《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 44

When Confucius was fifty-one, he still had not heard the Dao, so he went south to Pei to visit Laozi (Old Dan). Laozi said: “You have come! I hear you are a worthy man of the north—have you already attained the Dao?” Confucius replied: “Not yet.” Laozi asked: “Where have you sought the Dao?” Confucius said: “For five years I sought it in ritual, law, and calendrical norms, and still did not obtain it.” Laozi asked again: “Where else have you sought it?” Confucius said: “For twelve years I sought it in the principles of yin-yang change, and still did not obtain it.”

Laozi said: “Indeed. If the Dao could be handed over to others, everyone would give it to their ruler; if it could be presented as tribute, everyone would present it to their parents; if it could be told to others, everyone would tell their brothers; if it could be given away, everyone would pass it on to their children and grandchildren. Yet the Dao cannot be passed on in this way—for no other reason than that without an inner master that can bear the Dao, the Dao cannot stay; without outward conditions that are upright, the Dao cannot be practiced. What comes from within cannot be imposed from outside; therefore the sage does not deliberately display it. What enters from outside, if there is no inner master, cannot be settled; therefore the sage does not hide it.

Titles and positions are public goods—one must not grasp too many. Benevolence and righteousness are temporary lodgings left by the ancient kings—one may stay a night, but not long; if you take them as a fixed home, you will invite much blame. The ultimate persons of old borrowed the way of benevolence and righteousness for a time, treating them as a night’s lodging, roaming in carefree ease, living in fields that are simple and easy to nourish, standing in gardens that do not seek outwardly. Carefree ease means acting without contrivance and following one’s nature; simple and easy to nourish means being easily satisfied in life; not seeking outwardly means not grasping from outside.

The ancients called this way of life “travel in gathering the real”—a journey of seeking what is true and free. Those who treat wealth as worth pursuing cannot give up salary; those who treat eminence as worth pursuing cannot give up fame; those who cling to power cannot hand authority to others. When they hold power they tremble with fear; when they release it they grieve—yet they never use anything to reflect on their own never-satisfied desires. Such people are punished by Heaven’s way.

Resentment and favor, taking and giving, remonstrance and instruction, execution and pardon—these eight are tools for straightening government. Only one who follows great change and is not blocked or constrained can employ them. Therefore it is said: “Correctness” means making things return to the right. If inwardly one does not think so, then the heavenly gate to the Dao will not open.

Guo Xiang’s commentary notes that Confucius sought the Dao in ritual, law, calendrical norms, and the principles of yin-yang, yet never obtained it. Zhuangzi uses the dialogue between Confucius and Laozi to show that one should go beyond deliberate study: if inwardly one lacks the capacity to receive the Dao, even hearing it, one cannot truly grasp it.

When the Dao flows from within but the heart has no governing principle, external things have no basis on which to set themselves right. As a result, one can never connect with the Dao. The Dao of the sage issues from the heart, but there must be someone in the world able to receive it for the Dao to become manifest. When the Dao enters from outside, the heart and nature must be cultivated through learning. Although the heart and nature can be cultivated through learning, the heart must first have a foundation capable of bearing them. Without a governing principle within, there is no way to receive the Dao of the sage.

Names and social distinctions are shared by everyone under Heaven. They are often used to embellish words and conduct beyond what is real; when people pursue them too zealously, the world falls into disorder. Benevolence and righteousness are inherent in human nature, but human nature changes, and it is not the same in ancient and modern times. Therefore, in dealing with the world, one should adapt to changing circumstances rather than cling to a single position. Clinging to one side produces fixed views; once fixed views arise, pretense follows, and demands for blame and correction multiply. One should respond to the changes of the times without leaving fixed tracks behind. Following the simple Way makes cultivation easy. Do not let external things harm you; let things take their natural course. This is true gathering of the real—gathering one’s true nature. When the real has been gathered, one’s outward expression will not be false.

