《沖虛至德真經四解》Vol. 9

This passage explores the cultivated state and worldly attitude of sages. It mentions Confucius (Zhongni) as a wise man whose true wisdom lies not in deliberate pursuit of knowledge, but in following nature and forgetting intellectual artifice. The sage transcends worldly distinctions of right and wrong, gain and loss, maintaining inner emptiness and clarity to achieve the state of "non-action (Wuwei) yet nothing remains undone."

When Confucius appeared worried during leisure, his disciple Zigong—though well-versed in his master's teachings—dared not inquire the reason, understanding the sage's concerns surpassed ordinary comprehension. Later, when Yan Hui (Confucius' most accomplished disciple) learned of this, he instead played the zither and sang. Summoned to explain his solitary joy, Yan Hui counter-questioned why his master dwelt in solitary sorrow.

This contrast reveals two levels of attainment: Zigong represents the stage of scholarly attachment, while Yan Hui embodies transcendental detachment. A sage's sorrow isn't ordinary grief, but profound compassion sharing the people's hardships; true joy isn't worldly pleasure, but the spontaneous freedom attained through realizing the Dao (the Way). The text emphasizes looking beyond the sage's external manifestations (traces) to comprehend their inner cultivation (essence).

Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) did not directly inquire about his teacher's profound meaning, but instead used zither playing and singing to prompt Confucius' explanation. Confucius said: "First tell me your thoughts." Yan Hui replied: "I once heard you say 'those who delight in Heaven and understand fate will have no sorrow'—this is the source of my joy."

Here, "Heaven" refers to the laws of nature, while "fate" denotes the predetermined course of human life. Those who accord with nature will not resent others; those who understand destiny will not force outcomes; those who follow natural patterns will not be troubled by mental burdens—how could sorrow arise?

With solemn expression, Confucius countered: "Did I truly say that?" This rhetorical question intentionally revealed his doubt to show this statement wasn't ultimate truth. "Your understanding is partial—those were words from my past. Now I shall reveal the complete teaching."

Previous statements addressed specific circumstances, while now the ultimate truth must be clarified. The great Dao is omnipresent, and its verbal expressions have no fixed form. What accords with temporal needs is called "appropriate," while what embodies the eternal Dao is called "true." Thus past words may be called "appropriate," yet from higher realization they cannot be deemed "true." In reality, neither "appropriate" nor "true" represent absolute truth in language. Only by understanding time's ceaseless flow can one transcend doctrinal constraints.

You only know that "delighting in Heaven and understanding fate" brings no sorrow, but fail to recognize this very attitude contains greater hidden concerns. (True practitioners) know all things, delight in all things, and are concerned about all things—this is called "greatness." Genuine joy transcends worldly concepts of happiness; true wisdom surpasses ordinary cognition. Applied to self-cultivation it brings freedom from sorrow, but applied to governing the world it entails greater responsibilities.

Commentator Fan Shi explains: Leisure after court duties is called "retired dwelling," while solitary contemplation is called "secluded dwelling." Though Zigong (another disciple) learned his teacher's words, he failed to grasp their deeper meaning—hence his statement "we hear our Master's cultural teachings, but not his discourses on human nature and the Dao of Heaven." Regarding the sage's concerns, Zigong dared not inquire deeply. Yet Yan Hui's learning had already taken form—he could perceive essence through phenomena, appearing dull while actually being profoundly wise. Though never contradicting his teacher all day, he wasn't blindly submissive. Precisely because he delighted in all things, upon hearing the sage's concerns he played the zither and sang—this was to stimulate deeper discussion. Hearing this, Confucius immediately summoned Yan Hui for detailed discourse.

This passage discusses the Daoist cultivation state of "rejoicing in Heaven and knowing destiny." Those who truly embody the Dao (the Way) often maintain joy, while those entangled in worldly affairs frequently experience sorrow. The Dao of Heaven (natural laws) operates spontaneously without human intervention, and those who understand this accept it willingly without resistance. Destiny is the natural manifestation of one's innate nature, hence the wise can perceive destiny without being deluded.

