《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 31

Cloud Master, the legendary spirit of the clouds, was traveling east. As he passed the branch of Fuyao, he happened to meet Hundun, who symbolized the undivided chaos of nature. Hundun was slapping his thighs and leaping about like a sparrow. Cloud Master stopped in bewilderment, stood respectfully, and asked, “Elder, who are you? Why are you playing about like this?”

Hundun kept slapping his thighs and leaping. “I’m wandering,” he replied. Cloud Master said, “I would like to ask your advice.” Hundun looked up at him. Cloud Master continued, “Alas, these days the qi of Heaven is out of harmony, the qi of Earth is stagnant, and the six qi—the natural forces of Yin, Yang, wind, rain, darkness, and light—are out of balance. The seasons have lost their proper order. I want to bring the six qi into harmony so that all things may grow. What should I do?”

Hundun kept slapping his thighs and leaping, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Cloud Master could not get an answer from him.

Three years later, Cloud Master was traveling east again. As he passed through the outskirts of the state of Song, he met Hundun once more. Delighted, Cloud Master hurried over and said, “Has Heaven forgotten me? Has Heaven forgotten me?” He bowed low and said, “I hope you will share your teaching with me.”

Hundun said, “I drift at ease, without knowing what I seek. I wander as I please, without knowing where I’m going. Those who wander are busy looking at how things are of themselves. What could I know?”

Cloud Master said, “I thought I was simply acting as I pleased, yet the people follow me. In truth, I have no choice but to respond to their needs. Now they all imitate me. I hope you will give me a word of guidance.”

Hundun said, “Alas! To disrupt nature’s constant way and go against the nature of all things is to prevent the Way of Heaven from bringing them to fulfillment. Herds will be broken apart; birds will cry out at night. Calamities will fall upon plants and trees, and misfortune will spread to insects. Alas, these are all faults caused by governing the people.”

Cloud Master said, “If that is so, what should I do?”

Hundun said, “Alas, what a bother! Go back quickly!”

Cloud Master said, “I was fortunate enough to encounter the Way of Heaven. I beg you to offer me one more word of guidance.”

Hundun said, “Alas! Cultivate your heart and spirit, and abide in Wuwei (non-action); all things will change of themselves. Relax your body and rein in your cleverness. Forget the distinctions of worldly relationships, and forget the boundary between yourself and external things. Return to the vast, undifferentiated state. Let your mind open and your spirit unwind. Be calm and desire nothing, as if you had no soul. All things flourish and grow, each returning to its source. They return to their source without knowing it, and so remain in undivided chaos for their whole lives, never departing from it. If you deliberately try to understand and grasp this state, you have already left it. Do not ask its name or probe its inner workings; all things will grow of themselves.”

Cloud Master said, “Heaven has bestowed De (Virtue) upon me and instructed me through silence. I sought it myself, and only now have I found it.” He bowed low once more, rose, and took his leave.

Guo Xiang comments: One who does not know what he seeks nevertheless finds it naturally; one who does not know where he is going nevertheless arrives naturally where he ought to be. Thus, for a person inwardly fulfilled, everything that meets the eye settles naturally into its proper place.

To govern the myriad things is not to seek lasting achievement, yet achievement appears of itself. To act as one pleases is not to deliberately court the people, yet the people willingly gather around. So he becomes someone the people follow as an example, though this was never his intention. If one follows the nature of the myriad things without interfering, their inherent tendencies will not be thwarted, and the constant Way will not be thrown into disorder. This is how stillness and Wuwei (non-action) allow things to fulfill themselves.

Release the restraints on the beasts, and the birds will call out at night; plants and insects, too, will leave their quiet places and sit exposed to harm. This shows how every kind of disorder arises once one begins to govern. Alas, the harm is profound! These words lament governing the people to excess. The term “xianxian” describes someone sitting and rising restlessly. Such a person resents being unable to sit quietly and keep clear of turmoil, and so sends a messenger back.

When the mind is damaged by being used too intensely, perhaps the way to nourish it is not to exert the mind deliberately. If one is unconcerned with principles and external things, and lets them follow their own course, Wuwei allows the myriad things to transform of themselves. In this way, one accords with the undifferentiated state before the beginning, and has no barriers between oneself and the myriad things. The mind is quiet and undisturbed, no longer pulled along by tangled thoughts; one sits calmly, forgets oneself, and lets nature alone. In a state of undifferentiated unknowing, one lets the myriad things return to their own nature, and so remains rooted throughout life. But to think oneself knowledgeable and deliberately seek to return is to go against the Way of return. To inquire and peer into things is to lose their state of spontaneous generation; to understand them silently is to grasp them naturally, as one always can.

Lü Huiqing comments: “‘Cloud General’ takes it upon himself to bring nourishment to the whole world. This is like the faint movement at the tip of a branch caught in a whirlwind: it is only the outermost trace of the great wind’s motion. Vast Hongmeng enfolds and nourishes the myriad things; its name itself conveys this meaning. Cloud General hopes to harmonize the Six Qi—natural forces such as Yin and Yang, wind, rain, darkness, and brightness—in order to nurture all living things. This shows that he intends to benefit the whole world. Hongmeng’s answer, ‘I do not know,’ is true knowledge.”

