《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 47

Collected Subtle Commentaries on the Meaning of the True Classic of Southern Florescence, scroll forty-nine, section six

Written by the Daoist priest Chu Boxiu of Wulin

“Cultivating Nature,” first section

To cultivate one’s nature amid worldly customs, then follow worldly doctrines in pursuit of a return to the original state, only takes one farther from that state. To let worldly desires disturb the spirit, then rely on thought in pursuit of clear insight—this is what it means to be a person obscured and benighted.

The ancients who understood how to govern the Great Dao nurtured wisdom through quietude, never making wisdom an instrument of deliberate action. This is called using wisdom to nurture quietude. Wisdom and quietude nourish each other, and a state of harmony and order then emerges from one’s nature.

De is harmony; the Dao is order. De embraces all things without exception: this is benevolence. The Dao reaches everywhere without obstruction: this is righteousness. When the principles of righteousness are clear and all things draw near, this is loyalty. When the heart is genuine and returns to true feeling, this is joy. When sincerity is embodied in one’s bearing and accords with ritual forms, this is ritual. Once ritual and music prevail throughout the world, the world instead falls into disorder. In seeking only to correct others, one obscures one’s own De. Once De is obscured, it is imposed by force upon all things, and they inevitably lose their nature.

Guo Xiang’s Commentary

To cultivate one’s nature amid worldly customs while hoping to restore life’s source through worldly doctrines is, from the outset, to pursue what runs counter to the right way. When desire has already disturbed the heart, repeatedly applying thought in pursuit of clear insight only takes one farther from the goal, however refined that thought may be. To dispel obscurity, one must leave behind worldly preconceptions and put desire aside; only then is it possible.

Only when the heart is quiet does wisdom cease to waver. When wisdom is undisturbed, nature is not lost. There is no need to put wisdom to deliberate use; let it function naturally. Even when wisdom understands all things, one can remain calmly at ease. Using wisdom without contrived action does not harm quietude; maintaining quietude while acting naturally does not obstruct wisdom. The two nourish each other, and harmony and order arise of themselves. Why seek them elsewhere?

Harmony embraces all things without exception; accord with the Dao brings unobstructed reach. Embracing all things does not mean deliberately practicing benevolence, yet benevolent conduct appears naturally. Reaching through the principles of things does not mean deliberately practicing righteousness, yet righteous results come about naturally. If one merely explains the principles of righteousness without speaking from the heart, all things will instead grow more distant. When benevolence and righteousness arise from within and return to what is genuine, the mind’s aspirations open and unfold; when they do, one is joyful. Sincerity embodied in one’s bearing and fitted to ritual forms is what appears outwardly as ritual.

If one’s own standards of conduct and the principles one takes delight in are extended to the whole world, perhaps one region will benefit, while countless others suffer. Let all things each bring their own nature and life into alignment, and reveal their De naturally; then one will not impose one’s own way upon others. If it is imposed upon all things, how could they avoid losing their nature?

Lü Huiqing’s Commentary (excerpt)

The common failing in cultivating one’s nature amid worldly customs is to keep adding to the activities of life, thereby losing the original state. If one then uses worldly doctrines to pursue its restoration, one will move still farther from it…

Human troubles often arise from tangled choices that disturb the clarity of the heart. Trying to gain clarity through thought only makes it more clouded. Those who are tranquil rest at ease, without knowing why they can be so. To cultivate the mind in this state is not to seek clarity through thought. To know that life has its own course, without treating “knowing” as a deliberate act or deliberately applying the mind, is different from merely resting at ease without knowing the reason. Cultivating tranquility in this way does not mean seeking a return to one’s original state through worldly learning.

The “numinous clarity” described in the Book of Changes, the “vague and indistinct” state described by Laozi—hard to grasp, yet real—and the “tranquil knowing” described by Zhuangzi—a mind that is calm and discerning—are in fact one and the same. The ancient adepts who cultivated the Dao all nourished these two aspects in one another before attaining their state.