Those who know how to accord with the Heavenly Dao and understand destiny can act as naturally as the wind moving all things, yet unlike sages, they don't worry about worldly matters. Looking down upon all affairs of the world, nothing becomes a burden to their heart-mind—this is why Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) could maintain his joy. However, this state isn't the highest attainment, which is why Confucius said it only represented his past view.

Words contain no eternal truth—their validity must be judged according to circumstances. What was right in the past may now be wrong; what was approved before may now be rejected. You only know that "rejoicing in Heaven and knowing destiny" brings carefree joy, but fail to recognize it contains greater concerns. This shows you cannot use present discourse as the standard for judgment. From this perspective, Liezi (a Daoist master) indeed profoundly understood the wisdom of the Yijing (Book of Changes).

Wang Tong (Sui Dynasty thinker) said, "All under Heaven worry, only I do not worry"—this actually misses the deeper meaning of sages. True cultivation means refining oneself, facing adversity or success with equanimity, understanding that life, death, coming and going are beyond our control, with the heart-mind undisturbed by worldly changes. What you call "rejoicing in Heaven and knowing destiny without worries" actually just represents distinguishing internal from external, recognizing honor and disgrace—it hasn't yet reached the supreme state of "no absolute yes or no."

Commentator Lu Zhongxuan explains: Although this state of rejoicing in Heaven and knowing destiny prevents sorrow, it's merely a method of aligning with circumstances, not the fundamental way to aid the world and save beings. Confucius said, "I spoke such words in the past, but my view has now changed."

Ancient Dao-realized individuals understood: Actions and behaviors aren't determined by humans but depend on Heaven's will; rise and fall, success and failure lie beyond human control and belong to destiny. They took no pride in success nor shame in adversity. What comes is accepted, what goes is followed—content with circumstances and flowing with changes, neither joy nor anger, sorrow nor happiness could affect their heart-mind. How could there be any worry? Yet this is merely the realm of self-cultivation.

In the past when I revised the Book of Songs and Documents and rectified rituals and music, I sought to govern the world and establish models for posterity. Poetry, documents, rituals and music are tools for governing—sages used them to correct contemporary ills. But when misapplied, they become useless for governance. The sage's wisdom lies in comprehending the patterns of all things, using the Great Dao to save the world. If one only settles oneself or rescues a single state, one doesn't deserve to be called a sage.

In the state of Lu, the proper order between rulers and ministers gradually deteriorated, the virtues of benevolence and righteousness (Ren-Yi) increasingly declined, and the genuine nature of humanity grew ever more diluted. This failure to implement proper governance not only affected one state in the present but would ultimately influence the entire world and future generations.

Governing a state indeed requires the Way of benevolence and righteousness, yet once peace is achieved, such methods should be timely abandoned. If one clings to them after their purpose is fulfilled, fewer will truly understand their essence while more will exploit them for personal gain. This is often how the decline of virtue (De) begins. From observing one state's condition, we can infer the broader trends of the world; from examining the present, we can foresee future developments—the causes of decline are invariably similar. Only those who are truly enlightened and adaptable can avoid rigid adherence to fixed methods.

I now understand that the classics like the Book of Songs (Shijing) and Book of Documents (Shangshu), along with ritual and music systems, cannot truly resolve the cycles of order and chaos—yet I remain uncertain about the means of reform. This is precisely what troubles those who comprehend the Mandate of Heaven (Tianming). The key lies in discarding the superficial flaws of ritual and music while preserving their practical functions. Ritual and music themselves should not be wholly negated—hence the saying, "I do not know the way to reform." Raising these concerns here serves as preparation for later discussions on deeper principles.

Lu Zhongxuan (a Tang dynasty Daoist) explained: Without poetry, documents, rituals, and music, there would be no framework for governing the world—yet the world's disorder cannot be remedied by these alone. Abolishing these institutions would mean losing the foundation that sustains propriety. This is the profound dilemma that troubles those who follow the Dao (Dao).

