《庄子集解》Vol. 4

This passage explains that there is no need to deliberately “govern the world,” and that using benevolence and righteousness to stir up people’s hearts tends to make things worse.

No Need to Govern the World

Some take “like motes of dust moving on their own” to mean: just as dust drifts by itself, the myriad things layer and change naturally, as if slowly “cooked through,” each finding its place. If that is so, why should I busy myself in vain trying to “govern the world”?

Cui Qu asked Laozi: “If you do not govern the world, how can people’s hearts be settled and improved?”

(Note: here “cang” is read as “shan” (good)—i.e., hearts cannot naturally turn good on their own.)

Laozi said: By no means stir up or disturb people’s hearts.

Why the Heart Is Hard to Handle

Cheng Xuanying explains that ying means to scratch at, stir, and disturb the mind.

The heart has this trait: press it down and it shrinks; lift it up and it surges upward.

Caught between up and down, it seems trapped and wounded—when suppressed, arrogant qi flares as if at the point of death; when pushed forward, resentment wells up as if imprisoned.

What is soft and yielding (“nuoyue”) can overcome what is hard and strong; yet those who are sharp-edged and fond of carving and cutting—inside they are either feverish as fire or trembling as ice.

Their thoughts race—in the time it takes to bow or lift the head they want to “embrace and oversee all beyond the four seas”; at rest they lie deep as an abyss, yet when they move they float suspended in the sky—proud anger hard to rein in, impossible to tie down—that is what the human heart is like.

The Yellow Emperor, Yao and Shun, and the Ills of Benevolence and Righteousness

Long ago the Yellow Emperor began using benevolence and righteousness to stir people’s hearts; by the time of Yao and Shun, it is said they were so busy that the flesh on their thighs had no tender spots and the hair on their calves was worn away, all to sustain the people’s bodies; they also wore out their five viscera to practice benevolence and righteousness and drained blood and qi to uphold laws and standards (here “jin” carries the sense of toiling and straining).

The main point of the whole passage: Laozi rejects using the name-and-teaching of benevolence and righteousness to “govern the heart” and “govern the world,” because the heart is inherently hard to tame between up and down; from the Yellow Emperor onward, using benevolence and righteousness to regulate people has instead worn out their bodies and left their inner lives more chaotic.

Some readers connect this passage with Mencius’s remarks about “hardening the mind and wearing out the body,” taking it to mean “reining in blood and qi and restraining one’s nature.” Yet even so, they still “could not subdue the realm.” Hence Yao exiled Huan Dou to Chong Mountain, drove the San Miao to Sanwei, and banished Gong Gong to Youdu—acts that show they had not truly “governed and pacified the world,” but only suppressed it by force.

This state of affairs continued through the sage-kings of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, while the realm grew ever more fearful and unsettled: below were villains like Jie and Zhi; above were held up as models of the noble person Zeng Shen and Shi Yu; and the Ru (Confucian) and Mo (Mohist) schools rose together, contending with each other.

Then joy and anger bred mutual suspicion, the foolish and the wise deceived one another, good and evil denied each other, and the absurd and the sincere mocked one another—the world declined. “De” (Virtue) should fundamentally be mysteriously unified, yet people each clung to one side, showing many divergent tracks; the principles of nature and life (xingming) were thrown into disorder. When everyone under Heaven delighted in cleverness, the common people’s needs were drained dry—those above exhausted their schemes, and those below could not keep up.

Thus came axes and saws, plumb lines and inked cords for cutting and squaring, mallets and chisels for boring and deciding—as a craftsman uses cord and ink to straighten wood and hatchet and chisel to wound it, so rulers used ritual to “correct” people and penal law to wound them. The world mutually slaughtered and great disorder never ceased (“jiji” meaning mutual trampling and injury); the blame lay in “yìng rén xīn”—disturbing and provoking people’s original heart-mind.

So the worthy withdrew into deep mountains and hidden valleys (“kānyán,” deep waters or remote cliffs—meaning secluded peaks and caves), refusing to go along with such a chaotic age.

A ruler who commands ten thousand war chariots still trembles with fear and dread in the halls of state. In the world today, those who have been executed lie piled upon one another; those wearing the cangue and leg irons (xingyang) jostle against each other; and wherever you look, people suffering punishment and slaughter stretch as far as the eye can see. Yet the followers of Confucianism and Mohism still stand on tiptoe in their fetters and shackles, stretch out their arms, and shout at the top of their lungs. Alas! How excessive! They feel no shame and know no remorse—it has gone to the utmost extreme!

I still cannot be sure that so-called “sagely wisdom” is not precisely what serves as the wedge and lock for those cangues and irons, or that so-called “benevolence and righteousness” is not precisely what crafts the manacles and mortise-and-tenon joints that pin people down. How can we know that “worthy men” like Zeng Shen and Shi Yu will not become the whistling arrows (haoshi) in the hands of tyrants like Jie and Zhi, driven and wielded by violent men? That is why there is the saying: “Cut off the sages and discard cleverness, and the world will be truly well governed.”

In the nineteenth year of his reign, the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) had brought his rule to every corner of the land. Hearing that Guangchengzi—identified by some with Laozi—dwelt on Mount Kongtong (the Erya names as Kongtong the region north of the station of the Northern Dipper), he went to call on him and said: “I have heard that you have penetrated the utmost Dao; I venture to ask the essential purport of that utmost Dao. I wish to draw the refined essence of Heaven and Earth to nourish the five grains and sustain the people; I also wish to set Yin and Yang in order so that each finds its place and role and the myriad things may grow in harmony. How is this to be done?”

Guangchengzi replied: “What you ask concerns the crude, superficial side of things’ form and matter; what you wish to arrange is merely the scattered leavings and tail-ends after the Great Dao fell apart. Since you began governing the realm, rain has fallen before the clouds had properly gathered; grass and trees have withered before their leaves turned yellow; and the light of sun and moon has daily grown dimmer. Those crafty, flattering minds around you are shallow and narrow—how could they be fit to speak of the utmost Dao?”

The Yellow Emperor withdrew, set aside affairs of state, built a quiet chamber and spread white rushes upon the floor as a sign of purity and restraint, and lived alone in seclusion for three months before returning to request another audience. Guangchengzi lay with his head to the south.

Guangchengzi lay with his head toward the south. The Yellow Emperor crawled on his knees in the downwind direction, bowed, and knocked his head on the ground, then asked: “I have heard that you have penetrated the utmost Dao (zhidao). How should one cultivate the body so that it lasts long?”

Guangchengzi suddenly sat upright and said: “A good question! Come—I will tell you about the utmost Dao. The essence of the utmost Dao is deep, hidden, and obscure; its utmost reach is dim, quiet, and still. Do not look and do not listen; embrace and guard the spirit (shen) in stillness, and the bodily form will naturally straighten. You must be still and must be clear; do not wear out your bodily form and do not stir your vital essence (jingqi)—only then can you live long.” (Note: This is about nurturing the inner by settling the outer.)

The eyes see nothing, the ears hear nothing, the heart knows nothing; the spirit will guard the form, and then the form can live long. Be careful inwardly and cut off deliberation; block off outwardly and stop reckless movement. Much knowing leads to ruin. (Note: Inner and outer pull on each other; the trouble lies in “knowing,” so the teaching is summed up in this way.)

I will guide you to penetrate the great illumination (daming) above and reach the source of utmost yang; I will guide you to enter the gate of dark profundity (yaoming) and reach the source of utmost yin. Sui means to go straight through and arrive. The perfected person’s wisdom shines like sun and moon, hence “great illumination”; when there is feeling, there is response—hence “sui yu daming zhi shang” (going straight to the great illumination above); when there is no feeling, the root is deep and essence settles in stillness—hence “ru yu yaoming zhi men” (entering the gate of dark profundity).

Heaven and earth each keep their office (the Two Principles divide their roles); yin and yang mutually hide as each other’s root. Guard your body carefully, and the ten thousand things—that is, the Dao—will naturally grow strong. Guard the body and the Dao is nourished; accomplishment follows of itself.

I guard the One (shou yi) and dwell in harmony (the harmony of the two qi), so I have cultivated the body for twelve hundred years and my bodily form has never declined. Form and spirit receive their nourishment; accomplishment follows of itself.

Guangchengzi said: I hold fast to “oneness” and dwell in “harmony.” (Note: “Oneness” means the undivided root-nature; “harmony” means the balance of yin and yang qi.) That is why I have cultivated my body for twelve hundred years without my form ever declining. (Note: When form and spirit stay together without parting, that is the way to endure.)

The Yellow Emperor bowed again, forehead to the ground, and said: “Guangchengzi, you may truly be said to share virtue with Heaven!” (Note: To be one with Heaven’s own de.)

Guangchengzi said: Come—I will tell you. The myriad things in themselves are inexhaustible, yet people treat them as if they had an end; the Dao is like a turning cycle, yet people think that once it sinks away it is finished; the myriad things in themselves are beyond measure, yet people assume they have bounds. The Dao has no exhaustion, yet people imagine it has a limit.

Whoever obtains the Dao I speak of may above become a sovereign, below a king or lord; whoever loses the Dao I speak of may above still shine brightly, but below turns to dust—even if they once saw light, in the end they return to soil.

Now every thriving thing among the “hundred flourishing beings” (bai chang means the hundred things in full flourish) is born from earth and returns to earth. (Note: If people do not understand the Dao, how are they different from these things!) So I will leave you, enter the gate of the inexhaustible, and wander in the wilds of the boundless. (Note: Return to the silent root, pass through the gate of the inexhaustible; in heaven and earth respond to the ten thousand changes, and roam in the field of the boundless.)

I share light with sun and moon; I share constancy with heaven and earth. (Note: “Can” means to be the same, to align.) If someone comes toward me, I merge with them without a seam; if someone leaves me, I am no different from dim oblivion—(Note: Let people come and go; respond with no deliberate mind.) The masses all die, while I alone endure! (Note: Share breath with the Dao and do not perish.)

Cloud General traveled east and, passing the branches of Fusang (the legendary sacred tree of the eastern sea), happened upon Hongmeng—the primordial vital qi of the time before heaven and earth were divided. Hongmeng was slapping his thighs and hopping about like a sparrow at play.

When Cloud General saw him, he stopped in bewilderment and stood frozen, then asked: “Old sir, who are you? Why are you like this?” Hongmeng kept slapping his thighs and hopping without pause and answered with a single word: “Play.” Cloud General said: “I wish to ask your guidance.” Hongmeng looked up at him and said: “Hmm!” Cloud General said: “Heaven’s breath is not in harmony, earth’s breath is blocked, the six qi (yin, yang, wind, rain, obscurity, and clarity) are out of balance, and the four seasons have lost their order. I want to gather the essence of the six qi to nourish the ten thousand things—what should I do?” Hongmeng slapped his thighs, hopped, and shook his head: “Don’t know, don’t know.” Cloud General could get no answer from him.

Three years later, Cloud General traveled east again. Crossing the plains of Song, he met Hongmeng once more. Overjoyed, he hurried forward and said: “Has Heaven forgotten me? Has Heaven forgotten me?”—honoring Hongmeng as “Heaven,” just as the Yellow Emperor called Guangchengzi “Heaven.” He bowed twice, kowtowed, and asked to hear Hongmeng’s instruction. Hongmeng… (the original text continues in the next section.)

Plain-language interpretation

Hongmeng said: “Drifting between heaven and earth, not knowing what to pursue; acting as inclination moves you, not knowing where you are going—what you seek will appear before you, where you go will feel right. ‘Drifting’ is like still holding the reins in your palm: though you wander outward, the mind keeps a slight thread of attachment. With that attitude you observe, and you will not be misled by what is empty and false.” Cheng Xuanying explained: “The true mechanism moves on its own; I only follow along and watch—what could I know?”

Yun Jiang said: “I thought I was simply acting on inclination, yet the people follow the path I take; I only manage their affairs because I cannot avoid it.” Cheng Xuanying said: “Try to refuse and you cannot.” So in effect the people are imitating me. Guo Xiang said: “He was imitated by the people.” Yun Jiang said: “I would like to hear a word from you.”

Hongmeng said: “You disturb the constant way of heaven and earth and go against the nature of the ten thousand things—the subtle way of heaven cannot be fulfilled.” Cheng Xuanying said: “When the way of heaven is disordered and true nature is reversed, natural transformation cannot complete itself.” When beasts are scattered from their herds, birds cry chaotically at night; disaster reaches the grasses and trees, harm touches even insects. Su Yu noted that “zhi” here is the same word as the one used for small crawling creatures—in other words, insects. Hongmeng sighed: “Alas! The excess of governing the human world comes to this!” Guo Xiang said: “Once there is a trace of ‘governing,’ disorder arises from there.”

