《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 40

Long ago, Shun asked Yao, “When you rule the world, what do you have in mind?”

Yao replied, “I do not slight those who have no one to turn to, nor abandon people in hardship. I do all I can to show kindness to those near death and enduring great suffering. I cherish young children and feel compassion for women. This is how I set my heart on governing.”

Shun said, “That is certainly good, but it is not yet far-reaching enough.”

Yao asked, “Then what would be far-reaching?”

Shun said, “Follow Heaven’s De (Virtue), the natural Way, and remain inwardly at peace even when you act. The sun and moon shine, the seasons turn, and day and night alternate in their regular order. Clouds move across the sky and rain falls.”

Yao said, “Your account sounds complicated and busy! You speak of being in accord with Heaven; I speak of being in accord with people. Heaven and Earth were what the ancients revered most. The Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun all praised them together. So what, exactly, did the ancient rulers do in governing the world? Nothing more than model themselves on Heaven and Earth.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: “Those with no one to turn to” means people without support. “Not abandoning them” means regularly showing them kindness. When one accords with Heaven’s De, even if one acts, the heart remains at peace. The changes of the seasons and the alternation of day and night are not deliberately arranged; they happen naturally. “Complicated and busy” means that it seems as though there are many affairs to attend to. So what, exactly, did the ancient rulers do in governing the world? Nothing more than follow Heaven’s De.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: To follow Heaven’s De is to act while remaining inwardly at peace. The sun and moon shine, the seasons turn, and things come and go, bending and extending, without anyone deliberately setting them in motion. Day and night alternate in their regular order, yet people do not know where that order begins. Clouds move and rain falls, evenly nourishing everything under Heaven. Seen in this light, were Yao’s words about not slighting those without support and not abandoning people in hardship not complicated and busy? Shun spoke of being in accord with Heaven; Yao spoke of being in accord with people. This is as far as the Confucians of the world understood Yao. Thus Zhuangzi uses the words of the two sages Yao and Shun to explain the Way of Heaven and Earth, which the ancients revered and praised together. The Yellow Emperor did so as well.

Yidu’s commentary: When Yao said he did not slight those without support and felt compassion for women, he meant that he dared not mistreat widowers or widows. “That is good, but not yet far-reaching enough” means that his kindness did not yet extend to generations to come. Though this was benevolence, it had not reached a truly far-reaching scope. Heaven’s De is the Way that arises naturally and is rooted in oneself. Thus, even when one acts, one remains at peace. Consider the movements of the sun and moon, the turning of the seasons, the movement of clouds and the falling of rain: do they intend to care for all the myriad things under Heaven? The Way of the ruler should be nothing more than this. After hearing Shun’s words, Yao understood that his earlier way of setting his heart on governing was misguided and seemed complicated and busy…

All these seem to be effects of the natural workings of Heaven and Earth. Yao sighed that what he did still involved deliberate arrangements. He was constantly busy and unsettled, doing what accorded with human affairs but not yet truly with the Dao of Heaven.

“Heaven and humanity in harmony” means following the Dao of Heaven and thereby connecting with humanity. “Humanity and Heaven in harmony” means beginning with human affairs and bringing them into accord with the Dao of Heaven. Heaven and Earth shelter and nurture the myriad things, extending their beneficence everywhere. Rulers should all seek to understand the De of Heaven and Earth. Even for the likes of the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun, nothing is more worthy of praise than De that accords with Heaven and Earth.

Xiangdao’s commentary says: Yao did not slight those who were poor and helpless, and Shun even grieved for a woman. These acts reveal a humane heart. The De of Heaven is natural and tranquil; clouds move, rain falls, and the myriad things grow. This reveals the Dao. Though the humane person does not act with deliberate intent, nothing is left undone. Thus, when people follow the Dao, they are in harmony with Heaven. Heaven’s workings, by contrast, unfold naturally and without artifice, so Heaven and humanity are in harmony. The Dao practiced by Yao and Shun was one and the same: Yao practiced the Dao of Heaven, though what he did belonged to human affairs; Shun practiced the human way, though what he did belonged to the Dao of Heaven. Yao practiced the Dao of Heaven in accord with human affairs, and so his De attained a fullness of beauty. Shun practiced human affairs in accord with the Dao of Heaven, and so his achievements shone with grandeur. “Jiaojiao” describes clinging and ceaseless activity; “raorao” describes disorderly, frantic busyness.

Bixu’s commentary says: Yao’s refusal to slight the poor and helpless fully reveals the humane heart. Shun believed that this alone had not yet entirely removed the traces of human contrivance, and so the state of realization was not yet great. The De of Heaven brings natural peace to all things, while human affairs can readily stir emotions. The alternation of light and darkness between day and night follows its own order; the movements of Heaven and Earth, rising and descending, follow their constant patterns. All these are expressions of the De of Heaven and Earth. Yao realized that what he did remained stuck in restless busyness, becoming more chaotic the harder he tried. Heaven and the myriad things accord with one another without any trace of deliberate intent, whereas harmony in human affairs leaves traces of human contrivance. Heaven and Earth are the foundation revered by the ancients. All that rulers of the world need do is understand and emulate their De.

