《庄子》Vol. 4

Interpretation

Little Knowledge asked, “Then does it mean that what goes against one thing may suit another, and that all things each develop in different directions? Where something is upright, something else is crooked. It is like a vast marsh, where all kinds of materials can be found, or a towering mountain, where trees and stones gather together. This is what people in the villages call ordinary sense.”

Little Knowledge asked, “Then is it enough to call this the Dao?”

Grand Duke Tiao replied, “No. The number of things in the world is more than ten thousand. People call them ‘the myriad things’ simply as a way of grouping together what is numerous. Heaven and Earth are the greatest of forms; Yin-Yang, the two kinds of Qi that make up the changes of all things, are the greatest of energies; and the Dao, the fundamental principle that all things follow, is the common principle they share. It is enough to speak of the myriad things by using these greatest names. There is no need to compare them with anything else. To argue in this way is like comparing a dog with a horse: it misses the point entirely.”

Little Knowledge asked, “Where do the myriad things within the four directions of Heaven and Earth come from?”

Grand Duke Tiao replied, “Yin and Yang reflect one another, conceal one another, and come into harmony. The seasons turn in succession, sometimes bringing forth the myriad things and sometimes causing them to decline. Desires and aversions, choosing and rejecting, arise in turn from this. The male and female unite, and the myriad things are born from them. Stability and danger transform into one another; misfortune and good fortune depend on one another; slowness and haste act upon one another; gathering and dispersal together bring about change. These names and actual circumstances can be recorded, and subtle changes can be discerned. The myriad things regulate one another in an ordered way, interweaving, moving, and driving one another onward. When development reaches its limit, things turn back; after ending, they begin again. These are inherent conditions of the myriad things. Words can explain things only up to the point where particular things are exhausted. One who understands the Dao does not follow things into decline or ask where they first arose. Discussion should stop here.”

Little Knowledge asked, “Ji Zhen claims that the myriad things have no master and arise naturally. Jiezi claims that some force drives the myriad things. Which view better fits the facts, and which gives the fuller account of the truth?”

Grand Duke Tiao replied, “Everyone knows the crowing of a rooster and the barking of a dog. Yet even the wisest person cannot explain in words how they change of their own accord, much less predict in advance what they will do. Jiezi’s claim that ‘some force drives them’ cannot explain everything either. If we examine things closely, their subtle aspects cannot be compared, and their vastness cannot be measured. To say that the myriad things are driven by some force, or that they have no master, becomes one-sided if either claim is treated as an absolute conclusion. Saying they are driven makes things seem substantial; saying they have no master makes them seem empty. When name and reality correspond, things exist; when they have neither name nor reality, they are empty.

“Before things come into being, there is nothing to fear; once things have died, they cannot be brought back. Life and death are not far apart, but their inner principle cannot be seen directly. Saying that some force drives things, or that they have no master, is merely a way people speculate. I examine the root of things, and its past has no end; I trace their farthest reaches, and their future has no limit. Beginningless and endless, it cannot be exhausted by words; it connects with the principles of the myriad things. ‘Driven by a force’ and ‘without a master’ are both ways of speaking about the root and beginning and end of the myriad things from a particular perspective.

“The Dao cannot be said to truly exist, nor can it be said to be wholly absent. ‘Dao’ is simply a name people borrow to express its principle. To say that things are driven, or that they have no master, touches only one aspect of the myriad things. How could either account for the boundless Dao? If words could exhaust the principle, then speaking for an entire day would be enough to explain the Dao. If words cannot exhaust the principle, then speaking for an entire day explains only particular things. Neither speech nor silence can fully express the relation between the Dao and the myriad things. It can be conveyed neither by words alone nor by silence alone; discussion has its limits.”

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Interpretation

External things are difficult for people to control and command. Thus Guan Longfeng was killed, Bi Gan was executed, Jizi went mad, E Lai lost his life, and Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang were destroyed. A ruler may not want his ministers to be loyal, and even when they are loyal, they may not be trusted. So Wu Zixu was forced to throw himself into the river, and Chang Hong died in Shu. His blood was kept for three years and later turned into green jade. Parents may not always want their sons to be filial; even when a son is dutiful, he may not be loved. So Xiaoji was troubled with grief, and Zeng Shen was sorrowful.

When pieces of wood rub against each other, they catch fire; when metal meets fire, it too is damaged. When the movements of Yin and Yang fall into disorder, Heaven and Earth are shaken, and thunder and lightning arise. Fire even appeared in water and burned a great locust tree. Those burdened by deep distress are caught between two impossible choices, unable to escape. Their minds waver, as if suspended between Heaven and Earth, weighed down by gloom. As benefits and harms clash without cease, countless fires of anxiety kindle in the heart, and people thereby wear away their inner calm. The moon cannot hold back the flames forever. Then all things wither, and the Way of life reaches its end.

Zhuang Zhou was poor, so he went to ask the Marquis of Jianhe for grain. The marquis said, “All right. Once I receive the taxes from my fief, I’ll lend you a hundred pieces of gold. Will that do?” Zhuang Zhou’s expression changed. He said, “Yesterday, as I was coming here, I heard someone calling for help along the road. I looked back and saw a crucian carp in a wheel rut. I asked it, ‘Crucian carp, what has happened to you?’ It replied, ‘I am an official of the Eastern Sea. Now I am nearly dried up and dying. Could you give me a dipper or half a sheng of water to save my life?’ I said, ‘All right. I’ll go south and persuade the rulers of Wu and Yue to send the waters of the Western River to meet you. Will that do?’ The carp grew angry and said, ‘I have lost the water I need to live and have nowhere to dwell. A little water would be enough to keep me alive. What you say is of no use. You might as well go look for me at the dried-fish shop!’”

Lord Ren made an enormous fishhook and fitted it with a thick black line. He used fifty castrated oxen as bait, crouched on Mount Kuaiji, and cast his line into the Eastern Sea. He fished day after day, but for a whole year caught nothing. Then a great fish swallowed the bait, pulled the hook down into the depths, and suddenly leapt up, thrashing its tail with all its strength. It raised white waves like mountains and shook the sea; its power was like that of spirits and gods, and the waters thundered for a thousand miles. After Lord Ren caught the fish, he cut it open and dried it. East of the Zhi River and north of Cangwu, there was no one who had not eaten some. Later, people of shallow learning and narrow experience heard of this and passed the story around in astonishment. Those who fish for little fry in ditches with slender bamboo rods and fine lines—how could they ever catch a great fish? Those who seek high office by flaunting shallow arguments are far from understanding the Great Way. They have never heard of Lord Ren’s breadth of vision and way of acting, so naturally they are ill-equipped to govern the world.

Confucian scholars use the Book of Songs and the Book of Rites to rob tombs. The senior scholar sends word from the front: “Dawn is near. How is it going?” The junior scholar replies, “I haven’t yet undone the dead man’s clothes, but there is a pearl in his mouth.” The senior scholar then recites a line from the Book of Songs: “Green, green, the wheat grows on the hillside. He would not give when alive; what use is a pearl in his mouth now that he is dead?” Then he grabs the corpse by the hair and pins down its beard, while the scholars use a gold hammer to pry open its jaw. They slowly part the cheeks, taking care not to damage the pearl in its mouth.

A disciple of Lao Laizi went out to gather firewood and encountered Confucius. When he returned, he reported, “There’s a man over there with a long upper body and short legs. His ears stick out behind him, and his eyes seem to scan in every direction. I don’t know whose son he is.” Lao Laizi said, “That is Kong Qiu. Ask him to come here.” When Confucius arrived, Lao Laizi said, “Kong Qiu, rid yourself of your self-importance and your show of cleverness. Only then can you be called a gentleman.” Confucius bowed and withdrew. With a solemn expression, he asked, “Can my learning still make progress?”

Lao Laizi said, “You cannot bear a setback that lasts only a moment, yet arrogantly invite calamities that last a long time. Is this because you are naturally shallow, or because you lack foresight? You guide people with kindness and delight, yet take pride in doing so; you will carry shame for the rest of your life. Ordinary people do no more than strive to get ahead, build up one another’s reputations, and form alliances for profit. Rather than praise Yao and condemn Jie, forget both kinds of judgment and cease clinging to praise. Return to your natural authenticity, and you will not be harmed. Act, and you will not repeatedly go against the Way. The sage acts with ease, seeking only to bring things to completion. Why are you always burdened with self-importance and pride?”

