《庄子》Vol. 3

Interpretation

A man who had never seen a boat could steer one at once. He asked how this was possible, but no one could answer, so he asked Confucius to explain. Confucius said, “A skilled swimmer can learn to steer a boat very quickly because he is not afraid of the water. A diver, even if he has never seen a boat before, can take the helm at once. He sees a deep chasm as if it were a hillside, and a boat capsizing as if a cart were rolling backward. All kinds of overturning may take place before him, yet they do not unsettle his mind. How could he ever feel unable to cope? When people wager a roof tile, they play with great skill. When they wager a gold hook, they grow hesitant. When they wager gold, their minds grow confused. Their skill is really the same; it is only because they care about what is at stake that their minds become bound by external things. Whoever values external things too highly becomes clumsy within.”

Tian Kaizhi went to visit Duke Wei of Zhou. The duke asked, “I have heard that Zhu Shen takes disciples. You have spent time with him. What have you heard?” Tian Kaizhi replied, “I served my teacher in the courtyard, holding a broom. How could I have heard anything?” The duke said, “You are being very modest.” Tian Kaizhi went to visit Duke Wei again, and the duke asked him the same question. Tian Kaizhi gave the same reply. The duke said, “Mr. Tian, you need not hold back. I would like to hear what you have to say.” Tian Kaizhi then said, “I heard my teacher say that someone skilled at caring for life is like a shepherd: when he sees a sheep lagging behind, he drives it forward with his whip.”

The duke asked what this meant. Tian Kaizhi said, “There was a man in Lu named Shan Bao who lived among the mountain crags and drank spring water. He did not compete with ordinary people for profit. At seventy, he still looked like a child, but he had the misfortune to encounter a hungry tiger, which ate him. Another man, Zhang Yi, dared to enter the homes of the powerful and wealthy, but at forty he died of an internal fever. Shan Bao cared only for his inner life, and a tiger injured his body; Zhang Yi cared only for dealing with the world outside, and illness invaded his inner life. Neither man used the whip in time to urge on the side he had neglected.”

Confucius said, “Do not hide yourself away in seclusion, and do not flaunt yourself in public. Stand between the two, like a withered tree, without leaning either way. If you can do these three things, you will be close to the essentials of caring for life. People fear dangerous roads because one person in ten may die there. So fathers, sons, and brothers warn one another, and anyone who sets out takes a large party along. Is that not sensible? Yet there is a danger worth fearing that lies between bedclothes and dining table. It can bring death, but no one thinks to warn himself about it. That is the real mistake.”

A ritual officer, dressed in ceremonial robes, went to the pigsty and said to the pigs, “Why are you afraid to die? I will feed you for three months, observe a ten-day fast, and each day keep my body and mind clean. I will lay down white rushes, then place your shoulders and back on an ornamented sacrificial vessel. Would you like that?” If he were making plans on behalf of the pigs, he would naturally think it better to eat chaff and lees and live freely in the sty. But when people make plans for themselves, they are willing to enjoy fine carriages and splendid clothes while alive, and to be laid in a coffin and buried in a tomb after death. The things they would avoid for the pigs are things they seek for themselves. What difference is there between people and pigs?

Duke Huan of Qi was hunting in a marsh, with Guan Zhong driving his carriage. The duke saw a ghost, seized Guan Zhong’s hand, and asked, “Father Zhong, did you see anything?” Guan Zhong replied, “I saw nothing.” When the duke returned to the palace, he was dazed and fell ill, staying indoors for several days. A scholar of Qi named Huangzi Gao’ao said to him, “Your Lordship has injured yourself. How could a ghost harm you? When a pent-up breath escapes but cannot return, it leaves the spirit depleted. When it rises but cannot descend, it makes a person quick to anger. When it sinks but cannot rise, it makes a person forgetful. When its rising and sinking fall out of balance and it lodges at the center of the body, between the heart and chest, it makes a person ill.”

The duke asked, “Then do ghosts really exist?” Huangzi Gao’ao said, “They do. In water there is Lü; on the stove there is Ji. In dark, filthy places indoors there is Leiting. In low ground to the northeast there are Beia and Guilong; in low ground to the northwest there is Yiyang. In water there is Wangxiang; on mounds there is Shen; in the mountains there is Kui; in open country there is Panghuang; in marshes there is Weishe.” The duke asked what Weishe looked like. Huangzi Gao’ao said, “Weishe is as big as a cartwheel and as long as a cart shaft. It wears purple clothes and a red cap. It is afraid of the sound of thunderous carts; when it hears them, it holds its head and stands still. Anyone who sees it may be destined to become a hegemon.” The duke laughed and said, “That is exactly what I saw.” He then straightened his robes and sat with Huangzi Gao’ao. Before the day was out, his illness had quietly disappeared.

Ji Shengzi was training a fighting cock for the king. After ten days, the king asked, “Is the cock ready?” Ji Shengzi said, “Not yet. It is still vain and arrogant, sure of itself.” Ten days later, the king asked again. He said, “Not yet. It still reacts when it hears a sound or sees a shadow.” Ten days later, he said, “Not yet. Its eyes are still sharp and its bearing is still fierce.” After another ten days, he said, “Almost. Even when other cocks crow, it no longer changes. It looks like a wooden cock, and its De is complete. The other cocks dare not face it; they turn and flee.”

Confucius was watching a waterfall at Lüliang. The water plunged from a height of thirty ren, and its spray churned for forty li. Even turtles, alligators, fish, and soft-shelled turtles could not swim across it. Yet someone was swimming in the water. Bystanders thought he had fallen into hardship and meant to end his life, so they sent disciples along the water to rescue him. After swimming several hundred paces, the man came ashore, shook out his hair, sang a song, and walked calmly along the bank. Confucius followed him and asked, “At first I thought you were a ghost. Looking closely, I saw that you were a man. May I ask whether you have a way of swimming?” The man replied, “There is no special way. At first I followed habit; later I followed my nature; in the end I settled into what Heaven had allotted me. I sink with the water and rise with the current. I follow the water’s course and do not force myself against it. That is how I can swim.”

Confucius asked, “What do you mean by first following habit, then following your nature, and finally settling into what Heaven has allotted you?” The man replied, “I was born on high ground and grew accustomed to living there: that is habit. When I grew up, I lived in the water and adapted to it: that is nature. I do not know why I can do this. It simply comes naturally: that is settling into what Heaven has allotted me.”

The carpenter Qing cut wood to make a gui, a wooden frame for hanging musical instruments. Those who saw the finished work were astonished, as if it had been made by spirits. The Marquis of Lu asked him what technique he used. Qing replied, “I am a craftsman. What technique could I have? There is just one thing: when I prepare to make a gui, I never dare to exhaust my vital energy. I always begin by fasting and quieting my mind. After three days of fasting, I no longer think about rewards or rank. After five days, I no longer worry about whether others will praise or criticize me, or whether my skill will prove clever or clumsy. After seven days, I have even forgotten that I have limbs and a body. By then, there is no court or outside world in my mind; my attention is wholly focused, and the distractions of external things have vanished. Only then do I enter the mountain forest and observe the trees in their natural forms. When I find a suitable piece of wood, the form of the gui appears naturally in my mind, and only then do I begin to make it. If I cannot reach this state, I stop and do not proceed. In this way, my nature meets the nature of the wood. That is probably why the finished object seems to have been made by spirits.”

Dongye Ji performed his chariot driving for Duke Zhuang. He moved forward and back along the marks of a straightedge, and turned left and right along the curve of a compass. The duke thought no one could match his skill, so he had him circle a hundred times before returning. Yan He met Dongye Ji, went into the palace, and said to Duke Zhuang, “Dongye Ji’s horses are going to collapse from exhaustion.” The duke said nothing. Before long, Dongye Ji did indeed lose control of the chariot and turn back. The duke asked Yan He how he had known. Yan He said, “The horses had already spent their strength, but he kept forcing them to run. That is why I knew they would fail.”

Gong Chui turned a tool to make a circular cover. His fingers moved nimbly with the changing shape of the work, without his mind repeatedly calculating each movement. His spirit was focused and unrestrained. Forget your feet, and your shoes will feel comfortable; forget your waist, and your belt will fit well. When the mind stops weighing right against wrong, the heart is at ease. When changes within do not disturb you, and you do not blindly follow the outside world, you can meet each situation with calm and propriety. To begin a task and have it come naturally right, then even to forget that you are doing it right—that is the highest comfort.

Sun Xiu called on Bian Qingzi and complained, “I have lived among my neighbors, and no one has said I lack De. I have faced danger, and no one has said I lack courage. Yet my farming has never met with a good harvest, and serving my ruler has never coincided with a good time. In my community I am neglected; in government I am dismissed. What wrong have I committed to deserve such a fate?”

Bian Qingzi said, “Have you never heard how the Perfected Person lives in the world? They do not cling to their own internal organs or gall, and they do not cling to their ears and eyes. They move freely beyond the dust and grime of the world, and wander at ease in non-action. This is called acting without relying on one’s actions, and governing without taking control. Now you display your cleverness to startle the ignorant, and polish your own character to make others’ faults stand out. You walk about as conspicuously as if you were carrying the sun and moon. You have kept your body, limbs, and nine openings intact; you have not died before your time, nor become deaf, blind, lame, or crippled. You are able to live like an ordinary person, and that is already good fortune. How could you have time to resent your fate? Go!”

After Sun Xiu left, Bian Qingzi returned to his seat. A little later, he looked up at the sky and sighed. A disciple asked why he sighed. Bian Qingzi said, “When Sun Xiu came just now, I told him about the De of the Perfected Person. I worry that hearing it may have left him startled and bewildered.” The disciple said, “Not necessarily. If Sun Xiu was right and you were wrong, then wrong words could not have confused right ones. If Sun Xiu was wrong and you were right, he came to you already confused to ask for instruction. Why blame yourself?”

Bian Qingzi said, “It is not like that. Once, a seabird landed in the outskirts of Lu. The ruler of Lu was fond of it, so he prepared a grand feast of sacrificial meat for it and had the music of the Nine Shao performed to delight it. The seabird grew anxious and dizzy, and would neither eat nor drink. This is what happens when one tries to raise a bird by human standards. To raise it according to a bird’s nature, one should let it roost in a deep forest and roam on rivers and lakes, feed it what suits it, and let it live freely. Sun Xiu is a man of narrow understanding, with ears and eyes shut to the world, yet I told him about the De of the Perfected Person. It was like carrying a mouse in a carriage and horses, then striking bells and drums. How could he fail to be startled?”

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Interpretation

Zhuangzi was walking in the mountains when he saw a large tree with luxuriant branches and leaves. A woodcutter stopped beside it but did not cut it down. Zhuangzi asked why. The woodcutter said, “It’s no use for anything.” Zhuangzi said, “Because this tree is no good as timber, it can live out all its natural years.”