Yanzhai says: The De of Heaven is the De of nature. “Bringing peace” means that Heaven and Earth stand before the myriad things and bring peace to the myriad states. The shining of the sun and moon, the movement of clouds, and the falling of rain all illustrate how nature operates and accomplishes things without deliberate intent. Yao believed that his actions inevitably involved subjective planning and remained restless and turbulent. They accorded only with human affairs, not yet with the Dao of Heaven. The lines that follow, “Heaven and Earth shelter and sustain the myriad things; their De reaches them all,” express Yao’s own reflections. The natural principles of Heaven and Earth are the greatest truths of all time, and people praise them together because they all recognize them. Governing the world has no special secret: emulating Heaven and Earth is enough.

The De of Heaven transforms through Wuwei (non-action). “Bringing peace” means acting naturally without any display of deliberate action. The sun and moon shine, and the seasons turn, all moving of themselves without anyone deliberately directing them from behind. Thus day and night follow their regular course, and their movements never go astray. Clouds move, rain falls, and the myriad things grow and change in the same way.

Exemplifying the way of ruling all under Heaven through one’s own person establishes De, and then there is no one among the people who will not rally to one’s side. Extending this De to teach and transform the myriad things, there is nothing that will fail to comply. Hearing these words, Yao came to an understanding and at last realized that all the turmoil he had caused before was far removed from acting in accord with nature. From this perspective, Yao and Shun’s De seems to differ in degree. Yet “Jie” (the title of a chapter) also presents the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun alike as worthy of praise, as though making no distinctions among them. This is the subtle way the Nanhua Jing (another name for the Zhuangzi) advances its argument through praise and censure, opening and closing its claims. Scholars who reflect on it carefully will understand.

Confucius went west to the Zhou royal court to collect books. Zilu, a disciple of Confucius, proposed, “I have heard that among the Zhou officials in charge of the classics there was a man named Lao Dan (Laozi). He has now left office and returned home. Since you wish to collect books, why not try asking him for help?” Confucius said, “Good.” He went to visit Lao Dan, but Lao Dan refused. Confucius then opened twelve classic texts and explained their principles to him. After listening, Lao Dan said, “You have spoken too broadly. Please explain the essentials.” Confucius replied, “The essentials are humaneness and righteousness.” Lao Dan asked, “May I ask whether humaneness and righteousness are part of human nature?” Confucius said, “Yes. A gentleman cannot fulfill himself without practicing humaneness, nor establish himself without practicing righteousness. Humaneness and righteousness are the nature of a true person. What else could they be?” Lao Dan asked again, “May I ask what humaneness and righteousness mean?” Confucius said, “A heart at ease, kindness toward all things, and universal love without selfishness: this is the substance of humaneness and righteousness.” Lao Dan said, “Ah, I fear those words go too far. To love all things—is that not far-fetched? To call oneself selfless is still a kind of selfishness. If you wish to keep the world from falling into disorder, consider this: Heaven and Earth each have their constant ways; the sun and moon each have their own light; the stars each have their proper order; birds and beasts each have their own groupings; and trees each grow in their own way. You need only act in accord with your De and proceed along the Dao. That is enough. Why so urgently exalt humaneness and righteousness, as though beating a drum to search for fugitives? I fear you are unsettling human nature.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “‘A heart at ease, kindness toward all things, and universal love without selfishness’ is what ordinary people call humaneness and righteousness. That is why Zhuangzi uses the dialogue between Confucius and Lao Dan to set the matter straight. True humaneness does not act with a heart bent on universal love; it simply follows circumstances and proceeds directly. What people call ‘selflessness’ means setting oneself aside to love others while still hoping that others will love oneself in return. This is not forgetting oneself to fulfill what is right; it is, in fact, a deep form of selfishness. From ‘Heaven and Earth each have their constant ways’ through ‘trees each grow in their own way,’ the point is that the myriad things are each complete in themselves and need no universal love to arrange them. When things arise, respond with care in keeping with the circumstances; when what is fitting has been done, stop there. This is how one forgets the names ‘humaneness’ and ‘righteousness.’”

People also often talk of benevolence and righteousness, yet this can instead disturb their true nature.

Lü’s Commentary: Confucius was not valued in his time. He wanted to put his teachings away for safekeeping, leaving them for the exemplary people of later generations.

The “Twelve Classics” mentioned here refers to the classics Confucius used to bring order to worldly affairs. Confucius taught the world through the human way, keeping their subtle workings hidden and never stating them directly. Thus, the central principle of the Twelve Classics for governing worldly affairs comes down to benevolence and righteousness.

Laozi advocated putting an end to contrived learning and returning to simplicity, using “truth” to guide the world. Benevolence and righteousness were therefore precisely what he believed should be cast aside. He consequently held that they were not part of human nature.

From the perspective of the human way, benevolence means not only fulfilling oneself but also helping others to flourish; righteousness means not only benefiting others but also enabling oneself to stand firm. The exemplary person gives life to all things and brings them to fulfillment through benevolence and righteousness, and so regards these as the nature of the true person.

