《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 19

Nanhua Zhenjing Yihai Zuanwei, Volume 20, titled “Ten”

Compiled through study and editing by Chu Boxiu, a Daoist of Wulin.

“Responding as a Ruler,” Chapter One

Nieque went to Wang Ni for instruction and put four questions in a row; Wang Ni answered each time that he did not know. Nieque was so pleased that he jumped for joy and went home to tell Puyizi.

Puyizi said: “Do you understand now? Youzi (Shun) cannot match Taishi (the remote age of plainness and stability). Youzi still treated benevolence as a virtue and used it to win people’s hearts; he did win their hearts, yet he never left the ground of the ‘inhuman.’ Taishi, when asleep, was easy and at ease; when awake, free and unhurried. Sometimes he took himself for a horse, sometimes for an ox. His knowing was sincere and trustworthy, his De (Virtue/Power) plain and true, and he never entered the ground of the ‘inhuman.’”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Youzi and Taishi are only traces left by historical ages, not the Dao (the Way) itself. The Dao is the root of all transformation in the ten thousand things—who could name it? Therefore, following every change through ten thousand generations, affairs have level ground and rough patches, and later footprints naturally fall short of those of the ancients.

Calling what one likes “human” and what one dislikes “inhuman” fixes a line of right and wrong. Only by stepping outside the boundary of the “inhuman” does one enter a place where there is no “inhuman.” Then there is neither gain nor loss, neither permissible nor impermissible—how could it be merely taking benevolence as a virtue to win hearts?

Taking oneself for a horse and also for an ox—given that, why cling to sorting “human” from “inhuman”? Let things each appear and each be known, and the mind is sincere and trustworthy; let things each rest in their own sufficiency, and there is no pretense. Taishi did not fall into the fence of right and wrong, and so he surpassed the age of Youzi.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Nieque asked Wang Ni: “Do you know whether the ten thousand things share one standard of right and wrong?” “Do you know what you yourself do not know?” “Then are the ten thousand things altogether without awareness?” “What is called knowing—is it not not-knowing? What is called not-knowing—is it not knowing?” Nieque asked four times in succession, and Wang Ni each time answered that he did not know.

A single standard of right and wrong shared by the ten thousand things ultimately lies beyond what humans can know. Wang Ni’s “not knowing” is genuine not-knowing—that is, to embody and dwell in that state.

“You” (Youzi) also carries the sense of worry; “Taishi” suggests peace and stability. One may say: where there is knowing there is worry, and not knowing is not as good as being at peace without knowing. The traces left by Youzi still look like treating benevolence as a virtue to win hearts; people accordingly gathered to him, and he truly won their hearts. Yet once benevolence is held good, it is hard not to hold non-benevolence bad; one still has not left the ground of the “inhuman,” and “human” and “inhuman” tangle together in confusion.

The ox does not resent being called that way, so its understanding is genuine and free of doubt, and what it attains is real rather than false. How could it know to treat “not being benevolent” as wrong and thereby fall into the condition of being “non-human”? From Wang Ni’s perspective, the Youyu clan (the legendary Shun) is inferior to Taishi (a ruler of high antiquity in legend)—this can be made clear. What “inferior” means here is that the traces left by the Youyu clan do not match those of Taishi; Taishi is the root from which the traces left by the Youyu clan arise. To grasp the root of these traces, one need only release fixed opinions in the mind, let go of spiritual fixation, and enter deeply into the realm that Wang Ni does not know.

Lin Xiyi’s commentary: Taishi lived in the pure and simple age of high antiquity. By the time of Yao, that simplicity had gradually faded, so institutions and laws were established; Shun then followed Yao’s institutions and expanded them. Thus the Youyu clan’s being “inferior” to Taishi does not mean the Way of the sages differed, but that as the times changed, what the sage did in response had to differ as well. The Youyu clan took benevolence (ren) as goodness and used it to win the allegiance of all under heaven—they did indeed win people’s hearts, yet they never truly transcended the “non-human” realm. Where there is benevolence in the human world, lack of benevolence is judged wrong; from the standpoint of the human way, the Youyu clan certainly rose above being “non-human,” but from the standpoint of the heavenly way, whoever clings to the “human” side still has not escaped falling into “non-human.” “Xuxu” and “yuyu” both describe an easy, unhurried manner, picturing a state of primal simplicity. Whether others treat one as a horse or as an ox, one can accept it calmly—that is all. Hence its understanding is trustworthy, its virtue utterly genuine, and it never falls into the “non-human” condition. This means it has no fixation on judging right and wrong.

