《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 51

The River Earl asked, “In that case, what should I do, and what should I not do? Between declining and accepting, moving toward and turning away, what should I actually do?”

The Lord of the Northern Sea replied, “From the perspective of the Dao (the Way), what counts as noble, and what as lowly? Nobility and lowliness transform into each other and circle back again; this is called ‘reversal and unfolding.’ If you cling to your own intention and refuse to respond to change, you will go against the Dao. What counts as little, and what as much? These, too, transform into each other; this is called ‘diminution and increase.’ If you act only according to fixed measures of more and less, you will be at odds with the Dao.

“The Dao is majestic and impartial, like a ruler of a state who does not keep its favors to himself. The Dao gives to all things without seeking repayment, like a sacrifice to the god of the soil, which does not reserve blessings for itself. It flows widely, reaching in every direction without boundary or region, and embraces all things. Who, then, sustains and shelters the myriad things? Because the Dao has no fixed direction or domain, it can fulfill all things everywhere.

“All things are equal in their original nature. Where is there an absolute shortness or length? The Dao has neither end nor beginning, while all things are born and die. Do not take a condition formed for a time as constant and unchanging: sometimes things are empty, sometimes full, and their forms have no fixed place. The years cannot be lifted up, and time cannot be held in place. Decline and growth, fullness and loss, circle around to their end and begin again. These words explain the fundamental principles of the Great Dao and discuss the transformations of all things.

“The growth and transformation of all things are as swift as something that suddenly appears and then races past. There is no movement that does not change, and no moment that does not shift. So what should be done, and what should not be done? All things transform of their own accord.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Nobility and lowliness change and circle around repeatedly. If you insist on clinging to a particular view, you cannot be level with the Dao. You should respond to each thing according to its own measure; accordingly, there is no fixed way to give. If you cannot adjust as things change, you cannot be equal with the Dao.

“The Dao has no private favors; it simply fulfills all things impartially. ‘Blessings kept for none’ means that all things under Heaven are nourished together. The Dao flows widely and has no fixed location. It embraces all living things while allowing each to rest in its proper place. It does not sustain and shelter things in a visible way, as branches and leaves do. Precisely because it has no fixed domain, it can take all things as its domain, allowing each thing to find its proper place.

“Birth and death are simply one kind of ceaseless transformation; they are not true beginnings or endings. When you understand that the forms things take have no fixed state, you will not regard any particular form as a constant place to stand. You cannot make the years depart, nor can you make time stand still. Change renews itself day by day and never clings to the old state. Therefore, one should use things by following their transformations and should not cling to fixed conditions. To impose rules about what should or should not be done amid change is to obstruct the spontaneous transformation of all things.”

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “People who study the Dao are accustomed in their daily lives to seeing all things as fixed existences. When they hear that within the Dao there are no distinctions of nobility and lowliness, or of great and small, they do not know how to choose between acting and not acting, declining and accepting, moving toward and turning away. This is a natural response. What are called nobility and lowliness are simply the result of things transforming into one another and changing in cycles.”

These statements concern how things continually change in their comings and goings, their increase and decline, and their abundance and scarcity. Turning back and moving forward, flourishing and diminishing, becoming fewer and becoming more all have their counterparts. To insist that one side is more valuable and the other less so is to fall into distinctions imposed by people. Only by following the changes in things without constraint can one avoid going against the Dao (the Way).

“Less and more” are simply different states in which things decline and grow: when they decline, they appear scarce; when they grow, they appear abundant. Giving and gathering in are the same: giving appears to increase what there is, while gathering in appears to reduce it. Both sides should be taken into account; do not choose only one. To hold fast to just one side is to fall out of step with the Dao’s movement.

“Virtue without partiality” means not relying exclusively on a particular favor from the person one reveres. “Blessings without partiality” means not favoring one side alone when granting blessings to those honored in sacrifice. This, too, is to avoid clinging to one side or drawing boundaries. Those who harbor no bias and connect with the Dao will not fall into narrowness.

What, then, enables the myriad things to receive, depend upon, and grow? The Dao has no fixed form or boundary. The myriad things are equal: each follows the Dao’s movement, and none is out of step with the others. If we rely on the state things have already taken, we forget that their endings and beginnings are not fixed. If we remain attached to their visible positions, we cannot see how fullness and emptiness change, or understand that status and circumstance are never constant.