One night, Song Yuanjun dreamed of a man with disheveled hair who peered through the small side gate beside the palace entrance. The man said, “I come from the deep pool of Zailu. I am an emissary of the Qing River and was on my way to see the River Earl, but a fisherman named Yu Qie caught me.” When Yuanjun woke, he had the dream interpreted. The diviner said, “It was a divine turtle.” Yuanjun asked those around him, “Is there a fisherman named Yu Qie?” They replied, “There is.” Yuanjun then ordered Yu Qie to appear before him at court the next morning.

When Yu Qie appeared, Yuanjun asked him, “What have you caught?” Yu Qie replied, “My net caught a white turtle. Its shell is about five feet across.” Yuanjun ordered him to present the turtle. When it was brought in, Yuanjun considered killing it, then considered setting it free. Unable to decide, he had the turtle consulted by divination. The verdict read, “Kill the turtle to divine good or ill fortune.” Yuanjun cut open its belly and used it for divinations seventy-two times. Every one proved accurate; not once did it fail.

Confucius commented, “The divine turtle could send a dream to Yuanjun, yet it could not escape Yu Qie’s net. It could make all seventy-two divinations come true, yet it could not avoid the calamity of being cut open. So even wisdom has its limits, and even supernatural skill has things beyond its reach. However great one’s intelligence, it is difficult to reckon with everything. Fish do not fear nets, but they fear ospreys. Set aside petty cleverness, and great wisdom will become clear; set aside goodness put on display, and true goodness will appear. An infant can speak without a teacher because it lives among people who can speak.”

Huizi said to Zhuangzi, “Your words are useless.” Zhuangzi replied, “Only someone who understands what is useless can talk with you about what is useful. The earth is vast and boundless, yet all a person actually uses is the small patch beneath the soles of the feet. If the rest of the ground were dug away, all the way down to the Yellow Springs, would that patch still be useful to the person standing on it?” Huizi said, “No.” Zhuangzi said, “Then the use of what is useless is clear.”

Zhuangzi said, “If someone has the ability to wander freely among the affairs of the world, can they not wander freely? If they lack this ability, can they wander freely all the same? To let desires run wild and break with all restraint—is that a burden for those of the highest wisdom and deepest De? Once they fall, they do not turn back; they charge on like a burning chariot, heedless of the consequences. If someone can wander freely, can they not wander freely? If they lack this ability, can they wander freely all the same? The fact that one person becomes a ruler and another a subject is simply the result of circumstances. When their positions change, there is no need for them to look down on each other. Thus the Perfected Person is not bound by fixed patterns of conduct.”

Revering antiquity and looking down on the present is a habit among some scholars. Even if we used the age of ancient peoples such as the Xiwei to examine the present, who could remain entirely untouched by the world’s fluctuations? Only the Perfected Person can move through the world without becoming trapped in partial views, responding to others without losing themselves. Those who follow doctrines rigidly and cater to other people’s wishes do not thereby come to understand the Dao.

When the eyes are clear, that is called vision; when the ears are clear, that is called hearing; when the nose is clear, it can distinguish scents; when the mouth is clear, it can taste; when the heart-mind is clear, it can know; when knowing is clear, it becomes De. The Dao must not be obstructed: when obstructed, it cannot flow. If it cannot flow and be released, it will be trampled, and all kinds of harm will arise. Living things depend on breath; when their breath is not abundant, Heaven is not to blame. The transformations of Heaven and Earth proceed day and night without stopping, yet people often block the openings of their own bodies. The abdomen should be spacious, and the mind should have room to move freely. When a house has no empty space, a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law quarrel; when the mind has no space to wander freely, the senses struggle with one another.

Great forests and mountain landscapes benefit people, yet cannot equal the nourishment found within the spirit. When one’s De exceeds one’s reputation, reputation becomes self-display. When plans gather around urgent matters, knowledge arises from contention. Clinging to one’s post brings obstruction, while action is governed by standards that everyone accepts. When spring rain falls at the right time, plants and trees flourish, and only then do people begin to repair their hoes and farm tools. Yet more than half the plants are planted upside down, and people do not know why.

Silence and few words can help restore an ailing body; massaging the eye sockets can ease old age; stillness can quell agitation. These things are useful, but they are needed only by those who toil; those who live at ease have never thought to ask about them. The principles with which the sage alerts the world are of no particular concern to the spirit person. The principles with which the worthy person alerts the world are of no concern to the sage. The principles with which the gentleman alerts a state are of no concern to the worthy person. And the methods by which petty people accommodate themselves to the times may not be ones you truly understand.

A man in Yanmen grieved excessively over the death of a relative. He was granted rank and office and became an official. People in his community imitated him, wounding their own bodies, and half of them died. When Yao ceded the empire to Xu You, Xu You fled. When Tang offered the empire to Wuguang, Wuguang grew angry. Jita heard of this and took his disciples into hiding by the banks of the Kuan River. Hou went to console him. Three years later, Shentu Di also threw himself into the river over the matter.

A bamboo fish trap is for catching fish; once the fish are caught, the trap can be forgotten. A snare is for catching rabbits; once the rabbits are caught, the snare can be forgotten. Words are for expressing meaning; once the meaning is understood, the words can be forgotten. Where can I find someone who has forgotten words, so I can talk with them?

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Interpretation

“Parables” make up nineteen parts, “quoted sayings” seventeen, while “goblet words”—speech that pours out and adapts freely, like wine from a cup tilted toward whatever is at hand—arise naturally without end and are harmonized by “Heaven’s dividing line,” the natural distinctions and balance among all things. A parable expresses a principle through someone else’s story. A father is not the right person to find a match for his own son: praise from an outsider is more convincing than a father’s praise. This is not because the father is at fault, but because human feelings work this way. People tend to agree with opinions like their own and oppose those that differ; they take whatever suits their wishes to be right and whatever does not to be wrong.

“Quoted sayings” convey one’s meaning through the words of someone older or more respected. Being old does not mean having true experience. If someone has lived many years but cannot see how things fit together or grasp their course from beginning to end, that person is not truly an elder. Anyone with nothing to teach others falls short of what human relationships require; such a person is merely old in years.

Goblet words arise in response to circumstances and harmonize different accounts through natural distinctions. They unfold as things change, and so can carry on throughout a lifetime. When nothing is said, all things seem to be one and the same. Once words are spoken, however, this oneness and speech are no longer the same, and words can never be fully identical with things themselves. Thus the Dao is difficult to put into words. Whoever does not understand the way human beings and all things connect is merely old in years.

“Not speaking” does not mean never opening one’s mouth in a lifetime. A person may speak all their life without ever truly speaking of the Dao; another may remain silent all their life and still have expressed something. Things each have their own grounds, so some are judged acceptable and others unacceptable; some are judged to be this way and others not to be this way. Why is something judged to be this way? Because by one standard it is said to be so. Why is it judged not to be this way? Because by another standard it is said not to be so. What counts as acceptable or unacceptable is also judged according to each person’s own standards. Things each have their own reasons for being as they are and their own qualities to value. Nothing is absolutely not so, and nothing is absolutely unworthy. Unless goblet words are allowed to flow freely and be harmonized by Heaven’s dividing line, who could sustain them for long?

All things are made up of differing forms, which follow and replace one another as they change. Their beginnings and endings circle round like a ring. To grasp the order within this process is called “Heaven’s balance,” the natural equilibrium of all things. Heaven’s balance is Heaven’s dividing line.

Zhuangzi said to Huizi, “Confucius reached the age of sixty and underwent sixty changes. What he once considered right, he later considered wrong. Does that mean that everything he judged right before his fifty-ninth change must have been wrong?” Huizi said, “Confucius was diligent in his pursuit of knowledge.” Zhuangzi said, “Confucius has already let go of that attachment. He once said: ‘A person’s natural endowment comes from the root of all things, and their spirit returns with the course of life. Birdsong accords with its pitch; speech accords with its rules. When profit and righteousness stand before us, people’s likes and dislikes, their judgments of right and wrong, often amount to making them agree only with their mouths. If we can bring people to believe with their hearts, so that they dare not resist, and thereby establish a standard accepted by all under Heaven, that is enough! Ah, I fear I still have not reached such a state.’”

