《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 77

Confucius arrived in the state of Chu, and the king of Chu held a banquet in his honor. Sun Shuao stood holding a wine cup. Shinan Yiliao took the cup and performed the ritual offering of wine, then said, “Ancient ones, I have already spoken of you here. Confucius, I too have heard of ‘speech that does not speak,’ though I have never spoken of it. Now, here, I will say something about it.”

Shinan Yiliao played with his pellets and thereby settled a dispute between two families. Sun Shuao slept peacefully, holding a feather fan, and the people of Ying laid down their weapons. Confucius said, “I wish I had a mouth three feet long.” What they spoke of was a Dao that does not follow the ordinary course; this is the “debate that does not speak.”

De ultimately gathers into the root unified by the Dao, while speech stops at the limits of what the intellect cannot know. This is the utmost point. The root unified by the Dao cannot be spoken of by De as though its parts were identical; what the intellect cannot know cannot be clearly set out in debate. If you prize reputation as the Confucians and Mohists do, you invite trouble.

The sea, therefore, does not refuse the waters that flow eastward into it. This shows its vastness at its greatest. The sage embraces Heaven and Earth and extends kindness throughout the world, yet does not let people know who he is. Thus, while alive he holds no rank, and after death receives no posthumous title. True De does not accumulate fame, and fame is not established. This is called “the Great Person.”

A dog is not good merely because it barks well; a person is not wise merely because they speak well. How much less can one attain great De through eloquence? Deliberately pursuing “greatness” is not enough to make one great; how much less can virtue be attained by striving for it? Heaven and Earth are complete in themselves—what is there to seek? One who understands that they are already complete does not crave, lose, or cast anything away, nor do they trade themselves for external things. By turning inward, they are not confused; by following the ancient Dao, they are not worn down by external things. This is the true state of the Great Person.

Guo Xiang’s Commentary: The sage has no intention of speaking. What he says is simply what ordinary people say in their daily lives, and so it is called “speech that does not speak.” If “speaking” is taken to mean “not speaking,” then even words spoken from the mouth can be said never truly to have been spoken. Confucius now intends to speak here about silence; this is precisely the point. When Yiliao and Sun Shuao settled disputes, they were calm and detached, their expressions untroubled, and the fighting naturally came to an end. If what one says does not come from private intent, then even if one speaks all one’s life, one can be said never truly to have spoken. Thus, even with a mouth three feet long, one is not truly eloquent; and an ordinary person who keeps silent is not thereby truly wordless. The first passage speaks of Yiliao and Sun Shuao; this passage speaks of Confucius.

Although the things encompassed by the Dao have no fixed form, in the end they all come down to each finding freedom in itself. That is why the Dao is called unified. Speech need only stop at the limits of what it can reach; that is enough. All things find freedom in themselves and are not identical to one another, yet the Dao they follow is one.

Things are distinct from one another, so debate cannot force together the teachings of the Confucians and Mohists, which cannot be made the same. When debate tries and fails to do this, it brings calamity. The sea receives all things and never turns them away; this is how it becomes so vast.

The sage embraces all things and lets each be as it is, without claiming merit for himself. Though people give him titles and praise his achievements, those achievements do not belong to him. He lets each thing find its proper place and accumulates no merit for himself. Since he does not act with deliberate intent, there is no basis for establishing his fame. To seek success deliberately and claim its fruits is to have a limited outlook.

Virtue arises from one’s nature; words cannot create it. The greater the realm, the less it can be pursued deliberately. Only by following what is natural can one reach it. Heaven and Earth already contain all things; they were not obtained by searching for them. Those who understand that all things are inherently complete do not abandon themselves to seek outside. They seek nothing, and so neither lose nor cast anything aside. Returning to and abiding by what is within oneself brings natural understanding. Following one’s constant nature brings one to the destination; it is not achieved through repeated refinement. To gain naturally without deliberate action is what is called “sincerity”—being true and free of falsehood.

