《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 37

A filial child does not simply indulge a parent, and a loyal minister does not simply flatter a ruler. This is the noble conduct of children and ministers.

If parents speak reasonably and act appropriately, worldly opinion may still judge their children unworthy. If a ruler speaks reasonably and acts appropriately, worldly opinion may likewise judge his ministers unworthy. We do not yet know whether this judgment must always be so. When the world declares something right, people follow along and call it right; when the world declares something good, they follow along and call it good. Can such people not be called guides who win others over and flatter them?

If so, should the world be more feared than one’s parents and ruler? When some people are accused of guiding others, their faces change at once; when accused of flattering others, their faces change just as quickly. Yet they spend their whole lives guiding others and flattering them. They piece together analogies, embellish their words, and gather crowds. The beginnings and endings, roots and branches of their words and actions do not agree. They dress magnificently and adorn themselves brightly; their bearing and appearance are all meant to please the world, yet they do not think they are guiding or flattering anyone. Others treat what people say as the words of companions, echoing them without distinguishing right from wrong, yet they do not think they are simply doing what everyone else does. This is folly at its extreme. Someone who knows they are foolish is not yet greatly foolish; someone who knows they are confused is not yet greatly confused. The deeply confused remain trapped in confusion all their lives; the deeply foolish never awaken.

If three people travel together and one loses the way, they may still reach their destination, because the lost person is in the minority. If two lose the way, their efforts will come to nothing and they will not reach their destination, because most of them are lost. Now the whole world is confused. Even if I point out the way, how could I possibly lead them to their destination? Is this not heartbreaking?

The grandest music cannot be heard by rustic listeners; when they hear popular tunes like “Breaking the Poplar” and “Flourishing Blossoms,” they laugh with delight. Thus, lofty words cannot move the hearts of the many, and truly profound things go unsaid because worldly talk prevails. When two people who lead others astray dangle their heels, the crowd is bewitched by them and cannot reach its destination. Now the whole world is confused. Even if I point out the way, how could I lead them to their destination? To know something cannot be done and still force oneself to do it is another kind of confusion. Better, then, to let go and stop trying to put it into practice. Once I stop, who will share my distress?

A child is born to someone who inspires distress and fear. In the middle of the night, they hurry to light a fire and look at the baby, anxiously hoping the child will not grow up to resemble them.

Guo Xiang’s commentary explains: When parents or a ruler truly speak correctly and act appropriately, children and ministers who comply with them go against worldly opinion, which is why the world judges them unworthy. The words “we do not yet know” mean that the true standard of what is appropriate remains uncertain. As for whether the world should be more feared than one’s parents and ruler, and whether one should follow worldly opinion or obey one’s parents and ruler, the commentary has not yet finished addressing the question.

This is what is called “flattery.” Dignity alone is not enough to convince people; to win them over, one must go along with worldly customs. Thus, the sage never cuts himself off from the world, but adjusts himself as the times change: in the position of an emperor, he does what an emperor should do; in the position of a king, he does what a king should do. Would he really act in defiance of worldly ways?

People therefore take agreement with the majority as proof of what is right. That is why we speak of “fawning and flattery.” When someone hears that he is being accused of flattery, he may put on a stern face and reject the name. Yet all his life he continues to flatter, caring nothing for what is reasonable and seeking only to win others’ favor. Using strained comparisons and embellished words to please people should plainly count as flattery. Yet people use just these means to win hearts and gather followers. This is also why those who conform to worldly ways often do not think they have done anything wrong.

People are already so thoroughly confused that there is no choice but to go along with them. The Dao upheld by sages is the same, but the paths taken by emperors and kings differ. This is indeed because worldly confusion is difficult to dispel, so one can only follow the prevailing course and let things unfold. When everyone under Heaven is confused, even if my heart is set on the Great Dao, in the end I can hardly attain it. Yao, Shun, Tang the Founder, and King Wu of Zhou merely acted in keeping with their times.

