《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 63

King Wen of Zhou was traveling in Zang when he saw an old man fishing. As he fished, his rod seemed not to be for catching fish; yet he was indeed fishing, simply treating it as an ordinary matter.

King Wen wanted to appoint him to govern, but worried that his ministers and senior members of the royal clan would feel uneasy. He considered abandoning the idea, but could not bear to leave the people without wise governance. So the next morning, he summoned his grandees and said, “Yesterday I dreamed of a worthy man with dark skin, riding a piebald horse. One of its four hooves was bright red. He called himself ‘Yu’ and said that the governance should be entrusted to the old man from Zang. Perhaps this would help the people improve their lot.”

The grandees looked grave and said, “This is the will of the former kings.” King Wen said, “If so, then let us consult the oracle.” The grandees replied, “This is the command of the former kings. Your Majesty has no other doubts, so why consult the oracle?” King Wen then invited the old man from Zang to take charge of governance.

He made no changes to the laws and institutions, and issued no partial orders. Three years later, King Wen toured the country and found that people of talent and virtue no longer formed cliques, officials no longer devoted themselves solely to building up personal merit, and measures such as the hu and dou, used in ancient times to measure grain, were no longer allowed to pass beyond the borders. The virtuous did not form cliques because people valued unity. Officials did not devote themselves solely to personal merit because everyone worked together. Measures did not leave the country because the feudal lords had no divided loyalties toward Zhou.

King Wen then honored the old man as Grand Preceptor and, facing north, asked him for guidance: “Could this way of governing be extended to all under Heaven?” The old man remained silent, then took his leave from court. That night he fled, and from then on he never appeared again.

Yan Yuan asked Confucius, “Had King Wen not yet reached the highest goodness? Why, then, did he have such a dream?” Confucius said, “Enough—say no more. King Wen had already reached the utmost. What is there to discuss or criticize? He merely went along with the people during the brief moment when their understanding was on the verge of awakening, but had not yet awakened.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: The old man merely went along with worldly affairs for a time, passing through life without seeking gain or loss in his heart. The fishing is only a metaphor. Valuing unity allows one to live in harmony with the world; remaining calm and self-contained, pure and complete in oneself, allows one to differ from the affairs of the multitude. People throughout the realm trusted one another, and so they could unify laws and standards of measurement. Those who establish achievements do not claim the credit for themselves; once their work is done, they naturally step aside, and when matters are settled, their fame naturally falls away. Only when fame fades and the person withdraws can governance be extended to all under Heaven. King Wen entrusted governance to his grandees rather than taking it upon himself; this was already the utmost. The “brief moment” refers to the instant when the people’s understanding is about to awaken, but has not yet done so; to go along with the current…

King Wen used a dream omen to accommodate the wishes of the people.

Lü’s commentary holds that the Old Man Zhizang, the old man mentioned in the text, learned the principles of governing a state through fishing. He fished with a straight hook and did not really intend to catch anything. Whether he would fish or not, he left the matter to a dream omen, agreeing that divination would decide it, yet in the end he did not divine.

King Wen worried above that his ministers and elder brothers might feel unsettled, and below that the people might lose their support. So he appointed this man for three years and observed the results of his governance. They proved just as had been foretold. It is not unbelievable to say that one can know things through a dream omen; nor is it disrespectful to the spirits to intend to divine but then refrain. It was simply a way, for the time being, to accommodate the people’s feelings. The state’s institutions and laws remained unchanged. The Six Codes and Eight Regulations—the institutions by which the state was governed—were still conferred by the Son of Heaven. This was how a state was governed. Local policies were not issued directly by the royal court, but first entrusted to the feudal lords to carry out; only in this way could they be extended throughout the realm. Once the fields had been cultivated, the old groups of men of integrity, bound together by their principles, would fall apart. If measures such as the hu and yu did not conform to the regulations, they were not standard measures approved by the former kings.

