《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 36

Zigong traveled south to the state of Chu. On his way back to Jin, he passed the south bank of the Han River and saw an old man preparing the ground to plant vegetables. He had dug a channel leading to a well, then carried out a water jar to irrigate the fields. He was drenched in sweat, working very hard for little result.

Zigong said to him, “There is a device that can irrigate a hundred vegetable plots in a day. It takes little effort and gets much done. Would you not like to use one?”

The old man looked up at him and asked, “What is it?”

Zigong said, “It is made from wood, heavy at the back and light at the front. It lifts water as quickly as if drawing it up by a pump. This device is called a gao, an ancient lever for lifting water to irrigate fields.”

The old man’s expression darkened, then he smiled and said, “I have heard my teacher say: those who use machinery will inevitably have things that require cleverness; once there are such things, clever schemes arise in the heart. When a scheming heart takes hold in the chest, one’s natural, unspoiled nature can no longer remain whole. When one’s nature is no longer whole, the spirit becomes unsettled; when the spirit is unsettled, the Dao will not dwell within. It is not that I do not know about this device, nor that I refrain from using it out of shame.”

Hearing this, Zigong was so ashamed that he stood stunned. He lowered his head and said nothing. After a while, the old man asked, “What do you do?”

Zigong replied, “I am a student of Kong Qiu.”

The old man said, “Are you not that man who is widely learned and well informed, imitates the sages, outdoes others with his words, and plays the zither and sings alone to win fame throughout the world? You should forget your own spirit and temperament and let go of your body; perhaps then you might draw near to the Great Dao. You cannot even cultivate yourself, so how could you have time to govern the world? Go on—do not delay my work.”

Zigong’s manner grew humble, and his face turned pale. His heart was troubled and uneasy. He walked thirty li before he gradually recovered.

His disciple asked, “Who was that old man just now? Why did you change expression when you saw him, and remain unsettled for the whole day?”

Zigong said, “At first I thought I alone in the world understood these principles. I never imagined there were people like him. I have heard my teacher say that in doing things one should seek what is fitting, and in pursuing results one should seek success; expending little effort to achieve much is the way of the sages. Now I know that this is not so. Those who hold fast to the Great Dao can keep their De whole; when their De is whole, their bodies can be preserved; when their bodies are preserved, their spirits can be full. A full spirit is the way of the sages. They dwell in the world and live alongside ordinary people, yet do not cling to where they themselves are going. They are wholly unmarked, simple, and complete. Profit, achievement, and clever schemes must all be forgotten in the hearts of such people. Such a person will not do anything that does not accord with the direction of their own will…”

As long as he believes something should not be done, he will not do it. Even if everyone under Heaven praises him, he can see clearly what the praise actually means and remain unconcerned. Even if everyone under Heaven condemns him, he can see clearly what the condemnation actually means and remain undisturbed. Neither condemnation nor praise from the world can add to or diminish him. Is this what it means to be a person whose De is whole?

I call such a person “a man of the waves.” He returned to Lu and told Confucius what he had heard. Confucius said, “That man has borrowed the Daoist arts of Hundun. He understands one side but not the other: he cultivates only the inner life and not the outer. A mind clear and plain, following its own nature; a return to one’s original nature; the preservation of one’s nature and spirit; and moving freely through worldly life—you may well be astonished by such a person! How could you or I fully understand the arts of Hundun?”

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: To follow the times and make use of what is at hand is the state of complete simplicity. To try deliberately to cultivate this state while clinging to “holding to the One and keeping to antiquity” is to miss its meaning. To neither deliberately forget nor let things fall away brings one close to the Great Dao. The way of the sage is to make use of the dispositions people already possess. Wholeness of spirit is the way of sage kings; it is not something ordinary people can easily achieve. Zigong heard this man speak of complete simplicity and admired him, but did not know that those who are truly pure and plain are in fact at one with the world. People like Song Rongzi, then, cannot yet be called complete in De. Zigong was taken in by this man just as Liezi was taken in by Jixian. Confucius judged that the man turned away from the present and sought the past, treating nonconformity as a mark of excellence; he therefore knew that the man was not a true heir to the Dao of Hundun. He knew only how to practice ancient methods and preserve a rustic simplicity, like that of a thicket, but did not know how to follow the times and let things change. How could the true Dao of Hundun divide inner from outer and give greater attention to one side? A mind clear and plain, able to move freely through worldly life—that is the true Dao of Hundun. So this man lives among ordinary people without leaving any deliberate trace. Why must he necessarily astonish you? What ordinary people recognize is only outward conduct.