Lü’s commentary says: The three figures in the story did not live in the same age; this, too, is a parable. “Speech without words” does not mean having no mouth. Even with mouths three feet long, like those two men, if one acts as they did, it is still as though one had not spoken words that accord with the Dao. What those two did is called “a way that is not the Dao”—a way that does not accord with the Dao. Zhongni’s silence is what is called “debate without words,” a discernment that does not rely on speech. How could ordinary people understand this?

Virtue cannot be forced into uniformity, and debate cannot express everything. These things are inherently difficult to sum up through reputation. When one rests in namelessness, good fortune finds its place. Without this, even the renowned Confucians and Mohists cannot avoid reckless action and the calamity it brings. The Dao moves throughout the world like streams and rivers flowing into the sea, which receives them without refusal. The sage embraces all things and benefits all beings in the same way. He does not know himself to belong to any particular school, nor does he seek rank or an honorific title. The sage seeks no fame, and precisely for this reason he is great.

If even treating eloquence as a sign of worth is unacceptable, how much less can greatness be achieved through words? We can therefore see that what wisdom cannot know, debate cannot fully express. This is “debate without words.” The sage does not deliberately seek greatness; if he did, he would cease to be great. How much less, then, should one deliberately seek Virtue? The Dao is unified, but Virtue cannot be forced into uniformity. This is “a way that is not the Dao.” All things are already complete in the world; completeness does not come from seeking. Each person, too, is inherently complete. One need only be true and free of falsehood. Because one is already complete, one does not seek; by not seeking, one loses and casts aside nothing, nor uses external things to replace what is within. The great person understands that all things are inherently present within; by returning to seek within, one is never exhausted.

Things develop in accordance with their own nature without being harmed, following their course without being worn down. What is called sincerity is to accord with the right way without deliberate effort, to understand without reflection, and to accomplish things without deliberate action.

The Commentary on Doubting the Solitary says: In ancient times, people always performed a libation when eating or drinking, as a sign of respect. When Shu’ao and Yiliao attended a banquet, they accepted the wine and performed the libation. Confucius may have wanted to teach people through this, and so he said, “When people gathered in ancient times, they would often say something.” Confucius once wished to remain silent, and so here he says, “I have heard of words that are unspoken, but have I ever seen a person here who does not speak?” This is meant to help people understand that words can also arise from silence.

Bai Gong Sheng of Chu planned a rebellion and sent people to summon Lingyin Zixi and Yiliao. Both men sent messengers to summon Yiliao. Yiliao was playing with marbles and paid no attention at all to either messenger. Both men therefore withdrew their troops and went back. When Shu’ao was resting at home, he lay with his head on a high pillow, holding a feather fan, entirely at ease. This kept enemy states from daring to invade. Without sending out troops, he could resolve conflicts a thousand miles away. Confucius cited these two men to show that doing nothing can still quell disorder, thereby explaining what “unspoken” means. Words may arise from “the unspoken”; even a three-foot-long tongue does not obstruct this silence.

Silence and non-action are called “the Dao of no Dao,” that is, the constant Great Dao. Words that arise from silence are called “the argument that does not argue,” that is, the highest form of argument. The various virtues converge and return to the Dao, which can bring them into harmony; virtue alone cannot do this. What knowledge cannot know can be revealed through silence, but not through argument. Those who rely on virtue to outdo others and on words to vie for superiority, competing with Confucians and Mohists for fame, cannot carefully guard their silence and preserve their nature and life; calamity will befall them.

The sea is vast because there is nothing it will not contain. The sage is a sage because he embraces all things between Heaven and Earth and does not ask where each thing comes from. He does not rely on receiving a title to make himself complete, but always follows things as they are. A posthumous title—a name granted after death on the basis of one’s merits—is established according to one’s achievements. If one achieves success without claiming credit for it, there is no need for a posthumous title. While alive, one holds no title, and so material benefits do not gather around one; after death, one has no posthumous title, and so one’s reputation is not established. This is what is called a “great person.”

