《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 79

The perfected people of antiquity—those who followed nature and reached a state of true reality—conducted themselves according to the Dao of nature, without imposing human preconceptions on it.

To obtain it is life; to lose it is death. Sometimes obtaining it means death, while losing it means life. Medicinal plants are the same: some roots and stems taste bitter; herbs such as balloonflower root, gorgon fruit sprouts, and polyporus each serve different purposes. A herb’s value depends on whether it suits the needs of the moment. Those who govern a state are no different. How could their methods be the same in every case?

King Goujian of Yue once led three thousand armored soldiers into retreat at Kuaiji. Only Wen Zhong knew how the state could rise from ruin and survive, yet he did not know why he himself was troubled, and in the end he could not save himself. Thus an owl’s eyes are suited to life at night, and a crane’s legs have their proper length. To forcibly take them apart and alter them only brings sorrow.

When wind passes over a river, it does indeed carry some things away; when the sun shines on it, something is also lost. Yet if wind and sun remained over the river, the river would feel that it had never been disturbed, because wind and sun come by virtue of their source and give the matter no thought. Water and land coexist, each with its distinct place; a shadow follows a person, each keeping its own bounds. Things should relate to one another in the same way.

Eyes that ceaselessly strive to see clearly grow tired; ears that ceaselessly strive to hear keenly grow tired; a heart that ceaselessly chases external things grows tired too. Any capacity, when exercised to its limit, can bring danger. As danger accumulates, it becomes impossible to cope; as troubles keep growing, they gather into disaster. If instead one holds to one’s nature, results will arise of themselves. After waiting a long time, people come to treat knowledge and ability as their own treasures. Is this not sad? That is why states fall and people are slaughtered, yet the killing does not stop: people do not understand that they must ask after the reasons behind it.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Be content with the circumstances in which you find yourself and follow the course of events; things will then come to a proper conclusion of their own accord. If you try to attain Wuwei through deliberate intention, you will only make things more disordered. Life and death, gain and loss, differ according to circumstances: what counts as gain for the living may count as loss for the dead. When something is needed, nothing is lowly; when the time is wrong, nothing is noble. Each thing has its use at a particular time. If you forcibly alter what cannot be altered, disappointment and sorrow will follow.

Things with form cannot avoid burdening one another. Only those who have transcended the constraints of form can be like wind and sun: though they pass over the river and something is lost, they do not cling to this or even notice it. To act in reliance on the source, without deliberate intent, is to stop at what is fitting. Once you pursue something deliberately, there is no end to it, and so exhaustion follows. What matters is not showing off one’s abilities, but letting one’s nature operate freely. If you cannot forget cleverness and knowledge, troubles will follow one after another. Hold to your nature instead, and results will take shape without being forced; in your haste to succeed, you will only make success harder to attain. In Guo Xiang’s commentary, “making oneself a treasure” means treating knowledge and ability as prized possessions. The calamities of losing a state and slaughtering its people are both connected to this.

If you do not understand your own faults, how can you ask where calamities come from? A person who deliberately sets out to cultivate the mind does so only in the hope of dispelling calamities.

Lü’s commentary (by Lü Huiqing) says: Treat human affairs with the attitude of the Dao, and you can respond naturally to what comes from outside. Bring human contrivance to bear on the Dao, and you become constrained. Even when Heaven acts, it does not do so deliberately; this is the state of the “True Person.” The True Person does not regard life and death as fixed and unchanging. Sometimes one says, “To gain life is gain; to lose life is death,” to console those who make light of life. At other times one says, “To gain life is loss; to lose life is gain,” treating life as a departure and death as a return, to console those who dread death. This is like using medicine to treat an illness: some medicines are sweet, others poisonous, and which one takes the leading role is not fixed; the rest serve as supporting remedies. Treating life as gain and death as loss is a remedy for those who take life lightly. Treating life as a departure and death as a return is a remedy for those who fear death. If you judge the patient’s condition accurately before treating it, how could there be only one way to change things?

