《沖虛至德真經四解》Vol. 17

This passage from the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing Sijie discusses the philosophy of Yang Zhu (a Warring States period thinker) with the following key interpretations:

Yang Zhu believed that life is merely a temporary gathering of Qi (vital energy), and all things only temporarily possess spiritual awareness (Shen). Such temporary gatherings inevitably disperse, and spiritual awareness ultimately returns to emptiness. Seeking comfort and avoiding hardship are the innate tendencies of all beings, so what humans pursue in life amounts to nothing more than fine food, elegant clothing, and sensual pleasures. However, if one fails to follow these innate tendencies and satisfy sensory desires—instead restraining oneself with benevolence and righteousness (Ren-Yi), binding behavior with rituals and music—suppressing one's nature while alive merely to leave a reputation after death—this demonstrates a failure to understand life's true meaning.

Different scholars offer varying interpretations of Yang Zhu's thought: Lu Zhongxuan argued that gentlemen pursue fame while petty people chase profit, but both are obsessions of worldly individuals. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) perform good deeds without seeking reputation and avoid evil without violating laws, neither following the crowd. Seeking fame against moral principles or indulging desires both represent deviations from the Middle Way.

The Zhenghe school observed that in eras without sage-kings, various doctrines proliferated in confusion. Lie Yukou (i.e., Liezi) recognized how partial theories could blind people, hence he wrote to refute them. Fan Yingyuan maintained that some people disrupt their fundamental nature through cunning schemes, while others damage life by suppressing innate tendencies—both approaches stray from the Middle Way. The Liming chapter emphasizes following heavenly mandate, while the Yang Zhu chapter advocates indulging innate nature—seemingly contradictory yet actually complementary.

The text then records a dialogue between Yang Zhu and the Meng family of Lu: Meng asked why people pursue fame. Yang Zhu replied that fame is sought for wealth, wealth for status, status for posthumous considerations, and these in turn for descendants' welfare. This exchange reveals worldly people's obsessive pursuit of fame, profit, and social position.

Those who endlessly pursue worldly achievements find their desires perpetually unsatisfied. What benefit does fame truly bring to one's descendants? The pursuit of reputation only exhausts both body and mind.

Fame is something obtained by disguising truth, attracting substance through falsehood, and forcibly seeking what contradicts one's innate nature. Such deliberate striving inevitably plunges people into the torment of anxious toil. Those who rely on fame may extend their influence to benefit their clan and community—how much more so their own descendants?

Fan Yingyuan (a Song Dynasty Daoist) remarked: Fame is like public property—one should not claim too much of it. Those who harm life, injure their true nature, or even martyr themselves for reputation are precisely whom the Daoist sages deeply pity. Yet with fame comes honor, while obscurity brings humiliation; to die without being remembered is despised by noble-minded people. Thus they seek wealth in life and leave reputations for posterity—proof that fame is indeed difficult to wholly relinquish.

Those who chase fame must appear incorruptible, and incorruptibility leads to poverty; they must feign humility, and humility brings low status. This is meant to counsel contentment. Yet some maintain reputations for integrity and modesty while remaining poor—this occurs when they practice virtue without seeking profit.

Lu Zhongxuan (a Tang Dynasty Daoist) observed: Human life revolves around chasing fame and profit. The sages regarded these as equally illusory—thus petty men die for gain, while gentlemen perish for reputation, all equally ensnared. Though good and evil differ, both arise from desire. Those who succeed in gaining fame don't merely secure personal wealth—they glorify descendants and benefit communities. Even those who cultivate poverty and humility still harbor expectations and emotional attachments, all deviations from the Middle Way.

Consider Guan Zhong assisting the state of Qi: when the ruler indulged, he indulged; when the ruler extravagance, he extravagance—never claiming virtue's praise nor vice's blame. Ruler and minister shared purpose, achieving Qi's hegemony. Yet after his death, Guan Zhong's fame extended no further than himself.

Lu Zhongxuan's commentary: The benefits of true fame prove limited.

Then observe the Tian clan's governance of Qi: when the ruler hoarded, they distributed; when the ruler prospered, they withdrew—shifting all blame to the sovereign. The people flocked to them, until they seized the state, their descendants ruling to this day.

Lu Zhongxuan's commentary: The advantages of false fame run deep.

True reputation brings poverty; false reputation brings wealth. Virtue practiced without seeking fame creates genuine renown; reputation pursued for profit yet undetected creates artifice. Only the artifice gains substantial benefit.