A dog that is good at guarding a gate is not disliked for failing to bark; a scholar who is good at getting things done is not disliked for remaining silent. Words cannot make a person great; how much less can they establish virtue? This is what Confucius meant by wishing to remain silent. What is called completeness means that one is sufficient to meet one’s needs. If one deliberately seeks outside oneself, one instead appears deficient. Heaven and Earth do not deliberately arrange the myriad things, yet the myriad things naturally fill the space between them. This is precisely why Heaven and Earth are vast and complete. If one relies on seeking to make up for what is lacking, the completeness one gains is only a lesser kind of completeness…

To understand things fully, one must know how not to seek. When one does not seek, nothing is lost; when nothing is lost, nothing is abandoned. In this way, one does not change oneself for the sake of external things. By returning to oneself, one can follow the ancient Dao, never straying beyond one’s true nature.

Bixu’s commentary says: “Playing with a ball” means rolling a ball around in one’s palm for amusement. Guiguzi had a method called “Turning the Ball.” The phrase “fierce beasts” suggests that the sage’s wisdom is inexhaustible, like a ball turning without pause in the palm, and that the sage’s power is boundless, like the might of fierce beasts. Yiliao regarded all matters under Heaven as calmly as someone rolling a ball in the palm. He would lie at ease, holding a feather fan, directing events with composure. What more needs to be said of people like these two? Their meaning is understood in silence. What use is a long tongue? Speech can easily invite misfortune. And what good is it to be as cautious as if one’s mouth were sewn shut?

Thus there is a Dao that need not be spoken, and a kind of debate that needs no words. When the Dao returns to oneness, it is the “Dao that cannot be spoken”; knowing which things are inherently unknowable is “wordless debate.” So even those skilled in argument, such as the Confucians and Mohists, may bring misfortune upon themselves through their disputations. The sea can receive all rivers, and so it is deep and vast. The sage can embrace all things, and so does not seek to leave a name. In life, the sage does not make a display of De; after death, no reputation remains. Because the sage does not accumulate empty fame beyond actual deeds, no reputation is established. This is called the “Great Person”: one whose inborn completeness is not confined to any single skill or ability.

What makes a person worthy is insight into the Great Dao, not eloquence. To embrace all things is called “greatness”; to aid all things widely is called “De.” One who possesses great De should be humble and yielding. A person of De should also be free from the constraints of worldly forms and status, like Heaven and Earth covering and bearing all things without partiality, and like a bellows in motion, giving rise to the growth of all things. Plants and animals are born and nurtured because Heaven and Earth are selfless and seek nothing; thus they can be complete and vast.

Hide gold in the mountains without mining it; sink pearls in the depths without retrieving them. Let the people return to simplicity: do not abandon them, and do not let external things alter their nature. Return to the root, and there will be no end; follow the ancient Dao, and it will never perish. The Great Person’s sincerity accords with Heaven and Earth.

Yanzhai’s commentary says: “Playing with a ball” is simply a game; holding a feather fan and lying at ease express the meaning of doing nothing. Confucius said that both men could achieve “doing nothing, yet leaving nothing undone.” Why, then, should I explain further? To speak, one would need a three-foot-long tongue—I mean, I do not have one that long. When the Dao returns to oneness, all happens naturally. The “De” spoken of here is something one acquires for oneself, arising through human effort; it cannot be equated with the natural Dao. For this reason, it also differs in meaning from the “De” mentioned elsewhere in this classic. The disputation of Confucians and Mohists does not belong to “wordless debate.” It is no longer possible to determine whose words these were. Name and substance cannot be accumulated in one place: one may perform good deeds without claiming credit for them. The worthy do not treat loquacity as a skill—how much less should the Great Person? If one takes pride in being “great,” one is not worthy of…

“Greatness” means the virtue of nature itself. What could be called great and complete, or great and accomplished?