Lü Huiqing’s Commentary: If one uses the ancient Dao to guide life in the present, then everything in daily life can be an art of Hundun. Why insist on returning to the time when Heaven and Earth first began? That man thought that clever devices give rise to clever affairs and clever thoughts, but did not know where the clever mind comes from. Before it arises, there is nothing there. This is to understand one side but not the other. To think that one must forget the vital energy of the mind and reject the body in order to attain wholeness of Dao and De, without knowing that acting among the myriad things is itself an expression of the Dao, is to cultivate only the inner life and not the outer. To have a mind clear and plain while moving freely through worldly life means, in other words, “to set aside deliberate thought and let the body respond naturally to what arises.”

He was angry at first when he heard Zigong’s words, but only later began to laugh. This was because he regarded the use of clever devices as a burden and refused to use them. Yet “knowing nothing and being unaware” is precisely the state of undifferentiated oneness. If one thinks that people must practice Wuwei (non-action) in every respect, as the old man of Mòyīn did, then one cannot take part in the affairs of the world. What is being discussed here, then, is how to preserve a truly undivided, unadorned state: to live amid worldly affairs without being entangled by them.

The Commentary by Yidu says: “‘Working laboriously’ describes toil that takes great effort. The well sweep—a lever used to draw water—is light at its front end, so it can be lowered into the water; its rear end is heavy, so it can lift the water up. ‘Mechanism’ is the ingenious pivot by which something is set in motion; ‘device’ is ingenuity embodied in a tool; and ‘undertaking’ is ingenuity expressed in a particular action. All of these arise from thoughts in the mind: ingenuity appears outwardly, while the calculating mind remains hidden within.”

A person’s inner mind should remain centered, empty, and still. What matters is purity: it should not be mixed with external things or stained by them. This is why it is called “pure whiteness.” When the calculating mind stirs within, external things and distracting thoughts enter, and the pure white mind can no longer be preserved. The mind and spirit are thrown into confusion, and the spirit can no longer be settled. Shen (spirit) carries the Dao; if Shen is unsettled, a person is instead drawn along by external things.

It is not that I do not know about the well sweep. I am ashamed to use it and simply refuse to do so. As for broad learning and traveling everywhere under Heaven in search of fame, these are merely ways of hoping others will understand you. Forget the Qi (vital energy) of the mind and spirit, and you can become free of intention; cease clinging to the body, and you can forget the self. Only then do you come close to the Dao. You cannot yet do these things. You have not even cultivated yourself, so how could you concern yourself with governing the world? Go on your way, and do not hinder me in my work.

Only one person under Heaven ever spoke these words: Confucius. “That man” refers to the old man of Hanyin. Confucius had attained an exceedingly lofty realization of the Dao, which Zigong could not understand. So when he saw Confucius apparently pretending to cultivate the Dao, he was perplexed. When a sage handles affairs, there is nothing he must do and nothing he absolutely must not do. In accomplishing great things, he does not insist on either success or failure. Sometimes little effort brings great results; sometimes great effort brings little. A sage is never confined to a single way of doing things.

The Confucius known to Zigong was only the aspect of Confucius that had appeared in the human world. That is why Zigong was surprised to see that he no longer seemed to act in the same way, yet still saw his spirit and vital energy to be complete. When a sage’s Dao reaches its utmost, it accords with the Way of Heaven. The sage therefore enters the world and acts alongside the people, though they do not know where he is going. His nature is deep and unfathomable, sincere and natural, and his conduct is comprehensive. What the world calls profit and cleverness all arise from this…

In the human world, people like the old man of Hanyin must still be unable to let go of these matters. This was precisely Zigong’s way of thinking: he did not understand the true Way of the sage, and mistook a practice that merely looked sage-like on the surface for the true Way of the sage.

The sage’s aim does not cling to any one place, yet there is nowhere it cannot reach. The sage’s state of mind is Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone. The sage does not completely disregard the praise of the people, nor does he entirely refuse their criticism. He simply understands the reasons behind each, and is not led astray by the surface of people’s words. Of the two, it is easier to disregard praise than to refuse criticism. The old man of Hanyin believed his aims should not be influenced by external things and his actions should not be directed by them, but he had not yet forgotten criticism and praise. That is why there were things he disregarded and things he refused. The sage’s nature is different: favorable circumstances add nothing to it, and hardship and seclusion take nothing away. In responding to external things, the sage simply acts as the moment requires.

As for ordinary people, they may say they do not regard the world’s praise and blame as gains or losses, but they do not know what is truly in their hearts. Zigong had never heard Confucius speak about human nature and the Way of Heaven. So he thought the old man of Hanyin possessed complete Virtue, while he himself was like someone swept along by the currents of worldly affairs. From Confucius’s perspective, the old man of Hanyin still suffered from the fault of clinging to one side.

