《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 48

From this we can see that the world has lost the Dao, and the Dao has also been harmed by the world. The world and the Dao damage one another. How, then, can those who cultivate the Dao make it flourish? And how can the world make the Dao flourish? The Dao cannot flourish through the world, nor can the world flourish through the Dao. Even if a sage does not live in the mountains and forests, his De will remain concealed and unseen. What is called “concealment” does not mean deliberately hiding oneself.

The recluses of old did not hide their bodies from view, keep silent, or conceal their understanding and refrain from putting it to use. They withdrew because their age and circumstances were profoundly ill-suited to them. If the time was right and the Dao could prevail throughout the world, they should return to unity and leave no trace. If the time was not right and they were beset by hardship in the world, they should deepen their roots, abide in utmost stillness, and wait for the moment. This is the way to preserve oneself.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: The Dao does not regard itself as noble, and so it can be preserved. But once the world has preserved it, the world will honor the Dao; and once it is honored, the Dao loses its true nature. The Dao cannot prevent the world from treating it as noble, and the world cannot help but honor the Dao. Thus the two harm one another. If neither treats the other as noble, they can instead flourish together.

The reason people today cannot remain concealed is that they act with deliberate intent, spurring one another on and making one another prominent. How can the Dao be made to flourish? By not treating it as noble. People do not know to return to unity and let traces fall away; instead, they pursue traces in search of unity. The more they acquire outward traces, the more they lose inner unity. This is a grave mistake. Even if one steps forward to explain, speaks out to teach, and displays one’s understanding in putting it to use, how could this make the world and the Dao flourish together?

When circumstances are favorable and the Dao can prevail throughout the world, the age is one of quietude and detachment. The sage follows the nature of all things, and their nature naturally returns to unity, so he leaves no trace. When circumstances are difficult and quietude and detachment are impossible, even while living amid the world’s many affairs, the sage never ceases to remain detached. He deepens his roots, abides in utmost stillness, and waits for things to unfold on their own. This is why the Dao is not lost. Only when the self is preserved can the world flourish.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: When the world and the Dao flourish together, the sage appears and all things can see him. When the world and the Dao harm one another, no one understands the sage, even when he moves about among ordinary people. This is already to be concealed and unseen. Why, then, go off to the mountains and forests to hide deliberately?

“Return to unity and leave no trace” is like the dream of Huaxu and the wanderings of the immortal on Mount Gushe in the Zhuangzi. “Deepen one’s roots and abide in utmost stillness” means to be firm and steadfast, beyond all disturbance. The dragon and snake hibernate in order to preserve …

There is nothing more to the human body than this. Zhuangzi’s words seem to carry a note of lament: perhaps fortune was against him, and the ways of the age and its moral principles had both declined. It is truly sorrowful.

Those who have heard the Great Dao must understand how to preserve themselves when the age flourishes or falls into decline. As for Zhuangzi, he said that he did not share the sages’ anxieties. How, then, could he lament in this world of great disorder?

Yidu’s commentary: To live in ancient times and put the way of one’s own age into practice is for the Way to be out of step with the age. To live in one’s own age and put an ancient way into practice is for the ways of the age to be out of step with the Way. Only when the ways of the age accord with the Great Dao can this way be put into practice; otherwise, the age and the Way will diverge. In that case, the Way cannot flourish in the world. “The mandate of the age” means that the ways of the age determine whether the Great Dao can flourish; “the times” means that circumstances determine whether the ways of the age can flourish.

When circumstances and one’s mandate are at odds, even if a sage does not live in the mountains and forests, his De will remain hidden and unseen. Liezi’s residence in the Garden of Zheng and Zhuangzi’s in the lacquer garden are examples of this. There are two kinds of recluses: some conceal their De, while others conceal their whereabouts. People like Changju and Jieni belong to the latter kind.

The recluses of antiquity did not merely avoid certain places, keep silent, and restrain their wisdom. They simply faced the great disorder of circumstances and destiny with equanimity. When circumstances and one’s mandate were favorable, and the Great Dao was widely practiced throughout the world, sages did not regard themselves as elevated; they returned to the root and did not reveal themselves through outward conduct. When circumstances and one’s mandate were unfavorable, and the Great Dao was constrained throughout the world, sages did not regard themselves as destitute; they held fast to the root and rested in the utmost. This is what Mencius meant when he said, “Great success does not add to one’s worth; living in poverty does not diminish it.”