Wen Zhong, a minister of Yue during the Spring and Autumn period, knew how to preserve the kingdom of Yue from ruin, yet did not know how to free himself from trouble. He was like an owl that sees clearly at night but not by day: the conditions to which it can adapt cannot be changed. A crane’s legs can be long but not short, and its natural joints cannot be taken apart. These are all limits imposed by physical form, yet people do not understand their source.

Wind and sunlight pass over a river’s surface, and though they draw something away, the river seems undiminished because it has a source and cannot run dry. Those who understand the Great Dao can adapt to whatever they encounter for the same reason: they have a source. Water flows into the earth and reaches everywhere, whether into a wormhole or an ant’s nest. A person’s shadow follows wherever the person sits, lies down, or walks. The shadow has no feelings or awareness; it simply stays where it belongs, and so can follow without fail. Hearing, sight, and thought, by contrast, are ceaselessly active. The human mind is aware and attached to external things, distinguishing among them. It cannot be free of intention like water and shadow, and so inevitably grows weary.

Whenever one’s capacities are brought to bear on the internal organs, the organs grow weary. “The organs grow weary” means becoming accustomed to a state in which one cannot be at ease, while failing to change it in time; calamities then gradually gather. A person’s loss of the Way does not happen in a single day, so returning to one’s original nature also requires steady, accumulated effort, and the result takes a long time to arrive. The highest kind of person keeps reducing because weariness and peril cannot be dispelled by a moment’s effort. Yet people of the world regard these things as treasures. How sad!

The Yidu commentary (by Yiduzi) says: To treat human affairs with the Dao is to be sincere and then illumined; to bring a contriving mind to bear on the Dao is to be illumined and then sincere. Having no distinctions between gain and loss, life and death, is what is called the Mysterious. Monkshood, crow’s beak, cockscomb, and fox nuts are all inexpensive medicinal ingredients, yet at times they can cure illness.

The shifts in power between ruler and minister, and the changes between gaining and losing influence, hardship and success, are no different from the conditions of the world at large. Yet people recklessly make distinctions, belittling others and esteeming themselves. How could they know that whether someone can be put to use depends only on whether the time is right?

In the past, when King Goujian of Yue withdrew to Kuaiji, the minister Zhong (Wen Zhong) knew that Yue’s destruction might still be reversed and the state restored, but did not know that he himself was going to die. This is like the owl, whose sight is dim by day but clear at night, and like the crane’s legs, which can only grow longer, never shorter: each has strengths suited to a particular time. Once removed from the time and setting that suit them, they suffer. Those who fixate on one thing and insist on pursuing it are bound to see only one side.

The Qi of Yin-Yang is formless, while the myriad things have form. Qi is subtle; physical forms are coarse and visible. Qi acts upon physical forms without cease, and they must inevitably wear away. Wind and sunlight belong to the Qi of Yin-Yang, while a river is something with form. As wind and sunlight pass over the river, its water must inevitably diminish, though the river itself cannot perceive it. Wind and sunlight remain in the company of the river, yet do not visibly disturb it because it has a source to sustain it. This is like a person living amid the changes of Yin-Yang: each day brings loss, yet the person is sustained by the life force. Water depends on earth, a shadow depends on a body, and things depend on other things. They remain together without being aware of one another; it is precisely for this reason that their interdependence is so thorough.

Even such close interdependence cannot escape the quiet shifting of the transformations of nature. What existed yesterday has changed today, but the unenlightened do not notice. Thus, whenever the ears, eyes, and mind insist on pursuing something, they are bound to fall into danger. Anyone who applies their abilities to what the mind stores up and schemes over will be driven by those concerns and eventually brought to peril. Once danger has taken shape, it is too late to change course quickly, and calamities will only accumulate. If one can return to the root and recover one’s nature, one can accord with nature and achieve results; yet to bring matters to their full effect requires a long wait. People of the world, however, regard many talents and abilities as their own treasures. This is what saddens the realized person. That is why people fight over cities and lands and kill innocent people, without asking where their calamities truly began.