Some people under Heaven entangle themselves in their own judgments of right and wrong, even burying their lives in what they believe to be right. They establish right and wrong in a place where they refuse to yield. If they abandon what they have stood by, they feel grief; if they hold on tightly, they cannot help but tremble. Knowing only how to advance and not when to stop, they lose their nature and their lives. Thus, clinging to old methods without change means losing the true Way.

Lü’s commentary explains: The Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, and Two gives birth to Three, but the Dao itself is not One, Two, or Three. If you seek the Dao through numbers, you remain within the bounds of numbers; thus, even after five years, you will not attain the Dao. The Dao differentiates into Yin-Yang, but the Dao itself is not Yin-Yang either. If you seek it only within Yin-Yang, you remain within the bounds of Heaven and Earth; thus, even after twelve years, you will not attain the Dao.

The Dao cannot be passed on to one’s parents, siblings, or descendants simply by offering it to them or telling them about it. This is because the heart has no governing principle, or the world lacks a proper recipient. When the heart has no guiding principle, I may wish to teach, but the other person cannot settle into the teaching. When the world lacks a proper recipient, the other person may wish to receive it, but I cannot transmit it effectively. All things have their own governing principle; within each person, the Dao is inherently present. Without an inner foundation that can truly bear it, even if the Dao is handed to someone, they cannot settle into it. An arrow needs a target to receive it; the Dao is the same within a person. There must be a foundation able to receive it, and forcing its transmission cannot make it work. When the Dao issues from the heart, the sage does not reveal it if the world has no proper recipient. When the Dao enters from outside, the sage does not take it into the heart if the heart has no governing principle. To say that it is “not taken in” means that one cannot draw the Dao inward and receive it.

The Dao cannot be attained through external principles such as measures and Yin-Yang; the search for the Dao must begin with oneself. Nor can the Dao be offered as a gift to a ruler or a family member. It can only be experienced and attained for oneself.

One must not crave too much fame, for excessive craving damages De. Nor should benevolence and righteousness remain on the surface for long: clinging to them can easily invite blame. With ease and freedom, one can adapt to any situation. By acting simply and making no excessive demands for complexity, one’s desires are readily satisfied. By seeking nothing from external things, one does not compete with the myriad things. In this way, whatever one takes up can be genuine and appropriate.

One cannot yield one’s stipend to others, caring only to make oneself wealthy; one cannot yield one’s reputation, caring only to make oneself prominent; one cannot hand over authority, caring only to hold power. Those who draw close to power and cling to it are most liable to become entangled in wielding and relinquishing authority, and this does the greatest harm to their nature. To have no insight into this is like looking into muddy water and failing to recognize the clear depths. If things continue this way, the punishment sent down by Heaven will be difficult to dispel.

Resentment, favor, punishment, reward, life, and death—these eight means are tools for managing affairs, not the fundamental principle of governance. Only by following fundamental change without obstruction can one use these tools properly. To use them through the Dao is the proper foundation for employing the means of governance. “Heaven’s Gate” refers to the passage through which one follows fundamental change and allows the myriad things to come and go. If this is not done, Heaven’s Gate will not open; this is clear.

The commentator Yidu explains: The subtle aspect of the Dao lies beyond Yin-Yang; its more visible aspect takes the form of measures. If one seeks the Dao through measures and Yin-Yang and still does not find it, one must let go of thought and pursuit in order to experience the Dao beyond Yin-Yang. The Dao can neither be presented to those above nor directly conveyed to those below, because each person must experience it for themselves.

Learning without reflection leads to confusion; reflection without learning leads to danger. Reflection serves to honor inner De, while learning follows the path of inquiry in pursuit of knowledge. If the heart-mind has no guiding principle, one cannot truly reflect; if there is no sound basis from outside, one cannot truly learn. When knowledge from outside enters the heart-mind without reflection to guide it, it becomes jumbled and directionless. When insights arising within the heart-mind are not corrected through learning, they cannot be put into practice in the world.

