《庄子翼》Vol. 6

This passage explains that possessing myriad differences without partiality is called “abundance”; holding fast to virtue without losing its proper order is called “discipline”; when the cultivation of virtue is complete, it is called “establishment”; acting in accord with the Dao is called “completeness”; and not letting external things defeat one’s resolve is called “wholeness.”

When the noble person understands these principles, they gather achievement within the heart and are inwardly broad and full; toward the coming and going of the ten thousand things they remain at ease and follow along. Such a person stores gold in the mountains and pearls in the deep pools—without coveting profit and goods, without clinging to rank, wealth, and honor; without rejoicing in long life or grieving untimely death; without taking prosperity as glory or straitened circumstances as shame; without treating profit in a single lifetime as private possession; and without treating ruling all under heaven as a personal throne.

To dwell in prominence yet remain clear, to see the ten thousand things as returning to one treasury, and to regard life and death as one form—the lines above introduced by “The Master said” are widely taken by commentators to cite words that Laozi had already quoted from the “Record” earlier; the passage below, “The Master asked Laozi,” clearly refers to Confucius seeking instruction from Laozi.

Mind and Nature

Once deliberate intent is held in the mind, it drags down what is naturally so; therefore it should be cut away and discarded. It is not that one does a thing in order to “do that thing,” but that one acts from what is inherently so—that is the Dao of Heaven. It is not that one forces out a phrase in order to “say that phrase,” but that words come forth on their own—that is true De.

Following One’s Nature and Each Keeping Its Place

Loving others and benefiting things both follow the inherent feelings of each nature-and-life, without forced reshaping. The myriad things and myriad forms each keep their allotted place, not pulling others to be like oneself—that is what is called “great.”

Sameness, Difference, and Abundance

When conduct does not walk the cliff’s edge or chase novelty, outwardly self and other seem to merge; each thing accepts itself as it is, and thus appears to have surplus. “Rich” does not mean being identical to others, but being able to hold many differences and thereby uniquely possess these kinds of De. This manifold De is the guiding thread of what makes a person human; one who is not established by De cannot be said to be truly established. “Following the Dao is called completeness” means the Dao does not lean on any single thing; when aspiration is not wounded by external things, the inner mind can attain its own greatness. When the mind is great, everything can be contained; when De’s influence is full, the myriad things may come and go as they will.

Forgetting Things, the Body, and Fortune and Misfortune

Not prizing rare objects enables forgetting the self—how much more so for goods and wealth? Not clinging to wealth and rank—when they come, they come, yet the mind always keeps its distance. Forgetting long life and short life is what is called “suspension and release”; when even longevity and early death are forgotten, the distinction between poverty and success need not be spoken of. Not scheming privately for worldly profit, one entrusts everything to what is outside.

Not Dwelling in Prominence; Same Form Without Fixed Abode

Not treating ruling all under Heaven as occupying a conspicuous position, one suddenly no longer feels glory heaped upon oneself. When prominent, there is clarity; when not prominent, there is silence—that is all. Sharing one treasury, sharing one kind of condition, one sheds and transforms without a fixed dwelling.

(Note: Several sentences in Guo Xiang’s commentary repeat here, likely from transmission in the manuscript tradition; this rendering follows the received text in order without altering the sense.)

Commentary by the Lü School

The Dao is so vast that unless the heart is “hollowed out”—stripped of fixed views and stubborn attachments so that the mind becomes empty and clear—one cannot truly grasp it. Embodying the Dao and practicing Wuwei (non-action), one has human form yet carries Heaven’s virtue. From this, loving and benefiting all people is called benevolence; from this, holding to the One without scattering is called greatness. Acting in ways that do not clash with the world is the height of generosity; the myriad kinds differ yet the heart is self-sufficient—that is the height of fullness. One who keeps virtue uses one thread to grasp the ten thousand, like the net’s main cord holding every mesh. When virtue is complete, one stands without leaning on external things; when the Dao is within oneself, nothing fails to respond and nothing is lacking. Nothing in the ten thousand things can shake such a person—this is called wholeness. These are the ten respects in which the noble person must hollow the heart. Turning inward to clarify the heart, embracing great and small without exclusion—that is the effect of hollowing the heart. Fullness like the cord at the head of the net; virtue complete and self-standing without reliance; the Dao present and all-responsive; the ten thousand things unable to overturn one—such is wholeness. The noble person hollows the heart in these ten ways. Seeking within oneself until the heart is clear and holds nothing out—that is the fruit of hollowing the heart. Abundance like the ten thousand things flowing and turning without end.

If so, then storing gold and pearls in mountain depths means not knowing that profit is worth craving, not knowing that the limits fate assigns are worth despising; not treating the profit of one age as private gain, but storing it for the world alone; not taking ruling the realm as one’s own glory. What things find beneficial is not for oneself alone. Glory shines through virtue, not through rank; in high place one has the virtue of emperor and son of Heaven, in low place one holds the way of the hidden sage, the uncrowned king. When the ten thousand things are all present in me, that is one treasury; birth upon birth, death upon death, life and death in the same form—that alone.

Detailed exposition on the Dao

When the ten thousand things are all complete in me, to keep and not lose them is wealth. When the cords of order are lost, every eye grows dim; when virtue is lost, every conduct goes awry. Therefore following the Dao is completeness; not letting things break the will is wholeness. Concealing one’s affairs and the greatness of the heart—that is holding to the great image; abundance like the ten thousand things passing away—that is the world coming to you. In antiquity those who governed the realm by the Dao showed it without leaving tracks, announced it without words, and let people attain it themselves. The above transforms the below—there is no bait of pleasure to delight them; the below delight in the above—not because they crave fat meat do they come seeking. Storing gold and pearls in mountain depths—do not let things burden the body; do not count longevity or early death, success or failure, and do not sacrifice the Dao for the body. Though the profit of one age be thick, one does not treat it as private; though the power of the realm be heavy, one does not treat it as personal glory. To be no different from the ten thousand things in life and death, unchanged in life and death—can anyone without such a heart achieve this?

Jade Void

The text opens with “The Master said,” meaning that Zhuangzi received the secret teaching of Changsangzi (a legendary Daoist recluse who is said to have passed medical and Daoist lore to Zhuangzi). The Dao is vast without bound and fills heaven and earth; only when the inner chamber of the heart-mind is empty and luminous can it hold the Dao. In action, to follow what is natural is to align with the principle of Heaven; in speech, to hold the center and speak uprightly is to keep far from decline and loss. Through a lifetime of contact with affairs and people, the mind does not turn back. What others detest, I do not suspect or despise; I blend my light with the dust and do not show sharp edges. The myriad kinds grow and together enrich one region; with supreme virtue as the guiding thread, one establishes oneself well by the supreme pattern, following the true constant without straying. Lessening attachment to the outer world preserves inner clarity—by refining the heart in this way, nothing in affairs is not embraced, no principle is not accommodated, no grace is not extended, and nothing among things fails to be fulfilled. Gold, pearls, and goods are the root of calamity; long life, early death, poverty, and success are burdens on the inner mind; private partiality, taking a place, and seeking prominence are the sickness of emotional fixation. Once the heart clings to anything, the will cannot reach completion.

Personal View

Guo Xiang punctuates “what is displayed, then clarity” as one sentence, and most follow him, yet it seems not to connect smoothly with what follows. Mr. Fan Wulang reads the next passage as one continuous sentence, with a richer meaning; this translation follows that reading: one who would king all under heaven does not take himself as something to display; if there is any “display,” it is only the clarity that all things return to one storehouse and death and life are of the same form. When the myriad things share one storehouse, there is no division of self and other; when death and life share one form, there is no burden of coming and going. This is probably the utmost reach of “hollowing the heart” (kuo xin—emptying fixed views and making the heart void).

The Master said: The Dao is like stillness dwelling in a deep pool, and also like clear water flowing transparently. Metal and stone do not sound by themselves; they ring only when something strikes them from outside—hence “no strike, no sound.” The ten thousand things change without fixed pattern; who could nail down their modes of responsive interaction with a rigid standard?

What is meant by a person of kingly De (one who embodies the virtue of a sage-king and is united with the Dao) is someone who acts in plain simplicity, follows their nature and lets artifice go, and takes pride in clever scheming over worldly affairs as shameful. They stand firm in the primordial root (the ground from which all things arise), and their understanding connects with Shen (the subtle, unfathomable transforming power of nature)—therefore their De is vast. Their mind’s intent arises naturally from the forms and luster of outer things; it is not mind-first, things-after, deliberately manufactured. Without the Dao, form cannot truly “be born”; without De, what is born cannot shine forth. Preserving the body, exhausting this life, establishing De, clarifying the Dao—is this not precisely the person of kingly De?

They move in vast openness, as if suddenly appearing, as if surging into motion—yet the ten thousand things follow of themselves. This is what is called a person of kingly De. They look into the dark unknown and listen in silence; in the dark unknown they alone see light, in silence they alone hear harmony.

Zhuangzi commentary (Guo Xiang) in essence:

Guo Xiang uses “sound revealed through silence” to explain: one who embodies the Dao (takes the Dao as their substance) does not move first; only when outer things stir do they respond. Responsive interaction has no fixed technique, so one cannot say “the ten thousand things are fixed by someone.” The person of kingly De simply accords with the natural and acts in simplicity—not because they love showing cleverness in affairs. First they establish the primordial root and know not to go against things; then they let simplicity run through and connect with Shen, and De becomes all the broader. Mind arises from things’ “coloration” (form and luster); it is not mind singing first and things echoing after. “Suddenly” and “surging” are both faces of responding without deliberate mind; movement and emergence are all without deliberate mind, so the ten thousand things follow—this is true “vast openness.”

Therefore one can preserve form, exhaust life, establish De, and clarify the Dao, and become kingly in De. If seeing and hearing do not rest in silence, one stays dim and cannot perceive dawn or hear harmony. Only by going deep, deep again, to the limit of the root can one transform and nurture the ten thousand things; only by being spirit-like, spirit-like again, following to the utmost can one exhaust subtle refinement.

When the person of kingly De meets the ten thousand things, they themselves reach Wu (emptiness, non-clinging)—yet can satisfy every need of things. Sometimes they let feeling roam freely; sometimes they grasp each thing’s own destination and constant place—whether great or small, long or short, near or far, all are included.

Guo Xiang further interprets their stance in the world: they steadfastly keep to this Dao and leave concrete affairs to outer things and outer conditions—when others seek, supply comes naturally; let them roam as they will, as long as they reach where they belong. That is enough.

Lü Commentary: “Dwelling in depth beyond fathoming” means being limpid and not moving rashly; “clear and penetrating” means being unobstructed and not muddied. Dao is roughly like this. If you take Dao to be “nothing,” then metal and stone will not sound without an external cause; if you take Dao to be “something,” then metal and stone will not sound of themselves without being struck—who can fix a single standard for the myriad things? Keeping to simplicity, one does not mix with miscellaneous affairs; following the flow of passing, one is nowhere absent. Penetrating affairs, one sees the truth of things clearly; with open, luminous clarity, wisdom penetrates spirit and circulates through the myriad things without exhaustion. Why must “penetrating affairs” be treated as the root? The root is Dao; affairs are the branches. Establish the root firmly, keep affairs behind you, and affairs will of themselves be penetrated. The heart does not chase externals—it is simply still; it neither greets nor sees off, yet responds without hoarding. Hearing with the ear, seeing with the eye, speaking with the mouth, and deliberating with the heart—none of this is apart from Dao. Form separated from Dao cannot live; used daily yet not known—though obtaining it is in oneself, one cannot make it clear—then life separated from De is obscure. Only by being able to nurture form and qi, exhaust this life, establish De, and clarify Dao does it truly reside in oneself; having obtained it, hold to it, and use the ancient to master the present. Suddenly moving forth, the myriad things follow; hidden away without worry, giving rise to the heart, yet never forcing contrivance. Dao as “a thing”—though invisible, is that by which “seeing” sees; though inaudible, is that by which “hearing” hears. Deep, it can give birth to “things”—within it there are things; spiritual, it can give birth to Jing—within it there is Jing. Reaching to nothingness yet supplying every need, the riches of the heavenly treasury are inexhaustible; ever moving forth yet seeking return, whether great or small, long or short, near or far, its allotments are never insufficient. What the Yijing calls “each rectifying nature and destiny, preserving and harmonizing supreme harmony” is exactly this meaning.

Supplementary Note: “Metal and stone have no way to sound without something else; metal and stone do not sound without being struck”—does this mean that what can sound is Dao? “Striking” (kao) is merely testing it. What the Yijing calls “each rectifying nature and destiny, preserving and harmonizing supreme harmony” is exactly this meaning.

Supplementary Notes (Fumo): Metal and stone do not ring unless struck; if not struck, they do not ring. So is the sound itself the Dao? Is the striker the Dao? Who can say that “fixation” rests in the metal and stone themselves? If fixation were in the metal and stone, why would they not ring without being struck? If fixation were in the one who strikes, other sounds ought to behave like metal and stone; if fixation were in empty space, why would striking them produce no sound? Questions of this kind are meant to push the reader to think deeply and realize for themselves.

Su Shi (pure passing) is the passing that flows forth as the passing of the ten thousand things. Su is singleness and purity; shi is circulation without stagnation. The su shi zhe (one of pure passing) is empty and still, plain and quiet, solitary and inactive—never caught in deliberate action or worldly affairs—hence the saying that to be skilled in vulgar affairs is shameful; one only establishes the root source and grasps the essential Dao, so that wisdom naturally connects with spirit and virtue is vast enough to rule all under heaven. What gives me life is the Dao; what clarifies me is De (Virtue/Power). To take De as clarity is to reach the utmost clarity. Dao and De are not two: originating from Heaven it is Dao—that is, establishing the root source; realized in oneself it is De—that is, the knowledge that connects with spirit. Preserving the form yet exhausting the meaning of life, the root source is established; establishing De yet clarifying the Dao, royal De is broad. Hence the praise again: vast and flowing, suddenly emerging, abruptly moving while the ten thousand things follow—truly the passing of the ten thousand things. Utmost non-being yet supplying every need, empty yet never exhausted, moving yet ever outpouring, Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing left undone; at times ranging freely yet returning to the home base—that is passing. Far, far—called returning; movement at its limit returns to stillness. Now vast then suddenly small, now long then suddenly short, now short yet suddenly extended and far—the so-called person of royal De is roughly like this.

The Yellow Emperor wandered north of the Red Water, climbed the heights of Mount Kunlun and looked south, then turned back (xuan, turned) on his return and lost his dark pearl (xuan zhu). He sent Zhi (cleverness) to search—it could not be found; sent Li Zhu (sharp sight) to search—it could not be found; sent Chi Gou (great strength, wide mouth, loud rebuke) to search—it still could not be found. Then he sent Xiang Wang (the indistinct, formless image), and Xiang Wang obtained it. The Yellow Emperor said: How strange—Xiang Wang alone could obtain it!

Chi Gou: meaning much strength and exertion of force (here: wit, eyes, and brute force all fail to find it; only the “formless” quality of Xiang Wang succeeds).

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (1)

This passage uses Xiangwang’s obtaining the Way to show what it means truly to obtain the Way: cleverness alone is not enough—the more clever and forceful one is, the farther one drifts from the real; Xiangwang, by contrast, can obtain it. Thus obtaining the Way need not depend on deliberate intent. Can Xiangwang really obtain the Way? (Note: chigou refers to great force or strenuous effort.)

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (2)

The same point: obtaining the real does not require deliberate intent; here “Xiangwang” stands for the real itself.

Lü Huīqīng’s Commentary

“North of the Red Water” is a metaphor for what is most abstruse; “the mound of Kunlun” is the loftiest place in outward form. To look south toward the bright—such a pearl cannot be grasped by “knowing”; the moment one seeks it with knowledge and words, one fails to get it. Xiang is not utterly absent, wang is not truly existent—neither purely being nor purely non-being, neither bright nor dark; it is in this way that the mysterious pearl is obtained.