The Bixu commentary says: To treat human affairs according to the Dao of Heaven, letting things follow their own course and imposing no artificial contrivance upon the Dao of Heaven, is the way to accord readily with what is real. To gain it is to live; to lose it is to die—this is the same for all things. To gain it and thereby die, or to lose it and thereby live, is what sets one apart from all things. All things flourish when the time is right and wither when it is not. The True Person does not boast when the time is favorable, nor decline when it is not.

This is like the medicinal herbs jin, geng, yong, and ling. Though they are all humble plants, a skilled physician uses them according to the illness and the right moment, making them the principal medicines. The True Person who governs worldly affairs can likewise respond to each moment; nothing is out of season. Wen Zhong could preserve the state of Yue but not himself, just as a physician can cure others’ illnesses but not his own. The owl’s eyes and the crane’s legs each have times when they are useful and times when they are not. This is used to illustrate that, though Wen Zhong was wise and capable, in the end he could not… (The original text ends here, unfinished.)

If a person can remain free from disaster, wind, sun, and even a gradual decline in the river’s waters will not harm them. The rise of slanderers and petty men, or the rejection of loyal ministers, will not damage them either. When a person loses power and position, the more heavily they relied on what they had, the harder the blow is likely to be. Water scatters when separated from earth; a shadow vanishes when separated from its form; people lose their support when parted from things. When people lose the Dao, they move toward ruin. Only those skilled at careful discernment may be able to preserve themselves.

Eyes that single-mindedly pursue Li Zhu, famed in legend for his exceptional sight; ears that single-mindedly pursue Shi Kuang, the ancient musician celebrated for his keen hearing; and minds that single-mindedly pursue Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu, known for their virtue—all may lead a person into peril. Affairs shift repeatedly, often in connection with the pursuit of fame and success or the weighing of faults. The consequences of good and evil simply have not yet appeared before us. Some people in the world rely on their achievements and treat their accomplishments as their own treasures, only to have disasters follow close behind. The minister Wen Zhong of Yue was one such person.

The commentary Kouyi from Yanzhai explains: Do not use deliberate intention to interfere with the natural order; that is, do not use human plans to control the Way of Heaven. Let life and death, gain and loss, follow their natural course. One may say that to live is to gain, and to die is also to gain; one may say that to live is to lose, and to die is also to lose. It is like a physician prescribing medicine: the principal remedy is like a ruler, and the other ingredients are like officials. Even when the ingredients are the same, their combination and dosage differ in importance. People, too, are like this in their dealings with the world: when their time is favorable, they become honored; when it is not, they become lowly. Yet their own nature has not changed.

Wen Zhong helped Yue avenge itself on Wu and found a way to preserve the state when it was on the brink of collapse; this may be called wisdom. But he did not understand when to withdraw, and so lost his life. The text also compares the owl’s eyes with the crane’s slender legs to show that every kind of thing has its own form and limits. Wind and sun both diminish water, yet they do not disturb a river whose source is abundant. Things may be depleted, but if their foundations are firm, outside forces cannot shake them. These statements all express the same principle.

Water depends on earth, and a form is accompanied by its shadow: this is the natural way things remain together. But for the eyes, ears, and mind to pursue external things single-mindedly is not the natural way. Any approach that prides itself on cleverness and keeps all its schemes hidden in the mind may bring danger. Here, the character “給” should be read as “及,” while “反” carries the sense of ruin or defeat: single-mindedly seeking achievement may instead bring failure; when planning for the long term, a will that refuses to bend can itself become a source of harm. Yet people often treat these things as treasures. From ancient times to the present, states have fallen and people have been slaughtered again and again. One reason is that people have failed to ask what lies behind it all.