Zengzi held office twice, and his state of mind changed each time. He said, “When I held office while my parents were still alive, my salary was only three fu, yet I was happy. Later, I held office with a salary of three thousand zhong, but my parents were gone, and I felt grief.” A disciple asked Confucius, “Could someone like Zeng Shen be said to have no concerns or attachments?” Confucius said, “He still had concerns. Would someone truly free of attachment feel such grief? He would look at three fu and three thousand zhong as if sparrows, mosquitoes, and gnats were flying past his eyes, and would not be moved by them.”

Yan Cheng Ziyou said to Dongguo Ziqi, “After hearing your words, in the first year I became simple and unadorned; in the second, I learned to go along with things; in the third, I became open and perceptive; in the fourth, I felt that all things were connected; in the fifth, my mind found a place to rest; in the sixth, the principles of ghosts and spirits seemed to enter my heart; in the seventh, I followed nature; in the eighth, I no longer clung to life and death; and in the ninth, I reached a wondrous state.”

Life means taking action; death is like a loss in the force of life. If death has its cause, then surely the Yang Qi that gives rise to life has a cause too. Where, in the end, do things return? Where can they not return? Heaven has its courses, and human affairs unfold on earth. Where, then, can we go to seek an answer? If we do not know where life finally leads, how can we claim that there is no destiny? If we do not know where life begins, how can we claim that everything is determined by destiny? If things truly respond to one another, how can we claim that ghosts and spirits do not exist? If they do not respond to one another, how can we claim that ghosts and spirits do exist?

A multitude of shadow-edges, faint shadows cast at the margins of a shadow, asked the shadow, “A moment ago you were bent over, and now you are standing straight; a moment ago your hair was tied up, and now it hangs loose; a moment ago you were sitting, and now you have stood up; a moment ago you were walking, and now you have stopped. Why?” The shadow said, “I change suddenly like this. Why insist on asking? These changes happen to me, but I do not know their cause. I am like a cicada’s cast-off shell or a snake’s shed skin: I seem to be myself, yet I am no longer the self I was before. When fire and the sun shine on me, I appear; when darkness and night arrive, I disappear. Do I not depend on other things in order to appear? And what of the things that depend on me in order to appear? When other things come, I come along with them; when they go, I go too. When they move, I move with them. Since everything is in motion and change, why insist on asking?”

Yangzi Ju was traveling south to Pei, while Lao Dan was heading west to Qin. They met outside the city and traveled together to Liang. Partway along the road, Laozi looked up at the sky and sighed. “At first I thought you could be taught,” he said. “Now it seems you cannot.” Yangzi Ju made no reply. When they arrived at their lodging, he brought water for washing and rinsing, a towel, and a comb. He left his shoes outside the door, then approached Laozi on his knees and said, “Earlier I wanted to ask you something, Master, but you were hurrying along and had no free time, so I did not dare speak. Now I would like to ask why you said that.”

Laozi said, “All along the road you were so proud and self-satisfied. Who would want to be around you? What is truly pure looks as though it has a stain; a person of deep De seems to have something lacking.” Hearing this, Yangzi Ju looked respectful and said, “I will follow your teaching.”

Earlier, when Yangzi Ju arrived at an inn, the other guests welcomed him, the host personally arranged a place for him, his wife brought him a towel, those already seated gave up their places, and the person tending the fire moved away from the hearth. After hearing Laozi’s words and returning, the guests competed with him for places to sit.

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Interpretation

Yao wanted to yield the realm to Xu You, but Xu You refused. Yao then wanted to yield it to Zizhou Zhifu. Zizhou Zhifu said, “I might be able to govern the realm. But I am suffering from a distressing, troubled illness and am recuperating. I have no time to govern the realm.” The realm is an exceedingly precious thing, yet one must not damage one’s life for its sake, much less for the sake of lesser things. Only someone who does not pursue the realm as an aim can be entrusted with it.

Shun wanted to yield the realm to Zizhou Zhibo. Zizhou Zhibo said, “I am suffering from a distressing, troubled illness and am recuperating. I have no time to govern the realm.” The realm is a weighty vessel, yet it cannot be exchanged for one’s life. This is what sets a person of the Dao apart from a worldly person.

Shun wanted to yield the realm to Shanjuan. Shanjuan said, “I live between Heaven and Earth. In winter I wear fur, and in summer I wear hemp cloth. In spring I farm, working my body just enough; in autumn I harvest, and what I gain is enough for rest and food. I work at sunrise and rest at sunset, living freely between Heaven and Earth, with a contented heart. What would I want the realm for? How sad that you do not understand me.” With that, he refused. He then left and withdrew into the mountains.

Shun wanted to yield the realm to his friend, the farmer of Shihu. The farmer of Shihu said, “People in later generations are truly constrained. They even spend their strength governing the realm.” He considered Shun’s De insufficiently elevated, so he and his wife carried their child on their backs and moved to the sea, never to return.

King Danfu lived in Bin when the Di people attacked. King Danfu offered them leather and silk, but they would not accept them. He then offered dogs, horses, and pearls and jade, but they still refused. The Di wanted the land. King Danfu said, “If I let other people’s elder brothers or fathers be killed for the sake of land, I could not bear it. Settle here in peace if you wish! What difference is there between being my subjects and being subjects of the Di? I have heard that one must not harm some people in order to provide for others.” He then set off, leaning on his staff. The people followed him one after another, and in the end they established a state at the foot of Mount Qi.

King Danfu understood how to honor life. Those who understand how to honor life will not harm themselves to maintain their comforts, even when they are wealthy and honored; nor will they be ensnared by profit, even when they are poor and lowly. Today, those who hold high office in the world take the prospect of losing their position very seriously. When they see a chance for profit, they readily risk their lives. How confused they are!

Three successive rulers of Yue were murdered, so Prince Sou grew afraid and fled to hide in the Cinnabar Cave. Yue had no ruler, and the people found Prince Sou and asked him to return. He refused to come out, so they smoked him with burning mugwort and then helped him into the royal carriage. Prince Sou grasped the carriage straps as he climbed aboard, raised his face to Heaven, and cried, “To be a ruler! To be a ruler! Could you not just leave me alone?” Prince Sou did not hate being ruler; he hated the calamities that came with being ruler. A person like him, who would not damage his life for the sake of the state’s position, was precisely whom the people of Yue wanted to enthrone.

Han and Wei were disputing over land. Zihuazi visited Marquis Zhaoxi, who wore a troubled expression. Zihuazi said, “Suppose there were a tablet placed before you, with these words inscribed on it: ‘If you take it with your left hand, your right arm will be crippled; if you take it with your right hand, your left arm will be crippled. But whoever takes it will certainly gain the realm.’ Would you take it?” Marquis Zhaoxi said, “I would not.” Zihuazi said, “Good. By this measure, both your arms are more precious than the realm, and your body is more precious than both arms. Compared with the realm, Han is already much less significant; and the land you are fighting over is even less worth worrying about than the realm. Why grieve over not obtaining it to the point of damaging your body and injuring your life?” Marquis Zhaoxi said, “Well said! Many have instructed me, but I have never heard anything like this.” Zihuazi thought that he had understood how to weigh what matters.

The ruler of Lu heard that Yan He had attained the Dao and first sent someone to visit him with gifts. Yan He lived in a humble alley, wore coarse cloth, and pretended to be a cow eating grass. The messenger asked, “Is this Yan He’s home?” Yan He replied, “It is.” The messenger presented the gifts, and Yan He said, “I fear you have been misinformed and have sent the gifts to the wrong person. If you give them by mistake, you may be punished, so you should check again.” After returning to make inquiries, the messenger came back to find him, but Yan He had already disappeared. People like Yan He truly loathed wealth and honor.

