《无能子》

The Wunengzi is a work by Wunengzi, the author’s close friend. In his youth, Wunengzi was widely learned and had few desires. He excelled at investigating how things worked and devoted himself to observing human nature, all the way down to the roots of life. During the Huang Chao Rebellion, he fled the unrest, wandering from place to place with no settled home. Wherever he went, he often endured cold and hunger, yet remained untroubled.

In the third year of Guangqi (887), Emperor Xizong of Tang took up residence in the Bao region, while warfare continued across the land. Wunengzi lived in a humble dwelling belonging to a man surnamed Jing, in the area around the capital. He kept to himself and concealed his gifts, treating those around him with gentleness and humility. By day, he often lay down, though he was not sleeping. Now and then, while lying there, he would write a page or two, then, once he had risen, tuck them into his robe without showing them to anyone. From the day ren-shen in mid-spring to the day ji-hai in late spring, he filled dozens of pages and put them into a bag, as though he were composing a work.

I secretly took them and read them. I found that most recorded things he had heard or witnessed, as well as words exchanged in discussions with his brothers and friends. The work as a whole aims to clarify the principles of nature and investigate the roots of human nature and life. Wunengzi held that nature is originally free of artifice, and that human nature and life are originally without desire. He therefore regarded ritual teachings as of little consequence and paid no mind to worldly affairs. Those who understand these principles will believe them without being urged; but can those who do not understand them thereby escape error?

So I arranged the writings by subject and compiled them into thirty-four sections, divided among three scrolls—upper, middle, and lower—to share only with those who understand these principles. Since I know Wunengzi’s conduct and inner thoughts well, I have not recorded his name or official career.

The first section of the upper scroll, “The Sages’ Errors,” begins: “Before Heaven and Earth were divided, all was in chaos, and there was only one mass of primordial Qi.”

Before heaven and earth had separated, all was in a state of chaos, with only one mass of Qi (vital energy), filling heaven and earth—the primordial energy that forms all things in the universe. This mass of Qi divided into the two kinds of energy, Yin and Yang, and also into the clear and the turbid, the light and the heavy: what was light and clear rose to become Yang and heaven; what was heavy and turbid sank to become Yin and earth. Heaven is firm and active in its movement; earth is yielding and still. This is the state that Qi formed naturally.

After heaven and earth took shape, Yin and Yang energies intermingled, giving rise to living beings such as the naked, scaled, hairy, feathered, and shelled creatures. Humans belong to the naked kind. Like the scaled, hairy, feathered, and shelled creatures, they were all born from the union of heaven and earth’s energies, and are not different in essence.

Some say that humans differ from other animals. Is this not because people think they can use strategy, thought, and speech? Yet from birds and beasts to the smallest insects, all cherish life and avoid death. They build nests, seek food, reproduce, and nurture and protect their own kind. There is no difference between this and people cherishing life, building homes, seeking food and clothing, and raising children. How can we say that these creatures lack thought and intelligence? Birds, beasts, and small insects all make sounds. Who can be certain that they have no language among their own kind? People cannot understand their sounds, so they say the creatures cannot speak. But when birds and beasts cannot understand human speech, might they likewise think that humans cannot speak? Their cries must also be language. How, then, can we say they are unable to communicate?

Human thought and speech are no different from those of insects. What differs between them is only their bodily form. The scaled, hairy, feathered, and shelled creatures also differ from one another in form—so how much more do humans differ from them? Even among humans, bodies are alike in some ways and different in others. It is not only that human bodies differ from those of other creatures.

Heaven and earth are simply vast manifestations of Yin and Yang energies. The living beings called naked, scaled, feathered, hairy, and shelled creatures are all things formed through the mingling of heaven and earth’s energies. They live between heaven and earth, just as fish and turtles live in rivers and seas, and plants grow on mountains.

In ancient times, the naked kind lived among the scaled, hairy, feathered, and shelled kinds. Females and males mated naturally, with no distinction between marriage and the unmarried, and no defined order of fathers and sons or older and younger brothers. In summer people lived in trees; in winter they sheltered in caves, for there were no houses. They ate plants and drank blood; they had no food from cultivated grain. The living followed nature, and the dead simply fell where they were. People had no desire to plunder or harm one another, and no rites for burying the dead. They followed nature and preserved their inborn nature. With no one to govern or restrain them, they lived in simple, unspoiled harmony for a long time.

Later, some among the naked kind developed greater powers of thought and came to be called “humans.” They used rules to restrain the scaled, hairy, feathered, and shelled creatures. They also taught people to sow seeds and obtain grain, and so the plow and hoe came into use. They cut wood and packed earth to build houses, and so tools such as axes and adzes came into use. They established marriage customs, distinguished men from women, and defined the roles of husband and wife, father and son, and older and younger brother. They also made coffins and burial clothes to lay the dead to rest, giving rise to funeral rites. They wove nets to catch other living creatures and make them into food. In this way, the simple and unspoiled way of life faded, and people’s desires arose. Yet in those days the strong still relied on their strength and the weak remained weak; no one had yet taken control.

Those whose powers of thought grew more complex chose one person from among the people to lead them. They called one person ruler and the rest subjects: one could command the many, while the many could not rise above the one. Thus distinctions between ruler and subject arose, along with rules of rank and status. Later, ranks and stipends were established to distinguish people, creating grades of nobility and low status. People also came to use different kinds of property, and so distinctions between rich and poor emerged. Those who obtained what they desired were called honored. People called those with the most elaborate powers of thought “sages.”

Afterward, those of low status envied the honored, and the poor envied the rich, giving rise to a spirit of strife. Those called sages grew concerned and discussed the matter among themselves: “Originally, people were simple and sincere. Who called them ‘human’? We imposed that name on them. Originally, there were no distinctions of rank. Who divided them into rulers and subjects? We imposed that division, and so rulers and subjects came to be. Originally, there were no demands or desires. Where did ranks and stipends come from? We imposed levels of status, and so honor and disgrace came to be. Now their sincere nature has grown weak, their desires have increased, and a spirit of rivalry has followed. Rivalry leads to plunder, and plunder brings disorder. What are we to do?”

Those whose powers of thought were even more elaborate said, “I have a solution.” They then established teachings of benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trustworthiness, along with rules for ritual and music, to restrain people. When a ruler treated subjects harshly, it was called tyranny; when subjects defied a ruler, it was called rebellion. When a father failed to care for his son, it was called unkindness; when a son failed to respect his father, it was called unfilial conduct. When brothers did not treat one another harmoniously, it was called a lack of fraternal care and respect; when husband and wife were not in harmony, it was called unfaithfulness and discord. To do these things was wrong; to refrain from them was right. The right brought honor, and the wrong brought disgrace. People thus came to take pride in being right and feel shame at being wrong, and their spirit of strife was held in check for a time.

In later generations, desires grew ever stronger. People abandoned benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trustworthiness, overstepped the rules of ritual and music, and continued to struggle. Those called sages regretted this, but, having no choice, established penal laws and armies to control the people: minor offenses were punished, while major ones were met with war. The states filled with people imprisoned, shackled, flogged, and exiled; the world filled with campaigns fought with spears, swords, bows, and arrows. The calamities of families destroyed and states brought down continued without end, as did the suffering and premature deaths of the people.

Alas! Those who follow nature are the creatures; those who go against nature are humans. People forcibly build houses and prescribe what should be eaten, stirring up desires. They forcibly divide people into high and low, honored and humble, in an attempt to curb their rivalries. They forcibly promote benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music, damaging what is genuine. They forcibly impose penal laws and wage war, destroying lives. They make people pursue what is secondary and forget what is fundamental, unsettling their desires and damaging their lives. Lost in this, people harm one another, and this has continued from ancient times to the present. This is the fault of those called sages.