The failing of tranquility is dullness: it cannot bring forth an expansive, luminous awareness. The failing of the mind is excessive discernment: it cannot return to a state of deep, undifferentiated wholeness. When the two nourish one another, the principle of harmony emerges from human nature; it is not imposed from outside.

What links Heaven and Earth is De (Virtue/Power); De is harmony. What moves through all things is the Dao (the Way); the Dao is principle. De takes harmony as its foundation, and its workings encompass everything: this is benevolence. The Dao takes principle as its foundation, and its workings accord with what is right in every matter: this is righteousness. When the principles of righteousness are clear, people and all things naturally draw close to one another. This is “the Mean”—what is fitting and appropriate. When the heart is sincere and free of pretense, joy arises from within. Trustworthiness held in the heart appears outwardly as ritual forms. Yet ritual arises when loyalty and trust have begun to decline, and it is also the beginning of disorder.

When each thing preserves its own nature and destiny, it naturally possesses its own De. Why, then, should anything external be needed to cover or adorn it? When ritual and music are put into practice everywhere, the Dao and De grow ever more distant, and people are bound to fall into outward artifice. As artifice spreads, all things lose their nature. This is the cause of disorder under Heaven.

The commentator Yidu says: The perfected people of antiquity did not cultivate their nature according to worldly ways. They held fast to simplicity and authenticity, and so could return to their original state. They were not drawn along by worldly desires; they devoted themselves to embodying the Dao, and so could attain clarity. How could they be obscured? If one cultivates one’s nature according to worldly ways, one pursues what is false yet hopes to return to one’s original state through worldly learning. If one is drawn along by worldly desires, one pursues passion and desire yet hopes to gain clarity through thought. In the end, neither can succeed.

To return to one’s original state is to fulfill one’s nature; to attain clarity is to comprehend one’s destiny from Heaven. In the original state, things have not yet appeared; in attaining clarity, one has already seen the Dao. Tranquility brings stability; stability brings calm; calm makes clear knowing possible, and clear knowing leads to action. Movement and stillness regulate one another. Thus, the mind and tranquility nourish one another, and the principle of harmony emerges from one’s nature. Harmony arises from…

Thus, the principle of De arises from nature, while the Dao is De embodied within oneself. To embrace all things without exception is benevolence: the Dao is spread throughout the myriad things, so it reaches everywhere. To handle each matter with perfect appropriateness is righteousness. Embracing all things may be called benevolence; understanding how things stand and dealing with them properly may be called righteousness. Only once the principles of righteousness have been made clear can the myriad things draw near. This also shows that I am free from deceit: faithfulness means not deceiving. When benevolence is enough to embrace all things, righteousness enough to manage affairs, and faithfulness enough to bring people and things near, supreme joy arises within, and outward forms of propriety and ritual become visible. If ritual and music were practiced throughout the world, the world would instead fall into disorder. Only a sage can set the myriad things aright and enable each to embody its own De. The sage does not bestow De with the deliberate aim of protecting the world; as a result, all things in the world each set their own nature aright. If De is imposed to protect and envelop all things, they will instead lose their own nature.

Xiangdao’s commentary says: At birth, the heart is still; this is the nature bestowed by Heaven. When it is stirred by external things, this is the desire of nature. What nature takes as its foundation is the true; what desire ought to cherish is the upright. If one now cultivates nature amid worldly habits, the true nature sinks into falsity. If one hopes to recover one’s original state through worldly learning, the more one learns, the more one’s nature is lost. If desire is allowed to slide into indulgence amid worldly habits, the right way falls into perversity. And if one then exhausts oneself trying to attain clear understanding through deliberation, the more tangled one’s thoughts become, the more confused one’s mind grows.