“Returning to unity” means probing principle to its depths without leaving outward traces; only then can one reach the mysterious realm. “Deepening the roots” means fully realizing one’s nature and attaining utter stability; only then can one understand Heaven’s mandate. The saying that people use the Great Dao in their daily lives without knowing it refers to returning to the root and leaving no traces. The saying that one can await a sage a hundred generations hence without doubt refers to deepening the roots, attaining utter stability, and quietly awaiting the right time.

Xiangdao’s commentary: The ancients knew that wisdom and stillness could nurture one another, and so they understood the relationship between the Great Dao and the ways of the age. People today see the ways of the age and the Great Dao diverging, and so they can understand the value of wisdom and stillness. When the ways of the age diverge from the Great Dao, customs grow ever more shallow; when the Great Dao diverges from the ways of the age, De grows ever weaker. When the age cannot give rise to the Great Dao, it is a time when Heaven and Earth are closed off and worthy people withdraw. Even if sages do not live in the mountains and forests, they will remain hidden and unseen—how much more so ordinary people? The recluses of antiquity did not merely conceal themselves, keep silent, and restrain their wisdom… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

This is what is meant by saying that the body remains in the world while the mind withdraws into seclusion, as though it had sunk deep beneath the earth. Those who make trees and stones their companions and live among birds and beasts are, after all, in a different situation.

The Nanhua True Scripture—that is, the Zhuangzi—says: “When the world has the Dao, the sage accomplishes his work; when the world lacks the Dao, the sage preserves his life.” When the world has the Dao, the sage follows the principle of Wuwei (non-action)—not acting recklessly—and accomplishes great deeds without claiming them as his own. He returns to a state of purity and unity, leaving behind no personal trace of his name. When the world lacks the Dao, the sage preserves his life and lets it endure, concealing his roots and abiding in the utmost. He accomplishes his work without forgetting what lies beyond himself, and preserves his life without letting external things harm him. In this way, he can regard hardship as fulfillment and fulfillment as hardship. His spirit does not chase after things outside, and his vital energy does not dissipate within. Is this not the way to preserve oneself?

Bixu’s commentary says: “While the person remains, the Dao can flourish; when the person is lost, the Dao declines. The world and the Dao declining together is a matter of the times. Both the person and the world are secondary; what matters is the root.” Lao Dan (Laozi), who served as Keeper of the Archives, and Zhuang Zhou, who served as an official in the lacquer garden, both kept their virtue hidden from view. Was this because they chose to live in seclusion? No; the times compelled them to do so. Boyi lived on fern shoots, and Yan Ziling withdrew to fish; both acted thus because the times had gone deeply awry. “Returning to purity and unity, leaving behind no trace” means accomplishing one’s work without taking credit for it. “Concealing one’s roots and abiding in the utmost” refers to Fu Yue, who once worked as a builder beneath a wall, and Lü Wang, who once fished at Pan Creek: both kept themselves hidden and waited for the right moment.

Yanzhai says: “When the Dao and the world decline together, how can a person of the Dao make worldly opinions and perceptions flourish? And how could worldly people recognize the Dao? When people do not understand the Dao, even if a sage stands before them, they will not recognize him. This does not mean the sage deliberately hides himself. A recluse need not hide away, remain silent, or conceal his wisdom. Rather, he understands that the times make action impossible. As the Analects says: ‘When the state lacks the Dao, pretend to be dull.’ ‘Returning to purity and unity, leaving behind no trace’ means accomplishing one’s work without claiming it as one’s own. Even when the Dao can be put into practice, one entrusts the work to external things, while keeping only purity and unity in one’s own heart. The ‘root’ and the ‘utmost’ mentioned here mean returning to one’s own source and foundation, and abiding there. ‘Concealing one’s roots’ is much like withdrawing into seclusion; ‘abiding in the utmost’ means resting content at one’s own limit. One preserves oneself simply in order to wait for the right moment.”