Everyone seeks something and goes somewhere. I do not know what I seek or where I am going simply because I know nothing. “Yangzhang” means being constrained and burdened: one may seem to wander freely, yet still appear somehow held in check. When I observe the true condition of the world, I find it is just the same. The myriad things all arise together; I watch how they return. Once they have returned, they do not move about recklessly. What, then, could I know?

Thinking that one is acting as one pleases still does not amount to Wuwei; letting the people do as they please may not accord with Wuwei either. To follow Heaven’s Way is Wuwei; to follow the myriad things is to avoid imposing one’s own knowledge on them. To know and to act deliberately is to disrupt Heaven’s Way and thwart the nature of the myriad things, preventing the deep and hidden Way of Heaven from coming to fulfillment.

Within the year there is a “Mysterious Heaven”: the winter solstice. Within the month, it is the dark moon, the final day of the month. Within the day, it is midnight. People, too, have their own “Mysterious Heaven.” The ancients sought the place where the vital Qi is centered, in order to nourish the spirit and strengthen the root.

The text holds that many things are stated plainly because people do not yet understand the principles behind them. The mysterious Heaven—the subtle, natural Dao of Heaven—cannot fulfill its course, and disasters even spread to birds, beasts, and insects, because people do not understand governing through Wuwei (non-action). Poison is meant to cure illness; taken when one is not ill, it instead harms the body. People seek to return to the root and find the underlying principles, yet they often cling to their own preconceptions and focus only on protecting themselves.

If one does not act deliberately, all things will transform naturally. Forgetting the body means no longer being attached to the six limbs and trunk—the four limbs, head, and torso. Setting aside cleverness and contrivance means no longer being confined by the senses of hearing and sight. Then things fall into their own patterns, and external things are no longer set against “me.” The mind becomes empty and still, like the boundless, undivided Qi of the primordial expanse, able to contain all things. I and the things around me forget one another and return together to this undifferentiated state. The mind and spirit are thereby released from the constraints of distinctions between body and spirit. This is what it means to dwell in the Dao of Wuwei.

When all things arise, I do not know what brings them forth; when they return to their root, I do not deliberately attend to it. In this way, all things merge into a seamless whole. One remains throughout life in a state free of intention and desire, asking no questions and peering into nothing, while all things grow of themselves. But if, in a state of not knowing, one deliberately asks, “Is this what not knowing means?” one is asking after its name. If one then asks, “Is it truly not knowing?” one is probing into its reality. This is like digging up a plant’s roots as soon as it sprouts, thereby hindering its growth. The Dao of Heaven brings all things into being in the same way.

The Commentary of Yidu explains: “‘Yunjiang’ is the commander of the clouds; ‘Hongmeng’ refers to primordial Qi, before Yin and Yang have divided; ‘Fengyao’ means wind and is used here as a metaphor for what has no form. ‘Wandering’ means letting things follow their nature and being at ease, as in the ‘utmost wandering’ described in the Liezi. Yunjiang has not yet encountered the substance of the Dao, so he asks about what is before him, hoping to harmonize the Six Qi and nurture all living beings. Hongmeng first says ‘wandering,’ showing that he has not yet fallen entirely silent. Then he gazes up at the sky and sighs, showing that he has nothing left to say, though he still leaves some indication. Finally, he says, ‘I do not know; I do not know,’ offering no further indication. This is regarded as the utmost expression of the Dao.

“Yangzhang” means being constrained and bound. At first there may seem to be some restraint, but in the end one remains at ease. Everything one sees and does accords with the right way, without deluded thoughts. The commentator explains “What do I know?” as taking not knowing for knowing; this is true knowledge. Heaven has its constant Dao, and all things have their own natures. If they are disturbed and made to go against those natures, the mysterious Heaven cannot fulfill its course. Here, “mysterious” refers to the subtle, wondrous substance, and “Heaven” refers to nature. Birds, beasts, and insects, too, each possess their own life and nature.”

When things follow their proper course, they settle into order; when they go against it, they fall into chaos. Yet people now impose rule by force, and this is precisely the source of calamity and disorder.

To herd the people together while leaving them as restless as birds calling in the night is called “nurturing the mind”—governing and nurturing all things through intention. All methods arise from the mind. We should nurture all things according to their proper course and settle them through stillness: when things come, respond; when they go, let them fade from mind. Only then can one achieve Wuwei (non-action) and yet leave nothing undone, free oneself from bodily concerns and cleverness, and connect with the Great Dao.

One who understands the principles of human relations and all things can bring them together as one. So release the mind from its constraints and let the spirit unfold. Let the mind and spirit rest in stillness and non-action, untouched by the pull of external things. This is the highest state a person can attain; following it brings one into harmony with the Way of Heaven.

