《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 101

Throughout the world, there are many who study all kinds of arts and techniques. Each believes they have achieved something, and that no one surpasses them. But where, exactly, is the “art of the Dao” spoken of by the ancients? It can be said to be everywhere.

From where does the wondrous nature of spirit descend? From where does wisdom arise? The flourishing of sages and the achievements of kings both come from the Dao as a whole. One who does not depart from the root is called a “Heavenly Person”; one who does not depart from the subtle is called a “Spirit Person”; one who does not depart from what is real is called a “Perfect Person.” One who takes Heaven as the root, De as the foundation, the Dao as the path, and can respond to change is called a “Sage.”

One who makes benevolence a kindness, righteousness a standard, ritual a guide to conduct, and music a means of harmonizing people’s hearts, and who is gentle and compassionate, is called a “gentleman.” Those who define duties by law, use titles as markers, assess people by their conduct, and settle matters through verification establish ranks of first, second, third, and fourth order. Officials are arranged in relation to one another according to these ranks. Their regular work is to manage affairs; their chief concerns are food and clothing. They also make it a priority to increase the population, maintain reserves, and care for the old, the weak, the orphaned, and the isolated. These are all ways of caring for the people.

How complete the people of antiquity were! They worked in accord with the spirits and shared De with Heaven and Earth. They nurtured the myriad things, brought harmony to the world, and bestowed their kindness on the people. They understood the fundamental principles and also mastered the rules governing details. Whether dealing with Heaven and Earth and the four directions, with opening and closing, or with what is large or small, coarse or fine, they could put their knowledge to use with ease, reaching everywhere.

As for the disciplines that set out laws and standards, many are preserved in the histories passed down through the generations. Most Confucian scholars and officials in the regions of Zou and Lu could explain the contents of works such as the Book of Odes, the Book of Documents, the Book of Rites, and the Book of Music. The Odes guide the aspirations; the Documents guide government; the Rites guide conduct; Music harmonizes people’s hearts; the Book of Changes illuminates the transformations of Yin and Yang; and the Spring and Autumn Annals clarifies distinctions of status.

These teachings spread throughout the world, giving rise to the many schools of thought across the Central States. People sometimes expound their principles, yet the world remains in great disorder: the worthy and the sages no longer shine forth, and standards of De are no longer unified. Many people each grasp one aspect and then consider themselves right. The ear, eye, nose, and mouth, for example, each discern what is suited to them, but cannot communicate with one another. The many schools and technical arts are the same: each has its strengths and its proper uses.

Yet these teachings are not complete and comprehensive; their scholars each cling to one part. They divide up the beauty of Heaven and Earth and analyze the principles of the myriad things, but few possess the complete wisdom of the ancients. Thus they cannot fully embody the beauty of Heaven and Earth or accord with the countenance of the spirits. In this way, the Dao of “inner sagehood and outer kingship” gradually fell into obscurity… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

The light of the Great Dao was clear, yet it had not been fully brought forth. So the various schools throughout the world acted according to their own desires and treated their doctrines as rules for conducting life. Tragically, once the hundred schools had arisen, it became difficult to return to the Great Dao or to bring their teachings together. Later scholars were unfortunate: they had not seen the original state in which Heaven and Earth were undivided and pure, nor did they understand the ancient people’s comprehensive grasp of the Dao. Thus the arts of the Dao were about to split apart.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “If deliberate action follows one’s true nature, it is genuine action. Since it is genuine and without falseness, what more needs to be added?” The spirit becomes manifest through its resonance with things. Letting each thing return to its root and keep to its nature, without adorning it outwardly, is precisely what enables sage kings to help all things grow and come to completion.