After leaving the mountains, Zhuangzi stayed at an old friend’s house. His friend was delighted and told a servant to kill a goose for dinner. The servant asked, “One goose can honk, the other can’t. Which should I kill?” The host said, “Kill the one that can’t honk.” The next day, a disciple asked Zhuangzi, “Yesterday, the tree in the mountains lived a long life because it was no good as timber. Today, the goose at our host’s house was killed because it was no good. Where should you stand, sir?” Zhuangzi smiled and said, “I suppose I would stand somewhere between being useful and being useless. But that may seem fitting while, in truth, it cannot be relied on; so I would still be caught up in trouble. If I could roam freely in Dao and De—the nature of the Dao and its virtue—that would be different. Neither praised nor blamed, I would rise like a dragon or lie low like a snake, changing with the times and never insisting on any fixed course. At times I would come forward; at times I would withdraw, taking harmony as my guide and roaming at the source of all things. If I could follow the course of things without being ruled by external things, how could I be caught up in trouble? This is the principle followed by the spirit person and the Yellow Emperor.

“But the ordinary ways of things and the customs of human society are not like this. What comes together must eventually part; what succeeds must eventually be ruined. The square is liable to be broken; accomplishments invite criticism. To act may bring loss; the worthy are schemed against, and the unworthy are deceived. How can anyone be sure to escape misfortune? It is sad. Disciples, remember: only returning to Dao and De can be relied on.”

Yinan Liaoshui visited the Duke of Lu. Seeing worry on the duke’s face, he asked what was wrong. The duke said, “I study the Way of the former kings, carry on the work of my ancestors, honor the spirits and respect the worthy, and put these teachings into practice myself. Yet I dare not relax for even a moment, and still I cannot escape misfortune. That is why I am worried.” Master Shinan said, “Your way of avoiding misfortune is too shallow. A fox or leopard with beautiful markings lives in the mountains and forests, hiding in caves, because it is quiet. It comes out at night and hides by day because it is cautious. Even when hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, it still seeks food along rivers and lakes because it is careful and thorough. Yet it cannot escape nets and traps. What fault is that of its own? Its fur is simply coveted. Is the state of Lu not your fur?

“I hope you will set aside your status and outward adornments, wash away selfish desires, and roam in a place where no one is. In the south of Yue there is a place called the Land of Jande. Its people are simple, with little self-interest and few desires. They know how to work, but do not scheme to possess things. They give to others without seeking repayment. They do not deliberately pursue what is called righteousness, nor are they bound by ritual. They follow their natural dispositions and walk along the Great Way. They live freely, and when they die, their burials are simple. I hope you will leave state affairs and worldly customs behind, and move together with the Dao.”

The Duke of Lu asked, “The road there is distant and dangerous, with rivers and mountains. I have no boat or carriage. What should I do?” Master Shinan said, “Do not let body or mind become trapped, and do not linger in attachment. That will be your carriage.” The duke asked again, “The road is remote and desolate, with no one to accompany me; and I have no provisions. How can I get there?” Master Shinan said, “Spend less and desire less, and even without provisions you will have enough. Just cross the river and enter the sea. The shore may seem visible in the distance, but the farther you go, the less you will know where it ends. Those who see you off will turn back at the shore; from there, your journey into the distance begins.”

Master Shinan continued, “Those who possess other people are burdened by them; those who depend on others are anxious. That is why Yao did not treat anyone as his possession, nor allow anyone to rely on him. I hope you will be rid of these burdens and anxieties, and roam alone with the Dao in a realm without restraint.

“When you are crossing a river by boat, if an empty boat collides with yours, even someone hot-tempered will not be angry. But if someone is on board, you will shout at him to steer clear. If you shout once and he does not respond, then twice, and he still does not respond, by the third shout you will be cursing him. You were not angry before because the boat was empty; now you are angry because someone is on board. If a person could live in the world with an empty heart and no self, who could harm him?”

Beigong She raised funds for Duke Ling of Wei to have bells cast. He built a platform outside the city gate, and within three months the bells, large and small, had been hung. Zi Qingji asked him what method he had used. Beigong She said, “I simply held to one principle and did not dare devise any clever methods. I have heard it said: ‘After carving and polishing, one must ultimately return to simplicity.’ I acted as if I knew nothing and had lost my way, following the coming and going of events. I did not obstruct what came, nor hold back what departed. I followed the force of events, adapting to their bends and turns, and let them come naturally to their end. So the people worked day and night, yet suffered not the slightest harm. How much more so does this apply to the Great Way itself!”

Confucius was trapped between Chen and Cai. For seven days he had no cooked food to eat. Grand Duke Ren went to console him and asked, “Are you about to die?” Confucius said, “Yes.” Grand Duke Ren asked again, “Do you hate dying?” Confucius said, “Yes.” Grand Duke Ren said, “I once spoke of a way to escape calamity. In the Eastern Sea there is a bird called Yidai. It flies slowly, as if it had no skill; when it flies, it keeps with other birds, and when it settles, it crowds among the flock. It does not push to the front when moving forward, nor fall behind when retreating. It does not taste the food first, but takes what others leave. Thus it is not rejected by the flock, and external things cannot easily harm it, so it escapes calamity.

“The trees cut first are the ones most likely to suffer; the sweetest wells are the first to run dry. You may be using your intelligence to shake the ignorant, displaying your self-cultivation to expose others’ filth, and parading yourself as if carrying the sun and moon. That is why you cannot escape trouble. I have heard a great person say: ‘Those who boast have no merit; those who have completed their work are liable to ruin; those whose fame is conspicuous are liable to be harmed.’ It would be better to set aside fame and achievement and return to the common people. The Dao moves, yet does not show itself; a person who occupies the right place does not flaunt it. Plain and ordinary, he seems muddled and leaves no trace of fame. In this way, he does not blame others, and others do not blame him. The perfected person does not display his reputation. Why, then, should you take pride in your intelligence?”

Confucius said, “Well said!” He then took leave of his companions, dismissed his disciples, and went to live in a great marsh. He wore coarse clothes and ate wild fruit and chestnuts. He entered among the beasts, and they were not startled; he entered among the birds, and they did not fly into confusion. If birds and beasts did not dislike him, how much less would people?

Confucius asked Zisang Hu, “I was driven out of Lu twice, a tree was felled against me in Song, I was erased from the records in Wei, I was reduced to hardship around Shang and Zhou, and I was trapped between Chen and Cai. After these calamities, my close friends have grown more distant and my companions have scattered. Why is this?”

Zisang Hu said, “Have you not heard the story of Lin Hui fleeing? Lin Hui abandoned a jade disk worth a thousand gold pieces and ran off carrying a baby. Someone asked him, ‘Was it for the baby’s clothes? Those are worth very little. Was it because the baby might be useful? The child is a burden, not a benefit. Why abandon a thousand-gold jade disk and run carrying a baby?’ Lin Hui said, ‘The jade disk bound me through profit; the baby is connected to me by natural kinship.’ Those bound by profit abandon one another in hardship, calamity, and injury. Those connected by natural kinship support one another in such circumstances. There is a great difference between the two.

“The friendship of noble people is as plain as water, yet it brings lasting closeness. The friendship of petty people is as sweet as wine, yet often breaks apart in an instant. When people come together without a true bond, they also part without cause.”

Confucius said, “I respectfully accept your instruction.” He then walked about freely, setting aside learning and books. His disciples no longer crowded around him to ask questions, and their affection for one another grew deeper. Later, Zisang Hu said, “When Shun was near death, Zhen Ling admonished Yu: ‘Remember: the body is not as good as following nature; one’s disposition is not as good as being true to it. Follow nature, and you will not depart from your original nature; remain true to it, and you will not toil. If you neither depart from it nor toil, you need no outward adornment to sustain your body, nor rely on external things.’”

Zhuangzi wore a patched robe of coarse cloth and tied up his shoes before going to see the King of Wei. The king asked, “Why are you in such distress, sir?” Zhuangzi said, “I am poor, not in distress. A scholar who has De but cannot put it into practice is in distress. Worn clothes and worn-out shoes mean poverty, not distress; they mean that one was born at the wrong time. Have you never seen a monkey? Among nanmu, catalpa, camphor, and other tall trees, it climbs about as though it were king, and even the skilled archer Feng Meng would not dare aim at it casually. But when it comes down among wild jujube, brambles, and thorny shrubs, it steps carefully and looks around, trembling from head to foot. This is not because its sinews and bones have suddenly stiffened, but because it is in an unfavorable environment and cannot use its abilities. Now I live among foolish rulers and disorderly ministers. How could I avoid distress? It is like the fate of Bi Gan, whose heart was cut out.”

Confucius was trapped between Chen and Cai and had gone seven days without food. He leaned his left hand against a withered tree, tapped a dead branch with his right, and sang an ancient song. His singing had rhythm, but no fixed pitch or notes of the pentatonic scale. His voice joined with the sounds of the people and moved their hearts. Yan Hui sat upright and glanced furtively at him. Confucius feared that this might lead Yan Hui to inflate himself or become overly sorrowful, so he said, “Hui, it is easy not to resist the losses brought by nature; it is hard not to accept the benefits brought by human artifice. Nothing begins without moving toward its end; human beings and nature are one. Who is it, then, who sings now?”

Yan Hui asked, “What does it mean that it is easy not to resist the losses brought by nature?” Confucius said, “Hunger and thirst, cold and heat, hardship and obstruction in one’s actions—all are part of the workings of Heaven and Earth and the transformations of the myriad things. To follow the course of things is to move along with their changes. Even a minister does not dare abandon his duties at will. How much less should we try to escape the changes of nature?”

Yan Hui asked again, “What does it mean that it is hard not to accept the benefits brought by human artifice?” Confucius said, “At first, one is appointed to office; then the way opens in all directions, and ranks and stipends follow one another, seemingly without end. Yet these benefits come from external things; they do not truly belong to me. My fate seems to be placed outside myself. A noble person does not become a robber, and a worthy person does not become a thief. If you claim external benefits as your own, what does that make you? A clever bird like the yiyi carefully inspects a place where it should not settle. Even if it happens to snatch a piece of fruit, it drops it and flies away. It fears people, yet nests among them because it depends on the community and its surroundings for survival.”

Yan Hui asked, “What does it mean that there is no beginning and no end?” Confucius said, “Things change, but we do not know who passes the changes along. How could we know where they begin or where they end? Set yourself upright and wait, following nature.”

Yan Hui asked, “What does it mean that humans and Heaven are one?” Confucius said, “The human part is Heaven, and Heaven’s part is also Heaven. What a person cannot claim as his own is his natural nature. The sage rests at ease, following change until life comes to an end.”

Zhuang Zhou was walking in the garden at Diaoling when he saw an unusual bird flying in from the south. Its wings were seven feet across, and its eyes were as large as round pearls more than an inch wide. It struck Zhuang Zhou on the forehead and landed in a chestnut grove. Zhuang Zhou said, “What kind of bird is this? Its wings are so large, yet it cannot fly far; its eyes are so large, yet it cannot see clearly.”

He lifted his robe, hurried after it, and raised his crossbow to wait. Just then he saw a cicada hiding in the deep shade, oblivious to its own danger. A mantis concealed behind a leaf pounced on the cicada, forgetting its own situation. The unusual bird followed the mantis, hoping to seize the chance to feed, and forgot its own safety. Zhuang Zhou suddenly came to his senses and said, “Ah! Things are entangled with one another, and different creatures draw one another in.” He dropped his crossbow and turned to run. The garden keeper chased after him. When Zhuang Zhou returned home, he was unhappy for three days.