Main Text

Yao’s teacher was Xu You; Xu You’s teacher was Nie Qüe; Nie Qüe’s teacher was Wang Ni; Wang Ni’s teacher was Piyi. Yao asked Xu You: “Can Nie Qüe match the virtue of Heaven and serve as Son of Heaven? I would have Wang Ni recommend him.”

Xu You said: “Dangerous! To hand the realm to such a man. Nie Qüe is the sort who is clever, discerning, and quick in response, whose endowment surpasses ordinary people, yet who tries to bear Heaven with what belongs to humankind. He sees that prohibitions can stop faults but does not understand where calamity arises—how could he match the virtue of Heaven? He will lean on the human and lose the heavenly: he wants both to preserve himself and to alter his form, both to exalt cleverness and to rush like fire, both to run errands on side branches and to serve as reins on outer things; he will look about to answer to things, echo the crowd and suit the times, and follow things in change without any fixed norm—how could he be fit to be Son of Heaven and match Heaven’s virtue? Though he has kin and ancestors and could be a father to the people, he cannot be the “father of the fathers of the people.” From this order and chaos arise; to face north is misfortune, to face south is brigandage. (Ji: peril. Gai: bondage. Shuai: generally, for the most part.)

Commentary of Guo Xiang

Matching Heaven (Pei Tian) means becoming Son of Heaven and receiving the mandate from Heaven. When cleverness and insight surpass others, people stand on tiptoe to compare themselves and repeatedly harm one another. To take on the Way of Heaven through deliberate human effort is again to use cleverness and artifice to recover what is natural; the fault comes precisely from intelligence and craft, yet one uses intelligence and craft to forbid fault—so the fault grows worse. Hence it is said: being without fault lies in removing cleverness and artifice, not in forcibly prohibiting it.

“Riding on people without Heaven” means that though the realm seems entrusted to such a person, later ages will employ cleverness and artifice and lose genuine simplicity.

“Taking the myriad things as root” means the various changes can be unified and different forms can communicate; but if one follows this path, later ages will dominate the myriad things by their own will, and the myriad things will be estranged.

“Honoring knowledge while racing like fire” means the worthy occupy high rank, clever views are honored, and those who come after rush and compete like fire. “The thread of commanding others” opens the beginning of later ages enslaving people; “the knotting of things” makes later ages tether, bind, and control the myriad things. “Looking all around while things respond” makes later ages command and drive affairs of things, seeking only to cope. “Responding to the many appropriatenesses” makes later ages unable to rest in their inherent goodness and instead use benefit to people to suit every kind of “fit.” “Transforming together with things” makes later ages chase outer things and fail to find sufficiency within. These may all have been fitting in their time, but today one enjoys the benefit and tomorrow one suffers the harm—hence it is said “there has never been constancy.”

“Having lineage and having an ancestor” means such matters can be traced to their founding ancestor. “The fathers of the multitude” are objects of imitation; “the father of the fathers of the multitude” is the root of what is imitated. To entrust the realm to such a person is not only to fail as a ruler who orders the world but to become the ringleader of a chaotic age. Jie and Zhou did not kill worthy ministers by their own power—they borrowed the traces of sagely wisdom to do harm. Tian Heng did not kill his lord by his own power—he borrowed benevolence and righteousness to usurp and rebel. Hence it is said: “the disaster of facing north, the thief of facing south” (the calamity of the subject who faces north, the robber of the ruler who faces south).

Commentary of Lü Huiqing

When innate nature’s cleverness exceeds ordinary people, that is not the path of “dismiss cleverness, abandon knowledge, and only then act when one must”; “receiving Heaven through the human” is also not fully following Heaven. Prohibiting fault without seeing that fault itself arises from “prohibition,” yet thinking this accords with Wuwei (non-action) and can match Heaven—how could that not abandon the Way of Heaven through human contrivance?

“Taking the root in oneself while forms differ” cannot be without “self”; “honoring knowledge while racing like fire” cannot discard cleverness and artifice—then one is enslaved by the realm, things are knotted and bound and cannot free themselves.

“Looking all around while things respond” is not like corpse-like stillness so the people do not know where to go, while busily coping on every side. “Responding to the many appropriatenesses” is not standing in the origin and connecting with Shen (spirit)—so one chases things and lacks constancy; how then can one match Heaven?

In this limited view: Nieque was sharp-witted and more perceptive than most, yet people only said he was “capable,” not that he was “aligned with the Dao.” He used human affairs and clever contrivance to meet Heaven’s way—still exalting “deliberate action” while trying to draw near to “non-action.” That is like fixing on faults and forbidding them without understanding where faults come from.

If the realm were entrusted to him, he would surely govern the people by the traces of “doing,” and make everyone lose their original natural disposition. Taking “self” as root while treating the body as something else—liver and gall become as split as Chu and Yue; exalting cleverness like fire racing ahead, schemes swift and shifting, until one becomes the thread that is pulled, driven by achievement; once bound by outer things, one is constrained at every turn. Looking about and responding to the myriad things shows that “things” have not yet forgotten “self”; yet having to fit every occasion shows that “self” has not yet forgotten “things.” Assimilating to things, one drifts with them; without constancy, one loses the inherent “self.” How then could one match Heaven’s way?

Even so, what Nieque learned was not without lineage—there was a school and a program. He had probably heard the Dao and could serve as “father of the multitude” (leading the people), but could not yet be “father of the fathers of the multitude” (founding the ultimate frame and overseeing all lesser leaders). “Father of the fathers of the multitude” means layer upon layer of depth, each stratum more fundamental than the last.

When Yao went on an inspection tour to the land of Hua, the border guard who welcomed him said, “A sage has come. Allow me to offer a blessing for the sage: may the sage live long.” Yao replied, “There is no need.” The guard said again, “May the sage be wealthy.” Yao still declined. The guard said once more, “May the sage have many sons.” Yao declined again.

The guard asked, “Long life, wealth, and many sons are what people hope for—why do you refuse all three?” Yao answered, “Many sons mean many worries; wealth means many affairs; long life means one is more likely to suffer disgrace—these three do not serve to cultivate virtue, so I decline them.”

The guard said, “At first I thought you were a sage; now I see you are only a gentleman. When Heaven gives birth to the myriad people, it surely assigns each his role. Many sons—assign roles to them; what is there to fear? Wealth shared with others—what business could not be handled? The sage dwells like a quail, feeds like a fledgling, and leaves no trace in his actions. When the world is in order, he flourishes with the ten thousand things; when the world is without the Way, he cultivates virtue and lives in seclusion. When he has lived a thousand years, weary of the dust of the world, he ascends as an immortal, riding white clouds to the court of the Emperor on High. Those three worries never touch him; his body is free of calamity—what disgrace could there be?” When he had finished, the guard left; Yao ran after him to ask more, and the guard said, “Please go back.” (Border guard: one who guards the frontier; Hua: a place name.)

Summary of Guo Xiang’s commentary: When there are many sons, each is assigned his role; when the ten thousand things each find their place, aspirations settle. Being rich yet not clutching wealth to oneself but entrusting it to the world means there is no need for excessive worry. A quail nesting at ease without deliberately seeking comfort, and nestlings fed until full simply by opening their mouths—these follow innate nature rather than contrived “extraordinary” traces. Flourishing together with things and acting as feeling moves, one naturally enters the realm of the “great method” (dafang). Cultivating virtue while holding to “jian” (the mean, not overstepping one’s measure)—even deeds like those of Tang and Wu, if they accord with Heaven and respond to the people, do not violate “jian.” The perfect person stretches life to its limit and calmly accepts shifts between prosperity and adversity: while alive, he moves with Heaven; when he dies, he transforms with things. If he loathes the dusty world he may ascend as an immortal on clouds and wander the realm of the Emperor; if his single breath disperses, there is nowhere he cannot go.

Summary of Lu Huiqing’s commentary: The sage exhausts the Way of Heaven, so body and mind are one with change and outer things cannot burden him. The noble person exhausts the Way of humanity, so fortune and misfortune are shared with the people in joy and sorrow. Long life, wealth, and many sons are what people desire, yet they cannot avoid answering or warning with “much trouble, much fear, much disgrace.” Yao did not fail to exhaust the Way of Heaven; his being “the same” as the common people was how he fulfilled the human Way. A quail roosts without knowing a fixed place; nestlings peck food without knowing where it comes from; birds move through the air with no visible trail—people who seek immortality may lean too hard on diet and breath practices, while Confucians dismiss that as reckless unbelief; both sides are one-sided. From birth one embraces spirit (shen); at death one should still embrace spirit and not forget it; in life one completes Heaven, in death one still completes Heaven and does not fall away. The classics and histories already speak of being “in Heaven”—so why must one refuse to believe in immortals who leave the world? Yao was not a “person” apart from other persons, nor did he “see” some special person among the crowd; the frontier guard’s deferential praise is precisely the level he embodied.

Fumo (supplementary note): “The quail nests, the fledgling is fed, the bird moves without display”—the quail has no fixed nest, the young bird is fed by the mother, the bird passes through empty space leaving no trace: all express a mind of non-purposive naturalness; the sage’s attitude in the world should be the same. The “three afflictions” in the text can be read alongside the Buddhist “three calamities”—water, fire, and wind.

When Yao ruled the world, Bocheng Zigao was made a feudal lord. Yao passed the throne to Shun, and Shun to Yu. Bocheng Zigao then resigned his lordship and returned to farming. Yu went to visit him and found him plowing in the fields. Yu hurried forward, stood downwind out of respect, and asked politely: “In the days when Yao ruled the world, you were made a lord; when Yao passed the throne to Shun and Shun to Yu, you could have remained a lord, yet you resigned and took up farming. May I ask why?”

Bocheng Zigao said: “When Yao ruled the world, he did not need rewards for people to encourage one another toward goodness; he did not need punishments for people to fear wrongdoing in their hearts. Now you govern the world with rewards and punishments, and the people no longer speak of benevolence and virtue—virtue begins to decline from this, punishments are established here as fixed law, and the disorder of the world in later ages also starts from this. You had better go—do not hold up my work!” With that he bowed his head and plowed diligently, never looking back at him.

Notes (explanations woven into the text above): Older commentators link Bocheng Zigao, in Daoist texts such as the Tongbian jing, with legends of Laozi’s transformations through successive kalpas; “do not hold up my work” means do not obstruct or abandon my farming; “bowed his head and plowed” depicts bending to the task, ignoring outside affairs. The passage uses an ancient voice to criticize governance that relies on rewards and punishments, arguing that it erodes virtue, institutionalizes punishment, and plants the seeds of later disorder, while praising resigning rank to return to the fields and a life in accord with nature.

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (On Yu, the Three Sages, and the Flaws of Yao)

In the age of Yu, three sages—Yao, Shun, and Yu—ruled the realm in succession; their achievements and virtue were complete, yet later ages gradually lost the details, so some records were never written down. Confucius could not fill these gaps either. Thus although they “had the realm,” they did not treat it as private property—hence the phrase “having it yet not possessing it.” From the standpoint of the times, Yu stands out most; if one counts “several sages,” though three are named, in Zhuangzi’s view they can still be seen as one continuous line of ideal rule (one Yao). By then there were no more sages, and the hearts of people under Heaven quickly turned to Qi, Yu’s son. One who embodies utmost fairness in office entrusts the realm to the people; giving and taking are not driven by private desire. Therefore losing office is not clung to, gaining office is not pushed for—they arrive in a flash and depart in obscurity. Thus “receiving the realm” was not praised by men of stern integrity, yet to be ranked among the three sage kings is nothing strange. Zhuangzi uses this to explain the flaw in Yao: the flaw began with Yao, and the harm fully formed with Yu; how much more so when later ages had no sages at all! Entrusting the far-reaching trace to Zigao and having him abandon office and cease governing is meant to “cut off sages and discard wisdom,” return to the One, leave knowledge behind and reach stillness. Whether Zigao and his story ever existed in history is unknown. Zhuangzi’s words cannot be grasped from a single angle: sometimes he speaks of the Yellow Emperor’s traces, sometimes he disparages Yao and Shun’s shins—it is not that he only honors Yao and belittles Yu. One should set aside the allegorical figures he attaches to these points and take the meaning of “cutting off sages and discarding wisdom.”

Scripture: Tai Chu, De, Ming, Xing, and Xing (Nature)

At the beginning of Tai Chu, there was first “non-being”; from non-being came “being,” and from being there were not yet names. “The One” arose from this; with the One there was not yet form, and the myriad things could be generated—this is called De (Virtue/Power). What had not yet taken form already had boundaries yet merged with nature without gaps—this is called Ming (decree/fate). Rest and motion mutually gave rise to the myriad things; once things were formed, each had its own pattern—this is called xing (form). The bodily form preserved spirit, each with its own measure—this is called xing (nature). Cultivating one’s nature and returning to De, when De reaches its utmost it is the same as Tai Chu; sameness is emptiness, emptiness is vastness. Mouths join and sound forth, mouths join and sound forth, in harmony with Heaven and Earth; the joining is like endless cord (lian mian bu jue), as if foolish, as if dim—this is called Xuan De (mysterious virtue), identical with Da Shun (great accord).

(Note: Some hold that “Tai Chu” refers to the initial stage of qi (vital energy).)

Guo Xiang’s commentary

Because “being” (you) is not yet present, there is nothing that can be named. “One” is the opening of “being” and belongs to the most subtle level; at that utmost subtlety, material form has not yet appeared.

Where does “One” begin? It begins from “utmost one,” not from “non-being” (wu). Why, then, does Zhuangzi keep speaking of wu at the outset? Because “the beginning” is the moment when life has not yet been born but is about to receive it. Gaining life is hard: if one neither leans on wu above nor waits on knowledge below, and suddenly possesses this life on one’s own, why—once already born—go on managing and shaping it and thereby lose the way it was self-generated in the first place?

Wu cannot produce the myriad things, yet they are said to depend on it for birth. The point is that the birth of the myriad things is each thing’s own accomplishment. Letting that accomplishment happen naturally is what is called De (Virtue/Power).

“De, form, fate, and name” are labels that arise with change; in respect of “each being thus on its own” (ziran), they are one. Cultivating through one’s nature and returning to De, one often attains it spontaneously through non-doing (buwei). If one diverges from the beginning and deliberately acts midway, the mind acquires entanglements, and the idea of “things” appears. Once there are things and one goes on to cherish and nurture them, De grows small.

Without intent in speech yet speaking naturally, one aligns with the pecking calls of birds; when beak-calls align, one aligns with Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth too operate without mind, in natural course. Such alignment is continuous and spontaneous (mianmianran)—like sitting in forgetfulness (zuowang) and coming together naturally—not a forced fit through sharp scrutiny. This is called Mysterious De (xuande). When De is mysterious, what one follows becomes vast.

Lü’s commentary

Without wu (non-being), even “One” cannot be reached. Alignment is continuous and spontaneous (mianmianran)—like sitting in forgetfulness and coming together naturally—not a forced fit through sharp scrutiny. This is Mysterious De. When De is mysterious, what one follows becomes vast.