From the perspective of the “true nature of the Dao,” the human heart naturally delights in all things; this delight is not imposed by external things. As long as nothing goes against nature, there is nothing a person cannot take pleasure in. The highest benevolence expresses itself in action, yet does not cling to its deeds as achievements. This comes close to the truth, but still does not reach the root.

Later, people spoke of “universal love,” though this was considered not to be an inborn virtue. They also said, “Better to give naturally, like clouds moving and rain falling.” Laozi therefore regarded such talk as convoluted. Whenever people deliberately establish a name for something, it is often because something is lacking in the first place; to claim to be selfless can sometimes mean that one has already fallen into selfishness. To govern the world, one need only ensure that all things remain in their proper places, each receiving the care it needs, in accordance with its natural nature.

Heaven and Earth have constant patterns, and trees each have their own place to take root and grow. This is what is meant by the natural nature of all things. De lies in Wuwei (non-action), while the Dao models itself on what is natural. Why, then, pursue it so insistently, as if beating a drum in haste to summon someone? This means that once people lose their nature, benevolence and righteousness cannot restore it.

Yidu’s Commentary: “Archivist of the Expeditionary Records” was an official post responsible for overseeing the book collections. Confucius had failed to put the Great Dao into practice and wanted to deposit his writings in the Zhou royal archives for people of later generations. At that time, Lao Dan had resigned from office and retired. Confucius went to visit him, but Lao Dan did not agree to his request.

Confucius edited the Book of Songs and the Book of Documents, revised the rites and music, composed the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Six Weft Texts, and expounded the principles of the Book of Changes. Together, these were called the “Six Classics.” They were later developed and explained as the Twelve Classics. Lao Dan considered their contents fragmented and cumbersome, and hoped Confucius would state their essential point. Confucius replied that this point was benevolence and righteousness.

Lao Dan stood outside the bounds of worldly convention and considered benevolence and righteousness contrary to natural nature. Confucius stood within those bounds and considered them the nature of the true person. Everyone hopes that all things may be at peace and happy, and that they may love one another universally and without partiality. This is a natural expression of human feeling, and shows that benevolence and righteousness arise from human nature.

Lao Dan said, “Alas…” The original text breaks off here.

Those in later generations who deliberately promoted benevolence and righteousness had already come close to hypocrisy. Universal love—loving everyone without distinction of closeness or distance—still involves attachment; better to have no love at all. To harbor no selfish thoughts still leaves a trace of “having self-interest”; better not even to know what one’s selfish thoughts are.

Confucius advocated universal love and selflessness because he wanted everyone under Heaven to be provided for. The best way is to let things follow their natural course: people draw close to one another without knowing this as “benevolence,” and treat one another with affection without knowing this as “righteousness.” From the regular patterns of Heaven and Earth to trees standing upright, all happens naturally, without deliberate action; each thing is simply fulfilling its own nature. Let De (Virtue/Power) appear of itself without feeling that you are bestowing virtue; follow the Dao (the Way) without feeling that you are walking the Way. Why labor to hold up benevolence and righteousness before the people of the world in an attempt to restore their nature? It is like beating a drum to search for a lost child.

Xiangdao’s commentary: Lao Dan (Laozi) made the Dao and De the foundation of his teaching, while Confucius’s classics made benevolence and righteousness their foundation. If people act in accord with De and move in accord with the Dao, all under Heaven can be preserved naturally through Wuwei (non-action), with their nature intact. But if they cling to benevolence and follow righteousness, people under Heaven will instead act deliberately and turn away from their true nature. This is the point Zhuangzi makes by recording Confucius’s words and deeds.

To be inwardly at ease with all things and delight in them is “universal love”; to have no selfish thoughts is “selflessness.” But universal love still leaves something unloved, so it is not what is meant by the highest benevolence; true highest benevolence makes no distinction between those who are close and those who are distant. If selflessness is still something one deliberately pursues, it leaves traces of self-interest and is not what is meant by the highest righteousness; true highest righteousness does not distinguish among things as objects of treatment. The reason the noble person values forgetting benevolence and righteousness is to reach their utmost.

Confucius once said to Lao Dan: “I have studied the Book of Songs, the Book of Documents, the Book of Rites, the Book of Music, the Book of Changes, and the Spring and Autumn Annals; I think I have been studying them for a long time.” The phrase “Twelve Classics” here expands the Six Classics into twelve works.

Bixu’s commentary: Confucius wanted to preserve books, but Lao Dan disagreed. He considered these old things like straw dogs discarded after a sacrifice, unworthy of preservation. The Six Classics are divided into categories in this account, hence the name “Twelve Classics.” The highest benevolence is achieved without deliberate action; the highest righteousness is attained without deliberate practice. If one acts in accord with one’s nature, how could that be hypocrisy? Being inwardly at ease with all things shows that one has not yet forgotten one’s attachments; deliberately seeking selflessness cannot help leaving traces of human contrivance. To cling to feelings of benevolence and righteousness is to be far from the Dao.

Spring brings growth and autumn brings gathering; each has its constant course. Day and night, the sun, moon, and stars move in order; the constellations are arrayed across the sky; creatures that fly and creatures that dive each follow their kind; plants grow in clusters, each standing upright. It is enough to act in accord with these natural patterns. Why labor to do more?