Thus, the root of the Dao is used to cultivate oneself; what remains can be used to govern a state; and what remains after that, the tiniest portion, can be used to govern the realm. From this we can see that ruling as a king and governing a state are incidental tasks a sage may accomplish along the way. They are not done to preserve the body and nurture life. Yet worldly gentlemen today often risk danger and sacrifice their lives to pursue external things. How tragic! When a sage acts, he always examines the reasons and aims behind his actions. If someone used a marquis’s pearl to shoot at a sparrow a thousand fathoms above, everyone would laugh at him, because what he used to catch the sparrow was far too precious for what he hoped to gain. How much more precious is life than a marquis’s pearl!

Liezi was poor, and hunger showed on his face. Someone told Ziyang of Zheng, “Lie Yukou is a man of the Dao, yet he lives in your state in such poverty. Could it be that you do not value worthy people?” Ziyang sent an official to deliver grain to him. Liezi saw the messenger, bowed in thanks, and refused the grain. After the messenger left, Liezi returned indoors. His wife beat her chest and reproached him, saying, “I have heard that the wives and children of people of the Dao can live in comfort and happiness. Yet we are starving. The ruler has specially sent us grain, and you refuse it. Is it our fate to go hungry?” Liezi smiled and said, “The ruler does not know me. He sent the grain because he heard about me from someone else. If he later hears someone’s words and blames me, he will likewise lay the blame on me. That is why I refused the grain.” Later, the people indeed rebelled and killed Ziyang.

When King Zhao of Chu lost his state, Butcher Yang followed him into exile. After King Zhao regained the state, he wanted to reward those who had accompanied him, including Butcher Yang. Butcher Yang declined, saying, “When Your Majesty lost the state, I lost my meat-selling business. When Your Majesty regained the state, I also regained my meat-selling business. The emoluments I am entitled to have already been restored. What further reward would I need?” King Zhao insisted on rewarding him, but Butcher Yang said again, “Your Majesty’s loss of the state was not my fault, so I was not punished. Your Majesty’s recovery of the state was not my achievement, so I dare not accept a reward.” King Zhao wanted to summon him, but he said, “Chu’s rules allow only those who have rendered great service to meet the ruler. I did not have enough wisdom to preserve the state, nor the courage to die for it. When the Wu army entered Ying, I fled for fear of the ravages of war; I did not deliberately follow Your Majesty. If Your Majesty now breaks the law in order to meet me, that would go against the principles I have heard.” King Zhao then had Sima Ziqi invite him to take a high position. Butcher Yang again declined, saying, “I know that a high office is more honorable than selling meat, and that a generous stipend is greater than the proceeds of selling meat. But how could I covet rank and emoluments and give Your Majesty a reputation for bestowing favors arbitrarily? I dare not accept. I would rather return to my meat stall.” So he refused the reward.

Yuan Xian lived in Lu in a house enclosed by only a low wall. Its roof was thatched, its reed door was flimsy, its door pivots were made of mulberry wood, and broken pottery was set into the wall for windows. Rain leaked through the roof and the floor was damp, yet he still sat upright playing his qin. Zigong rode a fine horse, wore splendid clothes, and came to visit him in a grand carriage. Yuan Xian came out to greet him wearing a ragged hat and broken shoes, leaning on a goosefoot staff. Zigong asked, “Sir, how did you become so ill?” Yuan Xian replied, “I have heard that failing to put what one has learned into practice is called an illness. I am merely poor; I am not ill.” Zigong retreated in shame. Yuan Xian said, “Chasing fame and profit, forming factions with others, reading only to display oneself, teaching only to elevate oneself, turning benevolence and rightness into pretense, and dressing up one’s appearance with carriages and fine clothes—these are things I cannot bear to do.”

Zengzi lived in Wei, wearing a coarse robe without lining. His face was swollen, and his hands and feet were covered with calluses. For three days he had not lit a fire to cook, and for ten years he had bought no new clothes. When his hat cord broke, he tied it together; when his robe tore, raising his arm exposed his elbow; when his shoes split, his heels showed through. He dragged his shoes as he sang the “Hymn of Shang,” his voice ringing like metal and stone and resounding throughout Heaven and Earth. The Son of Heaven could not treat him as a subject, and the feudal lords could not treat him as a friend. Thus, those who cultivate the mind forget their appearance; those who cultivate the body forget profit; and those who attain the Great Dao forget even their private concerns.

Confucius said to Yan Hui, “Hui, come here. Your family is poor and your status low. Why do you not enter government service?” Yan Hui replied, “I do not want to serve in government. I have fifty mu of fields outside the city, enough to provide me with porridge; and ten mu inside the city, enough to grow hemp and raise silkworms. Playing the qin gives me pleasure, and learning your Dao gives me enough joy, so I do not want to serve in government.” Confucius’ expression changed, and he said, “Yan Hui’s resolve is admirable! I have heard these words: ‘Those who know contentment are not ensnared by profit; those who are truly at ease do not fear losing things; those who cultivate their inner selves are not ashamed to hold no office.’ I have recited these words for a long time, but today I have seen them in Yan Hui. That, too, is a gain for me.”

Prince Mou of Zhongshan said to Zhanzi, “My body is in the rivers and lakes, but my heart is still occupied with the court. What should I do?” Zhanzi said, “If you value life, profit will seem less important.” Prince Mou said, “I understand the principle, but I cannot restrain myself.” Zhanzi said, “If you cannot restrain yourself, then follow this inclination. But if you know you cannot do so and force yourself to suppress it, that will injure your spirit twice over. Someone injured twice over will find it difficult to live long.” Prince Mou was a prince by birth, yet he was able to withdraw into the mountains and forests. That was harder than a commoner’s withdrawal; though he had not attained the Great Dao, his resolve deserves praise.

Confucius was trapped between Chen and Cai. For seven days he had no cooked food, only a broth of wild greens with no grains in it. His face was gaunt, yet indoors he continued to play the qin and sing. Zilu and Zigong were picking greens as they talked together: “Our master was twice driven out of Lu, rejected in Wei, had a tree felled over him and was besieged in Song, was in distress in Qi, and is now surrounded between Chen and Cai. People want to kill him and no one stops them; they want to injure him and no one prevents them. Yet our master still plays the qin and sings. Is it not shameless of a gentleman to behave this way?” Yan Hui could not answer. He went in and told Confucius. Confucius pushed aside his qin and sighed, “Zilu and Zigong have shallow understanding. Let them come in, and I will explain it to them.” Zilu said, “Things have come to this point. It is fair to say we are at the end of our road!” Confucius said, “What kind of talk is that? When a gentleman is in accord with the Dao, that is called being on the road; when he departs from the Great Dao, that is called being in distress. I uphold the Dao of benevolence and rightness, yet have encountered the calamities of a disorderly age. How can that be called distress? When I examine myself within and find that I have not departed from the Great Dao, even when danger is at hand I do not lose my De. When winter comes and frost and snow fall, we see that pines and cypresses remain green. Being trapped between Chen and Cai is good fortune for me.” Confucius looked solemn and began playing and singing again. Zilu excitedly picked up a shield and danced. Zigong said, “Only now do I understand how high Heaven is and how deep Earth is.” People of the Dao in ancient times could be happy whether in hardship or success; they did not take hardship or success themselves as their joy. When one’s cultivation of the Dao reaches this level, hardship and success are like the natural changes of cold and heat, wind and rain. Xu You was at ease north of the Ying River, and Gongbo found contentment on Mount Gongshou.

Shun wanted to yield the realm to his friend Beiren Wu Ze. Beiren Wu Ze said, “How strange! This ruler lives out in the fields, yet comes and goes at Yao’s court. If that were all, it might be one thing; but now he wants to impose this polluted conduct on me. I am ashamed to see him.” So he threw himself into the Qingling Abyss and died.

Tang was preparing to attack Jie of Xia and went to consult Biansui. Biansui said, “This is not my business.” Tang asked, “Who should I consult?” Biansui said, “I do not know.” Tang then went to consult Maoguang. Maoguang also said, “This is not my business.” Tang asked, “Who should I consult?” Maoguang said, “I do not know.” Tang asked, “What about Yi Yin?” Maoguang replied, “He is fierce and can endure humiliation; beyond that, I know nothing.” Tang consulted Yi Yin, attacked Jie, and won. Afterward, he offered the realm to Biansui. Biansui declined, saying, “When you came to consult me about attacking Jie, you must have taken me for a co-conspirator. After defeating Jie, you offer me the realm, so you must take me for someone who covets power. I live in a disorderly age, and now a man without the Dao has twice sullied me with his actions. I cannot bear to hear any more of this.” So he drowned himself in the Chou River.