Plain-Language Reading of Zhuangzi Yi

Summary of Lü’s commentary:

If we speak of “nothing,” even “the One” cannot be said to exist. In the stage of “the nameless,” the One first stirs but is not yet formed—this is “the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Once it is called the One, can we still say it has no name? All things arise through it and are called De (Virtue/Power)—“the mother of the ten thousand things.” While still unformed, there is already distinction yet undivided wholeness; this is called “ming” (fate/command). Ming pervades everything before form. When it “lingers” and moves, the ten thousand things are born; once things mature, their patterns of life are called “xing” (form). When form preserves spirit and never loses it, each having its measure without reckless movement, that is called “xing” (nature). Nature means that after form appears, the original state is not lost. In the end it comes down to one point: the ten thousand things alike receive life through the One—ming has distinction yet no break; nature preserves spirit without losing shen (spirit); shen subtly operates through all things and fills Heaven and Earth. Therefore, cultivating nature and returning to De aligns with the time when the One was not yet formed; when De reaches its limit and merges with the beginning, even “nothing” can no longer be stated. Sameness is emptiness; emptiness extends to “before things ever were,” and emptiness again expands until “different yet the same.” If so, speaking in terms of wuwei (non-action), one aligns with the chorus of countless voices. Cultivating and returning to De matches the unformed One; De at its peak merges with the start, and “nothing” is also unattainable. Sameness is void; void reaches before any thing existed, and again expands to sameness in difference—speaking as wuwei, this is harmony with the clamor of mouths. When mouth-voices harmonize, one communes with Heaven and Earth and becomes one with them. Between Heaven and Earth it is like a bellows (tuoyue); mouth-voices in harmony with Heaven and Earth is no more than this. That harmony is continuous and fine—not forced union, not union through knowing and seeing. This is called “mysterious De (xuan de),” rooted in De and completed by Heaven; aligning with “great accord (da shun),” nothing is opposed— that is the meaning.

Summary of Liu Kai’s commentary:

Tai chu (Grand Beginning) is the start of qi (vital energy), hence “being and non-being”; tai shi (Grand Commencement) is the start of form, hence “the nameless.” From here the One arises, and there is “the named”—though the One is not yet formed, things can be born precisely because the One exists. Before form it is only chaos; one may name it chaos, but in fact division is already there. “Qie” does not mean unchanging forever; “without gap (wu jian)” means always like a ring with no end to point to—within it are essence and trust, namely “not yet formed yet already divided.” Establishing De as if stolen or provisional is the same idea; “fine and continuous as if preserved” means “without gap.” When ming descends, if it does not “linger” it is not enough to generate things; lingering without moving can generate things but cannot generate “the ten thousand things.” When it lingers, it is never without movement; when it moves, it does not harm lingering—so it can produce things. When things complete their patterns of life it is called “form”; when form keeps spirit and each has its rule, it is called “nature.” Where there is life there is nature; merging with nature suffices to know Heaven; knowing Heaven returns to De; De at its peak accords with Dao.

Summary of Xun ben:

Question: In Grand Beginning, is there being or non-being? Answer: To call it “neither being nor non-being” is also not a name; within “non-being,” the One arises from here—once there is the One, only its traces are not yet visible, namely what is called “no limit yet the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji).” What all things rely on to be born is De; before form, all principles are already present, each with its thread distinguishable, yet because of undivided wholeness it is called ming. When it lingers, it cannot fail to move and still generate things; when each thing completes its life-pattern it is called form; when within form the original spirit is kept united and each has its measure, it is called nature—namely each thing’s own Taiji. Cultivate nature and return to De; when De is extreme one is the same as before form. Sameness is emptiness; in emptiness there is no right and wrong, no self and other; all under Heaven who contend with mouths are united as one. When mouth-voices harmonize, one is the same as Heaven and Earth. Min min is like threads woven together; that union min min, as if dull, as if dim—describing “union.” “Mysterious De” is deeply subtle virtue; “great accord” is following nature without imposing one’s will. Tradition says the Taiji diagram came from someone outside the usual world; seen in this light, it may well have a genuine lineage.

Oral commentary (kouyi)

“Closing the beak” (he hui) means keeping the mouth shut and not speaking; “crying out” (ming) means opening the mouth and giving voice. The “joining” (he) here is not the same sense as the “he” in the passage above. Beak shut, beak open—speaking by not speaking—is joining with ziran (natural spontaneity); joining ziran is joining Heaven and Earth, hence “beak and cry join” (hui ming he). “Dim and tangled” (minmin), like “obliterated and blended” (minmin), expresses dullness and obscurity—precisely how this “joining” looks. This is subtle De (virtue/power), the same as “great accord” (da shun). “Great accord” is the principle of primordial, natural order (tai chu ziran zhi li).

Scripture text

Confucius asked Laozi: “Someone cultivates the Dao (the Way) as if imitating one another, taking what may or may not be done and what is or is not so and arguing over them; debaters even say ‘splitting hard and white is like a hanging screen before the eyes’ (li jian bai ruo xian fang)—is that a sage?” Laozi said: “That is someone tied down by petty skill, wearing out the body and troubling the mind—like a hunting dog kept on a leash until it broods in distress, like a monkey clever enough to be caught and taken from the hills. I tell you, but you cannot take it in; I give it to you, but you cannot bring it forth.”

(Later the same question and answer are repeated, followed by:) Generally, those with head and feet but without heart and ears are the majority; among what has form and what is formless, what has no shape yet all subsist—their moving and stopping, dying and living, failing and rising—none of this is wrought by “that other.” Governance lies in the person. Forgetting things, forgetting Heaven—this is called forgetting oneself; one who forgets oneself is said to enter into Heaven.

Notes on the commentary (zhushu yaodian)

On “hanging screen” (xian fang): Sima Biao said that arguing white and hard is like hanging a room or partition in front of someone to block the view. On “liu” (detain): one edition reads “li” (wildcat); “the dog detained for its skill” (zhi liu zhi gou) means a dog kept tied because it has one trick, until it broods in distress. “Bian” (nimble) means cleverness—and for that very reason the creature is captured.

Guo Xiang’s note: If people imitate one another, forcibly treat what cannot be done as doable, or what is not so as if it were so, they distort their inborn nature. What is called “suspended display” is a metaphor for hanging the teaching high so that anyone can see it at a glance. Dogs trained only to catch raccoon dogs, and apes broken in for performance, both depart from their natural state. “Head and toes” means beginning and end, root and branch. “No mind, no ears” describes the self-transformation of the ten thousand things: what has form is good at change, yet cannot coexist with what has no form and no fixed shape. Thus one who governs the Dao well does not cling to an old self, but simply follows the transforming process that renews itself day by day. Movement and rest, death and life, flourishing and decline, ruin and rise are inherently without fixed rule—all are naturally so, not made so by anyone’s deliberate effort; to leave them be is to find satisfaction. “There is governance in the person” means governance lies in self-governance, not in grasping the self and acting from private will. Forget heaven and earth and the ten thousand things entirely—not only forget the self, but hold to nothing. What people find hardest to release is “I”; when even “I” is forgotten, what is left to claim? This is not knowing and not knowing, yet silently merging with nature—called “entering into Heaven.”

Bixu’s further explanation: “May or may not, so or not so” is using cleverness to parade novelty; like the sophistries of “separating hard and white,” it is as if words were hung in midair for all to see. Trading one delusion for another, binding one another with tricks—the body wears out and the spirit is alarmed, like a hunting dog on a leash or a performing ape in a cage, all because they rely on skill and invite trouble. Having head and toes, form is visible; no mind, no ears—the intent cannot be fathomed: without ears one cannot hear, without mind one cannot speak. What has form has head and toes; what has no form and no shape has no mind and no ears. If we say “all are preserved,” that means body and transformation merge in darkness; if we say “all are utterly absent,” then even “absence” has no end to exhaust. Movement and rest, death and life, ruin and rise—these again are not something originally “there” as a fixed abode. Where else could one linger? Governance lies in the person; self-governance is enough. Forget things and you are the same as things; forget Heaven and you are the same as Heaven; forget the self and there is no counterpart—what could you not enter?

The commentator explains that ruo fang means something like “as if similar” or “seemingly alike.”

Confucius asks Laozi: Suppose someone whose way of living in the world and practicing the Dao looks very much like a sage’s—can we treat him as a sage? Laozi (or the sense the annotators give) answers: You cannot. Contentious debaters often say that taking apart problems such as “hard and white” for debate is like lifting the canopy of heaven, as if everything were plain to see. People who ask about the Dao often share that habit—they think they can recognize a sage by splitting hairs in speech. What you cannot understand, the ear was never going to hear in the first place; what you cannot say, language was never going to reach.

No mind, no ear, no form, no shape—ordinary people call that “nothing” (wu). Yet there are also people with head and feet, set over against “no mind, no ear,” and people with form, set over against “formless and shapeless.” If you treat everything that has form and can be pointed to as “nothing” and wipe it all away, where are your listening and speaking to stand? So the “utter nothingness” (jin wu) spoken of here does not mean that in movement, stillness, life and death, or decline and rise he is unlike everyone else—when others move he moves, when they stop he stops, when they live or die, decline or rise, he does the same. But in the end he cannot be fixed and named as “a definite him,” and only then can forgetting happen. First forget outward things, then forget Tian (Heaven—the source from which the ten thousand things arise); to forget Tian as well is the height of forgetting. That is what is meant by “forgetting the self.”

The gap between a person and Tian is that the heart still clings to a “me.” Once “me” is forgotten too, is that not merging with Tian? That is “entering Tian.” It is not beyond what a sage can do.

The later line “governance lies in the person” (zhi zai ren) picks up the earlier “someone governs the Dao”; as for “ruo fang,” the text’s meaning is already clear enough on its own.

Jiang Lv Mian went to visit Ji Che and said: The lord of Lu once told me that he wanted you to come and teach the way of governing the state. I could not refuse and have already agreed. I am not sure whether what I say will be appropriate, so I would like to try it out on you first.

What I said to the lord of Lu was: You must earnestly practice reverence and frugality, promote people who are upright and loyal, and show no favoritism in private matters. Then which of the common people would dare not live in harmony with one another?

Ji Che gave a little laugh and said: If one takes your words as a picture of the virtue of a true king, it is like a mantis raising its forelegs to stop a cart wheel—it simply cannot bear the task. Moreover, acting that way would be putting oneself in danger. If you climb high and look around, you will see many things, and many people will want to join you.

Jiang Lv Mian was alarmed and uneasy. He said: In the face of what you have just said, I feel as if I have lost my bearings. Even so, I still hope you will explain your meaning more fully.

Ji Che said: When a great sage rules the world, he stirs and uplifts the people’s hearts so that together they form a new teaching and change old customs. They jointly extinguish the “thieving heart”—the grasping, possessive selfishness—and each advances the “singular aspiration,” the single-minded orientation toward one’s innate nature, as if nature itself were at work while the people do not know why they act as they do. In such a case, how could one still “teach” the people as your elder brothers Yao and Shao did? And how could one follow along in dim, muddled compliance like a younger brother? When one seeks to unite with virtue (de), the mind already rests there of its own accord.

Notes on terms appearing in the passage

• fu gong jian: to embody reverence and frugality in conduct.
• ba chu gong zhong zhi shu: to elevate and appoint those who are fair-minded and loyal.
• ji: to gather together in harmony (close in meaning to “he,” harmony).
• he he: a smiling, laughing manner.
• xi xi: a startled, fearful appearance.
• yao dang: here means to inspire and rouse the people’s hearts—not merely to “shake” or “destabilize.”
• zei xin / du zhi: a paired contrast often used in commentary—eliminate the partial, clinging “thieving heart,” and advance the “singular aspiration” that accords with innate nature.

Guo’s note on the meaning: “One must practice reverence and frugality” does not mean playing at frugality only after one has “forgotten” frugality; “elevating the public-spirited and loyal” does not mean displaying loyalty only after one has “forgotten” loyalty. Thus even without favoritism, that is still not enough to bear the burden of affectation and pretense. All of these place oneself on a height, in plain view, like a terrace or tower that everyone can see, so that the myriad things cannot each rest in their own allotments; instead people posture on tiptoe, boast, and climb, their steps following others’ tracks yet not settling in their own stride. Aspirations differ in direction and cannot be copied from one another. Therefore when they would sway on their own, one sways with them—swaying yet not deliberately “acting”; when they would surge on their own, one surges with them—surging yet not deliberately “stirring.” Then the thieving heart dies of itself, the single will advances of itself, teaching takes shape and custom changes, quietly without trace; nature restores itself and acts without knowing how, and all say, “I am naturally thus.” “Mingxi treating oneself as precious” means: not repeatedly declining Yao and Shun in thanks while still pushing Yao and Shun forward as elder brothers. “The heart dwelling” is not chasing outward; if the heart does not dwell, De cannot be shared.

Lü’s note on the meaning: “Must wear reverence and frugality” corresponds to what is called showing the people one’s forbearance—then danger lies where people act for themselves; “pulling up the public-spirited and loyal” is elevating the worthy, and then “terraces and towers” multiply. Thus there cannot be absence of trace, and those who follow traces are many. When the great sage governs the world, he rocks and washes the human heart until teaching is formed and custom is changed—that is what is meant by drumming and dancing them, exhausting the spirit. When the common people do not peep at or align with the traces of those above, the thieving heart dies and the single will advances, as if nature acted of itself without knowing how. If so, then in De one leaves Yao and Shun behind without deliberately imitating them—how could that mean taking Yao and Shun as elder brothers, teaching the people by holding them up as predecessors, or mingxi-like treating oneself as younger and following after? To share in De, the heart must dwell; when the heart dwells, there is wuwei and the myriad things transform.

Detailed exposition of the Dao’s meaning: “Must wear reverence and frugality” is not wuwei; “pulling up the public-spirited and loyal” is elevating the worthy. The De of the sovereign lies in wuwei—then under heaven there is no trouble of exhaustion from forcing reverence and frugality; without elevating the worthy, under heaven there is no rivalry of display and tiptoe posturing. Then because they sway of themselves one sways with them, because they surge of themselves one surges with them; the thieving heart dies and the single will advances. When the heart dwells, there is wuwei and the myriad things transform.

Xiang Dao says: Insisting that people inwardly embrace reverence, respect, and frugality is not Wuwei (non-action); elevating the fair-minded and loyal is precisely “promoting worthies” (shangxian). If the sovereign’s De truly were Wuwei, the realm would not suffer the harm that comes from exhausting people in forced deference; if worthies were not promoted, there would be no strife of chasing fame, showing off, or standing on tiptoe to outdo one another. Then one need only let what is naturally unstable in them shake, and what is naturally dissolute run loose— their “thieving heart” (wayward, deluded impulses) would fade away, each person simply advancing day by day as if acting from innate nature, while the common people would not know why it was so. To impose reverence, respect, and frugality by force, and to pluck out the public-spirited and loyal as policy, is to block people’s Tian (natural endowment) while baiting the thieving heart; to dam the Tian of Heaven and injure their singular resolve (duzhi—the mind fixed solely on the Dao)— is that not vastly far from the sovereign’s De?

As for pleasing people with pleasure and fine food, that only satisfies for a moment; profit can be grasped briefly, not kept long. Like wet foam (shimo) on the water— because there is little, people do not forget one another— such ties suit the few, not the many. Thus the spirit-person (shenren) loathes “the multitude arriving,” while “holding the great image (da xiang), the world comes of itself” (Laozi). If one stirs up arms like an angry mantis or sets up the perilous shape of a viewing tower, making people rush to assemble and throw themselves into allegiance, is that not exactly the scheme of “pleasure as bait” and “wet foam”? In olden days Shun wore down his sage’s De with toil (juanlou); Liezi was shaken in his sincerity by the gift of libation (kuijiang); Nanji Ziyou worried over parading cleverness; Gengsang Chu took the community altar and grain god as a plague— the crux is the same: only by dwelling in shadow can one still the shadow; only in stillness can one halt the track; then one reaches the utmost.

Fang Sian notes: “Mingxi” (the vast, undivided, immeasurable age) refers to the Hongmeng era of rule by Wuwei— what the “Yunjiang” chapter means by “greatly merging with mingxi.” That governance stands above Yao and Shun. By the teaching of Yao and Shun there was already purposeful rule, hence “how could one honor Yao and Shun’s teaching yet take mingxi as elder brother?” The wording is odd, but the sense is clear. Various commentators read it as self-importance, bowing the head in submission, or absence of discrimination— that seems to miss the point.

