《南華真經口義》Vol. 27

Kouyi on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence, fascicle 27 — “Outer Things” (continued)

Yi Yin and King Xin on assigning guilt

Yi Yin pleaded on their behalf: “The state is about to perish—what need is there still for gu (special burial or mourning gear)?”

I said: “I have Fu Yue. The Sun clan may rank as disciples of the former kings—is this the lord’s offense, or the servant’s offense?”

Yi Yin said: “It is the lord’s offense.”

Xin asked: “Why?”

Yi Yin said: “If a couch is made into gu gear, it would be better made into fur; when the state is lost, one should make funeral garments—why does the lord not act so? They take that to mean mysterious court shoes.”

Chen Xiyi said: “It is the servant’s offense.”

The minister said: “It is the servant’s offense.”

Yi Yin bowed twice and said: “Your servant asks to perish.”

When Sun Shuo saw this, he was pleased and rebuked him. Yi Yin urged the king to execute this minister—how else could one obtain the platform for exposing the corpse? Those who would verify the matter are not enough to settle it; one must rely on a sangmen (monastic or ritual specialist) to annotate and annotate again.

Burial rites and the Way of Heaven

To dwell apart and keep an inauspicious day, Taihao was born with the Three Ducal ministers as the pattern of righteousness, without wrapping the corpse in dark cloth at the dawn of rule. King Xuan buried the primary queen afterward; the primary queen buried the consort of righteousness at the command; the righteous lord buried the queen at the shrine of the successor queen, and among the lesser consorts in the rear, he summoned mourners to cut grief and not let the two queens’ rites be disturbed among the various attendants. Thereupon they buried Yi Yin in the earth with the three lords Yin, divided Heaven and Earth and arrayed mountains and rivers; later they restored his post, established the lord’s worthy department and set up ministers.

In infant death Heaven displays virtue in the jade scepter; in full burial Heaven withholds the taboo name; in kind Heaven looks only at virtue and does not favor the face; Heaven looks only at the flowing pattern and does not inspect the form; Heaven uses the great character and does not harm the small. Therefore entrust yourself to Heaven’s constant Way: the sage stands in the king’s law and, as minister, nourishes the people as children.

Creation and the Three Powers

The lord of birds must also rest upon the primal king’s governance, not squandering the root; gathering the multitude is not for mere display of splendor—grasping branches for spears is still a kind of dwelling in place. When there were a hundred states and more, it was called the human work of creation. When the Emperor finished creating things, if government was mixed and confused the bodily form was unclear, scattered through the regions, divided into the Three Powers (sancai: Heaven, Earth, and humanity), with no fixed order. Yin-Yang cycled and dyed the norm of spirit and person; life after life differed. Thus far the nature of the Three August Ones—each had its goodness, each formed a distinct union. The ninefold united person filled into one; this body squared virtue by kind, united reason in speech; those who mourn each had what they belonged to.

Benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness: trust in the six virtues, wisdom in the Three Powers, benevolence in the Five Constants, righteousness in the Five Phases (wuxing). Virtue united with the pitch-pipe of things and clarified them; spirit by calamity, spirit by transformation—the myriad unite in diversity, unite the four seasons and the Five Phases; people are born from them—each has virtue, each has nature, each has order, each has a return. Thus they follow and transform one another, each reaching its subtlety, each obtaining its place. The Changes and the seasons each are regulated by the sage, and then each stops. Western lords each rule one quarter; so too, roughly, each has its rectitude; roughly, each also rules one quarter, each regulates one quarter.

Union of virtues and the correct Way

Thus is my root, my Way, what I transmit—sincerity rests in the human oneness; as if there were a constant regulation, each has its duty. Roughly: righteousness united, reason united, wisdom united, trust united, benevolence united—then human virtue as a person reaches its limit, and the sage’s virtue as sage reaches its limit. When human virtue reaches its limit and sage virtue reaches its limit, then roughly person and Dao unite, person and Heavenly principle unite. Roughly the Way of Heaven and human affairs, roughly accord with the correct Way, roughly accord with the constant classic, roughly accord with ultimate principle, roughly accord with human relations, roughly accord with Heaven’s constancy.

