors was enough to discern Heaven and Earth, yet they did not plan everything themselves. Their eloquence was enough to explain the myriad things, yet they did not boast of it. Their abilities could reach throughout the four seas, yet they did not take everything upon themselves. Heaven moves, and all things transform and come into being; Earth does not cultivate them by its own effort, yet they grow; the emperor practices Wuwei, and the world accomplishes its work. Thus it is said: Heaven is most wondrous, Earth most abundant, and the emperor’s De can match theirs. This is the way of following Heaven and Earth, directing the myriad things, and employing the people.

The root is above, the branches below; the essential role belongs to the ruler, while specific tasks belong to the ministers. The deployment of the three armies and their weapons is a minor detail of government. Rewards and punishments, benefits and harms, and penal laws are minor details of government. Ritual codes, institutions, ranks, and examinations are also minor details of government. Bells, drums, music, banners, and ceremonial displays are minor details of ritual and music. The different forms of weeping and mourning dress are minor details of grief. In each of these five areas, the inner spirit and intention must first be put to work; only afterward do they appear in outward forms. The ancients too attended to such concrete institutions, but they did not treat them as the first priority.

The ruler comes first, the minister follows; the father comes first, the son follows; the elder brother comes first, the younger follows; the older comes first, the younger follows; the man comes first, the woman follows; the husband comes first, the wife follows. The order of precedence and rank is the pattern by which Heaven and Earth operate, so the sage takes Heaven and Earth as his model. Heaven is exalted and Earth is low: this is the place of the spirits. Spring and summer come first, autumn and winter follow: this is the sequence of the seasons. The myriad things too have an order of change, as they emerge, sprout, flourish, and decline. If this is so in Heaven and Earth, how much more so in human society? Ancestral rites honor kinship; the court honors rank; the village honors age; and in the conduct of affairs, worthiness is honored. These are all the order of the Great Dao. To speak of the Great Dao while violating its order is not truly to speak of the Great Dao. If one has turned away from the Dao, how can one claim to have attained it?

Those in ancient times who understood the Great Dao first understood the Dao of Heaven, and then spoke of Dao and De. Once Dao and De were understood, they spoke of benevolence and righteousness. Once benevolence and righteousness were understood, they established duties and standards. Then they spoke of names and forms: offices and titles matching one another. Next came appointment according to ability, the selection of people for posts based on their talents. After that came inspection and verification, then the distinction between right and wrong, and finally the application of rewards and punishments. Once rewards and punishments were clear, the worthy and the foolish could each find their proper place, the noble and the lowly could each occupy their rank, and the capable and incapable could take on duties suited to their nature and abilities. To serve a ruler, govern ministers, deal with all things, and cultivate oneself by these principles—without relying on schemes or clever devices, but returning to what is natural—is peace and order, the highest level of governance.

An ancient book says, “There are forms and names.” Systems of forms and names have existed since antiquity, but they are not the first things to discuss. When the ancients spoke of the Great Dao, they passed through many levels before speaking of forms and names, and only after that did they discuss rewards and punishments. To speak hastily of names and ranks without knowing the foundation is to speak too soon; to speak hastily of rewards and punishments without knowing where they come from is also to speak too soon. To reverse the order of the Great Dao and speak against it is a means rulers use to constrain people. How could this truly bring people under good governance? Someone who speaks only of forms, names, and rewards and punishments understands the tools of government but not its Way. Such tools can be used throughout the world, but they are not enough to truly govern it. Such a person is merely a debater who understands one corner of the subject.

Ritual codes, institutions, ranks, and examinations were also used by the ancients. They are means by which ministers serve their rulers, but they are not the foundation by which rulers nurture and govern their ministers. Once, Shun asked Yao, “How should the Son of Heaven set his mind on governing the world?” Yao replied, “I do not slight the helpless or abandon the poor. I pity those who suffer and are near death; I cherish children and show consideration for women. This is what occupies my mind.” Shun said, “That is good, but it is not broad enough.” Yao asked, “Then what should I do?” Shun replied, “Let the De of Heaven flow naturally, and let all things be at peace. Let it shine in all directions like the sun and moon; let day and night each follow their constant order; let clouds move and rain fall.” Yao exclaimed, “That would be busy and chaotic! You already accord with Heaven, while I am still deliberately trying to accord with it.” Heaven and Earth were what the ancients most revered; the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun all praised them. Thus the ancient rulers governed the world by doing no more than following Heaven and Earth.

Confucius wanted to store books in the royal house of Zhou, and Zilu advised him to visit Lao Dan (Laozi), who had once served as keeper of the archives of Zhou. Confucius went to see him, but Lao Dan did not accept his request. Confucius then explained twelve classics. After listening for a while, Lao Dan said, “That is too much. Please tell me the essentials.” Confucius replied, “The essentials are benevolence and righteousness.” Lao Dan asked, “Are benevolence and righteousness part of human nature?” Confucius answered, “Yes. If a ruler is not benevolent, he cannot be a ruler; if he is not righteous, he cannot establish himself. Benevolence and righteousness are the nature of the true person. What else could they be?” Lao Dan asked again, “What do you mean by benevolence and righteousness?” Confucius replied, “To treat all things with an open and kindly heart, and to love everyone without selfishness: that is the reality of benevolence and righteousness.”

Lao Dan said, “Alas, those words have already fallen behind the times! Is not loving everyone without distinction rather far-fetched? And what you call having no selfishness still involves deliberate effort. If you want the world not to lose its order, Heaven and Earth already have their constant patterns: the sun and moon shine naturally, the stars are naturally arranged, birds and beasts naturally gather in flocks, and trees naturally grow. You need only follow the natural De as you act and move forward at ease. That is enough. Why so urgently raise benevolence and righteousness aloft, as though beating a drum to find a lost child? You are disturbing people’s nature!”

Shicheng Qi paid a visit to Laozi and said, “I have heard that you are a sage. I came seeking an audience and thought nothing of the long journey; I walked until my feet grew thick with calluses and did not dare rest. But now you do not seem like a sage to me. You throw away spoiled leftovers, which seems unbenevolent; and you keep piling up food without limit.” Laozi remained silent and gave no answer.

The next day Shicheng Qi came again and said, “Yesterday I offended you, but today I feel uneasy about it. Why is that?” Laozi said, “I have long thought myself free of such reputations as cleverness, ingenuity, spiritual insight, and sagely wisdom. Yesterday, if you called me an ox, then I became an ox; if you called me a horse, then I became a horse. If such a description truly fits, and someone gives me that name, but I refuse to accept it, I only invite another misfortune upon myself. I have always been content to accept things as they are, and content with my own circumstances.” Shicheng Qi respectfully stepped back, then came forward and asked, “How should one cultivate oneself?” Laozi said, “Your manner is arrogant, your gaze aggressive, your forehead jutting out, your mouth open without restraint. Your bearing is stiff, like a horse tied to a post. When you act, you force yourself into restraint; then you suddenly flare up like a crossbow. You think yourself perceptive and clever, and show an air of superiority. These things make people distrust you. On the borderlands, a person like this is called a thief.”

Laozi said, “The Dao is so vast that it has no end, and so small that nothing is left out; the myriad things are all contained within it. It is boundless and admits everything; it is deep and beyond measure. Outward form, De, benevolence, and righteousness are all secondary aspects of the spirit. Unless one is a Perfected Person, who could set them in their proper place? Though the Perfected Person lives in the world, he is not entangled by worldly affairs. While everyone under Heaven contends for power, he does not join the struggle. He understands that the myriad things have no fixed support and does not shift with the prospect of gain. He investigates the reality of things and holds fast to their nature. Thus he transcends Heaven and Earth and forgets the myriad things, yet nothing has ever confined him. He penetrates the Dao and accords with De, treating benevolence and righteousness as guests who may come and go, and ritual and music as visitors. The heart of the Perfected Person then has a stable foundation.”