Yanzhai’s account: Confucius asked the Zhou court to preserve books. This means that he traveled west to Zhou, hoping to examine them… (The original text ends here.)

Confucius wrote books and set out his doctrines, repeating his views again and again. Partway through his discourse, Laozi judged these arguments too sweeping and abstract. Confucius, however, delighted in the myriad things and went on to discuss more familiar topics. “Danger” is one meaning of “ji.” The myriad things are all different, so how could they all be loved equally? This convoluted doctrine, so difficult to put into practice, would ultimately fail. As soon as one gains a reputation for being “selfless,” the heart already harbors the idea of “self.” If one wishes to ensure that nothing under Heaven is deprived of nourishment, one should let each thing grow according to its own natural transformation. How could one allow people to force this upon them? It is enough to imitate the virtue of nature and follow its patterns; then the aim can be achieved. Beating a drum to search for a child who has run away means that such an act will only alarm everyone and accomplish nothing.

Seeing the decline of the age and the waning of right conduct, Confucius wanted to deposit the books he had compiled in the Zhou royal library, there to await the appearance of a sage in later generations. Perhaps he did so out of necessity: through written words, he hoped to pass his teachings on to posterity and establish an education. His purpose was deeply sincere. Laozi disagreed because, if the Great Dao could not be put into practice in their own age, what good would it do to leave behind only the dregs of the ancients’ words?

There is no consensus about what “the Twelve Classics” means. An old note in Lu’s Commentary on Sounds and Meanings holds that the Six Classics—the Book of Odes, Book of Documents, Book of Rites, Book of Music, Book of Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals—together with the Six Weft Texts, make up the Twelve Classics. Another interpretation counts the upper and lower parts of the Book of Changes along with its Ten Wings. Yet another holds that “the Twelve Classics” refers to the twelve reign-by-reign records in the Spring and Autumn Annals, attributed to Confucius. These interpretations are all broadly plausible. In any case, the passage uses analogy to convey its meaning, so there is no need to insist on a literal reading of the specific words.

“To hit the mark in his argument” means that Confucius’s words addressed the point, though Laozi considered them diffuse and beside what mattered most. Confucius said that the key to governing an age lay in benevolence and righteousness: these were the principles that should take priority in governing society. Laozi, by contrast, held that if benevolence and righteousness do not arise from human nature, one should return to simplicity and go back to the root. The Dao and De are already present there.

Confucius replied, “The heart delights in the myriad things.” Lu’s Commentary on Sounds and Meanings says that some editions have “do not” in place of “things,” and this translation follows that reading. The character “zhong” should be read with the falling tone and means “to keep things from disturbing the heart”—that is, not to be stirred to anger by external things. Seen in this way, loving all things equally and without selfishness is the feeling of benevolence and righteousness. Laozi, however, said, “Dangerous! These words are far removed from the Dao.” The more deliberately people try to be selfless, the more likely they are to fulfill their own selfish aims.

If one wishes to ensure that nothing under Heaven is deprived of nourishment, then Heaven and Earth, the sun, moon, and stars, birds and beasts, plants and trees—all will each follow their nature and find what suits them. It is enough for human conduct to imitate nature’s virtue and follow the Dao. Why strain to promote benevolence and righteousness? That would be like beating a drum to search for a child who has run away: in the end, the child will not be found.

Shi Chengqi paid a visit to Laozi and asked, “I heard that you are a sage. I wasn’t afraid of the long journey, so I came all this way to see you. I walked for hundreds of li, my feet grew thick with calluses, and I never dared to stop. But now that I see you, you don’t seem like a sage: there are leftovers by a mousehole in the corner, yet you show no concern for your younger sister—how unkind. Cooked and uncooked food is piled up before you; you can’t finish it, yet you keep accumulating more. Your greed has no limit.”

Laozi gave no answer. The next day, Shi Chengqi came to see him again and said, “Before, I mocked you. Now the prejudice in my heart has faded. Why is that?”

Laozi said, “I have long wanted to free myself from the judgments of those who think themselves clever, wondrous, or sage-like. In the past, you called me an ox, and I was called an ox; you called me a horse, and I was called a horse. If a name truly fits me, there is no need to reject whatever others call me. If I insist on arguing, I will only invite trouble. My conduct may always appear to follow the names imposed on me from outside, but I do not follow them for the sake of following.”

Shi Chengqi stepped in single file, like a flock of geese, keeping clear of Laozi’s shadow. He followed the path Laozi had taken, then came forward and asked, “How should one cultivate oneself?”

Laozi said, “Your expression is severe, your gaze piercing, your forehead raised, your mouth open. You look as if you are about to preside over a trial. You are also like a tethered horse, restrained and uneasy. Every movement leaves you tense, as though you might erupt at any moment. You observe keenly and scrutinize everything; you are clever and calculating, yet seem pleased with yourself. None of these traits can be trusted. There is a man like this at the border, whom people call ‘Thief.’”

