《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 73

Xu Wugui, through Nü Shang, went to see Marquis Wu of Wei. The marquis greeted him, saying, “Are you ill, sir? Perhaps you have grown tired of the hardships of life in the mountains and forests, and that is why you have agreed to come and see me?”

Xu Wugui said, “I have come to take the strain off you. What do you have that is worth making me work for? If you give free rein to your desires and keep feeding your likes and dislikes, the true nature of your life will be harmed. If you suppress your desires and force yourself to restrain your likes and dislikes, your eyes and ears will be harmed too. I have come to take the strain off you. What do you have that is worth taking the strain off me?”

The marquis’s expression turned solemn, and he did not reply. After a while, Xu Wugui said, “I once spoke with you about how to judge dogs. A low-grade dog knows only to stop once it has eaten its fill; that is the skill of a wildcat. A middle-grade dog raises its eyes to watch the sun. But a high-grade dog looks as though it has done nothing at all. I find judging dogs less satisfying than judging horses. When I judge a horse, its straight parts follow the ink line, its curves the curved ruler, its squares the carpenter’s square, and its circles the compass. Such a horse is merely a fine steed within the state; it is still no match for a finest horse under heaven. A finest horse under heaven is born with exceptional qualities. Its expression seems troubled, as if it had lost something, as if something were missing. Yet when it gallops, it leaves all other horses behind and vanishes in a cloud of dust. No one knows where it has gone.”

The marquis was delighted by what he heard and burst out laughing. After Xu Wugui left, Nü Shang asked, “What did you say that made the ruler so happy? When I advise him, I speak broadly of the Odes, the Documents, the Rites, and Music; when I speak in detail, I present the Golden Edition and the Six Secret Teachings. I have also helped him accomplish so many achievements that I cannot count them, yet he has never once laughed aloud. What did you say just now to make him so happy?”

Xu Wugui said, “I simply spoke to him directly about judging dogs and horses.”

Nü Shang said, “Was that all?”

Xu Wugui said, “Have you never heard of people from Yue who have been driven from their homeland? After a few days away, they are glad to see someone they know. After ten days or half a month away, they are glad to see even someone they often saw back home. After a full year, they are glad to see someone who merely looks like a person from their homeland. Is this not because the longer they are away, the more deeply they miss their people?

“Those who flee to a vast wilderness are glad to see goosefoot and mugwort spread across the narrow paths trodden by weasels and martens, and glad to hear the sound of human footsteps ringing out. How much more glad would they be to hear the voices of their brothers and kin nearby? It must have been a long time since the words of a true person rang in the ruler’s presence, as warmly as familiar conversation.”

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “The things encountered by the eyes and ears, and the likes and dislikes within the heart, have no fitting response, either inwardly or outwardly; this is why it is called ‘illness.’ ‘Transcendentally’ …”

The Marquis Wu did not respond, nor did he care for Wugui’s words. How could a Perfected Person speak with such humility? It was simply because these words suited the ruler’s wishes. Wugui spoke at length and with force, yet the ruler never said a word.

What a ruler likes to hear is like the sound of bells and drums: someone may love hearing it, yet also grow tired of it. Another person enjoys talking about dogs and horses, and is pleased to hear them mentioned. It is like someone who has left their homeland and, upon meeting an acquaintance, naturally thinks of home. Everyone longs for what their nature delights in. When they obtain what they love, they rejoice; but after possessing it for a long time, they no longer think of it constantly, and even forget why it pleased them at first. The Perfected Person’s words were precisely what accorded with the ruler’s nature. At first, the ruler was pleased to hear them; in time, he would forget that pleasure.

Lü’s commentary says: Wugui forgot the Marquis Wu’s power and spoke frankly, pointing out his faults. Because Wugui would not submit to him, the Marquis Wu remained aloof and gave no reply. Wugui used talk of dogs and horses to suggest that he had nothing to seek from the Marquis Wu.

A dog has lowly abilities and is satisfied once it has eaten its fill. It is like a person who can be driven by hunger and therefore has desires. A horse of middling ability can see the sunlight; this is like a person who can aspire to lofty things but has not yet forgotten himself. To go further and forget even the “I” is to understand what it means to be selfless.