“Hun-dun” (chaos) was originally beyond the limits of concepts such as form and the configurations of Qi; it is merely a name used to point to it. “Technique” is understood in relation to the Dao. Clinging to one side while rejecting the other, or cherishing what is within while forgetting what is without, are not the sage’s complete Way. When things are clear, one sees their clarity; when one enters the uncarved, undivided state, one is unaware of it. In Wuwei, one sees non-action; when one returns to simplicity, one is no longer conscious of practicing non-action. Realize your nature, and you become one with it; preserve your spirit, and you do not depart from it. In this way, you move among worldly people and live alongside them without losing your inborn nature. Would you still find this astonishing? If you, too, can stop regarding it as extraordinary, you will see the difference between truly cultivating the Dao and merely appearing to do so.

The commentary by Xiangdao says: When chaos had not yet divided, the people lived without knowing what they ought to do, and walked without knowing where they were going. They did not see things with their eyes, but apprehended them through the spirit; they did not hear sounds with their ears, but sensed them through Qi. Where, then, could clever contrivances arise? The sage, facing the world, holds to the root and reaches through all things. His heart is at rest even as he responds to what is outside him. Some things people do cannot be avoided, and there are times when tools must be used. Thus, cleverness may reside in tools without residing in the heart; clever acts may arise as circumstances require without depending on clever devices. The sage is spacious and at ease, following the rise and fall of worldly affairs, living among people without being constrained by them… The original text ends here unfinished.

Accept things as they are, and let them remain so. Even if someone like Zigong managed to bring Hundun back into being at the time, how could he defy human nature and human feelings while making no use at all of ingenious devices? Such devices merely adapt to changing circumstances and spare the people from growing weary in their work. Yet devices arise from a mind bent on ingenuity; once that mind takes hold, the inner clarity of simplicity is damaged. This is to know how to hold fast to the inner “One” without understanding the outer “Two”: to govern the mind alone, without governing external things. Those who merely pretend to cultivate the Way of Hundun will, in the end, be unable to escape the harm caused by being disturbed by the world. The Perfected Person (one whose virtue has reached a profound level) does not deliberately cultivate virtue, yet nothing can do without him. If one deliberately cultivates the art of Hundun, one’s virtue is already shallow; how much more so for someone who only pretends to cultivate it?

Bixu’s Commentary: Zigong says that someone makes a living by farming and lives and works alongside the people, yet does not know where he is going. Is such a person truly different from others? Fame, profit, and calculating ingenuity surely have no place in his heart. He neither accepts praise nor pays heed to slander, and is like Hundun. Those swept along by the waves of worldly affairs are easily shaken. Once the state of undivided naturalness is deliberately cultivated, it is no longer truly natural; hence it is called “false.” “One” refers to the substance, and “Two” to its function. Those who cultivate the mind withdraw from the external world; those who govern external things mingle with the ways of the world. To hold fast to one’s nature and nourish one’s spirit, while still moving among worldly affairs—that was the way of the ancients. Hundun had no openings, so even ghosts and spirits could not discern it, much less human beings.

Yanzhai’s Commentary: “Mechanisms” means devices. Using devices gives rise to ingenious contrivances, and their use has its source in the human mind. Once a mind bent on ingenuity arises, one can no longer preserve undivided simplicity, emptiness, stillness, and clarity. The spirit becomes unsettled and cannot remain still and focused; thus it cannot bear the Dao. “Imitating and admiring the sages” means modeling oneself on them and looking up to them; “yuyu” describes self-importance. “Singing a mournful song to a single string” means that, when others do not understand you, you talk and sing to yourself. It would be wrong to compare this with the act of striking a chime in the state of Wei. “Forgetting the spirit and Qi” is like casting aside one’s cleverness and abilities and letting go of one’s bodily form—in other words, forgetting oneself. If you can do this, perhaps you will come close to that state. Otherwise, if you cannot even govern yourself, how can you govern others? “Beiji” and “canui” describe shame and awkwardness; “xuxu” describes being bewildered and at a loss. One may dwell in the world and do the same things as others, yet not know where one is going. Such a person must have no calculations of profit or fame, and no ingenious contrivances in mind. If praise means nothing to him, how much less will slander matter? When one’s words and actions find acceptance in the world, this is called “finding one’s place”; when they do not, it is called “failing to find one’s place.” “Waves and currents” refers to being driven by worldly affairs, with the mind and spirit unable to settle. “False” means grandiose. “Hundun” refers to the primordial state of Heaven and Earth. “Knowing the One” means holding fast to undivided simplicity; “not knowing the Two” means keeping the mind from becoming divided. “Inner” refers to the mind, and “outer” to external things.

In this way, one can enter a state of simplicity and Wuwei (non-action), returning once more to one’s natural, original state. Preserve your inborn nature and guard your spirit, so that you become one with your spirit. You do not yet understand this principle, so it is no wonder you are surprised.