Laozi continued, “The Dao (the fundamental principle of all things) is vast and boundless, yet it leaves nothing out, however small. All things are within it; nothing lies beyond its embrace. It is deep and subtle, beyond measure. Physical form, De, benevolence, and righteousness are all merely the outward expressions of spirit. Who can bring them into proper order except the Perfected Person, one who embodies and follows the Dao? The Perfected Person lives among the people of the world, yet surely his realm is vast. The affairs of the world are not enough to burden him. While people everywhere contend for power, he does not join them. He sees things clearly without relying on illusions, and does not alter himself for the sake of profit. He investigates the reality of all things and can hold fast to their root. Thus he goes beyond Heaven and Earth, forgets the myriad things, and his spirit is never troubled. He understands the Dao and is in accord with De, putting benevolence and righteousness in a secondary place and treating ritual and music as guests. Thus the Perfected Person’s heart finds peace.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Leftovers by a mousehole” means that Laozi does not begrudge material things. “Showing no concern for his younger sister” means that he does not treat affection for those close to him as favoritism. The cooked and uncooked food he cannot finish is plentiful because he has an ample supply, so there are always leftovers. He welcomes all things as they return, without imposing divisions on them. Shi Chengqi mocked Laozi at first because he could not yet let go of his preconceptions; only later did he gradually free himself of that state of mind. When others called Laozi an ox or a horse, he accepted the names according to the things themselves. When a name matches what is real, there is no need to be moved by praise or blame. But if one takes names to heart and clings to the distinction between name and reality, one invites trouble. “Following” here refers to outward bearing and conduct.

One does not bring calamity upon oneself because of another person’s slander or praise; only then can one remain unchanged in one’s expression. If one treats deliberate action as the norm, one cannot maintain a natural state for long.

A tense expression and hurrying forward suggest unease. A gaze that darts outward seems to pursue things beyond oneself. A jutting forehead gives one an exposed, conspicuous look. An open mouth and glaring eyes appear violent and boastful. Stiff movements, as if tiptoeing to peer ahead, and a self-satisfied look in the eyes, suggest conceit. These signs show that one’s thoughts are caught up in rushing about and chasing after things, leaving no room for ease and freedom. One acts hurriedly, eager either to approach or to withdraw, and sees right and wrong with excessive sharpness. What is called “composure” here means going beyond one’s nature and deliberately appearing at ease. To be skilled at displaying such composure is, in fact, to be poor at preserving simplicity. All these are signs of distrust in one’s nature and Heaven-given life, and of letting praise and blame agitate the spirit. They are not a way of cultivating oneself.

There are people on the frontier who behave as you do, but they are not people of the true Way. The Perfected Person, as the Daoist tradition calls one who has reached the highest state, does not worry about the multitude of things in the world. The mind is quiet, responds to things as they come, and proceeds calmly in accord with one’s true nature, never becoming trapped by them. The Perfected Person advances through Dao and De, yet takes one’s natural disposition as the root. The mind of the Perfected Person rests in Wuwei (non-action), without deliberate contrivance.

Lü’s commentary: A mouse has spoiled surplus vegetables; using them to relieve a poor woman’s hunger is acceptable. But abandoning one’s younger sister is inhumane. If cooked and uncooked food is set before you, you may refrain from taking it all; but accumulating without limit is unrighteous. Laozi advocates “abandoning learning and returning to simplicity”: casting aside contrived learning and returning to what is plain, showing oneself as one truly is. Shicheng Qi, however, judged him by the standards of benevolence and righteousness, so Laozi gave no response. This was precisely to let Shicheng Qi’s thoughts subside and his mind settle.

If one regards intelligence, ingenuity, and sagacity as abilities one can possess through one’s own efforts, then “abandoning learning and returning to simplicity” means returning to the original state of doing nothing contrived. You call one thing inhumane and another unrighteous. That is like someone calling me an ox, and I become known as an ox; someone calls me a horse, and I become known as a horse. If a thing has substance of its own, I need not accept whatever name someone gives it. That is why I remain indifferent. To stir up desires and busy oneself with affairs instead only unsettles oneself, leaves one unable to save oneself, and brings calamity upon oneself.

What I hold to is the constant Way. When one holds to the constant Way, the mind remains within the Way. I do not deliberately put on the appearance of holding to the Way, yet others see me as someone devoted to spiritual cultivation. Shicheng Qi understands a little, but cannot grasp the mind of the Perfected Person because his own foundation is insufficient.

A tense expression seems unwilling to engage with things beyond oneself. A gaze that darts outward seems to pursue them. A jutting forehead gives one the look of unformed simplicity. An open mouth and glaring eyes suggest words about to burst out. Stiff movements seem, on the surface, to avoid forming factions, yet inwardly the mind is as unsettled as a horse held by the reins. One deliberately restrains oneself in action, rather than truly being able to avoid reckless movement. Once one sets out, it is like a crossbow being triggered: difficult to control. If one insists on examining and distinguishing everything, one is no longer practicing the concealed, unostentatious wisdom; one is displaying cleverness and skill… (The original text ends here, unfinished.)