Scholars during the Zhenghe era (Emperor Huizong of Song) held: Poetry and documents record principles of governance, while ritual and music serve as its tools. Confucius (here referring to the deified Supreme Mysterious Primordial Emperor), having realized the true essence of the Great Dao (Da Dao) for self-cultivation, transcended form and reputation—yet still lamented the world's decline. He advocated benevolence and righteousness, illuminated ritual and music, and employed various methods to pacify the hearts of the people. But humanity, drowning in material desires and losing its original mind, could not return to its pure innate nature. Consequently, benevolence and righteousness waned further, and the Great Dao found no path to manifest in that age—hence the need for profound consideration of future generations.

Yet I must clarify: The "joy" and "knowledge" mentioned here are not what the ancients meant by these terms. Zhuangzi said, "Those who take the transformations of fortune as joy are not sages." Thus the ancients did not consider "absence of joy" as joy, nor "absence of knowledge" as wisdom. The joy that follows nature's course requires no deliberate pursuit—the principle itself contains no forced joy. The knowledge that follows nature's course requires no deliberate seeking—the principle itself contains no forced knowledge. Reaching the state beyond joy and knowledge is true joy and wisdom. Only by completely relinquishing attachment to joy and knowledge can one experience all joys of the world and comprehend all truths.

All people in the world pursue cleverness and artifice, yet I maintain a state of no-mind and no-desire. Precisely because I cling to nothing, I can be all-joyful, all-knowing, all-concerned, and all-acting. Dwelling in the root of Dao (the Way) while comprehending its completeness, thus one appears to practice Wuwei (non-action) yet actually accomplishes all things effortlessly.

Why should we discard the classical traditions of poetry, history, rites, and music? And why must we deliberately reform them? If someone wishes to disparage the classics and alter the principles of governance, how could this be the proper method to rectify contemporary ills? Without contrived action yet never shirking responsibility, without claiming merit yet all things naturally preserve their wholeness.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang Dynasty Daoist) explains: Those who understand that destiny contains unavoidable circumstances remain content with their lot and free from worry - this is the ordinary mindset of noble persons. But the ancient sages who comprehended all things, achieved great works, and benefited the world were different. They neither indulged in idle pleasures nor confined themselves to existing knowledge. Acting before Heaven's timing yet never violating its principles; following Heaven's timing yet always harmonizing with it - this constitutes true joy and genuine wisdom. Such people naturally embody all joy and all knowledge, thus appearing inactive while actually accomplishing everything.

Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) knelt northward and declared: "I too have realized this truth." He was precisely the kind of person who seemed dull yet never violated the great Dao. When Yan Hui told Zigong (another disciple) about this, the latter became utterly bewildered, for his understanding hadn't yet fully aligned with supreme truth. Returning home, Zigong contemplated intensely for seven days without eating or sleeping, becoming emaciated, until he finally awakened through determined effort. Only after Yan Hui's further guidance did Zigong return to Confucius' school, thereafter devoting his life unceasingly to music and study.

Lu Chongxuan continues: Yan Hui, as a sage second only to the supreme, immediately comprehended the great Way upon hearing it; Zigong had originally treated poetry and history as wisdom itself, hence hearing ultimate truth made him lose his foundation. Only through Yan Hui's repeated guidance did he understand that the path of learning lies in daily diminishing attachments rather than accumulating knowledge.

When true De (Virtue) prevails, there's no need to promote benevolence and righteousness; when original nature remains intact, ritual and music require no forced observance. Those who consider themselves joyful in Heaven and knowing of destiny possess a different kind of joy and knowledge than the ancients described. True Heaven-joy must transcend specific pleasures; true destiny-knowing must surpass particular cognitions. Attaining this state makes one all-joyful, all-knowing, all-concerned, and all-acting - merging with creation itself, capable of transforming others through any action. Therefore, cultivating poetry and rituals is acceptable, while deemphasizing benevolence and righteousness is unproblematic.

This passage examines the relationship between the Dao (the Way) and worldly rituals and music. The author argues that the institutional norms left by ancient sage-kings—poetry, books, rites, and music—are merely tools for governing a state, not the fundamental way of statecraft. The true Great Dao lies in self-cultivation and aligning with nature.