When Zigong traveled south to Chu and was returning to Jin, he passed the north bank of the Han River and saw an old man leveling the ground to plant vegetables. The man dug a tunnel down to a well, then hugged a clay jar up to draw water and irrigate the field—grunting with effort, achieving little for so much work.

Zigong said, “There is a device that can water a hundred plots in a day, saving labor while doing more. Would you not want to use it?”

The old man looked up and asked, “What is it?” Zigong said, “Make a mechanism from wood, heavy at the back and light at the front, so drawing water is like pulling it up—fast as boiling water spilling over. It is called a shadoof.”

The gardener’s face changed. He smiled coldly and said, “I heard from my teacher: those who use devices are sure to engage in crafty contrivances; those who engage in crafty contrivances are sure to harbor a crafty mind. When a crafty mind is hidden in the heart, pristine simplicity is incomplete; when pristine simplicity is incomplete, the spirit is unsettled; when the spirit is unsettled, the Dao cannot sustain you. It is not that I do not know of it—I would be ashamed to use it.”

Zigong flushed with shame and lowered his head in silence. After a while the gardener asked, “Who are you?” He answered, “A disciple of Confucius.” The gardener said, “Are you not the one who relies on broad learning to mimic a sage, talks big to overwhelm others, and sings alone to sell your name across the world? You ought to forget your spirit and discard your form—that would be closer to the mark. You cannot even govern yourself; where would you find leisure to govern the world? Go away—do not delay my work.”

Zigong’s color drained; his mind wandered. Only after thirty li did he recover. His companions asked, “Who was that man just now? Why did you change color when you saw him and could not steady yourself all day?”

Zigong said, “At first I thought there was only one person in the world”—meaning Confucius—“and did not know there was also someone like this. I heard the Master say: in action seek what can be done; in achievement seek what can be completed; use little force yet see great effect—that is the way of the sage. Now I see it is not entirely so. One who holds fast to the Dao has complete virtue; when virtue is complete, the form is whole; when the form is whole, the spirit is whole; only then is it the way of the sage. Born into the world, walking among the people, not knowing where one is going—how thick and complete! Profit, utility, and mechanical cleverness are bound to make this heart forget. Someone like this: where his will does not lead, he does not go; what his heart does not will, he does not do. When the world praises him, he is calm and pays no heed to the praise; when the world condemns him, he is indifferent and does not accept the blame—whether the world approves or disapproves, gains or loses nothing for him. This is called ‘a person of complete virtue.’ I can only be called one tossed on the waves.”

Zigong returned to Lu and told Confucius. Confucius said, “That man borrows the method of cultivating the Chaos Emperor”—Hundun, the legendary ancient ruler who kept to simplicity and non-action. “He understands one part but not the other; he cultivates the inner but not the outer. As for one who is bright and clear, returns to simplicity, practices non-action to restore the uncarved block, guards nature and embraces spirit, and roams at ease in the mundane world—are you not astonished? And as for the way of the Chaos Emperor, how could you and I truly know it?”

Main drift of Lü’s commentary

Laozi says to “hold fast to the ancient in order to govern the present”—to handle today’s affairs by the ancient Way. Read that way, ordinary rising and sleeping and how we treat people can all follow the manner of Hundun (Chaos); we need not imagine we must return to the very instant heaven and earth were first split for it to count.

Some take “where there are contrivances, there is a contriving mind” as the whole problem: skill and scheming are there, yet they do not see where the contriving mind comes from—its root lies in “before anything had yet arisen,” in a self not yet carved into distinctions. Grasping only that side and not the other means preaching forgetfulness of Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy), putting the body aside, and chasing a rounded De (Virtue/Power), while failing to see that what moves through the ten thousand things is none other than the one Dao (the Way)—which is to cultivate the inner alone and not the outer.

To understand “entering plainness” is, in the end, to move at ease in the everyday world—“discarding the heart-mind and employing the form” means just that. When Hundun heard Zigong’s speech, first vexed then amused, it shows that treating “mechanism” as a burden and refusing to bore seven apertures for others is true “without knowing, without scheming”—and that is why Hundun is Hundun.

This chapter speaks of heavenly De and Wuwei (non-action), lest readers think one must be like the old man of Hanyin and refuse every act before one may speak of ordering the world. Hence it must also be said: the true art of Hundun is to pass through the secular world without being wrecked by it.

Supplement tracing to the root

“Quick as overflowing boiling water” (shu ru yi tang): speech or motion so fast it seems to spill like a rolling boil.

“Pure white”: the pristine, untainted state; “dull-eyed” (man ran): a glazed look, no light in the eyes.

“Yu yu” is an interjection, rather like the tone of mockery at Confucians who only empty-talk “ordering the world.”

So the point returns again: the Way of Hundun is to walk the human world correctly without being burdened by contrivance.

Following the original meaning

“Shu ru yi tang” (speech like an overflowing cauldron)—speech that rushes and presses, as if boiling water has filled the pot and is about to spill over.

“Chun bai zhe ben ran zhi zhi” (pure white is the original substance)—“pure white” means the innate, complete state before artificial polish.

“Man ran mu wu jing cai” (dull eyes without bright spirit)—the gaze is clouded and dim, without clear, lively Shen (spirit).

“Yu yu”—a modal, stalling tone, like the mock-pedantic “zhi hu zhe ye” cadence used when ridiculing scholars in everyday speech.

“Du … ai ge yi mai ming sheng” (alone chanting dirges to sell one’s name)—singing mournful songs in solitude to hawk one’s reputation, raising the pitch so all under heaven may hear.

“Bei zui”—lowly and retiring, shrinking into a corner and not contending with others.

“Jia xiu Hun Dun shi zhi shu” (feigning to practice Lord Hun Dun’s method)—outwardly borrowing the name of “Hun Dun’s” way; here Hun Dun can be read as the undivided, mixed-oneness of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) before it splits.

“Shi qi yi bu zhi qi er”—grasping one side but not the other, holding to a single point without rounded comprehension.

“Zhi qi nei bu zhi qi wai”—cultivating the inner alone, not deliberately managing outer affairs in the world.

“De hu yi zi wang hu wu”—satisfied with what is already attained in oneself, and letting external things drop away.

Such a “zhang ren” (venerable elder, lofty person) has a clear heart that returns to simplicity, restores the genuine through Wuwei (non-action), embraces Shen and preserves nature, and moves at ease amid worldly life. If Yan Ci (or Yan Yuan) has not reached this level in learning, alarm is only natural; and as for the learning associated with Hun Dun, neither you nor I can fully take it in—his shock is to be expected.

The passage puts these words in Confucius’s mouth to show that Hun Dun—the undivided, un-carved wholeness of the genuine—should be kept intact and must not be rashly carved or “cultivated” away. That theme runs in one line with the Hun Dun parable in the Zhuangzi.

Plain-language reading

Main text

Dun Mang planned to travel east to the “Great Chasm” and met Yuan Feng on the shore of the eastern sea. Yuan Feng asked, “Where are you going?” He answered, “To the Great Chasm.” “What will you do there?” “The Great Chasm is such that you can pour into it without filling it and scoop from it without emptying it—I want to wander there awhile.”

Yuan Feng said, “Aren’t you concerned about the people with horizontal eyes (ordinary folk)? I’d like to hear how the sage governs the world.” Dun Mang said, “Does the sage ‘govern’? Offices and policies each find their place without losing what is fitting; talent is raised up and each person’s capacity is fully used; one sees things clearly before acting and follows each thing’s nature in doing what should be done. Words and deeds all arise from what is natural, and the world transforms of itself. With a casual gesture or a glance, the people in all directions follow together without fail—this is what we call the sage’s governing. I’d like to hear about the ‘person of De (Virtue/Power).’”

He answered, “The person of De: in dwelling, no forced brooding; in moving, no heavy scheming; right and wrong, beauty and ugliness are not hoarded in the heart. Within the four seas, when all share benefit he is glad; when supplies are ample he is at ease. Spirit adrift and dim, like an infant who has lost its mother; vacant as if lost, like walking with no road in sight. Goods are more than enough yet he does not know whence they come; food is sufficient yet he does not know how he obtained it—such is the look of the person of De. I’d like to hear about the ‘spirit person (Shenren).’”

He answered, “The spirit person: above, he rides light (wanders with brightness); with the bodily form he vanishes together—this is called clarity and vastness (zhaokuang), exhausting fate (jinming, fully completing allotted life), and exhausting feeling (jinqing, fully completing one’s nature). Heaven and earth each rest in their joy; the myriad affairs fade and return to nothing; the ten thousand things revert to their original disposition—this is called chaotic union (hunming, chaos merged with the dark, one with the Dao).”

Guo Xiang’s commentary

“Acting as each thing does”: acting by entrusting each thing’s nature.

“When words and deeds are self-so and the world transforms”: if one tries to transform the world through deliberate human contrivance, transformation cannot occur.

“The people in all directions all arrive together”: feeling attuned to heaven and earth and at peace, the myriad affairs are extinguished, the ten thousand things return to their true disposition—this is called hunming.

Guo Xiang’s commentary

When each person follows their own nature and entrusts themselves to what is natural, words and conduct take that shape of themselves, and the world is transformed and nurtured on its own. If one tries to drive the myriad things by external force, that transformation and nurturing cannot happen. The phrase “the people from the four quarters all arrive together” means that with a glance or a gesture from the person of De, the hundred clans each return to their nature and each leave themselves free to act as they will. The person of De keeps no right and wrong in the heart, lets the world share benefit and supply in common, and has no private aim. De is the trace of the spirit-person (shenren); that is why it is called “bearing” (rong). “Riding the light” (cheng guang) means there is no light to hold on to; one vanishes along with form—without a fixed self, and letting things be as they are. The empty void holds nothing in mind; that is not being shut off and blocked. When emotion is spent and mandate is complete, Heaven and Earth rejoice together. When affairs no longer obstruct joy, there is nothing left to do; when emotion sinks back into primordial darkness, no trace remains to be found.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary

If the pour never fills the cup, the ladle never runs dry—like the riches of the “Heavenly Storehouse.” Yuanfeng does not grasp ultimate non-being, yet meets the needs of the myriad things; toward the hundred clans he therefore seems to take no deliberate thought. Officials distribute posts and promotions so each person fits his place—not in order to parade esteem for worthies and use of talent. Feelings appear in full and affairs follow what each one does—not so that people hide their true feelings and only leave marks on the surface. Words and acts are spontaneous and the world is transformed; a touch of the hand or a turn of the eye and the people all come—not through rewards, exhortation, punishment, or threats. This is what the sage sees from the angle of governing; it is not the substance of De itself. The person of De is without calculation or anxiety, does not hoard right and wrong or fine and base; the heart has never failed to be empty. The four seas share benefit and supply in common and are glad; the world gladly upholds him and does not grow weary. Like an infant that has lost its mother and does not know whom to depend on, like a traveler who has lost the Way and does not know where to go—“surplus wealth” is simply the four seas sharing benefit; “enough to eat and drink” is simply the four seas sharing supply. That is the bearing of the person of De; it is still not yet shen (spirit). The great void gives off light and therefore can illuminate; shen rides that to illuminate—it is not merely that light and form are extinguished together—so though it shines, it remains vast and far. Reaching the mandate means leaving the old and returning to the constant; exhausting emotion means leaving the false and abiding in the real. The myriad affairs die away; emptiness reaches its limit; the myriad things return to their innate disposition (qing); the teeming multitude return to the root. In merging, all becomes one; in darkness, even continuous illumination is forgotten.

Section 1 (On governing and the heart-mind)

When appointing officials, each is placed where he belongs, with no office left empty; when promoting talent, the worthy are not buried in obscurity. See the real situation clearly before acting, so that each person settles into his own disposition and no empty show is made. When words and deeds arise from what is natural, the world transforms of itself—what is done and said simply follows what is inherently so; it is not performance put on for others. When the heart does not stockpile right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, and the mouth does not deliberately brandish labels—that is what is meant by “not thinking good, not thinking bad.” When spirit rises and one travels riding light, that is “reaching above to great illumination”; when one vanishes together with the bodily form, that is “entering the gate of deep mystery.” Then one shines through the open vastness and is no longer confined by the physical frame—hence it is called “bright and free.”

Section 2 (Men Wugui and Chi Zhang Manji)

Men Wugui and Chi Zhang Manji went to observe King Wu of Zhou’s army. Chi Zhang Manji said, “(King Wu’s way) is not as good as the age of the House of You Yu (Shun)—that is why troubles like this arise.”

Men Wugui said, “Was the world already at peace, and then the House of You Yu (Shun) went and ‘governed’ it? Or did disorder appear first and only then require governing?”

Chi Zhang Manji said, “I only wish the world would stay at peace forever—why must the House of You Yu be treated as indispensable saviors? What the House of You Yu did was like smearing medicine only after a sore appears, putting on a wig only after going bald, calling a doctor only after falling ill—a filial son might simmer medicine and serve a sick father, yet the father’s face is haggard; a sage who saw that would feel ashamed.”

Section 3 (The age of supreme virtue)

In an age of “supreme virtue”: worthies were not glorified by name, the capable were not put in office by design; those above were like withered branches at the treetops—without heart to hold position—and the people were like wild deer at ease. People stood straight without calling it “righteousness,” were close without calling it “benevolence,” were sincere without calling it “loyalty,” kept faith without calling it “trustworthiness.” The ten thousand things stirred in their dull simplicity and used one another, yet did not treat help as a gift owed in return. Therefore action left no track, and deeds passed down no fame.

A few points from the notes (parentheses mark original annotations)

• Di (wig): In the note, “xiu” should read “shame,” and “jin” also means shame—the sage is ashamed of the House of You Yu’s kind of “repair after the fact.”
• Biaozhi (branch at the treetop): A withered branch on the treetop—an image for those above who have no heart set on power.
• Acting without tracks, doing without transmission: Not deliberately leaving traces of virtue or achievements, nor names passed on for deeds.

This is Guo Xiang’s commentary on the Zhuangzi, in substance as follows.

I. Yao, Shun, and Tang and Wu

The two sages Yao and Shun both stepped in to govern only because the world was in great disorder; abdication and the use of arms were responses to different times and different circumstances—not a matter of who was right or wrong, who won or lost. If all could bring the world to order so that each person had his proper place, why fixate on how much virtue the Youyu clan (Shun’s lineage) possessed, or insist on elevating him as ruler? What Xu You (Xu Wu) said was correct.

II. Seeking the “Medicine” and Governing the World

When the whole world suffers from the afflictions of war and calamity, people seek a worthy ruler as if seeking the “medicine” of the Youyu (Shun); yet those who hold that “medicine” and bear the heavy burden of governing often end up like Meng Ming after taking the drug—worn down and drained themselves first. One who truly governs the world with “supreme virtue” (zhide) does not do it for glory or fame.

III. The Age of Supreme Virtue

In an age of supreme virtue: the worthy occupy the positions they should occupy—not because they are honored that they take their posts; the capable do what they should do—not because they are commanded. Those above are like the tips of branches, rising above the myriad things yet not thinking themselves high; those below are like wild deer released to the hills and forests, content in their own way. Benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trustworthiness flow from nature itself, not from clever scheming. The myriad kinds of life use one another and each deploy their capacities—that too is each moving according to its own nature, not one being “directed” by another. When the ruler can let the myriad things act on their own, his actions leave no trace of deliberate effort; when each keeps to its proper place, there is no need to impose a set of teachings on others.

IV. Moving Without Giving Thanks

Among the stirring creatures, mutual use arises because each moves from its own inherent tendency—so when they move, they need not thank anyone. When the ruler can let things run naturally, his conduct shows no mark of artificial contrivance; when the myriad affairs each stop where they should stop, there is no need to pour doctrines into the other party.