Giving up hardship and choosing comfort is human nature; people also seek fame and profit. Yet some people in the world give up what is easiest to obtain and choose instead the hardest path. They willingly eat plain food and are content to live in seclusion and quiet retreat. Did they reach this point by making their bodies and minds like grass, trees, earth, and stones? No. It is because their understanding of the Dao (the Way) is firm, they know themselves clearly, their resolve is steadfast, and they can overcome desire. In time, they become at ease with this way of life; once at ease, their nature and character change along with it.

This is why the old man of Hanyin, who lived in seclusion by the Han River, was ashamed to use machines and willingly watered his fields with a jar. Though he stood in the fields, his gaze reached toward the clouds above. Not even a skilled speaker could change his mind or shake his principles. Perhaps he was like the ancient recluse Changju and Jieni? This was due in part to his naturally noble temperament, and in part to long years of learning and cultivation. What counts as learning? Admiring and modeling oneself on those who surpass oneself. What counts as cultivation? Simply strengthening the De (Virtue/Power) one already possesses. The original text says “he changed countenance and laughed”; this “laugh” must be a response to what came before.

Zhun Mang was about to travel east to the Great Hollow, a place like the open sea or a vast abyss. On the eastern shore, he met Yuan Feng. Yuan Feng asked, “Where are you going?” Zhun Mang replied, “To the Great Hollow.” Yuan Feng asked, “What will you do there?” He said, “The waters flow into the Great Hollow, yet it never fills; they are drawn out, yet it never runs dry. I intend to travel there.”

Yuan Feng said, “Sir, do you not care about ordinary people? I would like to hear how a sage governs the world.”

Zhun Mang said, “The governance of a sage means arranging affairs properly, without departing from what is fitting, and selecting capable people without burying their abilities. It allows people to reveal their true character and act according to what they can do. When people each speak and act freely, living as they naturally are, the world changes along with them. When a sage raises a hand, turns, looks back, or points, people from all four directions come to follow him. This is called the governance of a sage.”

Yuan Feng asked again, “What is a person of De?”

Zhun Mang said, “A person of De has no deliberate thoughts when at rest and no anxieties when acting. Right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, do not weigh on his mind. If everyone within the four seas benefits from him, he takes joy in that; if everyone is provided for, he is content. He seems bewildered, as though a child had lost its mother; he seems dazed, as though someone walking had lost the way. He has more possessions than he needs, yet does not know where they came from; he has enough food and drink, yet does not know how they were obtained. This is what a person of De is like.”

Yuan Feng asked again, “What is a divine person?”

Zhun Mang said, “The highest divine person rides upon the light, and his form dissolves without a trace. This is called ‘Illuminating Vastness.’ He gives life its place and brings true feeling to its fullest; he makes Heaven and Earth rejoice, and dissolves all things, so that the myriad beings return to their original nature. This is called ‘Mysterious Unity.’”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: The sage acts in accordance with the way things naturally are, allowing all things to fulfill their own functions; then they do not alter their nature. The sage need only point the way and look upon the people, and each person attains their own nature, because they are left free to act as they wish. Everyone shares in the benefits and provides for one another without selfish intent. This is the way of the “people of De” (those endowed with Virtue) and the “spirit people” (those who have attained a transcendent state), and so it is called “embracing” (being generous and inclusive). If you ask how their traces are revealed, the answer is this: They ride upon the light, yet no longer possess the light, and so they perish together with their physical forms. They have no self and follow along with all things; their minds are empty and free of attachments, but they are not dulled or obstructed. When their feelings have wholly faded and life returns to its original nature, they can share in the joy of Heaven and Earth. Affairs do not obstruct their joy, and so there is nothing to trouble them. Their feelings return to their original nature, and they blend completely with the deep and traceless realm.

Lü’s commentary says: Water can be poured in without filling it, and drawn out without exhausting it. This is the abundance of the “Heavenly Treasury,” like a natural storehouse. Yuan Feng did not understand the formless and traceless source, yet could provide all things with what they needed; thus he seemed to have no concern for the people. Officials were appointed and promoted appropriately; this does not mean that he failed to value the worthy or employ the capable. The people’s true circumstances were made plain, and each did what was proper to them; this does not mean they were made to conceal the truth or hide their actions. The sage acts and speaks in accord with nature, and the world is transformed of its own accord. He need only make a slight gesture or point the way with a glance, and the people each find their proper place. He does not govern through rewards and inducements or punishments and deterrents. This is how the sage appears when governing the world; it is not a method deliberately adopted to cultivate De.

The people of De have no calculations and do not harbor judgments of right and wrong, beauty and ugliness. Their minds remain empty and still. Those throughout the four seas share in the benefits and provide for one another, and so they rejoice. The people of the world gladly uphold their ruler and never tire of him. If the people were like infants who had lost their mother, they would not know whom to rely on; if they traveled and lost the road, they would not know where to go. When goods are in surplus, they are shared with people throughout the four seas; when food and drink are plentiful, everyone throughout the four seas may partake. These are the outward signs of the people of De, but they have not yet reached the state of the spirit people.

