《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 103

Impartial without taking sides, straightforward and free of self-interest, decisive in action yet unwilling to cling to one’s own position; following the tendencies of things as they are, without dividing them into two kinds. Not burdened by deliberation, nor acting through schemes and cleverness; making no choices among the myriad things, but changing along with them. Among the ancient arts of the Dao, some held this view. Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao heard of this way of thinking and admired it. They made “the equality of all things” their foremost principle, saying: “Heaven can cover the myriad things, but cannot carry them; Earth can carry the myriad things, but cannot cover them; the Great Dao can embrace the myriad things, but cannot distinguish them one by one. We know that each thing has what is admirable about it, and what is not. Thus, if one makes choices, one cannot be all-encompassing; if one seeks to transform things through teaching, one cannot bring everything to fulfillment. Only the Great Dao leaves nothing out.”

Shen Dao therefore cast aside cleverness and dispensed with the self, yielding to circumstances that could not be avoided. He followed the myriad things without trying to rule them, and took this as the standard of the Dao. He said: “Those who think they know do not, in fact, know. If such people consider themselves only a little knowledgeable, they are closer to putting themselves in harm’s way.” He was loose and unrestrained, unwilling to be directed, and mocked the world’s esteem for the worthy and capable. He let himself go, unconstrained by customary conduct, and criticized those whom the world called great sages. He advocated being turned by external things, like a mallet being struck or a wheel spinning. He set aside distinctions between right and wrong; so long as one could avoid disaster, there was no need to rely on deliberation or distinguish what came before from what came after. One simply followed along, dazed and unresisting.

One acts only when pushed, and goes only when pulled; one turns like a whirlwind, circles like a feather, and rolls like a grindstone. Whatever one’s circumstances, one does not think oneself at fault; whether moving or still, one never departs from what is ordinary. One is never guilty. Why? Because things without awareness or sensation have no anxiety about maintaining a self and no burden of employing cleverness. Their movement and stillness never depart from what is ordinary, so they earn no reputation throughout their lives. Shen Dao therefore said that to reach the state of things without awareness, one need not employ worthiness or sage wisdom.

Yet even clods of earth do not lose the Dao. The great men, however, mocked one another, saying: “The Dao Shen Dao speaks of is not something living people can put into practice. It is merely the way of dead things, and only seems strange.” Tian Pian held a similar view. He studied with Peng Meng but received no formal instruction from him. Peng Meng’s teacher said: “Those who attained the Dao in ancient times reached the point of judging no one right and no one wrong. That was all. Their way of being was vast and shapeless—how could it be put into words?” They constantly acted contrary to ordinary principles. They did not gather to watch, yet could not help being turned along with things, as a wheel turns. The Dao they spoke of was not the true Dao, and what they called right could not avoid becoming wrong. Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao did not understand the Dao, though in broad terms they had all heard accounts of it.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “‘Decisive yet without a fixed position’ means allowing each thing to follow its own nature. Since all things can follow their own tendencies, they return to equality.”

Every matter should follow the nature of things themselves, so that each finds its proper place. “Clarifying and sifting” means clearing away murk and washing out disturbance. To follow what is natural and let things develop as they will: this is what it means to understand the principle.

Those of limited ability do not know how to let things follow their natural dispositions, so they look down on them and may even harm them. If people are employed without regard to their respective roles, and everyone is simply put to work, each acting according to their own abilities, disorder will result. Nor is it necessarily worthwhile to exalt the worthy. The truly great sage does not seek to destroy the ways things already express themselves, but to free the myriad things from the sway of external pursuits and coercion.

Though the methods of the Legalists are ingenious, they are still like blows from a hammer: they impose force and have not yet eliminated the traces of human contrivance. Those who cannot distinguish right from wrong or what comes before from what comes after shut their eyes and indulge their natures, seeking only to escape the danger at hand. Some may appear independent and detached, yet they are still being pushed and pulled along. This is what is meant by “acting because one has no choice.” Calamity arises from reputation, and reputation arises from establishing achievements and pursuing fame. Only the sage can set aside cleverness and preconceptions and follow the natural course.

The foolish and the wise each accept their place; the noble and the lowly each occupy theirs. The worthy and the unworthy alike act in keeping with their own natures. Some therefore argue that the worthy and the sages are of no use, and that trying to get rid of them is like removing clods of earth. But this, too, speaks of the Dao by borrowing the myriad things in their teeming profusion. None of the myriad things can attain the Dao by relying on external things, for the Dao does not belong exclusively to any one kind of thing.

Only after setting aside cleverness and letting nature take its course can one become spiritually illumined and see through things. This is what makes the worthy and the sages worthy and sage. To say that “a clod of earth does not lose the Dao” is to say that a person who rests content like a clod is not thereby lifeless. Why, then, should one make a show of deliberate action like a hero? Heroes laugh because they have not yet aligned themselves with the highest Dao. They regard this teaching as strange and so refuse to pass it on. The Dao of letting one’s nature take its own course does not impose judgments of right and wrong; this is how all things are made equal. When a contrary wind moves through an open space, it produces sound. This principle does not cater to the expectations of the people. Even when laws are set down, they should be straightforward and simple, without sharp edges. The Dao is everywhere. To say that even a clod of earth does not lose the Dao is to show that one can accord with the Dao without relying on cleverness. Even so, this view has heard something of the Dao but has not yet truly attained it.