Terms such as “heavenly spirit,” “the most sacred,” “benevolence,” “righteousness,” “ritual,” and “music” all point to the same root, though they use different words. Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music are more immediate expressions, and they are standards followed by worthy people and exemplary gentlemen. Systems and methods such as laws and regulations, codes of conduct, and examination arose as practical needs in governing the people; the sages did not resist these needs. The terms valued by the ancients each had their own proper rationale. Thus, although there are many details, they remain within the all-pervading Dao. The many systems and standards that can be seen and discussed, however, belong to a more external level: they describe only the outward appearance of the Dao. How could they be the Dao itself?

The Six Classics have been transmitted throughout the world, and all speak of the deeds of sages and worthies. Yet even so, people may not always know how to apply those deeds appropriately. If they merely copy the practices of sages and worthies without grasping the unifying root, the world will still fall into disorder. It is therefore no easy matter to understand the principle behind the deeds of sages and worthies.

The various schools each make strained interpretations and trust partial views, failing to grasp the sages’ thought as a whole. The sage gathers together the common feelings and principles of the people and establishes standards for them. When the people entrust their feelings to these shared standards, they no longer cling to their individual likes and dislikes; society can then remain uncontentious and untroubled. When the world is in disorder, people instead give free rein to their immediate desires: each school follows its own rules and institutions, each state enacts its own policies, and each community has its own customs. The methods each excels in differ; they cannot be applied everywhere or meet every need. If only one side is adopted, the principles of all things are divided, and the Way of the sage kings is obscured. It is inherently difficult to encounter someone who can grasp the Great Dao in its entirety.

The ancients’ comprehensive understanding of the spirit of the Great Dao was to let each thing return to its root and keep to its oneness. This is the undivided and pure state of Heaven and Earth. As the arts of the Dao were passed down, they gradually developed flaws, and the various schools competed to promote their own standards. Some even used their own doctrines to dominate all things, making them turn away from their nature and submit to those who ruled them. In the end, all things lost their own life and true feelings.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “Among the hundred schools of learning in the world, none fails to apply the art it studies to practical affairs and to believe that no better method exists. Since their arts differ from one another, where is the complete Way of antiquity to be found? The answer is that the Dao is everywhere, but people have not attained its complete form.”

Once the Great Dao can no longer be kept intact, how can the spirits descend and reveal themselves? When the spirits descend, the sage comes forth; when radiance appears, the ruler’s work is accomplished. What are called the Heavenly Person, the Spirit Person, the Perfected Person, the sage, and the gentleman are fundamentally the same kind of person, simply named from different points of view.

To speak of the Dao, one must first understand “Heaven.” Heaven is the root revered by all things, so those who do not depart from the root are called Heavenly Persons. A person’s Jing and Qi can enter the wondrous realm of spirit, but without sincerity one cannot reach it. Sages preserve their inborn nature, bring the De of the spirits to its utmost, and so gather together the Dao and De and foresee change. This is what it means for the spirits to descend and give rise to a sage. When a sage’s De takes shape in benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music, and is expressed with gentleness and kindness, that person is called a gentleman. This is what it means for radiance to appear and bring a ruler to fulfillment. The sage aligns with Heaven above and connects with humanity below.

By setting boundaries through laws and standards, people are kept from overstepping their roles; by clarifying identities through ranks and titles, order is kept from falling into confusion; by testing conduct against standards of integrity, deceit is prevented; and by making judgments through evaluation, people are kept from being misled. All this rests on established systems and fixed measures. Those with many duties and great authority occupy higher positions; those with fewer duties occupy lower positions and govern smaller domains. Officials are arranged in ranks, one above another: this is the general form of the system. Above, there is the De brought forth by the sage; below, the governance accomplished by the ruler. With nothing lacking in any respect, they can accord with the spirits, harmonize Heaven and Earth, nurture all things, and bring peace throughout the realm. They understand the fixed measures at the root without doubt, and follow the standards at the branches without straying from the right way. Such governance is not confined by Heaven, Earth, or the four directions; wherever it extends, it is present.