The text mentions that Fan Zhongyan (a Confucian statesman) believed the essence of the Dao was for nurturing one’s mind and body. Those who truly attain the Dao are neither arrogant in prosperity nor ashamed in adversity, calmly accepting the fluctuations of fate. They neither indulge their ambitions for high rank and wealth nor drift aimlessly due to poverty, maintaining inner tranquility like still water. This is what is called the state of "joyfully following Heaven and knowing destiny" (乐天知命).

However, the author further clarifies that true "joy in Heaven" is not the simplistic happiness spoken of by the ancients, but a "true joy" that transcends worldly sorrows and pleasures. Similarly, "knowing destiny" is not mere intellectual understanding but a "true knowing" achieved through unity with the Dao. Those who reach this state may appear to have concerns, yet they remain undisturbed by worldly troubles, embodying the principle of "non-action (Wuwei), yet nothing is left undone."

Regarding traditional norms like poetry, books, rites, and music, the author advocates neither complete abandonment nor forced reform. Instead, one should follow the natural disposition of things without imposing personal will. Only those like Yan Hui, who attained the state of "sitting in forgetfulness" (坐忘, transcending physical form and merging with the Dao), can truly grasp the words of the sages. In contrast, someone like Zigong, though erudite and eloquent, became entangled in debates and thus struggled to attain the Dao in its fullness.

The passage also raises a poignant question: If the Great Dao cannot be practiced in a single state, how can it be expected to spread throughout the world? If it cannot be realized in the present age, how can it be preserved for future generations? This reflects the author’s deep concern about the social conditions of his time.

This passage describes two different schools' understanding of the "sage" realm. When a minister from the State of Chen visited Lu, he privately visited Shusun Shi, who said: "Our state has a sage." The minister asked: "Is it Confucius?" Shusun Shi confirmed this and explained that a sage's wisdom transcends ordinary comprehension—one can only recognize their sageliness through external manifestations.

Shusun Shi quoted Yan Hui saying "Confucius could set aside his mind and employ his physical form," but commentators note that a true sage neither deliberately sets anything aside nor consciously employs anything. A sage's actions and demeanor flow naturally, their inner state always maintaining serene emptiness. As Daoist thinker Lu Chongxuan observed: Sages follow the natural course of all things to nurture life and guide beings, teaching ordinary people through external expressions without deliberately revealing their true nature.

The Chen minister then said: "Our state also has a sage—do you know of him?" referring to Kangcangzi (a Daoist figure), said to be Laozi's disciple who mastered his Daoist methods. Commentators point out that even Laozi never claimed to have attained the Dao, so how could Kangcangzi have done so? This actually uses Kangcangzi's name to illustrate that supreme principles exist within all things.

The text particularly mentions Kangcangzi "could see with his ears and hear with his eyes," explaining that the physical form houses the mind, with ears and eyes serving as sensory gateways. When spirit (Shen) becomes perfectly clear, one needn't rely on specific senses for perception—just as vision might penetrate walls. Finally, it notes that Confucius followed all things while forgetting mind, while Kangcangzi followed his nature while forgetting form—one appearing to use form without mind, the other using unconventional senses—yet both represent attainment of certain realms. The true Dao of sages cannot be fully expressed in words; these are merely the external manifestations people observe.

This scripture primarily discusses the relationship between "mind" (心) and "form" (形) in Daoist cultivation, as well as how to transcend sensory limitations.

The text begins by establishing that the mind governs the body, while the body serves as the mind's dwelling. To avoid being bound by thoughts, one must first purify the inner mind; to prevent being enslaved by physical form, one must skillfully employ the body. The reason sages attain transcendence lies in their approach—they neither deliberately abandon anything nor cling stubbornly to usage.

The passage cites examples of two sages: Confucius (仲尼) and Kangcangzi. Ordinary people rely on ears to hear and eyes to see, but sages surpass sensory limitations—they perceive without depending on eyes and listen without using ears. This occurs because their spirit (Shen) is fully realized, making sensory functions paradoxically more lucid. When the ruler of Lu heard of this, he was astonished and sent generous gifts to summon Kangcangzi for explanation.