Thus, refined and solemn music is not to the liking of ordinary people in the streets and lanes. When worldly people hear intricate, rapid tunes, they laugh along. This is why the world has never truly entrusted its affairs to sages, but has always insisted on deciding for itself. When everyone clings to their own opinions, they do not know where to turn. It is better to go along with them and let them be content, for the moment, with their present circumstances. Do not force them to understand. If people live together this way, they will have fewer troubles over the course of a lifetime. No one under Heaven wants to do evil. When people do evil, sometimes they are driven to it by oppressive, burdensome service; sometimes they have lost their original nature. But those who have lost it will think for themselves about recovering it, and those driven by harsh service will also think for themselves about doing good.

Lü’s commentary (by Lü Huiqing) says: When ministers identify with their ruler, children with their parents, and approve what those above them approve, the world calls this flattery and says they are unworthy. But is identifying with one’s ruler and parents, and approving what they approve, really always wrong? If one goes along with what the world considers right and expresses approval, people do not call it flattery. Then where, exactly, are sternness toward the ruler and respect for one’s parents to be found?

If someone is told that he is fawning and flattering, he may put on a stern face and resent the ugly name. Yet all his life he continues to flatter, using strained comparisons and embellished words to gather people around him. His words and actions are therefore never in accord. Strained comparisons and embellished words are both unreasonable; using them to draw a crowd is flattery. If someone gathers people through strained comparisons and embellished words, yet cannot even bear to admit that he is flattering, then those who do not know how to return to their original nature and the true condition of life, but instead dress themselves in robes and adornments and cultivate their outward appearance…【The original text is incomplete here】

To present an appearance that pleases the world without realizing that one is currying favor and flattering people; to join everyone in debating right and wrong without realizing that everyone is in fact foolish—this is the deepest folly. If you know that you are foolish, then you are not yet profoundly foolish. If you can describe your illness, it has not yet reached the point of being incurable, and there is still hope of remedy. But if you never understand or awaken throughout your life, and, though ill, cannot say what is wrong with you, then you are beyond saving.

If three people travel together and one loses the way, the other two can still guide that person to their destination. This is like an age when the Great Way flourishes: many have attained the Way, and few have lost it. If two of the three lose the way, they will all grow weary and fail to arrive. This is like an age when the Great Way is in decline: many have lost it, and few have attained it. Today everyone under Heaven is bewildered. Even if I wished to guide them, I could find no one willing to follow. The principles of the world have declined together; no one remains who can understand these things with me. The people have been lost for a long time. Even if I wished to guide them, no one would be willing to heed me. This is what grieves the Perfected Person—the one whose Virtue and wisdom have reached the highest level.

Profound words cannot find their way into the ears of country folk; shallow, common words, by contrast, are readily accepted. Even the clever Huizi (Hui Shi) thought Zhuangzi’s words useless, so one can imagine what the rest of the world thinks. People stand heel to heel; if only one person stands wrongly, only that person goes in the wrong direction. A small confusion merely leads someone astray. But today the whole world is bewildered. This is great confusion, and it can change people’s very nature. Even if you wished to guide them, how could you manage it?

It is not that I begrudge the Great Way or refuse to explain it to the world. If I know they cannot take it in, yet still force my advice upon them, I too become bewildered. I would no longer be someone who gives everything of himself while setting the world aside. So it is better to let go of the idea of guiding them and stop promoting the Great Way; let us simply forget one another. If I stop forcing guidance upon them, who will there be to share my concern?

Consider a person with leprosy, afraid that their child will contract the same disease. The Great Way concerns the human heart. If others happen to be unable to grasp it, is that worry any less than a leper’s fear that their child will suffer as they do? And if I change myself to conform to worldly customs and accommodate a corrupt age, would that be any less like a child resembling their father? Even if I give up guiding others and stop insisting, if they are left to lose their way alone, would I not still be concerned?