The “Great Expanse” sends forth light, and so it can illuminate all things. The spirit people ride upon this light and see all things, yet cling neither to the light nor to physical form; in the end, they perish together with the light and form. Thus, although they can see all things, their minds remain open and unobstructed. By accepting what Heaven has ordained, they can cast off old habits and return to the constant Dao. When feelings reach their end, they can leave behind what is false and dwell in what is real. When all things disperse and emptiness and stillness reach their utmost, the myriad things return to their nature, swirling and surging back to their source. In blending completely, they return to oneness; in profound stillness, they forget even the power by which they perceive all things.

Yidu’s commentary says: “Water comes close to the Dao”: it can be poured in without filling it and drawn out without exhausting it. Perhaps this describes the state of the spirit people? The sage is asked about governing the world because he is expected to come forth and govern the people. Mentioning officials shows that appointments and promotions were made without error; mentioning ability shows that offices were assigned appropriately…

When the sage governs the world, he understands the people’s actual circumstances thoroughly, so nothing he handles is inappropriate. The sage’s words and actions arise naturally, and the people of the world are transformed in response. The sage need only raise a hand, turn his head, or give a signal, and people from distant places will come to follow him. This is how the sage governs the world.

The sage has no private thoughts and is not burdened by likes and dislikes, or by judgments of beauty and ugliness. The people of the world all benefit from him, and this brings him joy, but he does not do it to satisfy himself. A baby who loses its mother loses its support; words that lose the Dao (the Way) have no standard to follow. Though goods and food are provided for the people, there is no need to ask where they come from. The sage seeks no private gain, and the people are naturally content.

“Supreme spirit” means that the spirit’s wonder has reached its utmost. “Riding the light” means that the spirit transcends light and takes command of it; it has no visible form or shadow, and ultimately returns to nothingness. “Fulfilling life” does not mean that some external force brings life to an end, but that life naturally reaches its end. “Fully realizing one’s nature” means that one’s nature is fulfilled, with nothing left unrealized. A spiritual being—the Daoist ideal of a person who transcends ordinary human limits—is one whose life has reached its proper end and whose nature has been fully realized. If even Heaven and Earth take joy in this, how much more so do people? And how much more so do the myriad things? Each thing returns to the true condition of its nature and life, and so becomes one with the Dao. This is called “mysterious union,” joining with the deep and subtle Dao. The opening passage speaks of the sage governing the world: his virtue is full and its radiance shines forth. It then speaks of the virtuous person: virtue is vast and reaches the point of transforming and nurturing the myriad things; this is called “sagehood.” Finally, it speaks of the spiritual being: sagehood has become so profound that it cannot be fathomed; this is called “spirituality.” “The sage’s governance” concerns the sage’s achievements, “the virtuous person” concerns the sage’s virtue, and “the spiritual being” concerns the sage’s Dao. In fact, these all describe different aspects of the sage.

The Commentary of Xiangdao says: When the sage responds to things with words, he guides them patiently and persuasively; when he joins the myriad things through the Dao, he seems deep and unfathomable. Thus, when he comes forth to govern the world, the subject is “the sage’s governance”; when he withdraws to cultivate himself inwardly, the subject is “virtue.” “Promoting people without losing sight of their abilities” means the same as the earlier passage about raising people to office in a way that makes good use of their talents, and elevating those who are fair and loyal. “Turning, looking, and pointing, and people from all four directions arriving” means the same as the many people who devote themselves to following the sage. All of this belongs to “the sage’s governance”; it does not mean governing the world through doing nothing.

From “without thought or worry” to “taking just enough food,” the passage describes what it is like to be versed in the subtle Dao; that is all. It specifically calls this person “virtuous” because virtue is the root of spirit, while spirit is the functioning of virtue. Deep cultivation of virtue does not necessarily lead to subtle and masterful use of it, but anyone who uses it with subtle mastery must have deep virtue as a foundation. This is why the virtuous person and the spiritual being are distinguished from each other.

In the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), spirit belongs to Fire. Fire has no fixed form; it depends on things to appear. When things are present, there is light; when they are consumed, the light disappears. The subtle workings of spirit come and go in the human world. The people all use them, though they may not be aware of it. Its command of light and illumination across vast distances is similar.

The Commentary of Bixu says: “The great abyss” is the Eastern Sea. Rivers flow into the Eastern Sea, but its waters do not overflow; water is drawn from it, but it is not drained dry. Here it is used as a metaphor for… (The original text ends here.)

The source of the Dao (the Way) is boundless. There is nowhere it does not suit and nothing it cannot bring to completion. It does not reveal its true condition, yet moves in step with the changes of things.