A horse that meets the standards of rules and measuring cords is called a state horse. It represents a scholar who moves within the bounds of the worldly realm. There is another kind of horse in the world, naturally endowed with excellent abilities, which comes to maturity of its own accord, without training. If one worries over it, one cannot share in its joy; if it is lost, nothing can match it. To lose even one such horse is like losing oneself: the loss is immense, far beyond merely losing a horse. When it runs, it surpasses the dust, and no one knows how it can do so. This represents the exceptional people of the world who roam beyond the ordinary realm and cannot be fathomed.

Wugui’s meaning was this: If even a dog of superior ability and a fine horse of the world are so hard to measure, how could I value the ruler’s power or submit to him? How could the ruler take me for an ordinary judge of dogs and horses? The Marquis Wu understood his meaning and was greatly pleased.

Words that communicate through accord with the Way are truly effective speech. If words do not accord with the Way, then even the Book of Odes, the Book of Documents, the Rites, and Music are not enough to move a person. If words happen to accord with the Way, then even talk of judging dogs and horses can bring someone delight. When people lose their true nature and life, and become absorbed in artificial contrivances, they are like those who have left their homeland and kin, wandering far away; or like those who flee to desolate places and live among weasels and similar creatures. What is called the real is what was originally inherent in one’s nature, just as one’s familiar homeland and kin are. Unless someone is utterly confused and deluded, who could hear a single word or laugh from a Perfected Person and not be pleased?

Yi Du’s commentary says: Wugui was a recluse of Wei; Nü Shang was a minister of Wei; and the Marquis Wu was the son of Marquis Wen of Wei. The Marquis Wu thought that Wugui had endured all the hardships of life in the mountains and forests… (The original text ends here.)

So Wu Gui said to Marquis Wu, “Even living in the mountains and forests does not necessarily free one from worry. You are now excessively attached to your desires, and the natural conditions of your life will be harmed. If you cast aside your desires, the feelings of your ears and eyes will go unsatisfied. It is hard to escape either of these troubles. I say this to make you think carefully. Why, then, should you trouble yourself on my account?”

Marquis Wu did not reply, because these words did not suit his mind. Wu Gui knew he could not speak to him directly about the Great Dao, so he turned to what the marquis liked and won him over with his skills in judging dogs and horses. A poor dog eats its fill but has no ability; a middling dog has lofty aspirations; a fine dog seems to have forgotten something. “Forgetting” is a state of unease, and the unease of seeming to have lost something altogether is more serious than mere forgetting. The dogs are used here to illustrate a principle; this does not mean that the qualities of dogs represent the highest attainment.

The conversation then turned to judging horses. Assessing a horse’s build by standards such as the carpenter’s line, the square, and the compass involves methods that can be taught. Yet horses throughout the world possess natural excellence, so one need not judge them only by outward forms such as roundness, squareness, straightness, or curvature. A horse whose glances seem troubled, as though it has lost something, can still be recognized by its appearance. But a horse that has let go of its attachments can surpass the herd and race away, leaving no trace by which anyone could know its whereabouts.

“Speaking against the grain” means speaking contrary to someone’s wishes, while “speaking with the grain” means speaking in keeping with them. Marquis Wu liked military affairs and disliked literary pursuits, so Nü Shang called the Six Classics—the six Confucian classics—“contrary weapons,” and military strategy “compliant weapons,” thereby playing to his inclinations.

Nü Shang then offered the example of people exiled from Yue. A few days after leaving their homeland, they are delighted to see someone they know. After ten days or half a month, they are delighted even to see someone they had once encountered. A year after leaving, their longing for those they knew grows so intense that they are glad merely to see someone who resembles a person from home. If they flee from danger into a desolate, open place, where wild grass overgrows and blocks the paths, and only narrow trails frequented by sheng and wu—small creatures like weasels—remain, with no sign of people or dwellings, they need not see anyone to feel glad; simply hearing human footsteps is enough. How much greater their joy would be if their brothers and relatives were right there, laughing and talking with them!

Marquis Wu had long been fond of dogs and horses and had thought about them for a long time. So when he heard of someone skilled at judging dogs and horses, he was pleased at once, even before seeing any actual dogs or horses. He sighed, “It has been a long time since anyone near the throne has spoken with insight. That is why even hearing about these modest skills makes me glad.”