Principles that arise within and are not swayed by external things do not appear only in sages. Nor are principles gained from outside through learning hidden away by sages when the heart-mind has no firm judgment of its own. “Revealed” and “hidden” here refer to these two paths: arising inwardly and learning outwardly. The Book of Changes says, “Its radiance renews its De day by day”; this refers to principles arising within the heart-mind. A noble person who widely draws on the words and deeds of the ancients is learning from outside. What arises within can reach breadth and vastness; learning from outside can probe the fine details. This is precisely the Dao’s...

“Name” (reputation and social standing) is originally something shared by all under Heaven. To claim it as private property goes against the truth and causes it to lose its true meaning. Reputation should not be pursued excessively. For the Dao, benevolence and righteousness are like roadside inns where travelers may rest for a night, but should not linger. This means that people should not become attached to the outward forms of benevolence and righteousness. To roam freely and at ease, following nature, relying on no external provisions and seeking nothing from outside, is to wander in accord with the Real, following one’s nature.

Those who crave wealth and delight in power are clouded in mind. They cannot see profound truths or discern why they are unable to rest in peace. Such people are punished by the Way of Heaven and have lost their nature. The eight powers of “resentment, favor, authority, Virtue, killing, sparing, giving, and taking away” accord with the right Way only when exercised by people of great De. The “Gate of Heaven” is the passage through which the spirit comes and goes. It opens and closes, and all things enter and leave through it; its transformations are without end.

The Xiangdao commentary explains: The Zhuangzi says that Confucius had still not heard the Dao at the age of fifty-one, using many words to show that the Dao is not easily heard. No measure or calculation can encompass all the transformations of the Five Phases, and the changes of Yin-Yang are not limited to twelve kinds. Benevolence is what one uses to establish oneself, so the text says to borrow it as a way to travel. Righteousness is what one uses to correct oneself, so the text says to lodge and stay with it. But to borrow the way does not mean one fails to pass through benevolence. Mencius called benevolence a secure dwelling and a spacious home; this is what he meant. To lodge with righteousness does not mean one fails to walk the right path. Mencius called righteousness the straight road and the great Way; this is what he meant.

To “lend” is to give something to someone in need, then take it back later. When fields are cultivated and provision is made for people’s livelihood, even the simple produce of the fields can taste good. One must first establish oneself in a garden that seeks no reward; only then can one give well and bring things to completion.

The Bixu commentary explains: Confucius understood the uses of deliberate action, but had not yet attained the Dao of Wuwei (non-action). The Dao cannot be measured by even the smallest amount, nor calculated in the slightest degree, and it cannot be traced through the heavenly stems and earthly branches. That is why one may seek the Dao without attaining it. Lao Dan told him that the Dao cannot be passed on in the way that duties are passed between ruler and subject, or father and son; what matters is whether the seeker has the capacity to receive it.

Without a foundation within, good fortune cannot endure. Without clear evidence outwardly, the highest De cannot be put into practice. Profound truths arise from the heart of a sage, but if there is no one outwardly capable of receiving the Dao, even clearly expressed subtle teachings cannot be transmitted. When the highest truth reaches a student’s ears, but the student lacks the inner capacity to contain it, the listener becomes confused and doubts themself. When has the highest truth ever intended to conceal itself?

Reputation is merely an appendage of substance; pursuing it excessively invites disaster. Benevolence and righteousness are not immutable standards, and an inn is not a place suited to long residence. The perfected people of antiquity used benevolence and righteousness as needed, but did not cling to their forms.

Though dwelling in the world, one can roam freely in a realm of contentment and live at ease in the vast wilderness, where the distant grasslands seem to meet the sky. Even living next door to others, one need not interfere with them. This is called “roaming in the realm of the real”—a free journey in which one observes and follows one’s true nature. The “real” means what is free of pretense.