“Not acting deliberately” is the key to governance. When actions and words arise naturally, all under Heaven is transformed of its own accord. The sage’s refusal to govern deliberately is the subtle art of accomplished rule. He has no fixed thoughts; his mind is like a bright mirror. When things arrive, it reflects them; when they depart, it keeps nothing. Thus, people throughout the four seas are willing to share benefits and provide for one another with him. Like infants bereft of their mother’s care, everyone draws near to him. Acting in accord with the Great Dao, he brings peace wherever he goes.

When the spirit wanders in quiet ease, all things flourish and come of themselves. When the breath joins with emptiness and stillness, the heart becomes full and forgets calculation and distinction. This is the state of a person endowed with De (Virtue/Power). Rising with the radiance of primordial Qi (the fundamental energy between Heaven and Earth), yet with no visible light—if the light cannot be seen, how can one speak of form? This is called “Illumination of the Vast”: the mind is clear and open, wholly at one with the Great Void, the boundless emptiness.

By receiving Heaven’s mandate, one can fathom the true condition of things and find peace within. Forgetting the distinction between inner and outer, all things return to their original state, each going back to its root. This is called “Mingling in Darkness,” a state in which distinctions dissolve. What is called “stillness” is a return to Heaven’s mandate.

Yanzhai says: One travels along the seashore because the world seems narrow and unworthy of looking at, and one wants to see the sea. Appoint officials suited to their roles and select worthy people. When it is clear that each task can indeed be carried out, act in step with the circumstances. Everything one does and says arises naturally, without deliberate effort on behalf of others, yet all under Heaven is thereby transformed of its own accord. The sage governs the world as though gesturing toward things within sight with a raised hand; there is no one among the people who does not respond.

The words “dwelling, moving, stillness, and activity” mean that whether at rest or on the move, still or active, one applies no deliberate thought. One therefore does not keep notions of right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, hidden in the heart. This is what it means not to cling to distinctions between good and evil. “Sharing, providing, and mutual benefit” means enjoying well-being together with everyone.

“Like infants bereft of their mother” is a metaphor for the sage’s delight in living among ordinary people. Yet when he acts in the world, there are times when he has no choice but to act. He does not concern himself with wealth, food, and drink. This is what is meant by “having no mind.”

“Above, the spirit” means that the spirit transcends Heaven and Earth. The light of the sun and moon lies below, hence the phrase “riding upon the light.” The disappearance of form is like having a body without clinging to it. “Illumination of the Vast” means a light that is expansive and all-embracing. Reaching the utmost limit of Heaven’s mandate, fathoming the truth within one’s nature, and taking joy in the way of Heaven and Earth—then one is no longer burdened by the myriad affairs. “Returning to the true condition” means returning to what is true; when one returns to truth, all things become one with oneself. “Mingling in Darkness” also means primordial chaos.

Chunmang wanted to go to the sea because he had grown weary of the world’s narrowness and shallowness. He admired the sea’s inexhaustible flow and wanted to travel there. Yuanfeng suspected that he cared nothing for the people, so he asked how the sage governs. Chunmang replied: Appointments and selections must be appropriate, so that people’s abilities can be fully brought into use…

Those holding office and performing their duties can all fulfill them well; those who have retired to a quiet life can also be elevated. In this way, matters of government are handled completely.

The sage sees human feelings and the ways of the world clearly, then lets people do what is proper for each of them to do. People’s actions and words arise naturally and of their own accord, free from the faults of pretense and contrivance. The sage transforms all things through sincerity. Is there anyone under Heaven who would not be transformed? A simple wave of the hand, a glance back, or a pointing gesture is enough to bring people from afar. From this, one can also tell how those nearby will respond. These are the results the sage achieves in governing the world.

Next, he is asked about the “person of De,” one who possesses Virtue. The reply is that when settled at home, this person makes no deliberate plans, and when acting, does not scheme or calculate. Whether active or at rest, he harbors no private motives, and so distinctions between beauty and ugliness fade away. Among the people in the four directions, all those who lack a secure place hope for sustenance, joy, and peace. The person of De provides these things for them, so that the whole world receives the benefit of De.

Imagine an infant who has lost its mother, or a traveler who has lost the road. The person of De regards the people as though they were wounded, and feels compassion for them. His possessions and daily necessities are abundant, yet he lives frugally, so he is always able to provide for others. He takes only enough food to fill his belly and does not concern himself with where it comes from. This means that he never deliberately seeks wealth or food, yet naturally has enough to use. Perhaps this is the result of ensuring that everyone under Heaven is sustained.

These are outward signs visible in the bearing and conduct of the person of De; they are not his true state. What is meant by his true state cannot be expressed in words.