Xiang Dao’s commentary: The Dao regards “not knowing” as inner cognition and “knowing” as outward display; “not knowing” is deep knowing, while “knowing” is in fact shallow knowing. Therefore Nie Que asked four times and Wang Ni answered only “I do not know.” Nie Que thereupon understood and rejoiced, and told Puyi, who used the occasion to explain the traces of Wuwei (non-action). The scripture says: “The Youyu clan promoted benevolence and righteousness and thereby disturbed the people under heaven.” It also says: “The Youyu clan used medicine to treat wounds,” and again that Shun had the odor of fish and meat. All these remarks mean that he hid benevolence in his conduct to draw people’s hearts; in doing so, he himself was no longer simple and pure. Taishi forgot the division between self and things and had no ties or bonds. If others called me an ox, I was an ox; if they called me a horse, I was a horse. What he knew was trustworthy in reason, what he attained was the real state; he joined with the Dao, thick and undiminished—hence the text says he “never fell into the non-human condition.” When Qin Shi went to mourn Laozi, he said: “I had thought he was an ordinary man; now I see he is not.” The sense of “non-human” here is much the same.

Bixu’s commentary: The sage practices the teaching without words, and so there were four questions and four answers of “I do not know”…

This is the outline and key to responding to the way of emperors. Yu (You) illustrates “having knowledge”; Tai (Tai) illustrates “having no knowledge.” Dividing people into good and evil is meant to give them something to rely on; yet however one divides, nothing goes beyond the realm of “not-human.” “Going along with the common current” means acting in line with worldly custom: some take themselves for horses, some for oxen—both are expressions of not fixating on self versus other. Knowing one’s nature without deliberate artifice is why it is called “sincere in feeling”; what one does does not lose the genuine root, hence “true in virtue.” “Never having entered the not-human” means having gone beyond the scope of the dusty world.

Zhao’s commentary says: In the Analects, Confucius says, “Do I possess knowledge? In truth I do not possess knowledge.” The point is that one must reach non-knowing for knowing to be real knowing. Nie Que (Nie Que) suddenly awakened and told this doctrine to Pu Yi Zi (Pu Yi Zi). Pu Yi Zi asked, “How is it you only understand this now?”

You Yu Shi (You Yu Shi) took benevolence as good and strove to win the people’s hearts. That way of acting accorded with others but did not leave the Dao of Heaven. Tai Shi (Tai Shi), whether awake or asleep, was at ease: others might treat him as a horse or as an ox; joy and anger did not arise, and self and things were both forgotten—this is the way of the true person. His knowing was real and trustworthy, embracing heaven and earth, and like the turning of cold and heat without error; his virtue was pure, utterly without contrivance. This is heaven and humanity in union, without leaving the human realm. The relation between You Yu Shi and Tai Shi is like that between Yao and Xu You (Xu You, the ancient recluse).

Yan Zhai (Yan Zhai) says: Nie Que asked four times and Wang Ni (Wang Ni) four times did not answer—this is close to the Vimalakīrti Sūtra using silence to expound the “gate of non-duality.” Nie Que grasped what the silence conveyed and gladly told Pu Yi Zi. Pu Yi Zi then said, “You only realize this now?”

Tai Shi was an ancient emperor who gathered people through humaneness and could also win the people’s support; that was merely following the Dao of Heaven. “Never having gone out from the not-human” means he was always companion to the Dao of Heaven; here “not-human” is heaven. “Never having gone out” is also “nothing more than this.” The text does not say “heaven” directly but says “not-human”—a striking choice of words.

Taking oneself for horse or ox is not questioning or calculating, letting others call one as they will. What is known is all real principle; virtue is preserved within, purely innocent. At this level even the name “heaven” is not enough to describe it; letting things be as they naturally are, one seems to go beyond the scope of creation and transformation—hence “never having entered the not-human.” The earlier phrase uses “out” (chu) and the later “in” (ru)—note the author’s distinction in wording.