Thus it is said: What is real needs no fame; what has fame often lacks reality. Fame is but a tool for disguise—without disguise, profit cannot be attracted.

Lu Chongxuan (note: a Daoist thinker) remarks: Those who genuinely dedicate themselves to practical work seldom seek fame, while those who deliberately pursue reputation often lack true substance. Thus, when one refrains from forced display, genuine benefit naturally manifests without ostentation.

In ancient times, Yao and Shun ostensibly yielded the throne to Xu You and Shan Juan (note: legendary recluses), yet in reality, they never truly relinquished power. Instead, they retained rulership and enjoyed centuries of governance. This "feigned abdication" arose from situational necessity—though their actions appeared artificial on the surface, the sages' (Yao and Shun) intentions were never deceitful.

In contrast, Bo Yi and Shu Qi (note: virtuous figures of the late Shang dynasty) sincerely relinquished their claim to the throne of Guzhu, only to witness their state's collapse and perish from starvation on Mount Shouyang. The distinction between truth and falsehood, substance and emptiness, becomes strikingly clear here.

Lu Chongxuan elaborates: Fame-seekers chase hollow reputation without substance, while truth-seekers devote themselves to real work, forgetting fame altogether. The contrast between Yao-Shun and Bo Yi-Shu Qi vividly illustrates the divergent manifestations of authenticity and artifice—is this not easily discernible? If worldly people were not ensnared by fame and profit, losing their innate genuineness, they would not drown in desires and forget the Dao (the Way). The world has few virtuous individuals but many who lack virtue; those indifferent to fame are rare, while those chasing desires are legion. Even the wise find this predicament irremediable, for all have strayed from the Middle Way.

Zhenghe Zhenren (note: a Daoist figure) observes: Sages never seek fame, yet people spontaneously bestow it upon them—such reputation is earned by true merit. Worthies, however, deliberately pursue fame, often gaining renown beyond their actual worth. Ancient sages feared fame as a burden, yet once attained, distinguishing truth from falsehood becomes difficult. Thus, some gain fame through authenticity, others through pretense; some authentic are mistaken as false, while some false are mistaken as authentic. Guan Zhong and the Tian clan (note: figures of the Spring and Autumn period) still debate the truth and falsity of reputation alongside Yao-Shun and Bo Yi-Shu Qi—precisely why Zhuangzi, in his discourse on nurturing life, advocates "doing good without approaching fame."

Fan Yingyuan (note: a Song-dynasty Daoist) states: Integrity without expectation of reward inevitably leads to poverty; humility without contention inevitably leads to obscurity—what use is fame then? Yet fame also has its truths and falsehoods: authentic fame, like Guan Zhong's, may bring poverty, while fabricated fame, like Tian Chengzi's, may bring wealth. Reflecting further, Yao-Shun's abdication of the empire and Bo Yi-Shu Qi's abdication of their state—one preserved rulership for centuries, the other led to ruin and starvation—likely also hinges on this distinction between truth and falsehood.

Yang Zhu (note: a Warring States philosopher) concludes: A hundred years is the limit of human lifespan, yet scarcely one in a thousand attains it.

In the span of human life from infancy to old age, nearly half our time is spent in sleep. Of our waking hours during the day, another half is frittered away on trivial matters. When we further account for time lost to illness, suffering, grief, worries, and anxieties over gains and losses, the majority of our remaining time disappears. Calculated this way, in several decades of life, the moments we truly experience carefree ease and contentment are pitifully few.

So what is the purpose of human existence? Where does true joy reside? Some chase fine silks and delicacies, while others indulge in sensual pleasures. Yet even the most exquisite food and clothing grow tiresome, and the sweetest music eventually cloys. Moreover, we remain bound by society's systems of reward and punishment, led by the nose in pursuit of fame and status. We bustle about all day for empty reputation, scheme for posthumous fame, anxiously conform to others' expectations, and obsess over worldly judgments of right and wrong. Living this way, we not only lose authentic joy in the present moment but can't even grasp fleeting moments of true freedom—how is this different from prisoners weighed down by heavy shackles?

(Lu Zhongxuan's commentary notes) The world considers a hundred-year lifespan long, yet subtracting the cycles of day and night along with suffering and worries, the days we truly live as we wish are vanishingly few. What people call happiness amounts to sensual pleasures, yet they remain bound by rituals and regulations—indeed no different from shackled convicts. These are the words of those trapped by worldly desires.