Yi Du’s commentary holds that this passage uses an allegory to tell of King Wen of Zhou appointing the Grand Duke, Jiang Taigong. Before King Wen had found the Grand Duke, he could not bear for the people to lose their support, so he claimed to have dreamed that the Grand Duke had come to visit. This was how a sage accommodated human feelings. After appointing the Grand Duke, he left the established laws unchanged and stopped issuing improper policies. Three years later, governance throughout the realm had converged on a single course. As a result, the men of integrity, with their principles and collective activities, were no longer needed: the state was already well governed, so there was no longer any need for loyal ministers to remonstrate; public affairs were unified, and nowhere in the realm did people pursue conflicting courses, so local officials no longer prided themselves on their personal virtue. Measures such as the hu and yu were no longer exported to other states. Once governance had achieved these results, King Wen faced north and served the Grand Duke as a subject. The Grand Duke, however, remained serene and made no reply. He casually declined audiences, carried out his duties by day, and slipped away by night, never again becoming known to the world. King Wen appointed the Grand Duke not because he was unable to follow Heaven’s will on his own, but because he did not want to appear different from everyone else. So he merely claimed to have dreamed of him briefly, in order to accommodate the people’s feelings.

Bixu’s commentary says that “his fishing was no fishing” refers to fishing with a straight hook: he used fishing to await the right moment, making a life of fishing in seclusion seem ordinary. King Wen invoked a dream omen and consulted his great officers about it. They believed it was the will of the former ruler, requiring neither doubt nor divination, so they welcomed the Grand Duke and entrusted him with the affairs of state. “The men of integrity fall apart and their groups disperse” means that once the state was well governed, loyal ministers withdrew and the duty of remonstrance was abolished. “Local officials no longer pride themselves on their virtue” means that the people were simple and government affairs few. The fact that measures such as the hu and yu no longer entered other states shows that governance had already proved effective.

When the harvests throughout the realm are abundant and uniformity is esteemed, ruler and ministers can be of one mind. When everyone works together, the people can each pursue their own livelihoods in peace.

Yan Hui was still puzzled: Was the story of King Wen receiving a message in a dream not true? The reply was that this concerned adapting to circumstances: acting flexibly according to the situation. The success or failure of such adaptation often turns on a matter of moments. King Wen had already handled the matter with great care, so why speak of criticizing him?

Liu Gai’s commentary: The people of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties all followed the proper Way. If they knew that the elder Zang had a way to govern the state, they could simply entrust government affairs to him. Why rely on a dream to win the trust of the ministers? Those who understand the Great Dao must understand how things work and also know how to adapt to circumstances. The Way of Heaven can be followed naturally; adapting to circumstances, however, belongs to human affairs. How could it be set aside and ignored? Confucius and King Wen were both skilled at adapting to circumstances, but Yan Hui had not yet fully grasped the matter. Thus, the story of Gaozong seeking a worthy minister through a dream is similar. Gaozong was someone who followed the proper Way; his spirit reached in all directions and communicated with Heaven and Earth. The signs manifested by his utmost sincerity were answered between Heaven and humanity like shadows and echoes. There is no reason to doubt that he dreamed Heaven had bestowed on him a worthy assistant. Zhuangzi’s parable suggests that, to explain how one adapts to circumstances, King Wen had to examine events of antiquity to test the present, and so he used the dream story to win people’s trust. Later scholars who use the elder Zang’s account to draw conclusions about Fu Yue’s appointment are mistaken.

Yanzhai’s explanation: A person who fishes year after year always has a fishing rod in hand, but does not deliberately think about fishing. Hence the saying, “Holding a fishing rod does not mean one intends to fish.” “Destroying boundary markers and dispersing the people” means no longer drawing boundaries or gathering factions. One has De, yet does not claim credit for it. “Working together” means acting alongside everyone else without making oneself seem different. The measures used in other states, such as bushels and pecks, differ in size, yet no one dares bring them into one’s own state. Nor do the various feudal states harbor divided loyalties: each knows whom to follow. “The court order” refers to the story that, on hearing King Wen was seeking worthy people throughout the realm, someone fled into seclusion and never appeared again for the rest of his life. In the old text, the first “fu” in “fufu” is read as “great.” The phrase “yushi fufu” in the inscription of Qin Shi Huang on Mount Tai uses the word in the same way.