Thus one roughly becomes teacher of the ten thousand things, roughly origin of all that exists, roughly root of Heaven and Earth, roughly patriarch of creation, roughly ancestor of the myriad beings, roughly origin of all presence.

Modern Explanatory Interpretation

On “The Locust Tree Catches Fire,” “The River Floods,” and Similar Claims

The events described in “The Locust Tree Catches Fire” and “A Discussion of the Flood” do not mean that a great locust tree must literally catch fire or that a great flood must literally occur. Such calamities arise when the movements of Yin-Yang fall into disorder. They are unusual circumstances, meant to show that changes in external things cannot be predicted in advance and must not be treated as inevitable.

On the Passage “Utterly Beset by Worry, Caught on Both Sides, with Nowhere to Flee”

“Utterly beset by worry” means being worried to the extreme. Being “caught on both sides” does not mean trouble in human affairs, but calamity arising from Yin-Yang and the course of time. It carries the same sense as “both of these” in “In the Human World.”

“Frightened and unable to settle” describes a person as restless and alarmed like an insect, unable to steady their mind or bring their feelings to any resolution.

“When the heart is suspended between Heaven and Earth,” it is tied down, tormenting itself.

“Distressed and confused” means feeling oppressed and agitated; “sunk in peril” means trapped in danger with no way out.

When thoughts of gain and loss grind against each other in the heart, the inner self grows hotter than a raging fire. This is why the text says, “A great many fires arise.” These are ordinary people who do not understand the Dao. They do not know that nothing external can be guaranteed, yet they exhaust themselves in anxious effort and end up burning away the vital harmony within their hearts. That is why the text calls it “the multitude burning up their harmony.”

The “moon” is a metaphor for the wholeness and perfect harmony a person receives from their inborn nature, clear and bright like the moon. But when desires for external things cloud the mind, it is as if a fire has started. The “moon” of one’s original nature cannot overcome that fire, and in the end the vital harmony is burned away. The mountain poet’s line, “The original heart is like the sun and moon; gain and desire eat away at it,” expresses the same idea.

“Collapsed and listless” means giving way and letting oneself drift; “the Dao is exhausted” means that the principles of Heaven have been used up in that person. It describes people who spend their whole lives immersed in desire for gain without ever awakening, until the principles of Heaven have been extinguished.

Zhuangzi Borrows Grain from the Marquis of the River

Zhuangzi was poor and asked the Marquis of the River to lend him some grain. The Marquis said, “Certainly. Once I have collected the taxes from my fief, I’ll lend you three hundred gold pieces. How does that sound?”

Zhuangzi’s expression changed. He said, “Yesterday, as I was walking along the road, I heard someone calling out halfway along. I turned to look. It was in a wheel rut…”

A little water had pooled in a wheel rut on the road, and in it lay a crucian carp. Zhuangzi asked it, “Crucian carp, what are you doing here?”

It answered, “I am a minor official in charge of water in the Eastern Sea. Could you give me a dipper or a ladle of water so I can survive?”

Zhuangzi said, “Very well. I’ll go south right away to Wu and Yue and ask the kings there to open the West River so the water can reach you—would that do?”

The fish’s face darkened with anger. “I’ve left the water I usually live in and have nowhere to go. A dipper or ladle would keep me alive. And you talk like that? You’d do better to look for me early at the dried-fish shop!”

(Note: The “supervisor of the river” (jianhe hou) appears in Shuoyuan and is sometimes identified with King Wen of Wei, though that is uncertain; or the river official may have been titled “hou,” or “Hou” may simply be a surname. “Yijin” refers to rent from a fief. “Bo chen” means calling oneself a petty official of the waters. This passage is mostly a jest that was current at the time; it is recorded here much like today’s saying that distant water cannot put out a nearby fire: the “shop of withered fish” means that by the time that river water arrived, I would already be salted fish. “Chang yu” means the place one normally depends on and lives together with.)