This is, in broad outline, how the ancient arts of the Dao were practiced. As for what is called “spirit,” its number cannot be reckoned, its measure cannot be gauged, and writing or speech cannot convey it in full. What can be put into numbers and laws is given rules by the officials in charge, and its events are recorded by the court historians. What appears in the Book of Songs, the Book of Documents, the Book of Rites, and the Book of Music can, for the most part, be explained by the Confucian scholars of Zou and Lu. From the Book of Songs, which gives voice to people’s aspirations, to the Spring and Autumn Annals, which guides the ordering of ranks and titles, these are the parts of the ancient arts of the Dao that are clearly visible and can be put into systems. The former kings applied these systems to government and extended them throughout the realm. Thus, the various schools sometimes spoke of the Dao, but did not go beyond the bounds of the ancient arts of the Dao.

When the Dao prevailed in the realm, sages and worthy people were clear-sighted, and De was unified. Those who studied could then see the Dao as a whole, without being misled by strange arts. In times of disorder, people often grasped only one part of the Dao and used it to pursue private gain. Even if each had a strength, none could encompass the whole: they were merely scholars who had mastered one narrow view. Heaven and Earth possess a vast and beautiful De, yet people divide it into fragments; each of the myriad things has its own fulfillment…

When we examine things from the perspective of the Dao as a whole, and use the ancients’ understanding of the Dao in its entirety to analyze the teachings of the various schools, we find that few among them can encompass the goodness and beauty of Heaven and Earth or embody the bearing of the spirits. Thus the Way of the sage kings gradually grew obscure. People each did as they pleased, and the arts of the Dao became divided throughout the world.

The Commentary on Doubting the Solitary says: “The arts of the Dao are everywhere, but particular techniques each have their own place.” This means that the substance of the Dao is everywhere, and its workings are never absent. At times it is called “spirit,” at times “illumination”; at times “sage,” at times “king.” Sometimes it appears, sometimes it withdraws; sometimes it generates, sometimes it brings things to completion. Can these expressions really mean that the Dao exists separately in different places?

Spirit is illumination held within; illumination is spirit made manifest. The sage is the beginning of the king; the king is the sage brought to completion. They flow together seamlessly, like the energies of the four seasons, each distinct yet together completing the course of the year. Whether called Heaven, spirit, the ultimate Dao, the sage, or even the exemplary person and the various officials, they differ in root and branch, subtlety and coarseness, yet all remain within the same Dao.

What appears and takes on distinctions is the purpose of the Dao emerging through its application. What has distinctions yet is not coarse is the subtlety of the Dao. A “true person” is one whose sincerity has reached its utmost, who accords with the De of Heaven and penetrates the Great Dao; such a person is called a sage. Spirit, illumination, sage, and king are neither entirely the same nor divided from one another. They appear in different people and events.

When sages emerged into the world and became exemplary persons, their De came to be expressed in separate forms as benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music. Divided further, it became laws and standards, ranks and titles, and systems of assessment, to meet the needs of officials in their different duties. These, too, are only remnants inherited by exemplary persons. Sages divided the Great Dao so it could function in specific ways, and thus laws and standards arose. They sorted what was originally one principle into categories and distinctions, and thus offices and duties arose.

Officials may follow the laws and standards without necessarily understanding the Great Dao; they may attend to their duties without necessarily grasping how those duties actually work. Names are only outward signs of what is real; appearances are only the outward manifestation of what is inward. Even when officials meet the stated requirements, they may not fully possess the corresponding substance; even when they conform to outward standards, they may not reach the inner root. What they know and put into practice consists of visible, verifiable conduct. What they assess is knowledge that, after judgment, yields practical results. Numbers such as one, two, three, and four refer to systems of administration: titles, laws and standards, official duties, and instruments.

People differ in the extent of their abilities and the reach of their understanding. Officials therefore establish ranks accordingly, make the handling of affairs their daily work, and take the provision of food and clothing as their foundation, with the aim of nurturing the people. Through education they increase the population, enable people to live in peace and accumulate wealth, and provide support for the elderly, the weak, orphans, and widows. They also provide for and coordinate the rites that honor the spirits, Heaven, and Earth. They then nurture all things, allowing them to follow their inherent natures; bring harmony to the world, so that all things proceed in season; and spread their beneficence among the people.