Lin Yidu’s commentary: People call a child filial when they comply with their parents’ wishes, and call a minister loyal when he accommodates the ruler’s wishes. Yet parents do not always act in accordance with what is right. If children comply with everything, they become flatterers. Rulers do not always act in accordance with what is right either. If ministers obey them in every instance, they fall into…

Someone who appears ingratiating does not necessarily understand filial devotion; someone who appears loyal is not necessarily truly ingratiating. The hardest thing for a minister is to serve the ruler with deference while refraining from using moral standards to correct him. For this, worldly people often accuse the minister of being unworthy. But is such a person really unworthy?

The point is that going against worldly opinion in order to obey one’s ruler or parents is not necessarily right; nor does going against one’s ruler or parents in order to follow worldly opinion necessarily count as guiding or ingratiating them. Can ordinary people truly uphold filial devotion toward their parents and respect their rulers? The former kings did not establish either of these two ways as the sole standard.

To “guide” someone is to accommodate that person’s wishes and then lead them somewhere. To “ingratiate” oneself is to follow what someone likes in order to please them. Ordinary people profess to dislike the name of ingratiation, yet in practice they are not ashamed of it—like someone who hates drunkenness but still urges others to drink.

Those skilled in analogy make their words clever; those skilled in ornamenting their phrases make their writing elegant. Matters may seem right at first but end in error; their foundations may be sound, yet in the end they produce harm. All this stems from the teachings of the village worthy—the person who accommodates local customs and appears, on the surface, honest and upright. Most people follow this prevailing custom. Even when its harms later become clear, they do not blame the original practice, and so the custom continues without end.

Those whom the world calls gentlemen put on fine clothes to display their refinement, adorn themselves with colors to appear splendid, and attend to their bearing and conduct to conform to ritual. In this way they win the world’s approval. They are truly skilled at guiding and pleasing others, yet they do not think of themselves as guiding or ingratiating anyone. Keep company with such people, and right and wrong become confused between you, while you remain unaware of how foolish you have become.

To be foolish yet know that one is foolish is only a small foolishness; to be confused yet know that one is confused is only a small confusion. If three people travel together and one loses the way, they may still reach their destination, because only a minority is lost. If two lose the way, the journey will be exhausting, and they will not reach their destination, because the majority is lost. Now the whole world is confused. If Zhuangzi alone searches for the direction that leads to the Great Way, how could he ever find it?

The highest sounds, like “great music is barely heard” and “the greatest image has no form,” sound plain and flavorless. Such is the ancient music of Xianchi and Dashao. By contrast, “Breaking the Poplar Branch” and “Yellow Flower” are merely popular tunes. The most excellent words point toward the most distant realm; the most fundamental words point toward the Great Way. Such ultimate words are hard to speak because worldly talk is so abundant that it drowns them out.

Earthen jars and great bells are both round, and both produce sound when struck. If two jars or two bells are struck at once, listeners cannot tell where the sounds come from and become confused. How much more confused must people be when the whole world is lost? Even if one person sets their heart on the Great Way, how could they possibly find it? To know that confusion cannot be dispelled and still force oneself to explain it only creates another layer of confusion. Better to let it go and stop probing. If one stops probing, who else will share your anxious concern?

Even someone with an unattractive face hopes their child will be beautiful. So would a confused person not grow weary of being lost and turn instead toward awakening?

Only when the principles have been explained in full can they serve as a standard for conduct. A filial son should therefore follow what is right, rather than obeying his father in every matter. For example, the Nine in the Third Place of the Gu hexagram in the Book of Changes says: “Mending the faults left by one’s father brings some regret, but no great error.” If someone did everything his father said and considered everything he did proper, people in the world would call him an unworthy son.

When a principle is worth following, a loyal minister should follow that principle rather than obeying the ruler in every matter. For example, the Nine in the Second Place of the Lin hexagram in the Book of Changes says: “Approaching the people with sincerity brings good fortune; nothing is unfavorable.” If someone did everything the ruler said and considered everything he did proper, people in the world would call him an unworthy minister.