Lord Ren made a huge hook and thick black rope, used fifty young oxen as bait, crouched at Kuaiji, and cast his line into the Eastern Sea. He fished day after day for a year without a bite. Then a great fish took the hook, caught on the massive barb, sank deep and then surged up, beating its fins and churning the waves until white crests rose like mountains; the sea shook and the sound was like spirits and gods, and fear spread a thousand li. Lord Ren caught that fish, cut it open, and pickled it; from east of the Yellow River to north of Cangwu, there was no one who did not grow sick of eating it. After that, people of shallow talent who loved hearsay were startled and told one another about it.

To hold a fine rod and silk line and wait beside ditches for minnows and crucian carp, yet hope to land a great fish—that is far too hard. To chase office and rank with polished little stories is equally far from the Great Dao. So those who have never heard of a style like Lord Ren’s cannot be entrusted with ordering the affairs of the world—and the principle is the same.

(On Those Who “See Only the Small”)

They see only the fine points and miss the larger pattern, so at the slightest alarm they pass the word from one to another. Here “累” (lèi) suggests being bound like rope; “灌” means to pour or infuse, and “灌瀆” (guàn dú) refers to tiny streams and ditches; “鲵” (ní) and “鲋” (fù) are both small fish. The ancient office of “县令” (xiànlìng), county magistrate, was rather like today’s posted proclamations—“县” (xiàn) is the same word as “悬” (xuán), meaning something hung up for all to see, like reward notices or regulations. The point is: people whose eyes fix on petty details polish their wording to a shine and strain every nerve to fit the squares on the rule sheet; even if they slip through by luck, how far can they really go? So it is said that they too are vastly far from the Dao. “俗” (sú) means worldly folk; with such people one cannot discuss ordering the world through principle, hence “俗”—they cannot take part in governing all under heaven either. “远矣” (yuǎn yǐ) means the gap is too wide, utterly out of reach.

(Confucian Scholars Who Rob Graves with the Odes and Rites)

Confucian scholars can use the Odes and Rites to dress up grave robbery. The senior scholar sends word to the junior: “It is light in the east—what shall we do?” The junior answers: “The skirt is not yet loosened, and the mouth still holds a pearl.”—The Odes already contain lines like this: “Green, green the wheat, growing on the mound; in life he gave nothing away—why in death should he hold a pearl in his mouth?” This mocks grave-side fields and satirizes the stingy rich: unwilling to give while alive, why keep a pearl between the teeth when dead? The senior scholar then says: Seize his temple hair, press down on his chin and lower cheek, use a golden mallet to pry open the jaw, and slowly part the cheeks—do not damage the pearl in the mouth.

This passage is an analogy: lobbyists and persuaders borrow the words of sages and classics to varnish deceit. Orders passed downward are “臚” (lú), reports upward are “句” (gōu); “臚傅” (lú fù) means the senior scholar takes the lead and relays instructions below. “Green, green the wheat, growing on the mound” is verse about grave fields—only four lines; whether they are old poetry or invented by Zhuangzi cannot be settled now. From “接其鬓” (jiē qí bìn) onward, the senior teaches the junior the method: “接” is to clutch or gather; “擪” (yè) is to press with the hand; “顪” (shèng) refers to the area below the chin. Holding the jaw open and parting the cheeks is so the pearl can be taken slowly without harm. The junior’s reasoning runs: the poem asks “why hold a pearl in the mouth”—I am taking the pearl now, which matches the ancient verse.

(Disciple of Laolaizi Meets Confucius)

A disciple of Laolaizi went out to gather firewood, met Confucius, and on returning told Laolaizi: “There is a man over there—upper body erect, lower body bent forward; before he has bowed, the back of his head is already turned away; his gaze seems to take charge of the four seas; I do not know whose son he is.” Laolaizi said: “That is Kong Qiu. Call him here.” When Confucius arrived, Laolaizi said: “Kong Qiu, strip off your affectation and set down the cleverness in your face—then you will resemble a gentleman.”

Confucius bowed with hands folded, stepped back several paces, his face tightening, and with altered bearing asked, “Can one’s work on the path be carried further?”