“To treat people by means of Heaven” means taking the principles of Heaven as one’s foundation and then aligning human actions with them. If human action is made primary, it goes against those principles. The four characters “次古之真人” in the text, according to the commentators, should follow the character “故”; they may have been copied twice by mistake. The intended meaning is that some people live by following this principle, while others die by going against it—this is the natural order. There are also people who die by following this principle…

A person cannot walk steadily by setting their feet only on the ground; they also depend on the places they do not step. Likewise, though people know little, they can gain deeper understanding only by relying on what they do not know.

What is called “Heaven”—the natural Way—speaks of such levels as the Great One, the Great Yin, the Great Eye, the Great Equality, the Great Square, the Great Trust, and the Great Stability. The Great One brings all things into connection; the Great Yin dissolves all things; the Great Eye enables people to observe all things; the Great Equality lets each thing follow its own nature; the Great Square enables people to accord with the nature of things; the Great Trust enables people to examine things; and the Great Stability enables people to hold fast to the Way. If one puts all these principles fully into practice, one can follow the Way of Heaven, discern the subtle changes among all things, and grasp the pivot of change.

All things have this and that. So when we explain them, it can seem that we have explained them, yet also that we have not; when we understand them, it can seem that we understand them, yet also that we have not truly understood. Only by acknowledging what we do not know can we truly come to know. In investigating things, we should neither set fixed boundaries in advance nor refuse to distinguish boundaries altogether. The affairs of the world are intricate and ever changing, yet they have their own underlying truth. Though past and present do not replace one another, these truths endure and should not be lightly disregarded.

To look only at the ground one has already walked over is to see very little. Only by learning to rely on what one has not yet walked over can one speak of breadth of understanding. As the saying goes, only by understanding what is “useless” can one speak of what is useful. Human intelligence can grasp only a limited part of things. One must rely less on what one does not know in order to understand the principles of the Dao of Heaven. In this way, one can gradually understand the stages from the “Great One” (the unified state at the source of all things), through the “Great Yin,” and onward to the “Great Stability.” Those who cultivate the Dao take the “Great One” as their foundation and so move freely without obstruction. They enter the deep and mysterious realm and reach the source of the Utmost Yin; from there, they can also reach the source of the Utmost Yang. All things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang, and are therefore bound together in ways that make them difficult to separate. This is because people do not understand that there is also a source of the Utmost Yin.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: Only after forgetting Heaven and Earth and putting all things out of mind can one recognize something as minute as a cicada’s wing. How much more, then, must the mind become empty and still to understand what Heaven and Earth truly are? The “Great One” is the Dao. When each thing is allowed to act according to its own proper nature, nothing is obstructed. Letting all things reveal their own nature is the “Great Vision,” a broad way of seeing. Following the nature things already possess and letting each rest at ease is the “Great Equitability,” an arrangement that is broad and impartial. Observing all things and letting each take its proper place allows every quarter to find what suits it; this is the “Great Square.” Letting life follow the limits of what it can attain, without allowing it to overstep and run wild, is the “Great Trust.” When one’s true nature is undisturbed, it settles of its own accord. To hold fast to the “Great Stability” is to do so without deliberately holding fast. Nothing among the myriad things fails to arise from nature. Follow nature in observing them, and understanding will come; there is no need to impose another arrangement.

The highest principle has its own ultimate point. Grasp its pivot by quietly attuning oneself to it. What first brings all things into being is “the other”—the natural transformations of things themselves. So if “I” am confused and do not force an explanation, but simply let things be as they are, they will reveal themselves naturally. Explanation accomplishes nothing, and so it can seem as though nothing has been explained. Using the wisdom inherent in all things can seem like not knowing. If I do not presume to be clever, the wisdom of all things can unfold on its own. As each thing exercises its own wisdom, everything under Heaven can fully realize what it knows. In responding to all things, keep the mind and spirit quiet and free of fixed methods, allowing each thing to remain within its proper bounds. Though the myriad things differ in countless ways, each has its own true nature, and none can take the place of another. Weighing and distinguishing them reveals that each has its limits. If we investigate their overall boundaries, we will understand that each thing has its own fitting place. From this we can also understand how to forget ourselves and follow the principle of things. Why be so confused?