Lü’s commentary: If one forms no cliques or private alliances, the heart-mind is empty and still, free of preconceptions, and so one can become one with external things. If one makes no calculations or plans, one moves together with the myriad things. In ancient times, those who understood the arts of the Dao heard the wind of the Dao while still and silent, and their hearts filled with joy. Through resonance, they could then understand the principles of all things under Heaven. This was something those three men did not know.

Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the Dao is great, yet each has its limitations. From this we can see that every thing has qualities worth valuing as well as qualities that are not. If one chooses among things, one cannot encompass them all; if one teaches only part of the whole, one cannot make the teaching universal. Only by using the Dao to make all things equal can nothing be left out. Thus Shen Dao cast aside cleverness and preconceptions, and followed the natural course of what could not be otherwise. “Clarifying” means clearing away murk; “sifting” means washing out disturbance. The ancients entered the realm of the Dao by these means, but they did not take the means themselves to be the Dao. Those two men, however, treated the Dao as if it went no further than this…

People do not realize that wisdom and the self were never separate things to begin with. The ten thousand things grow together; their changes are the process of returning to the root, and amid all their complexity they ultimately come back to that root. None of this is enough to disturb the heart.

What Shen Dao (Danzi), the Warring States thinker, grasped was the idea of knowing that one does not know. He wanted to reduce knowledge, yet in doing so he came close to harming innate nature; only by not striving to know can one hope to preserve oneself. Shen Dao knew only “knowing that one does not know,” but did not understand that not-knowing itself can also count as a kind of knowing.

He acted in a loose, unsettled way—free and unrestrained, not bound by convention—but this was not the method by which the sages and worthies of the world renounce knowledge and abandon the self. The text goes on to use “pounding” (chuipai) and “breaking apart” (yuduan) to describe a state of adapting with things: “pounding” is like repeatedly forging things on an anvil; “breaking apart” suggests splitting and severing. If a person can turn with things and change along with the ten thousand things, he forgets clever planning and no longer weighs what comes first or last, letting himself follow the current. He moves only after being pulled or pushed, like a feather spinning in the wind or a grindstone turned by another’s hand; the motive for action then seems not to come from the self, as if he were a thing without awareness. Thus there is no longer the worry of deliberately setting up a self or deploying artifice; in motion and stillness he does not go against the pattern of things, so he neither seeks reputation nor invites fault.

Shen Dao took this as the Way and thought that only by being unmoved like a clod of earth could one avoid straying from the Dao. He seems to have made “cutting off sage wisdom and discarding knowledge” his doctrine; yet to deliberately cut off and discard knowledge is itself like taking that stance as one’s own sageliness and wisdom. How is that different from a dead thing? For that reason bold spirits mock him, and it is no wonder people find such teaching strange.

Tian Pian studied with Peng Meng but received no fixed teaching, for once there is fixed teaching, the goal cannot be reached. When they spoke of the ancients, they said the ancients had merely reached the point of not judging right and wrong. That atmosphere was vast and formless—how could words explain it? It was almost a reach toward a state where right and wrong had never been distinguished. Yet if one makes “those who know do not speak” one’s banner while acting in every way contrary to ordinary people, and still hopes to show oneself by not gathering a crowd, one ultimately cannot escape deliberate severance and rigid fixation.

The Dao never treated the ten thousand things as fixed entities in the first place; therefore it takes emptiness that does not harm things as what is real. Why must one always oppose ordinary people and treat pounding and breaking things apart as the Dao? The “Way” they speak of is not the true Dao, and what they call right is bound to be partial, because they are trapped within the bounds of not-knowing.

Shen Dao, Tian Pian, and Peng Meng, though they did not truly penetrate the Dao, had at least heard something of its teaching. As for Mo Di, Huixi, Song Xing, and Yin Wen, they fell short even of the Daoist line and never truly heard the Great Dao. The Dao arises from the genuine condition of nature and life (xingming); genuine principle is for cultivating the person. Mo Di and Huixi laid down rules of conduct that everywhere violated the common ways of the world; they even advocated withholding love from oneself and others—this is losing the root and forfeiting true nature.

The Collected Subtle Commentaries on the True Classic of Southern Florescence, when discussing “the Daoist arts splitting apart under Heaven,” first speaks of Song Xing and Yin Wen, then turns to Shen Dao. Shen Dao’s understanding was not especially profound, but it came closer to the truth than that of ordinary people; the discussion proceeds from the shallow toward the deeper.