Yun Jiang asked: “Then what should I do?” Hongmeng said: “Alas! The harm is already deep! Go back lightly!” Cheng Xuanying said: “xianxian describes a light, easy manner—it is advice to return.” Yun Jiang said: “I have met with great difficulty and wish to hear a word of guidance from you.”

Hongmeng said: “Alas! You must nourish the heart. Only the heart deserves real nourishment. Simply remain within Wuwei (non-action), and the ten thousand things will transform on their own.” Cheng Xuanying said: “tu means ‘only’ or ‘merely.’” Release your bodily form and spit out your cleverness—Cheng Xuanying said: “Forget both body and mind.” Forget human relations and external things together, and merge in great sameness with the undifferentiated primordial state (xingming—the image of heaven and earth not yet divided, all vague and blended).

Sima (commentator) says: ximing is the qi that belongs to nature as such. Xuan (another commentator) says: it is fundamentally one with haoqi—the vast qi that fills heaven and earth.

“Loosen the heart and release the spirit” means to undo what sticks in the mind and to slacken what binds spirit-consciousness. “Moran, without hun” means to be like moran—knowing nothing—and not to stir things up with hun, the side of us that loves to think and discriminate. The commentary adds that hun loves to deploy cleverness, whereas moran is non-knowing, like dead ashes and withered wood that make no distinctions.

“All things are many” (wanwu yun yun): Su’s note says Laozi’s line reads yun yun (often rendered “flourishing”), picturing how the ten thousand things grow in spontaneous profusion. Each returns to its gen—its root, its inherent nature, the true basis before disturbance. Commentators say this is each thing recovering its non-deluded true root; they also say that “each returns to its root” is returning to the root without knowing that one is doing so.

Muddled and undifferentiated—hunhun dun dun—one keeps to that chaos for a whole lifetime and does not leave it. The commentary: do not “open up” or depend on that whole apparatus of learned knowledge. If you insist on “knowing” and on using cleverness, you have already left natural nature.

There is no need to press for what name to call it, or to pry into its inner secrets—things are nameless from the start, so there is no point in forcing the question; they are originally without “inner feeling” in that sense, so there is no point in guessing. Things simply beget and transform themselves—the commentary: let each thing transform on its own so that each obtains its own principle of life.

Yun Jiang (a name: the cloud-ruler immortal) says: Heaven has granted me De and has instructed me by silent intimation; I went in person to seek it, and only today have I received it. He then bowed twice, kowtowed, rose, and took his leave.

Most people prefer those who think like themselves and dislike those who differ. They draw close to the alike and push away the unlike—yet this is really taking “surpassing the crowd” as one’s guiding motive. Guo Xiang’s commentary says: it means assuming one stands above everyone else and that others ought to follow one’s lead. Someone who takes “outdoing the multitude” as their aim—when have they truly risen above the multitude? They are not genuinely transcendent at all. They merely drift with the current, treating hearsay as a basis for peace of mind; in that respect they fall short of those who gather diverse skills—that is what it truly means to “belong to the multitude.” As for those who would govern another’s state by their own opinions: they are grasping after the “benefits” associated with the Three Sage Kings (Yu, Tang, and the kings of Wen and Wu), yet fail to see the harm hidden within. Guo Xiang notes: trying to rule another’s land by one’s own views is simply treating sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness as gains while overlooking their damage. That is staking another’s kingdom on luck—how often can one gamble without losing the state? To truly preserve another’s realm might succeed once in ten thousand tries; to ruin it, one failure can lead to ten thousand things going wrong afterward. One thing fails, and myriad undertakings collapse. Pitiful—holders of territory and great power who do not grasp this!

Those said to “possess territory” are possessors of the “great thing”—the weighty vessel of all under Heaven. Once one has the great thing, one must not be enslaved by external things. If one can only be used by things, one remains a “thing” oneself—how then can one in turn “take things as things” and master the myriad beings? Unable to master things, one is unworthy of the name “possessor of the great thing.” Su Yu says: the territorial lord imagines he holds a “thing” in hand, yet is already turned into a thing by things; only by not fixing on things as rigid objects can one body gather and govern the ten thousand things. The “unique singularity” (duyou) discussed below is precisely this intent of non-attachment to things.

Because one does not cling to things, one can “thing the things”—treat each thing on its own terms without grasping a fixed “object.” Guo Xiang: not seeing any fixed “thing,” one stands beyond things and thus can master the ten thousand things. Understanding that “thinging things” is not holding some separate “thing” to grasp, one is not merely administering the people under Heaven; one can pass through the six directions and roam the nine provinces, coming and going alone—this is called “unique singularity.” Cheng Xuanying says: the multitude wish to stand out, yet only this one can wander alone—others lack that capacity—hence the name “unique singularity”; such a person is looked up to by the people, and as their foundation may be called supremely noble and honored.

The “great person” (in Zhuangzi’s sense: one who has attained the Way, the ideal human type) teaches the way a body casts a shadow and a voice sets off an echo: you ask, and they respond; they say what needs to be said from the heart, and they meet and match with everyone under heaven.

Cheng Xuanying explains: “match” (pei) means “pair” (pi)—what feels first is the host, what answers is the pair, like host and guest, stimulus and response.

One should stay in a state of “no echo” (wu xiang)—Guo Xiang says: the inner mind is still, waiting for things to come on their own, neither jumping ahead nor forcing. In action, “no fixed direction” (wu fang)—no set formula; Guo Xiang says: one transforms with whatever the outer world brings, not bound to one pattern.

(Cheng and Guo also discuss “match,” “no echo,” and the like; the gist is as above.) Yu Yue glosses the text: “coming and going again” (shi fu) means back-and-forth, recurrence; “restless turmoil” (nao nao) is confusion and noise. Only the great person can lead those who churn back and forth in the mundane world, hearts in a tangle, to roam together in the realm of “no beginning” (wu duan)—no fixed thread, no fixed end.

Going in and out without clinging to one corner (“no side” (wu pang), read in the departing tone: no fixed support), renewing day by day, “with the day, no beginning” (yu ri wu shi)—Cheng Xuanying says: every day is a new day, so there is nothing that counts as a fixed start or finish.

Speaking of form and body, they are the same as the multitude—“accord with the great sameness” (he hu da tong)—not showing off or inventing a separate path. When great sameness is pushed to the limit, there is “no self” (wu ji)—no stubborn “I.” Guo Xiang says: nothing in the world is harder to erase than “I”; when “I” is gone, there is no need to keep clutching at “having” (all those attachments and distinctions).

“Seeing ‘having’” (du you)—treating “having” as real—is the path of the ancient junzi (Cheng Xuanying: the so-called sage-kings of the Three Dynasties). “Seeing ‘non-being’” (du wu)—being able to see “non-being” and awaken to emptiness and stillness—is what makes one “friend of Heaven and Earth” (tiandi zhi you)—moving in spirit with Heaven and Earth.

There is also a practical measure in real life: “what is lowly yet cannot be left unused is things” (jian er bu ke bu ren zhe, wu ye)—outer things seem trivial, yet one cannot do without them; “what is humble yet cannot be ignored is the people” (bei er bu ke bu yin zhe, min ye)—the common people rank low, yet one cannot fail to rely on and align with them. After “no self,” this is not a denial of things or people, but a refusal to treat the “multitude of beings” as private property one must possess—this runs in one line with the earlier “how could one then possess ‘having’?”

Plain-Language Explanation

Some things, though lowly in status, cannot be left unused or unheeded—we must still go along with them and put them to work. This is what we mean by the myriad things. The common people, though humble in rank, cannot be governed except by following their nature—this is what we mean by the people. People and things may both seem base, yet that is precisely when one should adapt and entrust (yinren: employ each according to its own nature). To go against that nature is to invite disorder.

Affairs lie in their own place and each runs its own course, so they cannot be decided by one person alone; one can only adapt and follow what is natural. Fa (method/law) is teaching in words: the principle is subtle while the wording may seem plain, so one must state it faithfully and explain it clearly.

Yi (rightness) may seem far from the Great Dao, yet whenever it fits reason, one should take it up decisively. Ren (benevolence), if it clings only to those near at hand, is too narrow; when it is broad and all-embracing, that is great benevolence.

Li (ritual) stresses restraint and ornament; one cannot fail to build it up with depth and care. De (virtue) lies in holding the center; those who cultivate De harmonize with the world and naturally appear lofty and far-reaching.

Dao rests on one Qi (a single root of the subtle origin); it pervades and generates the myriad things, is utterly simple, and cannot be altered. Heaven manifests the numinous and cannot be left undone. Therefore the sage observes Heaven without “helping” along its allotments (greatly following all things, without adding extra growth), completes De without being burdened, acts from Dao without scheming on the side (not plotting yet unified—hence “easy”), aligns with Ren without leaning on it, aligns with Yi without deliberately piling it up, responds to Li without going against it (here “hui” is read as “wei,” not shirking violation), meets affairs without declining them, and unifies through Fa without disorder (unifying by things’ natures and by the standards of law).

Note: This passage belongs to the thought of the Zhuangzi and to older commentaries (the “Guo,” “Cheng,” “Yu” in the text refer to commentators such as Guo Xiang, Cheng Xuanying, and Yu Yue). Its core is adaptation and entrustment (yinren): follow things, follow the people, follow affairs—do not assist rashly or act alone on one’s own.

In the Guoyu, Weizhao’s commentary says: wei means to avoid or evade. The two words are close in sound and close in meaning, so bu hui means not going against and not evading.

Taking up affairs without declining them means aligning things by their nature and bringing them under one rule, so there is no disorder. Relying on the people without lightly resorting to force means trusting that people can act for themselves, so one does not casually press them into service. Following things without leaving their root means appointing and using them along their course, so one does not lose what is fundamental.

Among things, nothing is worth deliberate “doing,” yet what must be done cannot be left undone: what was never there to begin with cannot be fabricated; what is already in nature cannot be left undone.

Those who do not understand the Dao of Heaven do not have pure virtue—they cannot see natural principle, so character mixes with shallow habit. Those who do not penetrate the Dao have nowhere to stand—faced with affairs it is like facing a wall, with no handhold. How pitiable are those who do not penetrate the Dao!

What is meant by “the Dao”? There is the Dao of Heaven and the Dao of Humankind. What is honored through wuwei (non-action) is the Dao of Heaven; what is burdened through youwei (deliberate action) is the Dao of Humankind. What the ruler practices should accord with the Dao of Heaven; what ministers practice should accord with the Dao of Humankind. The Dao of Heaven and the Dao of Humankind are far apart—one must not fail to distinguish them carefully.

(Note: commentators such as Cheng Xuanying and Guo Xiang have much to say on this passage; some scholars think its sense connects loosely with surrounding chapters, and its tone differs slightly from elsewhere in the Zhuangzi, so it may be a later addition—yet Jin-dynasty texts already carry Guo Xiang’s commentary, so it remains in received editions.)

Although heaven and earth are vast, their transforming and nurturing work is even and impartial—Guo Xiang explains: this “evenness” lies in not forcing outcomes but letting transformation proceed of itself. Although the myriad things are many, the principle by which they are governed is one—Guo Xiang says: this “one” means each thing finds its proper place and is well ordered. Although people are numerous, they take the ruler as their head. The ruler is rooted in virtue and completed by the Way of Heaven; the foundation is in possessing virtue, the fulfillment in what is natural. Therefore it is said: those who governed the world in the most ancient times simply governed through non-action (wuwei); what they relied upon was nothing other than the virtue of Heaven.

Cheng Xuanying says: “Xuan” means profound; the sage rulers of antiquity took non-action as their way of ruling the world. He also says: the ancient sage rulers governed the world through non-action; what they relied upon was only the virtue of nature.

Su Yu says: the character “xuan” should be read as ending a phrase; here “xuan” has the same sense as “xuan” in “xuan de” (mysterious virtue) below.

When speech is viewed from the perspective of the Dao (the Way), the ruler of the world is set right—Guo Xiang says: one who is without deliberate action naturally becomes the ruler.

Guo Songtao says: (When speech is viewed from the Dao,) the ruler’s position is set right; when names are viewed from the Dao, the names of the world are set right.