The ceaseless transformations of the myriad things mean that each returns to its root. Seen from the perspective of emptiness, illusory forms perish; emptiness itself, however, is not destroyed. As for life itself, one should preserve a state of undivided ignorance, still unformed and undifferentiated, and remain in it throughout one’s life. If one deliberately tries to know it, the Dao departs. At first, distinctions were imposed, and so names arose; with names came distinctions between nature and life, and feelings and awareness. Neither “names” nor “feelings” are the key to the perfected person’s return to their original nature. Do not seek out the names of things, and names will not obstruct their substance. Do not pry into their conditions, and feelings will not overwhelm their nature. Then all things can grow as they naturally do, and their principles will become clear.

Cloud General heard these words and understood the Way of Heaven. Vast Nebulous guided him through the transformation of De and signaled to him through silence. All of this showed how the perfected person should respond to external things. Cloud General grasped the principle of “understanding without gaining anything,” then rose, took his leave, and departed.

Bixu’s commentary says: Cloud General is the spirit who governs rain. He traveled east to bring benevolence to the land. “Whirlwind” refers to the places through which the wind passes; “Vast Nebulous” refers to primordial Qi. To move is for primordial Qi to circulate. If Heaven’s Yang Qi does not descend, Earth’s Qi cannot rise; when the Five Cycles fall out of balance, the Six Qi become disordered. The outskirts of the state of Song are a place nourished by rain.

If you do not know what you are seeking, external things cannot entangle you. If you do not know where you are going, you can wander freely without ulterior motives. External things are numerous, yet each has its own kind and place. Why should I need to know everything? Clouds have no intention of their own, yet because the people follow them, they seem to have one. Cloud General acted out of necessity, and the people imitated him, leaving behind traces of deliberate action. To set one’s mind on changing the constant Way leads to disorder; to follow one’s own desires and serve one’s appetites goes against Heaven’s principles. When things are both disordered and contrary to the Way, Heaven’s principles can hardly be realized. Thus the mountains and forests have lost their scenes of tranquility, and the open countryside its harmony: this is the result of laws that are too strict and restraints that are too harsh.

“Nurturing the mind” means caring for all things through intention. Wuwei is the practice of nurturing the mind; action means the mind is being put to work by external things. The mind is not something I alone possess; its original nature is empty and still. Whether moving or quiet, if one clings to no distinctions, one can merge with the primordial Qi of undifferentiated chaos. All appearances disappear, returning to the profound and remote. If one clings to knowledge, then… (The original text ends here.)

Without the Dao, there are no names or forms, and no desires or passions. What could one still ask about or try to peer into? What could one seek while abiding in silence?

“De need not first be expressed in words in order to take effect; this itself is its wondrous function.”

Yanzhai says: “‘The branch of Fuyao’ refers to Fusang, the legendary place where the sun rises. This passage concerns nourishing all living things, just as in the previous chapter, where the Yellow Emperor asked about the same matter. Amid the confusion and complexity of worldly affairs, one can still observe one’s own true nature. He spoke to the people only because he had no choice: he wanted to decline their request but could not. The people, in their heedlessness, took me as someone to imitate.

The principle of Heaven and the natures of all things are inherently spontaneous. To govern with a mind intent on taking deliberate action would disturb and oppose this spontaneity. Hence the words, “The Mysterious Heaven does not bring it to completion”: “Mysterious Heaven” refers to the deep and subtle Way of nature; “does not bring it to completion” means that it cannot fulfill the natural unfolding of all things, but instead causes them to lose their inherent nature. As a result, plants and insects alike suffer. This is the harm caused by deliberately setting out to govern the people, which is why the text exclaims, “How harmful!” It then says, “Away, away!”—urging him to leave at once.

“Heart-nourishing” means: stop that mind of yours and let it quietly nourish itself; that is enough. The text says “heart-nourishing,” not “nourishing the heart,” and the distinction deserves careful attention. Simply abide in Wuwei, and all things will grow and change of their own accord. The clever contrivances of before should also be expelled and set aside.

“Lun” and “lun” have related meanings: to dissolve and disappear. When people and things forget one another, they can merge with “Xingming”—the formless, qi-less, undifferentiated primordial state. Let go of the mind that deliberately acts, and set aside the spirit that makes distinctions. “Without a soul” means as though there were no awareness. All things return to their own root. Whatever is born must die, but death is not permanent extinction: what has died is born again. Thus the text says, “Each returns to its root.”

If you remain in a muddled, undifferentiated state, without knowledge or awareness, you will never depart from the Dao. Once awareness and distinctions arise, you have already departed from it. Wherever distinctions are made, names and forms take shape; wherever likes and dislikes arise, desires and passions follow. With no questions, seeking, or probing, there are no distinctions or preferences. This is natural Wuwei, and so all things can grow and flourish in their own way.

Heaven bestowed on me the De of nature and revealed to me the principle that speaks without words. Turning inward to seek, I have already found this Dao. Having received what I sought, I bow in thanks and take my leave.

Yunjiang, a figure from an ancient fable, spreads rain and harmonizes Yin-Yang. His passage by the branch of Fuyao is a metaphor for his movement toward activity and change, showing his wish to bestow favor and nourish all things. Hongmeng, a fabled figure symbolizing primordial Qi, leaps and moves playfully, portraying the free and easy flow of primordial Qi. As Qi flows, rain can be spread. This serves as a metaphor for the teaching of a wise ruler who governs through Wuwei and generously nurtures all things. Yunjiang hopes to unite with the Six Qi…

To bring Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang into harmony and use their power to nourish all beings still inevitably involves one’s own intentions. This is the same principle discussed earlier: Hongmeng, a character in the parable, teaches that true knowledge is reached through “not knowing.” The point has now been fully explained.