Kangcangzi clarified: The rumor is mistaken. I don't discard the use of ears and eyes, but rather preserve their natural functions unchanged. What should truly be abandoned is the delusional attachment to sensory perception. Like corpses that possess ears and eyes yet cannot hear or see, the key lies in whether the spirit remains present. He further elaborated the stages of cultivation:

1. Harmonizing body with mind (resolving conflicts between form and wisdom) →

2. Harmonizing mind with Qi (transcending limitations of physical wisdom to align with natural breath) →

3. Harmonizing Qi with primordial spirit (entering a state of stillness beyond intellectual artifice) →

4. Harmonizing spirit with emptiness (attaining the supreme realm of universal resonance)

Initially, the ruler of Lu found these teachings marvelous yet perplexing, but through explanation came to understand their profound meaning. This scripture reveals the essential Daoist practice of progressive refinement, ultimately achieving the "marvelous union of form and spirit" (形神俱妙)—the consummate skill of cultivation.

When human consciousness attains the state of "Wu" (non-being, the formless realm beyond physicality), it becomes interconnected with the divine; when interconnected with the divine, one reaches the state of "Wu." Both are formless and without characteristics.

The truly wise need not deliberately approach "Wu," for "Wu" naturally communicates itself. Those who can forget their self-awareness merge completely with "Wu."

Lu Zhongxuan (a Tang dynasty Daoist) explains: The physical body becomes an obstacle because of its form, while thoughts create bondage through attachment. When form and mind unite, one is no longer limited by the body but transcends fixation. When breath (Qi) and mind unite, though there is movement, there is no clinging—here, the fusion of mind and breath lies not in eliminating fixation but in flexible application. When breath and spirit (Shen) unite, it is not about movement and change but about luminous awareness. When spirit merges with "Wu," one transcends all forms—here, it is not about awareness but about merging with the true Dao (the Way).

Those subtle existences and sounds, whether distant beyond the eight directions or close at hand, if they disturb me, I can perceive them all. Only the state of absolute emptiness does not disturb the sage's mind. As long as concrete things are involved, the illumination of the spirit does not differ based on distance.

This perception does not rely on the senses of the seven orifices or four limbs, nor on the cognition of the six vital organs (important internal organs in Daoist physiology), but arises spontaneously. When one attains unity with the Dao, all perception is forgotten—why would deliberate awareness be necessary?

Lu Zhongxuan further elaborates: Thus, whether it is form or sound, near or far, if it disturbs me, it can be perceived. This does not depend on the four limbs or seven orifices—like a bright mirror suspended high, illuminating naturally, why would one need to use the ears to listen?

The ruler of Lu was delighted upon hearing this and later recounted it to Confucius. Confucius merely smiled without responding. Master Kangcang (a Daoist figure) had already exhausted the explanation—what more could Confucius say? Here, non-response serves as the response, and the smile conveys profound meaning. Lu Zhongxuan says: This smile carries the essence of comprehending the wordless truth.

During the Zhenghe era (Emperor Huizong of Song's reign), some discussed "seeing with the ears" and "hearing with the eyes," but this still did not transcend the limitations of form. True seeing and hearing do not rely on ears or eyes—only then can one transcend the body. Relying on ears and eyes for perception remains bound to form and thus limited. Only by not depending on ears or eyes, allowing the body to reach emptiness, observing in darkness and listening in silence, merging with the divine—how could ordinary people understand such a state?

When form and mind unite, one moves from the external to the internal; when mind and breath unite, one moves from substance to emptiness; when breath and spirit unite, one stands in the immeasurable; when spirit and "Wu" unite, one operates freely in the infinite. One does not listen with the ears but with the heart-mind.

This scripture expounds the Daoist cultivation state of transcending sensory perception to directly apprehend fundamental reality. The essential meaning is:

True perception does not rely on external senses like seeing with eyes or hearing with ears, but rather employs the inner Shen (primordial spiritual awareness) for realization. Just as the subtlest matter (the "barely-there existence") is nearly formless, and the faintest sound (the "barely-audible tone") is almost inaudible, yet whether distant beyond the eight directions or close at hand, all operate within the movement of Dao.

The text mentions that when practitioners relinquish acquired knowledge and cleverness, they become connected with the Great Dao (Tonghu Datong). In this state, they naturally know whatever comes into resonance with them, yet cannot explain why. Like Confucius (Zhongni) who merely smiled without answering when questioned—because true realization cannot be expressed in words.