“Root” means taking Wuwei (non-action) as the foundation of the mind, on which the human form depends for its existence. It is constant and unchanging, never exhausted. Fire can be used to burn things, but its heat cannot be taken away; water can be used to moisten things, but its dampness cannot be taken away.

One may draw on it without claiming it as one’s own; one may store it without making it disappear. When put to use, it can discern forms as fine as the smallest detail and hear the sound of mosquitoes and gnats. When still, however, it sees no high mountains and hears no thunder. It is vast enough to encompass Heaven and Earth, yet small enough to enter the space between the eyebrows and the hairline. Elusive and subtle, it neither comes nor goes; it is so deep and distant that it cannot be sensed. It neither fills up nor runs dry.

Chao Fu and Xu You, legendary recluses, and Yuan Gong and Qili Ji, two of the Four Elders of Mount Shang, withdrew from the world and guarded the Root, cultivating their own integrity. Yao’s passing the throne to Shun, Shun’s passing it to Yu, Yu’s passing it to Qi, and Tang of Shang’s campaign against Jie and King Wu of Zhou’s campaign against Zhou were ways of applying the Dao of the Root to benefit all under Heaven.

Those who understand this principle can withdraw when it is time to withdraw and take office when it is time to serve. In encountering things and establishing accomplishments, they remain open and untroubled, unmoved by external things. Those who do not understand it chase their desires and follow their senses of sight and hearing, heedlessly exhausting their spirit day after day without ever grasping the principle. Whoever can use unobstructed clarity to illuminate the myriad things, and settle mind and body in a state of natural ease, can bring the nameless source into view within the unseen.

A person’s nature is Shen (spirit), and a person’s life is Qi (vital energy). Nature and life depend on one another: in the Void, they resonate with each other; in Nature, they bring each other forth. They are like the xun and chi, two musical instruments answering one another, and like Yin-Yang energies harmonizing with each other. The body and its physical form are vessels that carry nature and life, like fire within firewood: without the wood, the fire cannot burn; without the fire, the wood gives no light. The physical form cannot exist without nature and life, while nature and life manifest through the physical form. Thus, nature and life arise through Nature’s harmonious blending, while the physical form, through its fixity, returns to death. Nature and life that follow Nature remain alive even in stillness and silence; the physical form that follows Nature into death remains dead even when it does not move.

People today all cherish life and abhor death, yet do not understand the natural principles of life and death. When they see the body become still and fall, they grieve. They exhaust their minds and strength trying to sustain the life that arises naturally, while desperately preserving the physical form that should return to natural death. The more stubbornly they try to preserve it, the farther they drift from life’s natural flow. This is like trying to make feathers sink and stones float: it is truly a delusion.

Freedom from Worry, Chapter Four

What people abhor most is death—that is, the physical form ceasing to move and falling. But the physical form is only flesh and blood, ears and eyes. Unless it is open and receptive, it cannot serve as the true basis of life. So we need not wait for the physical form to become still and fall before calling it dead. Even as it moves and runs about, it is already a physical form subject to death.

The physical form can move and run about by virtue of what does not die; it cannot move by its own power. Since the physical form has always been subject to death, it does not begin to die only now. And since it does not die only now, there is no death to fear. Death may be what people abhor most, but if there is no death that is truly frightening, why should changes beyond the physical form disturb my inner peace?

Delusion in Substance, Chapter Five (Two Parts)

What people everywhere pursue, without knowing when to stop, is nothing other than wealth, status, and a fine reputation. Wealth and status simply mean having abundant possessions. At their height, they amount to being an emperor; on a smaller scale, to being a duke or marquis. Is an emperor called an emperor for any reason other than wearing imperial robes, living in a palace, traveling with a procession clearing the way and ordering people aside? And are dukes and marquises called dukes and marquises for any reason other than wearing official caps, riding with noisy carriages and horses, and possessing banners, axes, and other ceremonial gear? Without robes, palaces, processions, caps, carriages, horses, and axes, what would make anyone an emperor, duke, or marquis? These are all external things. To possess them in abundance is called wealth and status; to have wealth and status is to be called an emperor, duke, or marquis. Wealth and status, then, are nothing more than an abundance of external things.

External things are things people can make. Yet people make them themselves, then, in their confusion, turn around and regard them as indispensable. They call an abundance of external things wealth and status, and their absence poverty and low standing. So they rejoice in wealth and status and feel ashamed of poverty and low standing; to gain that pleasure, they will do anything. From ancient times to the present, people have failed to wake up. How powerful external things are!

And what is a fine reputation, if not one gained through filial conduct at home, loyalty in serving one’s ruler, trustworthiness with friends, honesty in dealing with wealth, or exceptional skill and talent? These are behaviors praised by the sages and used to restrain the foolish. A fine reputation can attach only to a person’s physical form. Without that form, one is empty and boundless as the open sky, with neither praise nor blame able to find a place to cling. The human body is merely a shell enclosing flesh and blood and carrying filth. It gathers in the morning and may be destroyed by evening. What lasting reputation could there be?

Today, everyone turns away from their natural nature and pursues fame and profit, to the point of becoming false. Why? The so-called sages have misled them. People throughout the ages have thought that those close to them are close because they share their blood, and so they concentrate their feelings on these people: they are happy when together, miss one another when apart, worry when someone falls ill, and weep when someone dies. Yet everyone under heaven, like those close to me, has limbs, a belly and back, ears and eyes, a mouth and nose, a head and neck, eyebrows and hair. On what basis should we distinguish between you and me?

We treat some people as “others” simply because we are not familiar with them; we feel close to certain people simply because we know them well. Alas, everyone has limbs, a belly and back, ears and eyes, a mouth and nose, a head and neck, eyebrows and hair. If these parts were taken apart and one went looking for the supposed body, no separate, whole “body” would be found. So who counts as a close relation, and who counts as one of the people of the world? These are distinctions imposed by names alone.

If we used the terms for those close to us to address everyone under heaven, then everyone could be close to us. If we extended the familiarity we feel toward our close relations to everyone under heaven, then everyone could be familiar to us. Why, then, bind our feelings exclusively to a small number of people?

Without special preference, one can extend filial care and kindness to everyone under heaven. With preference, one extends them only to one’s own family. While a family’s affection has not yet faded, its members may suffer because they are bound to one another by feeling, and filial care and kindness can become a burden. When that affection fades, pretense arises, and resentment and bitterness grow between parents and children, brothers and sisters. Zhuangzi said, “When fish are stranded on dry land, they moisten one another with spit; it would be better for them to forget one another in rivers and lakes.” How well said. Fish forget one another in rivers and lakes; if people, too, could forget one another in their natural state, each would live freely and at ease. For this reason, the wise do not bind their feelings exclusively to a small number of people.

A balance and a mirror are both objects, yet people make them. Why, then, do people rely on a balance to judge weight and a mirror to discern beauty and ugliness? Because a balance has no private interests, it weighs fairly; because a mirror has no private interests, it reflects clearly. Even objects without private interests can be fair and clear. If people can study the Way of No-Mind, use emptiness and stillness to clear the mind and spirit, and nurture a state of clarity and spacious quiet, then without realizing it they can endure alongside Heaven and Earth and merge with the vast, primordial Qi without growing weary. Then no one under Heaven will be able to contend with them.