Tang then offered the realm to Maoguang, saying, “The wise make plans, the brave carry out deeds, and the benevolent govern the state. This is what the ancients did. Why do you not come forward and become ruler?” Maoguang declined, saying, “To depose the rightful ruler is unjust; to make the people suffer through war is not benevolent; to let others risk their lives fighting while I enjoy the spoils is not integrity. I have heard that one should not accept emoluments gained unjustly or set foot on land governed without the Dao. How much less should I accept the highest position? I cannot bear to go on watching.” He then carried a stone on his back and sank into the Lu River.

When the Zhou dynasty arose, the state of Guzhu had two worthy men, Boyi and Shuqi. They heard that there was a man in the west who seemed to possess the Dao, so they went to Qiyang to investigate. King Wu of Zhou sent Shudan to meet them and offered them an increase of two grades in emoluments, along with an official post. They slaughtered an animal, swore an oath over its blood, and buried their agreement. Boyi and Shuqi looked at each other and laughed. “How strange! This is completely different from the Dao we speak of. In ancient times, when Shennong governed the realm, people made offerings at the proper times and served the spirits with care, but did not pray for blessings. They served the people with loyalty and trust, but did not seek private gain. The ancients took joy in governing a state and also in governing it together with the people. They did not build up their own success on other people’s hardship, elevate themselves by lowering others, or take advantage of circumstances for private gain. Now Zhou saw that Shang was in turmoil and hastened to seize power. It plots above and distributes goods below, uses force to maintain its authority, and seals its promises with the slaughter of animals. Tang and Wu rouse the people and seek gain through killing. They have merely replaced one kind of disorder with another kind of tyranny. In ancient times, when scholars encountered a peaceful age, they did not evade their responsibilities; when they encountered a disorderly age, they did not cling to life at any cost. Now the realm is dark and the De of Zhou is declining. If we join Zhou’s enterprise, we will stain ourselves. Better to leave and preserve our integrity.” They went north to Mount Shouyang and eventually starved to death there. Boyi and Shuqi would give up wealth and honor whenever they could; their integrity was pure, and they found joy in their own aspirations, taking no part in worldly affairs. This was the integrity of the two men.

Robber Zhi

Confucius was friends with Liuxia Ji, whose younger brother was called Robber Zhi. Robber Zhi led nine thousand men as they rampaged across the realm, harassing the feudal lords, breaking through walls and doors, and stealing cattle, horses, and women. He was insatiably greedy and showed no consideration even for his relatives; he did not make offerings to his ancestors. When he passed through cities, great states shut their gates and stood guard, while small states took refuge in their fortresses. The people suffered greatly. Confucius said to Liuxia Ji, “A father should instruct his son, and an elder brother should instruct his younger brother. You are a worthy man of the world, yet your younger brother has become a calamity to the realm. You have failed to teach him properly, and I feel ashamed on your behalf. I am willing to go and persuade him.” Liuxia Ji said, “You say that fathers and elder brothers should instruct their sons and younger brothers. But if they do not listen, what can you do, however skilled your words may be? Zhi’s thoughts change swiftly, his actions are like the wind, his strength is enough to resist an enemy, and his eloquence is enough to cover up his faults. Agree with him and he is pleased; oppose him and he grows angry, and he is quick to humiliate people with his words. Please, do not go.”

Confucius did not listen. He had Yan Hui drive the carriage, with Zigong sitting on the right, and went to see Robber Zhi. At the time, Robber Zhi was resting with his followers on the southern slope of a mountain and eating roasted meat. Confucius got down from the carriage and went forward. He told the messenger, “Kong Qiu of Lu has heard of the general’s high-minded conduct and has come respectfully to pay his respects.” The messenger went in to report this. When Robber Zhi heard, he flew into a rage, his eyes gleaming and his hair standing on end. “Isn’t that the crafty, hypocritical Kong Qiu of Lu? Tell him: ‘You make up fine words and speak recklessly about right and wrong. You wear a hat like a branch and tie on a belt of oxhide, spouting crooked arguments. You eat without farming and wear clothes without weaving. You wag your tongue and presume to make judgments, confusing the rulers of the realm and causing scholars everywhere to forget their roots. You speak recklessly about filial piety and brotherly respect, hoping to win yourself a fief and riches. Your crimes are great. Get out at once! Otherwise I will take your liver and make it my midday meal!’”

Confucius sent another message: “I have received great kindness from Liuxia Ji, and hope to visit the general’s tent.” Robber Zhi let him in. Confucius hurried forward, gave way to the seat, and bowed twice to Robber Zhi. Robber Zhi, furious, stretched out his legs, pressed his hand on his sword, and glared at him. “Kong Qiu, come here! If what you say pleases me, you may live; if it goes against my wishes, you will die.”

Confucius said, “I have heard that there are three kinds of De in the world. To be born tall and handsome, so that men and women, old and young, high and low, all delight in seeing you—this is the highest De. To have wisdom that reaches through Heaven and Earth and can distinguish the myriad things—this is the middle De. To be brave and decisive, able to gather people and lead an army—this is the lowest De. Anyone who possesses just one of these can be called a leader. The general has all three. You are eight chi and two cun tall, your face shines, your lips are red, your teeth are even, and your voice is resonant, yet you are called Robber Zhi. I privately regret this on your behalf. If the general will listen to me, I would be willing to travel to Wu and Yue, and to Lu, Song, Wei, Jin, and Chu, to build you a great city hundreds of li across and establish a town with tens of thousands of households. The general would be honored as a feudal lord, and the realm could once again be at peace. You could stop fighting, allow your followers to rest, look after your brothers, and together make offerings to your ancestors. These are the deeds of sages and worthy men, and the wish of everyone in the realm.”

Robber Zhi flew into a rage. “Kong Qiu, come here! Those who try to tempt people with profit or admonish them with words are all foolish and shallow commoners. My appearance is a gift from my parents. Even if you do not praise me, do you think I do not know what I look like? Besides, you praise me to my face, but behind my back you may slander me. You try to persuade me with a great city and its people because you want to entice me with profit and treat me like a commoner. Is there any city greater than the realm itself? Yao and Shun possessed the realm, yet their descendants did not even have a patch of land large enough to stand on. Tang became Son of Heaven, yet his line came to an end. Was it not because the profits of power were too great?

“I have heard that in the distant past, there were many beasts and few people. People built nests in trees to escape the beasts. By day they gathered acorns and chestnuts; at night they slept in the trees. That is why they were called the people of Youchao, the Nest Builders. Later, people learned to make clothes. They piled up firewood in summer and kept warm in winter, so they were called the people who knew how to live. In the age of Shennong, people lived at ease and worked without strain. They knew their mothers but not their fathers; they lived among the elk and deer, farmed for food, and wove cloth for clothing. They had no desire to harm one another. That was the age when De was at its height.

“By the time of the Yellow Emperor, people could no longer preserve this De. He fought Chiyou in the wilderness of Zhuolu, and blood flowed for a hundred li. When Yao and Shun arose, they appointed ministers. Tang banished his ruler, and King Wu of Zhou killed Zhou. From then on, the strong oppressed the weak, and the many lorded it over the few. Ever since Tang and Wu, people have thrown the realm into disorder. You study the way of Kings Wen and Wu, master the art of argument, and teach it to later generations. You wear a broad robe and a pale sash, behave with studied formality, confuse the rulers of the realm, and still hope to gain wealth and honor. The greatest robber in the realm is you. Why does the world not call you ‘Robber Qiu,’ but call me Robber Zhi?

“You used smooth words to persuade Zilu to follow you. He took off his tall hat, unfastened his long sword, and accepted your teaching. People everywhere then said that Kong Qiu could prevent violence and stop wickedness. But later, Zilu tried to kill the ruler of Wei. He failed and was chopped into meat paste at the eastern gate of Wei. This shows that your teaching did not achieve its purpose. You call yourself a worthy man and a sage, yet you have been driven out of Lu again and again, rejected in Wei, trapped in Qi, and besieged between Chen and Cai. Nowhere in the realm is there a place for you. What is so worthy of honor in your Dao?