His disciple Lin Ju asked why he had been so downcast for several days. Zhuang Zhou said, “I was intent only on guarding outward forms and forgot myself. I watched muddy water and lost sight of clear water. I once heard my teacher say, ‘Wherever you go, follow the customs of that place.’ Now I was walking in Diaoling and forgot myself. That unusual bird struck my forehead, and in the chestnut grove I forgot my nature. The garden keeper took me for a troublemaker, and that is why I am unhappy.”

Yangzi went to Song and stayed at an inn. The innkeeper had two concubines, one beautiful and one ugly. The ugly one was treated with respect, while the beautiful one was looked down on. Yangzi asked why. A young man at the inn said, “The beautiful one thinks she is beautiful, so we no longer find her beautiful. The ugly one knows she is ugly, so we no longer find her ugly.” Yangzi said, “Disciples, remember: if you are virtuous but put aside the appearance of thinking yourself virtuous, where would you not be welcomed?”

Tian Zifang

Tian Zifang sat with Marquis Wen of Wei and repeatedly praised Xi Gong. Marquis Wen asked, “Is Xi Gong your teacher?” Tian Zifang said, “No. He is from my hometown. What he says often accords with reason, so I praise him.” Marquis Wen asked, “Then do you have a teacher?” Tian Zifang said, “Yes, Dongguo Shunzi.” Marquis Wen asked, “Then why do you never praise him?” Tian Zifang said, “He is genuine in character. Outwardly he seems like an ordinary person, but within he is empty and clear. He follows things while keeping to what is true in them; pure and still, he can contain the myriad things. When things arrive, he does not distinguish between them. He simply sets his expression right so that people can awaken for themselves, and the clutter in their hearts disperses. How could I be qualified to praise him?”

After Tian Zifang left, Marquis Wen felt bereft and said nothing for the rest of the day. Later he said to the ministers around him, “This is a man of complete De! I used to think the words of sage-like wisdom and the practice of benevolence and righteousness were the highest level. After hearing Tian Zifang speak of his teacher, I feel my body loosening, and I have no wish to speak. What I used to study was little more than a clod of earth. The state of Wei has truly become a burden to me!”

Wenbo Xuezi was traveling to Qi and stayed in Lu along the way. Someone from Lu asked to meet him. He said, “No. I have heard that gentlemen of the Central States understand ritual and righteousness but do not understand the human heart. I do not want to meet him.” On his way back from Qi, he again stayed in Lu, and the same person again asked to meet him. Wenbo Xuezi said, “He wanted to meet me before, and wants to meet me again now. He must have something to tell me.” He went out to meet the visitor, then returned with a sigh. The next day he met the man again and returned with another sigh.

A servant asked why he sighed each time he came back from meeting the visitor. He said, “I told you already: people from the Central States understand ritual and righteousness but not the human heart. The man who met me earlier moved and behaved according to the rules. In speech and conduct, he was sometimes like a dragon, sometimes like a tiger. He admonished me like a son and guided me like a father. That is why I sighed.”

Confucius met Wenbo Xuezi but did not say a word. Zilu asked, “You have wanted to meet him for a long time, but when you finally met, you said nothing. Why?” Confucius said, “With a person like this, the Dao is already revealed as soon as our eyes meet. There is no need to express it in words.”

Yan Yuan said to Confucius, “When you walk, I walk behind you; when you hurry, I hurry too; when you run, I follow. But when you rush off like a gale, I fall far behind.” Confucius asked, “What do you mean by that?” Yan Yuan said, “When you walk, I walk; when you speak, I speak; when you hurry, I hurry; when you debate, I debate; when you run, I run; when you speak of the Way, I speak along with you. But when you convince people without speaking, draw them close without courting them, and gather the people without relying on power or instruments of authority, I cannot keep up with you.”

Confucius said, “Observe carefully! Nothing is more tragic than the death of the heart; the death of the body comes second. The sun moves toward the west, and all things take shape along with it. Living things with eyes and feet, too, depend on external conditions to accomplish anything. When the sun rises, things appear; when it sets, they sink into stillness. Everything is like this: things come into being through certain conditions and die through certain conditions.

“Once I take on a body, I do not change again until life ends. I follow the transformations of all things, day and night, within them, without knowing where they end. My body gradually takes shape, but I cannot arrange my own fate in advance. I am disappearing every day. You and I were once so close that our arms seemed to brush together; now we have already lost one another. Is that not sad? You cling to what I have revealed, but those things have already passed. To treat them as still truly present is like looking for a horse in an empty marketplace. You have forgotten me, and I have forgotten you. Even so, what is there to grieve? Even if the old me has changed, there is still something that does not vanish with change.”

Confucius went to see Lao Dan. Lao Dan had just washed his hair and was sitting quietly, his hair hanging loose to dry, looking unlike an ordinary person. Confucius waited a while, then said when he saw Lao Dan, “Was my vision deceiving me? A moment ago, your body seemed stiff as a withered tree, as if you had forgotten external things and left the human crowd, standing there alone.” Lao Dan said, “My mind was roaming at the origin of all things.” Confucius asked, “What does that mean?” Lao Dan said, “The coldest force is still and deep; the most Yang force is blazing and bright. Yin and Yang are expressed through Heaven and Earth. When they meet and harmonize, the myriad things are born. They seem to follow a pattern, yet have no visible form. Growth and decline, fullness and loss, brightness and darkness alternate; the sun and moon change, and from this all things grow. Yet the work of creation cannot be seen. Life has a place from which it springs, and death a place to which it returns. The cycle of beginnings and ends has no limit, and no one knows where it starts or finishes. If the Dao were not within it, what could be the root of all things?”

Confucius asked, “How can one roam in the Dao?” Lao Dan said, “Grasp this principle, and you will reach the greatest beauty and joy. To attain this beauty and roam in this joy is to be a perfected person.” Confucius asked him to explain. Lao Dan said, “A beast that feeds on grass does not object to changing pastures; a creature in the water does not object to changing pools. Their surroundings may change a little, but they do not lose what is fundamental to their lives. Joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure do not enter their hearts and disturb them. All things under Heaven are originally one. Grasp this, and the limbs of the body are like dust, while life and death, beginning and end, are like day and night. They cannot disturb the heart. How could gain or loss, calamity or good fortune shake it? Losing something is like losing a clod of earth. Knowing that the body is precious does not mean allowing change to take away what is fundamental in the heart. The transformations of all things have no end. What is there to worry about? Those who understand the Dao have already resolved these questions.”

Confucius said, “Your De accords with Heaven and Earth. Yet you still use words like these to cultivate yourself? Which ancient gentleman did not rely on instruction?” Lao Dan said, “That is not so. When water flows, it does not deliberately make itself flow; its capacity is naturally revealed. A person with De need not deliberately adorn himself; the myriad things cannot do without him. Heaven is naturally high, Earth naturally vast, and the sun and moon naturally bright. Why deliberately cultivate them?”

When Confucius came out, he told Yan Hui, “As for the Dao, I am like a tiny insect. If the old master had not lifted the veil that covered me, I would not have known how vast Heaven and Earth are.”

Zhuangzi visited Duke Ai of Lu. Duke Ai said, “There are many people in Lu who wear Confucian clothes, but few with skills like yours.” Zhuangzi said, “Are there many Confucians in Lu?” Duke Ai said, “Everyone in Lu wears Confucian clothes. How can you say there are few?” Zhuangzi said, “I have heard that people who wear round caps understand the seasons of Heaven, that those who wear square-toed shoes understand the lay of the land, and that those who wear a girdle with pendants can make decisions when faced with a matter. Yet a gentleman may have these abilities without wearing these clothes, and people who wear these clothes may not understand the corresponding principles. If you do not believe me, issue an order: ‘Anyone in the state who wears these clothes without having these abilities will be put to death.’” Five days after Duke Ai issued the order, no one in Lu dared wear Confucian clothes. Only one man still stood outside the palace gate in such clothes. Duke Ai summoned him and questioned him about governing. The man’s answers shifted with every turn, yet never got to the point. Zhuangzi said, “There is only one true Confucian in all of Lu. Can you call that many?”

Baili Xi did not regard rank and salary as important in his heart, so even when he was a cattle herder, he could make the animals grow strong and healthy. Duke Mu of Qin therefore ceased to be concerned with his low status and put him in charge of state affairs. A person who does not regard life and death as important is enough to move others.

Duke Yuan of Song was preparing to have a painting made. The painters all arrived, bowed, and stood waiting; they licked their brushes and mixed their ink, and half of them were still outside. Then a painter arrived late. He walked in slowly, without hurrying. After bowing, he did not stand waiting but went straight back to his lodging. Duke Yuan sent someone to see what he was doing and found him with his upper garment off, sitting cross-legged. Duke Yuan said, “That will do. This is a true painter.”

King Wen of Zhou went to inspect the land of Zang. He saw an old man fishing. He appeared to be fishing, but his thoughts were not on fishing. King Wen wanted to put him in charge of state affairs, but worried that his ministers and relatives would be unsettled. He considered giving up the idea, but could not bear to leave the people without support. So he said to his ministers, “Last night I dreamed of a worthy man with dark skin and a beard, riding a white horse with red hooves. He said to me, ‘Entrust affairs of state to this old man, and perhaps the people can be healed.’” The ministers were alarmed and said, “That is an order from the former king.” King Wen said, “If so, let us divine about it.” The ministers said, “Since it is an order from the former king, the king need not divine again.” So King Wen welcomed the old man and entrusted the state affairs to him.

The old man put the laws and regulations in order and allowed no biased orders to be issued. Three years later, King Wen toured the state and saw that men of rank no longer formed factions to contend for power, officials no longer boasted of their personal achievements, and measures were no longer altered privately on either side of the borders. King Wen honored the old man as Grand Preceptor and asked him, “Can this way of governing be extended to all under Heaven?” The old man remained silent, declined, and left that very day. No one heard from him again. Yan Yuan asked Confucius, “Was King Wen not already complete? Why did he make up the dream?” Confucius said, “Be quiet; do not speak that way! King Wen had already done everything he could, and there is no need to criticize or mock him. He was simply following the circumstances of his time.”

Lie Yukou performed archery for Bohun Wuren. He drew his bow to its full length, balanced a cup of water on his elbow, and loosed one arrow after another, each hitting the target. At that moment he was like a wooden puppet. Bohun Wuren said, “That is the way a skilled archer shoots. It is not yet the way of shooting without attachment to archery. Try climbing a mountain with me. Stand on a dangerous rock and look down into a chasm a hundred feet deep, then see whether you can shoot.” Bohun Wuren climbed the mountain and stood on the edge of a dangerous rock, his back to the chasm. He stepped back half a pace, with half his feet hanging over the edge, then bowed to Lie Yukou and invited him forward. Lie Yukou fell flat on his face, with sweat running down to his heels. Bohun Wuren said, “The perfected person looks up at the blue sky and down into the Yellow Springs, ranging in all directions without his expression changing. You are so frightened that your eyes are darting about. Your heart is probably not yet settled.”