“Fundamental measures” refers to the subtle root; “derivative standards” refers to the coarse details. When the Great Dao is made clear and also has something on which to rest, this is what makes it the “Dao”…

The Way is fundamentally comprehensive and almost omnipresent. The principles that are subtle and contained within nature and life can be taught. But as for the mind-to-mind teaching that cannot be conveyed through intention, could anyone claim it as their own alone? Even official historians may not be able to record it.

Matters that are evident and can be expressed through measures and standards can be explained by the Book of Songs, the Book of Documents, laws and decrees, historical records, and officials and scholars. The principles set out in the Six Classics ultimately all serve the purpose of governing the world.

Laozi and Zhuangzi sharply criticized benevolence and righteousness in order to correct a deviation and return to the right path. But to correct too forcefully is to fall into deviation again. The Six Classics of the sages are mentioned here specifically to correct the earlier overcorrection. Later, the Six Classics split apart, and each school took its own position to be the right one; as a result, the Way and its arts were no longer made clear. People spoke of the Way but could not understand it in their hearts, and the way of the sages and worthies grew obscure. The Way and De (Virtue/Power) were divided into two and could no longer be united. Everyone did as they pleased, mistaking narrow perceptions for wisdom and selfish cunning for benevolence. In this way, they could hardly embody the goodness of Heaven and Earth or manifest the bearing of the spirits. Their inner cultivation of sage virtue and outward practice of the kingly way could not truly accord.

Bixu’s commentary says: “The many arts of the world have each formed their own school of thought, hoping to achieve something in the world by means of it. But where, then, is the Way? This means that the pure essence has departed, leaving only the dregs.”

Yet the descent of the spirits and the manifestation of wisdom both arise from the Great Way. The appearance of sages and the achievements of kings do not follow two different paths. One who takes the profound and distant as their root is a Heavenly Person; one who is pure and unmixed is a Spirit Person; one who holds fast to their true nature and is without falsity is a Perfect Person. To take the natural order as one’s guiding principle, to ground one’s achievements in virtue without relying on it, to practice the way of openness and penetrating understanding, and to perceive the subtle workings of the spirit: these are the highest principles upheld by the sage who governs the world. The Heavenly Person, Spirit Person, and Perfect Person mentioned earlier are titles for those of a higher order.

The discussion then turns to how the gentleman and the officials govern the world through benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music. They use benevolent instruction to make people kind and peaceful, extending their grace to all things. They establish laws and decrees to define responsibilities, use titles and ranks to mark people’s character, assess integrity to test ability, and examine seniority to determine promotion, demotion, and dismissal. These practices each have their own methods and systems. When the Great Way is insufficient, laws and decrees are used; when these are insufficient, stratagems are used; when stratagems are insufficient, authority is brought to bear; and when authority, too, is insufficient, one returns to stratagems. Stratagems ultimately return to laws and decrees, and laws and decrees return to the Great Way. The Great Way is Wuwei (non-action), through which all under Heaven is naturally transformed and nurtured.

Stratagems are methods a ruler employs in secret, which ministers must not casually pry into. Authority is an advantage for controlling things, which ministers must not use as they please. If a ruler has stratagems but ministers can see through them, then those stratagems are not deep enough; if a ruler has authority but ministers can also wield it on their own…

The crucial point is not how great one’s power and influence are, but first to set the proper distinctions in order, so that the various parties do not encroach upon one another. Only then can methods of governance be put into practice and authority concentrated. The officials are ranked according to their duties, but this amounts to no more than arranging them in sequence: first, second, third, fourth.