Those in ancient times who understood the way of governing did not act like this. They nurtured wisdom through stillness, and so attained clear understanding and fully grasped how things stood. They also nurtured stillness through wisdom, and so recovered their original state and fully realized their nature. Nature is the foundation of wisdom and stillness; understanding how things stand is their function. When wisdom and stillness nurture one another, benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and music merge into Dao and De. When wisdom and stillness harm one another, Dao and De divide into benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and music. Benevolence arises from De, and righteousness arises from the Dao; this is already a diminution. How much more so when music arises from benevolence and propriety from righteousness?

Bixu’s commentary says: To live in a polluted environment yet flee from its filth, to dwell amid dust and grime yet seek purity—is this not to be deluded? Restless contention inevitably brings confusion, while stillness and calm inevitably bring clarity. Only by having wisdom without being driven by it can one preserve stillness well. Only by understanding the Way without deliberately putting that understanding to use can one remain harmonious and tranquil, and preserve oneself. Though one must draw on acquired conditioning and learning, the foundation remains what is natural. Only by understanding things naturally can one be in harmony with others; only by understanding how things stand oneself can one govern the myriad things. The highest form of benevolence is identical with De, and takes embracing all things as its foundation. The highest form of righteousness is identical with the Dao, and takes understanding how things stand as its source. One who remains in a state of harmony and balance without going to excess… (The original text ends here.)

Joy consists in arranging one’s appearance and keeping one’s conduct within proper bounds; this is ritual. Ritual enables us to respond to external things, while music sets the heart-mind in order.

Nurture awareness through stillness, then use awareness to examine yourself: this allows you to remain true to yourself. Apply this method to others, however, and you will only unsettle them. Others will naturally become upright when I nurture my De (Virtue/Power) through an unknowing practice of Wuwei (non-action). When De is firmly established, I can remain still and not impose my conduct on others. This is how each person sets their own nature and life in order, nurturing stillness and awareness in one another.

Yanzhai says: “When the Zhuangzi speaks of ‘cultivating one’s nature,’ it is mocking the Confucians and Mohists of that time for what they said about human nature. They used worldly learning to govern nature and sought to restore it to its original state. They gave themselves over to profit and desire, yet took pains to pursue a state of empty stillness and clarity. This was an extremely foolish and ignorant way to act.

“Stillness can give rise to wisdom, which is why it says, ‘Nurture awareness through stillness.’ Only when you realize that there is nothing to cling to do you understand why awareness must be maintained. Then you can become still, which is why it says, ‘Nurture stillness through awareness.’ Stillness and awareness must nurture each other for one to attain one’s natural nature. Here, ‘harmony and order’ means being gentle and composed, and so returning to one’s naturally harmonious disposition.

“The six words ‘nurture awareness through stillness; nurture stillness through awareness’ are the most subtle and profound. Dao and De are harmony: by embracing all things, one can care for and tend to them, allowing each to find its proper place. Only after understanding what is right can one become at ease with external things. This is to fulfill one’s own heart-mind, and is what is meant by loyalty. Inner sincerity and purity show outwardly; then, by reflecting from outward expression back to the heart-mind, one arrives at joy. Once joy arises, it continues of its own accord—how could it ever cease?

“Trust your own appearance and conduct, and let them naturally fall within proper bounds: this is moving to and fro in a way that accords with ritual. To seek ritual and music only outwardly, without knowing their roots, is called ‘one-sided practice’: it means seeing only half of the matter. ‘Unknowing’ means obscured. When De accumulates without showing itself, others will naturally become upright. ‘Not imposing’ means that I do not force my conduct on others. If I impose it on them, all things will lose their own nature.”

The various commentaries all reason from the standpoint of worldly learning. In the edition collated by Zhang Junfang that Chen Bixu relied on, the word “learning” is not preceded by “worldly,” making the passage clearer: nature is originally spontaneous; it does not come from learning. Today’s seekers of learning prize adding to their knowledge each day in pursuit of worldly reputation. This is to govern nature by worldly means. They continue to study diligently, hoping to restore nature to its original state; as a result, they learn widely but fail to grasp the essentials, and move even further from what is real. They cling to likes and dislikes, become absorbed in them, and cannot turn back: they are being led by worldly desires. Yet they still ponder and fret, hoping to attain clarity; they exhaust their spirit, and clarity grows ever more distant.