The Commentary of Yidu says: After the Daoist arts had split apart, these three gentlemen heard the prevailing talk about the Dao and took delight in it. Shen Dao’s understanding of the Dao differed from that of Song Xing and Yin Wen. He regarded all things as equal, even the head of a crow; unlike Jiezi, he did not begin by distinguishing things and clarifying their boundaries.

Heaven can fulfill its own function, but cannot perform Earth’s function in its place; Earth can fulfill its own function, but cannot perform Heaven’s in its place. The Dao moves between Heaven and Earth and can encompass all things, but cannot distinguish each thing from every other. Thus, each thing has something to commend it and something that cannot be commended. To merge all things into one is to be all-encompassing; to let all things follow their own course is to reach the utmost; to embrace all things is to be complete. But if one insists on making distinctions, something will be left out.

So Shen Dao set aside cleverness and made no distinctions. He let go of self and did not deliberately engage with external things. He followed the course of things and settled in what could not be avoided. He never actively sought a response from external things, forced his words to be perfectly clear, or deliberately set out to accomplish anything. Coolly keeping to himself, he let things take their course and remained at ease, unburdened by external things. Shen Dao held that deliberately reducing one’s cleverness could still harm the truth. To forget cleverness completely, one should refrain from acting arbitrarily; then no trouble will arise. By not acting deliberately, one leaves no trace.

The worthy act and accomplish their work; the sages embody De (Virtue/Power). Shen Dao praised none of this. “Chui pai” means supporting and striking a body about to move forward; “wan duan” means cutting away what is already damaged. If a person can bend with things and hold no attachment to right and wrong, they can escape entanglement. They do not take cleverness as their teacher; they forget the divisions between before and after, their mind is like dead ash, and they stand alone in quiet ease.

He never took the initiative, yet was always in accord; he never actively sought a response, yet always responded. His movement was like a cart being pushed, his progress like a tail being dragged: both followed circumstances that could not be avoided. Thus he circled like a feather in the wind and turned like the axle of a millstone. His De remained intact, and neither movement nor stillness went to excess. This was because he did not use cleverness to peer into external things or cling to self, so calamity and entanglement could not reach him.

Good and bad fortune arise from action; praise and blame arise from doing. Shen Dao and Peng Meng placed themselves beyond good and bad fortune, praise and blame. They even regarded themselves as things without knowledge or sensation, believing that this was how one avoided losing the Dao. The Dao is followed by all things that have form; De is attained by all beings with minds. The Dao is present everywhere, even in something as small as a tile or pebble. Yet the Dao Shen Dao described was not something ordinary people could put into practice, which made it seem strange.

Tian Pian and Shen Dao both studied with Peng Meng and grasped the Dao that is “attained without instruction.” Their manner was deep and obscure, leaving people perplexed; their condition is difficult to describe clearly. They often ran counter to worldly custom and did not gather crowds to watch them, because they had not yet truly made all things equal. “Wan duan” means that they had no edges and showed no sharpness. As for what they were ultimately… (The original text ends here.)

The Dao is sometimes described as “not the Dao,” and what people consider right may also be called wrong.

The three masters had probably all heard of the Dao, but had not truly attained it. Laozi once said to “cut off sagehood and cast away knowledge” (abandon sage-like wisdom and clever contrivances), a view Zhuangzi does not endorse here. The teachings of Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao may seem to conflict with Laozi’s. In fact, Zhuangzi uses these two kinds of sayings as parables, stripping away their original, specific contexts so that later readers may understand that they were corrective arguments aimed at the circumstances of their time.

Bixu’s commentary says: Favor one side and you cannot be impartial; speak only from personal feelings and you cannot see clearly; if you have no settled view in mind, you lose control of the situation. Govern things according to standards, and you will not handle them in a hesitant or uncertain way. Therefore, forget personal cleverness, make no partial choices, and act only according to standards. Heaven and Earth cannot accomplish every undertaking, and sages do not possess every ability. Things can be feasible or infeasible, which is why standards for governing are needed. If standards are discarded and things are left to personal choice and the imposition of teachings, nothing can be handled fully and principles cannot be carried through to the end. The Great Dao embraces all things and leaves nothing out; it also includes standards that accord with nature.

The meaning of the following passage by Shen Dao is that only by doing this can one avoid leaving things out. “Sifting and refining” means selecting and purifying: using standards to distinguish the coarse from the fine in things, so as to uphold the principles of the world. Applying standards, even if imperfectly, is better than having none. Without standards, principles cannot be established, and disorder reaches its extreme.

Even a little understanding of principle cannot prevent one from harboring private motives; once one has private motives, slackness is inevitable. Those who behave perversely, act against convention, and laugh aloud mock the reverence for the worthy because it lacks standards. They indulge themselves, and their words and actions are wild and extravagant; this is not the sage’s state of emptiness, stillness, and openness. It is precisely the result of the flaws in standards.