Because sages have no desire to acquire anything, they lose nothing and abandon nothing. They do not trade their own nature for external things, so they know that they themselves are more precious than those things. All they need to do is turn inward and examine themselves. They act in accordance with the ancient Dao, without deliberate exertion.

Xiong Yiliao was a renowned man of wisdom and courage in the state of Chu, skilled at tossing pellets in his palm and making them spin and change in countless ways. The key to this skill lay within the space of his palm. The example shows that though affairs in the world change in endless ways, what matters is how people respond to them. Those who understand the Dao regard such changes as if they were a game.

Xiong Yiliao lived in seclusion in the southern market, calmly enjoying his game of tossing pellets. He felt that nothing in the world was worth troubling over. When Bai Sheng planned a revolt, he tried to enlist Xiong Yiliao’s help in carrying it out, which showed how little he understood him. Xiong Yiliao simply continued tossing his pellets and paid him no attention. Though it was only a game, it caused Bai Sheng’s rebellion to fail and spared Zixi from disaster. Since the affair implicated two families, it would otherwise have been difficult to resolve.

Sun Shuao took office three times and resigned three times, never letting success or failure stir his emotions. This shows how unfathomable his composure was. He could sleep soundly and remain at ease, or hold a feather fan and converse calmly; either way, he could make an enemy state lay down its weapons and withdraw its troops. This is precisely what the art of war calls “subduing the enemy without fighting.”

This is the “Dao that is not Dao” and the “debate that uses no words”: even with a mouth, one can hardly explain it. Confucius sighed that perhaps one would need a three-foot-long tongue to discuss such a matter; he did not mean that anyone literally had a tongue three feet long. The Dao is the common source of all things, and De returns to it. To know what one does not know is the true state of the Dao. It cannot be conveyed in words, so De cannot be defined in a single, fixed way, and debate cannot fully explain it. Even the Confucians and Mohists, famous for their skill in argument, have no room to exercise their eloquence here.

Sages have vast hearts that embrace all things. Their kindness reaches throughout the world, yet they do not claim credit for it. They seek neither rank nor posthumous titles, and forget both fame and tangible achievement. For this very reason, they can be as vast and complete as Heaven and Earth. Such completeness does not depend on speaking or acting.

Completeness means having no desire for external things; having no desire means not losing the Dao; not losing the Dao means abandoning no one. Sages live in the present while always following the ancient Dao. They understand all things without losing themselves. At the root of all this is sincerity. When one is sincere, one’s actions become evident; when one’s actions are evident, what among the myriad things could remain untouched?

The textual notes at the end of the chapter state that the character 矣 after “great completeness” is an interpolation; that another “no desire” should be repeated after “no desire” and joined to the following passage; and that another version reads “not worn away” where this text has “not polished,” while the character 为 is also subject to variation.

Ziqi had eight sons. He lined them up before him, then summoned Jiufang Yin, a skilled reader of people, and said, “Please look at my children and tell me which of them bears an auspicious sign.”

Jiufang Yin said, “Kun bears an auspicious sign.”

Hearing this, Ziqi asked in delighted surprise, “What will become of him?”

Jiufang Yin replied, “Kun will dine with a ruler until the end of his life.”

At once, Ziqi’s face fell and tears ran down his cheeks. “How could my child come to such a pass?” he said.

Jiufang Yin replied, “To dine with a ruler is a blessing that extends to three generations. How much more so to his parents? Yet you weep when you hear this, as if refusing good fortune. Your son is auspicious, but you are not.”

Ziqi said, “Jiufang Yin, how do you know that Kun bears an auspicious sign? It is only food and drink entering the nose and mouth. How can you know where they came from? I have never kept sheep, yet a lamb was born in a corner of my house. I have never taken pleasure in hunting, yet a quail appeared in a secluded room. What is so strange about that?

“What my children and I associate and take pleasure in is Heaven and Earth. We share in the joy bestowed by Heaven and partake together of the food provided by Earth. I do not make them do anything, nor do I plan anything with them, much less pursue anything extraordinary. We follow the realities of Heaven and Earth, allowing neither outside things nor ourselves to come into conflict. We live in accord with nature and do not do what the world says we ought to do.