The Fan commentary further explains: Ears and eyes are physical organs, hearing and seeing their functions. But when cultivation reaches the state of spiritual clarity, one transcends ordinary sensory limitations, achieving the capacity to "see with ears and hear with eyes." The higher state involves completely abandoning ears and eyes (beyond form and sound), relying purely on Shen for observation and Qi (primordial energy) for resonance.

The mystery of this state lies in: when form unites with mind, form dissolves; when mind unites with Qi, thoughts become still; when Qi unites with Shen, one attains undifferentiated wholeness. True wisdom (Dazhi) transcends distinctions of near and far, because Dao itself is omnipresent.

Finally, it discusses inner contemplation practice: when observing the body, understand it is ultimately insubstantial; when observing the mind, recognize thoughts as illusory. This "knowing without knowing" (Zhenzhi Wuzhi) constitutes the wondrous state. Thus when the Duke of Lu questioned Confucius, he only smiled—for such supreme realization can no longer be described in language.

The Grand Steward of the State of Shang asked Confucius: "Is Master Kong Qiu a sage?" Confucius replied: "To speak of being a sage—how would I dare claim such a title?" What people call a sage is merely judged by outward manifestations—how could they truly understand what constitutes real sagehood or its absence? Confucius continued: "I am but a man of broad learning and varied knowledge." In truth, he was modestly indicating that while appearing erudite, he never deliberately pursued such attainments.

Master Zhenghe (a Song dynasty Daoist) commented: Though Confucius was already a sage, his humble reply of "how would I dare" demonstrates his refusal to claim the sage's name. Though broadly learned, he never specialized in any particular skill; though widely knowledgeable, he could synthesize all into unity—precisely why Confucius became the great synthesizer of tradition.

Scholar Fan (a classical commentator) explained: The people of Daxiang possessed sufficient wisdom to recognize a sage, hence their remark that Confucius was "broadly learned without specializing." The old man of Hanyin lacked such discernment, believing Confucius "studied widely to imitate sages." A true sage needs no titles—who could truly evaluate him? When Confucius called himself "broadly learned," it was merely in response to the Grand Steward. In truth, he told his disciple Zigong: "Do you think I study widely and retain much? I unite all knowledge with a single thread." Broad learning is ordinary—anyone can achieve it. But synthesizing all into unity is the sublime state of harmony with the heavenly Dao (the Way).

The Grand Steward pressed further: "Were the Three Dynastic Kings sages?" Confucius answered: "They excelled in wisdom and valor—whether they were sages, I do not know." "What of the Five Emperors?" "They excelled in practicing benevolence and righteousness—whether they were sages, I still do not know." "And the Three Sovereigns?" "They excelled in timely adaptation—whether they were sages, again I do not know."

Scholar Lu (another commentator) explained: This reveals the Dao cannot be judged by surface phenomena. People only understand sages' external manifestations, so Confucius used familiar historical examples to illuminate true sagehood's essence.

Master Zhenghe added: The Three Sovereigns emphasized following heavenly timing, the Five Emperors emphasized cultivating virtue (De), the Three Kings emphasized establishing merit. Yet these are all forms of deliberate action (youwei), inferior to non-action (wuwei)—hence Confucius would not lightly confer the title of "sage."

The Grand Steward of the Shang dynasty asked Confucius about sages. Confucius replied that even legendary emperors like Yao, Shun, and Yu couldn't be considered true sages, which greatly astonished the Grand Steward. Confucius explained that genuine sages don't reside among these renowned rulers, but rather in the Western regions (referring to a realm transcending worldly concerns).

A true sage doesn't need to deliberately govern the world—order naturally arises without intervention. Without preaching doctrines, people spontaneously follow; without forced action, all things operate of their own accord. This state represents the ultimate expression of Wuwei (non-action), like the vast sky that common folk cannot describe in words.

He Yan wrote in The Treatise on Namelessness: What common people praise are merely those with fame, while true sages transcend both reputation and praise. The sage's "namelessness" is the Dao itself, and their "praiselessness" constitutes true greatness. This "namelessness" actually contains the highest form of "name," just as "praiselessness" embodies the supreme "praise"—entirely different from worldly acclaim.