Water’s nature is this: when it is dammed, it becomes still and clear; when a sluice is opened, it flows; when it rises into the clouds, it becomes rain; when it seeps into the soil, it nourishes all things. It becomes rivers and seas, yet does not seek vastness; it rests in a low, narrow hollow, yet is not ashamed of its smallness. It branches into countless streams without tiring and nourishes all things without refusal. Water is the softest of things, which is why Lao Dan said, “The soft and weak overcome the hard and strong.” Those who can guard their inner selves, make body and mind empty and still, concentrate their Jing and Qi, and attain gentleness can understand the source of nature.

Water flows toward what is damp, fire gathers where it is dry, clouds move with dragons, and winds rise with tigers: these are all examples of the natural resonance between things. Shen draws Qi forth, and Qi moves in accordance with Shen in the same way. Understand how things in nature resonate with one another, focus the mind on the “Mysterious Female”—the Daoist name for the hidden gate of generation and transformation—and return the mind and spirit to their root. Then one approaches natural liberation, free from all bonds.

Birds fly through the sky and fish swim in deep waters without relying on any specially learned skill; they simply follow their nature. Birds and fish need not know that they can fly or swim. If they first set their minds on “I am going to fly” or “I am going to swim,” they may instead fall or drown.

People can run with their feet, grasp with their hands, hear with their ears, and see with their eyes without having to practice. As they act, their bodies respond naturally to the circumstances at hand; they need not think first and act afterward. If people had to think through everything before acting, they would grow exhausted. So only by following nature can they endure, and only by remaining in their original state can things be accomplished.

The mind should naturally be broad and open, clear and still. This, too, is its natural state. Today people let their hands, feet, ears, and eyes follow their nature as they run, grasp, see, and hear, yet refuse to let the mind follow its nature and instead keep agitating it. If they always try deliberately to attain calm and stillness, they will find it difficult to achieve them truly.

Lü Wang was fishing by the Wei River. The Earl of the West (King Wen of Zhou) was preparing to go hunting when the divination yielded these words: “It is neither a bear nor a brown bear; Heaven is granting you a teacher.” On the hunt, he met Lü Wang, just as foretold. The Earl bowed to him, but Lü Wang kept fishing without stopping. The Earl bowed again. Lü Wang sat cross-legged and asked haughtily, “What brings you here?”

The Earl replied, “The government of the Yin dynasty is corrupt, and the people are suffering. I want to save them, and hope to find a worthy and capable person to help me.” Lü Wang said, “The Yin government is corrupt through its own doing, and the people suffer through their own circumstances. What does that have to do with you? Why have you come to trouble me?”

The Earl said, “A sage does not hide his abilities and use them only to cultivate himself. He must devote all his wisdom to benefiting the whole world. Is that not so?” Lü Wang replied, “Human beings, birds, beasts, and insects all live between Heaven and Earth, and all are formed from the same primal Qi. It is like the cities and houses throughout the world: they are all built within empty space. Even if every city and house were torn down, empty space would still be empty space. Even if every human, bird, beast, and insect were killed, primal Qi would still be primal Qi. How could the Yin dynasty harm all things? And how can it be said that the people are suffering?”

Lü Wang continued, “Even so, cities and houses need not all be torn down, and people who have already taken form need not all be killed. I am willing to save them.” He agreed to join the Earl and ride back with him.

Tai Dian and Hong Tian privately said to the Earl, “Gong Liu and Hou Ji accumulated De and performed good works, passing their achievements down through the generations. That is what made today’s royal enterprise possible. Your De has inherited that of your ancestors. Now the world is divided into three parts, and you hold two of them; your power is already considerable. Lü Wang is only a fisherman. Why treat him with such humility?”

The Earl replied, “The De of Wuwei can encompass Heaven and Earth. The De of purposeful action can create things and accomplish great deeds. When Xuanyuan and Taotang ruled as emperors, they went to Mount Kongtong to visit Guangchengzi and to Mount Ji to seek the counsel of Xu You, relying on the De of purposeful action, yet neither could gain so much as a glance from those men. My De is inferior even to that of Xuanyuan and Emperor Yao. How could I dare look down on the De of Wuwei?”

Tai Dian and Hong Tian said, “According to the king, Lü Wang already possesses the De of Wuwei. Why, then, is he willing to follow you and take part in purposeful action?” The Earl replied, “Heaven and Earth are inherently Wuwei, yet the sun, moon, and stars still move through day and night; rain, dew, frost, and snow still fall in autumn and winter; rivers continue to flow, and plants continue to grow. This is Wuwei. Through Wuwei, nothing is obstructed. Once one becomes caught up in deliberate action, one can no longer truly be without action.”

After hearing this, Lü Wang understood that the Earl truly cared for the people and was not merely seeking to seize the Yin dynasty’s realm. He finally agreed to help him establish the Zhou dynasty.

After King Wen of Zhou died, King Wu attacked King Zhou of Shang and overthrew the Shang dynasty. Boyi and Shuqi seized King Wu’s horse and admonished him: “Your father has only just died and has not yet been buried, yet you launch a great undertaking and mobilize the people. This is not filial. As subjects, you kill your ruler. This is not loyal or righteous.” Those around King Wu wanted to kill them, but King Wu considered them men of principle and let them go.

Later, Boyi and Shuqi withdrew to Mount Shouyang and called themselves “Masters of Shouyang.” Someone asked, “When all under Heaven originally followed their natural course, there was no distinction between ruler and subject. Later, people established the roles of ruler and subject to distinguish high from low. The so-called sages merely use their cleverness to deceive the ignorant. To use cleverness to deceive the ignorant is false. I have said these things to you before.”

“Within the false relationship between ruler and subject, the Shang dynasty was a realm called ‘False Yin’; within False Yin, there was a Shang king named ‘False Xin’—King Zhou. False Xin indulged in cruelty and violence to satisfy his false desires. Ji Fa, King Wu of Zhou, acted out of desire as well. To have desire is to be false: this is what it means to use falsehood to seize falsehood.”

“If people practiced Wuwei (non-action), they could remain simple and pure, following the principles of Heaven. What need would there be for such roles as father and son, ruler and subject? When people act upon things, cravings arise and disturb their nature. What difference is there, then, between filial and unfilial, loyal and disloyal?”

“Now you go against everything I have always said, using false words to provoke those wielding false force, hoping to win a reputation as ‘men of righteousness.’ To pursue an empty reputation with bones destined to decay is like trying to blow out a flame with the wind. It was fortunate for you that Ji Fa did not kill you. Even if he had killed you and you had gained the so-called name of righteousness, what good would it do your decaying bones?”

“If a dragon reveals its scales or a phoenix spreads its wings, fishermen and hunters will surely seize the chance to capture it. How tragic. I fear you are no longer my friends.”

Boyi and Shuqi then fled into Mount Shouyang, and no one ever learned what became of them. Later generations believed they starved to death.

Confucius organized the rites and music, explained the institutions of antiquity, revised the Book of Odes and the Book of Documents, and compiled the Spring and Autumn Annals. He hoped in this way to set human relationships in proper order and prevent rebellious ministers and treacherous subjects from stirring up disorder. He went to visit Lao Dan (Laozi), who said, “Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish. If you keep turning it over and fussing with it, the fish will fall apart.”

Since ancient times, when sages have created things and established institutions, they have often stirred people’s minds. When people’s minds depart from their natural character, they begin to harm their own lives and nature in all kinds of ways. Now you are adding elaborate ornamentation to stir people’s minds further. When the mind grows complicated, people become slack; slackness gives rise to deceit, and deceit makes the world still more chaotic. This is to damage one’s Heaven-given natural character while boasting of one’s own achievements—the so-called “destroying natural innocence and exalting oneself.” Calamities sent by Heaven will surely follow.

