《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 35

Confucius asked Lao Dan, “When someone governs according to the Great Way, they may act by following some standard: whatever they deem possible, they call possible, and whatever they deem impossible, they call impossible; whatever they deem right, they call right, and whatever they deem wrong, they call wrong. Those who argue also say that they can separate hardness from whiteness and make the distinction as clear as something suspended in the sky. Can such a person be called a sage?”

Lao Dan said, “That person is merely like a clerk skilled at adapting to circumstances, yet bound by technique—wearing out the body and stirring up the mind. A dog that hunts raccoons concentrates its thoughts on the chase; a nimble ape is captured from the mountains and forests because of its agility. What I am telling you is a principle you cannot hear or put into words. There are many things in the world with heads and feet, yet without thought or the ability to perceive through ears and eyes. Things with form and things without form or shape all exist together. Their movement and stillness, birth and death, decline and flourishing are not brought about by any external force.

“The way to govern lies with people, yet one must forget external things and also forget the Way of Heaven. This is called forgetting oneself. Those who forget themselves may be said to have entered the Way of Heaven.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: To force what is impossible to be called possible, and what is wrong to be called right, is to distort the original nature of things. “Suspended in the sky” means that the principle is lofty and clear, easy to see. The raccoon-hunting dog and the nimble ape have both lost their original natural state. “Head to foot” refers to the whole body; “without thought or ears” means that things change in accordance with their own nature. Things with form are given to change and cannot exist alongside things without form or shape. Thus, those skilled in governing the Great Way do not cling to old ideas; they simply follow the changes unfolding each day. The movement and stillness, birth and death of the myriad things have never followed any fixed pattern. They happen naturally, not because people have arranged them to do so. By following their course, each thing can find its proper place. The way to govern lies with people, but not in imposing arrangements through one’s own will. Forget Heaven and things, and forget oneself as well—what remains?

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: To regard the possible and impossible, the right and wrong, as all the same is to aim at making the myriad things equal. To separate hardness from whiteness and distinguish them as clearly as if suspended in the sky is to aim at analyzing things. If a judgment is truly right, it differs from a wrong judgment, and there is no need to argue about it. If a judgment is truly valid, it differs from one that is invalid, and again there is no need to argue. Given this, why must the possible and impossible, the right and wrong, be excluded from discussion?

Yet if these are treated as fixed aims, one knows only that the myriad things should be made equal, not what makes them capable of being equal. Would one deny that a hard thing can be worn down without becoming less hard? Would one deny that something white can be stained black without becoming black? Hardness and whiteness have never been separate, yet to split them apart and distinguish them as clearly as if suspended in the sky—what would be wrong with that? If one makes the analysis of them the aim…

This is merely knowing how to argue, without understanding the source of argument. Though these two approaches are opposed, both arise from taking turns to replace one another and being burdened by technique. They only exhaust the body and unsettle the heart. How could they be called the way of a sage? Whenever some technique can be put to use, the body is worn out; whenever the heart is preoccupied with something, it is left anxious and unsettled. The agile gibbon relies on its skill to move about and so wears out its body; the hunting dog is driven by the civet cat because its heart is fixed on its quarry, and so it becomes anxious and unsettled.

There are beings that cannot hear or speak. They have heads and feet, but no heart and no ears. The sun, moon, and stars in the sky, and the mountains, rivers, plants, and trees on earth all belong to this category. They have heads and feet, yet no heart or ears; this does not prevent them from being the sun, moon, and stars, or the mountains, rivers, plants, and trees. Why, then, should we be troubled by the thought that humans alone might have neither perception nor emotion?

If they truly have neither perception nor emotion, then everything that has form or lacks form, shape or no fixed shape, can exist. If none of it existed at all, there would be nothing that could hear or speak. What has form is humanity and the myriad things; what lacks form is ghosts and spirits; what has no fixed shape is the transforming process of creation. If even the slightest concrete existence belongs to any of these three, then they cannot all be said to exist in the same way. At root, they can coexist because none has a fixed substance. But if there were truly nothing at all, how could there be anything that hears or speaks? Thus, movement and stillness, birth and death, decline and flourishing are not the basis of existence. The basis lies beyond the reach of the six senses. How could argument make these things all the same? That is what is called disorder, not governance. Governance, when applied to people, means forgetting external things and forgetting the Way of Heaven; go further, and even forget yourself. One who forgets the self is said to “enter into Heaven,” merging with the Way of nature. Entering into Heaven brings stillness without disorder.