Time cannot be held back, so we should meet it calmly and without distress. An opportunity cannot be made to stand still, so we need only take hold of it as it comes, without grasping at it by force. Waning and waxing, fullness and depletion, endings and beginnings: these are all movements of Heaven’s Way. This explains the principles of the Great Dao and the patterns of the myriad things. Why, then, fix the mind on choices such as accepting or refusing, pursuing or abandoning?

Things seem to rush by in an instant, while change quietly unfolds. Given this, why cling to doing or not doing? The myriad things will change of themselves. To “make arrangements and depart into transformation” is to follow the course of things and let change happen naturally.

The Yidu commentary explains that the patterns of the myriad things are all integrated into nature. They involve neither deliberate action nor deliberate inaction, so there is no need to fret over accepting or refusing, pursuing or abandoning. “Abundance” means having more than enough; “giving” means distributing or bestowing. Noble and lowly, many and few, are distinctions imposed by people, not the Dao’s true principle. The Dao’s true principle is one: from the Dao’s perspective, nobility does not increase anything, nor does lowliness diminish it; many is not truly excess, and few is not truly lack. Why, then, distinguish between noble and lowly, many and few? The explanation of “Virtue without partiality” and “blessings without partiality” is the same as above.

The Xiangdao commentary explains that “abundance” refers to broad, level ground. If the ground changes and turns over, it may become a slope; the boundary between level ground and slope is never fixed. Is the changing relationship between noble and lowly not governed by the same principle?

Giving alms is an expression of benevolence. When the act of giving is set aside, giving and receiving are no longer regarded in terms of benevolence. How much difference is there between them, and why should it matter? Return to the state in which change and flow prevail, and distinctions of high and low are forgotten; reputation no longer weighs upon you. Set aside the act of giving, and differences of amount are forgotten; profit no longer weighs upon you. There has never been a case in which someone could not return to their original nature by doing this.

Bixu’s Commentary: If something ought to be accepted but is not, why should that be so? If others give something up and I take it, why should that not be so? High and low, large and small, come down to just two possibilities. High and low have no fixed master; they turn and change again and again, as is only natural. The Great Dao is utterly level and open: let your mind unfold, and you will naturally move through it. People are endowed with different allotments: some give little, others give much, and each is fitting in its own way. The world is uneven, and people adjust their actions, advances, and retreats as circumstances change. This, too, is the way things are.

When virtue is partial to private interests, it cannot remain upright for long; when good fortune is partial to private interests, it cannot last. Draw boundaries in the mind, and kindness cannot extend everywhere. Fix the mind on a particular direction and allegiance, and one becomes dependent on support, inheritance, and aid. If you support and care for all things without distinction while holding private interests in your heart, virtue is lost. All of this means relinquishing high status and being content with low status: forget yourself, and there is no distinction between long and short; forget your fixed ideas, and thoughts of life and death disappear; forget your position, and there are no rises or falls in fortune; forget your age, and you accord with change; forget the seasons, and let time pass as it will. If you forget waxing and waning, gain and loss, who can determine when things begin or end? There is not a moment when the myriad things are not growing, nor a moment when they are not changing. Change is swift, and things shift as if in flight. Yin-Yang and the four seasons change of their own accord. Why, then, fix your thoughts on what should or should not be done?

Yanzhai’s Sayings: From the perspective of the Dao, there is no distinction between high and low. Turn back and observe yourself, and your mind will be spacious and open. If you bind yourself with judgments of high and low, right and wrong, you go against the Dao. Giving differs in amount; set aside the thought of giving, and there is no difference in amount. Cling to one way of acting and become confined by how much you give, and you will go against the Dao.

A ruler governs a state, and a local earth deity is served in ritual. These are used as metaphors: let the Dao govern your heart, and do not let private interests control you. When the mind is vast and without boundaries, all things are present within you. This is what it means to embrace all things. If you favor no one side, who would need to depend on you, or seek your support and protection? To have no fixed direction is to have no fixed ideas; with no fixed ideas, one does not cling to distinctions of long and short, life and death. Rely on nothing you have accomplished, and you will not boast of having succeeded. Gain and loss change with the times and cannot be fixed, so one is not constrained by outward form or status. When there is no distinction between past and present, age cannot be counted; when there is no distinction between what has passed and what is yet to come, the passage of time cannot be halted.