Laolizi said, “You cannot bear the weariness and sorrow of people in a single age, yet you wish to parade about and wipe away the calamities of ten thousand generations—are you trapped in a narrow place from which you cannot escape? Or have you forgotten that some things lie beyond what scheming can reach? To take pride in winning hearts through favors, doing so all one’s life, is conduct shameful for a lifetime. This is merely the way mediocre people push upward: they draw one another on by reputation and bind one another through hidden, private ties. Rather than praising Yao and condemning Jie, it is better to forget both and even to close one’s mouth on praise. Whoever violates the principle of nature will have no act that does not harm the Dao; whoever is restless and does not hold to stillness will have no deed that is not crooked. The sage in acting often hesitates again and again yet often succeeds—why must you carry refined self-possession as a load to the very end?”

The gist of the oral commentary’s exegesis runs as follows.

“Those who go out for firewood” means people who leave home to gather fuel. “Tall in stature” describes a large build; “his hurried steps ring below” means he walks quickly with audible stride; “slightly stooped at the end” means the back is a little bent; “ears behind” means that seen from the front one can hardly see the ears. When Confucius “looked as if planning for all within the four seas,” he was like one gazing anxiously into the distance, his heart weighed with the woes of the age; “body held stiffly” is bodily restraint and self-consciousness, “bearing and knowing” is outward polish with inward calculation. “The work can be advanced” asks whether cultivation of the Dao can rise another level. “The harm of one age” is the weariness and pity of people in one lifetime; “rushing after the afflictions of ten thousand generations” is to act arrogantly without regard and vainly hope to end later ages’ troubles at one stroke—with such intent, it is fitting that the Dao is exhausted. “Destitution” is narrow poverty; “fitting that it should be so” means it is naturally so. In worldly affairs there are things planning cannot accomplish, hence “forgetting that scheming cannot reach them.” “Taking favor and delight as one’s chase” is to boast in bestowing kindness to win joy—shameful for a lifetime, merely what “middle people” do, hence “the conduct of middle people advances only thus.” Such people “draw one another by name and tie one another by concealment”—using fame to pull one another forward and secrecy to join in alliance. When Yao and Jie are both forgotten, blame and praise alike vanish, hence “closing what they praise.” Turning against nature, nothing fails to injure the Dao; being fond of movement, nothing fails to be deviant. The sage “hesitates in deliberation to establish the undertaking” means being cautious in raising affairs yet often succeeding; “bearing refined self-possession to the end” is to carry lifelong stiffness as a burden to the finish.

On Restlessness and the Way of the Sage

People who are restless and always on the move often cannot help acting in odd, improper ways. The sage is not like that.

“Hesitation” means wanting to go forward yet not daring to, or being unable to decide. The sage too may hesitate, but only after there is no other choice—only then does he respond; he does not rush to take the lead. Because he is without deliberate intent (not clinging to fixed views, not scheming at every turn), he often succeeds.

“Carrying oneself proudly” means being self-important and putting on airs. How can you spend your whole life treating yourself with stiffness and arrogance? Hence the line: “What can be done about such self-importance?”—to live forever in that posture, what remedy is there? The closing phrase “in the end, be haughty toward yourself” is likewise a warning: do not spend a lifetime holding yourself aloof and proud.

Lord Yuan of Song’s Dream of the Turtle and Yu Qie

In the middle of the night, Lord Yuan of Song dreamed of someone with hair loose, looking in through a side gate (āmén, a curved or lateral gate), who said: I come from the abyss of Zailu Road; I am the spirit of the Qing River, sent by the River Lord (Hé Bó) to catch fish, and the fisherman Yu Qie has caught me.

When the lord woke, he had the dream interpreted and was told: this is a divine turtle. He asked his attendants whether Yu Qie was about; they said yes. He ordered Yu Qie to attend court the next day. Asked what he had caught, Yu Qie said: his net had taken a white turtle five feet across. The lord said: bring the turtle to me.