(Commentary from Emperor Huizong's Zhenghe era cites Zhuangzi) True joy lies in self-cultivation and the wuwei (non-action) of tranquility. Humans are born accompanied by sorrow—people chase bodily comfort, fine food, elegant attire, and pleasing music, yet live in constant anxiety when these evade them. A lifetime spent busily pursuing such superficial pleasures only takes us further from true joy. Thus only those who don't deliberately seek pleasure can attain its highest form. Modern people, driven by reward-punishment systems and constrained by ritual norms, constantly mind others' opinions and calculate gains and losses—their approach to happiness differs not at all from felons wearing multiple shackles. How could they live with true freedom?

The ancient sages understood life's fleeting nature—that death is our eternal home. Though common sayings claim "death is brief," which may seem a slip of the pen at first glance, this precisely captures this text's essence: life and death follow natural law, and excessive attachment only deprives us of life's authentic joy.

This passage elucidates the transcendent attitude of ancient Daoist practitioners toward life and death, fame and gain. They believed that while the physical form undergoes birth and death, the spirit (Shen) remains indestructible and eternal. Those who understand that life and death are merely temporary transitions will not anxiously pursue empty reputation; those who recognize the immortality of spirit will not frantically chase after Daoist techniques.

The truly enlightened follow the natural course of existence: on one hand, they yield to their genuine inner inclinations, enjoying present joys without becoming enslaved by them; on the other, they harmonize with the intrinsic nature of all things, moving with circumstance and remaining indifferent to posthumous fame. Thus, they are neither lured by hollow reputation nor punished for wrongdoing.

The text employs the metaphor of a "bubble" (浮漚) to illustrate human life: just as a bubble briefly forms and vanishes in water, human existence is merely a transformation of form. What truly matters is preserving the purity of one's innate nature, undisturbed by external concerns of fame, profit, or the cycle of life and death.

Regarding "acting from the heart" (从心而动) and "wandering according to nature" (从性而游): the former means moving in accordance with one's authentic feelings, relishing the joys of the present moment; the latter means flowing with the natural order of all things, free from forced striving. By cultivating both inner authenticity and outer harmony, one attains the state described by Zhuangzi as "neither approaching fame" (无近名) nor "approaching punishment" (无近刑)—a life unburdened by artificial pursuits or transgressions.

This passage explores perspectives on life, death, and human pursuits. Yang Zhu, a Daoist thinker, posits that while all living beings differ during their existence, they become identical in death. In life, distinctions exist between the wise and foolish, noble and base, yet all ultimately decompose and vanish after death. These variations are not determined by human effort but follow natural law.

Whether one was as virtuous as the sage-kings Yao and Shun or as tyrannical as Jie and Zhou, all become mere skeletons in death. Therefore, one should focus on present existence rather than worrying about posthumous matters. Those preoccupied with their reputation after death are fundamentally confused. Truly virtuous individuals neither dwell on the past, nor fret about the future, nor cling excessively to the present.

Commentator Lu Zhongxuan elaborates: Life merely represents the temporary existence of physical form, while death marks its dissolution. Distinctions of wisdom, foolishness, nobility, and baseness pertain only to the living state—decay is death's universal condition. People typically fixate on physical form while neglecting the presence of spirit (Shen). When the spirit departs, human awareness ceases entirely. Thus neither the distinctions among the living nor the uniformity of decay are determined by physical form itself. Since none can control these processes, all beings are fundamentally equal.

Another annotator, Zhenghe, concludes: Those who comprehend life's true nature recognize its brevity and avoid futile concerns about posthumous matters. Understanding that birth necessitates death and beginnings imply endings, they regard distinctions of life/death, wisdom/foolishness, and nobility/baseness with equanimity, thereby unifying all considerations. Preparing for posthumous reputation manifests confusion.

Core perspective: The text advocates aligning with nature's flow—releasing attachment to fame, status during life or posthumous reputation. Life/death, wisdom/foolishness, and nobility/baseness are natural phenomena ultimately without essential difference.

This passage examines attitudes toward life and death, fame and fortune through the lens of the Yang Zhu school (a Daoist branch). It observes that humans are governed by the transformations of Yin-Yang, constrained by natural laws. Those who view the body as a burden and life as finite cannot truly comprehend the Dao (the Way). Whether noble or common, wise or foolish, people may seem different in life but all return to the same state of decay after death. A lifespan of ten years or a hundred, the legendary long-lived Pengzu or a child who dies young—these are essentially no different. Saints and villains, Confucius or the robber Zhi, bear no distinction in death. Why sacrifice one's life for empty posthumous fame?