On close examination, the phrase “the world and the Dao declining together” carries a profound sadness. A Perfected One, freed from worldly entanglements, need not care whether his personal circumstances turn out well or badly. These words speak only of the condition of the world, and of grieving over the suffering of its people. Yet at the deepest level there is a principle that can ease this grief: if one can hear these words and see through them by means of the highest truth, one can regard hardship as fulfillment and loss as achievement. Seen in this light, what do gain and loss really amount to? The recluses of antiquity understood that the times had gone awry and accepted this calmly. Thus their virtue remained hidden, though their bodies were not necessarily withdrawn from the world. Even when living amid chaos, they…

Those who “blend their light with the dust”—who temper their brilliance and live among ordinary people—are difficult for misfortune to harm. Some hermits today hide themselves away and shun the world, yet their movements leave traces that make them seem uneasy. Others deliberately behave strangely and thereby invite disaster.

If one can return to one’s original nature and leave no contrived traces, one may understand the Way without seeming clever, possess deep foundations yet remain calm and ordinary, or be skilled at business without appearing rich. This is what it means to follow the times: now to appear, now to withdraw, able to soar like a dragon or lie hidden like a snake. Where could such a person not settle? Where could the Dao not be embodied? Wang Tong, the Sui dynasty thinker known as Wen Zhongzi, spoke of “heavenly hiding” and “human hiding”; these ideas probably originated here.

The ancients who were skilled at preserving themselves did not boast of their intelligence in words or use it to probe every matter under heaven. They did not let their knowledge damage their De; they simply rested in their proper place and returned to their original nature. That was enough. The Dao should not be regarded as narrow, nor De as shallow. Shallow understanding damages De, while narrow conduct damages the Dao. So it is enough simply to set oneself aright.

“Joy in wholeness” means preserving oneself and finding contentment in it. When the ancients spoke of “achieving one’s aim,” they did not mean holding office and enjoying high rank; they meant that nothing could add to their happiness. Today, people use the phrase to mean possessing the fine carriages and official robes of high status.

High office and rank are not part of a person’s nature or heavenly destiny. They are merely external things that happen to lodge with us for a time. When they come, we cannot stop them; when they go, we cannot hold them back. So we should not let high status make us indulge our desires, nor let poverty drive us to flatter the world. Whether we are honored or poor, our inward joy is the same, and so we have no sorrow. If we cease to be happy when external things depart, then even while they were with us, they had already disturbed us. Thus, those who are led by external things and lose themselves, or are shaped by worldly conventions and lose their original nature, are called “people who have things upside down”: they have reversed what is inward and outward, primary and secondary.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Follow your true nature, keep to the contentment that is your own, and walk naturally along an open road. With an unblocked heart, you can fulfill your own aim. To keep the heart at peace, unmoved by sorrow or joy, is “joy in wholeness.” To achieve one’s aim is to preserve what is inward; coming and going belong to external things, while gain and loss have nothing to do with oneself. With a calm heart, one does not notice the influence of things that lodge with one from outside. Open and content, one does not feel poverty pressing upon oneself, and so there is no elation. To lose one’s happiness when external things depart means they had already disturbed the heart when they arrived. To tend only to external things is to diminish what is inward; this is called putting what is primary and secondary upside down.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: Preserving oneself depends on stillness. But living in the world means one cannot seek stillness alone; one must also respond to change without disturbing the stillness within. Forget words, yet know everything; abandon deliberate learning, and De will be complete. Resting at ease in one’s proper place means there is no need to flee the world or avoid external things. Nothing in worldly affairs is enough to burden you. This is the way to conduct oneself and live in the world.

Do not despise a small act of virtue just because it is small, or a limited understanding just because it is limited. In this way, you will not damage your own virtue and understanding to accommodate the ways of the world. What is meant by “diminishing oneself to conform to the world” is harming oneself in order to accommodate worldly conventions. For someone who truly enjoys complete happiness, external things cannot add to that happiness. To devote one’s mind wholly to the Dao and find fulfillment in it is what is meant by “attaining one’s aspiration.”

The Dao is the root of a person; so too are one’s nature and life—the inborn nature and life bestowed by Heaven. High rank and noble titles, by contrast, are merely things attached from outside. If, to obtain these external things, one gives up a happiness that external things cannot increase, the result is to lose oneself and turn away from one’s nature. This is to put branch before root.