After hearing this, Confucius felt uneasy, yet he could not bring himself to stop his travels. Later, he was expelled from the state of Wei, someone cut down the tree beneath which he was traveling in the state of Song, he went hungry in the states of Chen and Cai, and he was surrounded at Kuang. He remained anxious throughout, barely able to escape. Confucius turned to Yan Hui and said, “Could it be that these are the very things Lao Dan was talking about?”

What Confucius Said, Part Four (of two parts)

When Confucius was trapped in Kuang, he kept playing the zither and singing for seven days. Zilu said, “I have heard that a gentleman who takes every precaution will not fall into sudden misfortune. The Master is a sage, yet he went hungry in Chen and is now besieged in Kuang. Why is this? Still, the Master plays and sings without the slightest look of worry. Does he have some way of dealing with this?”

Confucius said, “You, come here, and I will tell you. Right and wrong, crookedness and uprightness, depend on people; whether fortune flows smoothly or is blocked depends on the times. Even the sun and moon cannot avoid being eclipsed. Sages and the wisest of people cannot alter the fixed pattern by which fortune flows or is blocked. A gentleman can show benevolence to others, but cannot make them show benevolence in return. He can uphold what is right toward others, but cannot make them act rightly toward him. The people of Kuang have besieged me, but this is not my fault, and I cannot make them stop. Yet only my body can be besieged. I am in a state of indistinction, as though I had no body, sinking into an empty and profound stillness. I feel no emotion and so know no sorrow; I simply happen to be singing along with the zither.”

Before he had finished speaking, the people of Kuang lifted the siege and left.

Yuan Xian lived in a humble alley. Zizhen was then serving as an official in the state of Wei. Riding in a chariot drawn by four horses, with a train of carriages behind him, he went to visit Yuan Xian. Yuan Xian came out wearing tattered clothes. Zizhen asked, “Are you ill, sir?” Yuan Xian replied, “I have heard that failing to cultivate virtue and righteousness is called illness; lacking wealth is called poverty. I am merely poor, not ill.” Ashamed by these words, Zizhen never dared to see Yuan Xian again for the rest of his life.

When Confucius heard of this, he said, “Ci, you spoke wrongly. Those who are bound by outward appearances cannot keep their minds empty and still; those who cling to something in their hearts cannot keep their nature simple and unadulterated. When the mind is not empty and still, thought is unclear; when one’s nature is not simple and unadulterated, the heart is not true. Zizhen came close to arrogance and greed, while Yuan Xian came close to preserving his purity. Compared with one another, one is clear and the other muddied—what a great difference between them!”

After Fan Li helped King Goujian of Yue destroy Wu and kill Fuchai, he discussed the matter with the grandee Zhong. “I have heard that those who secretly scheme against others will eventually bring calamity upon themselves. The fall of Gusu and Fuchai’s death were the result of our plans. Moreover, King Goujian is a man with whom one can share hardships, but not a life of ease. Once your work is done and your name established, withdrawing from public life accords with the natural order. I intend to retire. Will you leave with me?”

Grandee Zhong said, “Heaven and Earth treat the myriad things this way: spring makes them grow, and winter makes them wither. Do the myriad things bring calamity upon Heaven and Earth in return because they wither in winter? I have heard that what a sage values is not preserving himself alone, but removing harm and bringing the myriad things to completion. So long as an action helps bring the myriad things to completion and remove harm, it is right to take it. Thus the Yellow Emperor killed Chiyou, and Emperor Shun eliminated the Four Malefactors. I have now put an end to Wu’s threat and established Yue’s supremacy. This, too, is bringing the myriad things to completion and removing harm. How could calamity come back upon me? Besides, because of our achievement in destroying Wu, the king is rewarding us generously. He will surely treat us well from now on, so there is no need to rush into retirement.”

Fan Li said, “That is not so. Heaven and Earth have no will and cannot govern themselves, much less govern the myriad things. Heaven and Earth are simply Heaven and Earth; the myriad things are simply the myriad things. In spring, things grow naturally because of the warmth; in winter, they wither naturally because of the cold. Heaven and Earth do not will it to happen. Though sages have intentions, they act by taking Heaven and Earth as their model. Heaven and Earth may have no will, yet they respond as things change: when a matter is urgent, they follow its course; once it has passed, they turn to adjustment. Removing harm and bringing the myriad things to completion involve neither hatred nor preference. So when harm is removed, no calamity follows, and when the myriad things are brought to completion, no blessing is gained in return.

“Now the king rewards us because he resents Wu. We covet his emoluments, so we devised a plan to destroy Wu for him. To count the killing of others as an achievement, and offer it in return to the person who rewards us, is simply human self-interest. To claim that we are following Heaven and Earth in giving life and taking it away, or the sage in removing harm and bringing things to completion—isn’t that deceiving ourselves?”

Grandee Zhong was unconvinced. Doubt filled his mind, and he could not make up his mind for a long time. Fan Li eventually took leave of Goujian and sailed in a small boat across the Five Lakes. Before long, Yue put Grandee Zhong to death.

The seventh chapter of “Song Yu Speaks.”

Qu Yuan served in Chu as the Grandee of the Three Clans. King Xiang of Chu was foolish and lacking in virtue. He favored and trusted the sycophant Jin Shang, and as a result the state of Chu was poorly governed. Qu Yuan was troubled by this and urged the king to dismiss Jin Shang, but King Xiang would not listen. Qu Yuan pressed his remonstrations, pointing out Jin Shang’s faults. Song Yu tried to dissuade him:

“A gentleman should turn his thoughts toward cultivating himself, not harshly judging others. He should keep his abilities in reserve rather than show them off before people. When the time comes, he responds; when a task arises, he does his best to handle it. He follows the circumstances without seeking private gain and helps the people without claiming credit. In this way, an upright person will not invite resentment, and resentment will have nowhere to gather.

“Now the king of Chu is blinded by sycophants and absorbed in disordered affairs of state. Everyone in Chu covets Jin Shang’s influence and follows along with him. Yet you, my lord, stand alone among them, carrying loyalty and faithfulness as you argue at the top of your voice. No one listens to you, and the state remains poorly governed. Instead, you make it seem that they are wrong and you are right. This will only bring you hatred and invite disaster.”

Qu Yuan said, “I have heard that a gentleman should be filial and loving toward his family at home, and loyal and trustworthy in office. If one’s ideals are realized, then even death is like life; if they cannot be realized, then even life is like death.”

Qu Yuan continued remonstrating without pause. Jin Shang grew resentful of him and slandered him before the king of Chu, so Qu Yuan was exiled. He wandered along the banks of the Xiang River, singing in sorrow. Song Yu tried to counsel him again:

“When you stood alone among so many sycophants, carrying loyalty and faithfulness as you argued, I worried for you and urged you to stop. You refused to listen. Why are you grieving now? Is it because you cannot bear to part with your office and stipend, or because you still long for the land of Chu?”

Qu Yuan said, “No. I grieve because people who are loyal and faithful are not appointed, and the state of Chu is poorly governed.”

Song Yu said, “At first, my lord believed that filial devotion, fraternal respect, loyalty, and faithfulness were worth upholding even at the cost of one’s life. Why, then, grieve now? Besides, your appearance and body are not under your own control. Beauty cannot make ugliness beautiful, nor can ugliness make beauty ugly. The tall cannot become short, nor the short become tall. The strong cannot become weak, nor the weak become strong. Illness cannot drive death away, and death cannot be kept at bay. Your body seems to be ‘yours,’ yet it is not entirely yours to command. If even your own body is beyond your full control, you are far too attached to the idea that the state of Chu should be governed according to your own views.