“Now this has happened, and the world calls it a reward. Whenever an extraordinary sign appears, it must be because of some extraordinary deed. This is probably not the fault of my children or me; perhaps Heaven has willed it. That is why I wept.”

Before long, Kun was sent to the state of Yan. On the road, bandits robbed him. Seeing that all his limbs were intact, they thought he would be harder to sell, and that he would fetch a better price if they cut off his feet. So they cut off Kun’s feet and sold him in the state of Qi. By chance, he was bought at the market on Qugong’s street, and for the rest of his life he ate meat.

Guo Xiang’s commentary:

A strange occurrence seems strange because it is unexpected. I associate only with whatever I encounter by following Heaven and Earth. When one follows what is ordinary and lets things take their natural course, one does nothing of one’s own accord. By responding to things without choosing among them, I may seem to have benefited all things, and all things may seem to be repaying me. But I never deliberately sought merit, so what is there to repay?

When no extraordinary deed has been done, yet an extraordinary sign appears, we can know that it is Heaven’s decree. If it were caused by human action, one could refrain from doing it. But when one has done nothing and events happen of themselves, there is nothing one can do; that is why Ziqi wept. Later, Kun was sent to Yan and captured by bandits. Afraid he might escape, they thought he would be easier to sell if they cut off his feet.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary:

This passage says that Jiufang Yin’s skill at reading people could not match Ziqi’s understanding of events … (The original text ends here.)

From the perspective of the Dao—the fundamental principle by which nature operates—Ziqi and his son Kun acted in the world between Heaven and Earth in accordance with nature.

People normally follow the principles of preserving health and sustaining life. Yet strange signs have appeared. Are they the will of Heaven, or have human beings brought them about?

Commentary by Yidu: The southwest corner of a house is called “Ao,” corresponding to the direction of Wei, which belongs to the Sheep. The southeast corner is called “Yao,” corresponding to the direction of Chen, which belongs to the Quail. Sheep come from herding, and quail from farming: these are human activities. Sheep being born in Wei and quail in Chen, however, is a principle of nature. Nature did not deliberately arrange these human activities, so why have strange signs such as wine and meat appeared inside the house?

This concerns the principles of Yin-Yang and of nature and life; it is not something human effort can avoid. As Kun and I go about in the world between Heaven and Earth, we do not refuse what Heaven gives, but gladly accept it; we do not refuse what Earth provides, but gladly enjoy it. We do not treat these things as the result of human planning, but act in accordance with the Dao. We do not scheme deliberately, but follow the principles of things. We do not regard them as strange, but take them as ordinary. In this way, we can follow the true workings of Heaven and Earth without being disturbed by external things.

I have never deliberately pursued the things that please people in the world. Now, though, a sign has appeared that I will dine with the ruler. This is exactly the sort of thing people commonly hope for, fulfilled in the life of an individual. Unusual signs often make people think of unusual conduct. But neither Kun nor I has done anything of the kind, and yet this sign has appeared. It was given by Heaven. When things reach their limit, the sage always attributes them to Heaven. What Heaven assigns as one’s lot in life must simply be accepted. Qu Gong came from a wealthy merchant family.

Commentary by Bixu: When things reach this point, they have gone to an extreme. To encounter good fortune and yet feel apprehensive is because the father believes it is inauspicious. Wine and meat entering the mouth and nostrils symbolize abundant sustenance from outside, though no one knows where it comes from. It is like sheep and quail suddenly appearing in the house without any herding or farming—a truly astonishing sight.