Nie Que’s questions to Wang Ni are the four questions in the “Discourse on Making All Things Equal.” This chapter again cites that passage at the opening to show that true knowing is non-knowing, and therefore can encompass all…

The way of the ruler should above all set aside personal cleverness and intelligence, comply with the myriad things, let those with sharp hearing listen on his behalf, let those with clear sight see for him, let the wise plan for him, and let the brave repel external threats. He need only sit upright and at ease, and thereby achieve governance through wuwei (non-action)—is this not precious?

Therefore Nieque (a legendary ancient recluse), delighted by Wang Ni’s reply, repeated it to Puyizi. Puyizi said: “Only now do you see that Yu Shun falls short of Taishi.” Yu Shun took benevolence as goodness, and so could not avoid relying on deliberate effort to carry out benevolent government; though he did nothing contrary to human feeling, he merely aligned with human virtue. Taishi rested in ease, letting waking and sleeping follow nature; wisdom and virtue were pure and unfeigned. He never fell into the realm of human artifice, and thus accorded with the Heavenly Way. Once aligned with the Heavenly Way, what distinction remains between the artificial and the natural? When aligned with the Heavenly Way, the people naturally gather around him. This is the leading theme of “Fit for Emperors and Kings” (Ying diwang, an inner chapter of the Zhuangzi).

On the character zang (臧): older editions sometimes write cang (藏). Cui’s commentary says it means “winning people over while harboring benevolence and righteousness”; Cheng Xuanying’s exegesis follows this. Lü interprets zang as “goodness”; Lin Xiyi, Chen Jingyuan, and others largely follow Lü. Some hold that zang and cang are interchangeable. Yet examining the line in the Hanshu, “Food and Commodities” (Shihuo zhi), “light and easy to store” (qingwei yi zang), shows zang is used in the sense of “to store,” without grounds for substituting cang for zang. Most editions today write zang, and glossing it as “goodness” is more fitting.

Jian Wu (a legendary figure) met Kuang Jieyu (a legendary recluse). Kuang Jieyu asked: “What did Ri Zhongshi tell you?” Jian Wu answered: “He said that the ruler should set laws and standards according to his own mind, so that the people obey and are transformed. Who would dare not follow or refuse to change?”

Kuang Jieyu said: “That is a way to ruin virtue. To govern the world by such means is like cutting a channel when crossing the sea, or like a mosquito shouldering a mountain. When the sage governs the world, does he set out to fix external things? He first rectifies himself, then acts in accord with the flow; it is enough that each person truly does his own task. Birds soar high to escape nets and arrows; the xishu (field mouse) digs deep beneath the sacred mound to avoid smoke and digging. Are you even less able than these two small creatures to preserve yourself?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: When each thing’s nature is entrusted to itself, affairs need no forced arrangement yet come to completion naturally; if one person’s power controls the world, the work is hard to finish and the burden exceeds one’s capacity. Thus the sage governs the world only by letting each person fulfill his role, each guarding his nature and allotted span, not doing what lies beyond his strength. Even birds and beasts have their own ways of survival, so the emperor-king lets the myriad things follow their nature without driving them, and they achieve themselves. Are you less than these two small creatures, unable to settle each in his place and instead waiting for instruction?

When a ruler governs the realm, treating his own words and conduct as the standard and trusting only his own judgment in appointing others, he is using himself to set the law. When he handles affairs according to yi (righteousness) and then tries to guess and weigh what is in others’ hearts, he is measuring everyone by his own yardstick.

These are merely exercises of cleverness, not ways of yielding to the nature of the myriad things and letting them change of themselves. Then what is called law may not truly match reason, and what is called righteousness may not truly be righteous; in the end one slips into deceit that betrays De (virtue/power). It is like boring a channel to cross the sea or wading the sea to dig a river—nothing gets done; or like asking a mosquito to carry a mountain—it simply cannot bear the load.

The great body of the world is immensely heavy; the vessel of state is not something one can seize and operate by private force. To legislate only from one’s own ideas and to measure others only by one’s own standards is to treat the world from the outside. First to rectify oneself and then to act with the flow can truly meet the task; only then is one not merely governing by outward pressure.

Such a person has no partiality, so others cannot see where he means to steer things; he does not vacillate, so others cannot see what he has cast aside; he has no fixed likes and dislikes, so people cannot advance or hide by flattering or dodging him. All he does arises from mysterious unity with things (xuántong—not imposing private distinctions and control on the myriad beings), and then the world’s truth and its pretense show themselves plainly. Who would dare take some odd tool and descend into the ninefold abyss to take the pearl from beneath my jaw? (The jaw pearl is the gem under the dragon’s chin—a figure for a treasure that cannot be wrested away by force.)