“A gentleman makes his home in the world with an open mind, responding to the myriad things without clinging to right and wrong, truth and falsehood, good and evil, or merit and blame. When the mind is empty, it does not impose guilt even on Jie, Zhou, Jiao, or Zhi—legendary tyrants and bandits. When the mind holds fast to something, it does not credit even Yao, Shun, Gaoyao, or Xie, sages of antiquity, with merit. If that is so, by what standard can you judge your own loyalty and faithfulness, or Jin Shang’s wickedness and sycophancy, and decide who is right and who is wrong? If you make no distinctions, then loyalty and sycophancy are indistinguishable; if you do make distinctions, that very act of distinguishing is delusion. You have turned away from what is genuine and pursued delusion, clinging to yourself and guarding against others. Even if the king of Chu had not exiled you, you would already have exiled yourself.

“You sought loyalty and faithfulness, and attained them, yet you still grieve over them and cannot let go. In doing so, you cling even to your own delusions. I have heard that those who understand the times respond in accordance with measure; those who hold to measure cling rigidly to distinctions; and those who lose measure grieve over distinctions. To keep an open mind and stay free of contrived action is to understand measure. To cling inwardly and judge right from wrong is to hold to measure. To fail to obtain the outcome one insists upon, and then grieve over it, is to lose measure.”

Qu Yuan never came to understand. In the end, he threw himself into the Miluo River and died.

Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, doted on Lady Qi and wanted to replace the crown prince, Liu Ying, with her son, the King of Zhao, Liu Ruyi. The ministers could not dissuade him. Empress Lü was troubled by this and sought advice from the Marquis of Liu, Zhang Liang.

Zhang Liang said, “Only people of extraordinary character can accomplish extraordinary things. I have heard that four worthy men live in seclusion in the Shangluo Mountains: Xia Huangong, Master Luli, Dongyuan Gong, and Qili Ji. The emperor once summoned them, but could not persuade them to come. If the crown prince now humbles himself and seeks them out, they may come. If he is willing to receive them with the courtesy due to guests, they can become a powerful support for him.”

Empress Lü followed Zhang Liang’s plan and sent Lü Ze to invite the four men. At first, they felt insulted. Later, they discussed it among themselves: “Liu Bang is broad-minded and knows how to show us respect. When he came to seek us, we refused; he was only left feeling ashamed himself. Lü Zhi is a woman, and her nature is severe and cruel. If her son Liu Ying cannot succeed to the throne, she will surely be in danger. When that happens, she will come to us for help, and whether she escapes danger will depend on us. If we refuse to go, she will certainly take her anger out on us. We may as well agree for now.”

The four men then came to court and accompanied the crown prince to pay a visit to Liu Bang. When Liu Bang saw them, he asked their names. Each gave his title. Liu Bang exclaimed in surprise, “I once asked you to come out of retirement, but you refused. Why are you now willing to follow the crown prince?” The four replied, “Your Majesty treats people arrogantly, so we would not accept such humiliation on principle. The crown prince respects others, so we are willing to accompany him as guests.”

Liu Bang apologized to them, then pointed to the four men and said to Lady Qi, “The crown prince’s wings have grown strong. He can no longer be dislodged.” Empress Lü was grateful to the four men and planned to grant them high office and generous titles. But they discussed it among themselves: “We came to escape disaster; we did not do so willingly. If Liu Ying succeeds to the throne, Liu Ruyi will be deposed. If Lü Zhi gains power, Lady Qi will lose her life. Out of fear, we are supporting Liu Ying, frustrating Liu Ruyi, and making Empress Lü happy while Lady Qi grieves. That means sacrificing others to preserve ourselves; surely this cannot count as giving ourselves up for benevolence. Besides, we would have to swallow our shame, accept titles bestowed by a woman, and serve in the court. How is that any different from thieves breaking into someone’s home at night, stealing gold, and then showing off their wealth?”

So the four men returned to their retreat in the Shang Mountains. Empress Lü could not persuade them to stay. Zhang Liang also understood their meaning, stopped involving himself in affairs of state, and withdrew after giving up food.

“Yanling’s Discourse,” Chapter Nine: Yanling’s discussion is presented as the ninth chapter.

Before Emperor Guangwu (Liu Xiu) ascended the throne, he and Yan Ling (Yan Guang) had been friends as commoners. Later, after Emperor Guangwu became emperor, Yan Ling was fishing at Fuchun Shoal. Remembering their friendship and respecting Yan Ling’s virtue, the emperor went in person to invite him to serve. Yan Ling refused. The emperor said, “You and I are friends. Now I am honored as Son of Heaven, while you are still fishing. I am ashamed on your behalf. I have offices and titles that can make you eminent, and gold and jade that can make you wealthy and raise you above the common people. Every move you make could shake mountains; a single command could summon clouds and rain. You could bring glory to your family and have your descendants inherit the ranks of dukes and marquises. You could live in splendid palaces, ride in lavishly adorned carriages, wear fine clothes, eat precious foods, and enjoy bells, drums, singing, dancing, and feasts. You could savor a lifetime of splendor and leave a name that endures for generations. Can that really be compared with fishing all day in obscurity? Come with me.”

Yan Ling smiled and replied, “When we first became friends, you were firm in your purpose and content with poverty and low status. You seemed to have something admirable about you. Now you actually use such things to show off and beguile people. Since ancient times, the world beneath the four seas has been called vast. Divide it into ten parts: mountains and seas take up half, the lands of the Man, Yi, Rong, and Di peoples take up three parts, and the Central States only one or two. Even within the Central States, betrayal, oppression, conquest, and war have never ceased. The so-called dignity of the Son of Heaven amounts to esteeming yourself within one or two parts of the world and wielding the power of life and death according to your own anger and pleasure. It means choosing land within that small domain to expand palaces, gathering silk and precious treasures to adorn carriages, slaughtering cattle and sheep and growing grain to provide sumptuous meals, and selecting beauties and striking instruments to gratify the eyes and ears. Before desires are satisfied, a person grows old and dies. The body’s flesh is left to ants; its decaying bones are buried in the earth. The Son of Heaven is no different from an ordinary man or woman. Where, then, does this so-called imperial dignity lie?

“You say that offices and titles will make me eminent. I understand what you mean. Since ancient times, names such as emperor, duke, marquis, and minister have been imposed by sages to distinguish high from low and entice the foolish to pursue them. You are now an emperor, but once you were a commoner. Even if people honor you by calling you emperor, what has changed in you from before? You are using a title to tempt me, so that you can enjoy boasting about it. Now you want to tempt me with names like duke, marquis, and minister. Do you take me for a fool? Anyone can give himself such titles. If I liked them, I could call myself a duke, marquis, or minister. Why should I wait for you to bestow a name? Perhaps you will say that office and rank can make a person wealthy and honored. But these are merely imposed titles. The substance of wealth and honor lies in what one actually possesses. If it is not within oneself, where can wealth and honor come from?