Ordinary people, unless they are naturally endowed with exceptional gifts, cannot do without learning. The purpose of learning is to nurture one’s inborn nature and awaken wisdom… The original text ends here, unfinished.

These achievements serve to affirm what I already recognize in my heart. In the end, they simply return to simplicity and restore what is fundamental. They are not meant to enlighten people by prying open their minds, so that they accumulate more knowledge and all kinds of clutter.

There is no human nature that is not good, but it is also impossible to be entirely free of desire. When we follow our nature along the Dao, desire remains proper: when hungry, we eat; when thirsty, we drink; when cold, we dress; when tired, we rest. But when worldly habits govern our nature, desire turns perverse: we insist on rare delicacies, fine wine, sumptuous clothes, and indulgent pleasures even in our rest. Once desire strays, our nature loses its goodness. The more people sink into common customs, the farther they drift from the Dao.

The Dao prizes calm and ease, while the world puts splendor and competition first. People study what is not worth studying and dwell on what is not worth considering. In this way, the human mind parts from the Dao-centered mind, and the highest good and greatest evil alike take shape. Only by abandoning extraneous learning and putting an end to deluded thoughts can we restore our original nature and attain clarity. Yet people use outside learning to unsettle their nature and deluded thoughts to obscure their original mind. The more they learn, the more their true nature is depleted; the more tangled their thoughts, the farther they move from the Dao. This is what saddens the True Person—the one who embodies the Dao in action.

If we preserve our inborn nature and keep it from being ruled by worldly ways, that nature is already present; there is no need to make a deliberate effort to recover it, and it will return of its own accord. If we hold to desires that accord with the Dao and keep worldly habits from disturbing them, clarity need not be sought deliberately; it will appear naturally. This is because the Dao gathers in emptiness and stillness. “Emptiness” means a mind that is open and clear, unobscured by distracting thoughts.

As the saying goes, “Learning without reflection leads to confusion; reflection without learning leads to danger.” The sages did indeed cultivate themselves through learning and reflection, while the Perfected One of the Southern Florescence (Zhuangzi) rejected this approach. Why? Because when the worthy speak of “learning,” they mean inner cultivation; when they speak of “reflection,” they mean thought that draws close to principle. When sages speak of “learning,” they mean putting an end to extraneous learning; when they speak of “reflection,” they mean not becoming attached to thought. This differs from the worldly pursuit of broad knowledge and a strong memory. Moving from inner cultivation to abandoning extraneous learning, and from thought that draws close to principle to freedom from attachment, completes the sages’ cultivation.

Calm and ease are rooted in stillness; awareness is rooted in activity. Stillness gives rise to moisture and nourishment, while activity gives rise to heat and dryness. When heat and moisture are balanced, harmony and principle emerge. Harmony is the pure and excellent part of De; principle is the standard for acting appropriately. Both lie within our nature and are not imposed from outside.

People know only calm and stillness, but do not understand how activity and stillness can nourish one another, so they often lean to one extreme. Conflicts of interest and harm rub against one another and generate heat, burning away the inner harmony and damaging our true nature. Only those who cultivate the Dao remain within it both when active and when still. They respond to things without storing them in their hearts. They nourish awareness with calm and stillness, and when awareness arises, they do not let it run unchecked. This, too, is a way of nourishing calm and stillness. In this way, nature can attain harmony.

When every matter is handled according to its own inherent principle, harmony between Heaven and Earth follows. This clearly shows how cultivating oneself can extend to governing the world. The text next discusses benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, ritual, and music. For the word “loyalty,” see in detail Guo Xiang’s commentary and Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary. Good governance is rooted in impartiality and balance; venerating ritual and music alone is a lower approach. Thus, when the text goes on to discuss times of disorder, it does not mean that ritual and music cause disorder. Rather, when ritual and music arise, the conditions for disorder are already in place; this is simply how events unfold. If people can progress from ritual and music to benevolence and righteousness, and then return from benevolence and righteousness to Dao and De, perhaps this is how calamity and disorder can be ended and peace achieved.