Confusion cannot be dispelled by forcing an explanation. To honor “Great Freedom from Confusion” as the highest state is, in fact, the height of folly. The sage follows things as they are. Thus the deeds of emperors through the ages have differed, and their titles have changed with the times.

Human vision has its limits, yet one who does not rely on the eyes to see has nothing that remains unseen, because he follows the common source of all things. He can reconcile right and wrong and regard them equally, allowing both to proceed side by side, because he follows the greatest balance. He makes no distinction between north and south, east and west, because his heart is as vast as Heaven and Earth and can contain all things.

His vital essence is pure, and within him lies a trustworthy foundation; this is because he possesses the greatest sincerity. Great fires can spread across lakes and marshes without making him feel hot; great rivers can freeze over without making him feel cold. Thunder and lightning may split mountains, and violent winds may churn the sea, yet he remains undisturbed. This is because he possesses the greatest steadfastness.

So long as there is a Way of Heaven to follow, one should stop at the bounds of what one can know and not insist on knowing what is unknowable by nature. By observing in accordance with what is already understood, one can respond without hindrance even when some things remain unclear. When the mind is deep and has its own pivot, it does not treat “that” and “this” as opposing poles. Once there is “that,” the principles for responding to the relation between that and this are boundless.

His resolution of things appears to be no resolution at all because nothing binds his mind. Precisely because he does not cling to answers, he can pass through freely. His wisdom appears to be ignorance because he does not take his own preconceptions as authoritative. Precisely because he does not presume to know, he can truly understand. This is why the Perfected Person—the Daoist term for one who has attained the Dao—seems dull and awkward while moving among ordinary people.

Someone asked: Whether there are boundaries or none, does either still involve attachment? “Boundaries” here means seeking an answer at the limits; yet one cannot simply turn around and look for it between “being” and “nonbeing.” What is lofty cannot be tethered; what slips away cannot be grasped. It seems to be nothing, yet has real existence. From antiquity to the present, things have seemingly never replaced one another, yet they have never been depleted.

To ask in this way—is that not to pose a great question? “Yang” means bringing what is hidden to light; “que” means examining the facts of a matter. If the other person had not asked, I would have had nothing on which to base my reply. Only by seeing that the myriad things have never begun to exist can one avoid confusion. But if one uses this to explain the confusion caused by the existence of the myriad things while clinging to the idea that they never existed, one remains confused. Only after dispelling confusion and returning to a state free of confusion can one hope to reach the greatest understanding.

Yidu’s commentary holds that this passage explains how what seems useless may prove useful, and what seems like not knowing may be true knowledge. Here, “Great Unity” refers to Heaven, “Great Yin” to Earth, “Great Vision” to seeing all things, and “Great Balance” to carrying all things. “Great Form” gives rise to the myriad things and enables each to be fully formed; “Great Trust” responds to the myriad things without making prior agreements; “Great Stability” steadies the myriad things without wavering. Human understanding begins with what is known, but must ultimately be nourished by “not knowing”; only then can what is known reach subtle perfection. When the mind is attached to something, what matters is to become unobstructed; when Yin energy stagnates, what matters is to transform it. “Great Vision” does not deliberately search for things; it sees them when they come before it. “Great Balance” does not deliberately accommodate the myriad things; it can carry them when they arrive.

All things move according to the “Great Square”—the overall principle of the Great Dao. If we regard it as having no substance, it may seem to have nothing to rely on, so change is taken as its manifestation. If it seems not to have been examined, then it must be examined in accordance with the Dao and sustained through the workings of the Creator. All things under Heaven each have their own natural principles. Observe them by following those principles, and their manifest aspects will become visible; observe them from the depths of obscurity, and you will see their pivots and origins.