“Striking and pounding to break shackles” refers to using a mallet and blows to break the bonds that restrain people. “Cutting off limbs and severing joints as punishment” refers to punishments that mutilate the body. Although these measures are applied flexibly according to circumstances, they disregard the true condition of things and fail to distinguish right from wrong, seeking only to avoid calamity. In this way, people are made to forget reflection and cleverness, and to remain peacefully still. When still, they act only after being pushed or pulled; when moving, they are like a fierce wind or a spinning feather. Such people have no need to exercise cleverness and seem like beings without knowledge; even if spirits descended upon them, there would be no way for the spirits to exert their influence. This describes people who preserve themselves in a withered state and cut themselves off from external things, so that everyone finds them strange.

The three masters all established their teachings on Mohist doctrine. Once teachings are established, distinctions between right and wrong follow. Yet they now say that nothing should be judged right or wrong. This is like wind passing through an empty valley and producing sound, while the principle within it remains indistinguishable. This is called “not teaching.” But such a claim goes against human nature, and in the end they still cannot avoid striking, cutting, and punishment. The phrase “the Dao is not the way of kings” means that their standards may have some reason behind them, but their application does not accord with the proper Dao. None of the three masters truly attained the Dao, though they had studied and were known in their time for their learning. The teachings they established, however, were not sound.

Yanzhai says: “‘Following things’ refers to the patterns and principles of the myriad things, and these are not all of one kind. Peng and Tian …” (The original text ends here.)

Shen Dao and the other two were recluses of the state of Qi. Their view was that Heaven and Earth are simply things among the myriad things. Each has its own limits and cannot encompass everything. Only the Dao (the Way) can gather all things under its sway without making distinctions. Each thing has aspects that can be valued and aspects that cannot. To choose among them is to fail to be comprehensive; to teach them one by one is impossible. Once everything is traced back to the Dao, there is nothing more to say.

Set aside knowledge and the self, and practice Wuwei (non-action): this means being unbound by external things and meeting no obstacles. They said that if one distinguishes between knowing and not knowing, one becomes trapped by knowledge and comes close to harming oneself. The mind and spirit grow unsettled, and one can no longer take responsibility for one’s actions. Because their minds did not attend to particular affairs, they mocked the world’s admiration for the worthy and capable. Because they let themselves be free and detached, unrestrained by conventional conduct, they considered mistaken the teachings of the sages revered by the world. Made smooth and shapeless, as if beaten and hewn, one can turn with the changes of all things, make no distinction between right and wrong, and so escape the entanglements of the world.

“Feathers spinning in the wind” and “a millstone turning along a carved track” are both metaphors for acting without intention and following the changes of external things. Only when things are free of preconceived views do they avoid clinging to the conviction that they are right and growing complacent; they also avoid the burdens that come from deliberate striving. In movement and stillness alike, they follow what is fitting. They seek neither approval from others nor a good reputation, and so incur no faults. Why borrow the names of the worthy and the sages? Be as shapeless and unaware as a stone, and you will not stray from the Dao.

These arguments resemble the views held today by ascetics who practice hardship in the mountains and forests. That is why people of talent and virtue laugh at them, thinking them as good as dead. When they studied, these people understood one another; some principles they grasped without needing instruction. Their teacher said, “Those who cultivated the Dao in ancient times took the absence of distinctions between right and wrong as their guiding principle. Their words were like a sudden gust of wind, sweeping past in an instant, without deliberate attachment. So why would there be any need to say more?” Their views often ran counter to those of others, and they could not connect different things and examine them as a whole; their arguments therefore could not help being one-sided. All they sought was to be without edges. “Yuan-duan” and the earlier “wan-duan” mean the same thing: rounded and without edges. Their words may sound forceful and grand, but the Dao they describe is not the true Dao. Shen Dao and the other two did not truly understand the Dao. Zhuangzi’s verdict in this sentence is that, broadly speaking, they had heard of the Dao but had not grasped its true path.

To favor neither side is to have no selfish intent. To judge decisively without treating one’s own view as the standard is to bring the tendencies of all things in the world to unity. One neither deliberates nor schemes, but changes along with all things. When Shen Dao and the other two heard this, they readily agreed, since their principles were close to it.

In establishing their teaching, they made the equalization of all things their foremost claim. Things are not originally the same; it is the Dao that makes them equal. Heaven and Earth are the greatest of beings, yet even they cannot make all things one. How much less can anything else?

The Dao (the Way) embraces all things without distinction, and this is the principle of qi (equalization, making all things even and undifferentiated). Each of the myriad things has its uses and also its limits. If one selects and distinguishes among them, they become ever more unequal. But if the Dao is used to govern all things, nothing is left out.

Thus Shen Dao (a Daoist scholar of the Warring States period who advocated abandoning cleverness and artifice) set aside his own cleverness and outwardly appeared foolish. Removing private desire, he let external things transform according to their own nature. He responded to affairs only when compelled, so although he seemed to act, he did not act intentionally. By clarifying the source of the mind so that it became clear and empty, sifting out distracting thoughts as one washes sand and stones, the myriad things would all come to submit.