The ancients lived in an age when all things were undivided and indistinct, wholly at one with the world, and so they could remain tranquil and free from desire. At that time, Yin-Yang was calm and harmonious; spirits were not disturbed; the four seasons each followed their proper course; nothing was harmed; and living beings did not die young. Though people had wisdom, there was no need to use it. This was called “Great Unity”—all things existing in an undivided unity. No one then acted deliberately, yet everything followed its own nature.

Later, as De gradually declined, Fuxi and Suiren began to govern the world. People still followed the principles of things, but they could no longer return to undivided unity. De declined further, and when Shennong and the Yellow Emperor began to govern, people found stability but could no longer follow their nature. De declined once more. When Tang Yao and Yu Shun began to govern, they established instruction and brought order to the world. The ways of simplicity and sincerity gradually faded, and people lost their natural simplicity. They turned away from the Dao and deliberately pursued goodness; they departed from their nature and forced themselves to act. Thereafter, people abandoned their natural endowment and followed their minds, competing with one another in schemes and knowledge, yet still failing to bring stability to the world. So embellishments were added, along with ever wider learning. Embellishment damaged simplicity, while wide learning ensnared the mind. From then on, people were confused and disordered, unable to return to their natural condition or recover their original state.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Only by letting all things develop naturally can Great Unity be attained. De gradually declined because the sages no longer succeeded one another; those in power could not practice Wuwei, yet admired its outward appearance, thereby causing harm. The world had already lost its unity, and people’s minds were confused and difficult to disentangle. The only recourse was to guide things in accordance with their circumstances, no longer forcing the issue, and to let people be at ease in their present condition. A sage can let people settle into their own ways, but how could he compel everyone in the world to attain the sage’s state? Thus the way rulers govern changes with the conditions of the age, while the Dao of the sage remains whole and undiminished.

“Goodness” is a term for what exceeds the proper measure. If one deliberately pursues goodness without following the Dao, one cannot fully embody the Great Dao. “Acting” means going against one’s nature and forcing oneself to do things. Once this way of acting is established, De is no longer at peace. When the mind drives the self, one loses one’s nature. When people’s minds compete to be the first to know, they no longer follow their nature and forget knowledge. Following one’s nature and forgetting contrivance is the way to bring stability. “Embellishment” and “wide learning” are things used to adorn the mind and simplicity. “Original state” means the root of one’s nature and life.

When Lü’s commentary speaks of “dwelling amid undifferentiated vastness and attaining calm indifference,” it refers to the subtle state of “the Supreme One” experienced by Suiren, Fuxi, and the Yellow Emperor. What later sages displayed was only a rough trace of this state of undifferentiated vastness and calm indifference.

Viewed from this subtle state, governing the world through the Dao so that the people have few excessive desires and little craving for knowledge may be called “the Supreme One.” Viewed through these more superficial deeds, although the sages likewise governed the world, their Virtue inevitably declined over time, and they did not truly go beyond the state of “the Supreme One.” For this reason, those who cultivate the Dao often speak of “discarding sagehood and abandoning knowledge,” returning to a state free of attachment. This passage discusses the matter because even Suiren, Fuxi, and the Yellow Emperor had no place to abide within the state of “the Supreme One.”

People in the world who study the words and deeds of sages may not know that there is another state within themselves, one that can set the myriad things in motion without sharing the sages’ concern for governing the world. It is no surprise, then, if they hear these words and feel astonished or doubtful, or even laugh.

From Suiren through Tang Yao and Yu Shun, the customs of moral instruction gradually lost their original simplicity. The ways of the world were at times substantial and at times shallow, and sages responded to worldly affairs in different ways. This is what is meant by the saying, “Only when the Great Dao was abandoned did benevolence and righteousness arise; when wisdom appeared, great deception followed.”