What the world treasures are books. Books merely record words, and words are treasured because they express the mind. But what the mind reaches toward cannot be fully conveyed in words. People therefore prize words and books, though they may not truly be worthy of such regard, because people may mistake what is secondary for what is fundamental. The eye can see forms and colors; the ear can hear names and sounds. Yet it is lamentable that people think they can grasp the reality of things through forms, colors, and names alone. If these truly cannot convey reality, then those who know may not be able to speak of it, and those who speak of it may not truly know. How, then, can people judge?

Duke Huan of Qi was reading in the hall, while Bian Lun, a wheelwright, was shaping a wheel below. He set down his tools, came forward, and asked, “May I ask what you are reading?” Duke Huan said, “The words of the sages.” Bian Lun asked, “Are the sages still alive?” Duke Huan said, “They are dead.” Bian Lun said, “Then what you are reading is nothing but the dregs left behind by the ancients.” Duke Huan said, “I am reading a book. How can a wheelwright presume to judge it? If you can explain your reasoning, I will spare your life; if you cannot, I will have you executed.” Bian Lun replied, “I judge this by my own experience of making wheels. If I cut too slowly, the wheel will be loose and weak; if I cut too quickly, the wood will not fit into place. The right pace lies in the hands and accords with the heart, but I cannot explain it in words. There is a rule in it that cannot be put into words. I cannot teach this skill directly to my son, and he cannot learn it directly from me. So at seventy years old, I am still making wheels with my own hands. The insights the ancients could not pass on died with them. From this it seems that what you are reading is nothing but the dregs left behind by the ancients.”

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Interpretation

Is Heaven in motion? Is Earth in motion? Are the sun and moon competing for their places and displacing one another? Who rules over all this, and who keeps it going? What drives it onward? Is there some kind of mechanism that compels it to be so? Or does it turn without ceasing, unable to stop by itself? Do clouds form in order to bring rain, or does the vapor of rain rise and become clouds? Who makes the clouds and rain rise and fall? Who remains at ease, yet brings all this about? The north wind rises, now blowing west, now east, swirling high above. Who breathes in and out? Who does nothing, yet lets the wind blow this way? Tell me, why is it so?

Wu Xian Tiao-kou said, “Come, and I will tell you. Heaven has five fundamental constants. When rulers conform to them, their states are secure; when they defy them, calamity follows. When the affairs of the Nine Luo—the name of an ancient region or water system—are well governed, virtue is complete, the world is clearly understood, and the people give their allegiance. Such a ruler is called the Supreme Sovereign.”

Dang, the Grand Steward of Shang, asked Zhuangzi about benevolence. Zhuangzi said, “Tigers and wolves have benevolence too.” Dang asked, “What do you mean?” Zhuangzi replied, “Father and son love one another. How could that be called lacking benevolence?” Dang then asked, “May I ask what the highest benevolence is?” Zhuangzi said, “The highest benevolence makes no distinction between those who are close and those who are distant.” Dang said, “I have heard that without such distinctions there can be no love, and without love there can be no filial devotion. May I say that the highest benevolence is unfilial?” Zhuangzi replied, “That is not so. The highest benevolence is too lofty for filial devotion to describe it. This does not mean that it surpasses filial devotion; it means that filial devotion does not reach it. If you travel south to Ying and face Mount Ming, you cannot see it because it is too far away. So it is easy to practice filial devotion with reverence, harder to do so with love; easy to practice it with love, harder to forget one’s attachment to one’s parents. It is easy for parents to forget me; hard for the whole world to forget me. A person whose virtue is so high that even Yao and Shun do not weigh on his mind, yet who still benefits the world without the world knowing it—why would such a person make a point of proclaiming benevolence and filial devotion? Filial devotion and brotherly care, benevolence and righteousness, loyalty and trustworthiness, chastity and integrity: these are all things people deliberately strive for to cultivate their conduct. They are not worth excessive praise. Thus it is said: the most honored person does not value even the rank bestowed by the state; the richest person does not value even the state’s wealth; the most content person does not value even praise. Such a person is in accord with the Dao and does not change.”

Beimen Cheng asked the Yellow Emperor for instruction. “When you played the music ‘The Pool of the Firmament’ on the plains of Dongting, I was frightened when I first heard it. The next time, my spirit was unsettled. By the end, I was at a loss, blank and empty, unable to steady myself.” The Yellow Emperor said, “That is probably just as it should be. My performance took its model from humanity, its evidence from Heaven, unfolded according to ritual and righteousness, and rested on the clear Dao as its foundation. The four seasons took turns, and the myriad things grew in season. Flourishing and decline followed one another; civil and martial qualities succeeded each other, forming a pattern. Clear and muddy sounds intermingled, Yin and Yang harmonized, and the notes flowed and shone. The hibernating creatures began to stir, and I roused them with thunder. The music ended without a fixed conclusion and began without a set starting point. Things died and came back to life, fell and rose again. Change had no end, yet one could not wait for some fixed ‘One’ to appear. That is why you were frightened.

“I then performed it with the harmony of Yin and Yang and illuminated it with the light of the sun and moon. The notes could be short or long, soft or forceful; amid change there was unity, yet no clinging to old conventions. The music filled the valleys and the low places. It opened through all things while preserving the spirit, and took each thing’s own character as its measure. Its sound was expansive and unrestrained, its realm lofty and bright. Thus the ghosts and spirits kept to their shadowy places, while the sun, moon, and stars followed their appointed courses. I brought the music to rest within limits, then let it flow into the boundless. You tried to grasp it with your thoughts, but could not understand it; tried to see it with your eyes, but could not see it; tried to pursue it, but could not catch it. You stood bewildered in the emptiness of the four quarters, leaning against a withered paulownia tree and sighing. Your sight was spent, yet you could not see what you wanted to see; your strength was exhausted, yet you could not catch what you pursued. I could no longer make you understand anything. Only an empty mind can follow things as they are. You followed the changes of things, and so you grew weary.

“I then performed it with sounds that do not weary the listener, harmonizing them with the natural course of things. The myriad things grew in profusion, and the trees flourished, yet no trace of the music could be seen. It spread everywhere, unconstrained; it was deep and dark, without sound. It arose where there is no fixed direction and dwelt in the unseen. At times it is called ‘being’; at times, ‘life.’ At times it is called ‘substance’; at times, ‘flourishing.’ It flows and spreads, never fixed in any particular sound. People of the world are puzzled by it and seek proof from the sages. The sages understand the true condition of things and follow the life bestowed by nature. Though Heaven’s workings are hidden, the human senses are each fully formed. This is the music of Heaven: it needs no words, for the heart rejoices of itself. Thus the Youyan clan once praised it: ‘Listen, and there is no sound; look, and there is no form. It fills Heaven and Earth and encloses the six directions.’ You wish to hear it, but have no means of contact with it, and so you are perplexed. The music begins by frightening people, and fear makes them alarmed; then it makes them weary, and weariness makes them slack; at last it confounds them, and confusion makes them dull. Once dull, they can be joined with the Dao. The Dao can bear them, and they can travel alongside it.”