"Those who know come out of not-knowing" means that true wisdom arises from ignorance. If one only slightly reduces one's cleverness, one still comes close to harming one's nature; one must reach complete ignorance for the attainment to be whole. Xue Kui (meaning mockery) was not equal to affairs, and so he ridiculed those who "esteem the worthy as the method for governing the world."

The phrase "chui pai bian chi xie duan" refers to punishing offenders with penalties, which the later text describes as "cutting off criminals." This means that even when laws are applied and punishments carried out, they must accord gently with the reason of things, be comprehensive and fair, and so conform to principle.

If one can abandon worldly notions of right and wrong and investigate the true condition of things, one can be free of calamity. Gou mian (narrowly escaping calamity) is a self-deprecating expression, meaning that by not taking knowledge as one's teacher, one forgets prior and subsequent deliberations. Wei ran (standing alone in stillness) is like withered wood: it does not move unless pushed, and once pushed it moves as lightly as wind blowing a feather, without any scheming, and so it makes no error.

Things without knowledge do not establish a self or employ cleverness. Neither motion nor stillness is intentional, and they naturally accord with principle. Since praise has no ground to stand on, what could blame attach to? Therefore one does not envy the fame of sages, but makes oneself as ignorant as a clod of earth, taking this to be attaining the Dao. Yet one fails to understand that the Dao has the principle of responsive penetration and subtle transformation. This is like the "dead men" that heroes ridicule, no different from them.

Tian Pian studied under Peng Meng. He simply let the nature of things take its own course, supported it with learning, but did not correct its root, and so it is said he "attained without teaching." This means that when learning the Dao reaches the point of not distinguishing right from wrong, that is enough. Speech passes by like wind, and the mind rests in silence, indifferent to distinctions of right and wrong. What need is there to further discuss their underlying reasons?

Therefore they often go against ordinary human sentiment and do not gather their gaze to observe the world. "Gathering the gaze" is close in meaning to "endangering their viewing-terrace." Yet they still cannot avoid employing laws and carrying out punishments, and without laws it would be difficult to govern. The Dao they speak of is not the true Dao, so even though their words contain some reason, they inevitably draw criticism. None of the three masters truly knew the Dao, but their doctrines once circulated in their time and cannot be entirely extinguished.

Examining in detail what the Nanhua (the Zhuangzi) discusses, the teachings of Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao are again superior to those of Ku Huo (a debater recorded in the "Tianxia" chapter of the Zhuangzi).

Those placed in the category discussed earlier are treated later because their ideas are relatively close to those of Guan Yin and Lao Dan.

They regarded the “root” as essential and external things as coarse. They believed that no matter how much one accumulated, it would still not be enough, and so they remained detached and practiced Wuwei (non-action), dwelling alone with the spirits. Ideas resembling this can be found in ancient Daoist teachings. When Guan Yin and Lao Dan heard of this way of life, they admired it. They took “constant Nonbeing” and “constant Being” as their basis, and made the “Great One” (Taiyi, the unified and fundamental Dao) their central principle. They expressed it outwardly through softness and humility, and inwardly through emptiness that does no harm to the myriad things.

Guan Yin said: “When the heart does not cling to anything fixed, the forms of external things reveal themselves naturally. In motion, be like water; at rest, be like a mirror; in response, be like an echo. Be indistinct and formless, still and clear. By being one with the myriad things, you can live in harmony with them. To think you have gained something is, on the contrary, to lose it. Never put yourself ahead of others; always follow along with them.”

Lao Dan said: “Know strength, yet hold to weakness, and you can become the world’s valley. Know purity, yet willingly accept disgrace, and you can become the world’s ravine. While everyone else vies to be first, willingly place yourself last and say, ‘I bear the world’s defilement.’ While everyone else seeks fullness, willingly remain empty. Because you do not hoard or possess, you seem to have more than enough. You meet the world with ease and do not exhaust your energy. By following Wuwei, you laugh at those who rely on clever contrivances. While everyone else seeks good fortune, willingly yield and preserve yourself, saying, ‘I only ask to be free of fault.’ Take depth as your foundation and simplicity as your rule. As the saying goes: ‘What is hard will break; what is sharp will be blunted.’ Always be generous toward the myriad things and do not deliberately harm others—this may be called the utmost. Guan Yin and Lao Dan were truly people of the Way, whose wisdom and depth in ancient times were vast!”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “To accumulate much and still feel it is not enough” means that only by entrusting oneself to the world can one truly have more than enough. How could Nonbeing and Being be established by people? To say that one “takes constant Nonbeing and Being as one’s basis” means that the myriad things each arise naturally. Heaven, earth, and all things each find fulfillment in themselves, without relying on anything else to adorn them. Is this not what it means to take the Great One as one’s central principle?

When external things arrive, respond to them; once you have responded, do not retain them in your heart. Thus, when things depart, their effects depart with them. Do not insist on your own view; let the myriad things develop in their own way, and their forms will reveal themselves naturally. Being in motion or at rest like water or a mirror is a metaphor for remaining impartial and unattached at all times. To be indistinct and still means that those who preserve their original nature do not know what they have gained. When the myriad things each keep to their proper place, they can be still and practice Wuwei.