What is meant by “speech” here is “names”—when names are set right, especially when the ruler’s title and the correspondence between name and reality are aligned, the world will submit. Hence it is also said: names must be speakable and defensible; in the end they must accord with the Dao.

Viewed through the Dao, lord and minister each keep their place and fulfill their role, and the meaning of ruler and subject becomes clear. (Guo Xiang: each keeps their proper share; those above govern through Wuwei, those below act through youwei.) Viewed through the Dao, talent—each official employed according to ability—and the offices of the realm are well ordered. (Guo Xiang: when office matches ability, there is order.) Viewed through the Dao, surveying everything broadly, how the myriad things respond and how they mutually complete one another—all is fully present. (Cheng Xuanying: responding to things without limit.)

What connects with Heaven and Earth is De (Virtue/Power)—when the myriad things each obtain their place, the way of Heaven and Earth is open. (Guo Xiang) What runs through and pervades the myriad things is the Dao—ultimate principle without obstruction, letting things come and go, all issuing from this one principle; hence it is called the Dao. (Cheng Xuanying; Lu Deming and others sometimes suspect a textual error in the word “Dao” here; we follow the received text for now.) What governs the multitude from above is “affairs”—when every affair is fitting, the realm governs itself. (Cheng Xuanying) What completes a single craft is “skill”—skill is the use at the furthest branch of the myriad things. (Guo Xiang)

The layers stack upward thus: skill returns to affairs, affairs to righteousness, righteousness to De, De to the Dao, and the Dao to Heaven. (Guo Xiang: when the way of Heaven is followed, root and branch both flow freely.) Therefore it is said: those in antiquity who nourished the realm likewise made affairs accord with righteousness, righteousness with De, De with the Dao, and the Dao with Heaven.

Hence they could “desire nothing and the realm would be sufficient, act without doing (Wuwei) and the myriad things would transform themselves, remain deep and still and the people would settle of themselves.” (Cheng Xuanying cites Laozi’s “I am fond of stillness and the people correct themselves.”) The ancient text Xisheng Jing (traditionally associated with Laozi) also says: “Penetrate the One, and the myriad affairs are complete”—the “One” is the Dao; affairs arise from principle, and principle must embrace affairs; the root can hold the branches, so knowing the One completes the myriad affairs. “Without cunning in the heart, ghosts and spirits submit”—when the heart does not grasp or scheme, nothing fails to submit.

This passage threads names, roles, ability, De, the Dao, and Heaven on one line: governing the realm is not force spent on branches, skills, and petty techniques, but each in their proper place, layer by layer returning to the root, finally matching the way of Heaven. It aligns with Laozi’s Wuwei and “fondness of stillness,” and is Zhuangzi’s political philosophy speaking of “following nature and reducing private desire.”

Some say that “the Master” (fuzi) here is Zhuangzi, others that he is Laozi; Guo Xiang takes him to be Confucius—which fits the next passage, which plainly says the Master went to consult Laozi.

“The Dao covers and carries everything.” When the heart no longer clings to the opposition between “self” and “things,” even ghosts and spirits will naturally submit—handle affairs with a mind free of attachment and bias, and nothing will fail to obey.

“The Dao covers and carries the myriad things; it is vast without limit. The junzi cannot fail to cleanse his heart within it.” “Cutting away the heart” (kuaixin) means stripping off and washing away—emulate the Dao’s wuwei (non-action), and wash from the heart the burden of deliberate effort and grasping after connections.

“To act by wuwei is called Heaven.” Move as nature moves; the heavenly mechanism unfolds on its own, without adding extra contrivance.

“To speak by wuwei is called De (Virtue/Power).” Respond without a fixed mold; when things arrive, one responds, without pre-set opinions.

“Cherishing people and benefiting things is called benevolence (ren).” With no partiality in the heart, preserve the life of all beings.

“Not forcing the diverse into sameness is called greatness.” The myriad things, myriad forms—each keeps its place; not dragging the other to match oneself is what “great” means.

“In going and staying, neither deviating nor setting oneself apart is called breadth.” Blend light with dust; no barrier between self and things.

“Embracing ten thousand kinds of difference is called richness.”

“Holding to this De without loss is called the guiding thread.” One who can hold to the above virtues can be the guiding thread for humanity and for all beings.

“When De’s work is accomplished, it is called establishment.” Only when virtue is complete can one establish merit and aid things.

“Following the Dao without opposing it is called completeness.” Only by following the principle of empty openness is virtue truly complete.

“Not letting outer things break one’s resolve is called wholeness.” Treating ruin and praise, shame and honor as one—without bending to outer things, De is whole.

When the junzi understands these ten points, his breast can embrace the great meaning of establishing the heart and conducting affairs—“embracing” (tao) means containing; “affairs of the heart” (shixin) means establishing the heart (in ritual learning, “affair” [shi] can mean “establish”).

Place the mind at rest on the path of ziran (naturalness), and the mind follows nature in its course. (Note: Here the phrasing links cultivating the mind with conforming to nature in one breath.)

That state is vast and full, as if all things turn toward it and dissolve into it. (Cheng Xuanying explains that “shi” means to go or return—the place to which living beings are drawn.)

Like hiding gold in the mountains and pearls in the deep, without craving goods or clinging to wealth and rank. (Guo Xiang: do not treat outer things as what weighs the self down.)

Do not rejoice in long life or grieve at early death; do not feel glorified in success or ashamed in want. Long life and short life are forgotten; poverty and success are hardly worth discussing.

Do not grasp the profit of a lifetime as one’s private share. (Guo Xiang: leave benefit to the ten thousand things and let them be natural.)

Do not treat ruling the realm as one’s own glory. (Guo Xiang: in a flash, one does not feel splendor heaped upon oneself.)

Then one becomes clear and bright: the ten thousand things seem to share one dwelling, and death and life are seen as one condition. (Cheng Xuanying: forget the split between things and self; merge indistinguishably with change.)

The Master said: Dao—how deep and broad its abode, how clear and limpid. (Shiwen cites Guangya: “liao” describes a clear, bright look.)

Metal and stone do not sound by themselves; without a fitting strike, they do not ring. When metal and stone lack their proper harmony, they stay silent—this too is how Dao shows its first trace.

Carried further, the responsive fitting of the ten thousand things has no fixed direction—who could nail it down?

One who has wang de (kingly Virtue) goes forth in plain simplicity with transformation, ashamed to be clever at vulgar affairs; holds to simplicity in conduct and is ashamed to be caught up in common business. (Su Yu: “su shi” is close in meaning to “yanran ti shi” in the “Shanmu” chapter.)

This passage comes from a Zhuangzi-related chapter, with various commentaries woven in. The gist is as follows.

Some commentators note that “tong yu shi” (being adept in affairs) and “tong yu shen” (being adept in the spiritual/mysterious) are parallel, paired expressions, and that the character read as “chi” in the received text is likely a copyist’s error.

Main thrust of the text: First establish the root of life, and only then can one be adept in “shen” (here, the subtle operation beyond the physical form, the state of communion with the Dao). Then De (virtue/power) can truly become vast. Once the root is set, wisdom can connect with the mysterious, and transforming influence can reach the myriad things. When the heart/mind extends outward in activity, there must be outer things that correspond and resonate with it—without such resonance, there is no response. Hence it is said: without the Dao, the body cannot come into being; with life but without De, it cannot shine forth clearly. Preserving the body and completing one’s natural span, establishing De and making the great Dao manifest—is this not the person of “wang de” (kingly De: De that shares the same body as Heaven and Earth, not the virtue of a worldly monarch)? How expansive! Like emerging suddenly from nothingness, or stirring with sudden vigor (bo), and the myriad things naturally follow—such is the person of wang de. Guo Xiang says “hu” and “bo” both describe responding without deliberate intent, without forced action.

To see is to see in dark obscurity, not to see outer forms with the eyes; to listen is to listen in silent stillness, not to hear outer sounds with the ears—because the Dao is not in visible traces or audible clamor. Yet in that obscurity, one alone perceives brightness; in that silence, one alone hears harmony—because the Dao is not dead stillness or annihilation. Thus, deeper and deeper still, it can transform and bring forth the myriad things (wu as a verb: to make things be); more spirit-like and more spirit-like still, it can condense into subtle essence. Reaching a state with no fixed place, while subtle essence cannot remain hidden.

Therefore in interfacing with the myriad things: the self becomes empty, yet supplies what all things need; not possessing things beforehand, yet nothing sought is left unprovided. Moving with the flow of time, yet always accord with where things return; however far one goes, that return can still be rejoined. The great can become small, the long can short, the far can become near (commentators often emend “xiu yuan” to “yuan jin,” near and far).

The Laozi line “Dao gives them birth, De rears them,” often cited in commentaries here, means: the Dao is responsible for generating, De for nourishing and making clear— the same logic as “without the Dao, no birth” and “without De, no clarity” above.

The Yellow Emperor once traveled north of the Red River and climbed Mount Kunlun to gaze southward; when he returned, he had lost the “Dark Pearl” (a metaphor for the Great Dao and one’s original authenticity).

Ancient commentators explain that “Red River” is only a borrowed name, and the “Dark Pearl” symbolizes the Dao. Red belongs to the south and stands for brightness and outward display; north of the Red River is the realm of mystery and depth. The south is also the direction of keen observation and sharp discrimination. Once a person wanders in the mysterious realm, it is already hard to stay long; if they then turn back to look toward what is bright and easy to distinguish, the Dark Pearl is lost.

The Yellow Emperor first sent “Zhi” (cleverness and cunning) to search, but Zhi could not find it. He sent “Lizhu” (legendary for eyes so sharp they could see the finest hairs) to search, and Lizhu could not find it either. He sent “Chigou” (standing for quarreling and angry shouting) to search, and that too failed. Commentators say: using “Zhi” means seeking with mind-spirit and cleverness; using “Lizhu” means seeking through outward traces and the senses of eye and ear; using “Chigou” means seeking through hearing and contention—the more one seeks in these ways, the farther one is from the Dark Pearl.

At last he sent “Xiangwang” (seemingly with form, yet without fixed form, close to “no-mind”), and Xiangwang obtained it. The Yellow Emperor sighed: “How strange! Could it be that only something like Xiangwang can find it?” Another reading is: Xiangwang seems to have an image, yet in fact has no fixed appearance—just the image of “no-mind” being able to align with the Dao so the Dark Pearl returns of itself.

Yao’s teacher was Xu You; Xu You’s teacher was Nie Que; Nie Que’s teacher was Wang Ni; Wang Ni’s teacher was Bei Yi. Yao asked Xu You, “Can Nie Que fit Heaven? I want to go through Wang Ni to invite him out.” Yao had in mind to yield the realm to Nie Que and planned to use Wang Ni as go-between to bring it about.

Xu You said, “Handing the realm to him would be far too risky. This man Nie Que is clever and sharp-witted, quick to react and full of schemes; his natural endowment surpasses ordinary people. Yet after all he takes human wisdom to receive Heaven (Tian)—he does not simply follow Heaven in purity. He can spot and forbid faults, but does not understand how faults arise in the first place—faults often spring from cleverness and artifice, and using artifice to suppress them only makes things more chaotic. How could such a one fit Heaven? He relies on human effort and has no Way of Heaven in his heart; if made Son of Heaven, he would lean solely on deploying human power and no longer honor what is naturally so. He would cling to his own body and stand opposed to others in separate forms, exalt cleverness and apply it like fire, be driven by trivial branches and bound by outer things; rushing everywhere, unable to cope, seeking fitness in every matter, changing with things yet without constancy. How could he fit Heaven? That said, within one clan there must be an ancestor—he can serve as a “father” to the multitude, but not as the “father of fathers” (the great root of all transformation). The hinge of order and disorder lies here: governing the ten thousand things with cleverness is both the main cause of order and the main cause of disorder. If he faces north as minister, it is disaster; if he faces south as ruler, he is a thief—he is fit neither to be minister nor to be sovereign.”

(Note: Here the point is to warn Yao by this speech; it is not saying Nie Que is utterly without merit.)

When Yao traveled to the region of Hua, the keeper of the frontier saw him and exclaimed, “Ah, a sage! Let me offer a blessing for the sage: may the sage live long.” Yao replied, “There is no need.” The man continued, “May the sage be wealthy.” Yao again said, “There is no need.” He added, “May the sage have many sons.” Yao still declined.