Categories such as law, names, conduct, and verification are all intended to teach and nurture the people, so that everyone may be settled in their work and not lose their means of livelihood. In the most ancient times there were no laws or commands, yet people naturally possessed everything needed for good governance. This was not achieved by establishing laws and commands. When people are brought into harmony with the spirits, the spirits and ghosts no longer manifest their power or respond to them. When Heaven and Earth are made harmonious and balanced, the seasons proceed smoothly. When all things are nurtured, harvests are consistently abundant. When the world is brought into harmony, the people do not die young and suffer few calamities. Thus, benevolence can reach the plants and trees, and trust can move pigs and fish. This is because one understands the distinction between what is fundamental and what is secondary: the ruler grasps the fundamental principles, while the ministers attend to the rules governing the details.

For the ruler to practice Wuwei (non-action) and honor fundamental principles is the Way of Heaven. To remain in one’s proper place is also the Way of Heaven. For ministers to act, yet be entangled in secondary affairs, is the Way of Earth. To investigate and examine particular matters is also the ministers’ responsibility. The distinction between what is fundamental and what is secondary need only be carefully discerned.

This Great Way reaches in all six directions and opens out on every side without obstruction. Nothing between Heaven and Earth lies beyond its reach—not things as fine as a hair, spirits, physical forms and objects, or the movements and transformations of things. The principles of Yin-Yang, calendrical systems, poetry and the classics, ritual, and music are scattered among the many schools of thought throughout the world. People of the time all called them “the Way.” Later, the way of simplicity gradually fell away and the world’s customs declined. The Way and the world turned against one another; people grew clever in pursuing their private interests, unable to connect with or make use of one another. As a result, the Way of the sage kings was no longer made clear. People followed their own desires and never turned back, moving further from the Great Way day by day. The Way’s arts split apart and scattered throughout the world. This was the scholars’ misfortune.

Yanzhai says: At the end of the work, Zhuangzi discusses the learning of ancient and modern times, just as Mencius, in his final chapter, discusses “knowing by hearing” and “knowing by seeing.” From the beginning of the chapter up to “the arts of the Way split apart throughout the world” is an introduction that frames the whole work; the various schools are then discussed in turn. Zhuangzi includes his own writings among those schools. The learning of the Zou and Lu regions is also described in this general account. From this we can see that although this old master’s writings contain many forceful remarks meant to correct worldly customs, he was not unaware that the learning of the Confucian sages’ school was the right way.

People all think their own teachings have nothing beyond them, and so ask: Where, in fact, are the ancient arts of the Way, the arts of benevolence, and the arts of the mind? They are everywhere. This statement contains the meaning of “being in accord with the moment”: although teachings differ, the Way is present throughout. “The spirits descend, and radiance appears”—where can this be seen? The appearance of sages and the rise of kings are part of the process by which Heaven and Earth bring forth the myriad things. All of this comes from a single source. Here, “the One” refers to…

The terms “ancestor,” “essence,” and “truth” all share a meaning with the term “Dao” (the Way); they are simply written differently.

From “taking Heaven as one’s ancestor” to “taking the Dao as one’s gateway,” both phrases express Wuwei (non-action) and following the natural course of things. The signs of the myriad things appear amid change, while their source lies in a single origin. To describe it as “warmly compassionate and benevolent” is to focus on the state of Qi (vital energy); to explain it through “models” is to distinguish among different forms; to explain it through “names” is to establish certain norms. Practical verification and judgment, too, each have their own basis.

The text uses “one, two, three, four” to convey meticulous attention and complete arrangements. It takes food and clothing as the foundation, teaching the people to work diligently at farming and sericulture and weaving, and showing care for the elderly, the weak, orphans, and widows. These are the foundations of administering policy and putting benevolent government into practice. The four lines beginning with “accord with the spirits and luminous powers” describe the breadth of their effects; “root and branch” encompass both the subtle and the manifest. Access in all six directions and openness on all four sides show that anything can be put into practice.