This mirrors the relationship between Yin-Yang transformations: summer belongs to Yang, yet summer nights resonate with winter's Yin energy; winter belongs to Yin, yet winter days connect with summer's Yang principle. Seemingly opposite phenomena fundamentally depend on each other. The true Dao exists in the realm of "non-being"—though heaven, earth, and all things manifest as "being," they can still be called Dao precisely because they originate from that fundamental "non-being."

(Note: This passage uses Confucius' dialogue with the Shang Grand Steward to expound the Daoist concepts of "governing through non-action" and "supreme praise being praise-less," employing the natural phenomena of Yin-Yang interdependence as metaphors for ultimate truth beyond names and forms.)

This scripture explores the nameless essence of the Dao and the realm of sages. It suggests that those who truly attain the Dao, while living in a world of names and forms, transcend these limitations. Like standing in sunlight where shadows are forgotten.

Xiahou Xuan (a Wei-Jin period metaphysician) explains: Heaven and earth operate spontaneously, and sages follow this natural course. "Spontaneity" manifests the Dao. The Dao itself has no name—thus Laozi reluctantly called it "Dao," while Confucius described Emperor Yao's virtue as "so vast people cannot name it." Later generations praising with terms like "lofty achievements" merely borrow conventional expressions. Precisely because the Dao has no fixed name, all names may refer to it, yet none capture its true essence.

Like seeing Mount Tai's height yet doubting the immensity of primordial Qi (yuanqi)—this reveals limited understanding. When people question someone's sagehood, it's because the sage's realm transcends ordinary cognition, being ineffable, leaving only doubt. The Grand Steward of Shang secretly wondered: "Is Kong Qiu deceiving me?" This precisely shows how the sage's Dao exceeds common comprehension, making it appear deceptive.

Lu Zhongxuan (commentator) observes: Those establishing models to promote teachings or displaying virtue to transform customs are merely sages healing worldly ills. True Dao-realized individuals embrace all things like heaven-earth, operate as seamlessly as the four seasons—showing no distinction between governance and non-governance. They need no forced words to gain trust, yet nourish all beings silently like abundant rain. This boundless realm defies description, so sages must use concrete examples and language, still fearing inadequacy. Using paradoxical expressions to point toward truth explains why the Grand Steward misunderstood Confucius as deceitful.

The Zhenghe commentary on Zhuangzi notes: From Suiren, Fuxi, Shennong to the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun, rulers' virtue gradually declined. Confucius considered the governance ways of the Three Sovereigns, Five Emperors, and Three Kings as not truly understanding sages' essence, hence mentioning "sages in the West." The Dao is eternal, while sages emerge according to the times. The Five Emperors' and Three Kings' reigns resemble inspecting crowds at peak seasons—like spring and summer showing only external achievements. Western sages (possibly Laozi or Buddhist saints) discard ornamentation to return to simplicity, like autumn and winter's contraction.

This scripture primarily explores the Daoist governance philosophy of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)," along with the ineffable nature of the sage's way. The discussion unfolds through several layers:

First, it points out that true governance by sages requires no deliberate effort. When society exists in natural harmony, governance becomes unnecessary; the very need for governance indicates a departure from the Dao (the Way). The most sublime governance operates like the Dao itself—leaving no traces, achieving natural order without explicit instruction. This is the realm of "non-action yet constant naturalness." The Dao itself cannot be defined in words ("the Dao cannot be named") and knows no boundaries ("without demarcation"). Thus, though the people sense its vastness ("so boundless!"), they cannot articulate its specifics ("the people find no name for it").

Next, the story of the Grand Steward of Shang (a minister of the Shang dynasty) illustrates how when people measure the Dao by worldly standards ("rules and measures"), they inevitably doubt the sage's words. Like this minister, who was initially shocked by Confucius's unconventional statements ("contrary to human sentiment"), only to conclude that Confucius was deceiving him.