Bixu’s commentary says that “excessive desires harm the natural conditions of life; casting aside desires harms the feelings of the ears and eyes” refers to the mutual constraint between the inner and outer discussed earlier. “Forgetting” and “losing” both mean being unable to find contentment. The unease caused by forgetting something is less severe than the feeling of seeming to have lost something. This passage uses dogs and horses as metaphors; does that mean the way of dogs and horses is being treated as the highest attainment? The author is trying to change Marquis Wu’s way of thinking, beginning with familiar, accessible things and then guiding him toward…

The Wugui describes a divine person, one who has attained the Dao and possesses wondrous insight. He responds to the times and seizes the right moment without mixing in personal motives. His words seem calm and restrained on the surface, yet quietly carry an intention. He follows the Great Dao and does not go against the way things are; he adapts to what pleases the other person without offending his feelings. Thus, even when addressing the fierce and forceful Marquis Wu, he could make him laugh with delight and guide him in a fitting way.

Yan Zhai explains in his Kouyi: “‘Li De’ refers to a horse of low ability, like a raccoon dog. It fixes its gaze on the sun, without moving its eyes. Here, ‘the One’ means the original nature at the beginning of life. Though alive, it is as if dead; it looks like a wooden rooster. This is the finest kind of horse. ‘Fitting the compass, square, marking line, and plumb line’ means that everything accords with proper rules and measures. It does not mean deliberately clinging to standards and forcing things to fit. ‘Naturally formed’ means that it is so from birth, arising of itself.”

“Seeming troubled, seeming bereft” and “still and withdrawn” describe a state of seeming worried, as though something had been lost, while the mind remains quiet. “Lose the One and lose life” means that once the original nature is lost, the root of life is lost as well. Such a horse surpasses the others and vanishes in a cloud of dust; no one knows where it eventually goes. All of this uses horses as metaphors.

The Six Secret Teachings (Liutao) is Jiang Taigong’s treatise on military strategy; “Golden Tablets” refers to storing it securely in a golden coffer. The passage’s phrase “put to use with success” means that applying its principles in practice brings tangible results. “Leaving one’s state” is a metaphor for departing from one’s homeland. “Qingkai” refers to the sound of coughing or clearing one’s throat.

Chu Shi says in his Gu Jian that dogs and horses are ordinary domestic animals: a dog can do no more than guard a gate, and a horse no more than carry people from place to place. Even for someone skilled at judging horses, recognizing a truly fine horse would count as an extraordinary feat. Why was Marquis Wu so pleased to hear this? A persuasive speaker always guides others by appealing to what they like, making the words easier to accept. It is like speaking of warfare to a ruler who enjoys war.

Consider closely the phrase “among the horses of the world, there are some naturally formed.” The image of a horse surpassing the others and vanishing in a cloud of dust is easy to imagine. The abilities of Bo Le and Jiu Fanggao, the ancient masters of judging horses, leave nothing out here. A fixed gaze on the sun and an air of loss can still be described in vivid language. But states such as worry, bereavement, and loss of one’s original nature are harder to portray; they cannot be compared to an ordinary horse by means of a compass, square, marking line, and plumb line.

Here, “the One” refers to the source from which all things first emerge. It seems to exist and yet not to exist, as if hovering between presence and absence, with no definite form that can be pointed to. The divine person guided Marquis Wu in just the right way, and so moved his heart; the effect was quicker than that of the Odes, the Documents, the Six Secret Teachings, or the Golden Tablets.

The passage then introduces the idea that someone who leaves their homeland will inevitably miss it. This serves as a metaphor for those who have lost their original nature and will seek a way to recover it. Someone takes the opportunity to awaken him, just as a person who has fled to an open wilderness suddenly hears footsteps approaching… The words “It has been a long time” begin the following passage.

Sadly, no one used the highest words or the subtlest principles to move the Marquis Wu’s heart. Xu Wugui therefore began by talking about appraising dogs and horses, perhaps hoping to please the Marquis and draw near to the worthy ministers around him. He could then gradually move him with subtle words and refined principles about Virtue, quietly bringing their intentions into accord. I know that the Marquis Wu was kind-hearted and naturally sincere. His goodness was as vast as water flowing back into an abyss, and difficult to hold back. For this reason, a gentleman does not turn away anyone who purifies the heart and turns toward the good.