“The world praises the Yellow Emperor, but he too failed to preserve De: he fought at Zhuolu, and blood flowed for a hundred li. Yao was not loving, Shun was not filial, Yu was physically impaired, Tang banished his ruler, and King Wu of Zhou killed Zhou. King Wen of Zhou was imprisoned at Youli. If you examine these people whom the world praises, you will see that they all let profit confuse their nature and forcibly went against their own dispositions. That is shameful.

“The worthy men whom the world praises are Boyi and Shuqi. They gave up the throne of Guzhu and starved to death on Mount Shouyang. Bao Jiao adorned his conduct and criticized the age, then died embracing a tree. Shentu Di’s remonstrance went unheeded, so he tied a stone to himself, threw himself into a river, and was eaten by fish and turtles. Jie Zitui was utterly loyal and cut flesh from his thigh for Duke Wen of Jin to eat. Later, Duke Wen turned his back on him, so he hid in the mountains and was burned to death while embracing a tree. Weisheng made a tryst with a woman, but she did not come. Even when the floodwaters rose, he would not leave; he clung to a bridge pillar and drowned. These people valued their reputations and despised their lives. They neglected to nurture themselves and preserve their lives. They were no different from dogs and pigs that are slaughtered, or beggars holding out a gourd ladle.

“Among those the world calls loyal ministers, none are more famous than Prince Bi Gan and Wu Zixu. Wu Zixu was drowned in the river, and Bi Gan had his heart cut out, yet the world still calls them loyal. In my view, they are not worthy of praise either. Kong Qiu, if you talk about spirits and ghosts, I know nothing about them. If you talk about human affairs, they amount to no more than what I have just said. I have heard it all and know it all. People’s eyes want to see beauty, their ears want to hear music, their mouths want to taste delicacies, and their minds want to be satisfied. If a person lives to a hundred years, reaches middle age at eighty, and old age at sixty, then after subtracting sickness, decline, death, and worry, the days in any given month when he can laugh with delight amount to no more than four or five. Heaven and Earth are without end, but human life is limited. To place a limited life amid the boundless expanse of Heaven and Earth is like a fine horse flashing past a gap in the gate. Those who cannot satisfy their hearts and minds or nurture their years do not understand the Great Dao.

“I reject everything you have said. Leave at once and say no more! Your Dao is frantic and urgent, false and ornamental. It cannot preserve one’s true nature. What is there left to discuss?”

Confucius bowed again and again and hurried away. Once in the carriage, he repeatedly lost hold of the reins. His vision went dark, his face turned ashen, and he leaned against the crossbar, nearly unable to breathe.

At the eastern gate of Lu, Confucius met Liuxia Ji. Liuxia Ji said, “These past few days, you have looked unwell. Your carriage, your horses, and your face all seem out of sorts. Did you go to see Robber Zhi?” Confucius looked up to Heaven and sighed. “Yes.” Liuxia Ji asked, “Was Robber Zhi as contrary as I said he would be?” Confucius replied, “Yes. It was as though I had no illness but went and cauterized myself, or hurried to stroke a tiger’s head and braid its whiskers. I nearly failed to escape its jaws.”

Zizhang asked Mantougoude, “Why do you not cultivate your De? Without De, you will not gain people’s trust; without their trust, you will not be appointed to office or be able to accomplish anything. Fame and profit must be taken into account, and acting with rightness is the proper way. If one casts aside fame and profit and returns to one’s original nature, how could a scholar fail to cultivate his De?” Mantougoude replied, “People without shame become wealthy, and those who speak of trustworthiness rise to high office. Great fame and profit often come from shamelessness and hypocrisy. If you cast aside fame and profit and seek only your original nature, scholars will instead have their inborn nature constrained.”

Zizhang said, “Jie and Zhou were emperors and possessed the wealth of the realm. Today, if someone said that a thief acted like Jie or Zhou, he would feel ashamed and refuse to accept it. Confucius and Mozi were as poor as commoners. Today, if someone told a prime minister that his conduct was like Confucius’s or Mozi’s, his expression would change, and he would feel unworthy of the comparison. Clearly, scholars are indeed held in high regard. Holding the position of Son of Heaven is not necessarily to be honored, and being a poor commoner is not necessarily to be lowly. The distinction between honor and disgrace lies in the goodness or badness of one’s conduct.”

Mantougoude said, “Petty thieves are caught, but great robbers become feudal lords, and their courts are where people talk about benevolence and rightness. Duke Huan, Xiaobai, killed his elder brother and married his sister-in-law, yet Guan Zhong served him as a minister. Tian Chengzi killed his ruler and seized his state, yet Confucius accepted gifts from him. Their words condemn these men as lowly, yet their actions attach themselves to them. Their words, actions, and hearts contradict one another. Is that not a betrayal of one’s original nature? So an ancient text says, ‘Those who succeed become leaders; those who fail become followers.’”

Zizhang said, “If people do not cultivate their conduct, how will the distinctions between close and distant relations, high and low status, and elder and younger be maintained? On what basis will the Five Relationships and the six ranks be distinguished?” Mantougoude said, “Yao killed his eldest son, and Shun banished his younger brother by the same mother. Where was the order between close and distant relations? Tang banished Jie, and King Wu killed Zhou. Where was the principle that distinguishes high from low? King Ji of Zhou became heir, and the Duke of Zhou later killed his elder brother. Where was the order between elder and younger? Confucian words are false, and the Mohists advocate universal love. How can the Five Relationships and six ranks draw any clear boundaries?

“You pursue fame, and I pursue profit. The substance of both fame and profit is contrary to the Dao. The ancients said, ‘Petty people sacrifice their lives for money; gentlemen sacrifice their lives for fame. They change their spirit and go against their nature. Their motives differ, but the result is the same.’ So do not be a petty person, and do not be a gentleman; return instead to your inborn nature. Whatever the course of your conduct, whether crooked or straight, respond to the natural order and observe the four directions, adapting as circumstances change. Do not stubbornly alter your way of acting, and do not impose a fixed code of rightness; otherwise you will lose your nature. Do not pursue wealth and honor, and do not sacrifice your life for fame, or you will cast aside your inborn nature. Bi Gan’s heart was cut out and Wu Zixu’s eyes were gouged out: these were calamities brought on by loyalty. Zhi Gong reported his father and Weisheng drowned: these were calamities brought on by trustworthiness. Jie Zitui was burned to death and Shentu Di did not defend himself: these were the harms of integrity. Confucius would not see his mother, and Kuangzi would not see his father: these were errors caused by a sense of rightness. These stories have been handed down from age to age to teach people proper words and conduct, yet they lead people to disaster and suffering.”

Wuzu asked Zhihe, “Everyone pursues fame and profit. When people become wealthy, others flock to them and honor them. People think that being honored is a way to live long, remain secure, and be happy. You alone seem not to care about such things. Is it because you lack insight, because you intend to act this way but cannot, or because you deliberately pretend to be upright?” Zhihe said, “People today think that those among their contemporaries and fellow townspeople who stand out from the crowd are the truly insightful. In fact, they have no standard by which to judge right and wrong. They follow the customs of the age, cast aside what is most important and most precious—their lives—and care only about doing what they want. Their talk about ways to live long, remain secure, and be happy is far removed from the truth of right and wrong, both past and present. Terror and sorrow cannot nurture the body, and fear and joy cannot calm the mind. They know only that they must act, but do not know why. So even if they are honored as Son of Heaven and possess the wealth of the realm, they cannot escape calamity.”

Wuzu said, “Wealth and honor bring every advantage. One can enjoy every luxury and possess authority; even the Perfected and the worthy cannot match such people. They borrow the strength of warriors to display their might, the wisdom of strategists to seem discerning, and the De of others to appear worthy. Even without a state of their own, they can command the awe of a ruler and father. People do not need to learn to enjoy sound, beauty, delicious food, or power; the body feels at ease without having to imitate anyone. Likes, dislikes, choices, and rejections are simply part of human nature. If everyone in the realm opposed me, who could refuse these benefits?”