Yidu’s commentary and reading: Someone asked, “In the way of governance, can one imitate others and use oneself to control external things? Is this possible or not?” The respondent did not know how to trust in the Dao, and relied only on arguments such as “hardness and whiteness” to make a show of himself. He claimed he could escape the doctrine of hardness and whiteness, as though he were raising himself high and displaying himself. Could this make him the equal of a sage?

The answer is that this is merely replacing one side’s right and wrong with the other’s, and burdening oneself with technique until the body is exhausted and the heart is fearful. It is like a dog held by the neck or a gibbon removed from the mountain forest: both have lost their natural dispositions. The text then points out that some things can neither hear nor speak. “Having a head and feet” refers to the profound and remote Great Dao of Heaven and Earth, which cannot be heard through sound or fully expressed in words. From beginning to end, there are many things between Heaven and Earth that can be spoken of, yet remain obscurely joined with the Dao; they have no heart and no ears.

What has visible form is the human body; what has no form or shape is the human mind. People all assume these things truly exist, but in my view, everything they possess ultimately returns to emptiness. Human birth and death, action and stillness, decline and flourishing all follow the changes and waxing and waning of Yin-Yang, though people do not know why things are as they are.

Those who discuss the art of governing talk only about how to govern others. Since I have already forgotten external things and forgotten Heaven, how could I have any time left to govern others? Forgetting both Heaven and things is called “forgetting oneself.” In this way, one can accord with the natural order. Why, then, argue with those who turn right and wrong upside down and parade profound truths in their words?

Xiangdao’s Commentary: To debate what is possible or impossible, right or wrong, is to put things in the wrong order when acting. To argue over propositions such as “separating hardness and whiteness” is like suspending profound truths in midair for people to dispute; it only multiplies words and arguments. A hunting dog is tethered because it has the skill to hunt. A gibbon leaves the mountain forest and comes among people because it is good at climbing and cunning. Each is unable to rest in its freedom precisely because of its particular ability. From the standpoint of what exists, there are many things with heads and feet but no mind or ears; from the standpoint of nonexistence, things with form and without form, with shape and without shape, all equally exist. Saying that the myriad things return to nonexistence does not mean that birth and death, decline and flourishing do not exist at all. Can their changes really be fully explained by some fixed cause? Thus, the sage too follows this attitude of holding to nothing. Governing the world is a matter for others; as for oneself, one should forget everything. This is naturally far removed from those who deliberately reverse right and wrong and argue over lofty, mysterious principles.

Bixu’s Commentary: To debate what is possible or impossible, right or wrong, is to use clever knowledge in pursuit of novelty. To argue over “separating hardness and whiteness” is like raising a principle high for everyone to see clearly. People replace one another with empty, deceitful words and constrain one another with clever techniques. As a result, their bodies grow weary and their minds become fearful, like hunting dogs tied up and gibbons shut in cages. In each case, their abilities bring them trouble. “With heads and feet” means that their physical forms can be seen; “without mind or ears” means that their inner state cannot be known. Without ears, they cannot hear; without a mind, they cannot speak. It can also be said that things with form have heads and feet, while things without form or shape have no mind or ears. “All equally exist” means that physical form and change are one. “Returning to nonexistence” does not mean that everything can be utterly extinguished. The movement and stillness, birth and death, decline and flourishing of the myriad things are not wholly determined by some fixed cause. Why insist on keeping one’s attention fixed on them? Governing others is their concern; cultivating oneself is enough. Forget external things, and one becomes one with the myriad things. Forget Heaven, and one becomes one with Heaven. Forget oneself, and distinctions disappear. What, then, could remain beyond one’s reach?

Yanzhai’s Remarks: The discussion of the “art of governing” here probably means that an emperor’s governance of the world and following the Great Dao are connected.

Explain what others cannot accept through principles I understand; explain what others consider wrong through principles I believe to be right. Even questions as numerous and complex as the “hardness and whiteness” debate—a School of Names argument about hardness and the color white—I can distinguish clearly, as though hanging the principles between Heaven and Earth for all to see at a glance.