Some may wonder: Xu Wugui was a worthy man, yet when he met the Marquis Wu, he suddenly began talking about dogs and horses. This might seem pointless. In fact, the Marquis Wu had always been proud and dismissive, so loyal and worthy ministers could not speak frankly to him, and he never heard the words of a True Person—a master of the Dao who had attained the Way and seen it clearly. Xu Wugui sought an audience because he wanted to find a way to correct and save him. But the Marquis treated him like an ordinary person, so Xu Wugui continued: “When I look at dogs and horses, I can tell which are good and which are poor, and choose accordingly. When you look at scholars, can you not recognize their worth and treat them with courtesy and respect?” His words also carried an unstated meaning.

Xu Wugui went to see the Marquis Wu. The Marquis said, “You have lived for years in the mountains and forests, eating taro and chestnuts, and growing tired of scallions and chives. That is why you have kept your distance from me for so long. Now that you are old, do you wish to taste wine and meat? Or is it that having a worthy man like you to assist me would itself be a blessing for the state?”

Xu Wugui said, “I was born into poverty and low status, and have never dared hope to taste your wine and meat. I have come this time to give you something to worry about.”

The Marquis Wu asked, “What do you mean? What is there for me to worry about?”

Xu Wugui said, “I mean to make both your spirit and your body worry.”

The Marquis asked, “What does that mean?”

Xu Wugui said, “Heaven and Earth nurture the myriad things. Those who rise high cannot remain high forever, and those who sink low cannot remain low forever. Yet you have made yourself ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots, and to satisfy your eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, you have made the people of the whole country suffer. The spirit is never satisfied with itself; it delights in harmony and abhors what is crooked. What is crooked brings calamity, and that is why it is said to cause people hardship. As for which calamity is troubling you, that is for you to discover.”

The Marquis Wu said, “I have long hoped to meet you. I want to care for the people, practice benevolence and righteousness, and put an end to war. Would that be all right?”

Xu Wugui said, “No. Caring for the people may itself become the beginning of harming them; practicing benevolence and righteousness and putting an end to war may instead become the source of making weapons. If you begin with these things, I fear you will not succeed. Anything deliberately brought about can become an instrument of good or evil. Even if you wish to practice benevolence and righteousness, you are very likely to fall into hypocrisy. Forms naturally give rise to forms; whatever has taken shape will inevitably suffer loss, and change will always stir up conflict in the world. You must also never array magnificent ranks of cranes between the Li Towers, drive herds of horses through the Zitan Palace, conceal disorder within prosperity, use cleverness to outdo others, or use schemes to outdo…” The original text ends here unfinished.

If people do not treat war as a means of defeating others, then armies that kill will not seize other people’s land to satisfy their private desires and feed their own spiritual pleasures. Who can say what counts as skill in winning such a war? Where does the harm of war lie? Rulers, stop waging war. Cultivate sincerity within yourselves so that it accords with the clear and peaceful state of Heaven and Earth, and do not disturb the people. Once the people have been freed from the calamity of death, what need have rulers to display weapons?

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: Heaven and Earth nurture all things equally without claiming them as their own. If a ruler indulges his desires without restraint, harshly exploiting the people to satisfy the cravings of his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, he goes against the balance of Heaven and Earth. The divine is divine not because it considers itself superior to all things, but because it lets each thing find its proper place. To be able to live in harmony with all things is what harmony means. To regard oneself as special is a corrupt and crooked intention.

A ruler may outwardly care for the people and leave behind a reputation for doing so, winning their admiration. But if that care is only a way to adorn himself, it is false. Falsehood inflates one’s reputation and also gives rise to rivalry. When fathers and sons, rulers and ministers suspect and deceive one another, can war really be stopped? One must follow what is natural, without contrivance, for things to come to completion. What looks good at the beginning is often followed by falsehood, and the people then respond with falsehood of their own. Once benevolence and righteousness become outward forms, falsehood follows. And once things are made conspicuous, they are easily changed and lose their original, constant character.

