《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 30

Cui Qu asked Lao Dan (Laozi), “If one does not govern the world, how can people’s hearts be brought to rest?”

Lao Dan said, “You must never disturb people’s hearts. When a heart is suppressed, it sinks; when stirred up, it rises. In these ups and downs, people may even imprison and kill one another. When soft, the heart can overcome what is hard; when sharp, it can carve and polish. When heated, it is like a raging fire; when cooled, like solid ice. Its changes are so swift that, in an instant, they can affect everything beyond the Four Seas.

“When still, the heart is deep as an abyss; once stirred, it seems to hang in the heavens, angry and arrogant, beyond restraint. Perhaps only the human heart can behave this way!

“Long ago, the Yellow Emperor began to disturb people’s hearts with benevolence and righteousness. By the time of Yao and Shun, rulers labored bitterly, exhausting themselves to provide for the people of the world. They worried themselves to the core, taking benevolence and righteousness as their own burden; they spent their strength of mind devising laws. Yet they still could not make the world conform to their wishes. So Yao banished Huandou, a legendary figure, to Mount Chong; moved the Sanmiao, an ancient people, to Sanwei; and exiled Gonggong, another legendary figure, to Youdu. This shows how unequal he was to the task of governing the world.

“By the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, the world was in even greater turmoil. Below were wicked men such as Jie and Zhi; above were worthy men such as Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu. The Confucians and Mohists also arose. People came to suspect one another over joy and anger, deceive one another through cleverness and ignorance, condemn one another as good or evil, and mock one another as false or truthful. Thus the world fell into decline.

“The great virtues upheld by the various schools were not the same, and people’s nature and destiny were thrown into confusion. Everyone in the world pursued cleverness, and the people’s mental strength was exhausted. Axes, saws, and other instruments of punishment were used to discipline them; cords and straightedges were used to bind them; mallets, chisels, and other instruments were used to injure them. The world fell into chaos. The fault lay in disturbing people’s hearts.

“So the worthy withdrew beneath remote mountains and perilous cliffs, while rulers with ten thousand chariots sat in their courts, anxious and uneasy. Now, those condemned to death are lined up one after another; those wearing shackles stretch from front to back; the punished and the executed are everywhere. Yet the Confucians and Mohists still tiptoe and wave their arms amid the shackles, expounding their doctrines. Alas, how utterly shameless they are! I cannot tell whether sagehood and cleverness have become the joints that fit into the instruments of punishment, or whether benevolence and righteousness have become the slots in the stocks. How can we be sure that Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu were not the forerunners of Jie and Zhi? Therefore it is said: Cast aside sagehood and cleverness, and the world will be brought to great order.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Suppress the heart, and it sinks; stir it up, and it rises. This means that the heart is easily shaken. Changes such as those of raging fire and solid ice all arise from accumulated joy and anger…” (The original commentary is incomplete here.)

If no carving is imposed, and each thing preserves its own original simplicity, how could there be any opposition like that between ice and charcoal? In the space of a few movements—looking up and looking down—one can bring the four seas to rest. Customs may change under outside influence, yet when things grow still, they can be as settled as an abyss.

Once people’s hearts are stirred and drawn into alignment with the Way of Heaven, everyone will respond eagerly. There is no limit to what changes in the human heart can bring about. Let the myriad things develop as they will, and they can quietly and naturally find their way through. Govern and constrain them, however, and they will strain on tiptoe until, in the end, they topple over. This uncontrollable momentum is what is meant by “reckless arrogance.”

The Yellow Emperor did not deliberately promote benevolence and righteousness. He blended completely with the myriad things, and traces of benevolence and righteousness appeared of themselves. Once those traces appeared, people began to follow them, and this disturbed the myriad things. The titles of Yao and Shun, too, were only traces left behind. I dwell among these traces, but they are not my true self. Those who are stirred up come from the world of convention; the more that world is disturbed, the more pronounced its traces become.

The coarse and the subtle are like a road’s smooth stretches and rough ones. Would travelers change their way of walking because of that? The nature of sages is one and the same. Yao, Shun, Tang, and Wu differed only in the names their times gave them; those names cannot capture what sages truly are. Though they left traces of benevolence and righteousness, the source from which those traces appeared was still a nature whole and complete.

From joy and anger turning into mutual suspicion, to falsehood and sincerity taunting each other, people can no longer rest content in themselves. People set up fine distinctions and refuse to stop; distinctions of knowledge have no end, yet they continue to crave more. Their desires can never be satisfied, and in the end they bring down calamities like axes, saws, hammers, and chisels. This is how far the carving of life and nature has gone.

If things were allowed to follow their nature, with each in its proper place, then the worthy and the foolish would each live out their own nature, the high and the low would each occupy their proper stations, and rulers, ministers, superiors, and subordinates would each fulfill their roles. The world would then be free of calamity. But these traces of benevolence and righteousness disturb the hearts of people everywhere, driving them to pursue without rest. Those who detest integrity and disparage the right Way join forces with one another. Those who let their true nature guide them lose their support, while those who rely on pretense seize power. Rulers above are left anxious, and the people below suffer hardship. It is the pedants, clinging rigidly to dead traces and names, who have brought about these calamities. Instead of abandoning those traces and returning to what is genuine, they roll up their sleeves and use the traces to govern the traces. They act as though they have nothing to be ashamed of, yet know no shame.

The stocks, an ancient instrument for confining prisoners, restrain by joining pieces of wood; handcuffs and fetters work through interlocking parts. Sageliness, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness are likewise traces that promise distance from crime and calamity. Once such traces are held up as ideals, the people begin to esteem them. When people esteem them, pretense and deceit arise; once these appear, instruments of defense against external threats cannot be dispensed with.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “‘Letting things be and treating them with leniency’ means not governing them, and so not disturbing people’s hearts. To influence people through governance is to disturb their hearts. Push them away, and they retreat; urge them forward, and they advance—yet no one knows where they ought to turn. Those above and below then imprison and kill one another. When the cold congeals into ice, it is no longer…”

Human nature should be thrown into confusion in this way: between one bow and one look upward, a person seems to have held sway over the Four Seas twice. Their comings and goings have no fixed times. In stillness, they are deep as an abyss; in motion, they soar high in the sky, free and unrestrained, impossible to bind. This is what is meant by: “It exists when held to; it vanishes when let go.”