But when people go along with and praise what the world regards as right and good, does that not count as ingratiation and flattery? Are the world’s demands on fathers and rulers really more exacting? People are always sunk in confusion without knowing it, so it is difficult to change them. Ingratiation means acting in step with another person’s faults; flattery means encouraging those faults. Everyone behaves ingratiatingly or flatteringly in practice, yet resents being given such a reputation.

There is more. Some people use analogies to prove their claims, dress them up in elegant language, then gather others to spread them. In this way, from beginning to end, from root to detail, no one is willing to take responsibility, yet in the end everyone bears the blame. It is truly ridiculous. When two people are misled, they may toil in vain and still fail to reach their destination. When they are misled by the sound of two clay jars and a bell, they lose their way. This shows that those who lose their direction will never reach their destination.

In the world, it is easier to influence a few people through many different changes than to mislead a great many with the claims of a few. Nowadays, with customs grown shallow, people are easily led by frivolous sounds and vulgar talk. But loud voices and insightful words are harder to make their way into people’s hearts. The people of the world are now all confused. Though I have something I aspire to, how could I bring it about?

The Bixu Commentary says: If one follows worldly opinion, one loses the dignity of ruler and parent; if one follows ruler and parent, the world may regard one as ingratiating and flattering. Yet a ruler and a father are particular individuals, while public opinion concerns right and wrong acknowledged in common throughout the world. Judgments made from private motives are not necessarily loyalty or filial piety, and conduct in keeping with public opinion is not necessarily flattery. Thus, worthy people and gentlemen do not always make a point of setting themselves apart from the world.

Those who ingratiate and flatter are also afraid of having their impropriety exposed, yet they spend their lives ingratiating themselves, seeking only to please others. Someone who polishes his words and gathers a crowd until visitors fill the space outside his door would be judged by a sage to be ingratiating and flattering; the people of the world, however, praise him. Who, then, would ever condemn him? If people say he caters to others’ wishes, they become displeased and refuse to accept it; yet when he acts according to their expressions, they accept it without concern. What should we make of those who wear tall hats and wide robes, speak in ornate and polished language, bow and rise in agreement, and seek only other people’s praise?

These people are neither the most confused nor the most ignorant, yet they live their whole lives without awakening or understanding the Way. They have simply not yet cast off their attachment to reputation and their craving for gain. If I use my own views to judge others, deciding that they are ignorant and confused while a small number of us are clear-sighted and everyone else is wrong, would that not be lamentable?

Grand, elegant music cannot be appreciated by villagers accustomed to popular tunes. Profound words, too, cannot still the hearts of the crowd. If they are expressed like the clatter of striking earthenware and ringing bells, with sounds that clash, listeners will not only fail to understand but will also have no idea where to turn. Perhaps everyone wants to awaken, and only falls into confusion because they have no choice. Since they suffer from confusion and distress, who can feel their sorrow on their behalf? Those with unattractive features worry that their sons will look like them because they know their own appearance is poor. So do the ignorant and confused have no desire to become good?

The commentator Yanzhai says: To advise a ruler or father without fawning or flattering—that is what it means to offer remonstrance. If you consider whatever another person says to be right and whatever they do to be good, then you do not understand remonstrance. People know that it is right to remonstrate with a ruler or father and wrong not to. Yet when it comes to the people of the world, I follow them in doing what they consider good and agree with what they consider right. Does that not mean I value worldly opinion more than a ruler or father?

What people today call the “Way” is often merely what the world commonly accepts as reasonable. It is not the Way they have truly understood for themselves and brought into accord with the transformations of creation. If the Way I speak of is exactly the same as the world’s, then my conduct amounts to guiding and pleasing the world. I dislike being called someone who pleases the world, yet I cannot avoid doing so throughout my life, because in the end I cannot be different from the world.