The text then critiques two extremes: Boyi (a Shang dynasty recluse) who starved himself in excessive pursuit of purity, and Zhan Ji (Liu Xiahui) whose rigid chastity led to the decline of his family line. Superficial praise of such figures is misguided. These behaviors violate natural human tendencies, for humans inherently possess desires and emotions—suppressing them deliberately only causes self-harm.

Finally, the examples of Yuan Xian (a disciple of Confucius who found joy in poverty) and Zigong (a disciple skilled in commerce) illustrate how extreme poverty damages life while excessive wealth burdens body and mind. Those who truly understand living neither subject themselves to deprivation (meeting basic needs suffices) nor exhaust themselves pursuing riches (maintaining physical and mental ease). Practitioners of the Dao grasp this principle and thus remain unencumbered by material concerns.

The core philosophy advocates following natural tendencies without extremes—neither complete asceticism nor indulgence, but meeting fundamental needs before pursuing spiritual liberation. This perspective embodies the Daoist cultivation ideals of "valuing life" (guisheng) and "complete authenticity" (quanzhen).

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Virtue in the Highest Void) explores the proper relationship between life and material possessions. Through contrasting historical figures, it illustrates key principles:

Yuan Xian (a disciple of Confucius) lived in extreme poverty, dwelling in a dilapidated hut with crumbling walls—such severe asceticism ultimately harmed his vitality. Meanwhile, Zi Gong (another Confucius disciple) amassed wealth through commerce between Qi and Lu, only to become burdened by material possessions. Both extremes miss the mark—true cultivation of life means neither harming the body through extravagance when wealthy, nor exhausting the spirit through greed when poor.

Yang Zhu (a Warring States philosopher) cites an ancient saying: "In life, show mutual care; in death, practice simple burial." Mutual care isn't merely emotional—it requires tangible aid: letting the weary rest, feeding the hungry, warming the cold, and helping the struggling find relief. Simple burial doesn't mean abandoning grief, but rather avoiding jade and brocade grave goods or lavish sacrificial offerings. Yet people often fail—they neglect loved ones in life, then bury them with treasures that attract grave robbers, completely contradicting the original intent.

Finally, when Guan Zhong (renowned Qi statesman) answered Yan Ying (Qi minister) about nurturing life, he said: The essence of cultivation is simply following nature. Let ears hear what they wish, eyes see what they desire, noses smell what pleases—neither forcibly suppressing nor excessively indulging. The key lies in maintaining unimpeded flow without blockage—this is the core principle of nurturing life.

(Note: "Huan du zhi shi" refers to crude dwellings with earthen walls; "sacrifices" denotes ritual livestock offerings; "mingqi" indicates burial objects)

This passage examines two contrasting approaches to life: indulging desires versus restraining them, along with an evaluation of the historical figure Guan Zhong (courtesy name Yiwu).

To freely speak whatever the tongue desires, indulge in bodily comforts, and act upon every whim of the heart—this represents complete surrender to desires. Guan Zhong, though a successful statesman who helped Duke Huan of Qi achieve hegemony, relied on political maneuvering and coercive power. Such indulgence in desires proves neither appropriate nor aligned with practical circumstances. The mentioned "Land of Ultimate North" likely serves as a fictional metaphor for an idealized realm of absolute indulgence.

The text then enumerates various suppressed sensory desires: when ears cannot hear desired music, it's called "blocking hearing"; when eyes cannot see beautiful sights, "blocking vision"; when the nose cannot smell fragrances, "blocking olfaction"; when the mouth cannot voice opinions, "blocking wisdom"; when the body cannot obtain comfort, "blocking ease"; when the heart cannot follow its inclinations, "blocking nature." These all represent profound suppressions of human nature.

The author argues that removing these constraints to live freely—whether for a day, month, year, or decade—constitutes true yangsheng (nourishing life) practice. Conversely, living bound by these restrictions for centuries or millennia in perpetual anxiety does not qualify as genuine life cultivation.

Later citing commentary from Master Lu (possibly Lu Chongxuan): Guan Zhong's talents sufficed to assist a hegemon in reviving governance, yet his extravagant lifestyle corrupted social morals. Confucius both acknowledged Guan Zhong's abilities (remarking "Without Guan Zhong, we might still wear our hair loose and fold our robes left-over-right"), while criticizing his lack of ritual propriety ("Guan Zhong was petty-minded—if he knew ritual, who doesn't?"). Liezi uses Guan Zhong—a capable yet indulgent figure—as a cautionary example against emulation.