The text then turns in sequence to the learning of the Six Classics—the six Confucian classics—and clearly discusses Confucius, the various schools that branched out from his teachings, and the different arts and skills. People throughout the world often grasp only one part, yet take it as grounds for boasting. This is like the ears and eyes being unable to communicate with each other, leaving one’s understanding of Heaven, Earth, and the spirits incomplete. “Inner sage” refers to inner cultivation; “outer king” refers to external governance. When the ways of inner and outer are unclear, people act according to their own desires and each establish a method of their own. Having lost their way, they do not know how to return to the right path. The line “The arts of the Dao will be split apart under Heaven” brings the passage to a powerful close.

The beginning of this chapter says that scholars of the time each became absorbed in the skills at which they excelled, believing that what they did could not be surpassed. They did not understand the subtle principle of Wuwei and naturalness, and so were far from the Great Dao. Where, then, were the arts of the Dao in ancient times? The answer is: they were everywhere. Later generations each devised their own methods, creating barriers within the arts of the Dao. States and schools consequently differed, and in time these differences divided into all kinds of specialized doctrines.

The function of the arts of the Dao is to accord with the spirits and luminous powers, govern affairs of state, strengthen customs and moral instruction, and understand human relationships. In this way, the people follow the Dao without feeling that anyone is directing them, and all things ultimately return to natural transformation. The sage rulers of high antiquity could therefore sit at ease in Wuwei, watching the people throughout the world live in comfort and abundance. The effects made manifest by the spirits and luminous powers respond to the way things resonate with them. Even when their actions appear to involve deliberate effort, sages can make sagely virtue manifest and bring royal achievements to completion. This, too, is the result of the spirits and luminous powers carrying out their instruction; it does not depart from the root.

“Saint” means one who fulfills the Dao of Heaven; “gentleman” means one who fulfills human affairs. The former concerns the work of the sage, in which the spirits and luminous powers are inherently present; the latter concerns the work of the ruler, through which the Dao takes form in governance. The text therefore uses “inner” and “outer” to distinguish between them. It then lists laws and institutions, distinctions of rank, numbers, measures, and the Book of Songs, the Book of Documents, the Book of Rites, and the Book of Music. These are all tools with which the former kings governed the world. What matters is whether the right people can be found to put them to use.

Only by understanding the origin of the Dao can one know how to carry out the many practices that follow from it. When the Dao is sufficient to match the spirits, Heaven and Earth can be pure and rich; when De is sufficient to nourish the myriad things, the world can be harmonious.

All the levels unfolded from “the One” are secondary details. The foundation on which the sage relies is to take “the One” as the root; a ruler brings governance to completion by drawing on the coordination of two aspects. Only when root and detail depend on one another is the Way of governance complete.

When the sage kings of antiquity governed the world, they considered the people’s concerns with great care and far-reaching foresight. They sought not only peace in their own time, but also laws and institutions that could endure for countless generations. From the Dao and their aspirations to systems of names and distinctions, all were practices and traces left by the sages in governing the world. When put into effect across the realm, these measures achieved varying degrees of success; when applied to particular affairs, government could be orderly or chaotic. These differences arose because the intentions of the sages and worthies were not clearly understood, and the aims of the Dao and De were not brought into accord.

Those who study but prize only methods that have grown obsolete are like people who treasure straw dogs discarded after a sacrifice: governance cannot reach its ideal, and strange things then arise. Each person grasps just one aspect and imagines they have understood the whole. This is like mistaking a little water pooled in a hoofprint for the Eastern Sea.

The greatest beauty between Heaven and Earth can be made complete only by the Dao; only De can match the form and bearing of the spirits. How could those who act solely on their own opinions ever attain such a state?

The few sentences at the end of this chapter are forceful in tone. They reveal the depth of the author’s concern in the Nanhua Zhenjing and call to mind Confucius’s lament over the state of his age. The final sentence of the original contains a possible textual error: given the context, the character wei in “有为不可加为下” may need to be repeated; “欲焉” may also have been intended as “欲为.” A definitive textual emendation requires judging the passage in light of its fuller meaning.