They use metaphors and embellish their words, gathering students from across the land to follow them. At first, they want to rise above the people of the world, but in the end they remain bound to their own age. This shows that they contradict one another from beginning to end, in substance as well as in outward appearance. Neatly dressed and brightly adorned, composed in manner and gentle in speech, the Confucians’ clothing and bearing also make them skilled at guiding others patiently. Yet these ways are said to be an attempt to please the world. This remark mocks the sages we revere: if all who study with me are common people who follow custom, and what I consider right and wrong is the same as what they do, then I too am merely one who follows custom. To associate with common people while refusing to admit that one is ordinary is the height of ignorance and lack of self-awareness.

“To remain without understanding or discernment throughout one’s life” means that they never know what they are pursuing or where they are headed. Everyone in the world has been misled by those teachings. Even if I alone pursue something different, what could I do to turn the course of the whole world? “Zheyang” and “Huanghua” are popular songs from the villages, used here as metaphors for worldly talk; “grand music” refers instead to music of an ancient, refined style.

When the highest kind of speech is drowned out by worldly talk, truly excellent words are obscured. The scripture goes on to say, “Sitting with their heels and feet hanging down, they refuse to walk,” and then, “Two people sit with their heels hanging down and are confused.” These words may be corrupt: some versions read “fou bells,” a phrase whose meaning cannot be explained and which may be a copying error. If we know that the wording cannot be clarified but still force an interpretation, that too is a kind of confusion.

There is no need to keep speculating about what does not require investigation. Set the matter aside and stop discussing it, and there will be no cause for worry. This supplements the explanation above. The scripture also says that an ugly person fears having a child who resembles them because they know they are ugly. The confused people of the world, by contrast, do not know that anything is wrong with them, so they are worse off than the ugly person. The two comparisons seem about to conclude here, yet the passage does not quite bring them to a close. Its style is indeed unusual.

If someone acts in accordance with the words and conduct of a ruler and their parents, worldly people may call that person unworthy. But if they follow the words and conduct of the world, people will not call them sycophantic. The world is neither stricter than one’s parents nor more exalted than one’s ruler. A minister should take loyalty as their guiding principle, and a child should take filial piety as theirs; they should not serve ruler or parents through flattery. As for dealing with the world, people often praise what they like and approve of without examining the actual circumstances. Simply echoing their opinions can easily become ingratiating and servile.

Some people detest the reputation of being “sycophantic,” yet spend their whole lives acting sycophantically without realizing it. They polish their words and gather people together to praise one another, but in the end they harm the Dao and undermine De, behaving like “village worthies”—people who seem honest and kind but conform to local customs. From beginning to end, from root to branch, their conduct is confused and perverse. “Unable to sit together in peace” means that they cannot get along with one another. They let their sleeves hang down, embellish their appearance, and put on affected manners to please the world, yet do not think they are currying favor. Is this not foolish?

To say that confused people are “not foolish” means that perhaps they can still be taught. But those who cannot understand reason and lack mental acuity are beyond even a sage’s help. The passage beginning “Three people walking together” means that the confused people of the world are numerous; one person alone cannot turn them around. Even a tremendous sound cannot reach the ear. This shows precisely how worldly talk drowns out truly excellent words.

This passage develops the earlier point: “Fou bells” probably should read “heels hanging down.” Two people sit with their feet hanging down, confused and unwilling to move, unable even to reach their destination. How much more confused, then, are all the people under Heaven? Even if I pursue something, how could I ever obtain it in the end? Knowing that something cannot be done and forcing oneself to do it only deepens confusion. Better to set it aside and stop asking: what is there to worry about? This is the sigh and self-consolation of a Perfected Person who sees that the people of the world cannot be saved. The passage ends with the example of “an ugly person having a child and worrying that the child will resemble them”: if even an ugly person does not want their child to resemble them, can a confused person really have no wish to turn toward goodness? If those in high positions can… (The original text ends here.)

The purpose of cultivation is to bring people to awakening and restore their original nature. This nature has always been present; it has never disappeared.

A scripture says, “When people are guided in accord with the Way of Heaven, their Virtue grows. When they are shaped in defiance of the Way of Heaven, calamity follows.” How could one fail to be cautious about this?