The commentators differ in their explanations of “destroying boundary markers.” Sima’s commentary says that “zhi” means a row or formation; “dispersing the people” means not keeping a following. Another interpretation takes “zhi” to mean a boundary marker, or a hall built to receive those who offered remonstrance; hence Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary calls it “a hall for remonstrating officials.” Master Fan, by contrast, holds that “zhi” means the trees planted along a border to mark its limits, like the barriers at Yuguan and Liusai. Destroying the markers and dispersing the people would then mean removing the garrisons and ending warfare, so that neighboring states’ borders become one. This is precisely what it means to promote the custom of “esteeming uniformity.” The Supplementary Examination cites Sima Qian’s “Letter from Yue Yi to the King of Yan” as evidence, which says, “The markers of Jiqiu were planted among the reeds of Wen.” The original commentary continues its examination of the specific meaning of “zhi” within the quotation.

Guang’s commentary holds that the border of Yan once extended to the bamboo fields near the Wen River in Qi.

“Bamboo thicket” refers to bamboo, which was used to mark a boundary. On this reading, Fan’s explanation can serve as a basis; for other meanings, readers may consult the various commentaries.

Lie Yukou (Liezi) was demonstrating archery for Bohun Wuren. He drew the bow to its full length and balanced a cup of water on his elbow as he shot an arrow. Just as one arrow left the bow, the next was already nocked; while an arrow still rested on the string, it seemed already to have been loosed. He stood perfectly still, like a wooden puppet. Bohun Wuren said, “This is archery through skill. It is not shooting with a mind that does not shoot. You once climbed a high mountain with me and stood on a perilous rock above a hundred-foot abyss. Could you still shoot then?” Bohun Wuren climbed the mountain, stepped onto the perilous rock, and went to the edge of the hundred-foot abyss. With his back to the drop, he slowly retreated until two thirds of his feet were hanging over the edge. He bowed to Lie Yukou and invited him to come forward. Lie Yukou fell to the ground, his sweat running down to his heels. Bohun Wuren said, “A Perfected Person—one whose cultivation of De has reached the highest level—can look up to the blue heavens and plunge down to the Yellow Springs. They range in every direction, yet their spirit and Qi remain unchanged. Now you are trembling with fear, your gaze is unsettled, and your mind is already in danger.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “‘Drawing until the bow is full’ means that the arrow is set against a fully drawn bow. The left hand is like a stone supporting it, and the right hand like a branch resting against a tree. When the right hand releases the arrow, the left remains steady and unmoving, which is why a cup of water can be balanced on the elbow. The next arrow is nocked just as the first has been released, before it reaches the target. Balancing a cup of water on the elbow describes the speed and precision of the movement. ‘Like a wooden puppet’ means that the body is completely still. When De fills one inwardly, spirit and Qi overflow outward; near or far, in shadow or depth, everything can be seen clearly. One can therefore discern the crucial point between safety and danger and remain at ease. Those who do not understand the boundaries between things will be afraid. Once afraid, they lose a great deal—how could archery be the only case?”

Lü’s commentary says: “‘Drawing until the bow is full’ means pulling the bow to its limit; ‘balancing a cup of water on the elbow’ means keeping the elbow straight and steady. As soon as one arrow is released, the next follows; another arrow is already set against the string. ‘Following one upon another’ means that the arrows are released in an unbroken sequence; ‘again set in place’ means that an arrow remains nocked on the string. The passage describes one action following another without interruption. ‘Like a wooden puppet’ means maintaining undivided concentration while using the mind. This is archery performed through skill. What is called ‘shooting without shooting’ is holding fast to pure, undivided Qi, without relying on cleverness or boldness. To climb a mountain and face an abyss without inner disturbance is precisely this state. Extending the principle from there, it is only natural to range in every direction while one’s spirit and Qi remain unchanged.”

The commentary by Yidu says: When Lie Yukou shot arrows, he applied his mind with great care. That is why he could release arrows one after another, and make it seem that one arrow had already been shot while another was still on the string. This was a kind of “hitting the mark” through archery skill, but not “hitting the mark” in accord with the Great Dao……

Seeing Bohun Wuren climb a mountain and stand at the edge of a precipice, walking backward with unhurried ease while wearing a hat, sweat running down to his heels—this is still only the more elementary, obvious side of a sage’s wisdom. As for moving freely across the farthest reaches of the eight directions without any change in spirit, no one but a sage can do it. That is why he says, “You are still in great danger in this respect.”