Yidu’s Commentary: “Preserving oneself is a matter of destiny” refers to the destiny bestowed by Heaven; “conducting oneself in the world is a matter of the Dao” refers to how a person acts in the world. True knowledge does not rely on words to embellish one’s display of intelligence. To forget all the things in the world, including the effort to probe them with one’s cleverness, is not to use cleverness to investigate them. If one does not use intelligence to probe virtue, one can rest content in one’s own virtue and stop calculating whether one possesses virtue. When the Dao is put into practice outwardly, virtue becomes great; clinging to things and forming fixed views instead impose limits. To despise a small deed harms the Dao; to despise a limited understanding harms virtue. If one puts oneself in order, all things under Heaven will naturally take one as their standard. How could someone who despises small deeds and limited understanding accomplish this?

A person’s sorrow and joy have their roots in nature and life; external things under Heaven cannot increase or diminish them. This is complete sorrow and joy. Shun grieved because he could not win his parents’ approval, and even possessing all the wealth of the realm could not lessen his grief. Yan Hui found joy in coarse food and water, and even possessing all the wealth of the realm could not increase his happiness. Such sorrow and joy cannot be changed by external things. If happiness is incomplete, it cannot be called attaining one’s aspiration. If an external thing can take that happiness away, one’s aspiration is lost along with it.

A person’s sojourn between Heaven and Earth is temporary by nature; high rank and noble titles are things attached to a body that is itself only temporarily here. People of the world treat the body as their own and prize high rank and noble titles, taking these as signs of having attained their aspirations. When these external things depart, they cease to be happy, unaware that such things never belonged to their nature and life in the first place. Thus, the noble person does not consider himself honored by success or disgraced by hardship, and so has no sorrow. If one takes the titles attached to one’s person as a source of happiness, and their loss as a source of sorrow, then the happiness one felt on first receiving them may well have led one astray. To call this losing oneself and turning away from one’s nature is indeed to put branch before root.

Xiangdao’s Commentary: Using intelligence to probe all the things in the world is a small deed; using intelligence to probe virtue is a limited understanding. The Dao has its source in destiny, and virtue has its source in nature. Everyone is born with the principles of nature and life, the Dao and virtue. If what one seeks inwardly does not go beyond these, then attaining one’s aspiration means nothing else: it is simply enjoying complete happiness. Those who have lost their nature have forgotten that they possess a life of immeasurable preciousness. Instead, they pursue riches and honors that have come to them by chance, and treat high rank and noble titles as…

The root of nature and life is neglected, while the body is treated as a place that bears sorrow and joy. People do not realize that what they have truly gained is no more than dust and decay, while what they have lost is the very foundation of what makes them “the self.” This is like using the pearl of Marquis Sui—a legendary treasure—to shoot at a sparrow a thousand feet in the air. Is that not a terrible waste?

Bixu’s commentary says: Those skilled in cultivating the Dao cherish silence and simplicity; the foolish and ignorant can, by contrast, preserve their blessings. At ease where they dwell, free and self-contained, returning to the root and restoring their inborn nature, what more do they need to pursue? Small actions easily become contrived and worldly; narrow knowledge easily leads people to boast of themselves. Gaining some benefit inevitably entails some loss—how can this be called fulfillment? External things arrive by chance and cannot be stopped; when they leave, they cannot be held back. If your feelings rise and fall with the gains and losses of external things, you will be driven by them. Those whose hearts lack an inner anchor grieve when they lose something; so even when they gain something, their minds are often disturbed. This is taking pleasure in external things while losing one’s inner nature.

Yanzhai says: “Preserving oneself” means keeping oneself intact when one is not appointed to serve; “acting through oneself” means putting oneself to use when one is appointed. One may have insight without displaying it through words, and ample wisdom without daring to exhaust it. Thus, even when using wisdom, one does not lose one’s natural nature. Standing apart firmly in one’s own place may seem to mean occupying a lofty position, but in truth it is a return to one’s nature—to the original state that leaves no trace.