Jian Wu asked Sun Shuao, “You have served three times as chief minister without showing delight, and been dismissed three times without showing sorrow. At first I did not understand. Now I see how calm you are. How do you manage it?” Sun Shuao said, “What do I have that is better than anyone else? When the office comes, I do not refuse it; when it goes, I cannot hold it back. I think that gain and loss are not decided by me, so I have no sorrow. I also do not know whether gain and loss lie outside me or within me. If outside, they do not belong to me; if within, they are not determined by office. I simply observe the four directions at ease. Where would I find the time to worry about whether others are honored or humble?”

After hearing this, Confucius said, “The perfected people of antiquity could not be persuaded by clever words, confused by beauty, or coerced by power; even Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor could not make friends with them. They did not take even life and death as matters of concern. How much less did they care about rank and salary! Such people let their spirit roam on high mountains without obstruction, dive into deep waters without getting wet, and dwell in lowly places without being troubled. They fill Heaven and Earth, and even when they give themselves to others, they still possess themselves.”

The King of Chu sat with the Lord of Fan. A short while later, the king’s attendants reported three times, “The state of Fan has been destroyed.” The Lord of Fan said, “The destruction of Fan does not mean I have lost myself. If the destruction of Fan is not enough to make me lose myself, then the existence of Chu is not enough to make me gain myself. Seen in this way, Fan was never truly destroyed, and Chu never truly existed.”

Knowing How to Roam in the North

Knowing traveled north, climbed Hidden Fork Hill by the banks of Dark Water, and met Wuwei Wei. He asked him, “How should one think and reflect in order to know the Dao? Where should one dwell, and how should one live, to be at ease in the Dao? What path should one follow to attain the Dao?” He asked three times, and Wuwei Wei did not answer. This was not deliberate silence; he did not know how to answer. Knowing got no reply. He returned south of White Water, climbed Fox Hollow Hill, and met Kuangqu. He asked Kuangqu the same questions. Kuangqu said, “Ah, I know. I will tell you.” But when the words came to his lips, he forgot what he had meant to say.

Knowing got no reply and returned to the imperial palace, where he met the Yellow Emperor and asked him. The Yellow Emperor said, “Do not think or reflect, and you will know the Dao. Do not cling to any fixed place or way of life, and you will be at ease in the Dao. Follow no particular path, and you will attain the Dao.” Knowing asked, “You and I know these things, while the other two do not. Which of us is right?” The Yellow Emperor said, “Wuwei Wei is truly right; Kuangqu seems close. You and I are ultimately far from the Dao. Those who understand the Dao do not speak of it; those who speak of it do not understand it. That is why the sages put the teaching of nonverbal instruction into practice.

“The Dao cannot be acquired through deliberate effort, and De cannot be attained by force. Benevolence can be practiced; righteousness may fall short; ritual easily becomes false. Thus it is said: only after losing the Dao do people speak of De; only after losing De do they speak of benevolence; only after losing benevolence do they speak of righteousness; only after losing righteousness do they speak of ritual. Ritual is merely the outward ornament of the Dao, and the beginning of disorder. Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao diminish day by day. They diminish and diminish until they reach Wuwei. With Wuwei, nothing is left undone.

“Once people have become things with form, it is truly difficult to return to the root. Perhaps only a great person can do it. Life is a transformation of death, and death is the beginning of life. Who knows where their boundary lies? Human life is formed when Qi gathers. Gathering is life; dispersing is death. If life and death are transformations, why should I worry? All things, in the end, are one. What people call miraculous, they love; what they dislike, they call foul. But what is foul can turn into something miraculous, and what is miraculous can turn foul. All under Heaven is no more than a single Qi. That is why sages value the oneness of all things.”

Knowing asked the Yellow Emperor, “I asked Wuwei Wei, and he did not answer. I asked Kuangqu, and he wanted to tell me but forgot. Now I ask you. You clearly know, so why do you say that I am far from the Dao?” The Yellow Emperor said, “Wuwei Wei truly accords with the Dao precisely because he does not know. Kuangqu seems close to it precisely because he forgot. You and I are ultimately far from the Dao precisely because we know and have spoken of it.” When Kuangqu heard this, he thought the Yellow Emperor’s words made sense.

Heaven and Earth possess great beauty but do not speak of it. The four seasons follow clear patterns but do not discuss them. The myriad things have a way of coming into being but do not explain it. Sages take Heaven and Earth’s beauty as their model and understand the principles of the myriad things. Thus, the perfected person does not deliberately act, and the great sage does not force things into being; they simply observe the workings of Heaven and Earth. The subtle workings of Heaven and Earth are profound; the transformations of the myriad things are without end. Life and death, square and round, each take their own form, yet no one knows their source. From ancient times, the myriad things have existed naturally. However vast the four directions and Heaven and Earth may be, they have not departed from the whole; however small the tip of an autumn hair, it depends on the whole to take form. Nothing in the world fails to undergo changes of rising and falling, yet change continues throughout its life. Yin and Yang and the four seasons move in their proper order. Things seem to disappear, yet remain; they flow and transform without form, yet reveal their subtle power. Things contain something within them, but do not know it themselves. This is the root of all things, and through it we may observe the Way of Heaven.

Nie Que asked Beiyi about the Dao. Beiyi said, “Make your body upright and your gaze single-minded, and the Qi of Heaven’s harmony will come to you. Gather in your knowledge and thoughts; set aside your preconceptions, and your spirit will settle. De will become your beauty, and the Dao your dwelling. Be as clear as a newborn calf, and do not ask about what came before.” Before he had finished speaking, Nie Que fell asleep. Beiyi was very pleased, sang as he walked away, and said, “When the body is like a withered skeleton and the heart like dead ashes, that is true mastery of wisdom, unrestrained by old preconceptions. Dazed and dim, without thought or intention, yet there is nothing one cannot discuss. What kind of person is this?”

Shun asked Cheng, “Can the Dao be possessed?” Cheng said, “Your body does not even belong to you. How could you possess the Dao?” Shun asked, “If my body does not belong to me, to whom does it belong?” Cheng said, “It is a form temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Life, too, is not yours; it is a sequence temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Your nature and destiny are not yours; they are an order temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Your children and grandchildren are not yours; they are transformations temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Therefore, when you walk, you do not know where you are going; when you stay, you do not know what you rely on; when you eat, you do not know the taste. All that exists between Heaven and Earth is no more than flourishing, flowing Qi. How could you possess it?”

Confucius asked Lao Dan, “Today I have some free time, and I would like to ask about the highest Dao.” Lao Dan said, “First fast and purify yourself, cleanse body and mind, and sweep away distractions and cleverness. The Dao is deep and difficult to speak of, but I will try to describe its general outline. Things that are bright arise from darkness; things with order arise from the formless. Spirit arises from the Dao, and the root of bodily form arises from essential Qi; then things generate one another through their forms. Animals with nine openings are born from the womb; those with eight openings hatch from eggs. They arrive without a trace and depart without limit. Without gate or door, they open in all directions. Grasp this, and the limbs will be full of spirit; thought will be clear, and the ears and eyes keen. The mind will not labor, and it will have no fixed way of responding to the myriad things. Heaven is naturally high, Earth naturally broad, the sun and moon naturally move, and the myriad things naturally flourish. This is the Dao.

“Being widely learned does not necessarily mean true understanding, and being skilled in debate does not necessarily mean wisdom. The sage has long seen this. Adding cannot make it more; reducing cannot make it less. This is what the sage holds fast to. It is deep and vast as the sea, circulating and returning, carrying all things without being exhausted. All things draw what they need from it, yet do not exhaust it. This is the Dao.

“Human life between Heaven and Earth is like a white horse flashing past a crack in a wall: in an instant, it is gone. Things suddenly appear, then suddenly disappear. Living beings are born, then change and die. People grieve as life slips away. When the natural bonds of life fall away, the natural covering goes with them; the soul departs, and the body follows and disperses. This is returning to the root.

“Not treating the body as a fixed, unchanging substance, and knowing that form arises from the formless, is something everyone has heard of. But those who have reached the highest Dao do not make this their pursuit. Everyone talks about these principles, but once they are truly attained, there is no need to argue. However much one argues, it does not necessarily mean one has attained them. Let the gaze be clear, but do not cling to what is seen. Let disputation cease. The Dao cannot be heard with the ears; what is heard is not as good as stopping up the ears. This is called truly gaining something.”

Dongguozi asked Zhuangzi, “Where is the so-called Dao?” Zhuangzi said, “It is everywhere.” Dongguozi said, “Please be more specific.” Zhuangzi said, “It is in ants.” Dongguozi asked, “Why so lowly?” Zhuangzi said, “It is in weeds.” Dongguozi asked again, “How can it be lower?” Zhuangzi said, “It is in broken tiles.” Dongguozi asked, “How can it be lower still?” Zhuangzi said, “It is in excrement and urine.” Dongguozi said nothing.

Zhuangzi said, “When you asked about the Dao, you missed the point from the beginning. When a market inspector asks the man who examines livestock whether a pig is fat, the inspector begins by pressing the pig’s thinnest parts. The lower down he checks, the clearer the answer becomes. Do not limit the Dao by insisting that it must be in a particular place. There is nothing among the myriad things that it does not reach. The highest Dao is like this; the greatest words are like this. ‘All-embracing,’ ‘universal,’ and ‘everywhere’ are different names for the same idea. Together, we can roam and discuss this in a realm without restraint, without end.

“All things have limits, but that which makes them what they are has no limit. What are called fullness and emptiness, decline and growth, beginning and end, gathering and dispersal are not fixed in the Dao. It is not fullness or emptiness, decline or growth, beginning or end, or gathering and dispersal in the ordinary sense.”

He Gan and Shennong studied with Lao Longji. Shennong leaned against a table and slept through the day with the door closed. That same day, He Gan pushed the door open and went in, saying, “Lao Long is dead!” Shennong rose from the table, leaning on his staff. Then he suddenly set it down and laughed. “Heaven knows that I am obscure and shallow, negligent and careless, so it has abandoned me and let him die! Ah, my teacher has died; from now on, no one will speak those wild words to me.”

Henggang Diaoling heard this and said, “The body is something the gentlemen of the world are attached to. Yet as for the Dao, they have not even understood a ten-thousandth of an autumn hair’s tip, and still they want to conceal their wild words. How much more so for those who truly embody the Dao! Look for it and it has no form; listen for it and it has no sound; touch it and you cannot grasp it. The Dao that people talk about is not the true Dao.”

Taiching asked Wuqiong, “Do you understand the Dao?” Wuqiong said, “I do not.” He asked Wuwei, who said, “I understand the Dao.” Taiching asked, “Does the Dao you understand have any particular content?” Wuwei said, “Yes. The Dao can make people honored or humble; it can gather things together or disperse them. That is what I understand of the Dao.” Taiching told Wushi what he had heard and asked, “If so, between Wuqiong, who says he does not understand, and Wuwei, who says he does, which is right?” Wushi said, “The one who does not understand has a deep grasp; the one who understands has a shallow grasp. The one who does not understand is within; the one who understands is outside.”