The fundamental meaning of the Great Dao is the Dao. Change and transition are happening at every moment, so what, then, is…

Whatever cannot be deliberately brought about need only be left to unfold naturally through the transformations of the world. Hence it is said, “It transforms of itself.”

The Earl of the River had not yet understood the principles of Heaven or the nature of things, and so he remained puzzled. He asked about yielding and accepting, pursuing and abandoning. The Lord of the Northern Sea—the deity of the Northern Sea—told him: “What people call noble or lowly, abundant or scarce, is merely a matter of things diminishing at one moment and increasing at another, withering at one moment and being bestowed at another. If you cling firmly to your intentions and insist on a single course of action, you will depart from the Dao and find yourself obstructed. A ruler extends his benevolence to all the people; the earth bestows its blessings without favoring anyone. This shows that the Dao has no fixed bounds and can embrace all things.

“The life and death of all things are simply stages in the transformation of form, not the end or beginning of the Dao. Thus, forms do not arise in any fixed place; do not take form as something on which to rely forever. When things depart, they cannot be stopped; when they arrive, they cannot be resisted. Such is the principle by which things become full and empty. The growth and transformation of all things are like a galloping course that never halts; the workings of creation and transformation never cease. Let things transform of themselves, without deliberately intervening in them—how much less should you concern yourself with choices such as yielding or accepting, pursuing or abandoning? This means that in responding to things, what matters is to have no fixed bias. Then life and death will no longer be a burden.

“The Earl of the River asked, ‘If that is so, what is there to value in the Dao?’ The Lord of the Northern Sea replied: ‘One who understands the Dao will surely grasp the principles of things. One who grasps their principles will surely understand how to adapt. One who understands how to adapt will not let external things harm him. When a person’s De reaches its highest level, fire cannot burn him, water cannot drown him, cold and heat cannot injure him, and birds and beasts cannot attack him. This does not mean that he takes these dangers lightly. It means that he can discern safety and danger, accept fortune and misfortune calmly, and decide carefully when to advance or withdraw. Thus nothing can harm him.’

“Hence it is said: ‘What belongs to one’s nature is within; what is contrived by humans is outside. De takes root in nature. Recognize the difference between Heaven and humanity; make following one’s nature the basis of action, and take one’s stand upon the Dao one has attained. In advancing or withdrawing, bending or extending, return to the root and pursue matters to their utmost principle.’”

He then asked, “What is Heaven, and what is humanity?” The Lord of the Northern Sea replied: “Cattle and horses are born with four legs: that is their nature. Putting a bridle on a horse or a nose ring on an ox is something humans do.” Hence it is said: “Do not let human contrivance damage your nature; do not let human arrangements damage your Heaven-given life; do not sacrifice yourself for the sake of reputation in pursuit of something. Carefully preserve what is genuine and do not lose it. This is called returning to one’s true nature.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “The Earl of the River asks what there is to value in the Dao because the Dao enables all things to transform of themselves. Whoever understands this knows that things are not made by some external force. If so, then who made me? I simply came into being naturally, of myself. My limbs and body were not formed through deliberate planning on my part; they took shape naturally. How much less, then, could there be some intention directing them after they have come into being? One who understands this principle will surely abandon cleverness that exceeds one’s proper place, let go of the fixation on seeking to preserve life, adapt to transformations and respond to circumstances, and keep external things from harming him, thereby preserving himself. Thus, the place where the mind finds peace…”

Thus, even when in danger, the heart is not troubled by danger. Whatever may be encountered, one can adapt with composure, and hardship cannot make one truly suffer. Even when the heart has found stability, this is no reason to act recklessly or violate principles. Knowing that some experiences cannot be escaped, one accepts the fate one has received. One can also discern what to leave and what to remain with, understanding that these matters are not entirely one’s own to decide. Nothing, then, can harm such a person.