“Archery by archery” means shooting while still within the limits of what skill and strength can accomplish. “Archery without archery” cannot be explained even by the limits of skill and strength.

Bixuzi’s commentary says: According to the methods of archery, the left hand is like bracing against a stone, and the right hand like leaning on a branch; this makes it possible to balance a cup of water on the elbow. The elbow supports the arrow and releases it in an unbroken sequence: as soon as one arrow leaves the bowstring, the next is already nocked. This is what is meant by arrows following one another in flight. Even as an arrow has just been released and has not yet reached the target, a cup of water can still be balanced on the elbow. This describes shooting so swiftly that the body seems perfectly still. Yet this style of archery still retains the methods of archery. To shoot while climbing a mountain and standing at the edge of a precipice is to forget not only the technique but the body itself; only then can one move freely across the eight directions without any change in spirit.

Yanzhai says: One arrow has just been released, and another is already nocked; the arrow that has left the string and the one about to be shot follow close upon each other. Such continuous shooting, swift beyond ordinary understanding, is “archery by archery.” Bohun Wuren’s unhurried backward walk on a mountain at the edge of a precipice is “archery without archery.” This is to preserve Qi in its pure unity, moving freely across the eight directions without any change in spirit.

This chapter explains that those who rely only on refined skill, thereby exhausting their spirit, readily reach their limits. Those who follow the Dao and so become adept at their skills, by contrast, are not alarmed or afraid. When arrows fly one after another and the archer’s posture remains as still as a wooden puppet, one could say that the skill has reached its peak. But place the archer on a mountain at the edge of a precipice, and fear makes him sweat; he can scarcely remain standing, let alone shoot. This is why Bohun Wuren uses “archery without archery” to illustrate the principle. He uses archery only as a way to point toward the Dao; he does not treat archery itself as the ultimate attainment. Yet perhaps this is the beginning of reaching a state in which one can move freely across the eight directions without any change in spirit. Those who cultivate the spirit can gain insight from this.

Some readers wonder why Lie Yukou, in writing his book, speaks of himself in such disparaging terms. Perhaps he belittles himself to honor his teacher, and to honor his teacher is also to honor the Dao.

Some hold that Yi, the legendary master archer, need not draw his bow again. When explaining Zong Lü’s commentary, Master Wuyin Fan cited Guo Xiang’s commentary as well and pointed out a minor error in Guo Xiang’s interpretation: here, “arrows in parallel” means the same thing as “boats in parallel”—side by side. That is, just as one arrow leaves the string, another is nocked; it does not mean balancing a cup on the elbow. This interpretation is more convincing.

Qiu Wu asked Sun Shuao, “You served three times as Lingyin, the chief minister of Chu, yet never seemed proud of it. You left office three times, yet showed no sorrow. At first I wondered about this. Now I see that your breathing is calm and your expression at ease. How do you keep your mind?”

Sun Shuao replied, “In what way am I better than anyone else? I simply think that when an official post comes, I cannot refuse it; when it goes, I cannot hold on to it. I regard gain and loss as things beyond my control, so I show no sorrow. In what way am I better than anyone else? Besides, I do not try to decide whether gain and loss belong to someone else or to me. If they belong to someone else, they are not mine alone; if they belong to me, they are not someone else’s alone. I am calmly at ease and looking around me. How could I have time to weigh whether other people are high or low in rank?”