Taiching sighed, “So not understanding is true understanding, while understanding is not understanding! Who knows this wisdom of not knowing?” Wushi said, “The Dao cannot be heard; what is heard is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen; what is seen is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be spoken; what is spoken is not the Dao. Know this: the formless gives rise to the formed. The Dao cannot be confined by a name.”

Wu said, “Someone who asks about the Dao may not understand it, and the one who asks may not hear it. The Dao is not transmitted by questions and answers. A question does not necessarily have a true answer, and an answer may have no inner basis. To use an answer without inner basis to respond to a question without end is to make it impossible to know the universe from without or the beginnings of the myriad things from within. Such a person cannot cross beyond Kunlun or roam in the Great Void.”

Guangyao asked Wuyou, “Are you something, or nothing?” Wuyou did not answer. Guangyao looked at him closely and saw only deep, empty stillness. He could not see him all day, could not hear him, and could not touch him. Guangyao said, “This is the utmost! Who can reach such a state? I can distinguish between being and nothingness, but I cannot reach a state in which even ‘nothing’ is absent. Since I already distinguish ‘nothing’ from ‘something,’ how can I reach such a state?”

A craftsman who made hooks for the Grand Marshal was eighty years old and could still hammer a hook as fine as a hair. The Grand Marshal asked, “Is it because your hands are skillful, or have you grasped some Dao?” The craftsman said, “I have my own way of concentrating. When I was twenty, I already loved making hooks. My eyes looked at nothing else; only hooks were worth observing. It was because I concentrated on them for so long that I became this good at it. How much more so for what encompasses everything! Do not all things depend on it?”

Ran Qiu asked Confucius, “Can we know what happened before Heaven and Earth took shape?” Confucius said, “Yes. Ancient times and today are no different.” Ran Qiu left. The next day he returned and said, “Yesterday I asked about what happened before Heaven and Earth took shape, and you said it could be known because ancient times and today are the same. Yesterday I seemed to understand, but today I am confused again. Why is that?” Confucius said, “Yesterday you understood with your spirit; today you are trying to investigate it in a way that does not accord with the spirit. There is no past or present, no beginning or end. Before you have a son, can you already have a grandson?”

Ran Qiu made no reply. Confucius said, “Enough; do not answer again! Do not use birth to explain death, or death to explain birth. Do life and death depend on something in order to exist? They both belong to one whole. Is there something that came into being before Heaven and Earth? That which makes things what they are is not itself a particular thing; the appearance of the myriad things is not caused by some particular thing appearing first. Even if we say it is still something, it has no limit. The sage’s love for people is without end; this is what he takes as his model.”

Yan Yuan asked Confucius, “I have heard you say, ‘Do not meet things head-on or send them away; follow what comes naturally.’ I want to know how to put this into practice.” Confucius said, “The people of ancient times changed outwardly along with things, but were not changed within. People today change within as external things change, but refuse to change outwardly. Those who change along with the myriad things do not cling to what remains unchanged. If there are times for change and times for remaining unchanged, how can you struggle against change at every turn? You must follow the transformations of the myriad things if you want to meet with fewer obstacles.

“In the age of Shiwei, in the garden of the Yellow Emperor, in the palaces of Youyu, and under the dynasties of Tang and King Wu of Zhou, gentlemen and the Confucian and Mohist schools all argued over right and wrong. How much more so do people do this today! The sage lives among the myriad things without harming them. If he does not harm them, they cannot harm him. Only one who cannot be harmed can live naturally with others.

“Mountains and forests, fields and wilderness, all make me happy. Before that happiness has ended, sorrow arrives in its wake. I cannot stop joy or sorrow from coming; nor can I hold them back when they depart. It is sad that people of the world treat external things as lodging places, yet do not know what they themselves have never truly encountered; they know only what they can do, and not what they cannot do. Ignorance and incapacity are unavoidable for human beings. Is it not sad to insist on pursuing what human abilities cannot reach? The highest words go beyond words; the highest action goes beyond deliberate action. To confine knowledge to the limits of what is already known is to have a very shallow understanding.”

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Interpretation

Gengsang Chu was a disciple of Lao Dan, but had learned only part of Lao Dan’s Dao. He lived on the northern side of Mount Weilei. He sent away those who seemed clever and artful, skilled at showing off, and kept his distance from those who appeared benevolent and gentle. Instead, he lived with the plain and awkward, and gave work to the hurried and clumsy. Three years later, the area around Mount Weilei had a plentiful harvest. The local people discussed it among themselves: “When Master Gengsang first arrived, we thought him unusual. Now, each day’s harvest seems small when we count it, yet over a year it adds up to plenty. He must be a sage! Why don’t we worship him as a spirit and enshrine him among the spirits of the land and grain?”

When Gengsang Chu heard this, he looked displeased. His disciples were puzzled, and he said, “Why are you puzzled? In spring, the vital force stirs and the plants grow; in autumn, the crops ripen and bear fruit. Spring and autumn alternate without anyone arranging them deliberately: the Way of Heaven simply runs its course. I have heard that the Perfected One, a person who has reached a profound state, lives quietly in a humble dwelling, while the people go about their own affairs, unaware of what he has done. Now these ordinary people of Mount Weilei want to count me among the worthy and offer me sacrifices. Do they think I am someone who can direct them? So I still keep Lao Dan’s words in mind.”

His disciples said, “It is not like that. In a shallow ditch, a large fish cannot turn around, so minnows and shrimp can lord it over everything. Low hills cannot shelter great beasts, so little foxes seem powerful there. Honoring the worthy, employing the capable, and promoting good conduct and benefit have been done since the time of Yao and Shun. How much more natural is it for the people of Mount Weilei to do so? You too can accept their respect.”

Gengsang Chu said, “Come, children, and listen. A beast that can swallow a cart, once it leaves the forest, is bound to fall into a trap. A fish that can swallow a boat, once it is stranded without water, can be tormented by ants. That is why birds and beasts do not complain that the mountains are high, and fish and turtles do not complain that the waters are deep. Those who wish to preserve their life and form should hide themselves in remote places. What is there to praise about people like Yao and Shun? Their disputation and government were like recklessly tearing down a wall and letting weeds grow everywhere. How could painstakingly arranging every strand of hair and counting out grains of rice for a meal be enough to save the world? Promote the worthy, and the people will struggle against one another. Rely on cleverness, and they will deceive one another. Such methods cannot make the people truly prosperous. People pursue profit so fiercely that sons kill fathers and ministers kill rulers; theft happens in broad daylight, and people chisel through walls at noon. I tell you, the roots of great disorder often lie in the methods of rule advocated by Yao and Shun. The harm will carry on for a thousand years, until people may even come to eat one another.”

Nanrong Chu sat upright respectfully and said, “At my age, how should I cultivate myself so that I can understand these words?” Gengsang Chu replied, “Preserve your form, hold fast to your life, and do not let your thoughts run on in restless confusion. If you do this for three years, you may understand what I have said.”

Nanrong Chu said, “I do not understand the relationship between the eyes and the body, but a blind person cannot see himself. I do not understand the relationship between the ears and the body, but a deaf person cannot hear himself. I still do not understand the relationship between the mind and the body, but a person whose spirit is confused cannot settle himself. The parts of the body are separated from one another. Could something external be keeping them apart? They wish to communicate with one another, yet cannot. Now you tell me to preserve my form, hold fast to my life, and keep my thoughts from running on. I will do my best to listen to and understand your teaching.”

Gengsang Chu said, “I have said all I can. A bee cannot turn a caterpillar into a butterfly, and a Yue chicken cannot hatch a swan’s egg; only a chicken can hatch a chicken’s egg. Chickens do not differ in their basic nature, but what they can and cannot do depends on the size of their abilities. My abilities are limited, and I am not enough to change you. Why not go south and visit Laozi?”

Nanrong Chu packed provisions and traveled for seven days and nights until he reached Laozi’s dwelling. Laozi asked, “Have you come from Gengsang Chu?” Nanrong Chu answered, “Yes.” Laozi asked again, “Why do you seem to have brought so many people with you?” Startled, Nanrong Chu looked back. Laozi said, “You don’t understand what I mean?” Nanrong Chu lowered his head in shame, then sighed and said, “Just now I forgot how I should answer, and forgot what I had meant to ask.” Laozi asked, “What do you mean?” Nanrong Chu said, “If I don’t know, people call me foolish; if I do know, I become anxious. If I am not benevolent, I hurt others; if I act benevolently, I bring trouble upon myself. If I am not righteous, I hurt others; if I act righteously, I cause myself trouble. How can I escape these difficulties? Words themselves are my trouble. Please let me seek your guidance through Gengsang Chu’s introduction.”

Laozi said, “I had already read your thoughts from your brows and eyes. What you have said now confirms it. You are as stiff and bewildered as someone who has lost his parents, carrying a bamboo pole out to sea to fish. You have lost your direction and are at a complete loss. You want to return to your own nature, but cannot find the way in. How pitiful.”

Nanrong Chu asked to stay. He gathered the things he liked and cast off the things he disliked. Ten days later, still anxious and unsettled, he went to see Laozi again. Laozi said, “It seems you have washed yourself clean; your expression is much clearer. Yet there is still an aversion that will not leave your heart. When external entanglements grow numerous, they are difficult to deal with, and in the end they bind you from within. When inner entanglements remain knotted, they form restraints on the outside. When you are bound both inwardly and outwardly, it is difficult even to maintain De, much less to turn away from the Great Way and act against it.”

Nanrong Chu said, “When someone in the neighborhood is ill, others can describe his illness if asked. But even if they describe it correctly, he remains ill. Listening to the Great Way is like drinking medicine when I am already sick: it only makes my condition worse. I only want to hear the fundamental method of nourishing life.”

Laozi said, “The foundation of nourishing life lies in whether you can keep to the unity of your original truth without losing it; whether you can know good and ill fortune without relying on divination; whether you can stop, and whether you can let go; whether you can return to yourself instead of relying only on others; whether you can be free and unforced, like an infant. An infant can cry all day without making its throat hoarse: this is because its vital energy is deep. It can keep its fists clenched all day without its hands becoming stiff: this is because its nature is purely harmonious. It can stare all day without its eyes darting about: this is because its spirit does not scatter outward. When it acts, it is not attached to a goal; when it sits quietly, it does not arrange things deliberately. It changes along with things and responds naturally, moving in their current. This is the foundation of nourishing life.”

Nanrong Chu asked, “Is this the De of the Perfected One?” Laozi said, “Not yet. It is merely a state like snow and ice melting. The Perfected One takes food from the earth along with all things and shares in nature with them. He does not let the gains and harms between people and things stir him. He does not act strangely toward others or scheme against them, and does not force things into place. He comes and goes freely, responding to things without artifice. That is the foundation of nourishing life.”

Nanrong Chu asked again, “Does this reach the highest state?” Laozi said, “Not yet. I have just told you to be like an infant. When an infant moves, it does not know what it is doing; when it walks, it does not decide in advance where to go. Its body is like withered wood, its mind like dead ashes. In that state, calamity will not seek it out, and it will not deliberately pursue blessings. When neither fortune nor misfortune clings to the heart, where could the troubles of the human world come from?”