Confucius was traveling west to the state of Wei. Yan Yuan asked Shijin, “What do you think will come of this journey for our Master?” Shijin said, “Alas, your Master is likely to meet with hardship!” Yan Yuan asked, “Why?” Shijin said, “A straw dog used in sacrifice is kept in a bamboo chest and covered with embroidered cloth before it is placed on the altar. After the ritual officiant has fasted, he carries it up with reverence. Once the sacrifice is over, passersby trample it, or a grass cutter picks it up for kindling. If someone were to put it back in the chest, cover it with embroidered cloth, and set it where people sleep, they would surely have nightmares or wake in fright. Your Master, too, has gathered up old teachings already used by former kings, like a straw dog from a sacrifice, and has gathered disciples around himself to teach and live by them. That is why he was trapped beneath a tree cut down in Song and driven out of Wei. When he speaks of the ways of Shang and Zhou, is he not like someone dreaming? Trapped between Chen and Cai, he went seven days without food and came close to death. Was that not like being troubled by a nightmare?

“By water, the best means of travel is a boat; by land, it is a cart. Because a boat can travel on water, someone might try to push it across dry land, but in a lifetime it would not go far. The past and the present differ as water routes differ from land routes; the Zhou dynasty and the state of Lu are like roads suited to different carts. To try to put Zhou practices into effect in Lu is like pushing a boat over land: it is labor without result, and may bring disaster. Your Master does not understand how to respond to shifting circumstances and change along with things without becoming trapped.

“Have you never seen a water-lifting lever? Pull it down, and it lowers; let it go, and it rises. It moves in response to a person’s pull, but does not pull anyone along itself. So it rises and falls without causing resentment. The rites and laws of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors were not valued because they were all alike, but because each governed its own time well. They are like hawthorn, pear, orange, and pomelo: their flavors differ, yet all are delicious. Rites and laws should change with the times. Dress an ape in the robes of the Duke of Zhou, and it will bite, tug, and tear at them until it has stripped them off. The difference between past and present is like the difference between an ape and the Duke of Zhou.

“Xi Shi had a pain in her chest and walked through the village with a furrowed brow. A homely woman in the village saw her and thought she looked beautiful that way. She went home, clutched her chest, and walked through the village with a furrowed brow too. When the rich people of the village saw her, they shut their gates and stayed inside; when the poor saw her, they took their wives and children and fled. She knew only that a furrowed brow looked beautiful; she did not know that it looked beautiful because Xi Shi was beautiful to begin with. Alas, your Master is likely to meet with hardship!”

When Confucius was fifty-one, he still had not heard the Great Dao. So he went south to Pei to visit Lao Dan. Lao Dan said, “You have come! I am a worthy man from the north. Have you, too, attained the Dao?” Confucius replied, “Not yet.” Lao Dan asked, “Where have you sought it?” Confucius said, “I sought it in rules and measures, but after five years I had not found it.” Lao Dan asked, “Where did you seek it after that?” Confucius said, “I sought it in the transformations of Yin and Yang, but after twelve years I had not found it.”

Lao Dan said, “Indeed. If the Dao could be offered as a gift, people would have presented it to their rulers long ago. If it could be given to someone else, they would have given it to their parents and siblings long ago. If it could be told to another, they would have told their children and grandchildren long ago. But this cannot be done. If the heart has no master within, the Dao cannot remain there; if the world outside offers no proper ground for it, even the sage cannot appear. What comes from within will not be revealed by the sage if the world outside does not receive it; what comes in from outside will not be kept by the sage if the heart has no master within.

“Reputation is a public possession and cannot be coveted in excess. Benevolence and righteousness are only temporary lodgings used by former kings: one may stay for a night, but not live there for long. Staying too long invites many reproaches. The perfected people of old took the Dao as the root of benevolence, used righteousness as a temporary shelter, roamed freely in ease, and lived on a simple fare, rooted in a garden that sought nothing from outside. To roam freely is Wuwei (non-action); simplicity is what is easy to sustain; seeking nothing outside means making no demands on the world. The ancients called this a journey in search of the Real.

“Those who are content with wealth can give away possessions; those who are content with high rank find it hard to surrender their position. Those who are attached to power cannot hand authority to another. They are fearful while holding power and grieve when they relinquish it. Without reflecting at all, they fail to see that they cannot stop clinging to what they have. Such people are truly punished by Heaven. Resentment and gratitude, taking and giving, remonstrating and teaching, birth and death: these eight are tools of governance. Only those who respond to great changes without being obstructed by events can use them. Thus it is said: what is right accords with the right way. A person who believes in their heart that it is wrong cannot even enter the gateway to this principle.”

Confucius visited Lao Dan and spoke of benevolence and righteousness. Lao Dan said, “When chaff gets into the eye, a person can no longer see Heaven, Earth, or the four directions clearly. When mosquitoes bite the skin, a person cannot sleep all night. If benevolence and righteousness are deliberately imposed, they too disturb the heart and cause the greatest turmoil. If you can keep the people of the world from losing their natural simplicity, let them move with the wind of nature and guide their lives by their own De. That is enough. Why go about beating a great drum and chasing after those who flee, in pursuit of benevolence and righteousness? A swan need not bathe every day to be naturally white; a crow is born black. Their natures of black and white need no further debate. Reputation and praise cannot make De any greater. When a spring dries up and fish are stranded on land, they breathe dampness onto one another and moisten one another with their spit. Yet this is not as good as forgetting one another in rivers and lakes.”

After visiting Lao Dan, Confucius returned and did not speak for three days. His disciples asked, “When you met Lao Dan, did you receive any instruction?” Confucius said, “Only now have I truly seen a dragon! When a dragon gathers, it forms a whole; when it disperses, it displays its patterns. It rides the clouds and nourishes Yin and Yang. I opened my mouth, but could not speak. What could I have said to Lao Dan?”

Zigong said, “Then is there truly someone who can sit as still as a corpse and yet reveal the transformations of a dragon; whose voice is like thunder and whose stillness is like a deep abyss; whose actions are like Heaven and Earth? May I go and see him too?” So Zigong went to visit Lao Dan as a disciple of Confucius. Lao Dan was seated haughtily in the hall. He looked up slightly and said, “I am growing old. Have you come to remonstrate with me?” Zigong said, “The Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors each governed the world in a different way, yet they all won renown. You, Master, say that none of them was a sage. Why?”

Lao Dan said, “Young man, come closer and I will tell you how the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors governed the world. When the Yellow Emperor governed, he brought the people’s hearts into agreement. If someone’s parents died and he did not weep, others did not criticize him. When Yao governed, he made the people love their parents. If someone treated relatives differently according to how close they were, others did not criticize him. When Shun governed, he made the people’s hearts competitive. A pregnant woman carried a child for ten months and gave birth; by five months, the child could speak. Before it had even grown up, people began to die young. When Yu governed, people’s hearts changed. Each person harbored private motives, and wars followed one another. People thought that killing a thief did not count as killing a person, so everyone acted for himself, and the world fell into disorder. The world was greatly shaken, and the Confucians and Mohists both arose. At first they had some order, but now things are so chaotic that even women are debating them. What more is there to say?

“I tell you, what the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors called governing was, in name, the governance of the world; in fact, it caused the worst disorder. The cleverness of the Three Sovereigns violated the clarity of the sun and moon above, and disturbed the nature of rivers and streams below; in between, it damaged the course of the four seasons. Their cleverness was more venomous than a scorpion’s tail and more dangerous than a small beast. They kept the myriad things from resting in their own nature and the true conditions of their lives, yet called themselves sages. Is that not shameful?” Zigong stood there, stiff with unease.