Once there is a beginning, there is also an opposing “other.” But if we inquire back to a time before any beginning, when the myriad things had not yet taken form, neither “this” nor “other” could be established, and there would be no “I.” To understand things this far is to seem to understand and yet not understand; to know this far is to seem to know and yet not know. When people encounter principles pursued to their furthest point, they often find them difficult to grasp. Only by recognizing what one does not know can one approach true knowledge.

Questions have bounds when they pursue a specific issue; without bounds, they are asked in general terms. A specific inquiry can investigate how things work, but may not exhaust human nature. A general inquiry can broaden one’s knowledge, but may not bring one back to the root. Each kind of questioning therefore has its limits. Witty, humorous words are often not very substantial, yet sometimes they hit upon the truth. Ancient and modern times continually alternate, while the principles themselves remain unchanged. One who understands how things work will suffer no loss. Can the ideas discussed above not be considered a thorough explanation and a balanced account? If something cannot be done, let it be; why should anyone be troubled and insist on doing it? If someone tries to dispel another person’s confusion by means of “freedom from confusion,” then even if the other person is no longer confused, the one who dispels the confusion may remain caught in an even deeper perplexity. This is what Zhuangzi intended to express through his words.

Bixuzi’s commentary says: The earth is vast beyond measure, yet a person can stand only on a patch large enough for one foot. It is precisely because we know there are countless places beyond the ground beneath us where we have never set foot that our journey has no end. The Dao is subtle beyond measure, while what people can say is only the portion that words can express. By relying on the meaning that remains after words are forgotten, one can continue to understand. Thus the Perfected Person takes uselessness and wordlessness as the state affirmed by the Way of Heaven.

The “Great One” is at once subtle and vast, containing all things. Those who understand it are open-hearted and unobstructed. The “Great Darkness” is deep and still; those who understand it find their minds at peace and are released as though shedding an outer shell. The “Great Eye” is like the radiance of Heaven, allowing people to see through things clearly. The “Great Equality” brings all things into equality and enables people to follow the course of events. The “Great Square” is a seamless whole that can contain everything. The “Great Trust” is true and reliable, so that nothing cannot be examined by it. The “Great Stillness” is utterly quiet and steadfast; it makes the various wondrous functions described above possible.

These seven states all embody natural principles. When one follows those principles, clarity and stillness operate on their own. In the beginning, the Dao appears; whatever stands in relation to the Dao as an object belongs to the “other.” All things naturally dissolve and transform, and so it seems as though they are not understood; they are naturally understood, and so it seems as though they are not known. First recognize that there is something you do not know, and only then can you truly know. The clearer the mind, the more clearly it sees.

In seeking the Dao, one must not cling either to boundedness or to boundlessness. The forms of the myriad things differ, yet their fundamental principle is one. Though they may seem tangled and confused, they still share an underlying order. Ancient and modern times do not follow two different principles, and life and death, too, belong to the same process of change.

Each thing has its own principle, which must not be diminished; life and death each inherently contain their own principles. There is much here that deserves to be explained at length and discussed carefully. Why not investigate by following this principle? Once it is understood, the mind will no longer be troubled by doubt. The greatest confusion can keep a person bound for life. Neither the ignorant nor the supremely wise can change this, just as a crane’s legs cannot be shortened and a wild duck’s legs cannot be lengthened. Each person receives life and takes in Qi (vital energy) for its own natural reasons. Only those whose understanding accords with the workings of creation can know without speaking. To try to dispel confusion through worldly learning is to be deeply confused, merely admiring and aspiring to that state of being “greatly free of confusion.”

Yanzhai’s Commentary: The ground people actually tread covers little; the ground they have not trodden covers much. This is a metaphor: what people know is scant, while what they do not know belongs to the Way of Heaven. Do not rely on what you already know; value instead what you do not yet know. Only then can you understand the Way of Heaven.