The Dao is inherently good in every way. Once goodness is deliberately singled out, it is already at odds with the Dao. De acts without contrivance; once conduct is emphasized, it is no longer equal and natural. Benevolence is the guiding principle of goodness, and righteousness is the standard for putting benevolence into practice. The Dao and De belong to one’s nature; benevolence and righteousness are expressions of that nature arising from within. To leave the Dao and turn away from De, acting only on one’s thoughts and intentions, is to abandon one’s nature and follow an artificial mind.

As the ways of the world changed and desires arose in people’s minds, Laozi said that they should be settled through the “unadorned simplicity without a name.” If one tries to calm the hearts of everyone in the world with a single mind, people will only use their minds to guess at one another’s intentions and compete for advantage, which still cannot bring peace to the world. So people add embellishments and damage what is essential, then keep expanding their knowledge until the mind becomes immersed in it. Embellishment refers to ritual and music; broad learning refers to knowledge; what is essential refers to one’s nature. The more ritual and music flourish, the more disorderly the world becomes. How, then, can people return to their original state and attain clarity?

The commentary by Yidu says that the passage from “people dwelling amid undifferentiated vastness” to “this is called the Supreme One” has already been discussed several times, so it will not be repeated here. Suiren improved the methods for making fire, and Fuxi established ritual and legal institutions. Only from that time onward did people begin to take deliberate thought about governing the world. Although they could respond to people’s feelings, they could not bring people back into unity as they had been in the age of undifferentiated vastness. Shennong attacked Gonggong, and the Yellow Emperor fought Chiyou. Although their aim was to bring peace to the people, they could not accord with all living beings. Yao enabled the people to find their proper places; Shun banished the Four Evildoers, established systems of governance, and carried out moral instruction.

From this point on, the ways of society gradually changed. So when Confucius compiled the Book of Documents (Shangshu), he placed its opening chapters in the times of Tang Yao and Yu Shun. Once people knew what was worth pursuing and what was good, they left the Dao to pursue good deeds. Once they knew what actions could be carried out, they turned De into a deliberate practice, making what had been a level road steep and treacherous. Later, people abandoned their nature and followed the promptings of the heart. The heart then gave rise to distinctions between one another, between you and me; people imposed boundaries and took discriminating knowledge for genuine wisdom. Such knowledge was not enough to bring order to the world. When ornamentation eclipsed substance, and wide learning and strong memory exhausted the inner life, the people became confused and disordered, unable to recover their original nature.

The Xiangdao Commentary says: Only by being unified with the Dao can one be whole and complete; then there is nothing to follow. Once one follows something, one is drawn along by external things and can no longer be settled. When unsettled, one becomes disordered. Only after unity was lost did following arise; only after following was lost did stability arise; only after stability was lost did disorder arise. From remote antiquity through the times of Tang Yao and Yu Shun, the ways of the world underwent three changes. The people began to be confused and unsettled, unable to recover their original nature, because they no longer followed their nature and could not return to their original state of purity and unity. The Dao naturally carries goodness within it, yet people insist on leaving the Dao to seek goodness. Their actions may appear to put De into practice, but in truth they make De crooked and perilous.

Nature is the foundation of the heart; the heart governs nature. Nature is originally still, yet the heart sometimes drives it to change. Nature is originally simple and whole, yet the heart that drives it may cause it to scatter. Those skilled in cultivating the Dao keep the spirit in check to nourish their nature. Those unskilled in cultivating the Dao abandon their nature and follow the heart’s promptings. Then the heart of “you” and the heart of “me” compete to judge first, gathering evidence of right and wrong and becoming entangled in gain and loss, drawing ever farther from the Dao. How could such petty distinctions in knowledge be enough to bring order to the world? Once people realized that cleverness alone could not bring order, they added ornamentation to embellish substance, but ended up ruining it. They then used wide learning and strong memory to guide the spirit, but ended up exhausting it. This is like stirring up dust in the hope of making it settle, or trying to put out a fire with wind. How could the world avoid falling into confusion and disorder?