“What are office, rank, wealth, and honor, really? They mean wearing a tall hat and jade ornaments, being surrounded by attendants, moving into a great mansion, putting on fine clothes, tiring of string music, and growing weary of rich foods. These are merely pleasures you use to tempt me. Carriages and horses are only for getting from place to place; a fine steed is no different in essence from an ordinary borrowed horse. A house is only for shelter from wind and rain; a painted mansion serves the same purpose as a thatched hut. Clothes merely cover the body; silk is no different from coarse cloth. Grain only relieves hunger; rich dishes are no different from plain food. What is more, I immerse myself in the Great Void, drawing in the Great Harmony, the balanced Qi of Heaven and Earth. I neither move nor remain still without reason, and I am one with Yin-Yang. Now I have even forgotten my own surname. I let my comings and goings follow nature, holding my fishing rod and lowering my line, at ease as though I were only a guest in this world. Why would I bind my body, burden my spirit, covet empty titles, or indulge deluded desires?

“Besides, what difference is there between Wang Mang and Emperor Gengshi possessing the realm and you possessing it? All of you merely want to be the person whom the Central States revere. Are you truly concerned for the realm? You wage war without end and kill the people, taking countless lives merely to satisfy your own desires. A benevolent person cannot bear to speak of such things, yet you feel no shame about them. Instead, you say that I should be ashamed of fishing?”

After hearing this, Emperor Guangwu came to his senses and never again dared to treat Yan Ling as a subject.

Ji Kang went to visit Sun Deng on Mount Sumen and said, “I have heard that the brief life of a mayfly cannot compare with a tortoise’s longevity, and that sparrows cannot be compared with wild geese. I know that my nature is shallow and fear I cannot grasp true instruction. But the sun and moon shine on all things—could their light be limited to some and withheld from others? Even barren ground beside a broad public road receives rain and dew, without distinction between orchids and fragrant herbs, mugwort and wormwood. In addition to cultivating yourself and settling your nature and life, I hope you will guide me too, so that I may rise beyond the limits of a finite life and roam in a boundless realm.”

Sun Deng was silent for a long time before replying: “In that deep, distant, undifferentiated vastness, there is something subtle, yet we cannot say it is what people ordinarily call essence. There is a wondrous functioning within it, yet we cannot say it is what people ordinarily call spirit. Essence and spirit are real, yet cannot be separated; try to hold them fast, and there is nothing to hold. What does it mean to settle one’s nature and life? What does it mean to cultivate oneself? What is finite, and what is boundless? And yet, within emptiness there is an unceasing movement, entering and departing without a trace: this is the root of Heaven and Earth. Those who understand it are free and open; those who attain it are exalted. What you have said has not yet reached its threshold.

“I once heard Lao Dan say: ‘A skilled merchant stores his goods deep away, as though he had nothing; a virtuous gentleman is modest in appearance, seeming almost foolish.’ What is more, clams are split open for their pearls, elephants are burned and killed for their tusks, orchids are picked and distilled for their fragrance, and kingfishers are harmed for the patterns in their feathers. Everyone knows these things. You have brilliant literary talent, but lack the art of concealing your intentions. You are like someone holding a blazing torch whose light shines across the sky, inviting people’s dislike.

“I once read your Letter Severing Ties to Shan Juyuan. Your claims of ‘two great impossibilities’ and ‘seven intolerable things’ mostly amount to praising yourself and blaming others—the very thing people of our time dislike. Someone whose heart is empty and still does not find the court or marketplace noisy; someone whose heart is troubled by desire cannot find peace even in a mountain valley. Serving as an official need not change your nature, and living in seclusion may not harmonize your mind. If office becomes a burden, then simply do not serve. Yet you also cut yourself off from others and add words that praise yourself and blame them, chattering endlessly in the world of dust while seeking long life. This is like hating your shadow while running beneath the sun. How could someone like that be fit to hear my instruction?”

After hearing this, Ji Kang suddenly understood. Later, as it happened, he died by execution.

Wunengzi, Volume Two

Reply to Tong’s First Question

Wunengzi’s nephew was poor and often went hungry and cold. Lamenting his lot, he came to see his uncle. One day Tong said to Wunengzi, “I have gone hungry and cold, sighing with worry, for many years. At night, I often dream that I become an official, ride in a splendid carriage with fine horses, and possess gold, silver, and other valuables. In the dream I am happy, but when I wake I feel sorrowful. How can I attain the life I have in my dreams?”

Wunengzi said, “You are sorrowful by day and happy by night. These are really the same. Why insist on exchanging them?”

Tong said, “My happiness at night exists only in a dream.”

Wunengzi said, “In a dream, you live in a house, ride in carriages, wear clothes, eat and drink, are close to your wife and children, and hate your enemies. You also feel sorrow, happiness, joy, and anger. How is that different from what you think, do, and possess when awake?”

Tong replied, “There is no difference.”

Wunengzi said, “If there is no difference, how do you know that what happens in a dream is a dream, while what happens when you are awake is not? Besides, a person’s life lasts a hundred years, half of which is spent in the day and half at night. Sorrow and happiness, too, each take up half. What is there to complain about?

“If you can rest in emptiness and stillness and keep to what is constant, lords and kings cannot make you more honored, nor can servants make you more lowly. Gold, jade, possessions, children, and wives cannot make you wealthier; coarse food and worn clothes cannot make you poorer. Then sorrow and happiness will have no way to arise. A person’s feelings are stirred and bound to the body because they are influenced by external things. And what are external things? They are precisely what people use to pursue wealth and rank. Both the body and external things lead to decay. When feelings are stirred by them, sorrow and happiness shift without end. To bind a body destined to decay with feelings that never stay the same is to be dreaming even while awake; a hundred years are like a single night.

“If you can rest in emptiness and stillness and keep to what is constant, neither hunger and cold nor wealth and rank will sway you. But if your feelings are stirred and bound to the body, then day or night, awake or asleep, you are always as if in a dream. Think this over carefully.”

Reply to Huayangzi’s Second Question

Huayangzi, a companion of Wunengzi in bodily form, was urged by people who knew him well to enter government service. Unsure what to do, Huayangzi asked Wunengzi, “I have wanted to learn to be without a mind for a long time. But taking office would go against my nature; if I refuse, I fear disappointing those who know me. What should I do?”

Wunengzi replied, “Being without a mind is not something you can achieve through deliberate study. Your doubts about whether to take office show that your thoughts are too deeply entangled. It is like seeing a blind man about to fall into a pit and standing at its edge to teach him how to walk.

“One who practices Wuwei (non-action without attachment to deliberate activity) can do anything; one who acts with intention, attached to personal aims, cannot do certain things. Thus the truest people accord with the constant Dao, and the most impartial approach Wuwei, because they have no private desires and harbor no selfish intentions.

“To wish in your heart to be a fisherman, woodcutter, farmer, or herdsman is to have a mind; not to wish to be an emperor, a rider in the imperial chariot, or a marquis is to be without a mind. So the sage withdraws when it is time to withdraw and acts when it is time to act. If they find peace in cultivating their own person, they approach Wuwei, because they have no private desires and harbor no selfish intentions.

“When circumstances favor cultivating their own person, Xu You and Shanjuan are not ashamed to live as commoners. When circumstances favor benefiting all under Heaven, Yao and Shun do not refuse to become Son of Heaven. Their freedom from intention is the same. While Yao and Shun held the throne, they did not value its dignity above their own person. They therefore did not labor deliberately, yet the realm was well governed. When Yao’s son Danzhu and Shun’s son Shangjun proved unworthy, they passed the realm to Shun and Yu, casting off their own sons as if removing growths from their bodies and relinquishing the realm as if spitting out saliva. For this reason, people still remember them after ten thousand generations.

“Zhou Gong was the son of King Wen and younger brother of King Wu, and his virtue was known throughout the realm. Because King Cheng was young, circumstances did not suit Zhou Gong becoming Son of Heaven, so he did not take the throne. Because King Cheng needed someone to assist in governing, circumstances suited Zhou Gong serving as regent, and he did not refuse. In this way he preserved the Zhou ancestral rites and brought peace to the people of Zhou. His achievement was so great, and his virtue remained unimpaired. These people sought nothing for themselves, and so they could do anything.