Confucius said to Lao Dan, “I have studied the six classics—the Odes, Documents, Rites, Music, Changes, and Spring and Autumn—for a long time. I thought I understood their principles. I have expounded the way of the former kings to seventy-two rulers and explained the deeds of the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao, yet not one ruler was willing to accept it. People are hard to persuade, and the Dao is hard to explain!”

Lao Dan said, “Luckily, you never met a ruler who truly wanted to govern the world! The six classics are only the traces left by former kings. How could they be the root that produced those traces? What you speak of are still traces. A trace is an imprint left by a footstep; how could a footprint itself be a foot? White waterbirds look at one another and can reproduce without their pupils moving; insects mate when the male calls from upwind and the female answers from downwind. Some kinds of insects simply develop as male or female. Nature cannot easily be changed, what is allotted cannot be altered at will, circumstances cannot be stopped, and the Dao cannot be forced. When one truly attains the Dao, there is no place one cannot go; when one loses the Dao, there is no place one can go.”

Three months later, Confucius came to visit again and said, “I understand now. Crows and magpies hatch their young; fish nourish one another by spitting; the bagworm changes form; and when a younger brother is born, the elder cries. For a long time, I have not lived together with the transformations of the myriad things. How could I transform others if I did not blend with change?” Laozi said, “Good. You understand.”

Deliberate Cultivation

To polish one’s conduct deliberately, withdraw from the world, and set oneself apart; to speak grandly and criticize with resentment, all to show that one is superior to others—these are favored by recluses in the mountains and forests, by those who reject the world, and by those willing to die in emaciation.

To speak of benevolence and righteousness, loyalty and trustworthiness, and to cultivate reverence, frugality, and humility, is to refine oneself. These are favored by people of peaceful times, by teachers of moral instruction, and by traveling scholars.

To speak of founding great achievements and winning great renown, to uphold the rites between ruler and minister and to keep the hierarchy in order, is to govern the state. These are favored by court officials, those who honor the ruler, those who strengthen the state, and those who seek to establish achievements and expand their power.

To live in seclusion by lakes and marshes, to fish in open and quiet places, and to do nothing—these are favored by recluses of rivers and seas, by those who avoid the world, and by the untroubled.

To regulate the breath, exhale the old and draw in the new, and imitate bears climbing trees and birds stretching their bodies, is to prolong life. These are favored by practitioners of daoyin—exercises that nourish life through breathing and bodily movement—by those who care for the body, and by those who seek longevity.

As for someone who does not deliberately polish himself yet is naturally noble; who bears no name for benevolence and righteousness yet cultivates himself; who seeks no fame yet governs; who need not withdraw to rivers and seas yet is at ease; who practices no daoyin yet lives a long life—such a person forgets nothing and lacks nothing. His mind is calm, plain, and boundless, and all good things gather there of their own accord. This is the Dao of Heaven and Earth and the De of the sage.

Thus it is said: calmness, plainness, stillness, emptiness, and Wuwei are the balanced state of Heaven and Earth and the essence of the Dao and De. The sage is composed and at ease, and so is even-tempered; being even-tempered, he is calm and plain. Calmness and plainness keep sorrow from entering and corrupt influences from invading. Thus his De is complete and his spirit is not depleted.

Sorrow and joy are disturbances of De; pleasure and anger are departures from the Dao; likes and dislikes are losses to De. When the heart is not moved by sorrow or joy, De has reached its utmost. To be single-minded and unchanging is the utmost of stillness; to be free of resistance is the utmost of emptiness; to be unentangled with external things is the utmost of calmness; to oppose nothing is the utmost of purity.

If the body is worn down without rest, it will decay; if the spirit is overused, it will grow weary; and weariness brings exhaustion. Water is clear by nature when it is not mixed with anything, and still when it is not disturbed. If it is blocked and cannot flow, it cannot become clear. This is the nature of Heaven’s De.

Therefore, to be pure and unmixed, still and single-minded without change, calm and unconcerned, and to act without deliberate effort in accord with nature—this is how to nourish the spirit. It is like owning a sword from Gan and Yue, so precious that it is kept in its case and never lightly used. The spirit, by contrast, should open in all directions and flow without end, reaching up to Heaven and extending down across the Earth, transforming and nourishing the myriad things without showing any trace. This is called sharing the De of the Heavenly Sovereign.

The way of simplicity and unity takes the spirit as its guardian. Guard it and do not lose it, and you will become one with the spirit. When the spirit is single and unobstructed, you will accord with the Dao of Heaven. A common saying goes: “Ordinary people value profit; the upright value reputation; the worthy value their aspirations; the sage treasures the spirit.” What is called “plain” is to be unmixed with other things; what is called “pure” is to keep the spirit from being depleted. One who embodies simplicity and unity is called a True Person.

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Interpretation

To cultivate one’s nature amid worldly life, one must learn in order to recover one’s original state. To lose oneself in worldly desires and then hope to regain clarity through reflection is to be deluded. In ancient times, those who understood how to govern by the Great Dao cultivated wisdom through stillness. People are born without putting their wisdom to reckless use; this is called using wisdom to nurture stillness. Wisdom and stillness nourish one another, and harmony then arises from one’s nature.

De is harmony; the Dao is the order by which things operate. When De embraces all things, it is benevolence. When the Dao enables all things to follow their own order, it is righteousness. When the principles of righteousness are clear and people draw close to all things, this is loyalty. When the heart is sincere and wholehearted, returning to one’s original feelings, this is joy. When trustworthiness is expressed in one’s bearing and conduct and accords with ritual form, this is propriety. Once propriety and music are widely put into practice, the world instead falls into disorder. If one clings to setting names and categories straight while obscuring one’s own De, De loses its naturalness. Once naturalness is lost, all things lose their own nature.

The ancients lived in an undifferentiated, unformed state. They dwelled among all things in the world while remaining detached and tranquil. At that time, Yin-Yang was harmonious and still; ghosts and spirits were undisturbed; the seasons followed their proper course; nothing was harmed, and living beings did not die before their time. People possessed wisdom, but did not use it to impose their will. This is called “the Great Unity,” in which all things are one undivided whole. There was no deliberate action; everything happened of itself.

Later, De gradually declined. By the time of Suiren and Fuxi, people had begun to observe the heavens and follow the seasons. Though they could still accord with nature, they could no longer preserve the undivided whole. De declined further. By the time of Shennong and the Yellow Emperor, people began to govern the world. Though they sought stability, they no longer followed nature. Later still, under Tang Yao and Yu Shun, people began to govern the world and promote instruction, and the customs of sincerity and simplicity gradually faded. People turned away from the Great Dao to pursue a reputation for goodness, then used all manner of conduct to advertise their virtue. After that, they departed from their nature and instead followed the human mind and its contrivances.

People pitted their minds against one another and employed clever stratagems, yet still could not bring peace to the world. So they added systems of ritual forms and an abundance of knowledge. Ritual forms submerged what was genuine; extensive learning unsettled the spirit. From then on, the people were confused and disordered, unable to return to their nature and true feelings or recover their original state. From this we can see that the ways of the world and the Great Dao have both been lost: the world has lost the Great Dao, and the Great Dao has been harmed by the world. How can those who cultivate the Dao use this to revive the world? And how can the world use it to revive the Great Dao? The Great Dao cannot flourish amid worldly life, and worldly life cannot revive the Great Dao. Even when a sage lives in the mountains and forests, his De is difficult to make manifest. What is called “withdrawal” does not mean deliberately hiding oneself.