A tree that has grown for a hundred years is cut down and made into a sacrificial wine vessel, painted in green, yellow, and other colors, and carved with patterns. A piece of wood cut from the same tree and thrown into a ditch is, of course, different in beauty and ugliness from the vessel. Yet both have equally lost their original nature. Zhi the Bandit and Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu (Zeng and Shi) differed in their conduct and reputations, but they were alike in the extent to which they had lost their nature.

There are five ways in which nature is lost. First, the Five Colors disturb the eyes and blur sight. Second, the Five Tones disturb the ears and dull hearing. Third, all kinds of odors overwhelm the nose, leaving the chest constricted and the mind clouded. Fourth, all kinds of flavors disturb the tongue and throw the sense of taste off balance. Fifth, preferences and aversions disturb the mind and make one’s nature restless and unsettled. All five harm the true basis of life. Yet Yang Zhu and Mo Di began to make a show of themselves and pursue things obsessively, believing they had gained something. This is not what I mean by “gain.” Does “gain” mean being confined? If so, then doves and owls shut in cages could also be said to have gained something.

Moreover, people block up their hearts with preferences, aversions, sounds, colors, and other things, while constraining their outward appearance with ritual regulations: ceremonial caps, feathered hats, tablets, and wide robes with long sashes. Their hearts are packed full, and their bodies are bound layer upon layer. Trapped as if wrapped in ropes, they still believe they have gained something. By this reasoning, prisoners with their hands tied behind their backs and fingers tortured, and tigers and leopards shut in cages, could all be said to have “gained” something.

Guo Xiang’s commentary is omitted; it offers no further discussion.

Lü Huiqing explains: A sacrificial vessel painted with green and yellow patterns can serve as a metaphor for people such as Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu, who paid close attention to refining their conduct. A broken piece of wood thrown into a ditch can serve as a metaphor for someone like Zhi the Bandit, who gave himself over to wrongdoing. Those who refine their conduct and those who indulge their desires, if they can return to what is genuine and restore their Virtue, are ultimately one with their original nature. This is true gain. Why rank Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu above Zhi the Bandit?

Colors themselves do not make the eyes clear, and sounds themselves do not make the ears keen. The eyes can see and the ears can hear by their original nature; when the Five Colors and Five Tones disturb them, sight and hearing instead become unclear. Understand this, and you can see that odors overwhelming the nose, flavors disrupting the tongue, and preferences and aversions disturbing the mind work in the same way. The heart need not cling to preferences and aversions, but once they pull it along, one’s nature becomes restless and uneasy. Yang Zhu and Mo Di were talented men, but they had not heard the Great Dao. Their understanding remained confined to these five kinds of things. They pursued them deliberately and believed they had gained something. By the same logic, doves and owls shut in cages could also be said to have gained something.

“Is that what you call ‘gaining something’?” They block the heart within, preventing the Dao (the Way) from gathering, and impose restraints from without, leaving the heart unable to free itself. Within, it seems packed with fences; the limbs are tangled and bound. From outside, layer upon layer of ropes hold them fast. To those who understand, these people are plainly trapped in ropes and nets. Yet they still imagine they have gained something. Is that any different from a criminal with his arms tied behind his back and shackles fastened one by one to his fingers, or a tiger or leopard shut inside a sack or cage, each claiming to have “gained” something?

The commentary by Yidu says: A sacrificial vessel painted in blue and yellow, the quanzun, is used as a metaphor for a piece of deadwood in a ditch. Though they differ in beauty and ugliness, they were originally the same kind of thing. Once made into an object, each loses its original natural character. The deeds of Zhi the Bandit and of Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu (the latter two being known for their virtue) may differ, yet all can depart from their own nature and lose the reality of life. This is like the painted sacrificial vessel and the deadwood in the ditch.