The Perfected Person (a Daoist term for one who has realized the Great Dao) fears that scholars may regard even Yao and Shun as not sufficiently accomplished, and so goes on to say that the Yellow Emperor used benevolence and righteousness to throw people’s minds into confusion. The point is to “cut off sagehood and abandon knowledge” (discarding the labels of sage wisdom and its deliberate exercise), not to claim that the sages themselves have anything to reproach. If sage wisdom is not discarded, people will inevitably use benevolence and righteousness to unsettle others’ minds, because they are attached to something within themselves. Once attached, they leave traces; they cannot avoid sacrificing themselves for the world, and may even form what is called “vicious De”—something they will ultimately have to find a way to remove.

From “having no hair on one’s legs” to “establishing rules and laws,” all these are ways of sacrificing oneself for the world. Yet they still cannot solve the problem, because people have not truly cut off sagehood and abandoned knowledge. In the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, there were utterly violent men below, like Jie and Zhi, while above them were men who pursued goodness to excess, like Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu. The Confucians, Mohists, and other schools arose in succession, suspecting and deceiving one another, and the world never attained the greatest justice. Thus people’s true nature and life were ravaged, and the common people were driven to exhaustion. Only then did the calamities of punishments such as sawing, beating, and piercing with awls arise; they were consequences that could not be avoided.

Therefore, the worthy withdrew and lay low to evade calamity, while rulers of states with ten thousand chariots lived in fear and unease, not knowing how to govern. All this came about because people could not practice Wuwei (non-action, following nature without forcing things through human contrivance) or return to the original state of nature and life. Today the world is unlike ancient times: executions and other punishments follow one another without end. Yet Confucian and Mohist scholars stand on tiptoe and reach out among the condemned, hoping to reason with them. This is truly shameless. If we now wish to rescue the situation but do not return to the true nature of life, and instead add sage wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness, we are only evading Heaven’s punishments and making them heavier, more entrenched, and impossible to undo. This will also encourage men like Jie and Zhi to speak first, and others will follow them.

Commentary by Lin Yidu: Those who scramble upward enjoy high rank; those who reject others and attach themselves to what lies low are content with a humble position. Both are bound by something. Confinement and killing follow as a result. Soft, graceful forms yield to strength; sharpness and harshness make people lose their true nature; carving and ornamentation damage simplicity. What is called governing is, in reality, disrupting and going against human nature.

This gives rise to the calamities caused by an imbalance of Yin-Yang: at times, scorching like blazing fire; at others, freezing like solid ice. This means that agitation can overcome cold, while stillness can overcome heat. “Between one bow and one look upward, holding sway over the Four Seas twice” means gaining the world in a brief moment of sleep, like the tales of “A Dream of the Southern Branch” or “The Record of the Pillow.” Deep as an abyss means hidden and still; high in the sky means reaching toward something far off. As for “free and unrestrained”….

He indulged his desires and let himself run wild, just as the metaphor of the “Monkey Mind and Horse Will” suggests. From the time of Fuxi through the age of Yao and Shun, the achievements of governing the realm only gradually became prominent. Later generations followed the methods of the Yellow Emperor. By the time of Yu, in his effort to govern the world, his thighs had grown so thin that they had lost their flesh, and his shins so bare that they had lost their hair. They could preserve the bodies of the people, but could not bring peace to their nature. They fretted their internal organs in the pursuit of benevolence and righteousness, and constrained their vital energy to comply with rules and laws, setting Yin and Yang against each other within the body. How, then, could they settle people’s lives and nature? If they could not settle these, how could they quell the conflicts in which the people’s feelings became entangled with deception?

So punishments such as exile began to be imposed. Under the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, the longer the laws and commands were handed down, the more the traces of governance they left behind fell into ruin. Thus there came to be wicked men such as Jie and Zhi, and worthy men such as Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu. Confucians and Mohists rose in rivalry, suspicious and deceitful toward one another. The age of simplicity and sincerity had been lost, and the world declined as a result. People’s nature and lives were damaged, and the common people were exhausted.

The adzes and axes, and the saws mentioned in the text are metaphors for benevolence and righteousness; the ink line and carpenter’s square are metaphors for ritual and law; the mallet and chisel are metaphors for punishment. These are all tools that disturb people’s minds. The world therefore fell into great disorder, and even rulers who commanded ten thousand chariots could not securely hold their positions. Executions followed one another, and the imprisoned and slain were everywhere. Yet Confucians and Mohists still pursued the outward forms of benevolence and righteousness, rushing about with their heels raised and arms outstretched, hoping to use them to rescue the world from chaos. They did not understand the root of the problem: trying to govern by means of the traces left by governance is like trying to put out a fire with fire. How could it work?

“Jie” and “xi” refer to pieces used to join timber. The Huainanzi says that large pieces serve as pillars and beams, while smaller ones join pieces of wood together. “Zao” and “ru” refer to a mortise and tenon: a hole is cut into the wood, and a tenon is fitted into it. A “haoshi” is an arrow that makes a sound as it flies. Cangues—a kind of ancient restraint fitted around the neck or legs—were made using joining pieces, while handcuffs and fetters were made using mortises and tenons. Sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness are methods intended to keep the people from committing crimes. But when people focus only on these outward standards of conduct, affectation and deceit arise, and cangues and their connecting pieces follow. Only by removing what disturbs people’s minds can the world be brought to peace.