The recluses of ancient times did not hide their bodies from view. They did not keep silent because they thought words were useless, nor did they conceal their wisdom and refuse to use it. Rather, the times and their allotted circumstances were in disarray. If the moment was right and the Great Dao could be widely practiced throughout the world, they returned to an undivided, selfless state. If the moment was wrong and the Great Dao could not suitably be put into practice, they sank their roots deep, steadied their spirits, and waited quietly for the right time. This was the way to preserve oneself.

Those who preserved themselves in ancient times did not use argument to flaunt their wisdom, cleverness to investigate the whole world, or wisdom to pursue the perfection of De. They calmly held to their place and returned to their nature—that was all. Why deliberately do anything more? The Great Dao does not operate through trifles, and De cannot be discerned through cunning. Fixating on small cleverness harms De; clinging to minor deeds harms the Great Dao. That is why it is enough to set oneself aright. To rest content in one’s complete nature is to attain one’s purpose.

In ancient times, to attain one’s purpose did not mean holding high office and wearing a crown. It meant that nothing could add to one’s original joy. Today, people often use “attaining one’s purpose” to mean becoming an honored official. Office and crown are not part of a person’s nature or allotted destiny; they are merely external things that happen to come one’s way and take up temporary residence. When such things arrive, they cannot be stopped; when they depart, they cannot be held back. Therefore, one should not let prominence make the will run wild, nor accommodate worldly conventions out of poverty. Whether prominent or poor, one’s joy remains the same, and so there is no sorrow. If one loses one’s joy as soon as external things depart, then even while one was happy, one was never free from confusion. Thus, those who lose themselves for the sake of external things and lose their nature through worldly conventions are called people who have turned everything upside down.

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Interpretation

When the autumn rains arrived in their season, the waters of countless rivers flowed together into the Yellow River. Its waters surged so mightily that from one bank to the other, oxen and horses could scarcely be told apart. The River God, Hebo, was delighted, believing that every magnificent sight in the world was his. He followed the current eastward and reached the North Sea. Looking east, he could not see where the water ended. He turned to face the sea god Ruo, the god of the North Sea, and sighed. “There’s a saying that once people have heard a lot, they think no one can match them. That must describe me. I once heard that some people belittled Confucius’s learning and looked down on Boyi’s sense of righteousness, but I didn’t believe it. Now I have seen the boundlessness of your sea with my own eyes. If I had not come to your gates, I would have been in danger of being laughed at forever by those who understand the Great Way.”

Ruo, the North Sea God, said, “You can’t talk about the sea with a frog in a well, because its home confines it. You can’t talk about ice with a summer insect, because the season confines it. You can’t talk about the Great Way with someone of shallow understanding, because their education confines them. Now you have left the riverbank and seen the sea. You know how limited your understanding was, and so we can speak with you about the Great Way.

“Of all the waters in the world, none is greater than the sea. Countless rivers pour into it, and no one knows when they will stop; yet the sea does not fill up. Water flows out through the Tail Recess, the legendary channel by which the sea drains away, and no one knows when that will stop; yet the sea does not run dry. The sea shows no marked change between autumn and drought. It surpasses the flow of rivers, and its measure cannot be counted. But I have never thought myself great on that account. I know that I am only one form between Heaven and Earth, like a tiny stone or tree in a great mountain. I often reflect on how small I am. What is there to boast about?

“Are the Four Seas between Heaven and Earth not like a small hollow in a vast marsh? Is the Central Plain within the Four Seas not like a grain of rice in a great storehouse? People call the many kinds of things in the world ‘the myriad things,’ and human beings are just one kind among them. Within the Nine Provinces, where grain grows and boats and carts travel, human beings are just one kind. Compared with the myriad things, are people not like a single hair on a horse? The succession of the Five Emperors, the struggles of the Three Kings for all under Heaven, the worries of the benevolent, and the toil of the able are all merely parts of this vast world. Boyi was famed for yielding the realm; Confucius took pride in his learning. Their sense of their own importance was no different from yours when you delighted in the size of the river.”

Hebo asked, “Then may I regard Heaven and Earth as great and a single hair as small?”

Ruo said, “No. The size of things has no fixed measure; time has no end, boundaries do not remain constant, and there is no fixed cause for the ending or beginning of things. So the truly wise observe things as they shift between near and far. They know that what is small is not necessarily scarce, and what is great is not necessarily abundant. They understand that things can be finite or infinite. Looking back at the past, present, and future, they know that even distant times need not inspire fear, and that what is before them need not be desired excessively. They observe fullness and emptiness without becoming wildly joyful when they gain something or sorrowful when they lose it, because they know that the bounds of things are not fixed. They understand that life and death are like different stretches of a level road: they do not blindly celebrate life or regard death as a calamity, because they know that the beginning and end of the myriad things cannot be fixed at one point.

“What a person already knows is less than what they do not yet know; the time since their birth is less than the boundless expanse before it. If you try to exhaust an immense domain with very limited knowledge, you are bound to be confused and unable to act freely. So how can you decide that a single hair marks the limit of the smallest, and Heaven and Earth the limit of the greatest?”

Hebo asked, “People say, ‘The finest thing has no form, and the greatest thing has no boundaries.’ Is that really true?”

Ruo said, “If you view the vast from the small, you can never see all of it; if you view the small from the vast, you cannot make it out clearly. ‘Fine’ means small to the utmost; ‘vast’ means great to the utmost. Each applies under particular conditions. This is a difference among things themselves. Fine and coarse both refer to things with form. What has no form cannot be counted, and what has no boundaries cannot be measured. What can be put into words is the coarser, more apparent aspect of things; what can be grasped in the mind is the finer aspect. What words cannot express and the mind cannot discern cannot be measured as either fine or coarse.

“The person who understands the Way acts without harming others and does not make a point of boasting about benevolence or kindness. Their actions are not devoted to seeking profit, and they do not look down on humble servants. They do not fight over possessions, nor do they boast of yielding them as a virtue. They do not depend on others to get things done, yet they do not take pride in feeding themselves through their own labor. Their conduct differs from convention, but they do not make a show of being strange. They act in step with others, but do not disparage those who flatter. The ranks and honors of the world cannot tempt them; punishments and disgrace cannot make them yield. They understand that right and wrong cannot be sharply divided, and that small and great have no fixed limits. An old saying goes: ‘One who has attained the Way seeks no fame; one whose De is supreme does not claim to possess De; the truly great person has no fixed self.’ This is the highest understanding of the boundaries between things.”

Hebo asked, “Then how can we distinguish noble from base, or great from small, by looking at things from within or beyond themselves?”

Ruo said, “From the perspective of the Way, no thing is noble or base. From the perspective of each thing, it regards itself as noble and other things as base. From the conventional perspective, nobility and baseness are not determined by the things themselves. By comparison, if you call something great on the basis of what is great in it, everything can be called great; if you call it small on the basis of what is small in it, everything can be called small. Understand that Heaven and Earth can seem as tiny as a grain of rice, and a single hair can seem as large as a hill, and you will see that greatness and smallness are only matters of comparison.

“In terms of use, if you call something useful on the basis of what it has, everything can be called useful; if you call it useless on the basis of what it lacks, everything can be called useless. East and west are opposites, yet neither can be done away with. This shows that each has its own bounds of usefulness. In terms of outlook and standpoint, whatever you deem right will seem right everywhere; whatever you deem wrong will seem wrong everywhere. The actions of Yao and Jie were opposed, and they condemned one another. This shows how judgments differ according to standpoint and inclination.