Yunjiang could not understand, so he took his leave. Later, he met Hongmeng again and asked for guidance once more. Only then did Hongmeng tell him: “You do not know what you are pursuing, or where you are going.” This means that one should seek fulfillment within oneself rather than go far afield to ask others. A person moves freely through the world and finds what they need within; thus they can observe and experience the true principles. Why persist in seeking knowledge from outside?

These few words had already made the principle clear, but Yunjiang still did not grasp it. He began to describe how rashly, and out of necessity, he had governed the people. Hongmeng pointed out his mistake: he was speaking and acting too much, disturbing the natural order and going against the nature of all things, destroying their quiet, Wuwei (non-action) nature. Birds and beasts, plants and insects had all lost their places to live. This is the harm caused by excessive interference from those who govern. Here, the word “govern” also carries the sense of disturbing and harming. Is this really how the world should be governed? Go back and rest; do not ask so many more questions.

Yunjiang’s doubts remained, so he asked Hongmeng to say one more thing. Hongmeng told him: “What troubles you is that your mind has lost its nourishment.” The mind is the dwelling place of Shen (spirit); nourish it through Wuwei, and Shen can be kept whole. Only when Shen and Qi (vital energy) are complete can all things transform of themselves. From “forgetting one’s own body” to “becoming so still that one seems to have no soul,” all these refer to ways of nourishing the mind. At the furthest point, even the thought of “nourishing the mind” is forgotten.

All things change in countless ways, yet in the end return to their roots. Movement taken to its extreme must return to stillness: this is the natural course of things. How could human cleverness and distinctions have any place in it? Simply preserve an undivided, uncarved simplicity, and keep to one’s nature without losing it. Once knowledge and the mind of discrimination arise, one has already departed from the Dao. Seeking out names and probing into appearances are activities of the intellect. If these distinctions can be set aside and all things allowed to change naturally, why try to harmonize the six Qi to nourish all beings?

Only then did Yunjiang understand: excessive speech can harm the Dao; keeping silent means one does not diminish De (Virtue/Power). The key is to return to oneself and seek inner cultivation. From this we can see that taking the nourishment of all things as one’s own responsibility often brings toil without results; allowing all things under Heaven to regulate themselves instead brings ease and lets them grow together. To nourish all things and bring harmony to the world ultimately comes down to preserving Shen and Qi and cultivating the mind. The ancient divine beings could keep all things free from calamity and illness and ensure abundant harvests by following this very principle.

People in the ordinary world all like others to be the same as themselves and dislike them for being different. Whatever is like oneself, one desires; whatever is unlike oneself, one does not desire. This is because…

Everyone wishes to rise above everyone else. But those who believe they have risen above the rest—have they ever truly done so? Only by following the nature of the people can one bring stability. What one person has seen and heard cannot match the varied skills of many people, each with their own strengths. If someone wants to govern another’s state but seeks only the benefits of the Three Kings’ rule—the sage kings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties—while ignoring its dangers, they are gambling with the state. How could such a gamble fail to bring the state to ruin? The chance of preserving the state is less than one in ten thousand; if the attempt fails, the losses are far greater than one ten-thousandth. How lamentable that a ruler with territory does not understand this.

A ruler with territory holds the great thing that is all under Heaven. Whoever holds this great thing cannot treat the myriad things as tools to manipulate, nor treat themselves as an external thing. Only then can each thing serve its proper purpose. Those who understand how each thing serves its proper purpose know that no particular thing rules over the myriad things. Would such a person concern themselves only with governing the people under Heaven? They pass in and out through the six directions of Heaven and Earth, roam freely across the Nine Provinces, and come and go unhindered. This is called “possessing oneself alone.” One who reaches this state is called the most exalted.

The teaching of the Great Person is like a form appearing in a shadow, or a sound producing an echo. When someone asks, they respond, giving full expression to what the other person has in mind. They respond to all things under Heaven, yet dwell where there is no echo; their actions are not confined to any fixed direction. They lead you back into the midst of tumult and change, to roam in the boundless; they enter and leave without limit, keeping company with the “Beginningless.” They speak of and discuss forms, bringing them into accord with the “Great Identity,” the state in which all things are blended as one. To accord with the Great Identity is to have no self. Without a self, how could one cling to “being”? Those who see “being” are the gentlemen of the past; those who see “nonbeing” are friends of Heaven and Earth.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Everyone wants to rise above everyone else and makes distinction their aim, so no one can surpass the rest. Everyone is intent on winning; I alone do not cling to being different from others, but instead accord with them. In this way, I differ greatly from everyone else and so become their ruler. What one person has seen and heard cannot match the varied skills of many people, each with their own strengths. That is why stability comes from following the people’s strength. If one does not go along with them, the countless people under Heaven will all become one’s opponents.