After hearing this, Confucius said, “The True Ones of ancient times—those who had attained the Dao and were in harmony with nature—could not be persuaded by the words of the wise, seduced by beauty, or coerced by robbers. Even Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor, legendary rulers of antiquity, could not claim their friendship. Life and death are great matters, yet they could not alter their hearts; how much less could rank and salary? Such people’s spirits can pass over mountains without hindrance and enter deep waters without getting wet. They are not worn down even in lowly, insignificant circumstances. Their spirits fill Heaven and Earth. Even if they give everything they possess to others, they themselves become more abundant.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “When one’s heart is open and untroubled, and one is wholly at one with others and oneself, it can be said neither that everything belongs only to others nor that everything belongs only to oneself. ‘Calmly at ease and looking around’ means having nothing one must do and nothing one must avoid doing. The names Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor stand for achievements; they are not the achievements themselves. Their titles, therefore, are no reason to seek someone’s friendship. If one sacrifices one’s body and mind for the world, both others and oneself suffer loss. What matters is that everyone can rest in their own nature. Help others without harming yourself, and your spirit will fill Heaven and Earth. Be at ease wherever you are, and you will not harm yourself; respond to the myriad things and let each find its proper place.”

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: “‘Calm breathing’ means breathing deeply and evenly; it reflects a quiet heart. Sun Shuao understood that gain and loss were beyond his control, so he accepted his fate and remained at ease. To say that he did not distinguish whether gain and loss belonged to others or to himself means that he followed the Great Dao and did not set his heart on gain or loss. When one is busy examining oneself, how could one find time to judge whether others are high or low in rank? The True Ones of ancient times were unmoved by words, beauty, or coercion, and did not seek the friendship of Fuxi or the Yellow Emperor, because they understood that the myriad things cannot be possessed through selfish desire, and that one should not be changed by external things. Such people’s spirits can pass over mountains, enter deep waters, and fill Heaven and Earth. ‘They give to others and become more abundant themselves’ means that the workings of the Dao are inexhaustible.”

The commentary by Yidu says: This passage refers to the story of Zifu Wenzi, the Minister of Lu, recorded in the Analects, and also uses Shangu to illustrate the same principle. “Breathing softly and contentedly” describes the faint movement of the breath. When high officials and dignitaries come to his side, he cannot refuse them, so he accepts their presence naturally. When they leave, he cannot hold them back, so he lets them go. Since gain and loss are not decided by him, what is there to worry about or rejoice over? Forgetting the distinction between self and other and returning to the state in which all things are one, gain and loss dissolve of their own accord. Even Heaven cannot make someone noble or lowly, much less another person. The True Person, one who has attained the Dao, befriends the transformations of all things. Thus, a truly wise person cannot be fully described in words; a beautiful person cannot easily tempt him; a thief cannot rob him; and even Xi Huang—Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor, legendary sage rulers of antiquity—cannot be his friend. For this reason, he can pass through mountain forests without being pierced by thorns and enter deep waters without getting wet. Even in adversity, he remains free and open. He fills Heaven and Earth and lives among all things, yet possesses all the more.

The commentary by Bixu says: “Breathing softly and contentedly” describes the breath flowing freely through the nostrils and a joyful expression. I have nothing that makes me better than others, and I do not boast, so I have no worries. Besides, life is fundamentally illusory, and human existence is like a lodging house. The comings and goings of high officials and dignitaries are like mosquitoes flying past one’s eyes—why dwell on them? So I remain at ease and do not advance, untouched by the pull of external things. I nurture my spirit in the realm of Dao and De, look around in every direction, guide my breath, and roam in the deep and mysterious reaches. What time would I have to concern myself with the social world’s talk of nobility and lowliness? The True People of antiquity were plain and unadorned, so they were hard to describe in words. Their nature was sincere, so it could not be altered. They had few desires, so they were far from the danger of thieves. They sought nothing, so they could not be humiliated. From this we can see that those whose minds have no obstruction are not changed by life or death; those whose bodies have no burdens are not bound by rank or salary. Their spirit has no fixed boundaries, so it can pass through the hardest things without hindrance. Their breath has no fixed form, so it can enter the softest places without being dampened. Their spirit is hidden within what has no interior and fills what has no exterior. They yield their achievements to all things, allowing each thing to have enough, while they themselves still have more than enough.

The commentary by Yanzhai says: “Breathing softly and contentedly” refers to the breath moving lightly through the nostrils as a person cultivates himself inwardly. If the Minister’s nobility belongs only to him, it has nothing to do with me; if my nobility belongs to me, it has nothing to do with the Minister. Thus, if nobility lies with someone else, it is absent from me; if it lies with me, it is absent from someone else. “Pausing to look around in every direction” means gazing far across Heaven and Earth. How could one still care about the world’s talk of nobility and lowliness? The principles of a wise person cannot be exhausted in words; outward beauty cannot bewilder him; a thief’s might cannot make him submit; even Xi Huang cannot be his friend. This means that he has transcended the mundane and does not take the world to heart. “Jie” means small and insignificant … (the original text ends here unfinished).