When the turtle arrived, the lord wavered between killing it and sparing it; unable to decide, he divined. The oracle said that killing the turtle for divination would be auspicious, so they split the shell. After seventy-two drill-holes (for yarrow-stalk divination), not one yarrow segment (shì jiá, used in prognostication) was missed—the turtle’s power of foreknowledge seemed to know everything.

Confucius commented: the divine turtle could appear to Lord Yuan in a dream, yet could not escape Yu Qie’s net; it could answer seventy-two divinations correctly, yet could not escape the disaster of having its belly cut open. Thus wisdom too has its limits, and spirit (shén) also has what it cannot reach. Even the highest wisdom may not withstand the schemes of countless minds each pursuing its own aim.

Fish do not fear nets, yet they fear the pelican—because the pelican is a more direct, more formidable form of calculation. Therefore set aside petty cleverness, and great knowing becomes clear; set aside deliberate, self-advertising goodness, and goodness naturally returns to you.

When a baby is born, it has no “great teacher,” yet it learns to speak—because day after day it is among those who speak. This is a metaphor: one need not rely on small tricks and cleverness everywhere; by following what is natural and dwelling in an environment that “can speak,” capacity grows of itself.

Brief Summary

• The sage: hesitates before responding, is without deliberate intent yet often succeeds; do not spend a lifetime carrying yourself proudly (self-importance and stiff reserve).
• The divine-turtle story: however sharp wisdom and divination may be, they have limits; human designs in their thousands cannot always be fully guarded against.
• In worldly conduct: discard petty knowing so great knowing shines; discard performative goodness so goodness is natural—less craft, less self-display; like an infant who learns to speak simply by living among speakers.

This passage explores the fundamental distinction between the natural Dao (the Way) and artificial contrivances, revealing the profound philosophy of "the usefulness of the useless."

Regarding the relationship between learning and innate nature: Just as those who learn speech from teachers will naturally acquire language when surrounded by those born with the gift, so too does understanding emerge spontaneously. Like turtle shells used for divination that cannot foresee their own fate, this illustrates the inherent limitations of wisdom. True wisdom doesn't lie in one person's intellect surpassing the schemes of thousands, just as the pelican draining a pond to catch fish represents deliberate harm, fundamentally different from fishing with nets. Great wisdom consists in following nature's course, where mastery comes effortlessly without forced instruction.

When Hui Shi criticized Zhuangzi's teachings as useless, Zhuangzi employed the metaphor of land: humans only need enough ground to stand, but if one excavated all surrounding earth into abysses, what use would the remaining foothold serve? This demonstrates how seemingly useless elements actually support the useful—the essential meaning of "the usefulness of the useless."

Concerning the art of living: Those capable of carefree wandering naturally move through the world with ease, while others remain forever unable to comprehend this state. Chasing external objects without turning back or deliberately isolating oneself from society—these behaviors never characterize truly wise and noble individuals. The common scholarly failing of esteeming antiquity while disparaging modernity finds no purchase with the perfected person (one who has attained the Dao), who moves with convention yet never loses themselves. They don't blindly follow indoctrination, comprehending true meaning without becoming enslaved by external things.

The text identifies two deviations from the natural Dao: "indulgent drifting" (流遁) refers to becoming lost in material desires without escape, while "absolute severance" (决绝) describes deliberate opposition to worldly ways. The genuine sage resembles ancient sovereigns like Xiwei (狶韦氏), who harmonized with their era without being swept away by its currents.

Section One

If you no longer drown yourself in worldly affairs or let fame and gain lead you around, you will not fall into errors such as drifting with the current, making rash decisions, or cutting yourself off from the original mind.

“Falling and sinking” means being stuck in the mud of worldly matters; “racing like fire” means being chased through life by events like a blaze. Both are being dragged down by the world so that you cannot turn your awareness inward—hence “not turning back, not looking again”: you cannot turn the light inward to reflect, nor look back at the heart-mind.

Though for a time there are high and low ranks, and in name there is ruler and subject, where do high and low remain after death? So it asks: who can avoid drifting with the tide? Students of the Way often speak of antiquity only from the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors onward; here the text is really mocking and belittling that kind of worship of ancient rulers.