“Xu Yi Ji Xi,” discussed in the previous chapter, refers to people competing with and restraining one another through their skills, exhausting body and mind in the process. Those who think their deliberations are thorough are instead bound by them; those who emerge from the mountain forests may be captured because their skills are exceptional. The metaphor suggests that what cannot be heard or spoken is precisely the nature and the Dao of Heaven, which cannot be fully expressed in words.

“To have a head and feet” means that ordinary people all have heads and feet; “to have no mind and no ears” means that they do not know or perceive the Great Dao. “Form” refers to the body; “formless and without shape” refers to the Dao. Though it cannot be seen, it exists alongside all things that have form. “Completely absent” means that no person in the world is entirely without awareness or perception. Human movement and stillness, life and death, adversity and success all follow natural principles; people simply fail to notice them. To govern by following human affairs, without imposing private interests, is why the Way of governing is said to lie among people. To forget the distinction between Heaven and things is called forgetting oneself. Forget oneself, and one can enter the realm of nature; enter that realm, and one becomes one with Heaven.

Today, some people imitate the way the ancient kings governed, making laws to restrain the people and promoting instruction to guide them. But their laws do not accord with human feelings, and their instruction does not follow the underlying patterns of things. They still hope to make the world accept what it cannot accept and agree with principles it does not consider right. This is like hanging the argument about hardness and whiteness between Heaven and Earth. Can such people be compared with sages? This passage ridicules those of the time who promoted the doctrines of Yang Zhu and Mozi, thinkers of the pre-Qin period, as a means of governing the world, yet compared themselves to sages.

Lao Dan says this is like prison guards competing with and restraining one another through their skills, exhausting the body and unsettling the mind. It is also like hunting dogs being tied up or apes taken from the mountain forests: in each case, skill brings misfortune. This is a metaphor expressing the utmost contempt for such conduct.

I tell you what you cannot hear or speak in order to point directly to the subtle, elusive depths of the Great Dao and awaken those in ignorance. “To have a head and feet” means that ordinary people all have heads and feet; “to have no mind and no ears” means that those unable to think about the Dao or hear it are everywhere. “Form” means the human being; “formless and without shape, yet present in all things” means the Dao. “Completely absent” means that in the end even the inability to think or hear described above is forgotten. Human movement and stillness, life and death, adversity and success all follow their own natural principles.

Life and death, rise and decline are all processes of change in human affairs. If we see these changes as being directed by some will, and believe that governance depends entirely on human action, how could we reach the state of following the Dao of Heaven? If we can forget external things, the Dao of Heaven and our own nature are no longer separate. When we do not deliberately try to forget, yet forget naturally, this is called being in accord with the Dao of Heaven. To “enter into Heaven” means that one’s words and actions accord with nature, without any element of artificial contrivance.

The content of this chapter resembles the exchange in the “Responding to Emperors” chapter, in which Yang Zijü visits Lao Dan. The difference lies only in the relative merits of their concluding remarks.

Jiang Lümiǎn visited Jiche and said, “The ruler of Lu said to me, ‘Please let me receive your instruction.’ I could not refuse, so I have already told him what I think, though I do not know whether it was appropriate. Please let me tell you what I said. I told the ruler of Lu: ‘You must honor respectfulness and frugality, promote those who are fair and loyal, and show no favoritism. Then who among the people would dare not live in harmony?’”

Jiche smiled with a grave expression and said, “Your words, used to measure the Virtue of an emperor, are like a mantis raising its forelegs to stop a cartwheel: its strength could never suffice. What is more, acting this way will put you in danger. You place yourself up high, conspicuous like a tower built for people to look at, and many will come to seek you out and follow you.”

Jiang Lümiǎn said in alarm, “After hearing your words, I feel bewildered and cannot understand. Even so, I hope you will guide me.”