Lü’s commentary holds that the Youyu clan (Shun) brought order to the world only after it had fallen into chaos, and King Wu of Zhou likewise governed only after chaos; both were men who took the affairs of the world to heart, so how could there be any question of one being higher or lower, or of one falling short? Shun’s treating sores and ulcers, wearing a wig (di) only when bald, and seeking a physician only when ill—these are all remedies of “ordering after disorder.” Handling medicines and adorning the exterior while the countenance is anxious and haggard shows that the Dao had not yet reached the stage of “dual forgetting” (jianwang), in which self and other, inner and outer, are both forgotten. It is precisely because the six relations are not harmonious that filial piety and parental kindness become visible; this is originally what the sage is ashamed to proclaim. Thus Shun’s governance too was unavoidable—how can one say he certainly surpassed King Wu? Viewed by outward traces, even Fuxi and Suiren could not be counted as an age of Supreme De; viewed by inner mind-nature, the subtle excellence of Shun and King Wu is what is called the age of Supreme De. Because they were wuwei, they were nameless; because they were nameless, their actions left no traces and their deeds were not transmitted—who, then, could recklessly offer judgments about them?

Bixu’s commentary holds that Yao’s son Danzhu was unworthy, so Shun (Chonghua) came to replace him; that King Zhou of Shang (Yin Shou) was cruel, so King Wu of Zhou (the divinely martial) came to pacify him. Neither was a governance of tranquil wuwei and natural equality. Only when the people were sick did Shun use the medicine of benevolence and righteousness to cure them; to seek a physician only when ill and to seek order only after chaos—how could this be what a good physician or a filial son wishes to hear? Not exalting worthies, therefore there is no contention; not employing talents, therefore there are no failures. The ruler is without intention like the tips of branches, and the people are self-content like wild deer. This too is the principle of resonance and attraction: only when there is depravity does righteousness appear; only when there is hatred does benevolence appear; only when there is deceit does loyalty appear; only when there is falsehood does trustworthiness appear. Without these four causes above, the four names below—righteousness, benevolence, loyalty, and trustworthiness—would have no way to manifest. The myriad creatures wriggle and mutually employ one another; the nature of things is spontaneous, and they do not regard it as anyone’s gift. Their actions leave no traces and their deeds are not transmitted, nor do they regard this as extraordinary. A filial son does not flatter his parents, and a loyal minister does not fawn on his ruler; this is the abundant De of a minister. Without those causes of depravity, hatred, deceit, and falsehood, the righteousness, benevolence, loyalty, and trustworthiness below would not become manifest. This is precisely the meaning of wuwei and spontaneity—not dwelling on names and traces.

Filial children do not set out to defy their parents, and loyal ministers do not simply pander to their ruler—this is what people usually praise as the great virtue of the “filial child” and the “loyal minister.” Yet if a son always agrees with whatever his parents say and does whatever they ask, the world calls him an “unworthy son”; if a minister always agrees with whatever his lord says and flatters him in everything he does, the world calls him an “unworthy minister.” Is that really inevitable?

When the world thinks something is right, people say it is right; when it thinks something is good, they say it is good—and yet such people are not called “keepers of the Way” or “those who go against the crowd.” So does the world only apply stricter standards in the presence of parents and show special deference before a lord? Call someone a “person of the Way” and he at once changes expression; call someone a “contrary person” and he at once changes expression too—yet he wants to be a “person of the Way” all his life and a “never-contrary person” all his life. He dresses up his words and gathers a crowd to make a show, from start to finish and from root to branch nothing truly connects; he drapes himself in finery and adjusts his face to please the world, yet does not call himself a “person of the Way” or a “contrary person”—no different from those who drift with the tide and cannot tell right from wrong, yet do not call themselves “ordinary people.” That is folly pushed to the extreme.

To know that one is foolish is not yet great foolishness; to know that one is confused is not yet great confusion. One who is greatly confused never wakes for a whole lifetime; one who is greatly foolish never sees clearly for a whole lifetime.

When three people travel together and one loses the way, the destination may still be reached, because those who are lost are few; when two lose the way, effort is wasted and the lost are in the majority. Today the whole world is confused; even if I have a clear direction, I still cannot arrive. Is that not lamentable?

Lofty discourse does not enter the ears of back-alley folk; vulgar little tunes like Zhe Yang and Huanghua instead make people burst out laughing. So profound teaching cannot rest in the hearts of the many, the utmost words cannot get out, and common talk wins the day. Using two earthen jars to match a single bell—they do not fit together, and the destination cannot be reached. Today the whole world is confused; even if I have a direction, how can I arrive? Knowing it cannot be gained yet still struggling for it adds another layer of confusion. Therefore it is better to let go and not push—if one does not push, who can compare with that kind of untroubled ease?

(Note: Zhe Yang and Huanghua are names of old popular songs; “two jars and a bell” is a metaphor for mismatched levels and mutual bewilderment.)

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (Summary)

When children treat whatever their parents or rulers say as right and whatever they do as good, they are in fact turning away from ordinary custom and obeying only their parents or rulers—so the world calls them “unfilial” or “unlike” the model child. What truly counts as fitting, nobody can finally pin down. In everyday life, those who do not put on airs before parents and rulers but go along with popular ways are not usually labeled “sycophantic”; so mere show of authority cannot win people over—winning them takes going with the common run even more. Hence the sage never stands alone against the age but always shifts with the times: on the throne one acts as emperor, in a kingdom as king—there is no path of abandoning the world and clinging only to one’s private view. Since the world takes “being like everyone else” as correct, it names that stance “daofang” (guidance and restraint); it does not probe the principle, only wants mutual face-saving. Those who love analogies and fine rhetoric ought, by rights, to bear the name “daofang,” yet the world still uses them to win hearts and gather followers; those who simply follow custom are often not blamed. As for people who band together to judge right and wrong yet do not count themselves “the crowd,” they say the world is foolish to the extreme—yet they still have to follow along. The sage’s Way is one in substance while emperors and kings act differently in detail, really because people’s confusion cannot be cleared up and can only be accommodated and allowed to run its course. When the whole world is confused, even if inwardly one yearns for the utmost Dao, one still cannot reach it—so Yao, Shun, Tang, and Wu merely responded to their times. Great music is not what the lane honors; when vulgar people hear a ditty they laugh together—that is why the world rarely employs sages but often uses vulgar methods. Like the story of the two pots and the bell, each side holds one end and does not know where to go—better to align with custom and be the same. Let go; do not force. When you do not force, who still shares your worry with you? The point: seek only what fits the present age, do not compel others to understand, and then all can live out a lifetime in mutual ease.

As Recorded in Xunben (Summary)

What the world calls loyal ministers and filial children usually means those who remonstrate when there is fault and do not play the sycophant or the “guide and restrainer”; those who simply go along with parents and rulers are often just following the world. It also says: release and do not push; if you do not push, who shares your grief?—again, seek only what suits the moment, do not force understanding on others, and then for one lifetime people can be together without worry.

In the “Following the Root” section of Zhuangzi Yi, the commentary observes that what people call loyal ministers and filial children are mostly those who remonstrate when there is fault—not those who always go along, cover up, and “wipe clean” for others in a smooth, accommodating way.

Yet there is an irony: when someone acts in line with the ruler’s or parents’ wishes, the world often still treats that as flattery and concealment; but when someone acts in line with public opinion, the world usually does not call it flattery and concealment. So people dare to speak plainly to ruler and parents, yet dare not speak plainly to the world—is public opinion stricter than a parent, more august than a ruler?

Those who are not upright refuse to admit they are “guiding and guarding” others (in the sense of steering and controlling them), yet they spend their lives doing exactly that: piling up comparisons and polishing language so that everyone turns toward them—is that not “guiding and guarding”? They themselves do not see it. When one and the same person, from start to finish, cannot align root with branch yet still tries to make it coherent, the fault lies there.

The text then turns to Shun: when Shun wore splendid robes, the realm was at peace; when the five-colored emblems were applied to the five-colored garments, he sat facing south, upright and reverent (“the realm was ordered while his robes hung loose”). The scripture says Shun “let his robes hang, set out colored patterns, and moved his countenance”—using that bearing to please the age, without admitting it was “guiding and guarding”; blending his standards of right and wrong with those people, without admitting he was the same as ordinary folk—in fact that is extreme foolishness.

Behavior offers a parallel: three walk east together; if one wants to go west, only one person is confused, and there is still a chance to lead everyone back on course. If two want to go west, the confused side has the upper hand, and no effort will reach the east.

Chizhang Manji said “I”—“qixiang” is the direction one wants. Though I have my own intent, the direction I want is not mine to command—

Then music is used as a metaphor: “fou zhong” means a bell made from an earthen jar (like the Qin king striking the fou); ancient music cannot enter the ears of the masses; they are pleased as soon as they hear popular music. Suppose two people beat earthen jars as music—people will delight in the novelty and be misled, and ancient music cannot be spread. How much more so when everyone under heaven is misled today: even if I wished to hold firm, could I succeed?

The commentator repeats analogies and intensifies the tone; the anguish is plain. Older notes, because of the two characters “suoshi” (what is aimed at), wrongly read this section together with the previous one, and wrongly changed “fou zhong” to “ye zhong”—both errors. Here too “suoshi bu de” (what is aimed at is not obtained) continues from above: above, “suoshi” is the direction of walking; here, “suoshi” is where music is headed in popular acceptance. The whole chapter discusses the line of Youyu (Shun); as for King Wu, there is no need to bring him in again.

There was a villain named Li who gave birth to a child in the middle of the night. He hurried to fetch a torch to look at the baby, his heart full of dread lest the child resemble him.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Li stands for the wicked. No one in the world wishes to be wicked; those who do wrong may be driven by harsh government or have lost their true nature. Those who are lost will themselves want to return to the right path, and those who do evil will themselves want to become better. Therefore the sage practices Wuwei (non-action), and the world is transformed of its own accord.

Secondary commentary: When Li had a child he feared the child would look like him—people often fail to see themselves clearly, while the deeply foolish and confused never wake up in a lifetime. Better, then, to be like Li: the wicked think of reforming themselves, the lost think of returning to what is right; hence Wuwei and the world transforms itself. These words are meant to lead the reader inward, to grasp what lies beyond the literal sense.

Main text (Zhuangzi on “loss of nature”)

A tree that has grown for a hundred years, when split and made into a sacrificial wine vessel and painted with green and yellow patterns, looks very dignified; the segment sawn off and thrown into a ditch rots in the mire. Compare the whole vessel with the broken log in the ditch and the difference in beauty and ugliness is vast—yet both alike have lost the tree’s innate nature.

Robber Zhi and figures such as Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu (typical examples in antiquity of extreme vice and extreme virtue) are far apart in “benevolence and righteousness,” yet the same in having lost their true nature.

Loss of nature falls roughly into five kinds: first, the five colors confuse the eyes so sight fails; second, the five sounds confuse the ears so hearing fails; third, the five odors assail the nose and block the zhongbi (the area between the forehead and the root of the nose); fourth, the five flavors muddy the mouth so taste is dulled; fifth, chasing after things and grasping or rejecting them disturb the heart-mind and make temperament restless. These five all harm life. Yang Zhu and Mozi then began to put forward novel doctrines and took themselves to have attained the Dao—that is not the “attainment” I speak of.

If by “attainment” one means that even being trapped counts as attaining, then doves and owls caged up could also be called “having attained.” Moreover, chasing sounds and colors, grasping and rejecting, stuffing the inner self full with them; wearing fur caps, caps adorned with yu (water-bird) feathers, inserting tablet and girding sash, binding the outer self with them—inside stuffed to bursting with desire, outside bound layer upon layer with cords, the two eyes trapped in a net of ropes yet still believing one has attained the Dao—that is like calling a criminal with arms bound behind the back and fingers extended for punishment, or a tiger or leopard shut in cage and bars, “having attained the Dao.”

(Notes: zong means blocked or obstructed; yu is a water bird whose feathers decorate caps; huanhuan describes eyes trapped and glancing about; jiaobi is arms bound behind the back; lizhi is extending the fingers under punishment.)

Essential Meaning of Lü’s Commentary

Sacrificial vessels lacquered green and yellow for ritual use stand for the path of self-cultivation taken by Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu; a broken log from a ditch stands for Robber Zhi’s way of ruining one’s original nature. Only what the text calls “when nature is cultivated, one returns to De; when De is complete, one is again as at the beginning” truly counts as attainment (de). Why insist on ranking Zeng and Shi above Robber Zhi, or the reverse?

Color is not “sight” (ming); sight discerns color. When the five colors confuse it, the eyes lose clarity. Sound is not “hearing” (cong); hearing listens to sound. When the five tones confuse it, the ears lose acuity. The same holds elsewhere: the five qi assail the nose, the five flavors muddy the mouth, and likes and dislikes make the heart slip. The heart need not fix on likes and dislikes; once they slide, nature (xing) flies off without stop.

Yang Zhu and Mozi were able men of their time, yet they had not heard the Great Dao (Da). Their knowledge went no further than the five openings of color, sound, flavor, odor, and touch. Still they stood apart and showed off, thinking they had attained something—by that logic, caged doves and owls could also be called “attainment.”

When the inner is packed full like a pen, the Dao cannot hold one in check; when the outer is tied tight with ropes, the heart cannot undo its tangle. Inner pens and outer bonds—those who see clearly know the person is already inside the ropes yet still struts as if enlightened. If that counts as attainment, then criminals bound hand and foot and tigers and leopards caged in sacks and bars could also be called “attainment.”

Essential Meaning of the Detailed Dao

Laozi said: The five colors blind the eye; the five tones deafen the ear; the five flavors dull the mouth. Human life originally has a quiet nature that does not rashly stir, and thick De that does not rashly shift. When delusive conditions press in, the numinous source slips day by day, until one forgets what is priceless and chases what is endlessly rotten—is that not delusion? Therefore the noble person values se (restraint, guarding the inner, few desires).

The main point of this oral commentary is as follows.

Honor, disgrace, and withered wood

Broken scraps from a sacrificial vessel, fit only for corner pieces on an altar, differ from honor and disgrace in name, yet in essence they are alike—both are like dead, withered wood: things outside the self, not worth clinging to. This is the same lesson as the story in the Zhuangzi in which Zang and Gu herded sheep together and both lost their flock: do not get tangled in side issues; do not let outer things disturb the original mind.

Sound, color, flavor, and “attachment and rejection”

Stimuli of sound, color, taste, and smell are enough to disturb a person’s natural endowment. Here “the four” (usually such sensations or the outer objects tied to them) are paired with qu she—attachment and rejection, likes and dislikes—to play down their importance: once you take and reject things by judgments of right and wrong and by likes and dislikes, the mind is carried off this way and that by those judgments, and the innate nature is lost.

The teachings of Yang Zhu and Mozi

The doctrines of Yang Zhu and Mozi precisely plant the mind in likes and dislikes framed as right and wrong, so the mind cannot rest. They are trapped by their own formulas yet still call it “finding fulfillment in oneself”—if that counts as fulfillment, then caged turtle-doves and owls could call themselves fulfilled too. This is Yang and Mo dismissed in the harshest terms.

“Going against others” and the plight of body and mind

Ni ren means conduct that goes against nature and cuts against human nature. Zhong sang runs from the nose to the forehead; here it can be read as breath and awareness blocked and stagnant in the head and face; zhuo kou is the mouth fouled and stained by mixed doctrines; li shuang is perversity, a loss of clear native freshness. To stir and confuse the mind with attachment and rejection, right and wrong, likes and dislikes is to lose the natural endowment—and the Yang–Mo line of teaching is exactly this kind of “sliding” within the mind.

Inner blockage, outer constraint

Inwardly, right and wrong clog the chest like a palisade, so it is said they “palisade the inside”; cap, court cap, and official sash are the Confucian ritual garb—binding oneself hard with ritual form, hence “constrain the outside.” Blocked within and tied without, they look as if they are tormenting themselves in bonds, yet they take themselves to have attained the Way and to be “self-fulfilled”—on that logic, prisoners in jail and tigers caged in sacks and bars could also be called “self-fulfilled.” In the strongest language, this rebukes Yang and Mo—and those like them who wrap themselves in ritual and teaching yet claim attainment.