The passage concludes with Guan Zhong asking Yan Ping (Yan Ying): "Having explained yangsheng to you, how then should we approach death?" This rhetorical question underscores the importance of contemplating perspectives on life and death.

Guan Zhong and Yan Ying were discussing attitudes toward life and death. Guan Zhong said that it doesn't matter how the dead are treated—they could be cremated, buried at sea, interred in earth, left exposed in the wilderness, or wrapped in straw mats and tossed into ditches. Equally acceptable would be dressing them in fine robes and placing them in stone coffins—it all depends on circumstances. Yan Ying, as a Mohist adherent, advocated frugality and self-discipline, yet this perspective still failed to grasp the true essence of life and death.

Lu Zhongxuan (note: a Tang Dynasty Daoist) commented that ordinary people cling greedily to desires yet remain indifferent about posthumous matters. People readily embrace life's pleasures but easily accept simple funeral arrangements. Through contrasting examples of extravagant and frugal individuals, Liezi illustrates how both the lavishness of figures like Wangsun and the austerity of conscientious officials deviate from the Middle Way.

Guan Zhong told Bao Shuya: "We two understand the Dao of life and death." While living, humans possess autonomy; after death, they no longer control their fate. Lu Zhongxuan observed that ordinary people either treat corpses carelessly, believing the dead lack consciousness, or indulge desires to "eat, drink and be merry." Yet sages like Yao, Shun, Duke of Zhou, and Confucius aren't valued by vulgar minds, while tyrants like Jie and Zhou or bandits like Zhi might be emulated—how could this reflect the way of Daoist adepts?

Those who truly attain the Dao transcend ordinary emotions, while sages establish ritual propriety. Transcending emotions prevents indulgence in sensory pleasures; following ritual propriety prevents irreverence toward life and death. All doctrines advocating wanton desire violate the Great Dao.

Zhenghe Zhenren (note: a Song Dynasty Daoist) held that excessive attachment to life actually harms nurturing vitality—only those who find true joy can cultivate life properly; excessive mourning actually hinders proper funerary rites—only those who view life and death with equanimity can conduct proper sendoffs. Living according to one's heart without violating one's true nature—this is the method of nurturing life. Handling remains without clinging to formalities—this is the method of conducting funerals. Only those who perceive life and death in this manner can be said to comprehend the Great Dao.

This passage recounts the story of Zichan (Gongsun Qiao), a statesman of the Zheng state during the Spring and Autumn period who excelled in governing his country yet found himself powerless to reform his two brothers indulging in wine and women.

Though Guan Zhong and Yan Ying could make rulers hegemonic and illustrious, they might not have truly understood the Dao of life and death. Liezi recorded this tale as a parable critiquing contemporary social ills.

During Zichan's three-year administration of Zheng, virtuous people admired his moral influence while wrongdoers feared his prohibitions. He governed Zheng so effectively that even neighboring feudal lords held him in awe. Yet his elder brother Gongsun Chao was addicted to wine, while his younger brother Gongsun Mu was obsessed with women. Gongsun Chao's residence overflowed with fine liquor—the scent of fermenting grains could be detected a hundred paces away. When intoxicated, he remained oblivious even to dangers like fire, floods or weapons, let alone concerned about state affairs or family fortunes. Gongsun Mu kept dozens of young beauties in his rear courtyard, indulging ceaselessly—emerging only once every three months, and even then scheming to acquire more attractive women.

Deeply troubled, Zichan privately consulted strategist Deng Xi: "I've heard that self-cultivation leads to household harmony, which in turn enables state governance and world peace—this is the principle of progressing from near to far. Yet now I govern successfully while my household remains disordered. Has this principle reversed itself? How can I save my brothers?" Deng Xi replied: "I've long wondered—why not advise them when sober about life's preciousness and ritual propriety's dignity?"

Lu Zhongxuan (commentator) adds: Using arguments about life's value and ritual propriety seeks to restrain their pleasure-seeking nature through appeals to fame and profit—precisely what worldly people value.

Following this advice, Zichan seized an opportunity to admonish his brothers: "What elevates humans above beasts is our rationality, manifested through observing ritual propriety. By upholding propriety, we gain reputation and status. Indulging desires endangers life itself." Upon hearing this, Gongsun Chao immediately showed remorse.