Chen Xiangdao’s commentary says that when Mencius discusses the human mind, he says, “Hold on to it, and it remains; let it go, and it disappears.” When Zhuangzi discusses the human mind, he says that once it becomes excited and arrogant, it is difficult to restrain. Holding on to it and not letting it go is the way of human contrivance; letting it follow its natural course without restraint is the Way of Heaven. Those who govern the world must not discard the natural Way in favor of contrived governance. Replacing the natural Way with human contrivance is not what it means to “shelter and nurture” all things—to let them be and treat them generously. Those who study, too, must not abandon human cultivation in the name of nature. Giving up human effort on the grounds that one is following nature is no way to enrich and cultivate oneself. If people simply suppress the human mind, they will be bound like prisoners…

Pursuing these measures further leads people to kill in anger and harm others in the name of integrity. If everything is endlessly refined, people may become eloquent yet lose their simplicity, and the Qi of Yin-Yang will fall out of balance. When people grow rigid, they stumble; when they rise again, they become arrogant. If people’s minds are constrained and bound, shut off and unable to unfold, unworthy thoughts will arise.

When benevolence and righteousness are imposed inwardly, they bring sorrow to the five organs. When laws and standards are displayed outwardly, they make people guarded and deplete their blood and Qi. The promotion of benevolence and righteousness gives rise to deceit; the open display of laws and standards brings disorder and violence. Thus, even when Yao’s rule of the world reached its height, he still had to put the Four Foes to death—the four evildoers said to have lived in his time. How much more so in the ages after the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties?

Jie and Zhou were honored as Sons of Heaven, yet even servants would not have wanted to be like them. Confucius and Mozi were poor commoners, yet even ministers feared them. The distinction between high and low lies in one’s conduct, not one’s rank. That is why there are Jie and Zhi among the lowly—Jie and the robber Zhi, symbols of evil—and Zeng and Shi among the exalted—Zeng Shen and Shi Yu, symbols of virtue.

People suspect and deceive one another until disorder takes hold: this is punishment within. Execution and the wooden cangue are punishments imposed from without. Once external coercion is applied, inner punishment follows; when people suffer punishment within, outward punishment follows in turn. Thus, after Confucianism and Mohism arose, the world became even more chaotic, and punishments and killings followed one after another.

“Shu” means cutting off a limb; “lu” means public humiliation. The jiexi—the parts of a cangue—are the crossbar of the ancient wooden punishment frame. Jiexi alone are not the frame, but the frame cannot be made without them. Mortises and tenons are not themselves a cangue, but a cangue is made with mortises and tenons. Sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness are not evil in themselves, yet evil is brought about through them. Thus, sagacity and wisdom are compared here to the jiexi, and benevolence and righteousness to the mortises and tenons.

Bixu, the commentator, says: The human mind is naturally calm; it becomes troubled only when disturbed. Rejection and praise seem opposed, yet both can unsettle the mind: outwardly, one moment is cold and the next hot; inwardly, it is as if ice and fire alternate. Once a calculating mind is set in motion, its effects spread; when fixed opinions are allowed to run wild, they are harder to control than a galloping horse.

In ancient times, the Yellow Emperor first disturbed people’s minds with benevolence and righteousness. Yao and Shun then labored tirelessly to teach the world through benevolence and righteousness, establishing standards of conduct and laws, yet still could not stop calamity and disorder. The Four Foes were exiled, but the troubles continued into the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties. People throughout the world were left fearful and unsettled; Confucians and Mohists arose one after another. People suspected and deceived each other, their moral teachings differed, and their original nature grew scattered. Cunning and cleverness spread unchecked, and the people’s vitality was exhausted.

Therefore, sages withdrew from public life and guarded themselves, preserving their lives. Those in high office were anxious and in danger, yet powerless to save the world. Harsh laws arose from disturbing people’s minds. The punishments and killings that followed one another along the roads were perhaps the result of the high-minded talk of scholars and officials. What seemed at first to bring the benefits of sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness ultimately brought the calamities of punishment frames and cangues. Therefore, when the worthy hold office, laws should be kept simple…

Rulers who put these methods of governing into practice often issued more and more laws as their authority grew. Their decrees and administration gradually wore down the people’s simple, sincere customs. In truth, everything turns on the human heart.

A ruler without the Dao must also borrow the rules laid down by sages and worthies to carry out his tyranny. Did Zeng Can and Shi Qiu—esteemed sages of Confucianism—not become forerunners and guides to Jie and Zhi, the tyrant and the legendary bandit?

Yanzhai says: This passage is especially subtle when read alongside Mencius’s words, “The heart comes and goes without fixed times; no one knows where it will settle.” When disappointed, the heart sinks; when successful, it throws itself into striving, continually climbing upward. Rising and falling in this way, people are like prisoners, binding and tormenting themselves.

Even the strong can sometimes be softened by tender feelings. Xiang Yu weeping before his beloved Consort Yu is one example. A person who is upright and sharp-edged, like the corners of a piece of jade, keeps honing and polishing himself. Those who succeed while young often have many sharp corners, but after experiencing the world, most have them worn smooth. “Fire blazing, ice congealing” describes joy, anger, sorrow, and fear: feelings can shift in a moment, as the mind’s thoughts come and go, eager to leap beyond the four seas. To call the mind “still as an abyss” means that it can, by nature, remain still and unmoving; once a thought arises, however, it seems to hang in the sky. Here, “fèn” is interchangeable with “fèn,” describing arrogance and vehemence; “to bind” means to control or restrain. This passage offers an especially remarkable portrait of the human heart.

“Thighs without flesh, shins without hair” describes long years of toil and ceaseless travel. “Restraining and stiffening the blood and Qi” means using standards of benevolence and righteousness to confine and damage people’s vital energy, as if drying up their inner life. Even with all this labor, governing the world remains impossible. So banishment, punishment, and other penalties follow. The original says, “Four offenders were punished, and all under Heaven submitted.” This was an event from Shun’s reign, yet it is attributed to Yao. Such shifts and variations in Zhuangzi’s writing make it unusual and striking.