Those who flaunt their wealth cannot bear to part with their stipends; those who boast of their honor cannot bear to part with their reputations; those who rely on power are full of suspicion. These are ordinary features of worldly life. If you can see things clearly, you will know when to stop; if you know when to stop, you will not suffer disgrace. Resentment, gratitude, and the other eight relationships all arise from the ties between names and actual circumstances. When a title matches reality, the person appointed to the role will neither exceed its bounds nor fall short. When one goes against the principles of change, things become obstructed; obstruction damages both name and reality. When the title is proper, reality too will be proper. But merely forcing an appearance of propriety means the mind’s inner chamber is not open and clear.

Yan Zhai says: Here, “measures and numbers” refers to rites and music, while “Yin-Yang” refers to the principles underlying things. The periods of five and twelve years have no special significance; they simply show that subtle and broad principles take a long time to seek out and understand. The four lines beginning “What comes from the Way can be offered” are exceptionally subtle. Even if someone who studies the Dao hears principles from the outside, they cannot retain them without an understanding of their own, for they have not truly grasped them.

“Nothing outside can serve as a standard” means that if I have gained no understanding myself, then there is no standard outside me by which to judge or verify things. How, then, could I rely on that to insist that I am right? “What comes forth from within” means that when I teach another, my words come from within me. If you cannot receive them, even a sage cannot impart them to you. “What enters from outside” means receiving instruction, as the ultimate principle comes in from outside. But if you hear it without understanding, and have no settled view within, then hearing it will bring you no gain. This is not because the sage is concealing anything. These four lines express an extremely subtle principle, one that is hard to pass on; that is the difficulty.

Reputation should not be pursued to excess: this is a criticism of Confucians’ fondness for fame. One should not cling to benevolence and righteousness for long, for attachment to them leaves visible traces that others can see. Once talent and reputation become conspicuous, misfortune may follow. “Borrow the road and lodge for a night; when you pass on, change with what you encounter” means to travel along a road and stay briefly, then adapt as you move on. Acting simply, without harsh demands or forced striving, is easy to cultivate and does not seek anything from outside. Such conduct does not deplete oneself; only this deserves to be called taking up what is true.

Wealth, high rank, and power: when people possess these three things, they fear losing them and become anxious; when they let them go yet remain attached, they become sorrowful. This is because they cannot see the principles of things clearly. They lose themselves in pursuit of what they cannot stop chasing, not knowing how to turn back. Their minds lack clear insight and cannot look back upon their own confusion. This is what it means for Heaven to take away their souls: the spirit becomes clouded and loses its composure.

Resentment, gratitude, and the other eight relationships exist because such human affairs exist in the world. To use each appropriately when the time calls for it is what it means to be correct. Only someone free of selfish intent can do this. Great change is the work of creation. If one can follow change without being disturbed by it, one’s own conduct will be proper, and one can also set things outside oneself in order. If…

If we still cannot forget our preconceptions, yet take our own judgments to be absolutely correct, the natural clarity within us will grow dim and obstructed. The Book of Songs says, “Heaven opens a window for the people,” meaning that Heaven opens a window in their hearts—that is, it opens the Gate of Heaven.

Fields such as measurement and calendrical science can be examined through rules and calendars; the study of Yin-Yang can be inferred from the solar terms and climate. But the fundamental nature of the Dao is bound neither by rules and calendars nor dependent on the climate. Seeking it through these means will never find it. Only those who harbor no fixed intentions and go along with change can accord with the Dao without meaning to. The Dao cannot be attained through deliberate seeking.

If the Dao could be offered to others like a gift, there would be no one who would not pass it down to their descendants. In fact, the Dao cannot be transmitted through deliberate effort, nor attained through personal desires. “Within, there is no basis” means that the heart has no foundation capable of receiving the Dao; “without, there is no proper guide” means that in the world there is no teacher who can guide and transmit it. Thus the Dao can neither be made to stay nor passed on. In the story of the man from Ying and the carpenter Shi, the man from Ying trusted Shi, and Shi truly had the skill, so they were able to achieve exquisite craftsmanship. How much more subtle is the transmission of the highest Dao: it requires the spirit to communicate and the hearts to resonate amid a realm of obscurity and depth.