“In the past, Yao and Shun yielded the throne, while the yielding of power by Zizhi and King Kuai of Yan led to the ruin of their state. Tang of Shang won the throne through warfare, while Bai Gong Sheng’s struggle for power led to his downfall. This shows that the customs of seizing power or yielding it, the actions of Yao and Jie, and judgments of nobility and baseness all change with the age and cannot serve as eternal standards. A great beam can smash a city wall but cannot plug a small hole, because each tool has its own use. A fine horse can run a thousand li in a day, but a rat is better at catching mice than a horse, because each has its own abilities. An owl can catch fleas at night and see the finest hairs, yet in daylight it stares with its eyes wide open and cannot see a hill, because each has a different nature.

“So to insist that only you are right and everyone else is wrong, or that there can be order but no disorder, is surely to misunderstand the workings of Heaven and Earth and the nature of the myriad things. It is like acknowledging Heaven while denying Earth, or acknowledging Yin while denying Yang. Clearly, that will not do. To keep insisting on it is either foolishness or deception. The ways of succession to the throne differed among emperors, and the succession customs of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties differed too. Those who defied their age and went against the customs of the time were called usurpers; those who followed the age and its customs were considered to act rightly. Hebo, be still! How can you know the source of nobility and baseness?”

Hebo asked, “Then what should I do, and what should I avoid? Should I yield or accept? Should I pursue or give up? What, in the end, should I do?”

Ruo said, “From the perspective of the Way, what absolute nobility or baseness could there be? If you cling to such distinctions, your thoughts will become tangled and unsettled; when your purpose is constrained, you move away from the Way. What absolute scarcity or abundance could there be? If you cling to those distinctions, your actions will also depart from the Way. Be dignified as though you were a ruler of a state, but do not privately dispense favors. Be composed as though performing a sacrifice to the Earth God, but do not claim its blessings as your own. Be as open as the lands in the four directions, without fixed borders. If your heart embraces all things, whom would you need to shelter in particular? Then you have no fixed territory.

“When all things are one, who is absolutely short and who absolutely long? The Way has no beginning or end, though the myriad things have life and death. The Way does not rely on its own achievements. Things are sometimes empty and sometimes full, but never remain fixed in one form. Years cannot be held onto, and time cannot be stopped. Fullness and decline alternate, and after an ending comes a beginning. This is the principle of the Great Way and the pattern of the myriad things. The growth and transformation of things are swift as galloping horses. Nothing moves without changing, and nothing remains still for even a moment. What, then, must you do, and what must you absolutely avoid doing? The myriad things change of themselves.”

Hebo asked, “Does this mean that following the Way is the most honorable course?”

Ruo said, “Those who understand the Way surely understand how things work. Those who understand how things work know how to weigh changing circumstances. Those who know how to weigh changing circumstances will not let external things harm them. One whose De is supreme cannot be made hot by fire or drowned by water; they are not harmed by cold or heat, or by birds and beasts. This means that they are at ease with safety and danger, fortune and misfortune, and are careful in advancing, withdrawing, choosing, and relinquishing. So nothing can truly harm them.

“What belongs to nature is within; what is made by human effort is external. De takes its root in nature. To understand the workings of Heaven is to take one’s root in following one’s nature and settling into what one has received by birth. Only when every movement and pause, every bending and stretching, returns to its root can one speak of reaching the utmost of the Way.”

Hebo asked, “What is natural, and what is human-made?”

Ruo said, “Oxen and horses have four legs: that is their nature. Putting a halter on a horse and piercing an ox’s nose to lead it: that is human-made. So do not use human contrivance to destroy nature; do not use deliberate artifice to destroy life; do not sacrifice your nature to win a reputation. Carefully preserve your nature and do not lose it. This is called returning to the Real.”

Kui envied the many-legged Yan; Yan envied the snake; the snake envied the wind; the wind envied the eye; and the eye envied the mind.

Kui said to Yan, “I hop along on one leg, and that is enough for me. You have so many legs. How do you manage to move?”

Yan said, “That’s not how it works. Have you never seen someone spit? Some drops are as large as pearls, others as fine as mist, falling together in a jumble, too many to count. I simply set my natural abilities in motion. I don’t know why they work as they do.”

The snake said, “I move with all these legs, yet I’m not as good as you, who have none. Why?”

Yan said, “When the workings of the body are set in motion, movement happens naturally. Why should I control each one separately?”

The snake said to the wind, “I crawl using the muscles along my back and sides, and that takes some effort. You rise in a surge from the north and blow toward the South Sea, yet you seem to have no body. How do you do it?”

The wind said, “That’s right: I rise in a surge from the North Sea and blow to the South Sea. But a person can point a finger at me and overcome me; they can step on me and overcome me too. Even so, only I can break great trees and blow down large houses. To gather many small weaknesses into strength as a whole is something only a sage can do.”

Confucius was traveling in Kuang when the people of Song surrounded him. Even so, he continued playing his lute and singing without interruption. Zilu went in to see him and asked, “Master, how can you still be like this?”

Confucius said, “Come, I’ll tell you. For a long time I have tried to avoid adversity, yet I cannot escape it. That is fate. For a long time I have sought to reach my aims, yet I have not been able to. That is the times. When Yao and Shun ruled, there were still people in the realm who lived in hardship. That was not because they lacked wisdom. When Jie and Zhou ruled, there were still no people in the realm who could attain their aims. That was not because people lacked wisdom; the circumstances of the age were simply like that. To travel on water without avoiding crocodiles and dragons is the courage of a fisherman; to travel on land without avoiding rhinoceroses and tigers is the courage of a hunter; to face blades at close quarters and accept death without hesitation is the courage of a martyr. To understand that adversity is ordained by fate and success comes with its time, and to face great danger without fear—that is the courage of a sage. Zhong You, settle down! My fate has its own limits.”

Soon the commander came forward to apologize. “We thought you were Yang Hu, which is why we surrounded you. Now we know you are not. Please allow us to leave.”

Gongsun Long said to Wei Mou, “When I was young, I studied the teachings of the ancient sage kings. As I grew older, I mastered the practice of benevolence and righteousness. I can say that what is the same is different, and that what is different is the same; that what is not is, and that what is is not. I can confound the understanding of the hundred schools and defeat the arguments of everyone else. I thought I had reached the utmost understanding. But now I have heard Zhuangzi’s words, and they have astonished me. I do not know whether my skill in argument is inferior to his, or my understanding falls short of his. Now I have nothing left to say. Please tell me what I should do.”

Gongzi Mou sighed deeply, then laughed up at the sky. “Have you heard of the frog at the bottom of a well? It said to the turtle from the East Sea, ‘I am so happy! I leap up onto the well’s edge and rest by the broken bricks. When I jump into the water, it holds me beneath the arms and supports my chin. When I step into the mud, it comes up over my ankles. I can also play with the crabs and tadpoles; no one can compare with me. To possess this well water and enjoy the whole well to myself—that is the height of happiness. Why don’t you come visit more often?’

“The East Sea turtle had not yet set its left foot inside when its right knee caught against the wall of the well. It drew back and said to the frog, ‘A thousand li is not enough to show how vast the sea is; a height of a thousand ren is not enough to measure its depth. During Yu the Great’s flood control, there were floods for nine years out of ten, yet the sea did not rise. During the time of Tang of Shang, there were droughts for seven years out of eight, yet the shoreline did not recede. The sea does not change with the length of time, or with increases and decreases in its waters. That is the vastness of the East Sea.’