“He-lie” refers to a formation in which soldiers are arrayed; “Li-shui” refers to a building such as a tall pavilion. Foot soldiers are called “tu.” But whatever formation is arranged, or weapons displayed, this should not be done in pursuit of benevolence and righteousness. Nor should stopping war become a vaunted achievement. A horse’s gallop is proper when it follows the right course; once it deviates, it goes astray. Hold fast to simplicity: each thing has its own capacities, and this allows things to be at peace. Act in accordance with your true nature, each thing making full use of its strengths, and all things will be balanced. Respond to all things through the Dao, and they will naturally submit; there will be no reputation for “victory.” If you do not know what true skill in winning is, then even if you win a battle, it is not a victory that is truly your own.

If war truly cannot be stopped, then it is better to cultivate sincerity within oneself so that weapons need not be displayed. This is not a calculated show of putting an end to arms.

Lü Huiqing’s Commentary: Governing a state through cleverness brings calamity upon it; governing without cleverness, in accord with the Great Dao, brings it good fortune. Thus, outward care for the people may in fact be the beginning of harming them, and outwardly stopping the use of arms may become the source of further war. All this comes from relying on cleverness rather than following the Dao.

Everyone in the world knows that once beauty is recognized as beautiful, ugliness appears alongside it. Deliberately bringing about what is good can itself become a source of harm; once goodness is made into a fixed form, it has already departed from the Dao. Even benevolence expressed as love for the people, or righteousness expressed as stopping war, is mere falsehood if it becomes an outward posture. Once care for the people takes on a fixed form, it may invite punitive campaigns and become the beginning of harm to the people. If stopping war becomes a deliberate posture, it may provoke conflict with others and become the source of weapons. Only by avoiding contrivance and refusing to cling to forms can one avoid creating calamity in this way.

Soldiers arrayed before a tall pavilion such as a “Li-shui” become a spectacle worth viewing; troops and horses displayed on a high terrace, too, are treated as a sight for people’s amusement. These are not cases of weapons being used only when there is no other choice. Whoever acquires something and refuses to stop will be led toward contention.

By following the principles of Heaven, one has no private, contrary intentions to conceal. If one relies on cunning to defeat others, one is trusting in cleverness rather than following the Great Dao. If one relies on war to defeat others, one is depending on military strength rather than governing through De. Killing people and annexing territory to satisfy one’s private desires and nourish one’s spirit will in fact damage that spirit and eventually bring calamity. Being skilled in battle and defeating others does not mean knowing what true goodness is. So where does goodness lie? If a ruler truly has no choice but to act, he should cultivate sincerity and respond to the principles of Heaven and Earth. Then all things will naturally harmonize with him. Why worry that the people will die and fail to survive?

The Commentary of Yidu says: Heaven and Earth are the greatest among formed things, yet what they nurture at their root is one thing alone: the Origin, the beginning from which all things arise. The Book of Changes speaks of the Qian Origin and the Kun Origin. If even Heaven and Earth take this as their foundation, how much more should people? The Way of Heaven and Earth takes evenness and uprightness as its standard. What is above is high and what is below is low; originally, neither is longer or shorter than the other. Now a ruler occupies the highest position and considers himself exalted, making the people suffer to provide for him. Outside, treacherous forces and bandits cause turmoil; inside, his heart and spirit are depleted. The spirits do not approve of such conduct, and so the ruler’s body and mind are bound to become exhausted.

Marquis Wu of Wei then asked again about caring for the people and ending the use of military force. Once a reputation for caring for the people becomes widely known, people may compete to act in the name of “caring for the people.” This too can become the beginning of calamity. Practicing benevolence and righteousness makes one’s reputation prominent; once the reputation is prominent, competition follows. Thus the roots of making weapons and waging war often lie in these deliberate actions, whose outcomes are dangerous and difficult to secure. When the uncarved simplicity of the Dao is dispersed, it takes the form of various implements. Once the implements have been made, distinctions between beauty and ugliness arise. Even if one now wishes to practice benevolence and righteousness, hypocrisy will inevitably become mixed in.