From the Three Kings onward, lesser men below imitated the conduct of Jie and Zhi, while gentlemen above admired the reputations of Zeng Can and Shi Qiu. Confucians and Mohists then argued without end, distrusting and mocking one another. As a result, people’s inborn nature and the true reality of their lives were gravely damaged. The people’s demands multiplied, and rulers could not answer them; since governance still failed to bring peace to the world, punishments were imposed as well. Worthy people withdrew into seclusion while rulers labored alone. More and more people suffered punishment, yet Confucians and Mohists continued to boast of their virtue among the condemned, displaying themselves as pure and aloof. They had no sense of shame.

“Hengyang” refers to implements of restraint such as stocks. “Jiexie” are the crossbar and wedges fitted into the stocks. “Haoshi” means a whistling arrow, and by extension the precursor or first sign of something.

The world first became impossible to govern; only afterward did the notion of “governing the world” arise. People’s hearts first lost their sincerity; only afterward did methods emerge for teaching them to be sincere. These techniques of governance began to take shape in the middle of antiquity.

Those who establish laws and ordinances are often later constrained by ministers who cling rigidly to their forms. The trees spoken of in the text each have their own natural way of growing. Must they really be corrected with compasses, carpenter’s squares, ink lines, and measuring ropes?

Cui Qu did not understand that people’s hearts are inherently good, yet he wanted to make all under Heaven good through political instruction. Lao Dan told him: “It is enough simply not to disturb people’s hearts. Why take the trouble to impose what is called good governance?” The trouble with people’s hearts today is mostly that the lowly are pushed down and the exalted raised up. People then fight without end, even imprisoning and killing one another, unaware that easing and gentleness are the way to overcome hardness with softness. The way of force instead wears down people’s sharpness and carves away their nature. Joy and anger intrude from outside; emotions like ice and fire torment them within. How long can even a little calm Qi (vital energy) sustain them before it dissipates? When a thought arises, it is as though it travels across countless rivers and mountains. Even a mind that is profoundly still, or the lofty reach of Heaven’s Dao (the Way), cannot describe it. This is what is meant by a will that runs wild and is difficult to restrain.

In ancient times, rulers governed through Wuwei (non-action), and the people each found their place, living in ease amid an uncarved, unknowing state. When the Yellow Emperor governed the world, he began to disturb people’s hearts with benevolence and righteousness. By the time of Yao and Shun, political institutions were fully established, and people’s hearts were disturbed even more deeply. The more deeply their hearts were disturbed, the more fiercely those who resisted fought back. Yao and Shun therefore had to execute the “Four Fiends,” four evil figures of legend, and all under Heaven was shaken. Benefit and harm arise together; given the way things unfold, this outcome was inevitable.

When different forms of governance are imposed from above, people below develop different kinds of De (Virtue/Power). The people’s nature and life, which were originally free to unfold, can no longer return to their former state. Their needs grow ever greater, while supplies fail to keep pace. So instruments of punishment arise: axes and saws, hammers and chisels, and the punishments associated with them. The world falls into such disorder that it can scarcely be saved. The wise are forced to withdraw and avoid calamity; rulers live in fear and unease, seeking only to preserve themselves as best they can. The bodies of those condemned to death lie fallen one after another along the roads. From this we can see that punishments are not appropriate. Yet only now do those who govern rush about among the instruments of punishment, believing they can handle complex affairs and quell disorder, without realizing that they themselves brought about its root cause. It is like first pushing someone into the mud and water, then, once they are trapped, gathering up one’s robes and struggling to rescue them, while treating the rescue as a favor. The person in trouble has suffered, and the rescuer is exhausted too.

From this we can see that what the world calls sage wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness may well become instruments of punishment and chains. Zeng Shen, Shi Qiu, Yang Zhu, and Mo Di, each representing a different moral doctrine or school of thought, may likewise become sharp weapons in the hands of Jie and Zhi, the legendary tyrant and great bandit. The Dao De Jing (Classic of the Dao and De) says: “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves; when I have no desires, the people become naturally simple.” Does this mean governing by not forcing governance?

Nineteen years after the Yellow Emperor ascended the throne as Son of Heaven, his decrees were carried out throughout the world. He heard of Guang Chengzi.

The Yellow Emperor came to Mount Kongtong to visit Guangchengzi. He said, “I have heard that you understand the Great Way. I would like to ask about its essence. I want to draw on the vital energy of Heaven and Earth to help the grains grow and feed the people. I also want to govern the changes of Yin-Yang so that all things may grow and flourish smoothly. How should I do this?”

Guangchengzi said, “What you want to ask about is only the outward forms of things. What you want to govern would instead harm all things. With the way you now rule the world, rain falls before the clouds have gathered, plants wither before their leaves have turned yellow, and even the light of the sun and moon gradually dims. How could someone as narrow-minded and eager to interfere as you be fit to speak of the Great Way?”

The Yellow Emperor withdrew and gave up ruling the world. He lived alone in a quiet room, with white rushes spread on the floor. After three months, he came again to seek instruction. Guangchengzi was lying facing south. The Yellow Emperor approached on his knees from downwind, bowed twice, and asked, “I have heard that you understand the Great Way. How should I cultivate myself so that I may preserve my life for a long time?”

Guangchengzi sprang up and said, “A fine question! Come, and I will tell you about the Great Way. Its subtlety is deep and obscure; its ultimate state is still and silent. Do not look, do not listen. Hold fast to your spirit and quiet your heart, and your body will naturally become upright. Be sure to remain still and clear. Do not tire your body or unsettle your vital energy; only then can you endure. If your eyes do not hunger to see, your ears do not hunger to hear, and your heart makes no reckless judgments, your spirit will remain within your body, and your body will last. Keep watch over your inner self and restrain your outward desires. Too much seeing and hearing, and too many scattered thoughts, will all cause harm.