When the mind is spacious and settled, the light of nature appears. With this light, people can see a person’s true appearance. One who has cultivated himself successfully can preserve constancy. People naturally respect him, and the Way of Nature assists him. One who is respected by the people is called a “Heavenly Citizen”; one who is assisted by the Way of Heaven is called a “Son of Heaven.”

Learning means studying what one did not know before; practice means doing what one could not do before; debate means discussing what one could not explain before. To know where to stop, at the point that cannot be known, is to reach the utmost. If one does not understand this, one will be thrown into disorder by the balancing laws of nature.

Make complete provision for the necessities of life to support the body. Keep what cannot be anticipated within your heart, without letting it disturb your spirit. Maintain reverence within, so that you can understand external things. If, after doing this, you still encounter all kinds of calamity, it is due to Heaven’s decree, not human action. It should not disturb your cultivation or be allowed to enter your heart. The heart has something on which it rests, yet does not know what that support is; what cannot truly be grasped is what it relies upon.

A person’s sincerity may be plain to see, yet each action may still be inappropriate. Once a matter falls upon him, he refuses to let it go and often goes further and further astray. If someone does evil in public, people can punish him; if he does evil in secret, spirits can punish him. Only by understanding the principles of the human world and the spirit world can one act calmly on one’s own. Actions that accord with one’s inner nature do not seek fame. Those who pursue external fame and gain are consumed with calculating profit and loss. The nameless person acts freely in the ordinary course of life; the one who calculates profit and loss is like a merchant.

If a person is confined by external things, they enter his heart. If external things press upon him until there is nowhere left for him to stand, how can he make room for others? Someone who cannot make room for others has no close companions, and is finally cut off from the world. The harm caused by ambition is the deepest, surpassing that of a sharp sword. The greatest calamities come from changes in Yin-Yang, though whether they cause harm also depends on the movements of the mind.

The Great Way runs through all things, and all things have their distinctions. When things take form, they also begin to change and decay. People dislike distinctions because distinctions make things seem complete and fixed; they dislike what is fixed because behind every fixed thing lies some cause. When things leave their source and cannot return, they are like ghosts. What is gained may lead instead toward death. Form takes the formless as its root and so becomes stable. The Great Way has no point of origin that can be pointed out, and no entrance that can be identified. It is real, yet has no fixed location. Space exists, yet has no fixed place; time stretches on without end, yet has neither beginning nor conclusion. All things enter and leave the Great Way without showing their form. This is called the “Heavenly Gate.” The Heavenly Gate is the realm of the formless and nameless, from which all things arise. Whatever cannot treat “being” as absolute must arise from “nonbeing”; and nonbeing itself is not a thing. The sage dwells in this.

Among the ancients were people whose insight had reached its utmost. They held that at the beginning there was nothing at all: this was the highest and most complete understanding. Next came those who held that all things exist, and regarded life as a loss and death as a return. After them came those who held that at first there were no things, that life came later, and that life soon turned into death. Whoever can see being and nonbeing, life and death, as one, I would call a friend. These views differ, yet they belong to a single family of thought.

The names and forms of things can often change, but the underlying principle is difficult to determine. People classify things according to life and death, being and nonbeing, and then judge right and wrong through knowledge. But such judgments are unreliable. The true Great Way cannot be grasped through argument or fixed names.

If you step on a passerby’s foot, a casual apology may be enough. If you step on your older brother’s foot, you apologize gently. If you step on your parents’ feet, you may not need to explain at all. From this we can see that the highest ritual does not cling to ritual forms; the highest righteousness does not cling to external rules; the highest wisdom does not rely on calculation; the highest benevolence does not cling to distinctions of closeness; and the highest trustworthiness does not treat possessions as important.

Remove what makes the mind restless, untie what knots the spirit, free yourself from the burdens of De, and clear the blockages in the Great Way. Wealth, rank, prestige, fame, and profit disturb the will. Bearing, movement, expression, reason, breath, and intention knot the spirit. Likes and dislikes, desires, joy and anger, grief and pleasure burden De. Advancing and withdrawing, taking and rejecting, giving and receiving, knowledge and ability block the Great Way. When these things no longer stir the heart, the mind becomes upright; when upright, it becomes still; when still, it becomes clear; when clear, it becomes empty and quiet; when empty and quiet, it can respond to all things and accomplish anything.

The Dao is the root of De; life is what carries De; nature is the true substance of life. The natural activity of one’s nature is called “De”; deliberate artifice is called “falsehood,” or deviation. Knowledge is what one comes to know through contact with external things; cleverness is calculation. What the wise do not know is as limited as what can be glimpsed from the corner of an eye. Acting in accord with what cannot be avoided is called De; acting without private motives allows governance to accord with nature. Things may appear opposite in name while being connected in substance.

Hou Yi was skilled at hitting the tiniest targets, but not at preventing others from praising him. The sage is skilled at following nature, but not at catering to human sentiments. Only a whole person can follow nature and also respond to the human world. Even an insect can be an insect and follow nature. Why should a whole person reject either nature or human sentiments? Besides, nature and human sentiments are both part of the movement of life.

When a bird flew in front of Hou Yi, he could shoot it down. If the whole world were a great net, no bird could escape. Thus King Tang of Shang drew Yi Yin to him with courtesy, and Duke Mu of Qin engaged Baili Xi with five sheepskins. If you do not attract someone in a way that appeals to him, you cannot win him over. A person whose feet have been cut off will not care about others’ praise while painting; a condemned prisoner feels no fear when climbing high, because he has put life and death aside. If someone experiences things again and again until he no longer depends on external nourishment, he forgets other people and follows nature. Not rejoicing when respected, not resenting insult—only someone in harmony with the vital energy of nature can do this. Anger arises from not being angry; action appears from Wuwei. If you want stillness, regulate your breath; if you want your spirit to become clear, follow your heart. To act appropriately, respond to what cannot be avoided. This response to what cannot be avoided is the way of the sage.

Xu Wugui was introduced to Marquis Wu of Wei by Nü Shang. The marquis welcomed him, saying, “You must be ill, sir. You have endured hardship in the mountains and forests, and that is why you have come to see me.” Xu Wugui replied, “I have come to worry on your behalf. What is there for you to welcome me for? If you constantly indulge your desires and expand your likes and dislikes, it is your nature that suffers. If you suppress your desires and forcibly control your likes and dislikes, your eyes and ears suffer. I have come to worry on your behalf. What is there for you to welcome me for?” Marquis Wu looked startled and could not answer.

After a while, Xu Wugui said, “I have spoken about how to judge dogs. A low-grade dog stops when it is full; that is the skill of a cat. A middle-grade dog keeps its eyes fixed on its prey. A high-grade dog seems to have forgotten what it is supposed to do. But I think dogs are less impressive than horses. When I look at horses, the straight ones are like lines drawn with a carpenter’s inkline, the curves like a hook, the squares like a set square, and the circles like a compass. These are ordinary fine horses. The finest horses in the world have reached full ability, yet their expression seems troubled or lost, as though they had forgotten part of themselves. They gallop beyond the dust without knowing where they are going.” Marquis Wu was delighted to hear this.

Nü Shang asked Xu Wugui, “What exactly did you say that made the marquis so happy? I have advised him with the Book of Odes, the Documents, ritual, and music; I have also advised him with military strategy and tactics. I have helped him accomplish many things, but I have never seen him this pleased.” Xu Wugui said, “I merely spoke plainly about looking at dogs and horses.” Then he continued, “Have you not heard of people far from their homeland? After a few days away, they are glad to see someone they know. After a month away, they are glad to see someone they once saw in their homeland. After a year away, they are glad to see someone who merely looks like someone from home. The longer they are away, the deeper their longing. Someone who has fled into a vast wilderness is glad even to hear footsteps. How much more so when he hears a brother or relative coughing and speaking nearby! For a long time, no words of a True Person have sounded beside the ruler.”

Xu Wugui went to see Marquis Wu again. The marquis asked, “You live in the mountains and forests, eating acorns and wild greens. Now that you have come to see me, are you old and hoping to taste wine and meat? Or have you come to bring blessings to my state?” Xu Wugui said, “I was born into poverty and have never dared to hope for the ruler’s wine and meat. I have come this time to make you weary in mind and body.” The marquis asked, “What do you mean?” Xu Wugui said, “Heaven and Earth nourish all things equally. They do not give more because one is high, or less because one is low. Yet you, as ruler of a great state, make the people of your country labor to satisfy your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. The spirit likes harmony and dislikes what is crooked. What is crooked harms people, so I say I have come to make you worry. What is it that troubles you?”

Marquis Wu said, “I have long wanted to ask your advice. I want to care for the people, promote benevolence and righteousness, and put an end to war. Can I do that?” Xu Wugui said, “No. Under the banner of loving the people, you may end up harming them. Putting a stop to war in the name of benevolence and righteousness may become the root of further warfare. If you act this way, you will probably fail. Whatever is deliberately done to create a good name often becomes mere pretense. Even if you act righteously, it may become hypocrisy. Form naturally gives rise to artifice; achievement and fame often bring self-conceit; change can stir up external conflict. Do not line up war chariots on high terraces or display warhorses in ancestral temples and palace gardens. Do not harbor treasonous thoughts. Do not try to outdo others through skill, schemes, or warfare. What good is it to kill people and seize land to satisfy private desires and preserve yourself? If you cannot stop doing this, then cultivate inner sincerity and follow the realities of Heaven and Earth. Do not disturb the people. The people have already suffered enough death and injury. What reason will you give for putting an end to war?”

The Yellow Emperor was going to Mount Juci to visit Daku. He traveled with Fang Ming, Chang Yu, Zhang Ruo, Xi Peng, Kun Huaji, and others. When they reached the fields of Xiangcheng, they lost their way and asked a young herdsman. The boy not only knew where Mount Juci and Daku were, but also understood how to govern the world. The Yellow Emperor asked him in surprise how to govern the world. The boy said, “Governing the world is just like tending horses: remove what harms them. Why do anything more?” The Yellow Emperor pressed him again, but the boy continued to decline. After the Yellow Emperor asked several times, the boy finally said, “What difference is there between governing the world and tending horses? Just remove what harms the people.” The Yellow Emperor bowed to him, honored him as a Heavenly Teacher, and then departed.

The clever person who loves thought is unhappy without changes and reflections. The debater is unhappy without orderly, lucid discussions. The discerning person is unhappy without something to criticize and condemn. All of them are constrained by external things. Those who seek worldly prestige like the court; ordinary scholars like office; the physically strong take pride in overcoming difficulties; the brave like to resolve crises; those skilled with weapons like war; the aloof pursue fame; legalists like administering affairs; those devoted to ritual and music value appearances; and people of benevolence and righteousness prize social ties. Farmers are uneasy if they do not till the fields; merchants are uneasy without business in the marketplace. Ordinary people are willing to work when they have daily tasks to do. Craftsmen feel capable when they have tools and skills. The greedy are distressed if they do not accumulate wealth; the boastful are sad if they do not gain power. These people all depend on worldly changes. They cannot practice Wuwei, and spend their days exhausting their bodies and nature, trapped among the myriad things and unable to return to their original truth throughout their lives.