Jiche said, “The great sage governs the world by following the people’s inclinations, allowing them gradually to develop through instruction and to change their customs. He lets thoughts of harming others fade away on their own, and allows each person’s own aspirations to unfold. All this happens as naturally as the working of their inborn nature, yet the people do not know where the change came from. Is this like the way Yao and Shun instructed the people, making their instruction clear and solemnly putting it into practice? The sage merely hopes that the people will accord with natural De, while his own mind rests at home in the Dao.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: To honor respectfulness and frugality is not to forget frugality and then be frugal naturally. To promote those who are fair and loyal is not to forget loyalty and then be loyal naturally. Even if one shows no favoritism, these measures are still insufficient to counter people’s pretense and deceit. They all make one appear elevated and conspicuous, like a high platform built for people to look at. This leads people to exceed their proper bounds and force themselves to imitate and attach themselves to others; they cannot even place one foot after the other in their own natural rhythm.

Each person’s aspirations are different, and people should not imitate one another. When the people’s hearts shift of their own accord, the sage guides them in that direction; though they shift, he does not deliberately drive them. When the people’s customs change of their own accord, the sage helps that change along; though they change, he does not initiate it through human artifice. Thus thoughts of harming others fade away on their own, each person’s aspirations unfold naturally, and instruction takes shape and customs change without any trace of human contrivance. People return to their inborn nature without knowing why, believing that things are simply this way by nature. Here, “Mingheng” refers to an indistinct, natural state. The commentary’s phrase “not being too eager to credit Yao and Shun” means that this kind of governance does not claim to be instruction of the Yao-and-Shun kind.

According to Lü’s commentary, requiring oneself to be respectful and frugal means using restraint of one’s own nature to set an example for the people. Elevating fairness and loyalty as the highest standards is a way of honoring the worthy. This is like placing oneself on high ground, where everyone under Heaven can look up and imitate. As a result, more and more people follow this way, and the ruler inevitably leaves visible traces for others to emulate.

The great sage governs the world by following the people’s natural dispositions, moving them as wind and rain move all things, so that instruction takes shape naturally and customs change of themselves. This is “beating the drum and dancing to bring the spirit to its fullest” (guiding all things through an unseen influence until their transformation reaches a wondrous state). The people no longer spy out or pursue the examples left by the ruler. Harmful self-interest fades, and an inward, independent resolve grows. People each follow their own nature without knowing where the change comes from. Under such governance, even accumulated dust and chaff suffice to shape sage rulers like Yao and Shun. How, then, could the methods by which Yao and Shun instructed the people be considered superior, while the natural Way of Wuwei is ranked below them? To accord with Dao and De, one should let the mind rest within and not pursue external things. When the mind rests, one can practice Wuwei and let all things transform and flourish of themselves.

The Commentary of Yidu says: Jiang Lü Mian regarded respect, frugality, fairness, and loyalty as the essentials for regulating the people. Ji Che believed that these practices still fell short of resting in Wuwei and following nature, so he bent forward and laughed. It was as if he were saying: “To govern by these principles is to place yourself at the very summit, drawing the gaze of everyone under Heaven and making all things follow you.” Jiang Lü Mian seemed dismayed and hoped to hear how such a teaching could reach the people so that they would transform of their own accord. Ji Che then explained that the great sage governs the world by following the people’s inherent dispositions, moving them as wind and rain move all things, so that instruction and customs change naturally.

When external things intrude upon and damage one’s nature, this is called a “thieving mind.” As the thieving mind fades, a resolve that is independent and unaccompanied, unencumbered by external things, comes into view. People act according to their nature without knowing why, just as the people use things every day without being aware of it. This is the state of governance achieved by the spirit-like person. With this natural Way, even dust and chaff suffice to shape Yao and Shun. How could the methods by which Yao and Shun instructed the people be considered superior, and the natural Way ranked below them? To accord with Dao and De, one must let the mind rest within and not follow external things.

The Detailed Commentary on the Way says: Simply requiring respect and frugality is not Wuwei. Raising fairness and loyalty up as standards means honoring the worthy. If emperors take Wuwei as their De, the world will suffer no weariness or hardship. If they do not honor the worthy, the world will have no culture of competing to show off, compare oneself with others, and vie for superiority.

By guiding the people along with their natural restlessness and settling them according to their natural abandon, the mind that intends to impose artificial order will disappear, and the nature each person understands for themselves will become clearer day by day. It will be as if their nature has emerged of its own accord, while the people do not know how it came about.

But now people are forced to be respectful and frugal, and urged to make fairness and loyalty their calling. This opens the way to artificial conduct and steers the mind toward deliberate contrivance; it blocks what is natural and abandons the aspirations people form for themselves. Is this not far removed from the Virtue of a ruler?