The frontier keeper asked, “Long life, wealth, and many sons are what people ordinarily wish for—why do you alone refuse them?” Yao answered, “Many sons bring many worries; wealth brings many troubles; long life brings many humiliations. These three are not means to cultivate virtue (de), so I decline them.”

The keeper said, “At first I thought you were a sage; now I see you are only a noble person (junzi). Heaven nourishes the myriad people and surely assigns each their proper role. If sons are many yet each has his role, what is there to fear? If one is wealthy yet can share with others, what trouble remains? A sage dwells without fixity like a quail, feeds like a fledgling without stuffing himself, and moves like a flying bird leaving no trace. When the Way (Dao) prevails in the world, he flourishes together with the ten thousand things; when the Way is lost, he cultivates virtue and rests in quiet ease. When a thousand years have wearied him of the dusty world, he leaves human life and becomes a transcendent immortal (shangxian), riding white clouds to the Emperor’s realm. The three troubles mentioned earlier—wealth, long life, and many sons—will not work mischief in secret; the body will know no calamity—what humiliation could there be?”

Having spoken, the frontier keeper walked away. Yao hurried after him and said, “Please instruct me further.” The man only replied, “Go back!” and said no more.

When Yao ruled the realm, Bocheng Zi-gao—a figure tradition treats as an ancient worthy—was installed as a feudal lord. A note in the commentary cites the Tongbian Jing (Scripture of Universal Change): since heaven and earth were first opened, Laozi has taken bodily form twelve hundred times, and among those who later attained the Way, one was Bocheng Zi-gao.

Yao passed the realm to Shun, and Shun to Yu. Bocheng Zi-gao then resigned his lordship and went back to farming. Yu went to see him and found him working the fields in the open country. Yu hurried to stand downwind of him—a sign of respect—remained standing, and asked: “When Yao ruled the realm, you were made a feudal lord; when Yao gave the throne to Shun and Shun to Yu, you gave up that rank to farm. What is the reason?”

Bocheng Zi-gao said: “When Yao ruled the realm, he did not need to grant rewards for people to push themselves; he did not need to impose punishments for people to feel awe. Now you use reward and punishment, and people become unkind. From here De (Virtue/Power) declines; from here punitive law is fixed; from here the troubles of later ages take their start. Have you not gone off course? Do not get in the way of my work!” He bowed his head to the plow again and would not attend to Yu further. The commentary explains that he (sometimes written he bu) means “why not” or “is it not that”; luo means to discard or to obstruct; yiyi describes the look of someone farming with steady, concentrated effort.

This passage from the Zhuangzi unfolds in stages from the primordial beginning of the cosmos through the formation of the ten thousand things to human return to the source, with interwoven commentary from traditional expositors.

Taichu (the primordial beginning, when heaven and earth were undivided and the ten thousand things not yet born): even “being” and “non-being” had not yet split apart; one could not call it “non-being” alone, nor yet speak of “the named” or “the nameless”—it can only be said to approach “non-being,” yet still cannot be designated by a name.

When the One (undifferentiated primordial qi) first stirs, there is already “one” but no determinate form yet; the commentators say: like the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) not yet having taken visible shape. The ten thousand things are able to be generated from this, and that is called De (Virtue/Power)—the commentators say: things receive this not-yet-formed “one” and thereby come to life; each nature inwardly holds a Taiji, hence it is called De.

Within the not-yet-formed “one” there are already divisions, yet it remains utterly seamless—this is called ming (life-mandate / cosmic allotment)—the commentators say: though yin and yang divide, it is still yang transforming and yin combining, flowing without cease—this is why Heaven is called “ming.”

Qi lingers in movement and thereby generates the ten thousand things; the commentators say: movement is the flowing of creation; where it pauses briefly, one thing is born. Once things exist, each has its own life-pattern—this is called xing (form). The body bears spirit; seeing, hearing, speech, and action each have their constant norms—this is called xing (nature)—the commentators say: form carries spirit and preserves it; conforming to the proper norms of seeing, hearing, speech, and action is what is called nature; the earlier “able to be generated is called De” here concretely settles on form and nature. Nature is spoken of after form because nature must rely on form to be borne—hence “the bodily form preserves spirit.”

When nature through cultivation returns to the root received from the “one before form,” it is called return to De—the commentators say: when nature is cultivated, one restores what was gained from the “one” before there was form. When De reaches its utmost, it is the same as Taichu—the commentators say: when De reaches the extreme, it is identical with Taichu—this is the highest realm.

“Sameness” is emptiness; emptiness is vastness—the commentators say: describing that subtle state of being one with the beginning. Many mouths in unison (he hui ming—closed beaks harmonizing in cry), one undifferentiated whole, like forgetting words; Guo Xiang says: like zuowang (sitting in forgetfulness) and naturally merging with the Dao. When beak-cry harmonizes, one is one body with Heaven and Earth—the commentators say: having forgotten words, one is one with Heaven and Earth.

This merging is unbroken and continuous (minmin); like stupidity, like dimness—Guo Xiang says: like zuowang and self-merging. This is called Xuan De (mysterious Virtue), the same as Da Shun (the greatest accord, flowing with the Dao)—Guo Xiang says: when De is already mysterious, what one accords with is the greatest of accord.

Confucius asked Laozi about the Way: “Some people cultivate the Way as if they were deliberately imitating others and going against the grain—calling what will not work workable, and what is not so ‘so.’” (Guo Xiang’s commentary: like people imitating one another, they forcibly treat the impossible as possible and the not-so as so.)

“Among debaters, someone says: ‘One can dismantle the dispute over hard and white as brilliantly as hanging sun and moon between heaven and earth.’” (Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: “hard and white” refers to the kind of nominalist debate associated with Gongsun Long’s “defending white”; Kong Chuan’s followers clung to this doctrine and were nearly unbeatable in their day. The debaters claimed they could analyze “hard and white” without treating it as mere disputation—as if sun and moon were suspended high in the vault of heaven.)

“If that were truly the case, could such a person count as a sage?”

Laozi said: “That is merely someone who relies on petty cleverness and trickery and binds himself to name-and-disputation—wearing out the body and harming the spirit.” (See the explanation in the “Dealing with Emperors and Kings” chapter.)

“A dog kept and tied up because it has a special skill grows ever more anxious and sorrowful; monkeys and macaques, with their nimble bodies, belong by nature to the mountain forests.” (Shiwen: for zhiliu, some texts read “wildcat”; another reading: a dog kept on account of its ability is tethered and thus filled with worry.)

In Piya it is said that the bamboo rat is also called the "zhu●" (bamboo rat). Guo Pu, in his commentary on the Classic of Mountains and Seas, writes that its cry resembles that of the liuniu (Liuniu), and he cites this passage’s "dog that holds Liuniu" as supporting evidence. On this basis we can see that "liu" refers to liuniu, not to the bamboo rat; it is only that the bamboo rat’s call somewhat resembles that of liuniu.

Liuniu is the laoniu (Laoniu); "liu" and "lao" are alliterative variants. Laoniu is very large—the kind of ox spoken of in Free and Easy Wandering as "like a cloud hanging down from heaven." A dog that can hold such an beast alone is therefore called a "dog that holds Liuniu." The point is: because the dog has skill, it is tied up and thus falls into worry; because the ape is nimble, it is taken from the mountains and, seeing itself confined, grieves.

In "The Normal Course for Rulers and Kings," Laozi’s words are quoted as "the nimbleness of apes, the dog that catches laoniu, being tied up"—wording slightly different from this passage, but the sense is much the same, and is further clear evidence that "liu" and "lao" are the same word.

"Qiu! I tell you: there is what you cannot hear, and there is what you cannot speak"—this is speaking of the Dao (the Way). "Ruo" and "er" both mean "you."

"Generally, those who have head and feet but no heart and no ears are the many" (Xuan Ying says: concretely taking human form yet without awareness and without hearing—all belong to this kind). "Persons with bodily form and things that exist without bodily form and without shape—none of these can be called 'nothing'"—those with bodily form are persons; those without bodily form and without shape are the Dao. "One who can grasp both 'person' and 'Dao' at once—there is no such thing."

"Its moving and stopping, dying and living, ruin and flourishing" are not decided by the Dao itself. Moving and stillness, dying and living, ruin and flourishing are not where the Dao dwells. "What is called 'there is order' appears only in persons" (Su Yu says: the Dao cannot be named; only the traces of ordering and transformation appear in persons).

"Forget outer things, forget Heaven—this is called forgetting oneself." Having forgotten things and also forgotten Heaven as nature, this is forgetting oneself. "One who forgets oneself is called 'entering into Heaven'" (Xuan Ying says: becoming one with Heaven).

Jiang Lü Mian (some say his surname was Jiang and his given name Lü Mian) went to see Ji Che—said to be a member of the Ji clan—and said to him:

The Lord of Lu once said to Mian: “Please teach me the way to govern the state.” Mian could not refuse; he had already spoken to the Lord of Lu, but he did not know whether he had hit the mark. He wanted to try recounting what he had said and ask Ji Che to correct him. What he told the Lord of Lu was this:

“You must personally practice reverence and frugality, as naturally and consistently as putting on clothes and wearing a hat—inside and out in harmony. Promote people who are fair-minded and loyal; show no favoritism or partiality. In handling affairs, take no crooked paths and do not twist policy for private gain—only then will the people…”

(Here the original breaks off at “min shu”; the rest is not preserved in the text.)

Ji Che laughed heartily and said: "Your words concerning the De (Virtue/Power) of a king are like a mantis raising its forelegs to block a chariot wheel—they would certainly prove inadequate. 'Jujuju' depicts hearty laughter; 'yi' is pronounced like the 'zhe' in 'chezhe' (chariot track)."

"Moreover, to act thus would be to place oneself in peril, not a path of self-preservation. The guantai (grand towers and palace halls) where a monarch resides involve countless affairs above; those who come seeking refuge and leave their footprints will likewise be many. When petitioners who journey to seek audience become too numerous, the ruler cannot manage such vexations—this is not the proper way for a king to cultivate De and secure the people."

Jianglü Mian said with alarm and apprehension: "Mian is utterly bewildered by your words. 'Yiyi' describes an alarmed countenance. Nevertheless, I wish the Master would explain the general principle." (Yu Yue notes: "Feng" is read as "fan," meaning to outline the general principle; "feng" originally derives its sound from "fan," hence the interchangeability.)

Ji Che said: "When the Great Sage governs the world, he inspires the people's hearts, causing teachings to take form and customs to transform—'yaodang' meaning to inspire and stir. He simultaneously removes minds that harm the Dao (the Way), enabling all to advance toward the single-minded aspiration of attaining unity—'ju' meaning 'all,' removing minds that harm the Dao while advancing the aspiration of attaining unity."

"It appears as though their original nature is naturally thus, yet the common people know not the reason why."

"If such were the case, how could it resemble reverently elevating Yao and Shun to the position of elder brothers while willingly placing oneself in the subordinate role of younger brother? 'Mingzi' expresses utmost reverence and honor—unwilling to let Yao and Shun occupy the superior position while oneself takes the inferior. What is sought is to return to Unity of Virtue with the world, while the heart rests content in not needing to act in all matters."

Zigong traveled south to the state of Chu. On his return, passing through the region of Jin, he came to Hanyin and saw an old farmer tending his vegetable garden and field plots (the cultivated area is called a "pu," and the small enclosed plots formed by raised ridges are called "qi"). The farmer had dug a tunnel from the well to the surface and was hauling water up in a jar to irrigate, grunting with exertion yet achieving very little.

Zigong said, "There is a device that can irrigate a hundred plots in a day — it saves labor and works far more efficiently. Would you not like to try it?" The old farmer looked up and asked, "How does it work?" Zigong replied, "Carve wood into a mechanism, heavy at the back and light at the front, drawing water up as if by suction — as swift as water boiling over. It is called a shaduf (a lever-style water-lifting device)."

The old farmer's face changed color, and he laughed coldly. "I have heard from my teacher," he said, "that one who uses devices will inevitably engage in cunning contrivances; one who engages in cunning contrivances will inevitably harbor a calculating mind. When a calculating mind lodges in the breast, undivided purity is no longer whole; when undivided purity is not whole, the spirit is no longer at rest; and one whose spirit is not at rest cannot bear the Dao within (this "xing" refers to one's innate nature, which can no longer sustain the Way). It is not that I do not know of the shaduf — I find it shameful and refuse to use it."