Birds soar and mice tunnel deep—all to escape harm. Can we say those small creatures lack wisdom? If people know they understand avoidance yet still insist on watching and controlling them, they fall below birds and mice.

Lin Xiyi comments that using one’s own methods to fix law and govern the world cannot finally succeed; it is like crossing the sea by digging a river or making mosquitoes carry mountains—beyond what can be borne. The ancient sages governed by letting the people dwell in peace and letting the ten thousand things follow their nature—why toil to impose law from without? The sage followed the nature of people and things; when work appeared, he let those who could truly do it act, requiring only that each fulfill his part. Birds high in the air and mice in deep holes avoid harm without being taught. The people too have a steady nature; letting each keep his place is enough—why invent law to scramble that nature?

Xiangdao notes: “Not using obscurity to preside over the multitude” means not ruling the crowd by murky private intent; “not using expedients to respond to things” means not meeting the myriad things through manipulative shifts. If one cannot do this yet still sets law from one’s own mind and measures others by one’s own standard, it is like boring a river to cross the sea—not acting from things’ own principles—and like making mosquitoes carry mountains.

If those in high positions do not measure their own capacity and do not follow the principles of things, they cannot be said to be people who first set themselves right and then act; without measuring their own capacity, they also cannot be said to truly be able to accomplish the task well. Birds and mice still know to fly high or burrow deep to escape disaster—so when the sage governs the world, how could he go against reason and invite calamity?

Commentary of Bixu: If in governing the world one first imposes on the people laws and standards, and the way of benevolence and righteousness, that the ruler has devised, will the people then become sincere and compliant and dare not refuse instruction? If one does not cultivate oneself but only demands that others change, that is mere outward show—hence it is called “deceptive virtue” (qide): self-deceiving rather than genuine virtue. Governing the world must begin with inner cultivation: one must first set oneself right and then act. If the self is not upright, one cannot lead the multitude. Creatures as small as birds and mice still avoid danger and preserve life—how much more so human beings? Laws and ritual propriety are tools for ordering affairs; they are not tools that the ruler keeps solely for the purpose of governing the world.

Commentary of Zhao: When Rizhongshi told Jianwu this, he meant that the sage governs the world, establishes the warp and woof of law and rule as standards for all ages, and the people of the world naturally submit. Jieyu, however, said: the sea is boundless—yet you would have men dig channels to govern it; mosquitoes are tiny—yet you would have them carry mountains on their backs. The metaphor means that to rely on a mere handful of laws and ritual propriety to put the world in order and make all the people accept transformation is impossible. The sage practices Wuwei (non-action): he keeps himself pure and still, and the people naturally become upright; he does not act rashly, and the people naturally receive instruction. The sage only fulfills his own proper share—why must he set his mind on governing outwardly at all? Birds and mice still know to shun danger and seek safety without being taught—are human beings inferior to these two small creatures?

Commentary of Yanshai: Laws and ritual propriety all issue from one’s own side; the sage should take his own person as the model for the world and thereby move people. “Moving people” (duren) means influencing the common folk. The phrasing of “standards, models, and righteousness” is of a piece with “harmony, ease, penetration, and unity.” “Deceptive virtue” (qide) means self-deception, not true virtue. What is called “governing the outward” means using one’s own conduct to influence others; once one deliberately leaves traces of governing, one becomes entangled. “First set oneself right and then act” accords with the principle of vital nature (xingming); “able to accomplish the task” means fulfilling the portion that accords with spontaneity. The analogy of birds and mice avoiding harm means that any approach that deliberately leaves traces of governing may bring entanglement—even falling short of how birds and mice know to protect themselves.

Rizhongshi was one who hastened to display principle and liked to act ahead of others, and so he told Jianwu: the ruler governing the world ought to follow such a course. If one sets laws, ritual propriety, and measures from oneself to straighten the people, that is like using compass and square to constrain the people while failing to settle their vital inclinations (xingming zhi qing). Would people then dare not obey instruction? Even if they submit on the surface, they only follow under compulsion—they are not sincerely convinced—so Jieyu calls this “deceptive virtue” (qide), meaning it is not real virtue. This approach is not merely deceiving…

People are merely deceiving themselves. To govern all under Heaven with these outward methods, leaning on what is hollow and insubstantial, cannot succeed.