When sages use the Dao to awaken the people, it is like Heaven sending down sweet dew: it does not choose where it falls. Yet without vessels made of fine jade, the dew cannot be received. This means that the Dao is not imposed on people from outside; the heart must also have a foundation capable of receiving it.

Seek too much fame, and slander and misfortune will follow. Cling to benevolence and righteousness for too long, and your conduct becomes conspicuous, making you an easy target for blame. The Realized Person therefore makes use of such names without being bound by them, and leaves no trace of attachment. The troubles of the world then have no way to intrude. Because they are free and at ease, they can practice Wuwei (non-action); because they seek no excess, they can easily care for themselves; because they demand nothing from outside, they bear no burden of giving outwardly. So even with all things gathered around them, what must they do? This is called “wandering in the gathering of the real”—a free roaming that observes and follows the true Dao.

The meaning is that the heart admits no trace of selfishness or pretense, just as the Way of Heaven unfolds naturally: all things continually grow and change, never ceasing. This is why people revere the Dao and regard it as mysterious.

Yet worldly people regard wealth, high rank, and power as good things, refusing to yield, clinging tightly to them, and unwilling to let go of sorrow and grief. In this way, they may never again know a day of freedom and ease. This is called laboring without rest while never seeing the Great Dao. To use a selfish heart to scrutinize all things is like suffering Heaven’s punishment, with no way to escape.

Resentment and gratitude, along with six other emotions, are instruments for setting conduct right. Only a person of integrity can use them appropriately without going astray. Joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are emotions that even sages cannot be entirely without; what matters is whether they remain within due bounds. To follow great changes without being trapped by them means that wealth and high rank cannot make one reckless, poverty and low status cannot make one abandon one’s principles, and force and military might cannot make one submit…

Whether we are dealing with external things or correcting our own minds, we should first set our minds straight, then put things in order. Once things are in order, we can use them to deal with what arises. If we do not, our state of mind will not be empty, still, and open. How, then, could we speak of the Dao? “The Gate of Heaven” is a metaphor for a mind that is empty, still, and clear. The mind is like the eye: how could it make room for clutter?

Confucius visited Lao Dan, and they spoke about benevolence and righteousness. Lao Dan said, “When chaff is blown into your eyes, you can no longer tell heaven from earth or the four directions. When mosquitoes bite your skin, you cannot sleep through the night. Deliberately promoting benevolence and righteousness would likewise disturb my mind; nothing could be worse. If you can keep the people of the world from losing their unadorned nature, then simply act in accord with the course of nature, preserve your De and make your place in life. Why show off benevolence and righteousness as though beating a drum to hunt for someone who has fled? The swan does not bathe every day, yet its feathers are naturally white. The crow does not dye itself every day, yet its feathers are naturally black. Black and white are each plain and natural; there is no need to distinguish them deliberately. Fame and praise cannot make a person any greater. When a spring dries up, the fish are stranded on land. They breathe on one another to keep each other moist, and wet one another with their saliva. Yet this is no match for forgetting one another in the rivers and lakes.”