Zigong flushed with shame and lowered his head in silence. After a while, the old farmer asked, "What is your occupation?" Zigong replied, "I am a disciple of Confucius."

The old man tending the vegetable garden said: “Are you not one of those who read widely and hoard learning so as to play the sage, who strut before others to seem above the crowd, who pluck a single string and sing a dirge while peddling your name from place to place across the realm? If you were truly ready to forget your spirit and complexion and cast off your bodily form, you might almost look the part—but you cannot even put your own person in order, so what leisure do you have to ‘govern the world’? Be on your way; do not fei (waste or delay) my work.”

In the commentary gloss, fa is read as fei (to waste or let something go to ruin)—meaning do not ruin or hold up what I am doing.

Zigong felt ashamed and afraid; his face changed color, his mind wandered, and he could neither sit nor stand at ease. Only after he had gone thirty li did he gradually recover. His disciples asked: “Who was that man just now? Why did our teacher’s expression change the moment he saw him, and why could you not steady yourself for a whole day?”

Zigong said: “I used to think one true ‘sage’ in the world would be enough—and the one I honored in my heart was Confucius. I never imagined there could be someone like this. I once heard my teacher say: ‘What is done must be feasible, what is achieved must stand; little effort and great effect—that is the way of the sage.’ This man today is nothing like that. What he holds to is: only one who embraces and keeps the Great Dao has virtue in full; when virtue is full, form and qi are whole; when form and qi are whole, spirit is whole; when spirit is complete, that is the way of the sage. To lodge one’s life in the world and to walk and stop together with the common people—”

The Xuan commentary explains: to take one’s place in the world and, in the main, to be the same as the people.

This passage comes from Zhuangzi-related chapters, with the collected commentary layering the original text with notes by Guo Xiang, Cheng Xuanying, and Xuan Ying, among others. The gist is as follows.

The man does not know where he is headed—simple and undivided, deep beyond fathoming. “Vast and wholly complete” means there is no way to measure how far his attainment reaches. If one cares only for utility and clever contrivance, one forgets the heart of what it means to be human. Xuan Ying says: to live in the world is to be the same as everyone else in that respect; he also glosses “surely the human heart must be free of these four burdens”—a truly human heart ought not be bound by those four entanglements.

Such a person: where the mind does not wish to go, he does not go; what the mind is unwilling to do, he does not do. The will has a single place to rest. Even if all under Heaven praised him and said he had attained so-called “complete virtue,” he would remain aloof and pay no heed; even if all under Heaven condemned him and said his name and integrity were harmed, he would not accept it in his heart and would not be moved. The world’s praise and blame neither help nor hurt him—is this what is meant by “a person of complete virtue”? Guo Xiang says: this is really someone like Song Rongzi, who still falls short of true complete virtue; Zigong is infatuated with such a type, just as Liezi was spellbound by the fangshi Jixian.

(Zigong said to Confucius,) “What you call me is someone who turns in the wind and waves.” Cheng Xuanying says: water is naturally clear, but wind raises waves; when the heart is unsettled, it is like those ripples.

(Zigong) returned to Lu and told Confucius. Confucius said: that is someone who pretends to cultivate the way of the Hun Dun clan—Guo Xiang: turning his back on the present and looking to antiquity, ashamed of worldly affairs, so one knows he is not truly Hun Dun; Xuan Ying: “pretends to cultivate” means using human affairs to put on the appearance of cultivating it. Both readings work.

(Confucius also said:) such a person knows “the one” but not “the two”; Guo Xiang: he can only hold to antiquity and embrace simplicity, and does not understand adapting to the times and responding to things. He only governs the inner, not the outer; Cheng Xuanying: guarding the Way and holding to simplicity is governing the inner; inability to change with the times is not governing the outer.

(The later line “now as for knowing the two” in standard editions often connects to another section; here the collected commentary may continue the earlier “knows the one but not the two” with a further layer.)

Brief notes on proper names

• Complete virtue (quande): a state of full moral completion in which praise and blame do not stir the heart.
• Song Rongzi: the figure in “Free and Easy Wandering” who “would not be further encouraged though the whole world praised him, nor further discouraged though the whole world condemned him”—whom Zhuangzi still says had “not yet arrived.”
• Zigong: a disciple of Confucius, skilled in debate, often set in contrast to figures in Zhuangzi’s writing.
• Hun Dun clan: a legendary state of simple wholeness without distinctions, standing for antiquity or the Daoist ideal.
• Person of wind and waves: one whose heart rises and falls with external praise and blame, like water when wind stirs it.

Guo Xiang’s commentary points out: this man only understood the plain simplicity of imitating the ancients who hugged a jar to irrigate the garden, but did not understand adapting to the times and changing with things. As for “governing the inner and not governing the outer,” Cheng Xuanying explains: holding fast to the Great Dao and embracing plain simplicity is cultivating the inner; being unable to respond to circumstances as they arise is failing to govern the outer. As for “clarity enters plainness; Wuwei returns to simplicity,” Cheng Xuanying says: when the mind is clear and luminous, one attains the root of plain substance; when Wuwei is empty and unadorned, one returns to the source of pristine simplicity. For one who can embody and accord with original nature, embrace and guard the spirit, and wander amid the secular world—why should you be astonished? Guo Xiang says: this is the true Hundun (in the parable, a symbol of one who has attained the Dao as an undifferentiated whole without discrimination), who moves with the waves of the world without losing himself; though wandering in the secular world, he leaves no trace—why must he make you marvel! Yu Yue says: “Gu” is read as “hu,” meaning “why” or “what”; when you meet the true Hundun, what is there to be startled by? Guo Xiang’s commentary precisely agrees with this meaning. As for the Daoist art of Master Hundun, how could you and I be adequate to know it! Guo Xiang says: Hundun is profoundly one with the Great Dao—who can know it!

Zhunmang (a fictional name) was about to go east to the Great Valley (referring to the great sea), and at the shore of the Eastern Sea he happened to meet Yuanfeng (a fictional name). Yuanfeng asked, “Where are you going?” Zhunmang answered, “To the Great Valley.” He asked again, “What are you going there to do?” He answered, “This Great Valley—when water pours into it, it does not fill; when scooped from, it does not dry up. I am going to wander there.” Cheng Xuanying says: the great sea is vast and deep, used to symbolize the ultimate principle; though he lodges his traces on the ocean, in reality he roams his mind in the Great Dao. Yuanfeng said, “Do you, sir, have no mind for the horizontal-eyed people (referring to the common people)? I would like to hear about the governance of the sage.” Thereupon Yuanfeng asked Zhunmang about the governance of the sage.

The Sage’s Governance

When a sage governs, offices and edicts each find their proper place and are applied at the right time (Sima Biao: issuing policy and teaching, each suited to the season). In promotion and appointment, talent is not buried; the facts are grasped before acting as one ought (Cheng Xuanying: seeing through the situation and following it in action).

When the ruler personally does what he says, the world is transformed of itself—by personally practicing what he preaches and letting each person keep his proper place, others follow and change; it is like beckoning with the hand or directing with the eyes: the people of the four quarters none fail to gather (using the hand to command, using the gaze to assign— the masses all obey. Sima Biao: “nao” means to move; Guo Qingfan: gu zhi is to look at someone and assign, as in Zuo Si’s “Wu Du Fu” “pulling banners as if at a glance-command,” Liu Kui glossing it as command answering to intent). This is called sage governance.

“I would like to hear what a person of De is like.”

The answer: A person of De, when at rest, does not brood on purpose; when moving, does not reckon over and over; in the heart he does not hoard right and wrong, beauty and ugliness (Cheng Xuanying: if there is fault, he does not keep it in the mind). When all under Heaven share profit, he feels joy; when all share provision, he feels at ease—the common people and those above rejoice together and are at ease together. The words “wei” and “wei” (to act / to call) are used in the same sense here.

If he is wistful, it is like an infant who has lost its mother; if he is adrift, it is like walking yet finding no road (Shiwen cites Zilin: “chao” is melancholy longing; note: “tang” means the mind has no master). The people rely on him to this degree.

His wealth is more than enough, yet he does not know whence it comes; his food and drink suffice, yet he does not know whence they are obtained (Cheng Xuanying: few desires and knowing one’s measure, hence surplus wealth; not greedy for flavors, hence self-sufficient fare). This is called the mien of the person of De (Guo Xiang: De is the trace of the spirit person, hence “mien”).

“I would like to hear what a spirit person is like.”

The answer: The highest spirit person rides light (using radiance to illumine things) and vanishes together with form and track—form and track are not seen; this is called zhao kuang (Cheng Xuanying: wisdom pervades the ten thousand things, clarity surpasses sun, moon, and the three lights; nothing dark is unillumined—is this not vast and far? Yao Nai: Jin people avoided the taboo on Sima Zhao’s name, so “zhao” was often written “zhao” [as the graph for illumination]; Wang Xizhi’s calligraphy is entirely so—mistaking “zhao” for ordinary “shining upon” is wrong).

Submitting to fate and fully expressing one’s nature (Cheng Xuanying: following Heaven’s mandate, exhausting the real principle), he shares joy with Heaven and Earth while the myriad affairs dissolve (Cheng Xuanying: rejoicing with Heaven and Earth, all burdens of things are cast off); the ten thousand things each return to their true disposition and align in sameness with what is real. This is called hun ming—merging in one with the dark mystery.

What This Passage from Zhuangzi Jijie Is About

Chizhang Manji and Men Wugui (some read the name as surname Men, given name Wuwei) went together to observe King Wu of Zhou setting out on campaign (referring to the Battle of Mengjin). Chizhang Manji said: Would it not have been better to be like the Youyu clan (Yu Shun)? That is why such calamities of punitive war arise. Men Wugui asked: Was the world already at peace, and the Youyu clan still had to “govern” it again? Or was there disorder first, and only then did someone need to govern? Chizhang Manji replied: What people long for is that the whole world be at peace—why must one insist on praising the Youyu clan’s De (virtue/power) to push them onto the throne? Guo Xiang’s note: When all is at peace, each person is content; why scheme over the Youyu clan’s De to install them as ruler?

Men Wugui added: When the Youyu clan governed the world, it was like treating a sore on someone’s head. Wang Yinzhi said: In antiquity “medicine” (yao) was pronounced near “liao” (to treat), and the two were phonetically and semantically related; in the Fangyan, “liao” means to treat or heal. Guo Xiang: When the whole world suffered wounds and disorder, people sought the Youyu clan to apply “medicine” and heal it. It is like putting on a wig only after going bald, or calling a doctor only after falling ill—if you are not bald, what need for a wig? If you are not ill, what need for a doctor? A filial son brings medicine to treat his loving father’s injury (“xiu” here means to treat), until both are battered and exhausted; even a sage would find it hard to watch—far better to nurture one’s parents in daily life than to wait until they are sick to treat them.

As for the “age of utmost governance”: neither exalting the worthy nor employing the capable; those above are like withered twigs on a treetop, with no mind to “sit above,” and the people are as free as wild deer (Guo: released and self-sufficient). Conduct is upright without taking oneself for righteous; mutual care without taking oneself for benevolent; solid De without taking oneself for loyal; responding to affairs aptly without taking oneself for trustworthy (Cheng Xuanying: letting things be natural and accord with principle). The myriad things stir and use one another, yet this is not called favor or grace—they need and employ one another, so thanks are unnecessary. Thus action leaves no trace, and deeds do not rely on transmitted fame to endure (Cheng: moving with one’s nature, hence no trace to record; when traces are obscure, affairs too fade away).

Yao’s edition treats “wu chuan” (no transmission) as a separate section, and this commentary follows that division.

The Main Idea of Zhuangzi, “The Fisherman” (in plain language)

A truly filial child does not simply agree with everything a parent says; a truly loyal minister does not simply fawn on the ruler—that is what it means to be a son or a subject. Yet if you always say “yes” to whatever your parents say and call whatever they do “good,” ordinary people will call you an “unfilial child”; if you always say “yes” to whatever your ruler says and call whatever he does “good,” they will call you an “unworthy minister.” But is that really how heaven and earth are arranged, something that must be so?

People will point out: in everyday life, someone who echoes whatever others say and applauds whatever they praise is not labeled a “daoyu” person (“dao” and “yu” sound alike here—meaning someone who flatters and toadies). If that is so, is society actually stricter about whom one should flatter than it is about parents, and more respectful than it is about rulers?—If you flatter ruler and parent you are blamed, but if you flatter the crowd it seems normal. Is that not contradictory?