The Bixu Commentary says: In the age of Highest De, people were simple, ignorant, calm, and free of desire, so they were sincere and whole. When Suiren drilled wood to make fire and Fuxi drew the trigrams, people began to adapt to the needs of external things, and their original wholeness changed. When Shennong made farming tools and the Yellow Emperor used weapons, people gained the means to settle themselves, and no longer simply followed nature. When Yao campaigned against the lands of Danshui and Shun attacked Youmiao, their simple nature was further scattered. Deliberately practicing goodness comes close to pursuing fame, and so departs from the Dao. Stubbornly adhering to a particular course of action harms life and makes De crooked and perilous. To abandon one’s clear and tranquil nature and instead take the heart shaped by oneself as one’s guide, to use one’s own heart to fathom the hearts of others, and to compete to judge first—this is…

Ornate embellishment marks the beginning of folly. Human cleverness is not enough to bring peace to the world; only calmness and Wuwei (non-action) can nurture the myriad things. Take the Dao (the Way) as your standard, and your unadorned nature can be preserved. Put cleverness aside, and the heart will become still. Abandon ingenuity and return to the root; follow Wuwei and return to the beginning.

The commentator Yanzhai says: “‘Misty vastness’ means remaining hidden in obscurity and not displaying oneself; ‘calm indifference’ means neither above nor below seeking anything from the other. When everyone in the world remains whole and pure, with nothing lacking in their relation to the Dao, this is called ‘ultimate unity.’ Once people believe there is some principle they can follow and cling exclusively to it, that purity and unity have already fallen apart. When everyone seeks security according to their own principles, self-interest arises, and they depart from the Dao. Once the name ‘good’ is established, the Dao recedes further; once actions are made conspicuous, De (Virtue/Power) is no longer at peace. To abandon one’s natural disposition and instead follow a mind intent on deliberate action, then use my own mind to respond to another’s deliberate mind—this is mind scrutinizing mind. Human cleverness is already inadequate; to add rites and music, ornament, and splendor to it, and devote one’s thoughts to these things, is still to fall into delusion.”

When spirits and gods dwell securely in the depths, the myriad things can each follow their own nature. As for people, they may possess knowledge yet leave it unused—but unless they live in an age of misty vastness, how could they attain a state of calm indifference? This is called “ultimate unity.” The ancient times refers to an age when rulers’ De was genuine and pure, and the hearts of the people were undivided.

Later, De declined and some people went against nature, so rulers made accommodating the world their responsibility. This had already departed from “ultimate unity.” Later still, some people disrupted nature, so rulers made bringing peace to the world their responsibility. This violated people’s true nature. In a later age, when Tang Yao and Yu Shun arose to establish teachings, the simple customs of old were lost. People turned away from their natural Dao and De in pursuit of good deeds, moving ever further from their nature. To use one’s mind to gauge the minds of others, judge cleverness insufficient, and then add broad and elaborate ornamentation is like carrying firewood to put out a fire. If people cannot be at ease in their own dispositions, how can they govern the world?

The Nanhua Zhenjing, the Daoist title for the Zhuangzi, speaks of the age of Tang Yao and Yu Shun as having already fallen so far from the Dao. The uncontrived simplicity of the ancient world was like that of an infant; people of a later age began to laugh and speak, and to feel joy and anger. From then on, joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness became entangled within, while cunning and cleverness showed themselves outwardly. How difficult it is to restore depth and simplicity! The aim now is to clear the source so that the downstream currents, too, may become pure. That is why Sui Ren and Fuxi are also placed among the ages in which De had declined. From this we can see that the author hoped to lead the people back to a state even higher than that of the most ancient times. Sadly, they had De but lacked the position to match it.