When what one undertakes goes beyond one’s own capacity, one plainly cannot measure up. When sages govern the world, do they fix their attention only on outer affairs? Ritual forms and institutions, standards of propriety and righteousness—these are tools for ordering external matters; one must first set oneself right, and only then extend that order outward. What truly enables one to accomplish things is insight into De (Virtue) and the principles of nature and life (xingming). Governing the world begins within, by laying a firm root; once the root is steady, it can be carried through to ordering the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the realm.

Moreover, birds and rodents still know to soar high and burrow deep to escape harm; how much less should a ruler veil his own De and invite disaster? To act thus is to fall short of those small creatures.

Thus in antiquity, those who handled imperial governance in accord with the Way of Heaven did not act from private desire or force deliberate effort, and all under Heaven was transformed of itself. If one relies on cleverness and ability to govern by compulsion, the ruler toils above while the people churn below—how can one expect the realm to settle? If the ruler fashions ritual institutions and standards of propriety and righteousness from his own will, would the people dare not submit and be transformed?

The above follows the punctuation of Lin Xiyi and Zhao Yifu. Most other commentaries read “jing, shi, yi, du” as a single phrase; Lin and Zhao break after “du.” Bixuzi Zhao’s collated text reads “yi ji chu jing shi yi shu min, dun gan bu ting er hua zhu.” Later textual study notes that the Wumen official edition has “yi ji zhi jing,” differing only in the character zhi. Weighing the schools of interpretation, Lin and Zhao’s division is the more convincing, and it is adopted here.

Tian Gen was traveling in Yinyang and came to the banks of the Liaosui, where he chanced upon a man known as the Nameless One. He asked him, “May I inquire how to govern all under Heaven?”

The Nameless One said, “Leave behind your cramped mind! Your question is truly vexing. I am about to roam with the Fashioner of Things; when I weary of that, I shall ride the subtle, far-reaching breath, pass beyond the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, wander in a domain without fixed names, and abide on the vast open wilds. Why must you trouble my heart with governing the world?”

Tian Gen asked again.

The Nameless One said, “Let the spirit rest in plainness; let the breath merge in stillness. Accord with the natural endowment of the myriad things and do not mix in private intent—then all under Heaven will be governed.”

Guo Xiang comments: To keep thinking about governing the world shows one has not yet risen to the level of the Primordial Beginning and the dark mystery. To walk with the Fashioner of Things is to let each thing grow and change on its own. “Obscure and far” (mangmiao) means subtle and remote; riding that subtle, remote breath, one moves with the transformations of things, coming and going without obstruction, secure in oneself. Thus without deliberate governance, the realm settles of itself.

To act as nature inclines is to keep the mind plain and still; to let innate nature unfold freely is impartial fairness. The urge always to add something in the mind is private intent; private intent cannot nurture the myriad things—only by following the impartial Way can the myriad things be preserved.

Commentary by Lu says: “Wuming Ren” (the nameless one) refers to someone who has realized the Great Dao. One who embodies the Dao has no inner delight or aversion; the “delight and aversion” mentioned here means that outwardly he may still appear to rejoice or weary like ordinary people. When pleased, he is as if joining the Creator—the power that creates and transforms all things—in engaging with affairs; when weary, he rides the “bird of obscurity and subtlety” (a image for a force that is dim, fine, and hard to grasp) and flies beyond the four quarters of heaven and earth. Why? Because such a person’s life and death are in his own hands; he comes and goes without trace—who would take the affairs of the world as his burden? With what could you govern the world? Your words cannot move my heart. Let me lodge my spirit in tranquil simplicity and reach a state wholly without private intent—that is the principle of governing the world through wuwei (non-action).

Commentary by Lin says: “Tian Gen” (Heaven’s Root) means the root of nature; “wuming” (nameless) means the sage. “Not forestalling” means the sage does not show his intent in advance, and so the question is raised. “Joining the Creator as a fellow human” means taking part in transformation and doing something; when weary, one rides a deep, subtle force that can fly, and goes beyond the four quarters of heaven and earth. This is saying that the sage’s Dao is everywhere present, yet is truly wuwei; that is enough to meet the duties of a ruler. “With what could you govern the world” means your words are not enough to persuade me.