When Confucius returned from seeing Lao Dan, he did not speak for three days. His disciples asked, “When you met Lao Dan, did you intend to offer him any advice?” Confucius said, “Only now have I truly seen a dragon. A dragon gathers itself into one form, then disperses into many transformations. It rides the clouds and nurtures Yin-Yang. I stood with my mouth open and could not utter a word. What advice could I possibly offer Lao Dan?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Even something external and seemingly small can seriously damage a person’s nature. If the people of the world can be kept from losing their unadorned nature, benevolence and righteousness will appear of themselves. To act in accord with the course of nature and live by De is the Dao that is easy to uphold and practice. Deliberately proclaiming benevolence and righteousness in pursuit of a moral ideal is like beating a drum to search for someone who has fled: in the end, the fugitive cannot be found. The swan is white and the crow is black because this is their natural state; each is complete in itself, with no preference. The truly complete person is unconcerned with fame and praise. Forgetting reputation makes the mind more open. The names “benevolence” and “righteousness” often arise from a sense of something lacking. As fish forget one another in the rivers and lakes, so too does one reach the state of benevolence by forgetting the deliberate pursuit of benevolence. When Confucius says he has seen a dragon, he means that Lao Dan can adapt to change and respond without fixed limits, so that everything is naturally complete.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: The mind of the perfected person is like a clear mirror. Deliberately pursuing benevolence and righteousness and thereby disturbing one’s original mind is like chaff clouding the eyes or mosquitoes biting the skin. The people of the world all possess an unnamed, unadorned nature. If they can be kept from losing it, they will act in accord with the course of nature.

The supreme De (Virtue), which encompasses all things, has been established. Since the myriad things can act on their own and stand by their own nature, why make a display of benevolence and righteousness? It is like beating a great drum to search for a lost child. The world has already lost its natural simplicity, yet people hope to save it through benevolence and righteousness. This is no different from searching for someone by beating a drum: in both cases, they seek their goal through reputation.

A swan is naturally white, and a crow naturally black. These are their simple, natural qualities; why adorn them further? Fame and praise cannot enlarge a person’s nature. The same is true of human nature. Fish stranded on land blow moisture over one another to keep each other wet, but it would be better for them to forget one another in rivers and lakes, each living freely. When the world has lost its natural simplicity, people use benevolence and righteousness to sustain one another. Yet it would be better to forget one another in the Dao’s workings, each content in their own place.

When a dragon gathers, it takes shape; when it disperses, it reveals its patterns. Yet it is never confined by form. Lao Dan regarded benevolence and righteousness as scattered chaff and biting mosquitoes and gnats. This shows that he did not let them burden him.

Commentary by Yidu: “Unhewn simplicity” is the Dao in its complete state; benevolence and righteousness are partial manifestations that appear when the Dao becomes dispersed. Wind is the Dao’s power to bring forth and nurture the myriad things; De is the Dao as embodied in a person. To keep the world from losing the Dao in its complete state, one need only let the myriad things live freely according to their nature, act in accord with change, and take one’s stand in De. Why proclaim benevolence and righteousness in pursuit of the Dao? It is like beating a drum to search for a lost child. Swans are white and crows black by nature; there is nothing to dispute. Fame and praise merely help identify external things. They are not part of simple nature, and so cannot enlarge it.

Fish stranded on land blow moisture over one another. Though they are close for a time, they have already lost the way of life that accords with their nature. It would be better for them to forget one another in rivers and lakes, each content in its own place. When social customs grow shallow, people draw close through benevolence and righteousness. This offers care for a time, but they have already lost the way of life that accords with their nature. It would be better for them to forget one another in the workings of the Dao, each content in its own place. This is what the saying means: the ancients lived to old age and died without visiting one another. Hearing Lao Dan’s inexhaustible words on transformation, Confucius sighed that Lao Dan was like a dragon, changing as he gathered and dispersed, with no fixed form. If Confucius himself could not explain him, how could he set rules for Lao Dan?

Commentary by Bixu: Being bound by benevolence and righteousness is like having one’s eyes clouded by chaff; clinging to cleverness and skill is like being bitten by mosquitoes and gnats. How could anyone imagine remaining undisturbed in such a state? If nothing is carved or polished, simple nature can be preserved. Let the way of unadorned simplicity guide the transformation of the myriad things, and gather the supreme De within oneself until it is complete: that is enough. Why carry the burden of benevolence and righteousness and run after the traces left by the ancients? Swans are white and crows black, each classified according to its nature. What is there to dispute? Fish in a drying pool blow moisture over one another… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

The feeling of helping and caring for one another is certainly visible, but it is not as carefree and joyful as fish in rivers and lakes, where they forget one another.