To regard things as excessively important is to abandon the attitude of preserving simplicity and holding fast to what is plain. All the practices described above stem merely from a lack of faith in the Dao. To be outside the borders is to be beyond the scope of the Dao; to steal is to take what does not belong to oneself. If the great cannot be carried through to its end, then Heaven and Earth have not yet transcended the distinction between inside and outside. If nothing is overlooked in the small, then even the finest hair must await being shaped into a complete form. Is there anything among the myriad things under Heaven that is not already complete? The Dao is vast and contains all things; it is so deep that it cannot be measured. This is why the Dao is wondrous. When the Dao disperses, it becomes form; when the Dao is lost, De (Virtue/Power) remains; when De falls into decline, benevolence and righteousness arise. These are all merely the downstream branches of the wondrous Dao. Who but a perfected person could set these principles straight?

The ordinary world is no burden, so it can be cast aside. People throughout the world strive to seize power, but he does not join them. One who can forget the world does so precisely by forgetting it, and is therefore not led by profit. To cast aside the ordinary world is to hold fast to the root. The wondrous Dao is obscured only because people do not understand these principles. Do not obstruct the Dao or adulterate De; keep your distance from benevolence and righteousness without becoming caught up in them; regard ritual and music as guests, rather than making them your masters. Only then can the heart find peace.

Commentary by Yidu (a commentator in The Collected Subtlety of the Meaning of the True Classic of Southern Florescence): To say that vegetable scraps remained in the rat earth at Laozi’s dwelling was to call him unclean; to say that he abandoned an ignorant woman without teaching her was to call him unkind; to say that he could not distinguish cooked food from raw was to call him unrighteous; and to say that he amassed wealth without limit was to call him greedy. These people did not understand Laozi but mocked him recklessly, so Laozi remained indifferent and made no reply.

“My heart is upright and yielding” means that the earlier impulse to mock others had already disappeared. Labels such as “clever” and “sagely” inevitably leave traces. Laozi once sought to cast them all aside, and so believed he had freed himself from them.

Others called him an ox or a horse, and he accepted whatever they called him. The perfected person sees the myriad things as one. How could he distinguish an ox from a horse? Only where something real exists can a name arise. If something truly exists and others name it, but one refuses to accept the name, then both name and reality become burdens, bringing trouble once more. If one can forget both name and reality, cling neither to self nor things, and remain unattached to praise or blame, right or wrong, letting things be as they naturally are, what trouble could arise?

“Constant” means enduring; “settled” means that the heart is made peaceful and does not waver. Lao Dan said that his heart had long been settled by the ultimate principle. He did not make it peaceful by deliberately suppressing anything, so neither slander nor praise could enter it.

“To walk with a slanting, goose-like step, turning aside to avoid one’s own shadow” means that he walked as though following behind another, tracing that person’s steps and not daring to move ahead. If one is always constrained by rules of outward appearance and cannot let the heart be at ease, the heart will become unsettled and grow increasingly restless. As for “tall and imposing, fierce and…”—the original text breaks off here, before the sentence is complete.

He projects an imposing presence and uses exaggerated words, adopts a reserved manner, and persuades people with inflated claims. On the surface, he speaks of acting in accordance with what is right, but in fact he seeks to curry favor.

Like a horse held fast, he cannot calm his restless mind. Whenever he acts, he is constrained by external things; whenever he sets something in motion, it is as swift as a crossbow firing. He is sharp at judging right and wrong and clever in his devices, yet he is pulled along by a multitude of affairs. These traits all arise because he cannot embody the Dao (the Way) in himself. He is no different from the border man named “Thief.”

The Dao reaches everywhere: from the vastness of Heaven and Earth to the tiniest hair, there is nowhere it is absent. Thus, all things are at once boundless and all-encompassing, yet deep and subtle, beyond measurement. The physical form has not yet escaped the realm of things with form. De (Virtue/Power) is the Dao as it appears within oneself; benevolence and righteousness are forms in which the Dao becomes dispersed and manifest. These are all merely the outermost expressions of Shen (spirit). Who but a perfected person could distinguish root from branch, or subtlety from shallowness?

The mind of a perfected person becomes one with the transformations of Heaven and Earth. Thus, even if he possesses the world, he is not burdened by it. Even if everyone in the world employs schemes, his mind does not join them in their pursuit. He discerns his true nature and is not changed by gain; he probes the reality of things and holds fast to the root. When unfolded, the Dao is simply the Dao; when gathered and embodied in oneself, it is De. As the Dao and De advance, benevolence and righteousness recede. To value the root and set little store by its branches is the natural course.

Ritual and music are expressions of nature and feeling after they have become scattered. A perfected person is not enslaved by external things, so he makes nature and feeling the host, and ritual and music the guest. Knowing what should advance and what should withdraw, and distinguishing host from guest, he has a settled standard within.

The Xiangdao commentary says: Laozi ate the scraps left beside a rat hole, yet this did not make him frugal; he abandoned his younger sister, yet this did not make him benevolent; he continually amassed wealth, yet this did not mean he knew contentment. Without true frugality, one does not cherish external things; without true benevolence, one does not treat one’s kin generously; without true contentment, one’s heart cannot be satisfied. Judging the inner life by outward behavior and probing what is subtle through what is shallow, one would conclude that Laozi was no sage.