Wuwei (non-action) is the Dao’s vastest realm; deliberate action makes it seem narrow. Not knowing and not being aware is the vastest realm of De (Virtue/Power); deliberately seeking knowledge makes it seem narrow. When you set yourself right, all things fall into their proper order, and joy can then be fully preserved. The key to fulfillment lies here, not in external things. If you would not depend on external things to add to your joy, turn inward and make your heart sincere; no joy is greater than this.

Inborn nature and life are precious gifts of Heaven; official rank, carriages, and clothing are things external to the self. Understand that their coming and going cannot be predicted: when circumstances go well, do not indulge yourself; when they are difficult, do not yield. In this way, taking pleasure in the Dao and taking pleasure in rank, carriages, and clothing may both be called joy. But if joy lies within you, it will not turn to sorrow with changing circumstances; if you entrust it to external things, then when they depart, your joy disappears with them. A joy that comes and goes is not true joy, and so the mind is often disturbed. The self and its nature are fundamental; external things and worldly conventions are secondary. To value what is secondary and lose what is fundamental is to reverse root and branch.

Skilled argument and cleverness are tools that harm the self; those who wish to preserve themselves do not use them. The De of the world rests in mysterious stillness, in not knowing and not acting. Standing apart without following the crowd, remaining in one’s own place, and preserving calm and stability are enough to restore one’s natural nature. Why seek it elsewhere? Small actions and narrow knowledge reveal only a limited outlook, and so become burdens on the cultivation of the Dao and the nurturing of De. Those of great De set themselves right, and all things thereby take their proper place. They can preserve the highest joy and fulfill their original aspiration; the key is simply to hold fast to their inborn nature and life.

A person’s life and innate nature are more important than worldly splendor and wealth. Thus the ceremonial carriage and cap—symbols of official rank and privilege—can be regarded lightly. What comes by chance will in time depart. If the heart is unattached to things coming and going, one will feel no sorrow when they leave and no joy when they arrive. But if joy leads to indulgence, the mind and spirit will be harmed.

When people lose their innate nature through attachment to external things, or lose their original mind by following custom, it is like putting on a hat and shoes the wrong way round. It is very difficult for such people to teach and transform the people of the world.

The central point of this passage is that without insight that rises above worldly concerns, a person who simply submits to the entanglements of the world will gradually lose their innate nature. This may seem to involve no obvious wrongdoing, yet it is what most obstructs the cultivation of the Dao. How much worse it is to confuse the mind and spirit with external doctrines, then let delusive thoughts agitate it, while still hoping to recover one’s original state and attain clarity. This is like setting out for Ying, the capital of Chu, with the carriage shafts pointing north: the direction is entirely wrong.

The True Person also worried that those who study the Dao might find emptiness distant and hard to grasp, and not know where to begin. So he proposed letting quietude and understanding nourish one another, making the way easier to enter. People living in the world must deal with change and attend to affairs, so they cannot dispense entirely with understanding. But when understanding is used excessively, it obstructs inner quietude. The key is to weigh things carefully and keep to the proper measure: when something arises, use understanding to respond; when it has passed, let the mind return to quietude. With long practice, understanding and quietude can merge. The spirits and souls are brought into harmony, life and nature accord with the subtle, silent realm beyond perception, and one returns to the root of Dao and De.

By continuing to deepen this cultivation, one can live among people in an unformed, simple state and remain detached and tranquil. Though one has understanding, one does not insist on using it, and the transformation one attains is thereby vast. Sadly, the customs of the age have lost their sincerity and harmony, turning toward showiness and shallowness. People depart from the Dao and damage De, abandon simplicity and sink into selfishness, until both the world and human hearts fall into ruin, with little hope of recovery.

Only later did sages withdraw into mountain forests, nurture their roots deeply, attain the utmost calm, and wait for the right moment. To preserve oneself is to preserve the Dao. If one entrusts everything to the changes of coming and going, without letting sorrow or joy become entangled, why strive to wield discernment and argument? They rest content in their own fulfillment and keep their aspirations intact; their joy surpasses the splendor of high office and noble rank. The only concern is that people may not understand what to seek. This is how sages and worthies live in obscurity and preserve themselves. The thought and intent of the Perfected One of the Southern Florescence, Zhuangzi, are expressed in large part here.

Collected Subtle Interpretations of the Meaning of the True Scripture of the Southern Florescence, scroll fifty.