“I will guide you to the highest realm of brightness, the source of utmost Yang, and then lead you through the gate of deep mystery, the source of utmost Yin. Heaven and Earth each have their ruler; Yin and Yang each have their storehouse. Guard yourself carefully, and all things will naturally grow and flourish. I hold fast to the root and dwell in harmony with Yin and Yang. Thus I have cultivated myself for twelve hundred years, yet my body has never grown old.”

The Yellow Emperor bowed again and said, “What Guangchengzi has said truly accords with the Way of Heaven!”

Guangchengzi said, “Come, and I will tell you more. The myriad things have no end, yet people always think they will come to an end. They are unfathomably deep, yet people always think they have reached their limit. Those who grasp my Way may, above, become enlightened rulers and, below, become worthy kings. Those who lose my Way see only flickering shadows above and, in the end, return to dust below. All living things arise from the soil and eventually return to it. So I will leave you and enter the Gate of the Infinite, wandering through the boundless realm, keeping pace with the sun and moon…”

Light endures as long as Heaven and Earth. Must I be bound by the secular world? I am ignorant of what people know; must I eventually die while I alone remain?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Someone asks, “What is the subtle essence of the utmost Dao?” Its essence may be described as non-interference: letting the myriad things follow their own nature. Trying to control them instead harms them. When people cultivate themselves individually and do not govern the world, the world can thereby be at peace.

“Deep, dark, and silent” all mean that there is no trace or form within. Laozi and Zhuangzi often speak of “nothing” to show that the source from which the myriad things arise is itself no concrete thing, yet the myriad things can each grow in their own way. Forget looking, and you will see; forget listening, and you will hear. Let the myriad things run their natural course, and you can remain at ease and still, without dying before your time.

Guard what is within and preserve your true nature; shut out external disturbances and keep to your own place. If you think your knowledge has no limits, you will be brought to grief. Yin and Yang move toward their deepest source. Each thing has its own governing principle and its own place of concealment; simply let things follow their nature. Follow nature and life to their utmost, attain the state of longevity, and keep the body from an untimely death. Only then can you further benefit the myriad things.

The myriad things have no end, but people think they come to an end; this is merely seeing one side. Titles such as emperor and king change with the times. What remains the same is that only those who understand the Dao of change can respond to change without end. Lose the principle for responding to endless change, and you become fixed on one side, unable to regard high and low equally. Then, when you bow down or look up, your thoughts differ as well.

Earth has no thoughts of its own. Humans arise from thoughtlessness, so they should return to and abide in thoughtlessness, go forth alone into the boundless, and roam in the limitless. In this way, they move together with the transformations of creation, and their radiance endures as long as the light of the sun and moon and the span of Heaven and Earth. They let all things follow their own course and do not notice the comings and goings of the myriad things. Thus they regard life and death as one; wherever they are, there is nowhere they do not endure.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Above Empty Oneness lies a vast, open realm in which there are no concrete things. The Dao is an unnameable, uncarved substance, so it is called “substance.” Yin and Yang are states formed as the Dao disperses, so they are called “fragments.” If cloud-like Qi gathers unevenly, it adds further disorder; this does not assist nature but harms it.

After dwelling at ease for three months and purifying oneself through the utmost abstention, one goes forward with the wind and follows the source in search of it. If one wishes to cultivate oneself and attain longevity, only the Dao can accomplish this. This is what is meant by asking about the essence of the Dao. “Deep and dark” means without form: words cannot discuss it, and the mind cannot reach it. What is called “essence” can only be understood inwardly. Once it can be put into words, it has not yet reached the utmost. One must arrive at a state of dimness and silence, beyond speech; that is the utmost Dao.

This speaks of the Dao’s original substance: neither looking nor listening. Attaining this state brings longevity and entry into the Dao. Hold fast to the spirit and remain still; the body need not be deliberately corrected, for it will naturally become upright. Remaining still and clear means not disturbing it or making it turbid; the body, too, need not be worn down…

Only by keeping Jing and Qi whole and undisturbed can one recover one’s original nature and thereby attain long life. Shen has no fixed form, yet dwells within all things. Only when it is not constrained by external things can it return to the realm of emptiness. If one cannot see or hear, has no awareness, and does not cling to form, how could one know where one is going to return?

Carefully guarding what is within can block the openings of the senses, such as the ears and eyes; curbing the pursuit of external things can close the gates of the senses. This is how Shen is nurtured and preserved. By contrast, pursuing too much knowledge damages Shen.

Before people realize the Dao, they are constrained by the changes of Yin-Yang and have not reached the realm from which the myriad things first arose. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and knowing nothing allows one to enter the realm of great illumination and pass through the gate of the profound and mysterious. Grasp and probe deeply into this realm, and one will understand that Heaven and Earth each have a sovereign, and that the root governing them lies here; Yin and Yang each hold something within, and what they hold also lies here. Carefully guard yourself, and the myriad things will naturally flourish. Why seek anything outside yourself?

The Yellow Emperor goes on to explain that the earlier expressions “seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and knowing nothing” describe only the substance of the Dao, its fundamental state. As for the Dao’s functioning, seeing nothing is precisely how it sees of itself; hearing nothing is precisely how it hears of itself; knowing nothing is precisely how it knows of itself. The Dao is boundless and unfathomable. If one takes “seeing, hearing, and knowing nothing” as the final goal, one turns the boundless into something finite and treats what cannot be measured as a limit.

Those who attain the Dao can become rulers, for they govern the world through the De of spiritual clarity. Those who lose the Dao see only their forms returning to dust, since form remains within the bounds of what Heaven and Earth cover and support, and what the sun and moon illuminate. The myriad things are born from earth and ultimately return to earth; this refers only to their forms.

So I will leave you and enter the boundless realm, roaming in the limitless. If you take some ultimate realm to be the final end, then you do not understand me. Share the radiance of the sun and moon, and that radiance will never cease; exist alongside Heaven and Earth, and life will endure without end. Bind me, yet you will not know where the bonds are. Make me obscure and hidden, yet you will not know how far away I am. All people die, while I alone remain. If I seek within myself for the reason, I do not know what enables me to reach this state.