Overview of Limited Views (Plain-Language Interpretation)

This essay opens by stating plainly: those who govern the world should take the Dao as their perspective and De as their straight path—wuwei (non-action), few desires, and clear offices and ranks. The myriad things under heaven were never the same to begin with; there is no need to force them into one mold. Nothing is greater than heaven and earth, nothing more honored than Dao and De. The way of the sage can cover and shelter all things and nourish every kind of being, and so can stand alongside heaven and earth. Zhuangzi (Nan Hua) uses the chapter “Heaven and Earth” to unfold the virtue of the ruler—that is the root of embracing heaven and earth, commanding the myriad things, and presiding over the realm.

People see Zhuangzi responding to things in many ways and suspect his sage wisdom far exceeds ordinary humans, yet they do not know that comes from “hollowing the heart” and wuwei. One who has the virtue to hold the realm establishes root and origin and sets right what is within oneself; then heaven and earth need not be forced yet align, people and things need not be pushed yet transform. Responding in the formless, listening in the soundless, sensing and connecting through strange changes—their use does not stop there. Hence Huangdi lost the dark pearl and Obtained-Form retrieved it; Yao wished to yield the realm to Nie Que and Xu You declined—meaning the Dao cannot be sought with intent, nor grasped through cleverness.

The man of Huafeng blessed the sage with “much fortune, long life, many sons”; the sage distributed wealth, assigned offices, and ascended as an immortal of a thousand years—what was there to burden him? Zihan (in the vein of Zichan-type anecdotes) declined the feudal lords and plowed in the wild, seeing virtue decline while punishments arose, worthies retreating into hiding, law growing stricter while troubles piled up afterward—disorder began from this. Han the gardener was ashamed to use machines; King Wu led armies to save the people—one side holds to simplicity and guards the true, the other uses expedient means to fulfill righteousness; whether in office or withdrawal, in stillness or movement, neither departs from the Dao.

As for the man who raised a child, fearing the son would resemble him and be greatly confused, never clear for life; carving raw wood into a vessel, slicking the heart and harming nature—when De is not enough to preserve life, what will become of the world? All such cases take “being trapped” as “gain,” like the teachings of Yang and Mo that torment the body with hard practice. Compared to cuckoos, owls, tigers, and leopards, they are not merely slighted—they are deeply detested.

Volume Three and Four of Zhuangzi Yi (Library Edition) · Tian Dao, Chapter Thirteen

The Way of Heaven (Tiandao) runs without stagnation and without hoarding, so the ten thousand things each take their proper form. When the Way of the Emperor (Didao) is like this, the realm turns to him; when the Way of the Sage (Shengdao) is like this, all within the four seas submit. One who comprehends the Way of Heaven and aligns with the Way of the Sage, possessing the imperial virtue of “sixfold penetration and fourfold openness,” finds that everything arises from nature itself, seamless and without trace—nothing fails to rest in stillness.

What the sage calls “stillness” is not forcing oneself to be still, but becoming still through goodness. Nothing from outside can disturb the heart, and so there is stillness. When water is still, it can mirror beard and eyebrows; level as a mirror, the great craftsman takes it as his standard. If still water is so clear, how much more so the human spirit? The still heart of the sage is the mirror of Heaven and Earth, and the mirror of the ten thousand things.

Emptiness and stillness, plainness and quiet, solitude and non-action (wuwei)—these are Heaven and Earth’s natural levelness and the highest reach of De (Virtue/Power). Therefore emperors and sages take them as rest and home. To rest is to be empty; to be empty is to be full, and fullness fills human relations and the moral order. To be empty is to be still; to be still is to be able to move, and in moving one gains what is sought. Stillness leads to wuwei; wuwei means handing concrete affairs to those fit to carry them. Wuwei and one is secure; secure, and worry cannot intrude—the years lengthen.

Emptiness and stillness, plainness and quiet, solitude and wuwei—these are the root of the ten thousand things. Understand this, and facing south one may rule like Yao, facing north serve like Shun; above, one may embody the virtue of emperor and Son of Heaven; below, one may keep the way of hermit and uncrowned king. With this one may withdraw and wander rivers, seas, and mountains, winning the respect of those outside the world; with this one may advance and govern the realm, with great achievement and bright fame, until the realm is one.

This passage develops Guo Xiang’s reading of a strand in the Zhuangzi concerning the Heavenly Dao, Imperial Dao, and Sage Dao. The gist is as follows.

The Heavenly Dao, Imperial Dao, and Sage Dao all mean arranging things in accord with the nature of each being, so that one is not entangled or obstructed by external things. Thus even when one is fully open in all directions—the six penetrations and the four quarters—one does not disturb inner stillness; the good said to lie in stillness does not mean never moving at all. When movement is called for, one moves, yet nothing in the ten thousand things can stir this heart—that is what “self-attainment” means. When water is still it is clear as a mirror, and that too is freedom from entanglement; how much more so the still heart of the sage? The sage has something to rely on, yet lets the ten thousand things act for themselves, so whatever is illumined is seen through to the end. Why heaven and earth are level and De (Virtue/Power) reaches its height: wherever things are not level or not fully reached, the fault usually lies in youwei—deliberate forcing and artificial striving.

Rest (xiu) is not the same as never acting at all. When one moves, it fits the reason one should move, without losing the ground of “why one should move then.” One who takes charge of affairs, if he truly understands wuwei (non-action), will see every kind of talent and every sort of thing keep its place and fulfill its role. Shun and Yu had the realm under heaven yet did not treat it as private property—that is the idea. Yuyu describes the easy, self-possessed bearing of such a person.

Tracing things to the root, the root of the ten thousand things lies in non-doing—not acting in vain or by force. Whoever grasps this may face south as king or north as subject, stand above or below, and in every case reach the utmost of wuwei. When the Way is present, the world turns to you, yet you need no rank—that is the so-called uncrowned king (suwang), one who is noble through the Way alone. From this, to withdraw and wander at leisure is the path of Chaofu and Xu You; from this, to enter the world and govern is the path of Yi Yin and Lü Shang. The substance of wuwei is vast; is there anything under heaven it cannot accomplish?

Therefore: if the monarch does not take the chancellor’s tasks upon himself, Yi Yin and Lü Wang can remain still while steering the state; if the chancellor is not driven and gripped by the hundred officials, those officials can remain still while dividing and managing affairs; if the hundred officials are not driven and run ragged by the myriad people, the people can remain still and secure in their proper work; if the myriad people do not use one another’s forced strengths to overturn each other, then under heaven each stays still and finds their place. From the Son of Heaven down to the commoner, even to insects—who can succeed by youwei? So the more wuwei, the greater the honor.

Main Idea of Lu’s Commentary

Heaven and earth turn without end, yet they have not yet been fixed into “one thing”—so the ten thousand things arise naturally, not carved out by anyone’s deliberate design. The way of emperors handles myriad affairs in a single day, likewise without being fixed into “one thing”—so the realm submits, not because anyone begged or flattered it into place. The way of sages is everywhere present, and likewise not yet fixed into “one thing”—so the world is in harmony, not because force was used to crush it into submission.

To understand the way of Heaven, to know the way of sages, to see that everything is turning and changing while the heart does not hoard or cling—that is what the emperor’s virtue calls “six penetrations and four openings” (the six directions and four quarters all pass through without obstruction). Where there is turning, change is inexhaustible; where there is no hoarding, the chest is not jammed with scattered fixations. Even when I act for myself, I still dwell in a state that does not proclaim quiet yet is quiet throughout—quiet as ground, not quiet because I “do” quiet on purpose. How much more so for people each busy with their own affairs—can any fail to be unquiet?

The sage’s quiet is not lip service—“I will be quiet”—but quiet because of goodness, so quiet comes naturally. If you treat “quiet” as a good thing and then chase quiet, that is not the quiet that belongs to you by nature. When outer things are not enough to disturb the inner mind, the root is already quiet—not quiet only after chaos and then repair. Why? The ten thousand things live because of me, yet I do not “give birth” to the ten thousand things—who can disturb that relation? Knowing this, when all things rise together, watch how they return; amid the clamor of forms, watch how they go back to the root. Return and going back to the root—that is quiet in itself.

When water is still, it can mirror beard and brows and lie level as a plumb line—how much more when spirit passes up and down and reaches everywhere, yet rests in the sage’s heart? The sage’s quiet is not only like still water reflecting the face or the craftsman’s level finding true—here Heaven and earth look upon things, and that is the mirror; here they show form, and that is the glass. Empty, nothing meets with clash; still, it keeps to one and does not change; tranquil, it rests in not-knowing; plain, it does not tangle with outer things; silent, it gathers without stirring; vast, it merges with the breath of emptiness and stillness. These six states are the ground on which the sage’s Wuwei (non-action) rests. Heaven and earth are leveled by this—there is no high and low; virtue and power reach their limit by this—nothing can be added—this is where emperors and sages find rest.

To meet endless change and answer the needs of the ten thousand things, without this layer of rest there is nowhere to pause, and spirit is drained among many tasks. Can you be empty? Empty means hollowing the heart’s schemes, storing affairs deep within, while inner richness can hold ten thousand differences. Thus empty and full differ in form, yet their principle is not confused—empty is not only to straighten the principle of fullness, but to move from stillness: when it is time to move, move; move and hit the mark. Who can carry movement on stillness for long? Let it grow slowly—still first, then move; move only when there is no choice, and move fittingly.

Reaching utmost emptiness and utmost stillness, the ten thousand things cannot disturb the heart—then Wuwei; in Wuwei each in charge bears his task, and I am not worn out by labor. At ease (yuyu, content and self-sufficient), it is so everywhere—cares cannot enter, the body does not decay from affairs, so years and life are long. To understand the teaching of emptiness and stillness, plainness and vast silence are the same thing seen from different angles.

The ten thousand things each keep their place—all grow from Wuwei; that is the root. Ancient sages faced south as Yao or north as Shun, or stood above with imperial virtue, or below with the way of the sage without a throne (suwang), or withdrew to wander, or stepped forward to govern the age—as long as they knew the root of the ten thousand things, their return was one.

Editor’s Note (bicheng)

“No hoarding” means the heart does not linger or stockpile. Di Dao refers to the virtue of emperors and sons of Heaven; Sheng Dao refers to the way of the sage without a throne, matching the closing passage. Old commentaries assigning the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors separately to the three ways is mistaken. In “six penetrations and four openings,” “opening” (pi) matches “penetrating”—the six directions and four quarters are all seen through. Mei means fully dissolved, extinguished.

“Level as the standard”: the master craftsman’s method, as in Zhouli (Artificers) “water the ground and suspend”—using water to find level. Empty, still, plain, silent, and Wuwei—Heaven and earth will take this as their standard, hence “the leveling of Heaven and earth.”

“Yuyu” is “content and at ease”: chu means to enter or intrude. When one is self-sufficient, sorrow cannot intrude, the body does not decay thereby—hence “the contented—cares cannot lodge, years and life are long.”

“Root” means root: Heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things all arise from emptiness and stillness—hence “root of the ten thousand things.” Here the text pushes one layer further back—to show that settling body and establishing life lies right here.

Still inwardly, one becomes a sage; active outwardly, one can be a king—when the heart is quiet within, one attains sagehood; when one acts in the world, one can rule like a king. Wuwei (non-action, not forcing outcomes) is what wins respect, and simplicity (pusu) is what no one under Heaven can rival in beauty. Whoever understands the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth has grasped the great root and great lineage (daben, dazong)—the fundamental principle and master thread—and is someone who harmonizes with Heaven. Whoever can balance the realm and harmonize with people: harmony with people is called human joy (renle); harmony with Heaven is called Heavenly joy (tianle).

Zhuangzi said: “My teacher! My teacher!”—the “teacher” he meant is one who blends (ji) the ten thousand things into one without harshness, whose kindness reaches ten thousand generations without calling it ren (benevolence), who endures from high antiquity without claiming long life, who covers and carries Heaven and Earth and shapes the myriad forms without thinking himself clever—this is what is called Heavenly joy. Thus one who knows Heavenly joy: while alive, follows Heaven in acting; in death, transforms with things and returns. In stillness, one shares the virtue of Yin; in movement, one rides the wave of Yang. Hence no resentment from Heaven, no blame from people, no burden from things, no inner self-reproach. In movement like Heaven, in stillness like Earth—when the one heart is settled, one rules the realm; outer baleful influences (chong, calamities) do not invade, and shen (spirit) and soul do not wear out; when the one heart is settled, the ten thousand things submit. To extend emptiness and stillness through Heaven and Earth and through the ten thousand things—this is called Heavenly joy. Heavenly joy is what the sage’s heart uses to nourish the realm.

Guo Xiang comments: When the time is to go, go; when to stop, stop—by nature one is honored by things, so “matching Heaven in beauty” lies solely in simplicity. Heaven and Earth take wuwei as De; clarifying their root lineage means not going against Heaven and Earth. Following Heaven to respond to people, Heavenly harmony arrives and human joy is complete. Things mixed and transformed together is called ji (blending)—not the teacher’s harshness. Benevolence, long life, and cleverness all arise naturally, without deliberate labels—Heavenly joy is forgetting joy while joy is full. Always without a fixed heart, thus ruling the realm without exhaustion.

Lü Huiqing comments: “Still inwardly, sage” speaks of the inner; “active outwardly, king” speaks of the outer. Ministers have no affairs, the realm submits to simplicity—only because one understands Heaven and Earth’s De. Above and below, at leisure or in action, differ in role, yet the great root and great lineage do not differ. Penetrate this and wuwei harmonizes with Heaven; balancing the realm harmonizes with people. The teacher Zhuangzi points to reaches even “blending things without harshness” and beyond. If each follows its formed heart (chengxin) as teacher, who lacks a teacher? Thus joy is not imposed from outside—the name is Heavenly joy. One who knows Heavenly joy: has never known birth and death, does not distinguish stillness and movement—hence no Heaven-resentment or human blame, no thing-burden or self-blame. When the one heart is settled, one rules the realm; outer chong do not invade, inner hun (soul) and po (corporeal soul) do not tire—how would the ten thousand things not submit? The heart settles because it rests in emptiness and stillness; extending emptiness and stillness through Heaven and Earth and through the ten thousand things—that is Heavenly joy. What the sage’s heart uses to store and nourish the realm is nothing beyond Heavenly joy.

When the Dao manifests in a person, keeping still makes one a sage; putting it into practice makes one a sovereign—both are honored through wuwei (non-action) and seen as beautiful through simplicity. This is like the virtue of Heaven and Earth: when have they ever forced or contrived anything? When have they ever relied on ornament or literary polish? Yin and Yang and the four seasons do what they should; sun, moon, mountains, and rivers are all “civilization” in the natural sense. Once this principle is established, it is the great root and great lineage of the world—the path of inner sagehood and outer kingship, in harmony with the Way of Heaven.

Use this to harmonize the world, and you harmonize with people; human joy and Heaven’s joy both spring from “harmony.” The names differ, but the source of joy is one. Do not harm the myriad things; do not parade as one who “benefits the world” through benevolence; go so far as to release the grip on good and evil; forget longevity and early death, forget clever contrivance; be bound neither by the times nor by talent—what Zhuangzi (Nan Hua) takes as his model is roughly no more than this.