“Biased” means one-sided. Moving through the world without leaning to one side, not fixing right and wrong by past versus present; though you harmonize your light and mix with the dust and do not clash with the world, what you hold to is still there—hence “following others without losing yourself.” When others think they are right and insist on teaching you, you need not learn from them, yet you can still go along with their intent without mutual opposition—this carries the sense that “kings and commoners alike end in ruin, all return to the mounds.”

Only the conduct of the perfected person (zhiren) has no lingering attachment to the world, hence “the perfected person does not linger in conduct.” Human feelings in ancient and modern times are broadly the same; how could there be a sharp split between pure simplicity and decadence? Scholars who honor the past and despise the present do not understand how the world changes. If the sage-king Xiwei looked at today from the time when heaven and earth first opened and from high antiquity, people would still be wave-tossed, drifting, and losing their true nature—that is the meaning of equalizing things and following what is so (yin shi), hence “receiving tones without taking sides.”

Section Two

Penetrating (che) means thorough openness: when you grasp the pattern of nature and are fully clear through, what the ears and eyes hear and see is true keen hearing and true clarity; what the nose and mouth smell and taste is true discernment and true sweetness; what the mind knows is true knowing, and virtue is utmost virtue.

Obstructing means blocking and hindering; choking is the throat tightening so nothing passes; treading is the track under the foot. If, even after seeing the Way, you still feel blocked and choked, and the path you tread is only others’ old footprints, then many harms arise.

Among living things that have awareness, breath sustains them; when breath is not smooth, it is not heaven’s fault—heaven opens above and below, day and night without cease. Yet people plug their own openings (ears, eyes, mouth, nose, and the like) and thus seal the road shut.

Note: “Xiwei” is a figure from ancient legendary history; accounts differ. Here he is mentioned together with “before the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors,” meaning an era earlier than the rulers later generations honor.

The text discusses the consequences of the human mind being clouded by desires and the importance of maintaining mental clarity.

The interior of the human body is like an empty chamber (重閬 refers to the body’s cavities). If the mind follows the natural order of heaven (天遊), it can move freely and dwell in peace. But if the mind is clogged by material desires, it is like living in a cramped house where mother-in-law and daughter-in-law see each other daily and inevitably quarrel (勃磎). The six senses (六凿: eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) then begin to conflict with one another.

People feel joy when they see vast mountains and forests precisely because their senses are usually confined. When suddenly confronted with open scenery, their suppressed innate spirituality (神) is released. Excessive pursuit of fame drains one’s inner Virtue (德溢乎名), while impatience and agitation can even make one lose their reputation altogether (名溢乎暴).

The text further explains: Cunning arises from anxiety (誸 refers to agitation), disputes breed petty cleverness, and stubbornness leads to suspicion and mistrust (柴生乎守). Handling public affairs requires accommodating the needs of the people (众宜). Just as plants grow wildly during spring rains, and farming tools (銚鎒) are sharpened for pruning, more than half of the plants are actually trampled unintentionally—a metaphor for how many actions are blindly following the crowd without self-awareness.

It particularly notes: The human body has membranes enclosing its cavities (胞脬膜), which are naturally spacious. If the mind becomes obstructed and loses touch with the joy of heavenly principle, the six senses will interfere with one another (相攘). The reason natural landscapes bring delight is precisely because they relieve the constrained state of the spirit in daily life.

Diao and Xian (personal names) are much the same: only when rivalry and one-upmanship already live in the heart do schemes and calculations follow; only when one clings rigidly to a single method and refuses to adapt does the mood arise—like a splinter caught in the throat—of displeasure and unease.

Guo (果) carries the sense of fullness and ripeness. In the Discussion on Making All Things Equal (Qiwu Lun) it says that the belly is like the firm, full fruit of guoran. When one tries to arrange every matter just right and then parcel out duties to carry them out, one often becomes stubborn and rigid, and things fail to go through. The remark is like a foolish child who thinks he can “finish all official business”—in truth, such business is never finished.