“The frog at the bottom of the well heard this and was stunned, unable to find its bearings. Someone who does not yet understand the boundaries of right and wrong but wants to grasp Zhuangzi’s words is like asking a mosquito to carry a mountain or an insect to pull a cart. They will surely be unequal to the task. If you know only a few clever turns of argument and take satisfaction in a moment’s victory, are you not like the frog at the bottom of a well?

“Zhuangzi’s thought seems to set foot in the Yellow Springs below and rise to the Great Void above. It has no north or south, yet opens out in every direction and reaches unfathomable depths. It has no eastern or western boundary, and returns to the Way from the remote and mysterious. Yet you anxiously try to search it out through close analysis and argument. That is like looking at the sky through a bamboo tube or measuring the earth with an awl. Isn’t your view too narrow? Go home! Have you not heard of the young man from Shouling who went to Handan to learn how to walk? He failed to master the Zhao style of walking and forgot his own. In the end, he could only crawl home. If you do not leave now, I fear you will forget the knowledge and skills you already have.”

Gongsun Long stood with his mouth agape, unable to close it, his tongue raised and unable to lower it. In the end, he fled in humiliation.

Zhuangzi was fishing by the Pu River. The King of Chu sent two senior officials to visit him first. They said, “We hope to entrust the affairs of state within Chu to you.”

Zhuangzi held his fishing rod and did not turn around. “I have heard that Chu has a sacred tortoise that died three thousand years ago. The king wrapped it in cloth, put it in a box, and keeps it on a shrine in the ancestral temple. Do you think the tortoise would rather leave its bones behind and be honored after death, or live and drag its tail through the mud?”

The two officials said, “It would rather live and drag its tail through the mud.”

Zhuangzi said, “Go back. I too will drag my tail through the mud.”

Huizi became prime minister of Liang, and Zhuangzi went to visit him. Someone told Huizi, “Zhuangzi has come because he wants to replace you as prime minister.” So Huizi searched the capital for three days and three nights.

Zhuangzi went to see Huizi and said, “In the south there is a bird called the yuan-chu. It flies from the South Sea to the North Sea, and will perch only on a parasol tree, eat only bamboo fruit, and drink only from sweet springs. An owl was holding a rotten rat in its beak. When the yuan-chu flew past, the owl raised its head, glared, and cried, ‘Hah!’ Now, are you trying to frighten me with the prime ministership of Liang?”

Zhuangzi and Huizi were strolling on a bridge over the Hao River. Zhuangzi said, “The minnows swim about at ease. That is the joy of fish.”

Huizi said, “You are not a fish. How do you know what makes fish happy?”

Zhuangzi said, “You are not me. How do you know I don’t know what makes fish happy?”

Huizi said, “I am not you, so of course I don’t know what you think. But you are not a fish, so you don’t know what makes fish happy. That settles it.”

Zhuangzi said, “Let’s go back to what you said just now. When you asked, ‘How do you know what makes fish happy?’ your question already assumed that I knew they were happy, and asked how I knew. I knew it here on the bridge over the Hao.”

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Interpretation

Is there true happiness in the world? Is there anything that can preserve life? What should people do, what should they rely on, what should they avoid, and where should they settle? What should they pursue, and what should they reject?

People value wealth, status, long life, and a good reputation. They enjoy bodily comfort, fine food, beautiful clothes, pleasing appearances, and music that delights the ear. They despise poverty, low status, a short life, and a bad reputation. They suffer when their bodies cannot be comfortable, when they cannot eat fine food, wear beautiful clothes, see pleasing colors, or hear delightful sounds. If they cannot obtain these things, they become anxious and afraid. To chase after them for the sake of the body is truly foolish.

The rich wear out their bodies and labor hard, accumulating great wealth that they may never enjoy. To treat the body this way is to be too tightly bound by external things. The eminent worry day and night over whether their words and actions are good or bad. To treat the body this way is to be too distant from it. Life begins with worry. Those who live a long time grow dull and confused; they have worried for so long, yet still do not die. What pleasure is there in living like this? This, too, is to regard life as something too distant and too weighty.

Upright people are praised by the world, yet they may not be able to preserve their lives. Were their actions truly good, or were they in fact not good? If they are judged good, they may still fail to preserve the self; if judged not good, they may instead preserve their lives. Thus it is said: “If you offer loyal remonstrance and the ruler will not listen, then withdraw and hold back; do not keep arguing.” Wu Zixu persisted in remonstrating and was ruined. Had he not argued, he would not have earned a reputation for loyal counsel.

I do not know whether the things the world pursues, and what it calls happiness, are truly happiness. I watch people rushing together toward what they call happiness, their faces urgent, as though they had no choice but to go, yet all of them say they are happy. I have felt no happiness in it, but I cannot say that it is entirely without happiness. Is there, after all, true happiness? I think Wuwei (non-action) is true happiness, but the world regards Wuwei as the greatest hardship. Thus it is said: “The greatest happiness seems to have none of what is commonly called happiness; the highest renown has no fixed name.” Right and wrong in the world are ultimately hard to judge, but perhaps Wuwei can let people rest at ease within things. The greatest joy that can keep life secure comes close to Wuwei.

Let us try to explain. Heaven does not act recklessly, and so it is clear; Earth does not act recklessly, and so it is still. When Heaven and Earth’s Wuwei converge, the myriad things are transformed and brought to life. This transformation is vast and mysterious; its source cannot be pointed out in words, and no fixed trace can be seen. The myriad things grow and flourish, all arising through Wuwei. Thus it is said: “Heaven and Earth seem to do nothing, yet nothing is left undone.” Who among people can truly practice Wuwei?

Zhuangzi’s wife died, and Huizi went to mourn her. Zhuangzi was sitting with his legs stretched out, beating a clay basin and singing. Huizi said, “You lived with her for many years. When she died, you did not weep; that might be excused. But to beat a basin and sing—isn’t that going too far?” Zhuangzi said, “It is not so. When she first died, how could I have felt nothing? But on reflection, she originally had no life. Not only was there no life, there was originally no form; not only was there no form, there was originally no Qi (vital energy). In the hazy, formless realm, Qi changed; Qi became form, and form became life. Now she has changed again into death. This is like the cycle of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. She now lies peacefully in the great house of Heaven and Earth. If I were still to cry aloud and grieve after her, I would show that I did not understand the transformations of life. So I stopped weeping.”

Zhili Shu and Huajie Shu were traveling around the Hill of Dark Obscurity and the Kunlun Mountains, the legendary resting place of the Yellow Emperor. Suddenly, a lump grew on Huajie Shu’s elbow, and he was alarmed and uneasy, loathing the change. Zhili Shu asked, “Do you hate it?” Huajie Shu said, “No. Why should I hate it? Life is only something temporarily borrowed. To borrow life and come to be alive is like dust and grime; life and death are no more than the succession of day and night. You and I are watching transformations, and now the change has come to me. What is there for me to hate?”

When Zhuangzi was in the state of Chu, he saw an empty skull, dry and bare, but still intact in shape. He tapped it with his whip and asked, “Sir, did you come to this through greed that made you lose your sense of what is right? Or through the fall of your state and the punishment that followed? Did you do something wrong and feel ashamed to face your parents, wife, and children? Was it because you suffered from cold and hunger? Or had you simply reached the end of your years?” After saying this, he used the skull as a pillow and went to sleep. In the middle of the night, the skull appeared to him in a dream and said, “You speak like a skilled debater, but everything you mention is a trouble of the living. The dead have none of these troubles. Would you like to hear what it is like after death?” Zhuangzi said, “I would.” The skull said, “After death there is no ruler above and no subject below, nor the labor of the affairs of the four seasons. One simply follows the transformations of Heaven and Earth, taking Heaven and Earth as spring and autumn. Even the joy of ruling as a king, facing south, cannot compare with this freedom.” Zhuangzi did not believe it and said, “I will ask the Lord of Fate to restore your body, give you bones, flesh, and skin, and return you to your parents, wife, children, village, and friends. Would you agree?” The skull furrowed its brow and said, “How could I give up the joy of being king among the dead and return to the toil of the human world?”