In life, move in accord with the natural motion of the Way; in death, follow the transformation of the myriad things and return to transformation. Every movement has its stopping point—then movement and stillness both align with the Way of Heaven. No one blames Heaven—not because there are no human affairs; nor because there is no entanglement with external things. The point here is where “joy” comes from: moving like Heaven’s course, still like the earth’s bearing—that is the meaning of “same virtue, same wave.” When the heart settles in one place without reckless action, the world naturally turns toward you; without the heavy burden of sacrificial rites, the spirit is not worshipped for power’s sake (or: one does not rely on the awe of authority); without being burdened by things, the spirit does not wear out. Acting in hidden and manifest realms without shame—why would the myriad things not submit? Nothing more than extending the principles of emptiness, utmost stillness, quiet, and guard to Heaven and Earth and opening them through the myriad things. How could a sage who nurtures the heart of the world go outside this?

This passage describes how ideal ancient rulers governed: taking heaven and earth as models, rooting themselves in Dao and De, and making “non-action” (wuwei) their normal way of operating.

“Non-action” does not mean doing nothing at all; it means not steering the realm through private motives or forced schemes. When those above can practice non-action, the world turns with room to spare; when they are busy “acting” everywhere and meddling in everything, they exhaust the realm instead. That is why the ancients valued non-action most highly.

If those above are non-active and those below are also non-active, upper and lower share the same virtue and no longer clearly distinguish who is ruler and who is subject in their proper roles. If those above are active and those below are active too, upper and lower follow the same path and likewise blur who leads and who serves. The right arrangement is: the ruler should be non-active and let the realm unfold on its own; subjects should be active—carrying out concrete tasks and supplying what the world needs. That is the unchanging principle.

Those who anciently held kingship over the realm might match heaven and earth in wisdom yet not plot for themselves; might ornament all things in speech yet not boast; might reach every corner of the sea-land yet not monopolize decisions. Heaven does not “produce and nurture” things in a possessive way, yet the ten thousand things transform themselves; earth does not “grow” things by forcing them, yet the ten thousand things mature themselves; the ruler is non-active and the achievements of the realm complete themselves naturally. Hence nothing is more numinous than heaven, nothing more abundant than earth, nothing greater in stature than the ruler—and the ruler’s virtue should be paired with heaven and earth.

This is the way of governing that accords with heaven and earth, deploys the ten thousand things, and guides the myriad people.

“Using the realm yet still having surplus ease” means that in governing the world, one retains margin and need not personally handle every detail. If one rushes to be driven by external things and meddles everywhere, one ends up only in the position of a minister—busy with others’ affairs, without freedom. Even as a minister, when each keeps their proper role, there can still be room to be “at surplus.”

Think of a craftsman: in the matter of “carving wood,” he need not impose on the wood (wuwei toward carving wood), yet in “wielding the axe” he must act; the ruler should be wuwei in handling petty tasks and youwei (active) in employing ministers. When ministers serve faithfully and the ruler uses them well, the axe can fell wood and the craftsman can wield the axe—each fulfilling their capacity is Heaven’s principle operating of itself, not deliberate contrivance.

If the ruler does the minister’s work, he is no longer truly ruler; if ministers usurp the ruler’s authority, they are no longer truly ministers. When upper and lower each perform their duties, ruler and minister both attain the subtlety of wuwei.

One who “uses the realm” may outwardly also have youwei, but because they move in accord with their nature, it is still called wuwei; one who “governs the realm” likewise finds their own proper place. Those in lower positions must attend to practical affairs, so Shun and Yu, though ministers, are still said to have youwei. Compare upper and lower: the ruler is still, the minister active; compare ancient and modern: Yao and Shun seem wuwei, Tang and Wu seem busy—it is really each employing their nature, the heavenly mechanism unfolding on its own, with no absolute wuwei or youwei on either side.

Those above most fear being unable to be wuwei and doing what belongs to ministers: for example, not letting Gao Yao (Shun’s great minister in charge of justice) judge clearly, not letting Hou Ji (in charge of agriculture) sow and plant—then talents lose their posts and the ruler is trapped in miscellaneous duties. Hence the emperor’s hanging tassels veil the eyes (the jade strings on the ceremonial cap signify not scrutinizing every detail); he entrusts affairs to the realm so that all may each do what they ought. This is “wuwei and yet nothing left undone”: when above is wuwei, those below can act on their own; when those below are wuwei, each uses their own ability.

Heaven and Earth nurture the myriad things by being “just so”—spontaneously. When the emperor is wuwei and the realm’s work is accomplished, the achievement completes there; it is the same principle as Heaven and Earth’s wuwei.

Lü’s commentary explains: Wuwei (non-action) means that the ruler alone governs all under Heaven, while the myriad people each apply their strength and, in turn, serve the ruler—so resources and capacity seem ample and more than enough. Youwei (deliberate action) means that the labor of the realm circles around the ruler alone, while the ruler is personally burdened by petty affairs—so capacity always feels insufficient.

One who does not understand Tian (Heaven—the natural order and the way of Heaven) cannot possess pure De (Virtue—the character and power that accord with the Dao). The essence of De, when traced to its root, is nothing other than wuwei.

Therefore, when those above practice wuwei, those below follow suit in wuwei; when upper and lower are aligned in this way, it is called dedao—the unity of De and Dao. The Dao has two aspects: there is the aspect of Tian, and there is the aspect of ren (the human). To be honored through wuwei is the way of tiandao (the Dao of Heaven); to be worn down through youwei is the way of rendao (the Dao of Humankind). If those below are embroiled in youwei and those above join them in youwei, upper and lower both remain within rendao—then one is merely discussing ordinary “methods of governance.”

The correct arrangement is fixed: those above must practice wuwei in order to mobilize and employ the realm; those below must practice youwei in order to serve the realm on its behalf. This is an unchanging principle.

(The commentary here repeats the emphasis: when upper and lower align in dedao, tiandao and rendao are distinguished; those above must be wuwei to use the realm, those below must be youwei to be used by the realm for the realm’s sake.)

The root lies above; the branches and leaves lie below. The main outline belongs to the ruler; the detailed provisions belong to the ministers. How the three armies and the five weapons are deployed is a branch of De; rewards and punishments, benefit and harm, and the statutes of the five punishments are branches of teaching; ritual norms, weights and measures, law and designation, comparison and careful review are branches of governance; the sound of bells and drums and displays such as feather banners and yak tails are branches of ritual and music.

This passage addresses the relationship between root and branch, and the natural order of rank and precedence.

The five matters are all branches. Issuing orders and commands and mobilizing the three armies and the five weapons are branches of De (Virtue/Power). Rewards and punishments, benefit and harm, and the five punishments are branches of teaching. Ritual, law, measures, and the matching of names to forms are branches of governance. Bells, drums, plumes, and banners are branches of music. Weeping, hemp mourning garments, and graded funeral dress are branches of mourning. These five kinds of branch all depend on the movement of spirit (jingshen) and the activation of the heart-mind’s art (xinshu) before they can be carried out. The ancients of branch learning had them too, but they should not be taken as what must be done first.

The order of human affairs mirrors Heaven and Earth. The ruler precedes the minister, the father the son, the elder brother the younger, the elder the younger, the man the woman, the husband the wife—rank and precedence are simply how Heaven and Earth run, so the sage takes them as model: Heaven honored and Earth lowly is the place of spirit and clarity; spring and summer before autumn and winter is the sequence of the four seasons; things sprouting and the waxing and waning of flourishing and decline is the flow of change. Heaven and Earth are supremely spirit-like, yet in human ways the ancestral temple honors kin, the court honors rank, the village honors age, and action honors worth—these too are the order of the great Dao (Way). To speak only of the Dao without discussing order is not the Dao; to speak of the Dao yet turn away from this order—on what basis would one “take” the Dao?

Guo Xiang’s commentary. The five branches must rely on the natural turning and change of spirit and the heart-mind’s art before they can sustain themselves; what is “prior” is the root. The precedence of ruler and minister, father and son, though it belongs to human affairs, arises from ultimate principle—it is not something the sage fabricated from nothing. Rank and precedence are what things cannot do without. The order of the great Dao is not something human relations alone esteem; one takes the Dao precisely because it has order.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary. Once it is clear that the five branches must follow the movement of spirit and the heart-mind’s art, then the earlier talk of emptiness, stillness, solitude, and wuwei (non-action) is exactly the way to preserve spirit, clarify the heart-mind’s art, and nurture the root. Nurture the root, and the branches stir themselves; taking the Dao is likewise because it has order.

Those who understand what is “branch” (secondary, peripheral) must first apply their spirit and inner discipline, and only then follow those peripheral matters. The emptiness, plainness, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action) spoken of earlier are precisely what preserve the spirit, clarify inner discipline, and nurture the root of the Way. When the root is well tended, the branches naturally follow. Learning only branch learning—there were such people in antiquity too—but it should not be put first. Ruler before subject, husband before wife: that is the order of precedence in human relations. As for Heaven, the divine ranks above; Earth, with its clarity, holds the lower place. Spring and summer lead in growth and issuing forth; autumn and winter follow in gathering and completion. Even among the myriad things, at first they transform and sprout; once risen, each divides into its kind—from the subtle to the manifest, none is without form; waxing and waning and change all have fixed patterns that cannot be altered. Heaven and Earth are supremely subtle and hard to fathom, yet still observe an order of precedence; how then could root and branch, high and low on the human path be inverted? Not only do the precedence of ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife, and elder and younger brother arise from the pattern of Heaven and Earth—in ancestral temples, at court, and in village communities, each act and each moment has what it honors, and that cannot be confused; all are the ordering of the Great Dao. If one speaks of the Dao without discussing its order, how can one truly attain the Dao?

Oral Commentary (Exegesis)

From this passage onward, the text again discusses “deliberate action” (youwei). Because Wuwei (non-action) is the root and deliberate action is the branch and leaf, the key point is that the ruler should practice Wuwei so that ministers may bear the burden of deliberate action. Hence Zhuangzi says, “The deployment of the three armies in fivefold ranks is the branch and leaf of virtue.” The five weapons refer to bow, shield, spear, halberd, dagger-axe, and similar arms. Punishments assist in teaching and transforming, so it is said, “Rewards and punishments, benefit and harm, and the establishment of the five punishments are the branch and leaf of teaching and transformation.” “Degrees and measures” mean gradations of rank; “forms and names” mean the system of names and things; “comparison” means weighing and analogy; “detail” means fineness and thoroughness.

Rites and laws, degrees and measures, bells, drums, banners, and plumes are none of them the root of rites and music—just as Confucius said, “Are jade, silk, bells, and drums really what ritual is?” In funeral rites, the expression of “grief” is a branch; only afterward come “the movement of spirit and the stirring of the heart-mind”—both mean that these branches and leaves all arise from within. The ancients also had these branch matters, but those were not what should come first; what should come first is emptiness and stillness, plainness and calm, solitude and silence, and Wuwei.

Seen this way, Zhuangzi is not calling for the complete abandonment of arms, punishments, rites, and music, but for what should come first to come first and what should come later to come later—all in accord with the natural principle of Heaven and Earth. Hence it is said, “High and low, before and after, are the ordering of Heaven and Earth’s operation,” and the sage takes this as his model. The four seasons of Heaven and Earth are also a metaphor; “transformation” means generating and changing. In the Odes, “wei” is also written as “zhi,” meaning sprouting; “qu” means distinction—when the myriad things are born their forms differ, changing with the seasons, flourishing first and declining later, again illustrating the order of before and after. “Sha” means sequence and gradation: flourishing is not flourishing all at once, nor is decline decline all at once; each has its sequence, so the gradations of flourishing and decline connect to before and after, and high and low are also a matter of before and after. In affairs, honoring the worthy means putting the worthy first in appointment; ordering by age and honoring the worthy by rank are likewise the natural principle under Heaven, hence “the ordering of the great Dao.” If one does not even know ordering, how can one obtain the Dao? In the ancestral temple, kin are honored; zhaomu (the left-right arrangement of generations in the ancestral shrine) is the order of generations.

1. On “Facing North as Shun’s Subject”

As explained earlier: when one faces north as a subject to attend upon Shun, the way of the subject should be wuwei (non-action). Here the text further stresses: the root lies above, the details below—what came before spoke of the “heart-mind”; here it speaks of names and roles. Where there is root there must be branches, and branches cannot be severed from the root; the root is the principle of wuwei. Whoever grasps this principle and follows it will find the five human relationships (ruler and subject, father and son, and the rest) naturally settling each in its place. Hence it is said: these five relationships depend on spiritual operation and the movement of heart-mind before they can run smoothly.

Zhuangzi’s chapter here is a deep exposition of the principle of nature—what is called “knowing Heaven.” At this point he turns to the order of ruler and subject, father and son, elder and younger brothers, senior and junior, male and female, husband and wife, high and low, first and last—in short, what is called “knowing among human beings.” Xunzi criticized Zhuangzi as “obscured by Heaven and ignorant of human affairs”; but did Zhuang Zhou truly not understand human affairs?

2. The Sequence of the Ancient Masters of the Great Dao

Thus, for those in antiquity who penetrated the Great Dao, the order was:

1. First clarify Heaven (Tian)

2. Then De (Virtue/Power)

3. Once De was clear, then benevolence and righteousness

4. Once benevolence and righteousness were clear, then official duties and holding one’s place

5. Once duties were clear, then form and name (name and reality, proper titles)

6. Once form and name were clear, then assigning tasks according to capacity (yīn rèn)

7. Once assignment by capacity was clear, then tracing to the root and examining circumstances (yuán shěng)

8. Once root-tracing was clear, then right and wrong

9. Once right and wrong were clear, then reward and punishment

When reward and punishment were clear, the foolish and the wise each kept to what suited them, noble and base each fulfilled their station, the benevolent, worthy, and the unworthy each guarded their proper lot; names were fixed, talents were matched, and each must fit their title. With this one served superiors, nurtured subordinates, governed things, and cultivated the self; without recourse to stratagem, all necessarily returned to Heaven—this is called Great Peace (Taiping), the utmost of governance.

3. Form and Name, Reward and Punishment Must Not Come First

Hence the Classic says: there is form and there is name; form and name existed among the ancients too, but they cannot be treated as the first things.

When the ancients spoke of the Great Dao, they only brought up form and name at the fifth stage, and reward and punishment at the ninth. To rush ahead and speak only of form and name without knowing the root, or to rush ahead and speak only of reward and punishment without knowing the beginning, is to state the Dao backwards and sideways (wù: at odds with the right way)—that is the petty art of human administration; how can it govern people? Hurried talk of form and name and reward and punishment is merely knowledge of the tools of rule, not knowledge of the way of rule; it may serve one region but is insufficient to govern all under Heaven—such people are disputers and one-sided specialists.

Rites, law, measures, numbers, and detailed form and name also existed among the ancients; they were what those below use to serve those above, not the root by which those above nurture those below.

Those who grasp the art of governing and seem able to apply it to the realm, yet cannot truly govern the realm—such people are called debaters (bianshi): they are one-sided. Ritual, law, calculation, measure, and the detailed matching of form to name—the ancients already had these; they were methods by which those below served those above, not methods by which those above nourished and employed those below. (On the character read as “wu”: Si Ma Biao glosses it as “heng,” meaning at odds with or out of step.)

Guo Xiang’s note: “Heaven” (tian) means the natural. Once the natural is clear, the ten thousand things each obtain their Dao; each obtaining its Dao, harmony and principle suit themselves; suiting without losing their proper share; shares fixed, then the names of each thing match their forms; once form and name are clear, there is no need to change further—hence one follows and entrusts next: each thing takes charge of its own nature. Each taking charge of itself, blame and responsibility can be removed—hence one traces back and simplifies next: each takes obtaining its nature as right and losing its nature as wrong, so right and wrong are ordered next. As for reward and punishment, that is the recompense for losing or gaining [one’s nature].

The root of supreme governance lies in Heaven; the branches fall on these links: “occupying the position” means each person matches their talent; “following the capacity” means each fully expresses what they can do. Capacity must be divided so that tasks are not swapped; names must follow from this so that names match the facts—therefore from name, the actual is not excessive.