Do not strive to be strong or make yourself conspicuous. Those who do so always want to surpass others and stand out. Is this not because their desires exceed what is proper to them, thereby endangering their lives? The ancients did not pursue endless cleverness, and so they were able to preserve their original nature. Once they had preserved it, they could draw people to them, like a valley: people throughout the world were glad to honor them and never grew weary of doing so.

Softness, accepting disgrace, and placing oneself last are all regarded by the worldly as defilements. Those who seek fullness know only that “Being” can bring benefit, but do not know that “Nonbeing” also has its uses… (The original text ends here.)

By maintaining a state of emptiness, stillness, and detachment, one waits for all things to become full and complete of their own accord. One does not hoard or possess things, but returns them to the world so each may remain in its proper place. There is therefore no need to worry about having too little. To stand alone and self-sufficient like a high mountain is to follow this way of living: act in ways that benefit the people, move with the changes of the four seasons, and bring all things to completion. Always in accord with principle, one suffers no illness and wastes nothing.

Those skilled in contrivance and adaptation take action, but in doing so they damage the wondrous power by which things come to completion naturally. Those who practice Wuwei (non-action) follow the growth of things themselves, allowing them to arise and flourish of their own accord. Each thing has its own ability and fulfills its own function. Even a spider can weave a web: everyone has abilities of their own, and need not be like Gong Chui, the legendary master craftsman, to be capable. Follow the natural patterns of things and you can remain whole. Seek no blessings, and blessings will naturally be complete. Act in accord with all things, and you will invite no error.

Principle is rooted in the beginning of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the source before Heaven and Earth were divided and before the myriad things appeared. It cannot be called shallow. Take simplicity as your standard and remove what is excessive. When accord with the natural reaches its utmost, even metal and stone no longer seem hard and impenetrable; when nature is opposed, even water vapor loses its softness. To follow nature is to preserve; to go against it is to destroy—this is the way of nature. Rushing forward without restraint makes one sharp and harmful. When each keeps to its proper place, there is naturally room to spare. There is no need to cut others down, and one can preserve one’s own nature.

In Lü’s commentary, if one regards the Dao as something subtle, then concrete things seem coarse. Once concrete things are seen as coarse, “nothing” comes to seem subtle. The Dao has never become any particular thing, so whenever something is accumulated, it is still not enough. Only when one reaches the utmost emptiness and stillness, storing up nothing at all, does one come to rest. Then one can dwell alone in detachment, accompanied by the spirits.

The ancient arts of the Dao encompass everything, from root to branch and from the subtle to the manifest. To call the root subtle here is simply to follow the circumstances of the time. The Dao has no form or substance, yet it appears in response to the times; in this way, it still seems to establish something. If constant Wuwei and nothingness are taken as the foundation, the myriad things cannot shake them.

Once the “Dao” is spoken of, it becomes two things. And if “One” is treated as something that can be spoken of, it is no longer the Great One (the supreme, undivided unity). Within the Great One, even “One” cannot be found. All things return to it, yet no one knows what governs them. The Dao has no form, and so does not contend; its outward expression is softness and humility. By observing these expressions, one can understand what they rest upon within. All things return to their roots, whose essential nature is empty. To take emptiness as the foundation does not destroy the myriad things. This is different from treating specific crafts, such as striking or turning, as the Dao.

Guan Yinzi says that these eleven statements all concern the cultivation of oneself: when one is not constrained by the body or external things, the effects that arise naturally will appear. Laozi says, “Know the masculine, yet keep to the feminine; know the white, yet keep to the disgraceful.” This means knowing strength while holding to weakness, and knowing purity while accepting a lowly position. Soft and still, one does not contend to be first. After being humbled, one yields and returns to the root. Streams carry water without storing it up; valleys respond to all things without hoarding them. The source of rivers and seas comes from this. This is what it means to take constant Wuwei and nothingness as the foundation, and the Great One as the governor … (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Later, he takes in the world’s defilements, while expressing himself outwardly through gentleness and humility. Inwardly, he remains empty and still, keeping nothing for himself and claiming nothing as his own. Thus he does not harm the myriad things; instead, they can serve him. This is why he has reserves to spare. He does not put himself ahead of others, but follows their lead, and so remains at ease without exhausting his strength. This is unlike those who wear out their bodies and labor over self-cultivation in pursuit of the Dao. He follows the natural emptiness and stillness of things without harming them; this is also unlike turning oneself into something seemingly devoid of awareness. By yielding, one preserves oneself and avoids fault; what is called good fortune has depth as its foundation. Taking simplicity as one’s rule, one need not show off one’s strength; taking restraint as one’s guiding principle, one need not strive fiercely to win. Reaching the utmost emptiness and stillness, with a broad and open mind, he can continually make room for all things and is not harmed by others. He takes the root as subtle, remains detached and free of desire, and abides alone with the spirits. What he realizes is the truth of the Dao, and may be said to have reached the highest point. Thus he is praised: “That great and expansive Perfected One of ancient times!”