If someone wants to govern another’s state but does not follow the nature of its people, choosing instead to govern by their own strength, they seek only the benefits the Three Kings gained by ruling over all things, while ignoring the dangers that come from personally taking charge. Where did the Three Kings’ benefits come from? They came only from following the natural workings of all under Heaven. If one relies on one’s own strength to rule all under Heaven by force, the vitality of the world will be blocked. How, then, could one remain open and unimpeded? As a result, one cannot even preserve oneself, and the myriad things suffer still greater losses. How lamentable that a ruler with territory does not understand this.

A ruler with territory holds the great thing that is all under Heaven. Whoever holds this great thing cannot treat the myriad things as objects to command at will…

Using external things simply means being constrained by them; this is not enough to make someone a true master of the myriad things. A true master is not made a servant of external things and so is not bound by them. Precisely because they are unbound, they can make use of all things under Heaven.

They understand that each thing operates according to its own nature, and so their use of things is inexhaustible. Everyone sees themselves as different from others; only this person can live among them and move freely in their company. This is what it means to be “alone”: to come and go alone, to exist alone. They dwell with everyone in the hidden and mysterious Dao, without deliberately seeking a status above others. It is simply that others cannot help but respect them—this is true distinction. If someone clings to personal prejudices and makes being different the basis of their identity, then even if they think themselves exceptional, they are merely one thing among the common things of the world, not someone truly independent and unbound.

The thoughts of the people are like sounds produced by a body; the teaching of the Great Person is like a shadow following its body, or an echo following a sound. What does the Great Person hold in mind when governing the world? They simply let all things follow what their hearts incline toward, fully expressing their nature. When someone asks a question, they answer: the questioner takes the lead, and the one who answers responds in turn. They abide in silence, quietly waiting for things to arrive. When they act, they do not adhere to any fixed direction, but change along with things.

They guide all things back to their own nature of moving and unfolding spontaneously. This is the highest Wuwei (non-action). Roaming in the boundless, they can enter and emerge alongside change. Without taking sides, they unite with the hidden mystery of all things and are not confined by external boundaries. Renewed day after day, they have no fixed beginning or end.

In praising the Great Person’s appearance and state of being, one says that they are no different from Heaven and Earth. So long as a clinging “self” remains in the heart, one cannot fully connect with all things under Heaven. The hardest thing in the world to cast off is this “self.” Once it dissolves, one no longer clings to the myriad things that exist. Those who can see things are merely the gentlemen of old, skilled at making a name for themselves; those who can discern “nothingness” are the true companions of Heaven and Earth, allowing all things to grow independently, each in its own way.

Lü’s commentary says: The foundation of the Dao is Wuwei and spontaneity. It is not only the ruler who embodies the Dao; those who assist the ruler, too, should respond to the people and bring peace to the world, refraining from presumptuous action in governing the state. One person’s experience and knowledge cannot match the varied abilities of the people. If someone governs the state by relying on themselves to shoulder everything, avoiding mistakes can only be a matter of luck. When the Three Kings rose to power, ruler and ministers did indeed benefit from this approach; in later generations, however, it often brought calamity. Those who wish to govern a state tend to see its advantages but not its dangers.

The Yellow Emperor’s inquiry to Guangchengzi and Yao’s visit to the four sages both arose because they regarded governing all things as a burden. What they meant to show was that the one who truly directs and makes use of all things is not, in turn, directed by them. What I have come to understand is the Dao; outside the Dao there is nothing else, and so it is called “being alone.” The Great Person’s teaching is like a body with its shadow, or a sound with its echo: they follow one another, but not in order to control the world…

What was said earlier is precisely what makes it possible to accord with the myriad things. Dwelling in a realm without sound, one is utterly still; moving through a realm without boundaries, one never has a fixed limit. Thus the sage can guide all things under Heaven as they move together, allowing them to return to their root. The myriad things arise in profusion, yet there is no need to insist that they be brought to rest. This is what is meant by, “The myriad things arise together; I observe how they return,” and by gathering all under Heaven within Heaven itself. In this way, the sage can move between the end and the beginning of all things, unimpeded by regions and unconstrained by time.

“Song” means discourse. “Words” arise from what is wordless; forms appear from what is formless. Seen in this way, one can become wholly at one with the myriad things, with no grasping self remaining. Only without attachment to self can one truly possess the myriad things. Is this not a form of possession? Those who are gentle, loving, and benevolent are called exemplary people. The sage can be at one with the common people, so one who perceives “being” may, at most, be called exemplary. But one who perceives “nonbeing” is a friend of Heaven and Earth, and cannot be described merely as someone who is at one with the common people.

Commentary by Yidu: Only those who truly understand Heaven’s mandate have likes and dislikes that accord with what is right. To like others because they resemble oneself and dislike them because they differ is to seek superiority. But how could that count as truly rising above the common people? Only by studying until one has thoroughly investigated principle, reflecting until one fully understands one’s nature, and ultimately understanding Heaven’s mandate, can one rise naturally above the myriad things without deliberately striving to outdo others.

To clarify the way of the former kings and settle people’s minds by drawing on their understanding: what one has heard and seen oneself cannot match the range of other people’s abilities. Gathering their abilities to complete one’s own—who but a sage could do this?