The five colors confuse the eyes, and the five tones confuse the ears. The nose’s smelling and the mouth’s tasting are the same. Distress and obstruction cloud the senses, turn them against their nature, and cause harm. Chasing profit and avoiding misfortune disturb the heart; once the heart is disturbed, its inborn nature scatters. These five kinds of sensory desire all damage life. If Yang Zhu, Mo Di, and others depart from their nature and Heaven-given life, yet regard that state as a gain, they are bound to fall into distress. If distress counts as a gain, then doves and owls shut in cages could also be said to have gained something.

Chasing after preferences and rejections, and indulging in sights and sounds, fences in the heart. Ceremonial dress, such as hats and belts, binds the body like ropes. When the heart is filled with all kinds of choices, it is as if a fence has been built inside the house; when the body is constrained by ritual, it is as if bound with ropes. This is what suffering and exhaustion look like. Yet these people imagine they have gained something. How are they any different from criminals with their arms tied behind their backs and shackles fastened one by one to their fingers, or from tigers and leopards shut in sacks and cages, still pleased with themselves?

The commentary by Xiangdao cites the Laozi: “The five colors make people’s eyes blind; the five tones make people’s ears deaf; the five flavors make people’s mouths lose their taste.” This means that excessive indulgence in sensory stimulation damages one’s capacity to perceive. Human nature is originally tranquil, and De (Virtue/Power) is deep-rooted, not easily changed by external things. But when deluded thoughts and external circumstances arise, the clear source within the heart is disturbed. People may then forget the priceless good and instead pursue endless, defiling desires. Is this not confusion? For this reason, the exemplary person values se—restraint and the curbing of desire.

Yet Guan Zhong also said: When the ears want to hear sounds but are not allowed to, this is called “blocking the hearing”; when the eyes want to see beautiful colors but are not allowed to, this is called “blocking the sight”; when the body wants comfort but is not allowed to enjoy ease and abundance, this is called “blocking comfort”; when the heart wants to do something but is not allowed to act freely, this is called “blocking nature.” All such things…

These doctrines, which unsettle one’s nature through judgments about what to accept or reject, are like carving a naturally green and whole piece of wood into a utensil, destroying its original form. A person could live freely in accordance with their nature. Forcing oneself to follow some moral code and set of rules, by contrast, damages one’s true nature. Everyday activities such as seeing, hearing, eating and drinking, and breathing can preserve life, but they can also wear it down. What matters is whether judgments of preference and aversion take hold of the mind. If the mind is not bound by them, one can roam freely beyond the world of dust. How, then, could ropes, nets, and cages hold one captive?

Yanzhai says that when a tree is cut down and discarded in a ditch, then later split apart and made into a wine vessel, it has suffered harm. One may be honored and the other disgraced, but both end up like dead wood, stripped of life. This meaning is close to the lesson of “Zang and Gu lose the sheep”: Zang and Gu both lost their sheep, though for different reasons. Sounds, colors, odors, and flavors can all unsettle one’s nature. They are grouped with judgments of preference and aversion to show that all such things must be kept in check.

“Kun zong chong ni” describes breath entering through the nose and reaching the forehead; “zhuo kou” means that the mouth is made dirty. “Fei li shuang” refers to going against what is reasonable and making mistakes. If one keeps deciding what to accept or reject, what is right or wrong, the mind will be disturbed and one’s inborn nature will be lost. The doctrines of Yang Zhu and Mozi are said to disturb the mind through judgments of preference and aversion: they are trapped by their own teachings, yet imagine they have gained something. By the same logic, crows, doves, and owls locked in cages could also be said to be pleased with themselves. This is a sharp mockery of their doctrines.

Their minds are blocked by judgments about what to accept or reject and what is right or wrong, so the text says, “they barricade their insides,” as if their hearts were packed with wooden barriers. They wear caps and ceremonial robes and are constrained by ritual rules, so the text says, “they bind their outsides.” Blocked within and constrained by ritual without, they are like prisoners in bonds. To others, they look as though they are suffering in captivity, yet they think themselves pleased. By this reasoning, prisoners and tigers in cages could also be said to be pleased with themselves. These words are a forceful criticism of the doctrines of Yang and Mo.