Among the myriad things, humans are the most spiritually perceptive. Who can say how many people creation has brought forth? And among them, how many are intelligent and discerning enough to understand these principles? If people do not strive diligently, the one who treasures compassion will naturally keep admonishing them.

Yidu’s commentary says: “The Yellow Emperor had been Son of Heaven for many years and had already experienced the changes in the cycles of Yin and Yang, so he speaks of matters of governing the world. Guang Chengzi did not govern the world, so what he says concerns…”

The Yellow Emperor wished to govern Heaven and Earth and bring Yin-Yang into harmony. This concerns the foundations of life and spirit. Here, “Yin-Yang” refers to Qi (vital energy), while “Heaven and Earth” refer to physical form. Qi is subtle, while physical form is coarse and visible; subtle Qi carries the spirit. Yin-Yang is one part of the Dao (the Way) as it manifests. Whatever can be asked about and answered is an expression of the Dao after it has dispersed and transformed into Heaven and Earth. Whatever can be governed and put to use is an expression of spirit after it has dispersed and transformed into Yin-Yang.

When cloud Qi rains before it gathers into visible form, Yin-Yang has lost its proper order. When plants and trees wither before their leaves turn yellow, all things have lost their proper course. A dim, lightless sun and moon likewise do not reflect the way a person who has attained the Dao governs.

Remain still and alone, unburdened by external things. Sustain this for three months, and you will have achieved a modest result. The subtle state of the highest Dao is called “Great Change” (Taiyi), and its utmost limit is called the “Supreme Ultimate” (Taiji). Yin-Yang arises from Great Change, and Heaven and Earth arise from the Supreme Ultimate. In a deep, dark, still state, there are as yet no forms or numbers. This is why it is called “essence,” and also why it is called “the utmost.”

When the eyes are not disturbed by colors and the ears are not disturbed by sounds, the spirit can be preserved. When one is not invaded by harmful Qi, the physical form can remain pure and whole. Do not wear out the body. This is what Laozi meant by “bearing the hun and po”—allowing the spirit to bear the body in stability. Do not agitate the spirit. This is what Laozi meant by “embracing the One”—holding fast to undivided unity. The po is the body’s master; the One is the state in which essence and Qi are undivided.

Those who study the Dao should broaden their minds and not let the body burden them. They should let the spirit continually bear the body without being constrained by it. Only then can they hold fast to unity and embody the spirit. People today meet different fates after death: some ascend to Heaven, while others sink into ruin. This is because they abandon the spirit and pursue the body, letting the spirit follow the po. In the end, they sink into darkness and become beings of another kind. But when a person’s spirit is whole, even if the po is heavy and sunken, it can unite with the spirit, and wherever that person goes, nothing obstructs the way.

When the eyes do not look at external things, they turn inward to observe. When the ears do not listen to external sounds, they turn inward to hear. When the mind does not engage in reckless knowing, it has no distracting thoughts. Then the disturbances of the outer world are naturally shut out, and the senses can remain firmly guarded within, allowing the body to endure. Guard the inner self carefully, and true Qi will not disperse; close the outer senses, and disturbances will not enter. This is what “the Dao diminishes daily” means: cultivating the Dao means reducing distracting thoughts day by day. The more knowledge one accumulates, the more one busies oneself with daily increase, and this ultimately brings harm.

“The heights of great brightness” refers to the manifest Dao; “the gate of darkness and mystery” refers to profound De (Virtue/Power). In utmost Yang there is no Yin, and in utmost Yin there is no Yang. The “source” is the root of Yin-Yang and the origin from which all things arise. All things are endless and beyond measure; to regard anything as ultimate is only to speak from the human point of view.

“August Sovereign” is the source from which kings arise and represents the Way of Heaven. The “king” emerges from the August Sovereign and represents the way of humanity. Light represents Heaven, and earth represents the ground. In general, one who has attained the Dao becomes a king when entering the world and an August Sovereign when withdrawing from it … (The original text ends here unfinished.)

There is one thing that must never be lost, or else everything will go astray: above, it appears as light; below, it becomes earth. That is all. Today, all things in the world spring from earth and in the end return to earth. What intention does earth have toward the things it brings forth? Human beings come into the world from the formless, and after death return to the formless. How, then, could the human world bind them? I am leaving you. Though my body remains in this world, my heart has already left it to wander with Creation—the coming into being and transformation of all things under Heaven and Earth.

The limitless has no visible beginning; the boundless has no visible end. A “gate” is where coming and going take place; the “open wilds” are a vast, empty realm with no fixed destination. One’s light accords with the sun and moon, and one’s Virtue accords with Heaven and Earth. Thus the heart of the Perfected Person, the Daoist ideal of one who has attained the highest state, is like a mirror: when things come, it responds; when they leave, it forgets them. When things come to me, I remain still, yet connected to them; when they leave me, I forget them in a daze. Whether things come or go, I feel no attachment. Perhaps all people will die, while I alone endure. This means that the Spirit Person, a realized being who transcends ordinary people, becomes one with Creation, and neither death nor life can change them.

The Commentary on the Way says: Heaven and Earth each have their own duties to fulfill, which cannot be contravened; Yin and Yang have patterns of movement within them to follow, from which they cannot depart. To try to command Yin and Yang to bring about the growth of all things is to make human will govern the Way of Heaven and go against nature. How could this not harm all things? Laozi said, “The Great Way is broad and level, yet the people prefer shortcuts.” He also said, “Those who deliberately strive to preserve life instead invite disaster.” If one hastily urges and encourages life to grow, it begins to decline before a child has even reached adulthood. To hope for rain before the clouds have gathered—is that any different from pulling up seedlings to make them taller?

That is why acting against the Way of Heaven damages the brightness of the sun and moon, and makes one’s conduct ever more disorderly. The Yellow Emperor abdicated and relinquished the realm. He could set external things aside, yet could not set life itself aside, so he sought instruction from Guangchengzi on the Way of cultivating the person. Guangchengzi told him that he must remain still and clear; thus he learned how to free himself from attachment to life. Guangchengzi also told him that the myriad things have no end.