Tian Gen then answers: Let the spirit roam in tranquil simplicity, and let breath harmonize with a realm of stillness and wuwei. Tranquil and without flavor, the spirit can be clear; still and without violent force, breath can be nourished. Thus when things arrive, one does not reject them; merging with things, there is no private mind. Without deliberately seeking to govern, the world naturally comes to order.

Commentary by Xiangdao says: “Tian Gen” indicates the root; “wuming” indicates the sage. Tian Gen works from the root to handle what is at the tip, goes from darkness toward light, yet turns back to ask how to govern the world—so Wuming Ren considers him shallow in insight. “Joining the Creator as a fellow human” already carries a shade of deliberate doing. Therefore when weary of affairs, one rides the “obscure and subtle” thing and flies beyond the four quarters, roaming in boundless openness. “Obscure and subtle” images a mind that is dim and mysteriously fine; riding it to roam is to keep the spirit in tranquil simplicity, let breath unite with stillness, follow things without private intent. Done thus, even without deliberately governing the world, the world settles itself—why set up another method to govern?

Commentary by Bixu says: “Joining the Creator as a fellow human” means intentionally taking part in creation. Riding the “obscure and subtle” and flying beyond the four quarters is the idea of treading the subtle aloft and transcending yin and yang. “Roaming—where?” is dwelling in boundless openness, the realm of fashioning the Dao. Following the natural character of things, one does not harbor private intent; once private intent appears, nature is lost.

Commentary by Zhao says: “Tian Gen” is the title of the host; “wuming” is the title of the true person (zhenren). “Yinyang” (here read as a place name in the text) is where yang qi flourishes and light is full; “liao water” is a desolate, cold riverside. The Creator covers…

Heaven and earth transform the myriad things and give them every form, yet from the start they harbor no deliberate intent. If you already disdain the physical form and wish to transcend shape and qi, why burden your mind with the business of governing the world?

Tiāngēn asked again: How should one govern the world? The Unnamed One replied that one need only follow the natural course of the myriad things. Whenever the mind sets out to act with purpose, private motives usually creep in. Tiāngēn’s question went wrong on the word “acting”; with Wuwei (non-action), the world naturally comes to order.

Yue Zhai said: “Living in the world together with the Maker of Things” means living alongside the power that gives birth to the myriad things and going with nature. To dwell at ease in the human world is already enough; if one still wants to roam beyond the Maker’s domain, that is to enter the remote, indescribable void of qi. Kuànglǎng depicts the great void—vast, boundless, without limit. Why should you use the affair of governing the world to stir my heart?

The character 帛 in some editions (such as Cui’s) reads 为, here also meaning “why.” In “indifferent and without form-qi,” “qi” may also be read as “nature” (xìng). Heart and nature both accord with the natural. An earlier passage says, “Do not listen with the mind; listen with qi”—there “qi” should be understood from the side of nature. Follow transformation without a contrived heart, and the world is naturally settled; why insist on governing it? “The Unnamed One” resembles fictional figures in the*Zhuangzi* such as Zixu or Wuyou.

Tiāngēn stands for the root of nature and ought to nurture things quietly and let the myriad transformations run their course. Now he turns toward display and wants to govern the world through effort, so the Unnamed One asks him: “Why do you ask about governing the world?” Displeased with the question, he says it disturbed his heart, then speaks of the joy of Wuwei and boundless ease to awaken Tiāngēn.

“Living as a person together with the Maker of Things” means moving with the changes of the myriad things, letting them be without forcing them. Mǎngmiǎo is close to depth and distance beyond sight, describing flight without trace; kuànglǎng describes open, empty vastness. The Unnamed One says he is already this free and easy—why should Tiāngēn use methods of governing the world to trouble his heart?

Tiāngēn asked again, and the Unnamed One told him: Let the heart rest in simplicity, free of greedy desire; let the temperament return to stillness, not thrust outward; follow the natural state of things without private bias. If one sets out to govern the world, private intent enters in and nature is lost. Outwardly there is governance, yet disorder often grows from just this. Governing the world has no other secret than skillfully restoring original nature: cultivate yourself well, and the world is settled. Sadly, Tiāngēn did not know to turn inward; he held a treasure yet lost himself.