“If you understand this, you could drive dogs through a slaughterhouse or seize flags and kill generals on a battlefield. How much easier, then, to take office?”

Answering Zhongzi’s Question, Part Three

Wunengzi’s companion in mind, Yuzhongzi, was troubled and asked Wunengzi for a remedy for his distress. Wunengzi replied, “You could drive dogs through a slaughterhouse or seize flags and kill generals on a battlefield. How much easier, then, to take office?”

Wunengzi’s friend Yuzhongzi felt unwell and asked him for medicine. Wunengzi asked, “What illness do you have?” Yuzhongzi replied, “Pain.” “Where does it hurt?” “In my heart.” Wunengzi asked again, “Where is your heart?” Yuzhongzi then told him that he was already feeling better. Wunengzi said, “This man may be said to have understood his innate true nature; the clear awareness within his heart has not been obscured.”

On Fish, Fourth

In the river there is a place called Dragon Gate, located in the ancient land of Jin. It is said that Yu the Great carved it out. The river plunges down from a height of several dozen ren, roaring like thunder. A day’s journey downstream from Dragon Gate, many large fish gather each spring and strive to swim upstream. Those that leap over Dragon Gate transform into dragons, riding the clouds and bringing rain.

The little fish by the river watched them and talked among themselves: “They were once only fish, yet with a single leap they can transform into dragons. How could they be like us, swimming back and forth along the bank and hiding in caves?” One of them said, “Your thinking is confused. Between Heaven and Earth, all things take different forms, each suited to its own size. When each follows its own form and rests content in its proper place, all are as they should be.

“Those fish that leap over Dragon Gate and transform are swept along and startled when the river runs swift, and move gently with it when the waters are calm. They adapt to circumstances, rising and sinking in peace. When the time comes for them to transform, they gather and swim upstream against the current, striking the waterfall and straining with all their might. Only after their strength is spent do they raise clouds and bring rain. Clouds and rain form when vaporous, nourishing Qi responds and gathers together. What has that fish itself to do with it? If it sets out deliberately to raise clouds and bring rain, it may instead fall back down. If it responds naturally, without intention, what credit can it claim?

“The horns on its head and the feet beneath it are no different in principle from our fins and crests. Can its fins and crests hold it back? Its horns and feet let it leap, but that is only because it follows its own capacities. Is it really better to gain horns and feet, ride the clouds, and bring rain, while enduring toil and hardship, than to live at ease by the river, with no need to struggle or hide, unknown to others and safe from harm?”

On the Zhen Bird, Fifth

A venomous bird, which the ancients believed had poison in its feathers and body, encountered a snake and moved in to peck at it. The snake said, “People say you are poisonous. ‘Poisonous’ is a bad name. You bear this bad name because you eat me. If you did not eat me, you would not be poisonous, and you would have no bad name.”

The bird laughed and said, “Are you not poisonous to people? You say I am poisonous to deceive them. You harm people because you deliberately bite them. I hate your biting, so I eat you to punish you. People keep me to guard against you because they know I can punish you. They also know that your poison contaminates my feathers and body, so they use my poison to kill people. What is called my poison is really your poison. I hate you, yet I bear the name.

“Still, it is people who kill, just as people kill with weapons. Should we blame the weapon, or the person? Clearly, the poison is not mine. The reason people keep me and not you is just as clear. I have no intention of harming people. I earned this name only because I hate wickedness, and people have put me to use. That is how I preserve myself. If I preserve my life while willingly bearing a bad name, then it cannot really be called a bad name.

“You harbor malice. In the grass, you watch viciously for a chance to bite people, taking pleasure in it. Now you have met me because Heaven decreed it. Do you still hope to escape through sophistry?”

The snake had no answer, so the bird ate it.

Even birds, beasts, and insects should not harbor the intention to harm people. How much less should people do so?

Answers to Lu’s Questions, Chapter Six (Two Parts in All)

Wunengzi studied with his father’s younger brother, Lu. Wunengzi asked, “What do you want to study?” Lu replied, “I want to study conduct and writing.”

Wunengzi (a figure in the text) sought instruction from Lu, his younger uncle. Lu asked, “What should I study?” Wunengzi replied, “Learn how to conduct yourself and how to write.” Wunengzi continued, “I do not know how to conduct myself or compose prose. But once, by chance, I read in an old book what it said about the sages: to conduct oneself is to act in accordance with what one’s heart considers good. Ritual is form, used to adorn good conduct. Mourning ritual takes grief as its foundation. Grief is a real feeling; wearing coarse mourning clothes and preparing offerings are ritual forms. Ritual takes reverence as its foundation. Reverence is an inner attitude; advancing and retreating, ascending and descending, bowing with joined hands, and yielding to others are ritual forms. Music takes harmony as its foundation. Harmony is an inner feeling; earthenware and gourd instruments, strings, and bamboo pipes are its outward forms.

“Ritual forms arise from conduct, conduct arises from the heart, and the heart arises from nature. Once the heart loses its naturalness, contrived thoughts emerge. As such thoughts multiply, conduct becomes shallow; when conduct is shallow, ritual forms grow elaborate. Elaborate forms easily become false, and this leads to disorder, which even the sages can no longer set right. Grasp the root, and you need not chase after details; focus on the source, and you need not pursue its tributaries. If you can use a mind free of intention to accord with all things and return yourself to nature, then even before the sages appeared, above the Mysterious Heaven—the Daoist realm of profound mystery—conduct and ritual were already contained in unselfconscious naturalness. There is no need to study them deliberately.”

Another day, Lu asked, “I often worry over things I have not yet obtained, and grieve over things that have already passed. When I drink until pleasantly intoxicated, I feel at ease and forget myself, losing track of what day it is. But now I cannot stop thinking about wine.” Wunengzi asked, “Do your worry and grief come from your body or from your heart?” Lu said, “From my heart.” Wunengzi asked, “Can you see the heart?” Lu replied, “No.” Wunengzi said, “If it cannot be seen, where can worry and grief reside? If they have nowhere to reside, even if you obtained what you lack or returned to the past, to whom could you give them? You now follow after worry and grief and sink into them, like someone trying to tether the wind or grasp a shadow. Worry and grief have nowhere to reside, yet you keep dwelling on the pleasure of drinking and cannot find contentment in yourself; instead, you sink into wine. Are you a wine vessel?”

Chapter Seven “Recorded Encounters,” Chapter Eight (three pieces)

At a market in the Qin state, there was an illusionist who could put his hands and feet into a pot of boiling oil without being harmed, all the while smiling. Wunengzi summoned him and questioned him. The illusionist said, “I learned a technique from my master that can protect me from the heat of fire. But the incantation…”

At a market in the state of Qin, there was a magician who could boil oil in a pot until it was bubbling fiercely, then put his hands and feet into it without being scalded, all the while smiling. Wunengzi summoned him and asked how he did it. The magician said, “I learned this art from my master. It lets me withstand the heat of blazing fire. But the instruction is this: watch the oil boiling vigorously in the pot, first forget your body, and think of your hands and feet as withered branches. Forget that your hands and feet are like withered branches before performing the art. If fear enters your heart, the art will fail.” Wunengzi turned to his disciples and said, “Remember: if someone no longer clings to his own body, even a magician can enter a pot of boiling oil without being harmed. How much more so for a person of high Dao and De?”