Zhuangzi asked Huizi, “When an archer hits a target without having aimed beforehand, we call him a good archer. If that is so, can everyone in the world be called Hou Yi?” Huizi did not answer. Zhuangzi continued, “There is no absolute right and wrong that everyone in the world agrees upon. Everyone thinks what they believe is right. If that is so, can everyone in the world be called Yao?” Then Zhuangzi spoke of the Confucians, Mohists, followers of Yang, followers of Bing, and other schools, each holding to its own views and arguing with one another. He used the tuning of a zither as an analogy: the sound of one string can set corresponding notes resonating. Once one string is tuned, all the notes sound right when the whole instrument is played. What truly governs the sounds is not argument, but the harmony underlying them.

When Zhuangzi was attending Huizi’s funeral, he passed Huizi’s grave and told his followers a story. A man from Ying had smeared a thin layer of white clay on the tip of his nose, no thicker than a fly’s wing, and asked the craftsman Shi to shave it off with an axe. Shi swung the axe like the wind, and, trusting the man to stand still, shaved away the clay without injuring his nose. When Lord Yuan of Song heard the story, he too wanted to have Shi try it. But Shi said, “I could indeed do that once, but my partner has been dead for a long time.” Zhuangzi said, “Since Huizi died, I too have had no one to talk with.”

When Guan Zhong was gravely ill, Duke Huan of Qi asked him, “You are very ill, Father Zhong. If the worst should happen, whom should I entrust with the state?” Duke Huan proposed Bao Shuya. Guan Zhong said Bao Shuya was honest and kind, but did not associate with those less capable than himself. Moreover, once he heard of someone’s fault, he remembered it for the rest of his life. If he governed the state, he would restrain the ruler above him and oppose the people below; before long, he would offend the ruler. Duke Huan asked who else could serve. Guan Zhong said, “If I must choose, Xi Peng can. He is not self-important in a high position, and does not complain in a low one. He feels humbled by how far he falls short of the Yellow Emperor, and sympathizes with those less capable than himself. To benefit others through De is called sagehood; to benefit others with material goods is called worthiness. To use worthiness to dominate people does not win their hearts. To be humble toward others despite one’s worthiness does win their hearts. If I must choose, appoint Xi Peng.”

The King of Wu sailed along the river and climbed Monkey Mountain. When the monkeys saw him, they fled in terror into the dense forest. Only one monkey remained, casually scratching and leaping about, showing off its skill to the king. The king shot at it, and it nimbly caught the arrows. The king ordered his men to shoot together, and the monkey was finally killed. The king said to Yan Buyi, “That monkey relied on its skill and agility, and treated me arrogantly. That is why it met its death. Take this as a warning: do not look down on others because of your appearance or abilities.” Yan Buyi returned and became a student of Dong Wu, shedding his arrogance and giving up his desire for pleasure and advancement. After three years, the people of the state praised him.

Nanbo Ziqi leaned against a table and sat with his head tilted back, sighing. Yancheng Ziyou asked, “Teacher, have you become so extraordinary among all things that your body can be like withered bone and your mind like dead ashes?” Nanbo Ziqi said, “I once lived in a mountain cave. At the time, Tian He merely looked at me, and the people of Qi congratulated me three times. I must have shown something of myself first, so they noticed me; I must have put my abilities up for sale, so they came to buy them. If I had not made myself something that could be used, how would they have known about me? If I had not promoted myself, how would they have made use of me? Alas, I grieve for those who have lost themselves; and I grieve for those who grieve for them. Now I have moved further and further away from all this.”

Confucius went to Chu, where the king hosted a banquet for him. Sun Shu’ao stood holding a wine cup, and Shinan Yiliao received the wine and made an offering. Confucius said, “I have heard of a principle expressed without words, but I have never spoken of it. Today, let me speak of it here.” Shinan Yiliao played with pellets and resolved a dispute between clans; Sun Shu’ao slept with a feather fan in his hand, and the people of Ying laid down their weapons. Confucius lamented that he wished he had a mouth three feet long. This is a debate that speaks without speaking: a principle that appears without argument. De belongs to the unity of the Great Way, while words should stop where knowledge can go no further. The sea does not reject water flowing eastward because it is vast. The great person embraces Heaven and Earth and benefits all under Heaven, yet does not proclaim who he is. Thus, in life he has no rank, and after death no posthumous title. He does not accumulate material wealth or seek fame. This is called a great person. A dog is not called good because it barks well, nor a person worthy because he argues eloquently. How much more so is this true of the Great Way? Heaven and Earth are complete, yet seek nothing outside themselves. One who understands this completeness seeks nothing, loses nothing, and abandons nothing. He does not trade himself for external things; he returns to himself without being trapped, and follows the ancient Way without becoming rigid. This is the cultivation of the great person.

Ziqi had eight sons. He asked Jiufang Yin to read their faces and tell him which one was most fortunate. Jiufang Yin said, “Kun is the most fortunate. He will share his ruler’s stipend throughout his life.” Hearing this, Ziqi wept and said, “Why should my son have such a fate?” Jiufang Yin replied that Kun would receive a stipend, and the blessing would extend to three generations of his family, to say nothing of his parents. But Ziqi said, “How can someone know where fortune comes from just by eating meat and wine and satisfying the appetite? I never raised sheep, yet one was born in my house. I have never liked hunting, yet a wild pheasant appeared in my house. If I do not treat these things as omens, what is strange about them? My son and I were meant to roam together with Heaven and Earth, sharing their joys and food. I do not arrange a career or fame for him, nor let external things disturb him. Now he has received what the world calls a blessing. Strange omens are often followed by strange events. That is why I weep.” Before long, Kun was ordered to travel on a diplomatic mission to Yan. Robbers seized him on the way. Thinking it would be difficult to sell him intact, they cut off one of his feet to make him easier to sell, then sold him in Qi. He happened to fall into the hands of Qu Gong, and in the end made a living with the rest of his body, growing old there.

Nieque met Xu You and asked where he was going. Xu You said, “I am going to flee from Yao.” Nieque asked why. Xu You said, “Yao diligently promotes benevolence, and I fear the whole world will mock him. In later generations, this may even lead people to eat one another. It is not hard to gather people: care for them and give them benefits, and they will come; praise them, and they will strive; make them face what they dislike, and they will scatter. Benevolence and righteousness are often treated as tools for gathering people and gaining profit, so they may not be sincere. Instead, they can become instruments in the hands of the greedy. When one person decides what is beneficial and harmful for the whole world, it is like peering at the world through a crack. Yao knows that the worthy can benefit the world, but does not know that the worthy can also harm it. Only someone outside the circle of the worthy can see this.”

There are three kinds of people in the world. The first are the “Warm and Pleased”: they learn a single saying from one teacher, feel pleased with themselves, and think they have enough, without knowing that the myriad things may have no fixed source. The second are the “Soaked and Settled”: they are like lice on a pig, treating the sparse patches of bristle as a vast palace, and the pig’s bent hoof, the spaces between its legs, and its underside as comfortable homes. They do not know that when the butcher raises his hand, spreads the straw, and lifts the torch, they will be burned along with the pig. The third are the “Curled and Bent,” with Shun as an example. Mutton does not envy ants, but ants are drawn to mutton because of its smell. Shun had a virtue that attracted people, and they flocked to him. His fief grew from Chengdu to Deng, and its population reached a hundred thousand. Hearing that Shun was worthy, Yao recommended him to govern a wilderness, hoping to benefit from his goodness. Though Shun was old and his intelligence was fading, he was still given no rest. That is the predicament of the “Curled and Bent.” The True Person does not like crowds gathering around him, because gatherings bring attachment, and attachment brings entanglements of interest. So he shows no special closeness or distance toward anyone, preserves his De and vital harmony, and follows the world. This is called being a True Person. With ants, let go of cleverness; with fish, follow their nature; with sheep, let go of private aims. Use your eyes to see, your ears to hear, and your heart to understand, letting the heart return to its natural state. Such a person is ordinarily as straight as a carpenter’s line, and in change follows the patterns inherent in things. This is the True Person of ancient times: he treated human affairs through the Way of Heaven and did not impose human intentions upon nature.

Gaining certain things may bring life; losing them may instead mean death. Some things seem to keep a person alive but bring death when obtained; losing others may preserve life. Medicines have different properties, and one cannot say in every case which is medicine and which is poison. King Goujian of Yue endured hardship at Kuaiji with armor and shields; Wen Zhong knew how to restore the state after its defeat, but did not know that this would bring him worry and disaster. The owl’s eyes are suited to the night, and a crane’s legs have their own proper length; forcing them to change would cause harm. Wind passing over a river carries off its moisture, and the sun shining on it also reduces its water. Yet the river can maintain its level because a source continues to replenish it. Water depends on the earth; people depend on their nature; each thing has what it must hold to. Excessive pursuit of sharp vision brings danger to the eyes; excessive pursuit of keen hearing brings danger to the ears; excessive pursuit of external things brings danger to the heart. When abilities are pushed to their extreme, there is often no time to correct them. Calamity accumulates over time and, in the end, is often brought on by past achievements. People treasure these things as their own. Is that not lamentable? States are destroyed and people are killed again and again, yet no one thinks to ask about the root cause.

The part of the foot that touches the ground is small, but by relying on the wide ground it does not touch, a person can walk. Human knowledge is limited, but by acknowledging what one does not know, one may come to understand the Way of Heaven. To understand the “Great One,” the “Great Yin,” the “Great Eye,” the “Great Balance,” the “Great Square,” the “Great Trust,” and the “Great Stability” is to be truly wise. The Great Way makes all things flow together; the yielding power of Yin dissolves them; the great vision observes them; balance lets one follow them; squareness gives one a footing; trust tests them; and stability allows one to persist. Things have patterns of following Heaven, illuminating what is hidden, opening what is crucial, and standing in relation to one another. To explain them is almost like not explaining; to know them is almost like not knowing. Only by acknowledging that one does not know can one come to truly know. Inquiry cannot be assigned a fixed boundary, yet it cannot be wholly without limits either. Things are manifold and change, and past and present alternate, but this does not make them any less. Why not continue to investigate these principles? Why remain confused? To explain confusion through confusion, then return to a state free of confusion, is to have truly reached freedom from delusion.

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Interpretation

Zeyang traveled through the state of Chu. Yi Jie recommended him to the king of Chu, but the king did not receive him. Yi Jie then returned. Peng Yang met Wang Guo and asked, “Why didn’t you recommend me to the king of Chu?” Wang Guo said, “I am not as good as Gong Yuexiu.” Peng Yang asked, “What kind of person is Gong Yuexiu?” Wang Guo replied, “In winter he spears turtles in the river; in summer he rests in the mountain forests. When someone comes to visit, he says, ‘This is where I live.’ Even Yi Jie cannot do this. How could I? I am not as good as Yi Jie, either. Yi Jie has De and understanding, but does not boast of them. In his dealings with others, he can reach into the subtlest depths, and he has also immersed himself in surroundings of wealth and power. He does not use his De to support others; instead, he helps them dispel their troubles. Those who are cold need spring clothes; those overcome by heat need a cool winter breeze. Yi Jie is grave and imposing, and treats offenders as fiercely as a tiger, showing them no mercy. Unless someone is skilled in counsel and can set De in order, who could make him change? When a sage is in straitened circumstances, he can make his family forget poverty; when he rises to prominence, he can make princes forget their ranks and stipends, and live humbly. He takes delight in being with all things, and with people he gladly lets all things follow their own courses while preserving himself. Sometimes he says nothing, yet people feel at peace; standing beside others, he transforms them, as a father and son each settle into their proper place. His influence reaches far. That is why people say, ‘We should wait for Gong Yuexiu to come.’”