The kings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties governed their states and benefited from doing so; that did not necessarily bring them harm. Later generations inherited their methods without understanding their foundations, like staking another person’s state on a gamble. Governing one other person’s state well still seemed insufficient to them; bringing ten thousand other states to ruin still seemed to leave them with more than enough. Perhaps this was meant to warn rulers who held territory at the time that gambling with their rule could bring the calamity of a fallen state.

Whatever people possess is an external thing; among such possessions, holding land is especially consequential. No matter how long a living being lives, it cannot make life continue forever. No matter how great the power of those who possess the myriad things, they cannot create them. Only what is not bound by life and death can make life endure; only those who do not treat the myriad things as private property can truly bring them to fulfillment. Therefore, those who possess the “Great Thing”—the vast realm under Heaven and all things within it—must not treat the myriad things as objects to command. Precisely because they do not possess all things, they are able to bring them to fulfillment.

The sage does not treat external things as personal possessions. This does not mean that the myriad things do not exist; nor does it mean that, because they do not exist, one should claim them as one’s own. Once this principle is understood, can it be applied only to governing the people under Heaven?

To move freely in all directions between Heaven and Earth, travel throughout the Nine Provinces, and govern the people of the realm—this is the subtle principle of the sage.

“Alone” refers to a state beyond the opposition of Yin and Yang: walking alone, with nothing to rely on; arriving alone, with nothing one comes from. It exists independently, without treating anything as a fixed support. “Supremely noble” is the highest state of nobility: it does not rely on rank for its dignity, but always follows its natural course. “Subject to no command” means not being governed by external things.

The teaching of the great person and the sage’s response to things are like an echo answering a sound or a shadow following a shape: neither responds by intention; each does so naturally. The sage treats the myriad things in the same way. When no one comes to ask, he remains still and practices Wuwei (non-action); when someone asks, he answers. He follows what is natural and responds to the needs in the hearts of people throughout the realm, enabling each person to abide in their own nature and life. In this way, he becomes a model for all under Heaven.

This passage speaks of the sage’s achievements. The earlier words “exists independently, supremely above all” describe the sage’s Dao. The sage dwells where there is no echo, so his voice cannot be heard; he moves through a realm without fixed directions, so his traces cannot be seen. This is a state of utter stillness. The sage brings all things, together with himself, into this utter stillness, and only then emerges from it to respond to the myriad things amid the turmoil of the world. Thus he can wander with the creator through the boundless, coming and going without limit. Renewing himself day after day, he is not constrained by what has gone before, and so has neither beginning nor end.

Only after grasping its meaning can one sing its praises; only after understanding its principle can one discuss it. Mencius said, “Only the sage can practice and realize the Dao embodied in the human form.” To say “can” here means simply that the sage is able to do so. When Zhuangzi speaks of the spirit person, he too praises a form that is one with Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. This reflects Mencius’s statement: to be one with all things is to be impartial; to be impartial is to forget oneself.

Once one has forgotten oneself, how could one remain attached to “being”? What is called “being” is not an eternal reality, and “nonbeing” is not absolute emptiness. Those who see only “being” cannot see “nonbeing”; those who see only “nonbeing” cannot see “being.” Not seeing “nonbeing” means being immersed in formed things; not seeing “being” means being immersed in emptiness. To cling to either side is incomplete. Thus, those who valued only “being” were the gentlemen of the past, while those who favored “nonbeing” were people who befriended Heaven and Earth. Applying the ways of the gentlemen of the past today leads to rigidity and obstruction; applying the doctrine of befriending Heaven and Earth to the “Father of Heaven and Earth” also fails.

Xiangdao’s commentary says: The people of old who attained the Dao made their minds empty and still, and their wills yielding. An empty and still mind makes no unwarranted distinctions; a yielding will neither boasts nor strives for lofty aims. In this way, one can blend with the light and mingle with the dust, joining ordinary life. How could one then feel liking or dislike because others are the same as oneself or different?

Therefore, the sage puts himself last and ends up at the head of others; he sets himself aside and thereby preserves himself. This is not something he seeks intentionally, but comes from having no preferences or aversions in his heart. If this is true even of form and sound, how much more so of things that are coarser still?

The principle of response is like a sound giving rise to an echo or a shape producing a shadow: neither echo nor shadow has a mind that deliberately responds. When the sage responds to the myriad things, does he deliberately cling to them? He simply follows what is natural. Thus, people throughout the realm each abide in their own nature and life, and the sage’s work is accomplished without leaving traces of human contrivance.

When no one asks, the sage remains still and practices Wuwei; when someone asks, he responds, like a hollow valley naturally returning a sound. When all things are brought together into utter stillness, how could the sage intend to control them? This is why he can wander with the creator through the boundless, coming and going without limit, renewing himself day after day without being constrained by what has gone before, and thus having neither beginning nor end.

The sage preserves their true nature and does not deliberately seek to rise above others. Yet when circumstances require them to stand out, they do so naturally. Ordinary people are different: they shape themselves according to the common opinions of the crowd, and take unusual ideas they have heard as proof that they are unlike everyone else. In this way, hundreds and thousands become their rivals. How could what one person has heard of the Way surpass what everyone else has heard? This is why they fall short of the skill that each person possesses in their own field.