In the dim and silent, sight cannot see and sound cannot be heard; in the deep and remote, even reaching out to touch yields nothing. Eyes and ears disturb the mind, so one must neither look nor listen in order to preserve the spirit and remain still. Restlessness depletes the body and vital energy, so one must be still to keep the body from exhaustion and clear to keep vital energy from being spent. That is why it is more important to gather in the spirit and guard it carefully than to increase one’s knowledge.

Yang belongs to brightness, so it moves above the Great Light; Yin belongs to darkness, so it enters the deep and remote. Hold fast to oneness, bringing vital energy to its utmost; dwell in harmony between Yin and Yang, bringing accord to its utmost. Containing…

Those whose De is profound are like infants: their Jing and Qi are harmonious and unified. Thus, even after living for twelve hundred years, their bodies have not aged. The Dao had no beginning in the past and will have no end in the future. This is unlike things bound by a fixed number and by beginnings and endings. The Dao does not appear bright above or dim below; this is unlike things that have physical form.

Light is the essence of Yang Qi, while earth is the material substance of Yin Qi. When one loses the Dao, one is enslaved by Yang Qi and so gives off light; one is also constrained by Yin Qi, and so one’s body can occupy only a lower place. All things arise from earth and in the end return to earth. I am about to leave these things with physical form behind. If one can shine with the sun and moon, one can unite with their radiance; if one can endure as long as Heaven and Earth, one can unite with their De. Am I in harmony with the Dao, or distant from it? What accords with me merges with me and returns to the Dao; what is distant from me grows dark and becomes a thing. People will eventually die, while I alone will endure. As for those people, they attend only to flourishing branches and leaves, thereby damaging the roots. I, by contrast, plant myself deeply in the source and secure my roots, preserving my branches and leaves in this way.

The commentary by Bixu says: To covet and to make use of things is not subtle and mysterious, but crude and material. To imitate and govern is not to preserve one’s true nature intact; it will inevitably be damaged. Governing the world solely through one’s own actions invites calamity from Yang Qi and disorder in Yin Qi, while the sun and moon lose their radiance. How, then, could one speak of the highest Dao?

After yielding the empire, the Yellow Emperor knelt and crawled before Guang Chengzi, asking him how to cultivate himself. Guang Chengzi first told him that the subtlety of the Dao could only be described, for lack of better words, as “dark and obscure,” and its utmost limit as “dim and silent.” Do not treat colors as colors to be grasped; do not treat sounds as sounds to be grasped. Then the spirit will be still and the body upright. When the mind is still, the spirit is not wearied; when Qi is clear, Jing and Qi do not stir. If you do not look recklessly, there is no grasping through sight; if you do not listen recklessly, there is no grasping through hearing; if you do not think recklessly, there are no distracting thoughts. When all three return to the true, the spirit can settle, and the body can endure.

Carefully guard the inner, and the mind will become empty and still; close off the outer senses, and you will block disturbances from outside. This is because excessive seeing and hearing are feared to bring ruin. In this way, one can go beyond the transformations of Yin-Yang and meet the realm of the Dao. The sun, moon, and stars shine brilliantly, and the Five Sacred Mountains stand firm and steady: each has its appointed role in Heaven and Earth. The seasons nurture all things, which grow and take form: Yin and Yang each have their store. Cultivate yourself, and all things will change accordingly, while human life grows ever stronger. Preserve unity, and the harmonious Qi will gather. Thus, after twelve hundred years of self-cultivation, the body still has not aged.

Li Chunfeng says: “Heavenly Origin” governs the myriad things and is light and insubstantial. The period of twelve hundred years is called a “great cycle”; some also say it is a minor cycle in the movement of Yin and Yang. The Dao has no beginning by its nature, so how could it have an end? It is not known whose descendant it is, and it has no limit. Above, it is called Sovereign; below, it is called King; between Heaven and Earth, it is …

Vast and luminous, it appears above as light and forms the land below, yet it is still one and the same thing. The myriad things arise of themselves and pass away of themselves. I too arrive suddenly and depart suddenly. The gate of the Great Void—the boundless, empty expanse—has no end, and the realm of creation and transformation has no limits. I shine together with the sun and moon, yet make no effort to display myself. I exist alongside Heaven and Earth, yet do not regard myself as different from them.

When the myriad things touch me, they are like threads tangled together, yet I do not notice. When they are far from me, they seem shrouded in darkness and obscurity, and I cannot know them either. When a person reaches life’s end, in the natural course of things they should disappear without a trace. I alone can endure because I possess something that does not perish.

Yanzhai says: Govern Yin and Yang so that each fulfills its proper function. This is the original condition of things, what is called “substance,” and what the earlier passage calls the “ultimate Dao.” Things are harmed when people damage them through deliberate action. Heaven and Earth, with Yin and Yang, follow the natural order; the grains and all living creatures grow and flourish according to their own natures. Deliberately managing and interfering with them only harms the myriad things.

If clouds do not gather, rain will not fall. Rain in one place but not another, or fruit falling before it ripens, all go against the seasons. “Deep, obscure, and silent” describes a state so profound, still, and subtle that it cannot be seen. “See nothing and hear nothing” means neither looking nor listening, even forgetting the eyes and ears. When the mind is quiet and does nothing, the body naturally becomes upright, and the spirit is bound to become clear and still. If the body is not made to labor and the breath is not disturbed, one can live long.

The foundation of today’s methods of cultivation lies here: do not tire yourself; do not stir. Here, “not” and “do not” mean the same thing: both express a prohibition. “See nothing, hear nothing, know nothing” can also be understood this way: “do not look” and “hold fast to the spirit” mean to guard the inner self carefully and keep thoughts from wavering; close off the outer senses so that external things cannot disturb the heart. Do not deliberately seek knowledge or recognition; only then can De be preserved. Knowing too much can instead bring harm.