Next, he is asked about the “spirit person,” one who transcends the ordinary world and is beyond prediction. The reply is that the spirit person rises to the highest realm and travels upon radiance. This is what is meant by “soaring beyond the Great Brightness.” His form seems to disappear without a trace; this is what is meant by “entering the gate of the deep and mysterious.” In other words, the spirit person moves between luminous Yang and shadowed Yin, changing in ways beyond comprehension.

“Highest spirit” refers to a state in which the mysterious has reached its utmost. “Traveling upon radiance” means moving through the air, treading upon the sun’s shadow. Perhaps only emptiness can give rise to light, and only open space can contain illumination. A person must fully understand their own life to know completely the condition of all things under Heaven; from this, they also come to know all the joys between Heaven and Earth. This can be understood by discerning the hearts of the people, and Heaven’s seeing and hearing can be understood in the same way.

The root of the dissolution and stillness of all things lies simply in my own Wuwei (non-action): I let each thing return to its original state. This is called “merging into obscurity,” joining with the deep and mysterious source. Once I have entered this obscurity, I forget myself; how much more, then, do I forget external things? The discussion of the spirit person ultimately returns to this merging into obscurity, which also explains how the spirit person comes to be what they are.

Men Wugui and Chizhang Manji, two figures, watched the army where King Wu of Zhou had encamped. Chizhang Manji said, “This is nothing like the age when the Youyu clan—Shun—governed the world. That is why this calamity has come upon us.” Men Wugui said, “Was the world already at peace, and did the Youyu clan then come to govern it? Or was the world first thrown into disorder and only afterward brought under control?” Chizhang Manji said, “Peace throughout the world is what people hope for. Then what means are there to…”

The original text breaks off here.

Yu Shun of the Yu clan came forward to govern only because disorder had arisen throughout the land, like someone putting on a wig only after going bald, or seeking a doctor only after falling ill. A dutiful son tends his loving father with medicine, his face full of anxiety and sorrow. The sage is ashamed of this, because it shows that harmony has already been lost and that labels such as filial devotion and parental kindness are needed to repair the damage.

In the age of utmost De (Virtue/Power), people did not exalt the worthy or deliberately put the capable to work. Those in high positions stood naturally, like lofty branches, while the people lived freely, like deer in the wild. People acted with integrity without knowing that this was called righteousness. They loved one another without knowing that this was called benevolence. They were sincere and dependable without knowing that this was called loyalty. They acted appropriately without knowing that this was called trustworthiness. All things moved on their own and also worked together, without anyone feeling that another had bestowed a favor. Thus, actions left no trace, and deeds left no fame to be passed down.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Shun and King Wu both came forward to govern because the world was in disorder. Shun ruled through ritual and deference; King Wu attacked with an army. Their circumstances differed, but this does not mean that one was superior to the other. If the world were at peace and everyone could provide for themselves, why would anyone care who had greater De or choose someone to be ruler? It was because everyone suffered from disorder that they sought the “medicine” of Yu Shun. A dutiful son treating his father with medicine, his face full of anxiety, shows precisely that governing the world is nothing to boast about. In the age of utmost De, the worthy happened to occupy the right place; people did not deliberately exalt him. Those with ability acted naturally; no one put them to work. Those above did not exalt themselves, and the people were left to live freely. Benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trustworthiness all flowed naturally from people’s own nature; they were not things people consciously understood and practiced. All things moved on their own and worked together, without anyone deliberately giving thanks or bestowing favors. Those in charge let things follow their natural course, so their actions left no trace; everything remained in its proper place, so its workings needed no instruction or praise.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Shun governed only after disorder had spread through the world, and the same was true of King Wu. Who does not act for the sake of the world? This alone does not establish a difference in rank between them. The saying that “Yu Shun’s medicine treats a sore on the head” means governing only after disorder has arisen. A dutiful son tends his father with medicine, his face full of anxiety and sorrow. This shows that the Great Dao had not yet reached the state in which all things forget their divisions and the six relationships among kin are harmonious. Even the presence of filial devotion and parental kindness is a condition the sage finds shameful. Thus, Yu Shun governed the world out of necessity; one cannot say that he surpassed King Wu. Judged by outward deeds, even Fuxi and Suiren might not count as living in an age of utmost De. Judged by their inner state, the subtle excellence of Yu Shun and King Wu is what is meant by the age of utmost De. Because they practiced Wuwei (non-action), they had no fame; because they had no fame, their actions left no trace and their deeds left no accomplishments to be passed down. How could such a state still be discussed in terms of superiority or inferiority, gain or loss?