When Confucius met Lao Dan, he said that Lao Dan was like a dragon. A dragon draws together primordial Qi in its depths; when gathered, it takes on a form of complete unity, and when it soars or hides, it reveals splendid shapes. It makes no deliberate plans to appear in the world or withdraw from it, and so can ride the clouds. Its movements and stillness follow the seasons, and so it can nourish Yin and Yang. Lao Dan’s sagely De is unfathomable to this degree. What could I possibly say to admonish him?

Yanzhai says: “‘Biting the skin and clouding the eyes’ uses the bite of an insect and dust flying into the eyes as metaphors for a doctrine that causes pain, resentment, and distress. Ideas such as ‘letting things go and following change’ still cling to something. If everyone in the world preserved their original, unadorned nature, followed change naturally, and held to the De they already possessed, why would they need to wait for moral instruction? This would be like carrying a drum on your back to search for a lost child: you could never find them.

“Swans are born white, and crows are born black. Their nature does not need to be changed by washing them white or dyeing them black; this should require no argument. But if one proclaims a doctrine to the world through fame and reputation, it gives rise to disputes over right and wrong. Such a mind is not broad enough. How much help can fish give one another by spitting moisture onto each other in a dried-up place? In rivers and lakes, the fish can forget one another in the water. Here, fish in rivers and lakes are a metaphor for an age when the utmost Dao prevails: all things follow their own nature, without judging one another, and those above and below forget one another without hindrance. When gathered, they form a complete unity; when dispersed, they appear in brilliant variety. This means that the dragon, between Heaven and Earth, can both appear and remain elusive. Riding the clouds, it seems to stand beyond the transformations of creation; nourishing Yin and Yang, it follows the Dao of Heaven and Earth and finds joy in itself.

“Confucius speaking to Lao Dan about benevolence and righteousness was like Yao and Shun discussing governance before Dai Jiren. Lao Dan used dust in the eyes and insect bites on the skin as metaphors, saying that talk of benevolence and righteousness stirs resentment in people’s hearts. In this way, he criticized the deep-seated failings of the age. If everyone in the world could preserve their complete and unspoiled nature, they would naturally transform all things. If they followed change in cultivating themselves and did not lose the De they already possessed, why deliberately proclaim the names of benevolence and righteousness and treat them as the highest state of the Dao? This is like beating a drum to search for a lost child: in the end, you will not find them.

“Swans need not be washed white, and crows need not be dyed black. Their original colors are already clear, so there is no need to argue. The utmost Dao is vast and cannot easily be named in words. Yet now people seek it through the reputation of benevolence and righteousness. How can this be called a broad mind? It is like fish in a dried-up place spitting moisture onto one another, using their saliva to keep each other wet. Though this shows affection, how does it compare with the joy of being in rivers and lakes and forgetting one another? Yet people of the age insist on treating this meager mutual moistening as benevolence, without understanding that the sage…”

When benevolence reaches its highest point, it is no longer deliberately displayed. Confucius once met Lao Dan. After returning, he did not speak of the encounter again. This was because, on meeting Lao Dan, he had grasped the presence of the Dao; such insight could not be expressed in words.

The dragon displays many kinds of markings. Riding on clouds and vital energy, it nurtures Yin-Yang, so that its movement and stillness alike accord with the moment. Its De (Virtue/Power) is enough to benefit all things, while its wondrous transformations are unfathomable. Thus the ancients often used the dragon as a metaphor when speaking of sages and spiritual beings. Without Confucius, Lao Dan’s De would have been difficult to portray; without Lao Dan, no one could have embodied the metaphor Confucius offered.

Confucius and Lao Dan, these two sages, were both models of human conduct: one revealed benevolence, while the other kept his efficacy hidden. They reflected and illuminated one another, with neither above nor below the other.

Collected Subtle Interpretations of the Nanhua True Scripture, juan 46