From “clarifying Heaven” to “form and name” is the fifth layer; to “reward and punishment” is the ninth—all are the natural order of before and after. Whoever governs people must follow this order, then the way of governance illumines the way of Heaven; this is not abandoning reward and punishment, only not reversing before and after or losing the actual.

Therefore from name the actual is not excessive; from clarifying Heaven to form and name is five, to reward and punishment is nine—all natural sequence. Whoever governs people must follow the sequence, then the way of governance illumines the way of Heaven; this is not discarding reward and punishment, only not losing their order and the actual.

Those who use the realm must thoroughly penetrate this ordered Dao and entrust concrete affairs to the talents of the multitude—that is how those above nourish those below.

In one sentence: To know only ritual, law, form and name, and to excel at serving those above is the art of “below serving above”; to truly govern the realm is to follow Heaven’s order and entrust according to the talents of the multitude—that is “above nourishing below.”

Heaven is the utmost that nature and life (xingming) can attain. To seek clarity about the Dao without first clarifying Heaven is to speak of a Dao that is not the true Dao, and a De that is not true De. Only with the true Dao and true De do benevolence and righteousness arise from them naturally.

With benevolence on the left and righteousness on the right, there come boundaries and steadfast adherence; form can be displayed and names can be spoken. When there is form and name yet no disorder, one can entrust each thing to its capacity without losing what it is fit for. Inwardly one returns to the root of the heart; outwardly one simplifies traces—then right and wrong find their truth, reward and punishment accord with reason, the foolish and the wise each keep their place and dare not overstep, noble and base each stand in their rank and dare not confuse order, the humane and the unworthy act from their genuine state and dare not feign. Offices must be assigned according to capacity before officials can each handle their tasks; names must be followed according to what they denote before names can match reality. In all matters— nourishing those below from above, governing things, cultivating the self—nothing is outside this. When stratagem is not employed, one must return to Heaven. This is why King Wen “did not know, did not presume, but followed the norm of the Lord on High”; why the many officers of Zhou all upheld the virtue of culture and faced toward Heaven—thus peace was achieved, comparable in grandeur to the eras of Tang and Yu.

If one suddenly speaks of form, name, reward, and punishment without knowing root and beginning, then Heaven and Dao-with-De are precisely that root and beginning. Inverted, things are not upright—taking the branch for the root; contrary, things do not flow—putting what should be last first. To speak of the Dao without the order of root and branch, before and after, is to disorder oneself; self-disorder is precisely what human governance must set right.

New Transmission

All things under Heaven must follow some “standard” in order to exist; this overarching principle is called Heaven. Walking and acting in accord with that standard is called the Dao. When the Dao is realized in me and becomes my conduct, that is called De. Using De to care for others is called Ren (benevolence); caring in a fitting and appropriate way is called Yi (righteousness). Ren has an order of priority; Yi has gradations of high and low. Together they form the measure of De: those who come first do not monopolize what belongs to those who come after; those below do not overstep those above—this is called keeping to one’s place.

Form means the distinct appearance of each of the ten thousand things; name means allotted status (one’s role and title). “Things accord with this” means that noble and base, close and distant are used in ritual and ceremony to distinguish and adorn different stations; as stations differ, the things that go with them (ritual, dress, implements, and the like) differ too. “Names accord with this” means that noble and base, close and distant are used to address and fix titles; as stations differ, the titles and names one receives differ too. “Things accord with this” is each rank having its proper bearing and regulations; “names accord with this” is each degree of closeness having its proper designation and status.

According to closeness and distance, noble and base, hand each person what he should do and let him act within his role—this is called yin ren (entrusting people according to their capacity). Once each has been assigned what fits him, can one let go and no longer oversee? No. One must still trace back to their inner mind and true feeling and examine the principles and facts of the matter—this is called yuan sheng (investigation and review). Only when yuan sheng is clear can one distinguish right and wrong; only when right and wrong are clear can one reward and punish.

Supplementary Note

The meaning of yin ren appears in the Zhuangzi, “In the World” chapter. What is lowly yet must still be employed is external things and practical achievement; what is humble in station yet must still be followed and responded to is the common people. Even the dull and unworthy should be carried along in accord with their native disposition (commentators gloss xi as “to use”). Whether worthy or foolish, each acts according to his own nature and in the end will not abandon himself to imitate another’s boasting and rivalry—that kind of showing off contends over external things, nothing more.

In antiquity Shun asked Yao: “How does the sovereign who takes Heaven as his model use his ‘heart’ (xin)?”

Yao said: “I do not put on airs before those who have nowhere to turn for help; I do not abandon the poor and needy; I grieve for those who died in suffering, rejoice for little children, and feel compassion for women—that is how I use my heart.”

Shun said: “That is good, but it is not yet great.”

Yao asked: “Then what should one do?”

Shun said: “Align with Heaven’s De (Virtue), yet in outward conduct remain inwardly at peace; let sun and moon shine as usual, the four seasons run their course, as day and night each keep their measure; let clouds gather and rain fall of themselves.”

Yao said: “In that case, are you fussy and restless (jiaojiao raorao)—busy with care? You align with Heaven; I align with people. Heaven and Earth are what the ancients valued most; Huangdi, Yao, and Shun all honored them together. So those who governed the world in old times—what did they add beyond that? They simply followed Heaven and Earth.”

Notes on word meanings: In the text, “ao” means arrogant or putting on airs. “Wu gao” refers to people with nowhere to plead their case and no one to rely on. “Chu ning” means going out into action while the inner mind stays quiet and undisturbed.

Summary of Guo Xiang’s commentary: “Wu gao” means those who are destitute and without support; “bu fei” (not abandoning them) means constantly extending kindness and not casting them aside. To be in De with Heaven is to act outwardly while the heart stays still—hence “chu ning.” Sun, moon, clouds, rain, the four seasons, and day and night all run without deliberate effort, naturally. If one is fussy and restless, one still feels that “something must be done”—one has not yet fully entrusted everything to Heaven.

Lu’s commentary

The virtue of Heaven (tiande) shows itself in this way: things may be active in the outer world, yet the inner heart need not be unsettled; sun and moon shine, the four seasons turn, coming and going, bending and stretching—nothing is done in a forced, deliberate way. Day and night each follow their pattern and take turns in the lead, yet no one knows where they first arise. Clouds drift and rain falls, and the realm is evenly nourished—compared with such natural dao, are not those practices of “not being arrogant, not neglecting to report, not abandoning the poor and common people” merely extra turmoil? What Shun said is Heaven and the human in accord; what Yao said is also the human and Heaven in accord. What ordinary Confucians take Yao to mean mostly stops at that level. So the two sages’ intent is placed in one passage to show that the “shared beauty” they honor lies here, no different from the teaching of the Yellow Emperor.

Main text

Confucius once wished to deposit the stored classics in the treasury of Zhou. Zilu said: “I have heard that the Zhou official in charge of the archives, Old Laozi (Laozi), has left his post and gone into retirement. If the Master wants to deposit the books, you might try to visit him and arrange it through that.” Confucius said: “Good.” Confucius went to see Laozi; Laozi would not agree. Confucius then went through the twelve classics one by one to persuade Laozi; when Laozi assented at a point, Confucius also said: “That is too long-winded—I only want to hear the gist.”

Confucius said: “The gist is in benevolence and righteousness (ren and yi).”

Laozi asked: “May I ask: are benevolence and righteousness part of human nature?”

Confucius answered: “Yes. Without ren a noble person cannot stand; without yi he cannot count as fully human. Benevolence and righteousness are the nature of the true person—what else would one seek?”

Laozi asked: “May I ask what benevolence and righteousness are?”

Confucius answered: “When the heart is harmonious and joyful, and one loves universally without private bias—that is the feeling of ren and yi.”

Laozi said: “Alas! What you said later misses the mark. Is not ‘universal love’ (jian ai) far-fetched? To speak of ‘no private bias’ is already to hold a fixed partiality. If the Master wishes the realm not to lose its original nourishment, Heaven and earth already have their constant dao, sun and moon already have their brightness, stars already have their order, birds and beasts already have their kinds, trees already have their places. The Master too should let virtue unfold and follow the dao—nothing more. Why must you busily hoist up benevolence and righteousness, like beating drums to hunt a lost child? I take it the Master is disturbing human nature.”

Notes (as woven into the text above)

• Zheng zang: charge over the state book depository; twelve classics: in one view the six classics (Odes, Documents, Rites, Music, Changes, Spring and Autumn) plus six weft texts; in another the upper and lower canons of the Changes plus the ten wings; in another the twelve-duke texts of the Spring and Autumn.
• Yi (here): read like an sigh of lament.
• Mu: to nourish, to preserve what is originally so.
• Jiejie: the look of hurried, strained busyness.

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (1)

This passage concerns “benevolence” and “righteousness” as ordinary people understand them. Zhuangzi therefore puts words in the mouths of Confucius and Laozi to set that understanding straight. Someone who truly reaches “supreme benevolence” (zhi ren) does not treat others through partial, emotional attachment, but responds in accord with principle.

(Regarding “the twelve classics” in the text) One view is that the five classics plus the “six weft” texts together make twelve classics; another is that the upper and lower sections of the Yijing together with the “Ten Wings” form twelve parts; still another is that the phrase refers to the classic that records the twelve dukes in the Spring and Autumn. In the line, “yi” should be read like “yi” as an introductory particle; “mu” means to tend, nurture, and settle.

Guo Xiang’s Commentary (2)

This again targets the benevolence and righteousness of common speech. Zhuangzi has Confucius and Laozi correct the names: supreme benevolence is not “having no love” in a nominal sense, but being “straight”—without private intent stored up. What people call “selflessness” is often first setting oneself aside and then loving others; yet once one “wants others to love oneself,” that is in fact very private—it is not forgetting the self for the sake of the public. Heaven and earth are sufficient in themselves; trees each stand firm on their own—they do not need “universal love under heaven” to be established. Care when a matter is before one’s eyes, and stop when it fits righteousness—that is what it means to forget the names of benevolence and righteousness; if one keeps hanging on to the two words “benevolence” and “righteousness” in the heart, that instead disturbs what is genuinely so.

Lü Huqing’s Commentary

Confucius was not able to put his ideals into practice in his own age and wished to hide his learning away for later gentlemen. The Twelve Classics refers to works such as the Spring and Autumn—books Confucius used to order the world and apply learning to practical governance. Confucius taught the world through the human Way, keeping subtle efficacy in the heart without easily breaking it open in speech, so the world-ordering content in the twelve classics, when traced to the root, is nothing but benevolence and righteousness. Laozi advocated cutting off artificial learning and returning to simplicity, showing people what is genuine; benevolence and righteousness are precisely what is to be set aside, which is why he said that is not the nature of the “true person.”

From the perspective of the human Way: benevolence is not only completing oneself but also completing outer things; righteousness is not only establishing outer things but also establishing oneself. The gentleman relies on benevolence and righteousness in standing and acting, and therefore takes this to be the nature of the true person.

From the perspective of “the genuineness of the Dao”: inner and outer both at ease is not something forcibly imposed on me from outside; delight in nothing lacking—supreme benevolence is “acting yet without acting as if there were something to act from”—it does not treat benevolence as a set of labels to execute. If one speaks of universal love, that is no longer the natural outpouring of heavenly virtue; better to be like clouds moving and rain falling, which is why Laozi said (Confucius’s approach) is roundabout and cramped. Every name arises from insufficiency; to say “selflessness” itself becomes a kind of privacy. What Laozi wanted was that people under heaven not lose their native nature, only assisting the myriad things each to follow what is natural. Heaven and earth have their constancy; the utmost and trees each hold their place—that is the spontaneity of things. De is then non-action (wuwei); the Dao follows nature—why be urgent like beating drums to chase a runaway child? The point is that once people lose their nature, it is not something that can be easily restored merely by applying the nominal teaching of benevolence and righteousness again.

Plain-Language Reading of Zhuangzi Yi (Wings of Zhuangzi)

Elaborating on the Way

Laozi’s teaching takes Dao and De as its root; the Confucian classics take ren (humaneness) and yi (rightness) as their foundation. Letting nature run free and following the great Way, the world can be wuwei (non-action) and each thing keeps its own nature; clinging to ren and yi and acting with deliberate effort everywhere, the world becomes youwei (forced action)—attachment doubles and things drift further from their nature. Zhuangzi puts words in Confucius’s mouth and actions on Confucius’s body precisely to make this point. Hold the center without leaning, and the ten thousand things can harmonize on their own.

Welcoming all things equally is what the world calls ren; having no partiality is what the world calls yi. Yet “universal love” still excludes what it does not love, so it is not “ utmost ren”; true utmost ren does not treat anyone as a specially cherished person. What looks like “no self-interest” can become another kind of bias, so it is not “utmost yi”; true utmost yi does not treat outer things as objects to possess. So the noble person values forgetting the names ren and yi and seeking that ultimate state directly.

Confucius once said to Laozi: “I have studied the Book of Odes, Book of Documents, Rites, Music, Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals, and thought I had studied a long time.” The “twelve classics” mentioned here means the original “Six Classics” were divided into twelve parts for discussion.

On Considering Goodness

Confucius was about to explain this fully; he had only half finished when Laozi cut him off abruptly. What comes after is mostly supplement and explanation “one step behind.” Mohist-style “universal love” still has “going out to love” in mind—it is already far from the great Way—so Zhuangzi dismisses it as cramped and unrealistic.

“Beating the drum to look for a runaway child”—the child is already hiding; when the drum sounds, he only runs faster. Likewise, using ren and yi as banners to govern the world only pushes disorder along faster.

Shi Chengqi Visits Laozi

Shi Chengqi came to see Laozi and said: “I heard you are a sage, so I was not afraid of the distance. I walked past more than a hundred inns, layers of calluses on my soles, and did not dare to rest. Now that I see you, you do not look like a sage: mice hoard leftover lees in their holes, yet you abandon your younger sister without care—this is not ren enough.”

Shi Chengqi came to see Laozi and asked about the Dao: “I heard that you, Master, are a sage, so I did not fear the distance. I passed a hundred inns until thick calluses formed on the soles of my feet, and still I dared not rest. Yet now that I see you, you do not seem like a sage: leftover dregs of grain still lie by a mouse hole, which looks stingy; you show no special affection toward younger siblings, which looks unkind; cooked and raw food is not yet cleared from before you, yet you gather and hoard without end.” Laozi remained cold and did not answer.

The next day Shi Chengqi came again and said: “Yesterday I mocked you at length; today my mind has already been set right—why is that?” Laozi said: “Those who, through craft and clever stratagem, dress themselves up as sacred beings—I thought I had already cast off that kind of appearance. In the past, if someone called you an ox, you accepted being an ox; if someone called you a horse, you accepted being a horse. If you truly possess such inner substance and people give you a name yet you refuse to accept it, you will instead invite calamity once more. What is meant by fu (genuine acceptance) is that the heart always holds fast to what is real—it is not ‘putting on’ that layer of reputation so that others may see it.” Shi Chengqi then sidestepped like a wild goose avoiding its own shadow, followed respectfully behind him, and asked how to cultivate the self. Laozi said: “Let your countenance be open and upright, your gaze clear and steady, your forehead full, your mouth restrained; let your bearing be square, like a tethered horse that knows where to stop. In action, hold to something; be alert yet able to discern, nimble yet able to look out over the broad and level. When all of these are taken merely as outward forms, none of them is trustworthy. If at the frontier there is someone whose name is ‘Thief’—”

(Guo Xiang’s note: “a hundred inns, thick calluses” means traveling through a hundred lodgings until the feet are heavily calloused; “leftover dregs still abundant” means the dregs are not truly scarce; “not abandoning younger sisters” and “hoarding” criticize the mistake of imagining a sage as one who must be extreme in possessions and in emotional partiality; “not setting up a boundary line” means the Great Dao (Dao) excludes nothing and receives all who come; Shi Chengqi’s return visit is because he felt the cutting words he spoke yesterday had already been corrected in himself.)