Pleasant music and delicious food can delight people, but beyond due measure they bring desire to a halt. They offer only passing satisfaction, not something that lasts. Relationships as slight as bubbles on the water’s surface involve little benefit to either side, so people do not forget one another; but such ties suit only a few and cannot be extended to the masses. This is why the Spirit-like Person abhors crowds, and why, when one grasps the “Great Image” (the Dao in its entirety), all under Heaven will turn toward it. As for flaunting one’s strength like a mantis raising its forelegs to stop a cart, or building towering pavilions to display one’s might, drawing people to come in droves and leave their footprints behind—are these not just like the pleasant music and fine food, and the bubble-like relationships mentioned above?

In the past, Shun was burdened because people praised him as a sage; Liezi was disturbed because he accepted a gift of soup; Nanguo Ziqi worried because his wisdom earned him people’s regard; and Gengsang Chu regarded the state as a source of calamity. The point is to dwell in obscurity so that one’s shadow does not show, and to live in stillness without leaving a trace. Only then is the utmost reached.

Bixu’s commentary: Respect, frugality, fairness, and loyalty are not Wuwei (non-action); nor is building towering pavilions a way to live securely. When the worthy are exalted, sycophants flock to them; when crowds gather, falsehood gathers with them. When the people are restless and unsettled, the sage goes along with them and lets their actions unfold of themselves. When the people are unruly and scattered, the sage goes along with them and brings them to rest. Once teaching has taken root and customs have changed, the mind that contrives and harms will disappear, and the people will each develop their own aspirations, just as nature emerges of its own accord.

Those who promote the teachings of Yao and Shun honor their sage wisdom, and the people then appear muddled and ignorant. Those who disparage the teachings of Yao and Shun leave the people in a state of disorder and confusion. If the people are to be at ease in their natural state, why honor the sage wisdom of Yao and Shun and leave them in disorder? If one wants all the people to conform to a certain Virtue, one is already attached to an idea; whatever is exalted is no longer natural.

Yanzhai’s remarks: The mantis raising its forelegs to stop a cart means that its strength is too small to take on a great task. The text’s phrase “place of self-abiding” means settling in a state of nature. If, despite this, one builds towering pavilions to display to the masses, drawing people to flock together and leave their footprints behind, this describes being burdened by one’s own fame. Here, “restlessness” means shifting and changing; “the harmful mind” refers to a mind bent on deliberate contrivance; and “individual aspirations” means aspirations unique to each person, formed naturally. Once teaching has taken root and customs have changed among the people, the contriving mind will disappear…

Let go of self-interest, and you can draw near to the Dao (the Way)—just as your nature is clear from the beginning, though you do not know how it came to be so.

If you regard the way sages transform the people as lofty and feel that you fall short of them, you may say that Yao and Shun should be honored as elder brothers and Hundun regarded as a younger brother, with a sense of bowing in submission and willingly taking a lower place. Only by following natural De (Virtue/Power) can the heart become settled. The “wanting this” mentioned here means that the sage hopes the people will reach this state.

Transforming all things through deliberate action is laborious in its effects; allowing them to change of themselves through Wuwei (non-action) brings broader results. Bo Gong, Zhong, Wei, Tai, and Guan discuss methods of deliberate transformation: removing the people’s desire to harm others and guiding them to focus on their inner aspirations are methods of transformation through Wuwei.

“Rousing and stirring” is like inspiring people: encourage them to accept instruction and change their customs, then guide them in step with the moment without disturbing them. This is the beginning of transformation. Removing the desire to harm others and guiding people to focus on their inner aspirations is like prescribing a remedy for an illness; it belongs to the middle stage. When the people act as their nature naturally directs, yet do not know where this change came from, transformation has reached its end. Yao and Shun governed the people in no other way. Why, then, must they be honored as elder brothers and Hundun treated as a younger brother?

“Hundun” refers to a state of undifferentiated chaos. To regard it as lower than Yao and Shun shows that, although one wants to emulate their De, one remains attached in one’s heart. All these words are meant to remove the traces of deliberate governance and sweep away fixation on the deeds of Yao and Shun, returning to the idea of “cutting off sagehood and abandoning cleverness”—that is, not taking the titles of sages or clever techniques as standards for governing.