“The Great Brightness” is the Great Void, and “deep obscurity” is the Limitless. This means that Heaven and Earth and Yin and Yang are present within the human body. If the Heaven and Earth within oneself each fulfill their proper function and Yin and Yang each settle into their proper place, one can carefully guard the body, keeping everything within it firm and stable. “Things” here refers to everything within the body. By holding to unity without confusion, one lives in harmony with every circumstance. Thus one can live to the age of twelve hundred without the body declining. This is what Guangchengzi meant by being in accord with Heaven.

How could the myriad things ever be exhausted? Yet people always want to ask where they end. How could the myriad things ever be measured? Yet people always try to probe their limits. This is to pursue the infinite with a finite life. The Book of Changes does not end with the “Already Completed” hexagram, but with the “Not Yet Completed” hexagram, showing precisely that the myriad things have no end and cannot be measured. Confucius stood by the river and said, “What passes away is like this…” The original text breaks off here.

The phrase “infinite and beyond measurement” refers to the endless, immeasurable changes between Heaven and Earth. The sun and moon are in the sky, and the land lies below. People live between Heaven and Earth; when they look up, they see only the sun and moon, and when they look down, they see only the ground. All things grow from the soil and eventually return to it. The marvelous and the decayed transform into one another in an unending cycle.

“To leave the place where you dwell” means to leave the seemingly endless gates of the human world and travel to the boundless wilderness. This refers to a realm beyond Heaven and Earth, and so it endures as long as Heaven and Earth, the sun, and the moon. Min is interchangeable with ming, meaning dark and deep. When things come before me or pass away from my side, I remain wholly unaware.

Kongtong is also written Kongtong (Kongtong). An old commentary by Sima says it is a mountain beneath the Northern Dipper. The Erya says that in the north there is a mountain directly opposite the Northern Dipper, called Kongtong. Such a mountain did exist in antiquity, but the passage also seems to carry a symbolic meaning: the Northern Dipper occupies the center of the heavens and sets the myriad things in motion, while Mount Kongtong receives its influence and stands at the center of the earth. Together, they suggest that the human heart-mind occupies a centered and upright position, able to govern the things outside it. For one who is skilled at keeping to the heart-mind, nothing among the myriad things resists its ordering.

Some say that Guangchengzi was Laozi, but there is no need to insist on a specific identity; it is enough to understand him here as an ancient sage. The Yellow Emperor went to Mount Kongtong to ask about the “Supreme Dao.” Guangchengzi replied: The vital essences of Heaven and Earth are blended and undivided; this is called “substance.” Once the forces of Yin and Yang have separated, this is called “fragment.” What you wish to ask about only approaches the Great Dao; what you wish to govern is no more than what remains from the “fragment.” If you have already strayed far from the Dao, what is there to discuss?

After withdrawing, the Yellow Emperor lived quietly for a time, then returned to ask about the way of cultivating the self. Only then did Guangchengzi tell him: Do not look heedlessly with your eyes or listen heedlessly with your ears. Keep your spirit guarded and your body upright. Be sure to remain still and clear; do not exhaust yourself or act rashly. In this way, you can return to the source of Yin and Yang. This is the highest attainment in cultivating the self. The passage’s account of Heaven and Earth each having their own functions, and Yin and Yang each having their own hidden stores, uses the cosmos to explain that the human body has a corresponding inner order, which one must learn to observe and nourish.

“1,200 years” is simply a measure of the brevity of human life. If we trace the source from which numinous energy comes into being and the myriad things take form, it runs through past and present without end. People and the myriad things have existed ever since Heaven and Earth took shape and Yin and Yang emerged. Countless people and things will come after us as well, beyond the reach of even the most precise calculations. This is what truly means “infinite and beyond measurement.” People regard life as ending and things as finite because they observe only changes in physical form and fail to perceive the more far-reaching transformations.

That which does not change becomes ruler above and commoner below. This is said from the standpoint of attaining the Dao, not because one holds a particular position and is called by that title. Though the times differ, the transformations of the myriad things are the same: those who attain the Dao rise and manifest radiance; those who lose the Dao sink down and become earth. This means that the vital essence and spirit of one who has lost the Dao turn into phosphorescent fire, while flesh and bones return to dust. Such a person has spent a life in vain and died to no purpose, passing fruitlessly through the forging of Creation’s furnace. The hundred forms of life are born from earth and in the end return to earth; the difference among them, too, lies in whether they attain the Dao or lose it.

The Dao itself neither gains nor loses; only the myriad things come and go. From the stirring of life to its return, this is transformation. I am about to leave you. If I do not return to dust, but instead ascend into the Great Void—the vast, formless source of Heaven and Earth—I can endure as long as Heaven, Earth, the sun, and the moon. Those who draw close to me have deep and far-reaching minds and can accord with the Dao; those who distance themselves from me and turn away are benighted and ignorant.

People all believe that death must come in the end. This means that everyone reaches an end through transformation, while I alone endure. The “I” spoken of here is not the bodily self with its nine openings and hundred bones, but the original self: pure and still, subtly wondrous, empty and open, and spiritually clear. It cannot be seen through form or color, nor sought through sound. Thus it was born before Heaven and Earth, stands alone, and does not change.

I privately believe that the essential teachings of the Dao transmitted in person by the two sages are fully recorded in this chapter. There is nothing abstruse or difficult to practice in them; they are as simple and clear as this. Later generations, in their shallow ways, delight in the strange and prize the bizarre, inventing doctrines of visualization, adding and subtracting, sexual union, and gathering. They exhaust the spirit and damage the body in pursuit of stability. Some are even like blind people leading the way, riding an ice cart toward a volcano, and still have not awakened. How could they avoid losing the root of their own lives?

Alas, for a long time there have been no people in the world truly able to discern right from wrong. It was only through reverently studying the teachings left by Master Guangcheng that I could give voice to these wild words. Perhaps someone will take them up, calling them wild words.