Yunjiang (a figure in the text) acted recklessly, and the people followed his example. Everyone came to treat standing above others and flaunting one’s difference as extraordinary ability. The result was that disaster befell birds and beasts, and harm spread to insects. Was this not caused by those who sought only to seize the benefits of the Three Kings, while failing to see the dangers? Everything with shape, form, sound, or color belongs to the category of “things.” What fundamental difference is there between one thing and another? Thus, when we understand that the ruler of the myriad things is not itself a thing with form, we know that our own mind, too, does not belong to the realm of formed things. Since the mind is not a formed thing, it can put the myriad things to use. And not only can it do so: it can also serenely forget those vast external things, ride the clouds and dragons, move between Heaven and Earth and the four directions, and travel freely.

One who possesses the “Great Thing” (here, the Dao that governs the myriad things) cannot be without it. But one who does not cling to the myriad things as fixed, independent entities does not possess it either. I can refrain from seeing the myriad things as fixed, and what makes me so is itself not a thing. How, then, could such a person harbor thoughts of standing above others? By not deliberately seeking to stand out, one truly rises above others. When the mind does not strive to be exceptional, it does not lay claim to what it possesses, yet in practice it comes into its own. When one does not pursue honor, one’s name instead attains the highest honor. This is what Laozi meant by “not claiming credit for one’s achievements; when the work is done, not taking possession of it; being selfless, yet fulfilling the self”—that is, not making oneself the center, yet bringing the true self to completion.

A shadow has no feelings of its own: when a body stands, the shadow appears. An echo has no feelings of its own: when a sound comes, the echo answers. Whether a shadow appears crooked or straight is not up to the shadow but depends on the body; whether an echo is clear or murky, loud or faint, is not up to the echo but depends on the sound. The teaching of the Great Person (one of eminent virtue) works in the same way. When someone asks a question, the Great Person responds with all that they hold within, dispelling the questioner’s confusion. Even the foolish receive a response. They harmonize with all things under Heaven, yet do not set themselves up as their ruler. In a place without echoes, their silence is enough to answer all things; in a realm without fixed directions, their movement is enough to reach everywhere.

“Returning to the turmoil and bustle” (a phrase cited in the text, referring to re-entering disorder and complexity) and “observing what is free of delusion” (seeing things as they truly are) have the same meaning. “Wandering without end” and “wandering through the beginning and end of things” mean the same thing as well. The body is the material basis of life, while the physical frame distinguishes one body from another. Praising life is a way of delighting in it; discussing life is a way of investigating its source. If we can become one with the myriad things, we will feel that Heaven, Earth, and we were born together, and that the myriad things and we are one. What burden of attachment to the self could remain?

Bixu’s commentary says: “Great Person” is a general term for the sage. The Great Person takes self-cultivation as their foundation…

The function of the Dao (the Way) is to govern and support the myriad things, allowing each to act according to its own nature and ultimately return to its source. The Dao has no fixed beginning or end. It renews itself day after day, leaving no old traces to follow. The bearing and presence of a great person are praised because they accord with the Dao and are unfathomably deep. In accord with the Dao, one can dwell within the myriad things. When both the myriad things and the self are forgotten, what could there still be to cling to as “someone”? A noble person who cannot yet forget their own body cannot reach this state. Only by forgetting the self can one begin to bring forth and transform the myriad things.

Yanzhai says: To want others to be like oneself, while refusing to let them differ from oneself, is to place oneself above everyone else. If one takes what one has heard of the Dao as a final doctrine and insists that everyone turn to one’s own view before one can feel at ease, then even if one wants to rise above the crowd, one remains bound to it. If one claims that one’s insight is exceptional, that can only be true when everyone else fails to understand it. Yet if one hopes everyone will be just like oneself, one’s abilities are probably no greater than theirs. For such a person to want to govern a state is like seeking only the benefits enjoyed by the Three Kings, the sage rulers of antiquity, while failing to see that this must bring disaster.

To make plans for a state with this mindset is merely to gamble on good fortune. One sees only the prospect of failure; how could one possibly succeed? Those who hold power in a state will be misled if they do not understand the nature of the people who advise them. This is an unmistakable mockery of the itinerant persuaders of the time, who traveled about seeking office.

“To act upon things” means to do something to the myriad things, clinging to them inwardly and leaving traces of one’s actions. “Not to act upon things” means not to impose one’s will, but to follow things as they are. With Wuwei (non-action), there is nothing one cannot accomplish. Thus it is said, “By not being entangled in things, one can act upon things.” If one understands how to act upon things without becoming attached to them, what could one accomplish that would fall short of governing the world? To enter and leave the Six Directions—the four quarters, above, and below—and roam the Nine Regions shows that the Dao transcends the myriad things. It moves freely amid creation, opening and closing, changing and transforming, and becomes one with Heaven; no human effort can separate them. Thus it travels alone, complete in itself. This is called “being alone,” and such a person is supremely honored.