“Form” refers to concrete things. When forms are fashioned and take shape, achievements follow; once achievements become celebrated, people readily boast and compete for credit. When things change, they lose their normal state, and the pursuit of profit and desire turns outward into competition. “Crane ranks” refers to troops drawn up in formation; a “watchtower for viewing troops” is a tall tower from which military forces are reviewed; and a “drill ground” is a place for training soldiers. What one regards as a gain becomes a loss for others: this is concealing contrary intentions within one’s gains. Cunning schemes that arise in the mind are harmful to oneself even when they defeat others. Planning breeds suspicion and fear, leaving people unable to decide; warfare kills people in pursuit of victory. All these practices damage the very nourishment on which one depends, and so they should not be pursued. Private desires cannot ultimately be satisfied by such means, nor can the spirit be kept whole. Even winning a battle is not the way to win well. Only by cultivating sincerity and following Heaven and Earth, without disturbing the myriad things, can the people be spared premature death and injury. Why, then, deliberately proclaim one’s benevolence and righteousness or forcibly put an end to military action?

The Commentary of Bixu says: Marquis Wu had long been immersed in desire and had forgotten the root. So Wugui spoke frankly to admonish him: such conduct would exhaust both the ruler’s body and spirit. Heaven and Earth nurture the people without distinguishing between rulers and commoners.

Now you harm those who have too little in order to support those who have too much. This goes against the principles of Heaven. Human spirits, like heavenly spirits, take impartial fairness as their foundation. To imagine that you can claim all things as your own is to act selfishly; this is what is meant by treachery. The people follow the ways of their ruler. When the ruler falls into error, the people suffer too. That is why I urge you to take heed.

Marquis Wu then asked, “What is the key to bringing war to an end?” Fish stranded on dry land hope that one another’s spit will moisten their bodies; people in hardship and want hope that benevolence and righteousness will come to their aid. The reply was: “If you deliberately exalt love for the people, you will create inequality and bring many harms. If you establish righteousness as an ideal, there will inevitably be losses on one side, and disputes will arise. These consequences all come from deliberate action. When matters have reached a crisis, trying to save them is often too late.”

Only after the Great Dao was lost did benevolence appear; only after De (Virtue/Power) was lost did righteousness appear. When benevolence and righteousness are exalted, the people’s nature is altered, and hypocrisy follows. As for ranks of soldiers drawn up like cranes, lofty and ornate towers, warhorses, and altars, these are no means of lasting stability and are not worth exalting. Follow the principles of Heaven, and nothing will be lost. Delight in warfare, and thoughts of annexing other states will arise. The more elaborate the schemes, the sooner one falls into difficulty. When war reaches its extreme, a state is easily destroyed. To follow the Way of Heaven is to be impartial; to regard oneself as wise and enlightened is to be biased. How could the spirits permit bias? The Way of Heaven protects the good and assigns victory and defeat to their proper ends. That is the principle at work here.

The Commentary on the Meaning of the Yanzhai explains: Heaven and Earth give life and nourishment to the myriad things without distinguishing between high and low, noble and base. If you rely on external things to sustain the body while your heart remains ill at ease, this is called “spirit.” Spirit does not proclaim itself; it can be in harmony with all things and become one with them. To possess things selfishly is treachery. Human nature was originally one with all things, but private desires obscure it, leading people to do what their nature abhors and thereby bring calamity upon themselves. The ruler suffers from this failing without knowing it, so I urge him to take heed.

Deliberately caring for the people may end up harming them; deliberately putting an end to war may end up provoking it. Once good or bad outcomes are deliberately contrived, they leave traces. Thus, “implements” refers to a mind intent on contriving, while “forms” refers to things that have taken on visible shape. “Giving form” means fixing things in place. When the heart clings to fixed rules and does not understand change, emotions such as restraint, pride in victory, resentment, and greed begin to stir, harming one’s inner nature. To be drawn along and unsettled by external things is called “outer conflict.”

“Heavenly ranks” is the name of a military formation; “ornate towers” are splendid, decorated towers; and “altar” refers to a place of sacrifice. The general point is this: when the mind contends with external things, even within a single room it is as if infantry and cavalry were arrayed within the heart, and every place had become a battlefield of struggle. People tend to regard gain as going their way and loss as going against them. But without gain, there can be no loss. Hence the phrase, “Do not harbor adversity in gain”—do not set your heart on pursuing what you might gain. This is a subtle way of putting it: calculating intentions and schemes arise from contrivance, and war arises from schemes. Those who seek victory by such means are merely trying to satisfy the desires of their eyes and ears.