If someone says you are “daoyu-ing” people (currying favor), you flush with anger; if they say you are “yu-ing” people (being sycophantic), you bristle with displeasure. Yet you may spend a lifetime currying favor and a lifetime being sycophantic—you only hate the names but willingly do the deeds. You pile up analogies so people will understand, polish your rhetoric so people will enjoy listening, all to win the crowd to your side—from start to finish, name and reality, root and branch, do not match: you perform flattery but refuse the label “toady.”

You arrange your robes, set your expression, adjust your bearing and attitude to please the whole world, yet you do not admit you are “daoyu-ing”; you mix with ordinary folk and drift along with their right and wrong, yet you do not admit you are one of the “crowd”—that is foolishness pushed to an extreme. Someone who knows he is foolish is not the most foolish; someone who knows he is confused is not the most confused. A person deeply confused never wakes up in a lifetime; a person deeply foolish never gains clarity (“ling” means understanding and penetration) in a lifetime.

When three walk together and only one loses the way, the destination may still be reached, because the confused are the minority; when two walk together and both are confused, they toil without result and never arrive, because the confused side has the upper hand. If everyone under heaven is confused today, then even if I wanted a clear direction, I could not find one—is that not lamentable?

The resounding tones of bells and drums do not enter the ears of lane-and-alley folk (they are used only to popular music)—the text later contrasts “loud sound” with “supreme teaching,” showing that the highest truth is often rejected by the world.

This passage mainly argues that what is refined cannot reach vulgar ears, while people are pulled along by shallow, popular things; commentators then cling to rival readings of the wording and only deepen the muddle.

Dasheng (“great sound”) means grand music in the style of Xianchi—the canonical six tones associated with the legendary music of the Heavenly Emperor. Zheyang and Huanghua (or Huangfu, depending on the character used in the text) are folk tunes and popular ditties. Sima Biao glosses dasheng as Xianchi’s six tones; Cheng Xuanying says Zheyang and Huanghua were small songs in wide circulation among the common people in antiquity (one manuscript tradition writes the second name with a character also read hua).

When people hear these little tunes they keke—break into rowdy laughter—because they feel such pieces are “close to real life.” So gaoyan (exalted discourse that goes beyond ordinary feeling—profound argument) cannot enter the heart of the crowd; Xuan Ying says it does not mesh with vulgar sentiment. Zhiyan (the most penetrating truth) fails to get a hearing, while suyan (common talk) carries the day. Cheng Xuanying explains “chu” (to emerge) as becoming visible or audible.

“Yi er fu zhong huo, er suo shi bu de yi” (“Taking the two vessels fu and zhong as one’s guide to confusion, one cannot reach where one intends to go”) has drawn heavy disagreement among commentators. One line of interpretation emends fu and zhong to chui and zhong (heel), picturing the feet hanging in midair so one necessarily fails to arrive. Sima Biao’s text has er chui zhong, taking zhong as heedfulness or fixed attention. Guo Songtao, citing the Shuowen and Xiao erya, treats fu and zhong as earthenware used for wine or for measuring: a fu holds four hu, a zhong eight hu; yi er fu zhong huo is like being unable to tell which vessel is larger and which smaller and then treating them as your standard—you end up blankly unsure which course to follow. The earlier “one person confused” and “two people confused” concern people—whom to believe; here er fu zhong huo concerns the matter—the standard itself is in disarray. Guo’s note that “each side trusts its own evidence, hence no one knows where to go” aligns with the thrust of the received reading. Lu Deming changed fu zhong to chui zhong, and Cheng’s subcommentary followed that path, but the sense still feels forced; Yu Yue further emended er fu zhong to yi qi zhong, multiplying textual changes—Guo’s plain reading of confusion over measuring vessels runs more smoothly with the wording as it stands.

“Er jin ye yi tianxia huo” (“And now the whole world too is in this confusion”)—when all under Heaven is thus bewildered, even if I have qixiang (prayers and aspirations, things I seek and turn toward), how could they be fulfilled? Is it not cause for grief?

“Dasheng bu ru li er” (“Great sound does not enter the ears of the lane”) means that upright, grand music cannot reach the hearing—the taste—of ordinary folk in the alleys (li er). The musical image carries the moral one: zhili and gaolun (ultimate principle and lofty discourse) are like Xianchi’s music; utan and liuxing hua (vulgar talk and fashionable phrases) are like Zheyang and Huanghua. The crowd roars with laughter at the latter; zhiyan never breaks through; and the world is thrown off by competing “standards”—from “two people confused” to “two vessels confused” to “the whole world confused,” each step widening the circle. That is why the author sighs, “How could it be obtained?”

People who know they cannot succeed yet still force the issue add another layer of confusion on top of the first. So it is better to let go and not chase things to the root—no need to push the inquiry to the end. Once you release, who can compete with you in worry? This is what Cheng Xuanying called “being superior,” and what the ancients said to comfort themselves.

It is like someone with scabies who has a child at midnight and hurries to light a lamp to look, afraid above all that the child will look like them. Guo Xiang said: ugly people fear their children will resemble them; now, knowing clearly that everyone under heaven is confused, you still try to force what you cannot obtain and pile on another layer of confusion—are you not afraid of being as muddled as the crowd? So it is better to let go, stay far from sorrow, and also fear sinking into confusion together with everyone else.

A tree a hundred years old is split and carved into a sacrificial vessel (xizun)—a pierced wine cup for ritual—painted with green and yellow patterns, while the sawdust and offcuts are thrown in a ditch. Compare the xizun with the broken wood in the ditch: beauty and ugliness are far apart, yet in “losing their original nature” they are the same. Robber Zhi and Zeng Shen or Shi Qiu differ greatly in conduct, yet in losing their nature they are alike.

Losing one’s nature falls roughly into five kinds. First, the five colors in turmoil so the eyes cannot see clearly. Second, the five sounds in turmoil so the ears cannot hear clearly. Third, the five odors clog the nose so it cannot breathe freely, even affecting the forehead. Cheng Xuanying said: the five odors mean things like mutton, smoked, fragrant, foul, and rotten; when the nose is drowned in the five odors, it blocks up and harms the brow. External texts also call fragrance “odor,” so the Yijing has “its odor is like orchid”; in the Daodejing tradition one speaks of the “five fragrances,” and the Xisheng jing also says “fragrant scent is grievance”—all reminding people not to be bound by the senses.

Commentary: The character in question is read by the zǐ-gōng fǎnqiè method of reverse cutting; Guo Pu’s gloss gives the pronunciation as jùn.

Fourth, the five flavors make the mouth turbid and chaotic and harm the mouth and body—lì means illness and shuǎng means injury, that is, spoiling flavor and damaging the mouth and body.

Fifth, grasping and rejecting and chasing after things disturb the inner mind and make one’s nature restless and unmoored—qù means to take and huá means disorder.

All five of these are things that harm life. Yet Yang Zhu and Mo Di were the first to strike out as novel and singular, each thinking they had gained something— that is not what I mean by “gaining.” Those who are said to gain are instead trapped: when one falsifies one’s nature, one meets hardship— can that still be called gaining? Then the spotted doves and owls in a cage could also count as having gained.

Moreover, one stuffs the inner mind with sounds, colors, grasping and rejecting like firewood piled high; one binds the outer form with leather caps, ibis-feather caps, inserted tablets, long sashes, and the rest of ritual dress. Within, one is packed full as if braced by cage posts and a firewood fence; without, one is wound round and round with cords and ropes. With both eyes staring wide, caught in that mesh, one still calls it gaining— that is like a criminal with arms bound behind and fingers squeezed in a cangue, or like tigers and leopards shut in leather sacks and barred pens— and that too could be called gaining.

Zhuangzi Jijie, Outer Chapters, “Tiandao” (The Way of Heaven), Chapter Thirteen (excerpt)

The Way of Heaven never stagnates or piles up, and so the myriad things can form and take shape. Buddhist exegesis takes “ji” (accumulation) to mean stagnation and lack of free flow.

The way of emperors and kings likewise does not stagnate, and so the realm submits to them. Cheng Xuanying says: spirit moves together with transformation, walking in step with creation and change.

The way of sages also does not stagnate, and so all within the four seas obey. Cheng Xuanying says: utmost sincerity without ceasing—sincerity without interruption.

One who is clear about the Way of Heaven, penetrates the virtue of sages, and on the virtue of emperors and kings can be “liu tong si bi” (pervasive in six directions, open in four ways)—such a person lets the myriad things act on their own, while he himself seems dim and obscure; in this way nothing fails to be still and settled.

Commentary: “Liu tong” refers to yin, yang, wind, rain, darkness, and light; “si bi” means opening the four directions. Cheng Xuanying adds: one may also read liu tong as above, below, and the four directions, and si bi as the four seasons. Letting things arise naturally is called “acting of themselves”; hiding one’s tracks and reining in one’s light, like obscurity, yet acting without harming stillness—hence “nothing is not still.”

The reason sages are still is not that they prize stillness for its own sake, nor that they study stillness as a good to pursue. Nothing external can disturb their hearts, so stillness comes naturally. “Rao” is a loan character for “nao” (to disturb).

When water is still it can mirror beard and eyebrows; when level it aligns with the carpenter’s line—great craftsmen take their standard from this. Water appears level because its surface is true and matches the plumb line. “Zhong” is read like the name Zhong (middle).

If still water is this clear, how much more so the human spirit? Its clarity needs no argument.

If the sage’s heart is still, it is the mirror of Heaven and Earth and the bright mirror of the myriad things. When stillness is genuine, the essence of Heaven and Earth and the principles of the myriad things cannot escape his knowing.

Emptiness, stillness, plainness, and wuwei (non-action) are what Heaven and Earth uphold as balance, and the utmost of De (virtue/power)—so emperors, kings, and sages let their hearts rest here. Cheng Xuanying says: here they rest the heart.

When the heart rests, it is empty; when empty, it is full; when full, it conforms to human order and constant principle.

Plain-Language Explanation

When the heart-mind is settled, it can unite with xu (emptiness, clarity without clinging); then De (virtue) aligns with that unity. Once united with xu, the myriad principles can all be held in the heart, and everything falls into order, each in its proper place.

Xu leads to stillness; stillness allows responsive action; action then hits the mark. One must first attain xu before true stillness is possible; only when still can action be fitting. Stillness is Wuwei (non-action)—not doing nothing, but not meddling or forcing; then those who handle concrete affairs each carry their own responsibility. When the ruler observes in stillness and practices wuwei without disturbing subordinates, those who execute affairs each fulfill their role. Wuwei brings inner ease and joy (“yuyu” means joy); joy makes outer troubles less able to upset the spirit, so the mind stays secure and life may be long. This passage repeats the point: wuwei lets those in charge do their jobs; not troubling those below lets everyone keep their place.

Xu, stillness, calm, plainness, silence, and wuwei are the root of the ten thousand things. Whoever understands this and faces south as ruler is a ruler like Yao; whoever understands this and faces north as minister is a minister like Shun. With this in the superior position, it is the De of an emperor or son of Heaven; with this in the inferior position, it is the way of the “mysterious sage and plain king”—one who has the Way but no rank and honors the Way itself, as Laozi and Confucius were. Some say “the plain king’s twelve classics” is a later addition.

With this, retiring to wander at leisure, recluses in rivers, seas, and mountains will respect you; with this, entering service to guide the age, achievement is great, fame clear, and the realm is unified. Guo Xiang said: the substance and function of wuwei are vast—where in the world can wuwei not apply? So the ruler does not take the prime minister’s duties, and Yi Yin and Lü Shang can quietly hold the state; the prime minister does not monopolize the officials’ power, and the officials quietly govern; the officials do not take the people’s tasks, and the people quietly each pursue their livelihood.

(Note: The line “not taking the people’s tasks, not taking the prime minister’s role” in the text may be copyist duplication; the sense is still that each level does not overstep and each keeps its place.)

This passage explains what it truly means to be in harmony with Heaven, and what “Heavenly joy” (tianle) is.

Why the world can be at peace

If all people stop competing in the vein of “I can beat you, you can beat me,” the world settles down in the opposition between “that” and “this,” and each finds their place. So from the Son of Heaven down to commoners, whoever insists on “having a purpose” (youwei) to achieve something often fails instead. Therefore the more one holds to wuwei (non-action), the more one is honored. Cheng Xuanying explains: “advance and act” here means showing oneself in office and building merit—people like Yi Yin and Lü Wang (Taigong). In stillness they are like sages; in movement like true kings. They are honored through wuwei and through plain simplicity, so that under Heaven no one can rival their beauty—this is the supreme beauty of great simplicity and naturalness.