Fan Shi (likely referring to Fan Li) further elaborates: rulers who possess territory ("those who hold land") should transcend the limitations of concrete things ("not being bound by things, thus able to master things"). The ancient sages governed the world through a policy of "tolerance and non-interference," while rulers after the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou) sought to regulate behavior through rituals and music ("twisting with rites and music") and constrain hearts with benevolence and righteousness. Such deliberate governance, however, only leads to chaos.

True governance by sages simply requires rectifying fundamental principles ("correct first, then act") and letting suitable people handle suitable tasks ("firmly enabling each to do what they can"). In this way, the ruler may remain at ease in non-action ("serene and doing nothing"), while the myriad things operate naturally. Just as the Dao, though nameless and formless ("the Dao is eternally nameless"), allows the people to naturally sense the "power of the cosmic order." This is what Zhuangzi meant by "the sage has no name."

The text concludes with an allusion to a dialogue between Zixia and Confucius about Yan Hui's character (though not fully quoted), suggesting that understanding the sage's way requires transcending surface-level cognition. People like the Grand Steward of Shang cannot grasp this realm ("not worthy to speak of this"), hence their misinterpretation of the sage's words.

This dialogue reveals Confucius' evaluation of his four disciples, illustrating the Daoist essence of "holding to the One and maintaining the center." Yan Hui (Hui) possessed benevolence (De) but lacked adaptability; Zigong (Ci) was eloquent yet failed to understand the wisdom of knowing when to remain silent; Zilu (You) showed fearless courage but didn't grasp the principle of timely retreat; Zizhang (Shi) maintained solemn dignity but wasn't skilled in harmonious flexibility.

Confucius pointed out that these disciples had each perfected a particular virtue to its extreme, yet all fell into one-sidedness: clinging rigidly to benevolence without adaptability is like stubbornly adhering to a single principle without situational wisdom, lacking the capacity to respond to all things; mastering eloquence without understanding when silence is golden inevitably damages sincerity; pursuing unrelenting bravery without caution necessarily violates the Dao of compassionate forbearance; excessive solemnity that rejects harmony contradicts the true meaning of "blending radiance with the dust" (the Daoist wisdom of harmonizing with worldly existence).

Confucius emphasized that even if someone possessed all four virtues combined, he would never exchange his Dao for them. The sage's path lies in grasping the "Middle Way" (Zhongyong) — neither excessive nor deficient. Yan Hui's benevolence, Zigong's eloquence, Zilu's courage, and Zizhang's dignity, though each remarkable in its own way, all deviate from the wholeness of the Dao. Like musical instruments that can only produce one tone, they may each demonstrate strengths suitable for specific occasions, yet ultimately cannot encompass the complete Great Dao.

This dialogue embodies the core Daoist principle of "maintaining centrality and harmony": true sage wisdom lies in inclusive flexibility, neither fixating on extremes nor rigidly adhering to singular virtues, but rather applying all qualities according to circumstance, thereby achieving the state where "the highest brilliance follows the Dao of the Middle Way."

This passage illustrates the wholeness of the Dao by contrasting Confucius (the sage) with several disciples. Confucius possessed the complete Dao (the Great Whole), while disciples like Yan Yuan, Zigong, Zilu, and Zizhang each grasped only partial aspects.

Yan Yuan (Yan Hui) could practice benevolence (ren) but didn't fully understand why he should do so. He could maintain ren for three months without faltering, yet struggled to completely restrain himself even for a single day. This shows he understood kindness but failed to return to his original mind.

Zigong excelled in debate and rhetoric, being categorized by Confucius in the "speech" discipline, with Mencius also praising his eloquence. Yet he only knew how to speak without understanding why—skilled in words but unable to maintain silence.

Zilu (Zhong You) was renowned for bravery, but Confucius criticized him for "loving courage more than I do," showing timidity in military matters. This reveals he possessed courage but lacked caution.

Zizhang (Zhuan Sunshi) emphasized dignified appearance yet struggled with harmonious interaction; his ambitions were grand but his conduct lacked steadiness. He could maintain solemnity but didn't understand flexibility.

These four disciples weren't complete masters—they sought to exchange their specialized skills for Confucius's sagely Dao, but met his disapproval. The true Dao is like the ocean: regardless of quantity, everyone receives what suits them from its depths.