Yet the principles that “great frugality is not stinginess, great benevolence does not cling to the name of benevolence, and great purity does not take satisfaction in its own contentment” were beyond Cheng Qi’s understanding. So Laozi remained indifferent and did not answer. Laozi believed that he had long since freed himself from cleverness and the title of “sage.” Cheng Qi, however, said that he had only the reputation of a sage, not the substance. How could that be called understanding him? As for “a dignified appearance,” and attaining supreme knowledge, using cleverness, and seeming self-satisfied, these were precisely the principles Laozi taught Cheng Qi for cultivating himself. The Jing says: “The appearance of the True Person is serene…”

Your expression and manner are constrained and stiff. You act only according to what is right, yet cannot live in harmony with others, so you seem isolated, awkward, and rigid.

What Guo Xiang calls “striding forward with exaggerated steps, putting oneself on display” refers to this eagerness to show off and make oneself conspicuous. Laozi speaks of being “calm, even, and at ease.” The Jing says, “When the mind is broad and settled, one can experience ease and composure.” This is not the kind of display that, in Guo Xiang’s view, goes beyond one’s nature. Deliberately restraining yourself in action can instead lead to reckless movement that violates the Great Dao. This is like using cleverness to pursue ease and composure, or busily searching for the Dao of non-delusion.

If you stray from the right path, you cannot attain balance; what you take by theft does not truly belong to you. The way of cultivating yourself lies in embodying and practicing it in earnest. How could someone who cultivates the Dao in a remote place by stealing ever truly understand it? Great things must eventually run out, while small things are often overlooked. The Great Dao, however, neither runs out in what is great nor overlooks what is small. Yet both great and small depend on physical form; the formless Dao is not measured by size. To speak of the Dao in terms of size is like using a fish trap or a rabbit snare: each is only a means to an end.

The spirit responds to external things; only by forgetting them can the spirit be whole. The mind attends to what is within; only by forgetting its inward attachments can the mind be still. Heaven, earth, and the myriad things belong to the external, so attachment to them must be set aside if the spirit is to remain undisturbed. Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music belong to the internal, so they must be temporarily released and put aside if the mind is to find a place of calm.

Bixuzi’s commentary says: Do not mistakenly think that Laozi wanted to peer through crude appearances into the mind of a sage. Cheng Qi also says that he once harbored misguided thoughts, but has now corrected them. Laozi tells him, “I have long since freed myself from those absurd and outlandish labels. To call a horse an ox is either deception or a confusion of names and realities. When there is a thing, there is a name to match it; once there is a name, one is burdened by it. But if you refuse to accept it, you may bring trouble upon yourself.”

“Taking in” means putting something to use. Laozi says that his own use of things is usually in accord with the Dao, and so leaves no trace. He is not boasting of this usual way of acting in accord with the Dao in order to make others admire it.

Cheng Qi respectfully asks about the way of self-cultivation. Laozi says, “Your bearing is perverse, and your spirit races outward. You deliberately put on an air of simplicity, then raise your voice to flaunt your authority. Your manner is constrained and rigid, like a horse held fast and forced to stand still. You have not yet been trained, yet you force yourself into restraint. In action, you are calculating at every turn; in stillness, you are full of suspicion. You speculate and scheme beyond the bounds of your proper role, all because you do not trust this Dao. As a result, you deal with people as though they were enemies, calculating every move.”

“Greatness has no outer boundary, so it never runs out; smallness has no inner boundary, so nothing is overlooked. Since it neither runs out nor overlooks anything, all things are contained within it. If it cannot contain all things, its scope is narrow; if external things can measure it, its scope is shallow. The means of governing the myriad things are merely remnants of what the Perfected One possesses.”

Though the things of the world are vast and numerous, the Perfected Person—one who has realized the Great Dao—does not take them to heart. Instead, they settle themselves through the “uncarved simplicity without a name,” the natural, authentic state untouched by human distinctions, and so are never troubled by anything. When one understands the Dao, the mind becomes empty and still, practicing Wuwei (non-action). When one accords with De (Virtue/Power), one does not lose one’s nature. Put benevolence and righteousness second, and selfishness diminishes; put ritual and music second, and desires diminish. If the mind can be brought to this state, would that not count as being settled?

Yanzhai says: Leftover vegetables are ruined by rats and discarded in a dark place. This shows that he does not care for things, and so he is judged unbenevolent. Cooked and uncooked food are set before him, yet he does not eat it all; this shows that he has food in abundance. People once mocked him for this, but now his heart has withdrawn from seeking, and he no longer cares about their judgments. After seeing these things, he suddenly awakened: he had freed himself from the contrived learning that prizes cleverness, the mysterious, and sagely wisdom, and had risen beyond it.

If others call me a horse or call me an ox, I simply let them. If I really did the thing, yet refused to admit it when others mocked me, that would be compounding the error: knowing I was wrong, I would be covering it up and carrying on in error. This has always been how I conduct myself. I do not act this way because I have decided that a certain kind of behavior is correct and deliberately perform it. If I acted deliberately, I could not be called tranquil. I do not make myself still just because “stillness” is a good thing.