Even in poverty and low status, the Dao is within oneself and fills Heaven and Earth. Put it into practice and teach others, and its effects are inexhaustible.

His mind was calm and at ease, so his breathing was steady and deep. Though each breath rose and fell, the movement was barely perceptible. He knew that rank and stipend could not be refused when they came, nor held back when they went. He therefore regarded them as gains and losses that had nothing to do with him, and showed no sorrow on his face. This was what set him apart from ordinary people.

He did not know whether all this had been arranged by the Creator or decided by himself. If he believed it was his own decision, there would be no Creator; if he believed it was arranged by the Creator, there would be no self. Once he had forgotten both Creator and self, what was there to worry about? He calmly looked around, showing the ease within him. How could he concern himself with whether others were honored or lowly? What truly gave him joy was the peace of his own heart. He regarded his three appointments to office and three dismissals as if dust were drifting past his eyes. This means that one who accepts his allotted fate does not dwell on high or low status, and one who thinks little of profit and emolument does not value rank and stipend. Thus Confucius likened him to an ancient Perfected Person—one who had realized the Dao and transcended worldly attachments. A Perfected Person does not let life and death alter his original nature. His vast Qi fills Heaven and Earth, enabling him to put the Dao into practice and benefit others without end.

The Nanhua Zhenjing, the Daoist name for the Zhuangzi, uses the story of Jianwu and Shuao to show that entering office or withdrawing from public life can each serve as a lesson. Yet neither course increases or diminishes their inner joy. Only when one can be like this is one ready to discuss the Dao.

The King of Chu and the ruler of Fan were seated together. After a while, one of the King of Chu’s attendants said, “The state of Fan has three signs that it is doomed.”

The ruler of Fan replied, “The destruction of Fan is not enough to make me lose my inner continuity. Since Fan’s destruction cannot damage that continuity, the existence of Chu is not enough to increase true continuity. From this, it follows that Fan has never truly been destroyed, and Chu has never truly existed.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: People say that three signs have appeared to show that Fan is doomed, but these signs cannot damage my inner continuity, because I have already ceased to hold Fan in my heart. One who forgets it does not regard its destruction as true destruction; in the same way, existence cannot amount to true existence. A spacious heart, free of self-importance, is what endures. Whether things continue or perish depends on how the mind regards them. From the root of the world, there is ultimately no such thing as continuation or perishing.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary says: There is a kind of enduring continuity in the world that is untouched by the changes of life and death. This is the Dao. To realize and preserve this enduring continuity is to safeguard it. How could the states of Fan and Chu determine what truly continues or perishes?

Yidu’s commentary says: A state’s continuation is the continuation of an external thing; my continuity is the continuity of life itself. What concerns the root of life remains undestroyed even when a state falls. If one entrusts one’s continuity to external things, then even if the state does not fall, what the heart depends on has already been lost.

The King of Chu coveted the annexation of other states. One of his attendants said, “Fan has three signs that it is doomed. Do you wish to…” [The original text ends here.]

The ruler of Fan did not dwell on whether his state would survive or perish. Thus, when Fan fell, nothing he possessed in himself was lost. Since Fan’s fall could not harm the Dao he held within, the existence of Chu could not make what was truly worth holding endure. The passage mocks the King of Chu for assuming that Chu still existed, when what he himself possessed had long since been lost; the state’s survival did nothing to help him. From this perspective, Fan had never truly perished, and Chu had never truly existed. From the standpoint of the Dao, there is no distinction between survival and destruction.

Bixu, the commentator, says: The King of Chu harbored ambitions to annex other states, so he had those around him test the ruler of Fan with words. The three signs that Fan was doomed were its failure to honor the elderly, respect the worthy, and provide for its people. Fan’s fall could not harm what I possessed in myself; this does not mean that a state’s destruction was regarded as a calamity. Although Chu still existed, its survival could not make what was truly worth holding endure: the state remained, but the King of Chu had already lost his life and his true nature. This shows that survival and destruction depend on whether one accords with the Dao, not on whether a state or its cities continue to exist.