Understanding the virtue of Heaven and Earth

Whoever understands that Heaven and Earth take wuwei as their virtue has grasped the “great root” and “great ancestor,” and is one with “Heaven’s harmony.” Guo Xiang says: to understand this root is not to go against Heaven. Such a person can balance and harmonize the world and respond to “human harmony”—only by following Heaven can one respond to people; when Heaven’s harmony is complete, human harmony is fulfilled. Cheng Xuanying says: “jun” is balance, “diao” is harmony. One who harmonizes with people is called “human joy” (renle); one who harmonizes with Heaven is called “Heavenly joy” (tianle)—bowing to share the dust of the world below, looking up to accord with nature above.

“My teacher” and Heavenly joy

Zhuangzi says: “My teacher! My teacher!”—the kind of “teacher” he means does not forcibly impose “righteousness” on the ten thousand things (or does not treat killing in the name of righteousness as cruelty), extends grace through ten thousand generations without claiming benevolence, endures from high antiquity without calling himself long-lived, covers and carries Heaven and Earth and carves the myriad forms without boasting of craftsmanship. Guo Xiang: what is called “long life” is merely hoping to live long; without a fixed term, one cannot speak of “long life.” (These six lines also appear in the Great Master chapter, where “li” is “yi” and “shou” is “lao”—the sense is the same.) This is what is called Heavenly joy.

Life, death, stillness, and movement for one who knows Heavenly joy

Therefore, one who understands Heavenly joy: while alive, is natural like Heaven’s four seasons; at death, merges into transformation like the ten thousand things changing form. In stillness he shares the quiet virtue of yin; in movement he shares the surge of yang (these lines also appear in “Consciously Devised”). Thus this kind of “knowing” is also knowing that is one with the transformation of things.

Overall thread: first, not contending over “that and this,” and holding wuwei leads to honor; then understanding Heaven and Earth’s virtue as the great root and great ancestor, with Heaven’s harmony and human harmony corresponding as human joy and Heavenly joy; Zhuangzi uses “my teacher” to describe a state that does not claim merit, benevolence, or long life, that covers, carries, and carves without decay—named Heavenly joy; finally, one who knows Heavenly joy lives like Heaven’s course and dies like things transforming, stillness and movement aligned with yin and yang, and that knowing too lies within the transformation of things.

Cheng Yun said: While alive, one aligns with the turning of the four seasons of the Way of Heaven; when dead, one merges into the flow of the myriad things’ transformations. In stillness one shares the virtue of yin; in activity one shares the pulse of yang—these four lines also appear in the “Ke Yi” (Purposeful Action) chapter.

Therefore one who truly understands tianle (heavenly joy): has no resentment from heaven-sent calamity, no entanglement in human right and wrong, no drag from outer things, and no punishment from ghosts and spirits. These four lines likewise appear in “Ke Yi”; there the character written as yuan (resentment) in this text appears as zai (calamity) in that chapter.

Hence it is said: in movement like heaven’s vigor, in stillness like earth’s constancy. Movement and stillness differ, yet as long as the heart is without clinging and without discrimination, they return to one. When the heart is unified and settled, it can wang (reign as king) over all under heaven; ghosts and spirits do not sui (bring harm—sui means calamity, as Li Shan notes), and hun and po (soul and corporeal spirit) are not worn out—this too is in “Ke Yi.” When the heart is unified and settled, the myriad things submit.

This is what is meant by extending emptiness and stillness to heaven and earth and threading them through the myriad things—this is tianle. Tianle is the method in the sage’s heart for nourishing all under heaven. Xu (to store/nurture) means to nurture and to contain.

Imperial virtue takes Heaven and Earth as the supreme model, moral standards as the foundation, and Wuwei (non-action) as the constant way. What is meant by Wuwei is that one governs the realm yet still has strength to spare; if one is busy with action everywhere, one is instead dragged down by the affairs of the realm and falls short of strength. Therefore the ancients valued Wuwei above all.

If those above practice Wuwei and those below also practice Wuwei, superior and inferior share the same virtue—then ministers are no longer ministers. Cheng Xuanying’s commentary says: when both above and below are Wuwei, subordinates overstep the ruler’s virtue. If those below are active and those above are also active, superior and inferior follow the same path—then the ruler is no longer the ruler. The commentary adds: when subordinates take on the ruler’s tasks and superior and inferior follow the same path, there is no true sovereign to speak of. Therefore the superior must be Wuwei to govern the realm, while the inferior must be active to serve the realm’s needs—this is an unchanging principle. This passage of argument has real substance; it is not empty talk.

The ancient rulers of the realm: though their wisdom encompassed Heaven and Earth, they did not take on planning themselves; though their eloquence could adorn all things, they did not boast in speech; though their talent filled the land within the seas, they did not personally take on every task. The commentary says: the sincere rulers of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors—though their wisdom illumined Heaven and Earth, they still ruled with hands folded in Wuwei, entrusting affairs to ministers, and so did not plan for themselves; though their broad eloquence flowed like water and could adorn all things, in the end they did not speak for themselves; though their talent surpassed all within the seas, they still did not act personally, which is why Laozi says “this is called using the strength of others.”

Heaven does not nourish yet the ten thousand things transform of themselves; Earth does not grow yet the ten thousand things are nourished of themselves; the ruler is Wuwei yet the realm’s work is accomplished (“accomplished” here means “completed,” as in the Doctrine of the Mean’s “accomplished through non-action”). Thus it is said: nothing is more wondrous than Heaven, nothing more abundant than Earth, nothing more exalted than the ruler; imperial virtue matches Heaven and Earth.

This is the way to align with Heaven and Earth, to guide the ten thousand things, and to employ the myriad people.

This passage explains that the root lies above and the branches below; what matters most is the ruler, and what follows is the work of ministers.

Moving the three armies and wielding the five weapons (bow, club, spear, halberd, and dagger-axe) belongs to what lies beyond De (Virtue/Power)—the secondary layer. Rewards and punishments, benefit and harm, the five punishments, and the law belong to what lies beyond jiao (teaching and moral transformation)—the secondary layer. Ritual, statutes, the various institutions, and the matching and scrutiny of names against realities (xingming) belong to what lies beyond zhi (orderly government)—the secondary layer. The sound of bells and drums and the feathered regalia of ceremony belong to what lies beyond yue (music)—the secondary layer. Weeping, wearing hemp mourning bands (shuaidie), and dress graded by the degrees of mourning severity (longsha) belong to what lies beyond ai (the rites of grief)—the secondary layer. These five kinds of “secondary” matters can only be taken up after the spirit is in motion and the heart’s art has been set in play. People in antiquity did study such secondary matters, but those were not what should come first.

The ruler comes before the minister, the father before the son, the elder brother before the younger, the senior before the junior, the male before the female, the husband before the wife. High and low, earlier and later—these are the patterns by which Heaven and Earth run; therefore the sage takes them as his model. Heaven is honored and Earth is humble: that is the ordering of the divine. Spring and summer come first, autumn and winter after: that is the sequence of the four seasons. The ten thousand things are transformed, grow, and live; buds and signs divide and each takes its shape; the graded steps of flourishing and decline are the regularities within change and flow. Heaven and Earth are supremely subtle, yet even they keep an order of honor, humility, before and after—how much more so the way of human affairs!

Temples emphasize kinship, the court emphasizes rank, the village emphasizes seniority, and affairs emphasize worthiness—this is the order that the Great Dao (Da Dao) ought to have in human relations and in government. Cheng Xuanying explains: this is how things ought to be by the very logic of the Way.

If one only talks emptily about the Dao yet does not follow this order, that is not the true Dao; if what is said is not the Dao at all, from what could one grasp the Dao? Cheng also says: once order is disturbed, there is no way to put the myriad things of the world in good order.

Therefore, those in antiquity who understood the Great Dao first clarified “Heaven” (naturalness as such), and only then spoke of “virtue and the Way” (De and Dao)—nature itself is the root of virtue and the Way, so virtue and the Way come next. Once virtue and the Way are made clear, they spoke of benevolence and righteousness (Ren and Yi)—benevolence and righteousness are the branches and extensions of virtue and the Way. Once benevolence and righteousness are distinguished, they spoke of roles and duties—superiors and inferiors each have their boundaries, and every office has its charge. Once division of duty is clear, they fixed names and realities, form and designation (xingming)—matching things and posts with fitting titles. Once form and name are clear, they spoke of assigning tasks according to talent—allotting responsibilities by each person’s capacity. Once assignment by capacity is clear, they spoke of leniency and reflective examination (yuansheng)—examining matters with a heart of generous forbearance. Once generous reflection is clear, right and wrong can be settled—and once right and wrong are settled, reward and punishment can follow. Guo Xiang says: the way of utmost governance takes Heaven as its root, and the finer ends of governing affairs are carried through to this point.

Once reward and punishment are clear, the foolish and the wise each find their place; noble and lowly each rest in their station. The benevolent, the worthy, and the unworthy all follow their real circumstances (“xi” means to accord with; “qing” means the true state of things), each keeping to their proper share; distinguishing what each can do and holding names accountable to reality—as the commentator Xuan says: name and reality must correspond.

Using this whole scheme to serve superiors, nurture the people below, manage external affairs, and cultivate oneself—without crafty stratagems—one necessarily returns to Heaven (Tian)—Xuan says: returning to empty stillness and non-action (Wuwei). This is called great peace, the utmost of governance. Hence the ancient books say—(here a citation from the old texts; commentators note “it is from the ancient books”).

Plain-Language Explanation

“Form and name have shape and designation.”

Form and name are notions the ancients already used, but they must not be treated as the root of governing the realm or as what should be spoken of first.

1. The order in which the ancients spoke of the Great Dao

When the ancients spoke of the Great Dao:

• Only at the fifth shift in how they put it could they respectably discuss form and name;
• Only at the ninth shift could they properly discuss reward and punishment.

From “clarifying Heaven” down to “form and name” took five shifts;

from there to “reward and punishment” took nine shifts.

To open with form and name is not to know where the root lies;

to open with reward and punishment is not to know where the starting point lies.

To speak of the Dao backwards and sideways (“going against the Dao”):

when words do not follow the proper sequence, they can only manage those who are managed, not those who manage.

To suddenly make much of form and name and reward and punishment:

that is instrument and technique of governance, not governance by the Dao itself;

in the realm it may be forced to work a little, but it is not enough truly to govern the world.

Such people are called disputatious scholars—one-sided men (Cheng Xuanying: men who excel only at flowery language and cling to one narrow angle).

2. Rites, law, form, and name are for those below serving above—not the root by which above nourishes below

Rites and law, measures and numbers, form and name, comparison and scrutiny—the ancients had these too;

they were for those below to serve those above,

not the root by which those above nourish those below.

What those above should weight heavily is nourishing people.

According to tradition, Shun once asked Yao: “How does the heavenly king—a ruler who takes Heaven as his model—put his mind to work?”

Yao said: “I do not slight people who have no one to plead for them and nowhere to lodge a grievance; nor do I neglect the common people because some seem stubborn and hard to teach. I do not cast off the poor and distressed—as commentators say, my resolve to succor the needy never wavers. I feel compassion for the dead, cherish young children, and pity women in hardship. That is how I put my mind to work.”

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

Yao asked: “What would be better?”

Shun said: “Align with Heaven’s De (virtue and power); act in the world outwardly while your inner heart stays at peace. Be like the sun and moon shining, the four seasons turning—day and night each keeping their measure; like clouds drifting and rain falling, so that everything completes itself naturally.” (Guo Xiang’s commentary: all of this is “non-action and spontaneity,” wuwei er ziran. Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: “jing” here means the constant Way, the constant norm.)

Yao said: “I am so stuck and rigid, so restless and tangled—I am truly not yet open and penetrating!” (“Jiaojiao” suggests being obstinate and unyielding; “raorao” suggests turmoil and lack of ease. Yao, awakened by Shun’s words, felt he had been managing too much.) Cheng Xuanying adds: Your virtue accords closely with Heaven; my intentions still lean too much toward human affairs. Heaven and Earth were what the ancients revered most, and what Huangdi, Yao, and Shun together praised. So what were ancient rulers who held all under Heaven so busy about? To take Heaven and Earth as their model was enough.