“To tread and advance” means to move forward step by step; “to lift the foot lightly” means to make gradual progress. “Standing out” means appearing different from others; “glaring suddenly” means staring fiercely; “gaping and glaring” means opening the mouth and staring; “unyielding” means hard and stubborn. Tying a horse so that it cannot move is the sense of “sitting while galloping”: the body sits, but the mind and spirit race restlessly. Deliberately stiff behavior and reactions that spring like a triggered crossbow; taking oneself to be observant and discerning, and thus displaying pride and complacency in one’s own intelligence—all these signs arise from a lack of sincerity.

In the border regions, if there were someone like this, people would surely point to him as a bandit, because his calculating mind is too strong and he does not accord with nature. Living this way is bound to bring calamity.

When Confucius and Laozi speak of the “great,” they mean something without limits; when they speak of the “small,” they mean something with nothing left over. That is, nothing can contain what is so great, and nothing can divide what is so small. Not one of the myriad things can be apart from the Dao, so the Dao embraces both breadth and depth. When the Dao takes form as De, benevolence, and righteousness, these are its subtle workings. Who but a Perfected Person could discern their root from their branches?

Even possession of all under Heaven cannot burden his heart; even rising up to wield the power of all under Heaven cannot set his heart racing along with that power. This means his heart does not waver. He does not calculate gain and loss, but devotes himself to seeking truth, and so can preserve his original tranquility. Even if he stands beyond Heaven and Earth and casts aside the myriad things, his heart remains unmoved. What, then, could constrain his spirit? To understand the Dao and De is to accord with nature. Benevolence and righteousness are secondary; they are not what one seeks first.

The Perfected Person takes nature and disposition as fundamental, and places ritual and music in a secondary position. In this way, the heart can become quiet and settled.

The term “abandoning the lesser” has been interpreted in many ways by commentators, and they have disagreed over its pronunciation as well. According to the pronunciation and explanation in Lu Deming’s Jingdian Shiwen, earlier annotations read it as “mo” and took it to mean lightly discarding lesser forms of learning. Here I follow that pronunciation but offer a different explanation. Cheng Qi saw vegetable leaves left beside a mouse hole and suspected that Laozi was not a sage. He probably thought that a sage should neither reject nor take anything from the myriad things. The vegetable roots were still there, yet the leaves had been discarded; this seemed like a failure to cherish things, approaching a lack of benevolence. The phrase below, “raw and cooked food cannot all be consumed before one,” means that food is piled up before you, so that you cannot finish all of it, raw or cooked. In the past, someone traveling into the mountains to visit a friend saw vegetable leaves floating in a stream near the friend’s dwelling and turned back without going on. That story makes the same point. Cheng Qi was judging the sage by ordinary standards, so Laozi did not answer him directly.

“Xi” is pronounced “xi” and means a gap. Laozi understood the taunts made against him in the past, but did not take them seriously. He said: “I have already cast off labels such as clever, ingenious, and sacred. If people call me a horse or an ox, I simply hear them out. You first judged me by the standard of a ‘sage’; that already shows you do not understand me. Now you reproach me for ‘not being a sage’—how is that different from casually calling me an ox or a horse? Such names add nothing to me and take nothing away.”

In the lines “I hold to it; I always hold to it,” the word “hold” has long been explained in different ways. Here it means to take something to heart: to choose it with care and keep it firmly in mind. Laozi says that he has always held fast to the sage’s Dao. Yet this does not mean treating the act of choosing and holding fast as a deliberate pursuit.

“Footwear” here refers to shoes. “Not setting the heel down” means that the heel does not land firmly while walking, describing hurried steps. “Unsteady” describes an unstable gait; “surging” means rushing forward; “raised” means held high; “mouth agape” describes someone about to speak but not yet having spoken. “Righteous” describes a person who is rigid and self-important. These mannerisms resemble a tethered horse that stands still yet remains restless. “Acting while restraining oneself” means that even in action one must deliberately keep oneself under control. This is neither natural stillness nor natural movement. Anything deliberately restrained or driven leaves traces of conscious effort.

“To observe and judge carefully” means taking close scrutiny to be wisdom. “To be clever and show it” means that one’s schemes are visible in a proud expression. If ordinary people do not believe what I say, they can look at those who stray from the right path: their conduct is called theft. This is a sharp indictment of Cheng Qi’s fault.

The passage beginning “The Master said” is a teaching addressed to Cheng Qi. The Dao transcends form and quantity, and cannot be measured by size. It is vast, with nothing it cannot contain, and so deep that it cannot be fathomed. Forms, De, benevolence, and righteousness are only secondary manifestations of wondrous transformation; only the Perfected Person can understand their source.

Even with all-under-Heaven in one’s possession, one is not burdened by its affairs; even with power over all-under-Heaven, one does not become entangled in power or its business.

Though external things are constantly changing, my mind can remain calm. When I perceive the truth of the Dao (the Way), no gain can make me waver. Understanding the patterns by which all things operate allows me to hold fast to the root. Then even Heaven and Earth can be set aside, and all things can be let go. If the spirit (Shen) is strong enough to master external things, what could ever hold me captive?

Only when one understands the Great Dao and is in accord with De (Virtue/Power) will benevolence and righteousness naturally recede, and ritual and music become guests. The mind of the Perfected One is settled; thus it is able to settle the minds of all under Heaven.