Zhihe said, “A wise person acts with consideration for the people and does not violate what is proper. So he is content and does not contend, and he does not deliberately seek to acquire more. Those who feel they have too little contend everywhere, yet do not think themselves greedy. Those who have something to seek and then decline it may renounce the realm without considering themselves pure. The substance of purity and greed does not lie outside us; we must turn back and examine the measure within our own hearts. Some occupy the position of Son of Heaven yet do not lord it over others; some possess the wealth of the realm yet do not use their riches to toy with people. They weigh the dangers and consequences, decide that these things would harm their nature, and refuse them. They do not do so to win a reputation. Yao and Shun ruled as emperors yet lived at ease because they loved the realm without letting its splendor damage their lives. Shanjuan and Xu You were offered the imperial throne but refused it, not as a show of modesty, but because they did not want affairs of state to harm them. If one can accept what benefits one and decline what harms one, then even if the realm calls him worthy, he can possess these things; he has not sought them for the sake of a name.”

Wuzu said, “To suffer hardship for the sake of a reputation, to give up what is sweet, and to limit one’s provisions in order to preserve life—doesn’t that resemble a long illness and a life of misery?” Zhihe said, “Balance and moderation are good fortune; excess is calamity. This is true of all things, and especially of money. The ears of the rich are beset by bells, drums, and pipes; their mouths crave fine wine and delicacies. Their minds are thrown into confusion, and they forget their proper work. They are like people carrying heavy loads uphill, trapped by their power and desires. One could call it toil. Greed for money brings worry; greed for power wears a person out. It is easy to become indulgent in leisure, and physical ease can make a person restless. One could call it illness. When desire and profit are before one’s eyes, greed blocks the way like a wall, and one does not know to avoid it. One could call it humiliation. People hoard wealth without using it and cling tightly to it, distressed and uneasy in their hearts; they keep seeking more and never stop. One could call it anxiety. At home, they fear thieves will rob them; when they go out, they fear bandits will harm them. They fortify their dwellings so thoroughly that they dare not even go out alone. One could call it fear.

“These six conditions are the greatest calamities in the realm, yet people forget to reflect on them. Once calamity strikes, they may want to spend all they own to buy back even a single day of peace, but it is already too late. Fame is invisible and cannot be grasped, yet it drives people to exhaust their minds and damage their bodies in pursuit of it. Is that not foolish?”

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Interpretation

There are many people throughout the world who study all kinds of arts and techniques, and each believes that what they do can be improved no further. Where, then, is the “art of the Dao” spoken of by the ancients? The answer is that the Dao is everywhere. From where do the spirits descend? From where does wisdom arise? Whatever the sages bring forth and the rulers accomplish all has its source in the unity of the Dao.

Those who do not depart from the root are called “people of Heaven”; those who do not depart from what is subtle are called “spiritual people”; those who do not depart from what is true are called “perfect people.” Those who take the Way of Heaven as their root, De as their foundation, and the Dao as their path, and who act in accord with change, are called sages. Those who show kindness through benevolence, guide conduct through righteousness, arrange behavior through ritual, harmonize people’s hearts through music, and are gentle and compassionate are called exemplary people. Officials govern public affairs by defining duties through laws and commands, marking them with titles, verifying them against actual results, making judgments through assessments, and arranging matters through numbers and systems. They make the fulfillment of duties a regular practice and regard providing people with food and clothing as fundamental. They breed livestock, store supplies, and care for the elderly, the weak, orphans, and widows, ensuring that they have support. This is how the people are governed.

The principles understood by the ancients were truly comprehensive. They worked in harmony with the spirits, enriched Heaven and Earth, nurtured the myriad things, brought harmony to the world, and bestowed their kindness on the people. They understood the fundamental principles and could also manage the smallest regulations. Throughout Heaven and Earth and the four directions, in things great and small, coarse and fine, the Dao’s operation is everywhere. Much of what could be explained through specific systems survives in old laws and histories passed down through the generations. Most scholars and educated people in the regions of Zou and Lu could explain the teachings found in the Poetry, Documents, Rites, and Music. The Poetry expresses intentions; the Documents record affairs of government; the Rites regulate conduct; Music harmonizes people’s hearts; the Changes explain the transformations of Yin-Yang; and the Spring and Autumn Annals distinguish ranks and titles. The Dao’s teachings are scattered throughout the world and are often mentioned in the various schools of the Central States.

When the world is in turmoil, the way of the worthy and the sage is no longer clear, and standards of De are no longer consistent. People each seize upon one part and consider it sufficient. Just as the eyes and ears each have their own range of sight or hearing and cannot communicate with one another, the hundred schools each have their strengths and moments of usefulness, but none can encompass everything. Each school divides up the beauty of Heaven and Earth and analyzes the principles of the myriad things, yet few can grasp the beauty of Heaven and Earth as a whole, or the totality of the spirits. Thus the way of “inner sagehood and outer kingship”—possessing sagehood within and governing the world without—grew obscure and could not flourish. People throughout the world each built a doctrine according to their own preferences. As the teachings of the hundred schools grew more distant from one another, it became difficult to return to their common source. Later scholars could no longer see the complete, undivided face of Heaven and Earth, and the art of the Dao was split apart.

Mo Di (Mozi) and Qin Guli heard one kind of art of the Dao and approved of it: they sought no luxury, wasted no goods, made no display of institutions, disciplined themselves by rules, and addressed the world’s urgent needs. They took these principles too far, yet believed that this was the way most faithful to reason. They opposed music and advocated frugality; they sang no songs in life and wore no mourning clothes after death. Mozi advocated caring for everyone equally and benefiting all, and opposed warfare. He studied diligently and was widely learned, yet rejected the rites and music of the former kings and criticized the ancient systems of ritual and music.

In ancient funeral practice, burials were regulated according to rank: the Son of Heaven used seven layers of inner and outer coffins, the feudal lords five, high officials three, and ordinary officers two. Mozi, however, held that one should make no provision for pleasure in life and wear no mourning clothes after death. He prescribed a coffin of paulownia wood only three inches thick, with no outer coffin, and took this as the standard. If his doctrine were used to teach others, it would seem to lack compassion; if practiced personally, it would indeed be hard to sustain. Mozi himself could do it, but he opposed singing even as he sang, and when mourning, did not conform to the rites of grief. He spoke about music while rejecting music. Can this really accord with human feeling? His life was harsh, his funeral rites too meager, and his doctrine so demanding that it brought sorrow and distress and was difficult to practice. To require everyone in the world to follow it would likely go against people’s hearts; the world could not bear it. Mozi could bear it himself, but what could he do for the rest of the world? By distancing himself from the people at large, he also moved far from the way of kingship.

Mozi praised Yu the Great for controlling the floods. Yu channeled the floodwaters, opened up the rivers, and connected the four quarters and the nine provinces. He went in person with tools in hand to work on the riverways, wearing away the hair on his legs as he labored, and rushing about through wind and rain. He brought peace to the world and was therefore a great sage. In later generations, many Mohist disciples wore coarse clothing and straw sandals, and labored without pause day and night. They took self-denial and hardship as their highest standard, believing that anyone unable to live this way did not follow Yu’s Way and was unworthy of being called a Mohist. Different Mohist groups argued endlessly, attacking one another with debates about “the hard and the white” and “sameness and difference.” They nominated a “Grand Master,” the Mohist leader, as a sage and competed to inherit his position; even in later times, no resolution was reached. Mozi’s intentions were good, but his methods were flawed. If later Mohists prided themselves on physical hardship and boasted to one another about it, that was a disorder within the art of governing. Even so, Mozi was truly one of the world’s rare, sincere, and good people. He pursued his ideals and did not give up when he could not attain them. He was indeed a person of talent and De.

Song Xing and Yin Wen heard another kind of art of the Dao and approved of it: they would not be entangled in worldly affairs, adorn themselves with external things, curry favor with others, or set themselves against the crowd. They hoped that the world would be at peace and that the people could live their lives; it was enough if their own needs were met, and they used this to express their convictions. They wore distinctive caps as a mark of their identity. When engaging with the myriad things, they first dispelled their preconceptions, attending to the state of the heart and the manner of action. They used gentle words to harmonize relations between people and held that this should be the foundation of governance. They did not consider it shameful to be insulted. They urged the people to stop fighting, forbade attacks, and quelled warfare in an effort to save the world from conflict. They traveled throughout the world, advising rulers above and teaching the people below. Even when the world would not accept their counsel, they continued to urge it again and again. They thought a great deal about others and very little about themselves, asking only for a meal. They worried that their teacher might not have enough to eat, while the disciples, even when hungry, did not forget the world. They hurried about day and night, hoping to help people, but often became utterly exhausted. They believed that exemplary people should not scrutinize things too closely or let themselves be controlled by external objects. If something did not benefit the world, then once this was understood, it was better to stop doing it. They regarded stopping warfare as their outward aim and reducing desires within the heart as their inner cultivation. Their efforts went more or less this far.