The Way of Heaven resides within the heart, while acting in accordance with nature is expressed outwardly. The distinction between inner and outer is not deliberately contrived. Knowing that natural understanding operates of its own accord, one sees that even when acting outwardly, one’s foundation remains the Way of Heaven. When one occupies the fitting place, what one receives and what one encounters correspond to each other. Such transformation comes from understanding the principles of Heaven and Earth and being able to connect with the myriad things, while never losing sight of what is fundamental.

A person who has perfected the Way of Heaven and humanity does not refuse tasks such as piercing an ox’s nose or putting a halter on a horse’s head, for these are arranged by the mandate of Heaven. When something accords with that mandate, one entrusts oneself to human affairs while remaining fundamentally guided by the Way of Heaven. If one rushes about excessively or drives oneself too hard, losing all measure, the natural order will be extinguished. If one fails to follow the way things move of themselves and instead forces action upon them, where then is “fate”? What one receives may have its proper allotment, but striving and chasing after it for the sake of fame takes one beyond one’s due share.

Lü’s Commentary says: Allowing the myriad things to change according to their own nature is the Dao. The River Earl had not grasped this, and so asked what there was to value in the Dao. Hai Ruo told him that understanding principles, discerning what is appropriate to the circumstances, and not letting external things harm oneself are all within the abilities of someone who knows the Dao, but they do not yet represent the highest attainment of embodying the Dao. As for being unharmed by water and fire, or untouched by cold and heat, one who embodies the Dao can indeed reach such a state. This does not mean, however, that such a person treats water, fire, cold, or heat with contempt.

Discerning safety and danger, carefully choosing whether to leave or stay, and remaining unharmed by external things amount only to knowing the principles, understanding how things work, and discerning what is appropriate to the circumstances. Accepting good fortune and misfortune, and submitting to what cannot be helped, means that the Way of Heaven resides within the heart. Discerning whether to leave or stay means remaining alert to the things people fear; this is human affairs on the outside. From here one enters the realm of De. Though one may not yet follow Heaven completely or be free from the entanglements of human affairs, the root of De is already grounded in the Way of Heaven.

To understand that the workings of Heaven and humanity take the Way of Heaven as their foundation, and to rest content with what one receives, is to move from the Way of Heaven toward human affairs. After winding through advances and retreats, returning to the root and speaking of the ultimate principle is to move from human affairs back to the Way of Heaven. When one can avoid letting human concerns damage the Way of Heaven, this is called “returning to one’s true nature.” Is such a person merely someone who has some understanding of the Dao?

Yidu’s Commentary is broadly similar to Lü’s Commentary.

Xiangdao’s Commentary says: A person who understands the Dao must understand principles; one who understands principles must be able to discern what is appropriate to the circumstances. This discernment means responding to external things without fixed preconceptions, while maintaining fairness and balance. How could such a person let external circumstances damage the heart or harm them? When the cultivation of the Dao reaches this state, one can respond to things in this way… (The original text ends here.)

Humans differ from four-legged livestock: they bend and straighten their legs as they walk, stumbling forward. Since people have already entrusted themselves to the workings of nature, why should they still study the Dao? First, then, one must understand the relationship between the human way and the Way of Heaven. Only by returning to the root can one speak of the utmost Dao.

Hai Ruo (the sea deity Ruo) begins by treating large and small as equal and regarding noble and lowly as level. He then turns to examining safety and danger, and choosing carefully when to advance or withdraw. Finally, he clarifies the relationship between the Way of Heaven and the human way, and returns to the root. The general point is that only by treating all things as equal can one preserve oneself; only by preserving oneself can one return to the Dao. To reach the root and the utmost, in the end, is to return to one’s original nature.

Bixuzi’s commentary says: One who understands the Dao of change and the principles of life can respond flexibly to things, thereby preserving one’s natural disposition without suffering harm. One examines safety and danger, distinguishes fortune from misfortune, and decides carefully when to advance or withdraw; that is why one acts this way. A person of De keeps the principles of Heaven within and handles human affairs properly in the world. Only then can one accomplish something. Whether to advance or withdraw, to serve in office or retire, is in one’s own hands. In this way one can return to the subtle root and speak of the utmost Dao.