The commentator Yidu believes that the meaning of the Zhuangzi is to lead people back to the remote antiquity, when each person kept to the original condition of their nature and life. In his view, the ways Yao and Shun governed the world were like chaff: insignificant details not worth esteeming. When the people suffered from disorder, Shun of Yu used benevolence and righteousness to govern them, as though treating sores and swellings with medicine. A wig adorns someone without hair; a physician treats someone who is ill. Neither follows what is natural: both try to set things right after disorder has already arisen. Someone who personally tastes medicine to care for an ailing parent becomes haggard. The world regards this as filial conduct, but the sage considers it shameful. Here, the matter is viewed from the perspective of the Way of Heaven, as a means of treating the ills of human affairs.

In an age of utmost Virtue, people did not exalt the able and worthy, so they did not compete for fame; they did not appoint people for their special skills, so they did not compete over abilities. The branches of trees grow at different heights, yet have no intention of being above one another; they simply grow high of their own accord. Elk have no wish to live in open country, yet naturally make their home there. Uprightness is the root of righteousness, and mutual affection is the root of benevolence: benevolence and righteousness are merely names for the actual conditions of being upright and caring for one another. Truthfulness is the root of loyalty, and what is fitting is the root of trustworthiness. What the ordinary world calls truthfulness and what is fitting amounts only to a pursuit of the reputation for loyalty and trust. In an age of utmost Virtue, benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trust were one with people’s nature. People never left their nature to pursue these names from elsewhere. All things moved and made use of one another; people each followed their own nature and made use of one another, without regarding this as a favor, but simply as how things were. Their actions left no trace, and their deeds gave rise to no talk, because they acted without deliberate intent.

The commentator Xiangdao says: The trouble caused by sores and swellings and the trouble caused by illness differ in severity, but both require medicine. The eras of the Five Emperors and the Three Kings differed in the purity or corruption of their customs, but both required governance. In light of this, can we really say that Shun was right to use medicine for sores, while King Wu was wrong to use medicine for illness? Zhuangzi compares those who govern the world to filial sons, and the world to a loving father. Yin Wen, by contrast, compares himself to a disciple and the world to a teacher. This means that those who care about the world often place themselves below others and show them respect, thereby winning the people’s closeness and praise. Yet this differs from the attitude of those who calmly forget the world.

The commentator Bixu says: Because Dan Zhu was unworthy, a benevolent and sage ruler replaced him; because King Zhou of Yin was cruel and wicked, someone quelled the disorder and attacked him. None of this means being at ease and letting the world find its own natural balance. When the people were ill, Chonghua (Shun) treated them with the medicine of benevolence and righteousness… (The original text ends here.)

If the world had never been in turmoil, there would be no talk of “governing the world.” If Yao’s son had been worthy, there would have been no occasion for Yao to abdicate the throne in favor of Shun. Before Yao and Shun, there were gestures of deference and the abdication of the throne; in later ages came conquest and rivalry. It is like needing medicine only after an illness appears, a wig only after one has gone bald, or a doctor only after one has fallen sick.

A dutiful son who prepares medicine for his father is simply doing what he ought to do, yet the sage still considers it shameful. The point is that it would be better if the father could remain free of illness. How much more so when people seek peace throughout the world through conquest? The author therefore invokes the “Age of Utmost De” (a time of pure and abundant Virtue) to show that customs in later ages have grown shallow, and to urge people to leave behind the ills of the present and return to that state of simplicity.

In that age, people did not exalt the worthy or go out of their way to appoint the capable; so there was no struggle for fame and profit, nor failure caused by appointing the wrong people. Those in high positions were like branches at the tops of trees, never considering themselves superior; the people were like wild deer, at ease and free of desire. “Branches at the treetops” is a metaphor for having no impulse to exalt oneself, while “wild deer” suggests living naturally and contentedly.

The passage also says that without evil, there can be no display of righteousness; without hatred, there can be no talk of benevolence; without deceit, loyalty need not be specially demonstrated; and without falsehood, sincerity need not be deliberately proclaimed. Without such opposing conditions, names such as benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and sincerity would not arise. In the Age of Utmost De, people made themselves upright and were close and caring toward one another, but did not deliberately proclaim benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, or sincerity. Nor did they quarrel over right and wrong, praise and blame. People helped one another and lived in friendship, without treating this as a favor bestowed; everything followed its natural course, without anyone deliberately leaving a mark or publicizing their actions as exceptional.

From this we can see that the “four kinds of not-knowing” discussed below all serve to show that the myriad things return together to the Dao and dissolve into the state of “forgetting both sides.” Benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trust are merely labels and traces left behind when people distinguish one thing from another.

“Wriggling creatures” refers to simple, unassuming people. They help one another without treating it as a gift, and support one another without expecting anything in return. Their actions leave no deliberate trace, like birds crossing the sky without leaving a mark. They do not publicize their good deeds; wherever they go, people are naturally transformed by their influence. This was probably what the “age of utmost De” was like: an ideal time when De was abundant and people lived together naturally.

Collected Subtle Commentaries on the True Classic of Nanhua, juan 38