A “great person” is one who stands apart in this way. A body inevitably has a shadow, and a sound inevitably has an echo: this is the natural order. When someone asks me a question, I open my heart and answer with all I know. To face the world in this way is like taking the whole world upon oneself. I am the host, and the things I encounter are guests. At this point, it is as though there were no echo, no sound, no scent, no fixed direction, and no trace.

“Restless and unsettled” describes the ceaseless turmoil of the myriad things. “To take up the people of the whole world and lead them into this restless turmoil” means to support everyone and bring them into this flux of change. In other words, though one transcends worldly conventions, one does not leave the world. Withdrawal from the world and engagement with it are not two wholly separate paths. The Dao has neither a beginning nor a boundary, and so it is endless. If one cannot see its beginning, how could one know its end? In terms of bodily form, everything between Heaven and Earth may be said to belong to this one body. Since we are originally one with the myriad things, then…

Enough. People in ancient times saw only themselves as friends of Heaven and Earth; only later did they see that the myriad things have no fixed form. Here, “people in ancient times” refers to everyone from Yao and Shun onward.

People dislike those who differ from them and favor those who are like them. They value themselves and look down on others; this is common in the world. Their aim is to appear superior to everyone else. When everyone is like them, they rejoice; but then they are no different from everyone else, so how could they claim to stand above them? If people like this try to govern another state, they see only the gains of the past and fail to see the dangers ahead. The chance that they will be lucky enough to avoid losing the state is surely small.

The words “more than ten thousand” after “preserving another’s state,” along with the character “lose,” may have entered the text during copying. The author uses an unusual turn of phrase here, but unfortunately those who possess land do not understand its meaning. He is warning those who lead the people that possessing land is a matter of great consequence. If one possesses all under Heaven without claiming it as one’s own, one can direct the myriad things. Insisting on owning it, by contrast, leaves one at the mercy of external things.

If one can understand that “the one who directs the myriad things” is not itself any concrete external thing, what could one not accomplish beyond governing all under Heaven? To pass through the Six Directions—Heaven and Earth and the four quarters—roam through the Nine Provinces, ride clouds and dragons, and travel across the Four Seas: these all express the same principle. Thus one can come and go alone, with nothing in the world able to rival one. To possess this Dao alone—is it not the most exalted thing?

The great person’s teaching is like form and shadow, sound and echo: it responds to the people’s feelings, without going against their wishes. To be in accord with all under Heaven, one does not dare take the place of the host, but instead occupies that of a guest. The response arises from what is felt; it is not actively sought. One dwells in “no echo”—here, “echo” is synonymous with “direction,” meaning a place that is everywhere—and moves through a realm without fixed direction, reaching everywhere through one’s actions.

The line “Take hold of yourself and go to the returning, restless place” is difficult to explain, and the various commentaries do not make it much clearer. Read closely, its meaning resembles the passage in the Dao De Jing: “Who can remain still for long? Through movement, life gradually arises.” The great person’s teaching works through action and transforms the myriad things. Thus one roams in a boundless realm without corners or edges, renewing oneself day after day, with no fixed beginning or end.

“Praise and discussion” means discourse. To discuss the great person’s appearance is to say that they are one with the myriad things and indistinguishable from the Dao. This is also the meaning of the Dao De Jing’s words: “The form of great De follows only the Dao.” Many commentaries fixate too much on the phrase “praise and discussion,” and as a result their explanations of the following text do not make sense.

The great person has no self. Having no self, what could they claim as their own? The exemplary person, by contrast, devotes themselves to learning in the hope of reaching unity with the Dao, and so cannot yet forget external things. What they see still consists of things that “exist.” This is like Cook Ding when he first began carving an ox.

Since everything we see is merely a trace of the worthy rulers of antiquity, we can understand that if gentlemen of old were already like this, what can gentlemen today be like?

Therefore, we should honor those who can see “nothingness.” Seeing nothingness allows one to transcend worldly learning and reach the Dao (the Way), just as after three years of carving up oxen, Cook Ding no longer saw the form of a whole ox before him. Heaven and Earth arise from nothingness. If one can see the source from which Heaven and Earth emerge, one can be its companion. This is no exaggeration.

As for those whose De (Virtue/Power) accords with nature and whose realization of the Dao extends beyond the forms of the myriad things, they can range freely through the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, moving in and out of being and nonbeing, lifting up Heaven and Earth and grasping Yin-Yang. How could they be merely companions to Heaven and Earth?

Thus Master Kangjie (Shao Yong) said, “Heaven and Earth emerge from me. What else is there to say?”

In older editions, the character xiang has no other recorded pronunciation. Judging by its meaning, it seems out of place in what follows and should be read as xiang, meaning “direction” or “position.” In “the sound rang out with a huo” in The Mastering of Life, it should instead be read as xiang, describing a sound being made. In “xiang swift and forceful” in The Responses of Emperors and Kings, the old commentary says that xiang is as quick as an echo answering a call. This shows that in ancient books xiang and xiang were sometimes used interchangeably. Here, because the preceding passage mentions “sound,” the character meaning “direction” was mistakenly confused with the one meaning “sound.”