“Great One” refers to the workings of creation as a whole; “Great Stillness” refers to a state of utter quiet; “Great Vision” refers to everything that can be seen; “Great Equality” refers to the distinct allotments of all things. “Great Square” and “Great Emptiness” share the same substance. “Great Truth” refers to the principle that is real and unfailing; “Great Stability” refers to the state that gathers and sustains all things. The beginning of all things must depend on something. The Discussion on Making All Things Equal says, “Without that, there would be no this, no self.” “That” refers to creation. To call it “Heaven,” “Illumination,” “Pivot,” or “that”—these names may be explained and understood, yet they seem not to explain or reveal it fully. Not daring to claim that one knows or has explained what one does not know is called knowing what one does not know; that is true knowledge.

The questioner wants to investigate the principle behind the creation of things, but whether it has bounds or has none cannot be determined or recast through arbitrary conjecture. In other words, the principle of creation is elusive: it seems formless and insubstantial, yet it truly exists; from antiquity to the present, the workings of creation have continued without end. Does this not deserve to be explained at length and discussed carefully? Yet people do not know to ask about this principle—so what is there to be puzzled about? Use this principle of being free from doubt to understand the things under Heaven that cause bewilderment, then return to a state of no doubt. Perhaps then one can reach a truly great freedom from doubt. The whole passage turns on the words “free from doubt”; these few lines bring it to a close in a distinctive way.

The ground actually covered by one’s feet is not as vast as the ground left untrodden; what the mind knows is not as abundant as what it does not know. Do not rely on what you have walked through and learned; instead, make non-action your means. Only then can you understand the Way of Heaven. The Way of Heaven is hard to fathom and cannot be discussed through human conjecture, so one should not impose one’s understanding upon it. To stop where one’s knowledge ends is true knowledge. What matters is the practice of steadily letting go of personal opinions and attachments.

When desire is exhausted, the principles of Heaven become clear. From the Great Oneness and the Great Yin to the Great Trust, all these principles arise from understanding Heaven. Only by understanding Heaven can one know the root of the myriad things and unite them through the Great Oneness.

The Dao runs through all principles, and the myriad things grow from it. They receive Yang Qi and condense into form; when they encounter Yin Qi, they disperse and change. They emerge from nothing and in the end return to nothing. The Great Vision sees the myriad things, as well as what is ordinarily unseen. The Great Balance accords with the myriad things, allowing each to find its own equilibrium. The Great Vastness takes the boundless as its substance. The Great Trust measures things by principles that are not agreed upon in advance, and holds to them through the Great Stability. It simply follows the transformations of the world and does not act by deliberate design.

Exhaust the principles of Heaven, and you can grasp the natural state of the myriad things. Follow the principles of clear discernment, and things will become clear naturally, in accord with their own patterns. In the depths there is a pivot, still and silent yet always in motion. The myriad things begin by responding to one another and harmonizing without forcefully taking the lead. Unravel the world’s disorder without pulling it apart; perceive Heaven’s mysteries without clinging to knowledge. Why, then, ask and investigate as Jie did, seeking to determine whether things have boundaries or are boundless?

Seen in this light, though Jie’s playful, clever words seem humorous on the surface, they contain truths. From ancient times to the present, each thing has fulfilled its proper role. Could this not be called a “great survey”? The Book of Han speaks of “surveying ancient and modern times”: to raise up and draw out means to cite and recount events past and present, explaining their significance. Why do people fail to investigate these principles and instead rely on their own false and expansive knowledge? They are unclear even about the Heaven within themselves; how could they know what is called the Origin of Qian, the root of the Way of Heaven? This is because there is no clear discernment between the heart and Heaven: delusion has obscured it. So delusion must be dispelled through freedom from delusion, returning to that state of clarity. This is what it means to esteem the Great Freedom from Delusion.

Delusion is caused by false thoughts and feelings; freedom from delusion is the original, true state. If one still treats this original and natural state as something to be revered, one has not yet reached the Great Freedom from Delusion. When one truly arrives at that state, what freedom from delusion is there to esteem, and what delusion is there to dispel?