This dialogue took place between Zichan of Zheng State and Chaomu. Chaomu was a man who saw through worldly conventions. He said to Zichan: "I've long understood these principles and pondered them deeply. In human life, there are multiple choices in action—one simply selects what pleases them. Did I really need you to tell me this?"

Chaomu continued: "Life is hard to obtain yet easily lost. To spend this precious life waiting for death that may come at any moment—this warrants deep reflection. Those who flaunt ritual propriety to glorify themselves, or suppress their true nature to seek fame, might as well be dead in my view. Doesn't this sound transcendent? Yet those who deliberately conform to worldly standards against their innate nature may find temporary pleasure, but live in perpetual anxiety. Though physically alive, they're practically dead."

He criticized pleasure-seekers: "They only worry about overeating hindering their indulgence, or physical exhaustion limiting their sensual pleasures, completely disregarding ruined reputations or mortal dangers. As for you—flaunting governance skills, confusing minds with rhetoric, deluding people with wealth and status—isn't this both despicable and pitiful?"

Elaborating further, Chaomu expounded: "Those skilled at governing external affairs may not truly succeed, instead suffering themselves; those skilled at inner cultivation find external affairs needn't descend into chaos while their nature remains at ease. Your governance method can only temporarily work in one state, being incompatible with human nature; my cultivation method could be implemented universally, making even ruler-minister relationships unnecessary. I intended to enlighten you with this principle, yet you presume to instruct me?" Zichan was left speechless.

Later commentators noted that even tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang possessed sufficient cunning to conceal faults, while sophists like Shaozheng Mao could confuse masses with rhetoric. Thus Confucius being confounded by Robber Zhi's arguments, or Zichan silenced by Chaomu's words, should surprise no one. Yet some mistakenly believe Liezi recorded these to express emotions, or Zhang Zhan annotated them to clarify principles—these are conventional views, not the profound insights of Daoist wisdom.

When Zichan later recounted this to Deng Xi (the famous Spring and Autumn period debater), Deng remarked: "You associated with a Dao-realized man yet failed to recognize him—who would call you wise? Zheng State's orderly governance was mere coincidence, not your achievement." This passage reveals the Daoist emphasis on honoring natural spontaneity while opposing artificial contrivance, asserting true wisdom lies in inner cultivation rather than external achievements.

This passage contrasts two approaches to governance, revealing the Daoist political philosophy of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)."

The text first criticizes rulers who deliberately pursue ritual laws and moral education, such as Zichan (a statesman of the Zheng state during the Spring and Autumn period). By overemphasizing rites, righteousness, and legal codes, he constrained people with external regulations, ultimately exhausting both body and mind. This resembles governing a state through artificial cleverness, which instead becomes the nation's misfortune.

It then praises idealized figures like Chaomu (a fictional character) as "authentic persons (Zhenren)." Though appearing indulgent in wine and women while disregarding reputation, they actually follow their natural dispositions without being burdened by external matters. This state of "liberating the heart and releasing physical form" represents the Daoist ideal of the "authentic person." True governance should resemble a mother nurturing her child—providing basic sustenance without imposing forced moral instruction.

The text particularly emphasizes that so-called "authentic persons" aren't morally perfect sages, but those completely free from worldly constraints. When governing, they refrain from deliberate action, allowing people to naturally fulfill their roles. Just as capable individuals naturally rise while the incompetent naturally withdraw, society thereby achieves genuine harmony.

The concluding contrast illustrates: those obsessed with ritual-law governance (like Zichan) maintain superficial order while causing actual suffering; whereas rulers following natural principles (like Chaomu) appear indulgent yet bring contentment to the people. This reflects the Daoist political wisdom of "governing a great nation like cooking small fish"—constant interference only breaks them apart.

This scripture describes the state that Dao practitioners should attain. The general meaning is this: Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) are not troubled by the fear of death (恶死). They regard life and death with the same calmness as natural comings and goings (脩然而往脩然而来). Neither painful illnesses (惨怛之疾) nor comfortable ease (恬愉之安) can affect the condition of their bodies (不监于体). Similarly, neither fearful panic (怵惕之恐) nor joyful happiness (欣欢之喜) can disturb the tranquility of their minds (不监于心).

The passage concludes with a rhetorical question: Since this is so, why exhaust one's mind and weary one's body (苦心劳形) to engage in activities that endanger one's authentic nature (危其真)? Here, "zhen" (真) refers to humanity's original Dao-nature. The entire passage emphasizes that practitioners should transcend emotional fluctuations and external influences, maintaining a state of authentic naturalness.