This passage uses metaphors to show the harm that comes from losing one’s nature. The various commentaries have explained the point in detail, so it will not be discussed here item by item.

At the beginning, the chapter discusses how Heaven and Earth bring forth and transform the myriad things, and how numerous the people and beings of the world are. It argues that those who govern the world should observe the myriad things through the Dao and carry out governance through De, practicing Wuwei (non-action) and being free of desire, while ensuring that each role and responsibility is clearly defined. Though the myriad things differ, they can be brought into accord under the Dao without having to reject one another. Heaven and Earth are the greatest, and Dao and De are the most venerable. The Dao of the sage performs the same work as Heaven and Earth in sheltering and sustaining the myriad things, and so it may be spoken of alongside them. Someone asks, “If there were a sage but no Heaven and Earth, then what should be done…”

I believe that if Heaven and Earth existed without sages, what would make them Heaven and Earth? Clearly, Heaven and Earth and the sages depend on one another; neither can be dispensed with.

Thus the True Classic of the Southern Florescence (the Daoist name for the Zhuangzi) uses Heaven and Earth to explain a ruler’s virtue. This is the principle of presiding over Heaven and Earth, guiding the myriad things, and governing the world. When people see how many ways a sage can respond to the myriad things, they assume his wisdom and intelligence far exceed those of ordinary people. They do not realize that this comes precisely from an empty heart and Wuwei (non-action).

Therefore, one who has the virtue to govern the world first establishes the root and sets himself in order. Once he is upright, Heaven and Earth harmonize without being deliberately made to do so, and people and the myriad things transform of themselves without deliberate instruction. He does not rely on his eyes to see forms or his ears to hear sounds, yet he responds to the myriad things through subtle resonance. Such wondrous efficacy goes far beyond this.

When the Yellow Emperor lost the Dark Pearl, it was finally found by “Image-Nothing” (a figure for a state without intention or form). When Emperor Yao sought advice from Nie Que, Nie Que sent him to ask Xu You. These stories say that the Dao cannot be obtained through deliberate seeking, nor attained through cleverness and intellect alone.

The guardian of Hua offered the sage three blessings in succession. The sage shared wealth among the people, granted office to the worthy, and wished that after a thousand years the people might ascend to immortality. What burden could there be in acting this way? Zigao resigned his princely office and returned home to farm. This illustrates that when virtue declines and punishments arise, the worthy withdraw. As laws grow ever stricter, calamities accumulate in time, and disorder begins.

The text therefore looks back to the beginning, when being and nonbeing first emerged, and investigates the root from which the myriad things arise, as well as the source of nature and life. When virtue returns to its original state, the myriad things transform of themselves. Judging what is acceptable and unacceptable, what is right and wrong, and presenting oneself as respectful, frugal, fair, or loyal are all deliberate outward uses of the mind.

The old man of Hanyin was ashamed to use machinery; King Wu of Zhou, by contrast, led an army to war and rescued the people. The former held fast to simplicity and naturalness; the latter achieved righteousness through expedient action. Though their choices and actions differed with the times, neither departed from the Dao.

To frighten people and teach children to cling to a particular way of doing things is deeply foolish; those who do so will find it difficult to attain clarity and understanding throughout their lives. To destroy natural simplicity by carving wood into wine vessels disturbs the spirit and damages one’s nature. If virtue cannot preserve life, how can it govern the world? These people all treat hardship as a gain, like Yang Zhu and Mozi, who regarded an austere life as something worthy of praise.

To compare sages to doves, owls, tigers, or leopards is not merely to slight them; it is to despise them. In the past, Mencius refuted Yang Zhu and Mozi, thereby bringing the Way of the sages into clearer view. Later generations praised his achievement, considering it no less than Yu the Great’s. Here I say as well that the achievement of the True Classic of the Southern Florescence is no less than Mencius’s, and later generations will surely agree.

Collected Subtleties of the Sea of Meaning of the True Classic of the Southern Florescence, Volume 39