If this private desire prevails over others, it may seem to gain the upper hand. Yet when the mind is disturbed and caught up in conflict with external things, even victory leaves the spirit exhausted. That is why the text asks, “Where does victory lie?” “Let it cease” means that it would be better to stop here. If one cultivates the honesty inherent in oneself, follows the natural truth of Heaven and Earth, and does not clash with external things—if one can prevail skillfully without contending—then the people will naturally be spared death. Why would there be any need to ask for the cessation of arms?

Why did Wugui return to see Marquis Wu? Was he looking out for himself and hoping to be appointed? He wanted to correct the marquis’s faults and spare the people disaster. Yet Marquis Wu said he disliked the smell of scallions and leeks but enjoyed wine and meat. How highly he valued himself and how little he valued others was already plain. Wugui was not cowed by his power. He spoke frankly, saying that the marquis was “wearing out your spirit and body”—that both his mind and body were utterly exhausted. This was not merely a slight against the marquis; it also expressed pity for him. Still, Marquis Wu did not awaken. Perhaps he was so immersed in fame, profit, and desire that he had no time to care for his own body and spirit. So even after hearing the admonition, he remained bewildered.

Wugui went on to explain how Heaven and Earth nurture the myriad things, using this principle to describe and correct Marquis Wu’s self-important pride. The key phrase is “the spirit loves harmony and abhors what is perverse”: the spirit delights in peace and loathes what is crooked. The spirit is also a person’s original nature. Yet Marquis Wu treated the cessation of arms as a form of “righteousness” and raised it as a question: first he lost sight of what was right, then he thought to speak of righteousness; after waging war without restraint, he thought to stop the fighting. Such an abrupt reversal of the natural order—how could it reflect genuine feeling?

Benefits and harms transform into one another; this is an inevitable principle. Perhaps only by acting through Wuwei and letting one’s original nature take its course can one preserve oneself. Whatever is accomplished and then held up as admirable often becomes a source of calamity. Here, “implement” refers to conduct made conspicuous to others. Loving the people and ending war are both especially conspicuous acts.

I use this intention to move another, and the other responds to me with the same intention: this is called “form giving rise to form.” Once a course of conduct is made visible, it is bound to invite attack. When one’s actions clash with external things, one is drawn into outward conflict. How much worse, then, to array troops, display cavalry, and flaunt military power before the world in an attempt to make all under Heaven submit? Submission won in this way is contrary to the Dao, and calamity lies hidden within it. Heaven aids those who follow the Dao; how could anyone who defies Heaven’s principles endure?

Victory through cunning turns every relationship between things into calculation. Victory through strategy leads to ever-expanding schemes and steadily deepens the harm done to the myriad things. Victory through war is worse still: it kills people, seizes land, burns cities, and brings nations to ruin. No harm is greater than this. All of it results from the unceasing accumulation of violent acts. Yet Heaven’s net is vast, and in the end no one can escape; one, too, will be led toward destruction. Therefore one must be vigilant and act to prevent trouble while it is still slight. Yet now one relies on a ruler’s power and indulges boundless desires in order to satisfy one’s selfish aims and…

When numinous power—that is, a mysterious force beyond measure—is brought into comparison, neither side can know which is more skilled at winning. And as for how victory is won, what is there to despise?

Marquis Wu, please judge for yourself. If you still do not understand the way of nourishing the spirit, simply cultivate yourself and keep your sincerity, responding in this way to Heaven and Earth without intervening rashly. This is already to follow the way by which Heaven and Earth nurture all things. If you can realize that Heaven and Earth and your own being are originally one, then ruler and people will live in peace and harmony. A gentle influence will quietly circulate, nourishing all things. Nothing will suffer calamity or illness, and no one will die young or be lost to injury. Why, then, trouble yourself to seek a temporary cessation of hostilities?

Collected Subtle Interpretations of the True Classic of the Southern Efflorescence, juan 75