The art of the Dao endorsed by Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao called for impartiality without forming factions, simplicity without selfishness, adapting to things without clinging to fixed positions, making no prior calculations and forcing no cleverness, choosing nothing among the myriad things, and following them as they changed. They took the leveling of all things as fundamental. They held that Heaven can cover all things but cannot carry them, while Earth can carry all things but cannot cover them. The Great Dao can encompass all things, but does not distinguish them one by one. Each thing has what is acceptable about it and what is not. If one relies on choosing, one cannot be comprehensive; if one relies on instruction, one cannot bring everything to completion. Following the Dao, nothing is left out.

Shen Dao advocated abandoning self-directed cleverness and self-centeredness, adapting to what circumstances make unavoidable, and not forcibly ruling external things. He believed that knowing what one does not know allows one to avoid the harm caused by thinking one knows. He took on no responsibilities and sought to accomplish nothing, mocking the world’s reverence for the worthy. He let things be without being constrained by rules of conduct, opposing the world’s admiration for sages. Like a piece of wood being struck and shaped, he turned with things as they changed, refusing to take a stand on right and wrong and seeking only to avoid calamity. He did not rely on thought or arrange what came before and after, but seemed simply to move with the situation. Such a person was like an object without awareness, free from the trouble of establishing a self and unburdened by usefulness. In movement and stillness alike, he did not violate the principles of things, and so he could not be said to have any reputation in life. Therefore he said that it was enough for a person to become something like an object without awareness; there was no need deliberately to employ the worthy and the sages. Even a clod of earth would not stray from the Dao.

The bold and outstanding mocked him, saying that Shen Dao’s principles were not those of a living person but of a dead thing, which was truly strange. Tian Pian was much the same. He studied under Peng Meng, but what he learned was “not to teach.” Peng Meng’s teacher said that those who sought the Dao in ancient times went only so far as not to cling to judgments of right and wrong. Such a way was empty and nearly lifeless; how could it explain anything? They always acted contrary to convention and would not allow others to observe them, yet could not escape criticism. The Dao they spoke of was not necessarily the true Dao, and even what they called correct words could not be free of error. Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao did not truly understand the Dao, but they had at least heard something of its principles.

The art of the Dao endorsed by Guan Yin and Lao Dan (Laozi) took the root as its essence and particular things as its coarse aspects. It held that accumulating external things was insufficient, and quietly dwelt alone with the spirits. It made “constant nonbeing” its foundation—the state of abiding in Wuwei and stillness—and “the Great One” its central principle. Its outward expression was softness and humility; its practical substance was emptiness and stillness that did no harm to the myriad things.

Guan Yin said, “When the heart does not cling to any fixed view, the forms of things reveal themselves naturally.” In action, he was like water; in stillness, like a mirror; in responding to external things, like an echo. He was indistinct, seeming both present and absent, quiet yet clear. By becoming one with the myriad things, one could live in harmony with them; by insisting on possession, one would lose them. He never rushed ahead of others, but always followed their lead.

Lao Dan said, “Know what is strong, yet keep to what is weak, and you will become the ravine of the world. Know what is bright, yet keep to what is dark, and you will become the valley of the world.” While others contended to be first, he was willing to remain behind. While others sought fame, he was willing to bear the world’s disgrace. While others sought fullness, he alone remained empty. Because he did not store or possess things, he seemed always to have more than enough. He met the world calmly, without exhausting his strength or boasting of cleverness. While others pursued good fortune, he sought only to preserve himself by yielding, thereby avoiding misfortune. He took depth as his root and simplicity as his rule. He believed that whatever is too hard will break, and whatever is too sharp will be blunted. He made room for all things and did not set out to weaken others. One could say that he had reached the utmost. Guan Yin and Lao Dan were truly great and open-minded people of ancient times.

The art of the Dao endorsed by Zhuang Zhou (Zhuangzi) was deep and still, without fixed form, and changed without following any constant pattern. Was it dead or alive? Did it exist alongside Heaven and Earth, or move with the spirits? It stretched everywhere without a fixed direction, containing the myriad things, yet there was no single place to which it could be wholly reduced. Zhuang Zhou expressed it through distant and unusual stories, expansive and unconstrained language, and arguments without limit. At times he spoke freely and expansively, refusing to view things from only one perspective. He believed that the world was stagnant and confused and that serious, constrained speech was unsuited to it. So he used “goblet words”—speech that pours out according to the shape of its vessel—to unfold his meaning; “weighty words,” which draw authority from the ancients or other respected sources; and parables to extend his expression.

Zhuang Zhou alone roamed in spirit with Heaven and Earth. He did not look down on the myriad things or condemn right and wrong, but lived alongside the world. His writings were strange and wondrous, yet flowed coherently and did not suffer from rigid attachment. His words shifted and varied, uncanny yet captivating. His thought was abundant and inexhaustible. Above, he traveled with the creator; below, he made friends with those who transcended life and death, with what had no beginning or end. His understanding of the Dao’s root was vast and profound; his grasp of its central principle was thorough and far-reaching. Even so, his way of responding to change and freeing himself from the bonds of external things was still inexhaustible, so deep and subtle that it could not be fully expressed.

Hui Shi, a leading figure of the School of Names, had broad knowledge and wrote many books, but his doctrines were tangled and his arguments often missed the point. He examined things and proposed a series of propositions: what is greatest has no outside and is called the “Great One”; what is smallest has no inside and is called the “Small One.” Something without thickness cannot be piled up, yet can extend for a thousand miles. Heaven and Earth are equally low; mountains and marshes are equally level. When the sun has just reached midday, it is already declining; when things have just begun to grow, they are already moving toward decay. Comparing the greatest similarity with the smallest similarity may be called “small similarity and difference”; saying that all things are entirely the same and entirely different may be called “great similarity and difference.” The south is both boundless and bounded. One may set out today for Yue and say that one arrived yesterday. Joined rings can be separated. The center of the world lies north of Yan and south of Yue. Hui Shi advocated universal love for all things and held that Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things were originally one.

Hui Shi took pride in such arguments as signs of his brilliance, and debaters throughout the world were eager to dispute with him. They proposed such strange claims as “eggs have hair,” “a chicken has three feet,” and “a dog can be counted as a sheep.” They also debated whether fire is hot, whether mountains can speak, whether wheels touch the ground, and whether the eyes can see. Questions such as “the shadow of a flying bird never moves” and “a one-foot-long stick, cut in half each day, will never be used up” were enough to keep people arguing throughout their lives. Debaters such as Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long were skilled at unsettling people’s minds and changing their views. They could defeat others in words, but could not truly convince their hearts. This was the limitation of the debaters.

Every day, Hui Shi used his cleverness to argue with others, especially enjoying disputes with debaters throughout the world over strange propositions. He considered himself the most intelligent, yet lacked the art of the Dao. When Nanfang Huangliao asked why Heaven and Earth did not fall or collapse, and why wind, rain, thunder, and lightning occurred, Hui Shi answered at once and explained the myriad things without stopping. The more he spoke, the less satisfied he became, adding one strange claim after another. He treated what went against common sense as real and made defeating others his reputation, so he could not get along with people. Seen from the perspective of the Dao of Heaven and Earth, Hui Shi’s abilities were like the toil of mosquitoes and gnats. What practical use were they to the myriad things? If Hui Shi had devoted himself to a single pursuit, that might have been acceptable; if he had gone further and honored the Dao, he might have come close to the right path. Sadly, he could not rest in this way. He kept scattering his thoughts across the myriad things, and in the end took skill in argument as his sole ability. His talent ran wild but could not return to the root. He chased after the myriad things like someone pursuing an echo with a sound, or racing a shadow. It was lamentable.

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