Oxen and horses have four legs: this is how they accord with their nature. Putting nose cords on them and fitting them with bridles damages their nature through human contrivance. Making them go hungry and thirsty, and driving them until they are exhausted, further harms their lives. Making a horse yellow or an ox black serves people’s desires for profit and reputation. To preserve one’s nature without losing it is to return to simplicity and avoid artificiality and falseness.

Mr. Yanzhai considers the question here especially subtle: if people entrust themselves to the workings of nature, does that mean they need not study the Dao? Zhu Xi and Liao Deming raised a similar question in discussion. Zhu Xi did not answer, which suggests that it really is difficult to explain. Zhuangzi therefore deliberately introduces the word “weighing”—weighing things up and responding flexibly—and uses “not letting things harm oneself” to explain the overall meaning of the Dao. Each thing has its own principles; how to weigh and choose among them is up to people. Only after fully experiencing the Dao can one put this flexible responsiveness into practice. Understanding how to weigh things is what enables one to know what is light or weighty, urgent or secondary.

“Near” means pressing close. Those who have reached the highest De certainly know that all things have their allotted course and understand that external things cannot truly harm them. Yet they do not therefore recklessly put themselves in danger. Just as someone who understands fate would not stand beneath a wall on the verge of collapse, examining safety and danger and acting cautiously when advancing or withdrawing means that the mind of the Dao also takes account of the practical needs of the human mind. It does not mean simply saying that everything should be left to nature.

“Heaven within, humanity without” continues the earlier account that “the ruler is the Way of Heaven, and the minister is the human way”: the Way of Heaven is like the ruler, and the human way like the minister. To say that De lies in Heaven is to refer to the De of following what is natural. To say that one understands the principles governing Heaven and human action is to begin from the understanding of the human mind; the root remains in what is natural, and one rests content with what one has received. Being at ease in one’s place belongs to the mind of the Dao; stumbling forward, bending and straightening, advancing and withdrawing according to their respective principles belongs to the human mind. At this point, the text is clarifying the most essential root of the Dao and the furthest reach of principle.

Act in accordance with your natural inborn nature, free from worldly entanglements and without deliberate artifice; then there will be nothing you need to rely on. This is something innate in the human heart. But if you abandon your Heaven-given nature and life and turn instead to chasing fame, the human heart will fall into danger.

“Do not rely on” is a prohibition: it means “do not act this way.” Understand the Way of Heaven as well as human affairs, and carefully preserve your original nature without losing it; then the principles of Heaven can be kept intact. This is called returning to what is real. Thus human affairs and the principles of Heaven are connected.

From the beginning of the chapter to this point, there have been six rounds of questions and answers. It is like wind driving waves from afar: the waves draw nearer and grow increasingly turbulent. Here, enormous white waves surge and churn, overwhelming the eye. A moment later, the water’s surface grows clear and still; the rippling expanse stretches green to meet the sky. When people cast off what is false and return to what is real, their hearts become empty, clear, and tranquil—a state somewhat like this scene.

Those of the highest De can understand the Way of Heaven through human affairs, adapt to changing circumstances, and grasp how things work. They examine danger and safety, and cautiously decide when to advance or withdraw. How could external things harm them? Yet they do not use this as a reason to treat others arrogantly. The Way of Heaven is within and forms the foundation of the human being; human affairs are external and serve to meet changing circumstances. When De accords with Heaven, one can unite with the spirits and become impossible to confine to a single pattern or predict. Taking the Way of Heaven as one’s foundation and dwelling in De, one can advance or retreat, bend or extend, in accord with the world. Returning to the chapter’s central theme, the key is not to lose what is real. In this way, the principles for settling oneself and treating others are both complete.

Therefore, after understanding this inwardly and experiencing it for himself, the River Earl—the spirit of the Yellow River—asked no further questions. Scholars today often lack confidence, with many doubts clogging their minds; not a few share the River Earl’s troubles. If hearing the Sea Spirit’s words could bring sudden understanding, like seeing the moon emerge after the clouds disperse, then the heart would naturally become clear and perceptive. It would be enough to seek within oneself; why ask anything further?

(Note: In the phrase “understand the workings of Heaven and humanity,” the character “Heaven” may be a mistake for “the man.” In “dwelling in what is attained,” the character “attained” may be a mistake for “De.” The meaning becomes clear upon careful consideration of the surrounding context.)