The sage understands the intricate relations among things and grasps the whole, yet does not deliberately think about how he is able to do so. It is simply his nature. He returns to his original nature and follows change, taking nature as his teacher; only then do people give him the title “sage.” If one worries over knowledge and one’s actions never last long, what can be done when they occasionally come to a halt? A naturally beautiful woman knows she is beautiful only when someone gives her a mirror. If nobody tells her, she does not know she is more beautiful than others. Whether she knows it or not, whether she has heard it or not, her beauty remains lovable, and people’s love for her does not cease. This is her nature. The sage loves people, and people give him a name for benevolence. If told, he may not even know that he loves people. Whether he knows it or not, whether he has heard it or not, his love never ceases, and people remain at ease in the shelter of that love. This, too, is nature.

When one catches sight of one’s native country and its old capital, the heart always opens and feels at ease. Even when hills and trees obscure most of the view, the sight is still heartening. How much more so when one can see and hear all the familiar things of home, as if looking down upon everyone from a height.

Ran Xiangshi had grasped the pivot of change and followed the natural formation of the myriad things. In his dealings with them, he had no fixed beginning or end, and was not bound by times or occasions. To live each day in step with the changes of all things is to be one with them. How could one abandon such a state? If one takes nature as one’s teacher but does not truly understand how to follow nature, one will be driven along by external things and pulled about by the myriad things. What, then, should one do? The sage never clings to a “beginning” or assumes in advance that there are people, a starting point, or myriad things. Instead, he moves along with the world and does not stagnate. His actions are complete without becoming obstructed. How could he fail to accord with the myriad things?

When Tang of Shang gained the support of Si Yu Men Yin Dengheng, he asked him to teach him. Though he studied under a teacher, he was not confined by the teacher’s doctrines. He followed the changes through which things naturally take shape, and let Men Yin Dengheng take charge of distinctions and roles. These distinctions lie beyond fixed rules, so he could attend to both sides of things. Confucius, too, thought things through carefully and had someone to guide him. Rong Chengshi said, “Forget the days, and there is no division into years. Make no distinction between inner and outer, and there is no difference between them.”

Wei Ying and Tian Hou Mou made an alliance, but Tian Hou Mou broke his promise. Wei Ying was furious and prepared to send someone to assassinate him. Gongsun Yan, the chief minister known as Xishou, heard of this and thought it shameful. He said, “You are the ruler of a great state, yet you seek private revenge like an ordinary man. Give me two hundred thousand troops, and I will attack Qi for you. I will capture its people and seize its cattle and horses, making the Qi ruler suffer such anguish that I can then destroy his state. After Tian Hou Mou flees, I will break his back as well.” Dai Jinren heard this and also thought it shameful. He advised Wei Ying, “To build a wall ten ren high, only to demolish it once it is finished, is the greatest hardship for those forced to labor. The fighting has already lasted seven years; the foundations of the state are now being damaged. Gongsun Yan is stirring people’s hearts into confusion. You must not listen to him.”

Hua Zi heard what had happened and said, “Those who advocate attacking Qi are stirring people’s hearts into confusion. Those who say not to attack are doing the same. And anyone who says that both attacking and not attacking stir people’s hearts into confusion is doing so as well.” Wei Ying asked, “Then what should I do?” Hua Zi replied, “You need only seek a way that accords with the Dao.”

Wei Ying then summoned Dai Jinren. Dai Jinren asked, “Do you know the snail?” Wei Ying said he did. Dai Jinren said, “On the snail’s left horn is a state called Touch; on its right horn is a state called Man. The two states often go to war over land, leaving tens of thousands dead and wounded. They pursue the defeated army for fifteen days before returning.” Wei Ying said, “Surely that is a fiction?” Dai Jinren said, “Let me explain. Imagine the four directions, above and below, heaven and earth. Do you think they have an end?” Wei Ying said, “No.” Dai Jinren continued, “Then let your mind roam through the boundless expanse of heaven and earth, and look back at Wei, this broad territory. Does it seem as if it exists, or as if it does not?” Wei Ying said, “Yes.” Dai Jinren said, “Within this territory is Wei; within Wei is Liang; within Liang are you. What difference is there between you and the ruler of Man?” Wei Ying could find no difference and was left bewildered. After Dai Jinren had left, Hui Shi came in. Wei Ying said, “That visitor is extraordinary. Even a sage could not match him.” Hui Shi said, “Blow into a bamboo tube and it makes a loud sound; blow into the small hole in a sword hilt and it makes only a faint one. Yao and Shun are sages praised by people. To speak of Yao and Shun before Dai Jinren is like blowing into that hole in a sword.”

When Confucius went to Chu, he stayed near Yiqiu at the home of a wine seller. The men and women, and the servants, from the neighboring household all climbed up high to look. Zilu asked, “Why have these people gathered?” Confucius said, “They are the servants of a sage. That sage has concealed himself, hiding in a remote place. His name has faded away, and his purpose is hidden. Though he speaks aloud, in his heart he does not take his words seriously. He has turned his back on the common world and disdains to go along with it. Such a person is a ‘land-sunk one’: he lives in the world, yet is as unknown as if he had sunk deep into the earth. Perhaps that is Shinan Yiliao?” Zilu asked to go and invite him. Confucius said, “Leave it. He knows that I have made myself conspicuous, and he knows that I have come to Chu. He will think I must want the king of Chu to summon him. He will take me for someone skilled at currying favor. Since he is ashamed to listen to a flatterer’s words, how much more ashamed would he be to meet me in person? How could he stay?” When Zilu went to see him, the man’s house was already empty.

A border guard from Changwu said to Zilao, “When you govern a state, do not be careless or hasty; when you manage the people, do not be perfunctory. In the past I planted crops. I plowed carelessly, so the harvest was poor; I weeded carelessly, so the crops grew badly. Later I changed my methods: I plowed deeply and harrowed carefully, and the crops flourished. I had enough grain all year.” Hearing this, Zhuangzi said, “People today cultivate their bodies and regulate their minds in ways much like those described by this border guard. But they go against their nature, depart from their original disposition, suppress their feelings, and exhaust their spirit, only to throw themselves into confusion. Treat one’s nature carelessly, and desires and aversions become sources of harm. Damage to one’s nature begins like a weed just sprouting, but eventually turns back and injures the body. Once these ailments flare up, anything can go wrong: sores, scabies, abscesses, internal heat, and abnormal urination are all signs of this kind of harm.”

Bojü went to Lao Dan to study and said, “Please let me travel throughout the world.” Lao Dan said, “There is no need. Everywhere in the world is much the same.” Bojü asked again, so Lao Dan asked where he would begin. Bojü said, “In Qi.” When he reached Qi, he saw a man who had been executed. He pushed the body along, took off his court robe and laid it over the corpse, then looked up to heaven and wept: “Alas, you! A great calamity has befallen the world, and you have been the first to suffer it. People say, ‘Do not steal; do not kill.’ Yet it is only when distinctions of honor and disgrace are established that people begin to see what is called calamity; only when goods are amassed do people begin to see rivalry. Now rules have been established that people struggle to obey, and goods have been gathered that people struggle to seize. The people are driven to desperation and given no respite. How could such things fail to happen? The rulers of antiquity held that when the people gained something, it was their own achievement; when the people lost something, it was their own fault. When the people acted rightly, it was their own ability; when they went astray, it was the ruler’s responsibility. Thus, whenever someone lost the way to live, the ruler withdrew and reflected on himself. Today, it is not so. Those above conceal the truth and deceive the people; they make things difficult, then blame the people for not daring to act; they increase the tasks and punish those unable to complete them; they set distant destinations and kill or punish those who fail to arrive. When the people’s strength is spent, they resort to deception. Deception grows day by day. How could the people and the scholars not become deceitful? When strength is lacking, people fake things; when understanding is lacking, they mislead others; when possessions are lacking, they steal. When theft is then covered up with deception, whom should we blame?”

Qu Boyu lived to the age of sixty, and changed his views sixty times. Each time, he first believed himself to be right, but in the end discovered that he was wrong. He did not know whether what he now thought right might prove as mistaken as what he had judged at the age of fifty-nine. All things live, yet no one knows their source; all things appear, yet no one sees their gateway. Everyone honors what they know, but they do not realize that genuine understanding may come only by recognizing the limits of knowledge. Is this not profound confusion? If so, one should stop—but there is nowhere to escape. Is this what is meant by “so”? Is it really so?

Confucius asked the Grand Historians Daotiao, Bo Changqian, and Xiwei, “Duke Ling of Wei was devoted to drink and music and neglected affairs of state. When he went out hunting and shooting birds, he also failed to respond to the diplomatic dealings of the other lords. Why, then, was he given the posthumous title ‘Ling’?” Daotiao said, “That is precisely why he received the title.” Bo Changqian said, “Duke Ling had three wives, and they bathed together in a large basin. Shi Qiu was responsible for serving them meals, yet he also presented gifts and supported worthy people. He indulged his wives and concubines to such an extent, yet showed such respect to the worthy. That is why he was called Duke Ling.” Xiwei said, “After Duke Ling died, divination found it auspicious to bury him in the ancestral cemetery, and also auspicious to bury him at Shaqiu. They dug down several zhang and discovered a stone coffin. After washing it, they saw an inscription: ‘Do not rely on his son; he will take my burial place.’ The portent of Duke Ling being called ‘Ling’ had appeared long ago. How could the two men who spoke before me know its deeper meaning?”

Shao Zhi asked Taigong Diao, “What is meant by ‘the words of the village’?” Taigong Diao said, “‘Village’ means a place where many clans gather and form shared customs. One can regard different things together as the same, and also divide things regarded as the same into differences. For example, if you point to the parts of a horse one by one and identify each separately, you may not recognize the horse. But when a horse is there before you and people gather its parts together in their minds, they know it is a horse. So hills rise high through the accumulation of low ground, rivers become great through the gathering of waters, and great people become public figures by bringing together the strength of many. When something external enters, there is something that guides it, but one need not cling to a fixed master. When something internal comes to light, it has its proper place, but one need not reject other possibilities. The seasons differ, but Heaven favors none of them; thus the year can take shape. Duties differ, but the ruler favors none; thus the state can be governed. Civil and military officials have different abilities and do not compete for credit; thus De can be complete. All things have their patterns, and the Dao favors none; thus there are no fixed names.

“Time has a beginning and an end, and worldly affairs are in constant change. Good and ill fortune follow one another, often appearing when things go against expectation. People pursue what they believe in from different directions. Whenever one takes a particular standard as right, there will be things that differ from it. This is like a vast marsh, where many kinds of timber can find a place; or a great mountain, where wood and stone each have their place. These are what are called ‘the words of the village.’”

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