Yan Yuan was traveling east to the state of Qi, and Confucius looked troubled. Zigong rose from his mat and asked, “Yan Hui is going east to Qi. Why are you worried, Master?” Confucius said, “That is a good question. Guan Zhong once said: ‘A small bag cannot hold a large thing, and a short rope cannot draw water from a deep well.’ People’s talents and abilities each have their limits, and their physical conditions each have what suits them; these are not things one can change at will. I worry that Yan Hui will go and speak to the Marquis of Qi about the Way of Yao, Shun, and the Yellow Emperor, adding the teachings of Suiren and Shennong. If the marquis turns inward and reflects, he may understand something. If he does not understand, he will be confused. When people become confused, they may even lose their lives.”

“Have you never heard of the seabird? It landed in the outskirts of Lu. The ruler of Lu welcomed it into the ancestral temple, held a feast for it, played the music of the Nine Shao for its pleasure, and prepared a grand sacrificial offering of ox, sheep, and pig as its food. But the seabird was dazzled and anxious. It dared not eat a piece of meat or drink a mouthful of wine, and after three days it died. This was to feed a bird in the way one feeds a person, not in the way one feeds a bird. To care for a bird according to its nature, one should let it roost in deep forests and sandbanks, float over rivers and lakes, eat loaches and small fish, and fly and rest with its flock. Birds dislike hearing people talk; why make a constant racket around them?”

“When music such as the Pond of the Heavenly Pool and the Nine Shao is played in the open country of Dongting, birds fly away at its sound, beasts flee, and fish dive beneath the water. People, however, turn and come to watch. Fish live in water, while people would die if they lived in water. The preferences of people and fish are different to begin with. Thus the sages of antiquity did not demand that all things have the same abilities, nor make them do the same tasks. They made names fit reality and laws suit each thing’s circumstances. In this way, the principles of things could be made clear, and blessings could find a place to rest.”

As Liezi was traveling, he stopped to eat by the roadside and saw a hundred-year-old skull. He brushed aside the weeds, pointed to it, and said, “Only you and I know that life was not always as it is now; only you and I know whether you and I have ever lived. Did you truly once nourish yourself through life? Was I truly ever glad?”

The transformations of the myriad things have their mechanism. Some seeds sprout when they meet water; others, growing at the water’s edge, become moss. Those born on high ground become grasses and trees, and grasses and trees may then change into other insects and birds. Living things transform into one another, their forms changing without end. In time, bamboo produces the green cicada; the green cicada changes into something else, and eventually a horse appears. The horse changes into a human being, and the human being, in the end, returns to the mechanism of the transformations of the myriad things. All things arise from this mechanism of change, and all return to it.

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Interpretation

Those who understand the nature of life do not pursue what life itself cannot accomplish. Those who understand the nature of fate do not trouble themselves to investigate what fate cannot change. A person must first have material means in order to live, yet some people have ample provisions and still fail to nourish their bodies. Everything that lives depends on a physical form, yet there are people whose bodies remain while their lives have already come to an end. The arrival of life cannot be refused, and its departure cannot be prevented. How sad! People in the world think that by nourishing the body they can preserve life. If nourishing the body truly cannot preserve life, what use is it? Even if something may prove useless once done, it still has to be done, since in the end it cannot be avoided. The best way to escape the burdens imposed by the body is to forget worldly concerns. Free of burdens, the mind can become balanced and calm. When the mind is balanced and calm, one can change and renew along with all things, drawing near to the Dao. What is there that must be cast aside? What is there in life worth abandoning? If you are not enslaved by the body, it will not wear you down; if you are not attached to life, your spirit will not be depleted. When body and spirit are whole, you can unite with nature. Heaven and earth are the parents of all things: when the Qi of Yin and Yang gathers, all things take form; when it disperses, they return to their beginning. If neither body nor spirit is harmed, you can follow along with change. By continually purifying the spirit, you can in turn assist nature.

Liezi asked Guanyin, a Daoist figure: “The Perfected One can dive into water without choking, walk through flames without feeling heat, and stand above all things without fear. How can one reach such a state?”

Guanyin replied: “This comes from keeping one’s Qi pure and undivided; it cannot be achieved through cleverness, skill, or courage. Sit down, and I will explain. Everything that has form, shape, and color belongs to the realm of things. How great, in essence, is the difference between one thing and another? What allows one thing to surpass the rest? They are nothing more than things with form and color. All things arise from the formless and return to what is without form. Once you truly understand and penetrate this, external things can no longer obstruct you. Such a person abides within a measure that goes to no extreme, and conceals himself in a principle with no beginning. He moves freely between the endings and beginnings of all things. He makes his nature undivided, nourishes his original Qi—the fundamental energy of life—and joins his own De with that of all things, thereby reaching the source from which they arise and change. Such a person can preserve his innate nature; his spirit has no opening through which external things might enter.

“A drunk person who falls from a cart may not die, even after a severe fall. His body reacts as anyone’s would and suffers the same injury, yet he is hurt less because his spirit is whole, without wariness or fear. He does not know that he climbed into the cart, nor that he fell from it. Life and death, alarm and fear, have not entered his heart, so he is not thrown into confusion when he encounters external things. If drunkenness can preserve the spirit, how much more can a person who takes innate nature as his foundation? The sage settles himself within nature, and so nothing can harm him. A person bent on revenge does not become more powerful simply by carrying a sharp weapon. Even someone with malicious intent will not resent a roof tile that happens to fall on him. In this way, the world can be at peace. The absence of the disorder of warfare and the punishments of killing comes from following this Way. Do not deliberately develop the contrived aspects of human nature; instead, follow the nature that is innate. When you follow what is natural, De can grow. When you develop only what is contrived, you harm life. If people do not go against nature and disregard artificial cleverness, they will draw close to their original simplicity.”

Confucius was traveling to Chu. Passing through a wood, he saw a hunchbacked old man catching cicadas with a sticky pole. His movements were so practiced that he seemed to be picking them up from the ground. Confucius asked, “Your skill is remarkable. Do you have a special method?” The old man replied, “There is a method. I practiced for five or six months until I could stack two pellets without letting them fall. When I caught cicadas, I rarely missed. Once I could stack three pellets without letting them fall, I missed about once in ten tries. When I could stack five pellets without letting them fall, catching cicadas was as easy as reaching out to pick something up. When I stand, my body is as steady as a tree stump; when I raise my arm, it is as still as a withered branch. However vast heaven and earth may be, however numerous the things in the world, I think only of the cicada’s wings. I do not turn around or look aside, and I let nothing else distract me from the cicada’s wings. How could I fail to catch them?” Confucius turned to his disciples and said, “When the mind is focused and undivided, the spirit gathers. Surely this is what the hunchbacked old man has achieved!”

Yan Yuan asked Confucius, “I once crossed the deep waters of the Shang River. The ferryman handled his boat as if aided by a spirit. I asked him, ‘Can one learn to steer a boat?’ He replied, ‘It can be learned. A skilled swimmer can master it after a few tries; as for someone who can dive beneath the water…’”

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