Confucius planned to deposit his writings in the book repository of the Zhou royal house. Zilu suggested: “I have heard that among the archive keepers who managed the Zhou dynasty’s stored classics, there was a man named Laozi who has already left his post and gone home to live in retirement. If you wish to deposit your books, you might first go and ask him for help.” Confucius said: “Good.” He then went to see Laozi, but Laozi would not agree to help with storing the books. Confucius thereupon lectured on the “Twelve Classics” (accounts differ: some say the Six Classics plus the Six Commentaries; some say the Book of Changes (Yijing) together with the Ten Wings; some say the Spring and Autumn Annals in its twelve-duke version). Halfway through, Laozi interrupted and said: “Too wordy and too hollow—I only want to know the main point.” Confucius said: “The main point lies in benevolence and righteousness (ren and yi).” Laozi asked: “May I ask: are benevolence and righteousness human nature?” Confucius answered: “Yes. Without ren a gentleman cannot succeed; without yi he cannot establish himself and cultivate virtue.”

Ren and Yi (benevolence and righteousness) are the very disposition of the True Person—so why still make a project of “doing” them?

If you set that aside, what else is there to rely on?

Laozi said: “May I ask what you mean by Ren and Yi?”

Confucius said: “A centered heart at peace with things, rejoicing with the ten thousand things; universal love without partiality—this is the true meaning of Ren and Yi.” (Note: “at peace with things” means sharing joy with all things.)

Here “meaning” (qing) means the real substance and sense—not “emotion” in the everyday sense.

Laozi said: “Alas! That sounds almost like something said later—almost like the talk of later pedantic Ru scholars.”

To treat “universal love” as a slogan or a task to fulfill is already pedantic. When you insist on “no selfishness” while still holding the thought “I must be unselfish,” that is still a kind of selfishness. (Su Yu: as long as the fixation on “no selfishness” is not forgotten, it remains private; compare Zhuangzi’s reply to Shang Taizai Dang in a later chapter.)

If you wish the world not to lose its way of nurturing and sustaining life, Heaven and Earth already have their constancy, sun and moon their brightness, stars their order, birds and beasts their kinds, trees their proper places. You need only emulate the virtue of nature and follow the Dao—that is enough. Why must you also hoist Ren and Yi high and bustle about like beating drums to chase a runaway child? (Jiejie: straining, forced effort; wangzi: one who has fled. The same image appears in “Heaven and Earth in Motion.”)

Alas! Master, you are disturbing people’s natural disposition. (Guo Xiang: when things come before you, love arises naturally; when it is time to stop, you stop—that is forgetting Ren and Yi. If Ren and Yi are always kept in mind, the genuine is disturbed instead. Xuan: this parallels the Analects on “Yi as standard” and Mencius on “acting from Ren and Yi”—but Laozi here speaks from the angle of non-fixation and not losing one’s nature.)

Shi Chengqi (a figure in the fables of the Zhuangzi) paid a visit to Laozi (Lao Dan, the founder of Daoism) and asked, “I have heard that you, Master, are a sage, and so I did not decline the long road but came, hoping to see you once. I walked for a hundred days, until layer upon layer of calluses formed on my feet, and I did not dare rest. Old commentaries say that ‘a hundred lodgings’ means stopping overnight for a hundred days, and that ‘heavy calluses’ means calluses grew on the feet. Now I look at you, Master, and you are not a sage. In the earth of rat holes there were surplus vegetables, yet the leftover vegetables were casually scattered and discarded while you pretended not to know—this is not benevolence. Guo Xiang says this means not cherishing things; Cheng Xuanying says that ‘rat soil’ refers to the earth in rat holes, and that the character for ‘younger sister’ is interchangeable with the one meaning ‘obscure/ignorant.’ Before you, millet, silk, and food and drink, raw and cooked, were abundant and inexhaustible, yet you still gathered and amassed without limit.” Laozi was indifferent and did not respond; Cheng Xuanying says this was because he despised him and considered him unworthy of a reply. The next day Shi Chengqi came again to see Laozi and opened his mouth to address him.

Once I had spoken against you (Laozi), but now my mind is set right and those prejudices have fallen away. My heart is upright and I no longer look at others through my old biases—why is that?

Laozi said: People who think themselves clever, penetrating, and almost divine—I stopped placing myself in their company long ago. When you call me a sage, I have never held that title for myself. Once someone called me an ox, and I took myself to be an ox; someone called me a horse, and I took myself to be a horse. Whatever name people give me, I accept myself accordingly. If one truly had such attainment yet refused the names others offered, that would only add another layer of harm; to have such inner De yet reject the name would bring further burden. The “bearing” (fu) I keep is a bearing that stays one and the same—it is not wounded by slander or praise (huiyu), so I can remain unchanged in my constant way. I do not have this bearing only because I put on an outward show. (Guo Xiang’s note: If one acts with deliberate effort [youwei], one cannot constantly maintain such bearing.)

Shi Chengqi then walked sidelong as if avoiding his own shadow; even on the mat he walked without removing his shoes, breaking the usual propriety (in antiquity one removed shoes before stepping on the mat—“walking with shoes on the mat” means one has lost the norm). He came forward and asked: How should one cultivate the self?

Laozi said: Your bearing stands aloof like a cliff (yaran); your gaze shoots straight ahead (chongran); your forehead bulges and looks arrogant (sang kuiran); your mouth gapes wide and looks fierce and hollow (hanran); your posture seems deliberately lofty (yiran—yi here read as “e”); you are like a tethered horse that still wants to bolt; at the slightest move you stiffen and brace; when you act, you rush like a sprung mechanism; you examine things too finely and investigate too harshly—all your cleverness shows in a proud expression. All of this is out of step with innate nature and is called “untrustworthiness.” On the frontier there was once a man named “Qie”—qie means thief. (Sima’s note: meaning such a person once existed in a distant place.)

Brief glosses: Fu (bearing): here means deportment and conduct, not clothing. Huiyu: slander and praise. Walking sidelong to avoid one’s shadow: moving crabwise as if fleeing one’s shadow—awkward and unnatural. Walking on the mat with shoes on (lüxing): failing to remove shoes before stepping on the mat—a breach of ritual, a sign of having lost the norm. Frontier (bianjing): border region. Qie: a personal name, same sense as “thief,” used here with ironic force.

Zhuangzi cites his teacher Laozi (commentators take “the Master” to mean Laozi): the Dao, on the grand scale, has no end; on the finest scale, it leaves nothing out—the “great encompassing without limit, the subtle entering without gap”—so the myriad things are made whole through it. The Dao is vast and open, holding all; it is also depth without bottom.

Form, virtue, benevolence, and righteousness are only the outward traces where spirit (Shen) shows itself; they are not the root. Apart from the ultimate person (zhiren), who can settle this clearly? Most people are caught in secondary learning and find it hard to see.

Even if the ultimate person held all under heaven, it would not weigh on him—the realm could not tire him. When others scramble for power and throw themselves into affairs, he is not dragged along. He holds fast without pretense and does not bend his aim for gain; he follows what is natural and does not leave harmony. Probing the true face of things, he keeps to the root—fulfilling nature and penetrating principle, moving without disturbing stillness.

Thus outwardly he need not be burdened by heaven and earth; toward things he need not be burdened by the myriad beings—and his spirit is never blocked. He aligns with the Dao and accords with De (Virtue/Power); he puts benevolence and righteousness in a secondary place and sets ritual and music aside (the word rendered “set aside” is the same as “reject,” by an old graphic equivalence). In this way the ultimate person’s heart finds rest and a true home.

What people in the world treat as precious in the “Dao” usually settles on books; yet books are nothing but writing, and what really matters in writing is meaning—the heart of what is being conveyed. Behind meaning there is something it rests on and points toward—a layer that cannot be made clear with the mouth. Ironically, people take books and speech as treasures precisely because they can be written down and passed on.

Even if the whole world chases after them, in my view they still are not truly precious, because what they prize is not the layer that ought to be prized. Guo Xiang’s commentary says: what is genuinely precious always lies outside words and writing.

So what the eyes can see is only form and color; what the ears can hear is only names and sounds. Pitiful! People treat things that are not up to the task as handles solid enough to grasp “that”—the real state of things, the root intent of the Dao.

Form, color, names, and sounds truly are not enough to get at the real situation; yet people think these alone suffice.

Bi refers to the Dao; qing means what is real and inherent in things. From this we see that “those who know do not speak readily, and what is spoken is often not true knowing”—yet people in the world may not discern this clearly.

Duke Huan was reading in the hall while Lun Bian (the wheelwright; his name was Bian) was below, shaping a wheel. Sima Biao notes: “The wheelwright’s name was Bian.” Lun Bian set down mallet and chisel, came up, and asked the duke: “May I ask what words my lord is reading?” The duke said: “The words of sages.” Lun Bian asked: “Are the sages still alive?” The duke said: “They are already dead.” Lun Bian said: “Then what my lord reads is nothing but the dregs left by the ancients.” Sima Biao notes: “After what is spoiled comes the lees (dregs).” Some texts write this as “dregs” (another graph for the same idea).

The duke said: “I am reading—how dare a wheelwright like you comment! If you have a point, very well; if you cannot give a reason, you die.”

Lun Bian said: “From my own trade I observe: when I shave a wheel, if the stroke is too slow it saves effort but the cut is not firm; if too fast it costs force and the blade will not bite. Sima Biao notes: “Gan (sweet/slow) means leisurely; ku (bitter/harsh) means hurried.” Neither slow nor fast—hand and mind in accord—there is a measure in it that the mouth cannot fully tell. Li Yi notes: “Shu means knack, the inner track.” I cannot teach this whole art to my son; my son cannot learn it complete from me—so at seventy I am still at the wheel. Cheng Xuanying’s commentary: “Yu means to make clear. Hence each thing has its own nature; one cannot copy and imitate blindly.”

What the ancients could not put into words (Xuan Ying notes: “You means ‘is like’ or ‘amounts to’…”) perished with them when they died. Then what my lord reads is the dregs the ancients left behind. Lun Bian’s point aligns with “those who know do not speak”: the craft that runs from hand to heart is not in the wording of books.

Is heaven “in motion”? Guo Xiang says: it is not that someone pushes it before it moves; it moves of itself.

Is earth “at rest”? Guo Xiang says: it is not that someone holds it down; it stays where it is of itself.

Do sun and moon “ vie for their places”? Guo Xiang says: they are not competing; they simply alternate in brightness and renew themselves in turn.

Then who is lord over all this? Who upholds the order? And who, doing nothing in ease, yet drives this whole process? (These three questions match heaven, earth, and sun and moon above.)

Is there some hidden mechanism, some closing and sealing, some overseer who opens and shuts and constrains things, so that affairs have no choice but to be thus? Cheng Xuanying explains: ji is a barrier or checkpoint, jian is closure—the sense is as if there were someone in charge of opening and closing, so that things appear unavoidable.

Or is it that they turn by themselves and simply cannot stop?

Do clouds become rain? Does rain become clouds? Who raises the clouds and sends down the rain? Guo Xiang notes: long means to rise, referring to clouds; shi means to bestow, referring to rain.

And who sits idle, as if indulging in pleasure, and brings all this about? Guo Xiang says: clouds and rain are formed from the mingling of Yin-Yang breath (qi); hence creation (zaohua) is likened to a kind of “ licentious delight”—not that anyone is actually indulging, but that the image describes natural union and the begetting of the myriad things.

Wind rises from the north, now toward the west, now toward the east, now up, now down, wavering without fixed direction. Sima Biao’s text reads panghuang, meaning sudden gusts or violent wind.

Who inhales and exhales it, who surges it? And who, idle and doing nothing, yet brushes and sweeps it along?

(Zhuangzi) says: I venture to ask—what is the reason for all this?

Commentators mostly hold that “Wu Xian Shao” should be emended to “Wu Xian Zhao”—a fictional invitation for the Yin minister Wu Xian to answer, not a separate historical person “Wu Xian Shao.” Wu Xian is made to say: Come, I will tell you. Heaven has the “six extremes” (the four directions plus above and below) and the “five constants” (usually the Five Phases). When the ruler accords with heaven, the realm is governed; when he goes against it, disaster follows. As for the matter of the “Nine Luo” (connected with the Luo River diagram and the nine categories), when achievement is complete and virtue fulfilled, one can illumine the land below; act accordingly.

When the ruler follows this, there is order; when he opposes it, there is disaster—again stressing that accord with heaven brings good fortune and opposition brings ill.