Wunengzi was staying with a family named Jing in a village in Qin. One night, an owl called from a tree. The head of the Jing household looked deeply worried and prepared to shoot it. Wunengzi stopped him. The man said, “Owls are ill-omened birds. When disaster is about to befall a household, they come and call. If we kill it, perhaps we can avert the disaster.”

Wunengzi said, “If disaster befalls a household because an owl calls, is that the owl’s fault? An owl may be able to foretell disaster, but killing it cannot undo a calamity that has already occurred. When it calls before disaster strikes, is it not faithfully warning people in advance? Besides, those who think of themselves as human beings, like beasts and birds, are all born from the impartial primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth. Humans and animals have different forms only because the Qi they receive differs in clarity and density; their forms arise naturally, not because some ruler assigns them according to likes and dislikes. Who made the owl responsible for disaster? Who decided that owls are ill-omened? Was it Heaven and Earth, or the owl itself? Heaven and Earth do not speak, and the owl does not speak either. Why, then, insist that it is ill-omened?

“Since we do not know where the name ‘ill-omened’ came from, a bird with five-colored feathers called a phoenix does not necessarily bring good fortune, and an owl does not necessarily bring calamity.” The head of the Jing household therefore did not kill it, and no disaster later befell the family.

In the Fan family, there was a handsome man, thirty years of age. Sometimes he would let his hair hang loose and stride off at a rapid pace; at other times he would sit upright all day without saying a word. When he did speak, he would call a sheep a horse and a mountain a river. He gave things all kinds of names, often departing from the customary terms people used. His family and neighbors all thought he was mad, but they did not punish him for it.

I, Wunengzi, also thought he was mad. One day, I met him in a place thick with trees and grass. As I came closer, I sighed and said, “You are in the prime of life, and strong in build too. It is a pity you have become so ill.”

The man replied slowly, “I am not ill.”

Surprised, I said, “You do not observe the rules for dress and headgear, your conduct has no regular pattern, you give all things the wrong names, and you have forgotten the customs of your home village. That is madness. How can you say you are not ill?”

The man said, “Were wearing proper headgear and clothes, behaving according to the rules, caring for one’s family, and respecting one’s neighbors things I was born knowing? Long ago, someone made them up out of thin air, then adorned them with rules of ritual, and people kept learning and following them until the present day. Later, people brewed plain, mild wine until it was strong, and made strong wine the standard. Those who understand how this came about and wish to restore things as they were are instead called ignorant and even branded mad.

“Are the names of all things fixed by nature, either? What is clear and above is called ‘Heaven’; what is yellow and below, ‘Earth.’ What lights the day is called the ‘Sun’; what lights the night, the ‘Moon.’ As for wind, clouds, rain, and dew; mist, frost, and snow; mountains, rivers, and seas; plants and animals; the lands of Hua Xia and the distant regions; emperors, kings, dukes, and lords; scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants; servants, bondmen, and maids; right and wrong, good and evil, crookedness and uprightness, honor and disgrace—all these names were imposed on things by the ancients. People have used them for so long that they have forgotten the names were made by human beings in the first place, and now treat them as unchangeable.

“If those who first established the names had called what is clear and above ‘Earth,’ and what is yellow and below ‘Heaven’; what lights the day ‘Moon,’ and what lights the night ‘Sun,’ people today would still use those names in the same way. Names are made by people, and I am a person too. What gives them the right to impose names on things, while others are forbidden to do so? So I may choose how I dress and behave, and I may name all things as I please. As for whether I am truly mad, I cannot say for certain myself. It is no wonder that those who do not understand this take me for a madman.”

Sharp weapons are used to kill people; nets are used to capture birds, beasts, insects, and fish. Once the sages had made these things, people could kill one another and capture birds, beasts, fish, and insects. After people learned what could be killed and what could be captured, the sages established crimes for killing and prohibitions to protect mountains, forests, lakes, and marshes. When the age declined, people could no longer even preserve the bonds between fathers and sons, or brothers, let alone care for birds, beasts, fish, insects, young deer, and large fish. Laws and decrees grew ever more numerous, yet they still could not prevent killing and hunting, because weapons and nets were themselves teaching people to do these things. How could those who made them expect such practices to stop on their own?

Coffins and outer coffins certainly help bury the dead, but their makers do not do so out of a desire to help the dead. Driven by the wish for profit, they hope to sell coffins every day. They hope that someone will die, not because they resent the dead, but because profit drives them. Physicians hope that patients will recover quickly after falling ill. They do not simply take pleasure in saving people, nor do they act to make patients grateful to them; they too are driven by profit. Both coffin makers and physicians intend to help the dead or treat the sick, yet both also hope that someone will die or someone will live. This comes neither from hatred nor from care, but simply from the fulfillment of their own desires. Thus, truly Wuwei (non-action) in its benevolence toward all under Heaven does not depend on coffin makers and physicians seeking profit from burying the dead or curing the sick.

Animals butt with their horns and kick with their hooves, each relying on its own strengths to survive. They have no preferences or aversions; they simply follow their natural instincts. Once you understand their strengths, you can use them to guard against and subdue them. Therefore, having a particular skill is not as good as having no such skill.

The creature that eats mulberry leaves and spins silk around itself is called a silkworm. After wrapping itself in silk, it becomes a cocoon; hidden inside, it transforms, grows wings, and becomes a moth. It does this by nature, just as beasts carry young in the womb and birds lay eggs; it is not something it chooses. Clever people discovered that silkworm silk could be drawn into thread, and thread woven into cloth. They boiled the cocoons, reeled off the silk, and wove it on looms into cloth, which they then made into clothing. The silkworm’s purpose was to become a moth, not to provide people with fabric; still less was it willing to be boiled. It is boiled because it is caught up in its silk. Those who boil silkworms do not hate them either; they are drawn on by profit. The young of beasts, birds’ eggs, and silkworm cocoons all come about by nature. The silkworm alone is born to spin silk, and silk inevitably brings the boiling of cocoons to obtain thread—this seems like a misfortune. Such misfortune appears to be ordained by fate. So why should a person who practices Wuwei consider it either fortune or misfortune? What difference does it make?

When one acts, doing good does not necessarily bring blessings, and doing evil does not necessarily bring calamity. Perhaps this is determined by each person’s allotted fate. Thus, the sage values Wuwei (non-action), following nature without imposing contrived action. Ants live in mounds, and frogs are confined to wells; each seems to have its own allotted fate. A person who practices Wuwei neither expects good fortune nor worries about misfortune. What, then, is there to calculate about fate?

When one acts, doing good does not necessarily bring blessings, and doing evil does not necessarily bring calamity. Perhaps this is determined by one’s allotted fate. Thus, the sage values Wuwei. If you told ants in a mound or frogs in a well about mountain forests where tigers and leopards roam, or oceans where whales dwell, they would surely be bewildered, for they know only what lies before their eyes. In the same way, those absorbed in desires and worldly affairs will be confused if told the principle of Wuwei, because they have long grown accustomed to their old way of life.

Therefore, a father cannot pass the principle of Wuwei on to his son, nor can an elder brother pass it on to his younger brother. People remain absorbed in desires until they die. When they return to their origin—the original state of life—not one person in the world can truly understand. Alas, Wuwei lies within oneself, and so do desires: with Wuwei, the mind is tranquil; immersed in desires, one becomes restless and uneasy. Tranquility brings joy, while restlessness brings sorrow. Ordinary people are deluded and never grasp the principle of Wuwei because habit binds them; those who understand it depart from their old habits.

Chapters Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen [missing]

Wunengzi, Lower Volume