To go about in the world between Heaven and Earth is to be in accord with nature. To welcome the joy bestowed by Heaven is to accept worldly pleasures gladly; to enjoy the food provided by Earth is to eat it willingly. Not acting deliberately is to keep to one’s inner nature; not scheming is to follow one’s innate disposition; not treating strange signs as bizarre is to keep to what is constant. Following the true workings of Heaven and Earth is to embody the Dao; not being disturbed by external things is to follow the principles of things. And when one does not deliberately manage worldly affairs, there is no need to choose between gain and loss. True efficacy leaves no trace, while worldly affairs seem to have been rewarded. Since there was no unusual conduct, this sign may have been close to the will of Heaven. Yet although one cannot escape one’s allotted life, apprehension is still difficult to avoid, and so he wept. Jiufang Yin trusted in his own divination, while Ziqi alone understood the principle. Thus, even diligent self-cultivation may not avert calamity, since it too is part of one’s allotted life.

Wu Chou’s commentary says: Jiu Fang Yin used physiognomy to infer people’s fate, but in the end his judgments were limited by destiny, and his insight had its limits. When he read Ziqi’s face, he knew that Ziqi would share meals with the ruler throughout his life and took this as an auspicious sign. Yet he did not know that Ziqi would suffer the punishment of yue—amputation of the feet—which would injure his body. That was the greatest ill omen. Seen this way, Ziqi’s tears were a sign that he had sensed the impending calamity in advance.

The Lüzhai Kouyi explains: Ziqi had never raised sheep or farmed, yet sheep and quail appeared inside his house. This was a strange occurrence. It showed that neither you nor I seek worldly fame and profit, so how could I come to share meals with the ruler? I follow the principles of Heaven and find joy in that; I am content with where I am and nourish myself there. I take no action and make no plans. I do not regard myself as unusual; I simply let everything follow its natural course and dare not deliberately contrive a response to external things. How could I know what is fitting and what is not? I am at ease in non-action, yet he says I will enjoy this kind of benefit, as though I still had some worldly wish left to fulfill. This is truly an ominous sign. You should not receive such good fortune; strange events are bound to follow. “Qu Gong’s street” means the entrance facing the street, that is, a gate called a lü.

Jiu Fang Yin read people through physiognomy, while Ziqi used reasoning to predict events. Physiognomy detected the auspicious sign of enjoying wealth and honor but missed the ill omen of suffering the punishment of yue. The reasoner worried that the good fortune exceeded what was due and would rather be content with ordinary circumstances. If fate is fixed and human effort cannot change it, how can we be certain that physiognomy does not accord with reason, or that reason does not encompass physiognomy? How should good and ill fortune be distinguished? Consider the stories of the old man at the frontier who lost his horse and the deer in the banana tree stump: who can say for sure what is gain and what is loss? Those who understand Heaven’s mandate can only let events unfold.

Now Ziqi had never raised sheep or farmed, yet sheep and quail suddenly appeared, and no one knew where they had come from. How could this fail to seem strange? You and I are content with the Way of Heaven, enjoying what the earth nurtures, seeking no uncanny happenings and following the proper course of Heaven and Earth. Thus we are not stirred by external things, and when something happens, we do not deliberately seek to gain from it; we simply let the Way of nature run its course. Yet now they say I will share meals with the ruler. This is no worldly wish of mine. No strange deed has been done, yet a strange sign has appeared; presumably this is a gift of Heaven’s will. Since we know it is Heaven’s will, why weep? Still, the perfected person sees the subtle changes in things and can foresee their turning points. They know that when good fortune reaches its height, it must turn from the utmost point of calamity; nothing happens without cause, so they cannot help but weep. Before long, the passage that follows will explain in detail how good and ill fortune depend on one another and transform into each other. The physiognomist says...

(Once,) he dined with the ruler and afterward ate in the lane where Qu Gong lived.

Note: Qu Gong was a wealthy man of Qi who served as a lane warden, responsible for managing the streets and lanes. For this reason, he sent food to people who had suffered the punishment of cutting off a foot.

This shows that judging a person by appearance cannot always be relied upon. Reasoning from the circumstances is better: it brings one closer to the Dao and leaves no room for wishful thinking.

Collected Subtleties in the Sea of Meaning of the True Classic of the Southern Flower, juan 79