The Commentary on Doubts and Solitude says: “‘Always without desire, one observes its subtlety’ means taking the root as subtle; ‘always with desire, one observes its outer manifestations’ means regarding external things as coarse.” Where things accumulate, there will be deficiency; once accumulated, they have limits, but when dispersed, they are boundless. Zhuangzi once said, “By reaching the utmost nothingness, one can supply everything that is sought.” What can supply all the things under Heaven is the utmost nothingness; what can respond to all that truly exists under Heaven is the utmost emptiness.

Detached and free of desire, he keeps his distance from the myriad things; he does not depart from the subtle source, and so can abide with the spirits. “Nothingness” is the nothingness set against “being”; “constant nothingness,” however, is not an emptiness opposed to “being,” and is not bounded by “being.” Nor is “constant being” a being opposed to “nothingness.” If one takes constant nothingness and constant being as the foundation for one’s life, one can enter the deep and mysterious realm. Why, then, would one need to distinguish within it between outer manifestations and subtlety?

The root followed by constant nothingness and constant being is the Great One, the undivided source in which all things are still one. The Great One is not governed in advance by anything under Heaven. Thus one must uphold gentleness and act with humility; “outward expression” means making this attitude visible. Everyone seeks fullness, but he alone chooses emptiness and stillness, taking emptiness as the real. He remains at ease without exhausting himself because he does not injure the myriad things, taking non-injury as the real. To meet the myriad things with an empty, still mind, to refrain from harming them, and to treat others with gentleness and humility: this is Laozi’s way of acting. Emptiness and freedom from harm to the myriad things are Laozi’s Virtue.

Because he does not cling to any fixed place for himself, he can also free the myriad things from the constraints of fixed positions. He changes with the moment and transcends the Six Dusts—the external objects that give rise to perception and attachment—so the myriad things appear naturally, without obstruction. In motion, he follows things like water; at rest, he sees clearly like a mirror. In a blur, he seems to have form, yet also seems formless; in stillness, there is no sound.

If you can be as clear as clean water without proclaiming yourself pure, and live in harmony with others without thinking you have gained anything; even when you suffer loss, do not rush to come out ahead, but often follow others. Live harmoniously with people without rushing to give orders. Be as accommodating as a stream, ready to receive; be as quiet and open as an empty valley, ready to respond.

Know strength, yet hold to weakness; do not place yourself ahead of the myriad things. Recognize purity, yet willingly remain low; nurture yourself in an uncarved, unknowing state. People race after glory and profit, while I put myself behind them. Others thrust filth and humiliation upon me, and I can bear them. Everyone takes what is substantial and accumulates possessions, so they always feel they lack enough. I alone take what is empty and store nothing, so I have more than enough. I am like a great mountain, standing firm and lacking nothing.

In cultivating yourself, the duller you appear, the more you can accomplish. You may gain outwardly without suffering inner loss. Follow the natural nature of all things, without embellishing or forcing them. People go everywhere in search of good fortune; I do not seek it, and so it comes to me. To follow the course of things and preserve oneself, seeking only to avoid negligence and error—this is what is called good fortune.

Depth is the foundation of the Dao; simplicity is its guiding principle. Strength inevitably meets something that can damage it, so guard it with weakness. Sharpness inevitably meets a force that can blunt it, so cultivate it through emptiness and stillness. To treat things generously is called tolerance; to treat others without harming them is called not diminishing them. This is the Dao of Guan Yin and Lao Dan.

Bixu’s Commentary: The subtle essence of the Dao can be apprehended through the mind; the coarse forms of particular things can be conveyed in words. Accumulating tangible things only makes people feel they lack enough. Nothing is more abundant than vast emptiness. To dwell alone with the spirits means not to deceive oneself, and to remain vigilant even when alone in a dark room. Constantly abiding in nonbeing is the function of the Dao. Great Unity, the fundamental undivided source, is the master of body and mind; emptiness and stillness are the source of the myriad things.

The Perfected Person has no private standpoint and regards the myriad things as connected with himself. He acts without calculation, yet sees clearly when still. When moved in response, he understands and flows freely, without being ruled by fixed emotions. He seems to vanish, yet has not truly ceased to exist; he seems clear, yet does not deliberately reject murkiness. He lives in harmony with others without going along with what is wrong; he may suffer loss without losing himself. He does not rush ahead, but follows others.

In cultivating yourself, know strength yet hold to weakness, restraining yourself through humility. Recognize purity yet be content with obscurity, maintaining clarity without displaying your intelligence. To bear the world’s filth is to be able to endure humiliation. By storing nothing, you have more than enough; by giving to others, you become richer yourself. Agitation depletes the spirit, while cleverness makes you a tool in others’ hands. If all you seek is to avoid error, why covet good fortune? Deep roots never leave their source; simple guiding principles are easy to uphold. Treat things with tolerance, and your heart will be broad; do not harm others, and you will be able to help many. These are the outward traces shown by the True Person in dealing with the world, and the principles Guan Yin and Lao Dan diligently put into practice.