Yanzhai, the commentator, says: The point here is like that of a person who has suffered amputation of the feet yet still knows how to value them: the Dao resides within oneself, regardless of whether one has a state. The fall of Fan did not make the Dao disappear, just as the survival of Chu did not preserve it. All gains and losses in the world are merely things external to oneself. This passage, however, places particular emphasis on the words, “Chu’s survival was not enough to preserve what was to be preserved.” If losing something is no cause for shame, then gaining something is no cause for pride. This is indeed a thought-provoking statement.

The ruler of Fan did not dwell on his state’s destruction and was therefore able to preserve what he possessed in himself. This shows that he knew the self to be more important than the state. The King of Chu, by contrast, took pride in his state’s survival, while what he possessed in himself had already been lost. He valued the state more than himself. If the self is more important than the state, then even the state’s destruction does no harm to the self. If the state is more important than the self, then even its survival brings the self no benefit. This shows that the noble person should preserve the Dao and De, not a position of power; how much less, then, should they cling to gains and losses of even lesser importance?

This chapter begins its argument with the teacher of Zifang. Though he looked like an ordinary person, he could conceal his natural endowments, keep his De hidden, and avoid drawing attention to himself. For this very reason, he was able to awaken Marquis Wen of Wei, helping him recognize that what he had studied was not true learning and that the state of Wei had instead become a burden to him. The teacher’s De was brought to light so skillfully that a single sentence awakened the ruler. Why, then, worry that one cannot establish oneself or put the Dao into practice?

When Confucius met Wenbo Xuezi, he grasped the presence of the Dao through a mere exchange of glances. This shows that the moment of insight need not come from repeated explanations of ancient teachings. Yan Hui marveled at the other’s transcendence, feeling he could only look up from far behind. And so, why should we not seek to understand the Dao’s subtle influence in the fleeting moment when two people pass close by…

At the heart of the dispute, Lao Dan (Laozi) speaks of the source from which all things arise, while Confucius sees that rites and laws have become estranged from human nature. When two independent and deeply perceptive men meet and discuss such subtle matters, is it not needless to keep probing further? Yet unless principles are illustrated through concrete examples, later scholars cannot benefit from them. The text therefore examines in detail the subtle workings of Yin-Yang harmony and the nurturing of all things. It traces things from their beginnings to their final destinations, so that everyone may understand the vastness of Heaven and Earth as a whole and stop clinging to the tiny changes of their own bodies. This, too, reflects the sage’s profound care in promoting the Great Dao and aiding all things.

Duke Ai of Lu said that Lu had many Confucian scholars, judging people by their robes and caps. Zhuangzi examined their actual conduct and concluded that true Confucians were few. Later, Confucius’s reputation spread throughout Lu, while the others gradually faded from view. This shows that the true Dao does not perish, whereas false learning is easily erased. The mirror of right and wrong is so clear—could it really deceive the world?

King Wen of Zhou recommended the worthy elder Zang to manage affairs of state. Once the work was done, Zang left in the night. This shows that for those who sincerely wish to govern a state, the most important thing is to appoint worthy people; those who respond to circumstances without selfish intent complete their work and claim no credit. The principles of the relationship between ruler and minister reach their fullest expression here, making this an example for all ages.

As for Bohun’s test of Lie Yukou’s archery, and Shusun Ao’s lack of distress after being dismissed from office three times, these stories concern people who understand and accept their allotted fate. They have freed themselves from the constraints of worldly feelings, follow nature, and become one with change. They move freely between Heaven and Earth and remain unshaken even in the face of life and death. One must reach this state to have attained the utmost in learning the Dao. Otherwise, one is simply being pulled along by external things, inwardly weary and unsettled.

Finally, the examples of the king of Chu and the ruler of Fan, and of an individual’s survival and a state’s survival, show that the self and external things, the inner and the outer, each have their place. In this, one may say, lies an understanding of what matters most and what should be relinquished.