A ruler who possesses the Dao does not use the authority of his position to treat others arrogantly. A minister of the Dao corrects the ruler through integrity and moral principle. Though Marquis Wu was forceful, stubborn, and reluctant to heed advice, Wugui spoke to him in a way that followed the Dao. He first praised fine horses to open the ruler’s mind, then used the opportunity to explain that a ruler must be able to recognize people in order to see through his ministers. Though Marquis Wu was displeased at first, in the end he accepted the advice. Wugui gradually rescued him from his wrongs: mistreating the people while indulging himself.

A person’s innate moral awareness and goodness cannot be completely extinguished. Like someone who has left home and feels glad to meet a person with a familiar face, people too can recognize what is good. When they meet again, they can accept loyal advice and let words that are hard to hear awaken them to their failings. People always like agreeable words and dislike words that expose wrongdoing.

When the principles of self-cultivation are perfected, one can respond sincerely in harmony with Heaven and Earth. When the principles of governing a state are fully understood, one can achieve results. To hear such teachings is a blessing for the state and its people. Where, then, does this way of governing lie? It lies in acting in accordance with what is right, governing the people in a way suited to them, and also in ending warfare and seeking peace.

When the Yellow Emperor went to visit Da Kui, a legendary sage who had attained the Dao, the seven sages accompanying him all lost their way. This is a metaphor: once the six faculties—sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought—become confused, the mind’s master cannot remain clear on its own. Later, they asked a young herdsman for directions and soon found their way again. Those who have attained the Dao take instruction from this story. Through the parable, it explains that a wise ruler who wishes to encounter the Great Dao should set aside cleverness and self-assurance, devote himself to guarding the clarity within, and remove whatever obstructs his original nature. Then Da Kui will appear of his own accord, without being deliberately sought.

How does this resemble Lord Wu, who made the people toil to gratify his senses? Only after one stops assuming one has already grasped the wondrous Dao can one speak of pursuing what is right and ending warfare. Later rulers lacked deep and steadfast Virtue, and the things they esteemed were many. As a result, scholars of different schools took different paths. They concealed their nature and pursued things outside themselves, no longer expecting to return to the root, and so drifted ever farther from the Dao.

The Confucians, Mohists, followers of Yang Zhu, and thinkers such as Hui Shi each clung to one position, believing their own doctrine had exhausted the Great Dao. Yet their writings and debates sometimes helped illuminate the Dao’s mysteries. This is like the man from Ying who let the craftsman Shi swing his axe to scrape white plaster from the tip of his nose, thereby bringing the craftsman’s skill to full expression. It is also like having someone as capable as Xi Peng, whose recommendation enabled Guan Zhong to be appointed. Bao Shuya’s personal affection should not have changed the decision to employ Guan Zhong.

A monkey’s arrogance toward people brings it to ruin, while a person who imitates a monkey’s manner is praised. This is meant to warn the worldly against arrogance. As for those who simply lose heart and wither their bodies, wearing away their strength of mind over a long time, or those who toy with pellets or carry feather fans, how could they easily understand the principle at stake?

Jiu Fang Yin could discern subtle signs of good and ill fortune but did not speak of them. Xu You revered Yao’s benevolence and wanted to avoid him and depart. These are examples of people who could see great changes in minute details and appeared wise on the surface, yet gained advantage from it. The examples of the plants jin, geng, yong, and ling show that people’s conduct changes with the prevailing environment. The interplay of wind and sun, and rivers surging against one another, serve as metaphors for how teaching and transformation affect all things. People should indeed carefully guard themselves, yet they cannot ultimately avoid being influenced by external things. Once changed by them, they fall into danger.

Only those who understand contentment know what they can rely on; only those whose minds do not act recklessly know not to depend on clever devices. In this way, they can fully express their inborn nature and perceive the nature of all things. Once they are no longer confused themselves, they can also dispel the confusion of the people under Heaven.

Collected Subtle Commentaries on the Meaning of the True Classic of Southern Florescence, juan 81