Yanzhai’s Remarks: To regard accumulation as insufficiency means to keep one’s wealth among the people of the world… (The original text ends here.)

The Way of Wuwei (non-action) takes the original state of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) as its foundation. When responding to worldly affairs and encountering the myriad things, it appears outwardly empty and does not cling to its own views; thus, each thing can preserve its true principle. Yuexuan said, “Possessing nothing at all allows all things to be preserved.”

When the heart has no private bias and no fixed master, it can take on whatever form accords with each thing as it appears. Water reflects by flowing, a mirror reveals images by being still, and a valley answers because it is empty: none of these acts from self-interest. It seems to vanish, yet also seems to be there; plain and nameless, it harmonizes with the myriad things without treating anything gained as a possession.

Know strength, yet keep to weakness; know what is conspicuous, yet willingly remain low; occupy a high position, yet do not think yourself superior. Like a valley stream, stay low, and you can accommodate all things. This is the principle of making emptiness substantial: you do not accumulate, yet have more than enough; you remain calm and at ease, and suffer no harm. Others treat cleverness as their cleverness, but I treat Wuwei as my cleverness. Others count blessings as good fortune, but I count freedom from fault as good fortune.

To take depth as one’s foundation means that one’s source lies in the Great One, the origin before Heaven and Earth took shape. To take simplicity as one’s standard means to make plainness and simplicity one’s way of conducting oneself. Whatever is hard and sharp will eventually be broken or damaged. If you make room for all things, others will have no way to injure or diminish you, and you will preserve your life. This is the highest principle under Heaven.

The Dao is the root from which all things arise, subtle beyond sight. The myriad things are the Dao’s outward manifestations, coarse and apparent in form. People devote themselves to accumulating possessions to sustain themselves, yet the more they accumulate, the more they feel they lack. Vast emptiness is where the Shen (spirit) dwells. It embraces all things, suffers no destruction, and makes nothing. However abundant the myriad things under Heaven may be, how could they surpass emptiness? If people can be tranquil and free of desire, they can unite with the Great Void and dwell with the Shen. To accumulate nothing outside oneself, yet have abundance within the heart: this was the attainment of Guan Yin and Lao Dan.

The myriad things arise from nonbeing, yet people are often led by deluded thoughts and cling to being. It is difficult to understand “constant nonbeing” completely; harder still to settle affairs that involve action within constant nonbeing. To take one’s stand between constant nonbeing and being, one must make the Great One one’s foundation. The Great One is the state in which the origin already exists but has not yet appeared in form: the time before Heaven and Earth took shape, and the beginning of human nature.

If you can make this your foundation, you will understand that the myriad things were originally never formed. Therefore, take softness and humility as your outward standard. “Outward” here means what appears in everyday conduct: to live among the myriad things without setting yourself against them, and to remain empty without harming them. “Not destroying the myriad things” means allowing them to exist naturally, without judging them. When you forget your own selfishness, the myriad things transform of themselves. Why destroy them to attain nonbeing?

When things fill the space before our eyes, it seems complete; letting them become empty, however, is up to us. The forms of things appear naturally, and that is precisely what the Dao means. Water moves while a mirror remains still; a valley can answer a sound. These may all serve to illustrate it.

To have no contrived intention and follow what is natural is a state that seems not to exist, yet cannot be said to be entirely absent. It is so clear and still that nothing can disturb it. If all things are blended into one, the Dao is naturally harmonious and yielding. If one clings deliberately and claims things as one’s own, the Dao is lost. So do not force yourself ahead; simply follow the circumstances as they unfold, and you will have no troubles throughout your life.

Know the value of strength, yet remain with weakness. See what is hard, yet remember what is gentle. Understand brightness, yet be at ease in obscurity. A stream valley is skilled at staying low, so all waters flow toward it. Only a heart that can contain the world’s filth can be truly broad. By keeping nothing for oneself, one has enough; by remaining empty and unfilled, one cannot be bent out of shape, and in motion one becomes all the more abundant. In this way, one can stand firmly above all things: nothing obstructs the heart, and nothing lies beyond its capacity to contain.

Do not act in haste, and you will often be content with yourself. Take joy in Wuwei (non-action) in your heart, and do not envy worldly cleverness. Everyone seeks blessings beyond expectation, while you alone regard yielding and preserving wholeness as a blessing. To be spared disaster is the greatest blessing of all. “Deep roots” means a firmly settled heart; “tight bonds” means fewer entanglements. In this way, you avoid being broken by excessive hardness or thwarted by excessive sharpness. Contain all things with generosity, and you will not diminish others to enrich yourself. This much should be clear.

All of the above are the highest principles for how people conduct themselves in the world, and the essential expression of the cultivation of a great and expansive Perfected One. The Dao De Jing contains the phrase “know the white, keep to the black”; the wording in the text of the Zhuangzi is slightly different.