Diao and nou are farm tools. When spring rain comes, plants and grasses shoot up with sudden vigor—hence “angry growth” (nusheng, where nu means luxuriant sprouting). Then people must ready their tools and prepare to farm, which means hoeing and pulling weeds. Much of the vegetation that has just been rained on and is thrusting upward gets knocked down. Dao here is the same as dao (倒), to topple—as in Du Fu’s line “frost toppled half the pond’s lotuses,” which uses this dao. Those who wield hoes and weeders are not deliberately ruining the growth of plants; they do what farming requires and may not even notice that they are injuring the “vitality of growth” (shengyi). The point is roughly this: what should grow still grows; what should be uprooted is uprooted all the same. Weeds are cleared and the crops grow again—what looks like destruction is also a kind of fostering; what looks like fostering also holds destruction within it. Seen this way, success and failure, gain and loss, life and death, fortune and misfortune should all be left to the natural course—why fret and calculate at every turn? When De (Virtue/Power) overflows and turns into reputation, what follows is mostly this ailment of “harboring the heart” (rongxin): the inability to let the mind rest. Only when one can cease to harbor the heart does “roaming in Heaven” (tianyou) become possible—wandering in accord with the Way of Heaven, the heart at ease.

Jingran means tranquil and at peace; bubing means shedding the old and welcoming the new, abandoning the branch tips and returning to the root. When the heart can be at peace, what was formerly deficient or damaged may be made whole and restored. Zimie (眥媙) means cutting away and sweeping clean—screening off material desires and preserving the principle of Heaven (tianli), so that one may roam freely into old age. Zhi ju means stopping haste and rush. When this heart can be settled, impatience can come to a halt. These three lines all describe the path of having already lost something and seeking to find it again—like Yang Xiong’s “first fall ill, then recover” (xian bing er hou chou). Hence what follows: “Even so, if it is like this, it is still the chore of those who have toiled” (suiran, ruoshi, laozhe zhi wu ye): fine words, but such effort remains the sort of task that people who have struggled take up; it is not those who have always dwelt in ease and never wandered off course who come asking about it.

“Not those at leisure who have never passed through such ordeals and yet come to ask” (fei yizhe zhi wei wei chang guo er wen yan): it is not the idle and comfortable, who have never tasted that kind of struggle, who inquire into this whole approach—in other words, those who ask and are willing to practice it are mostly people who have already tasted bitterness and loss.

If one is naturally at ease in one’s own mind from the start, one will not go on pressing such questions. “Yi” (ease) here means someone who finds joy in himself; what is not for such a self-contented person to ask, yet is still spoken of as if it were not his business—words like “所,” “犹,” and “所” again are empty function words of the same sort as in the phrase “no excess in ease” (wuyi).

The sage awes and rectifies the world with benevolence and righteousness—that is to “hai” (overawe) the world; the divine person has no such affair. The worthy overawe the age with great virtue; the sage need not do so. The gentleman overawe a state with renown; the worthy need not do so. The petty person schemes and fawns to fit the moment; the gentleman disdains that.

At Yan Gate someone died; because he was skilled at grieving and exhausting himself in filial display, he was ennobled and made a master of rites (like an official of today). Men of the same circle envied him, until as many as half of those who died were people who destroyed themselves through exaggerated mourning—this is what is meant by the burden of craving a good name.

Yao offered the realm to Xu You (a legendary recluse); Xu You refused. Tang offered the realm to Wu Guang; Wu Guang grew angry and refused. Ji Ta heard of this, led his disciples to wait by the Kuanshui, hoping the lords would come to yield the realm to him; the lords only came to offer condolences and did not yield the realm. Three years later, Shen Tu Di again envied this way of hiding one’s fame and threw himself into the Yellow River. All of this is an extreme way of stating the harm of clinging to reputation.

The bamboo fish trap is for catching fish; once you have the fish you can forget the trap. The snare is for catching rabbits; once you have the rabbit you can forget the snare. Words are for conveying meaning; once you have grasped the meaning you can forget the words. Where am I to find someone who has forgotten words, so I can talk with him?

The preceding two chapters, “When Words Suffice” and “When Words Fall Short,” share the same structure and scope. Quanti (fish traps and rabbit snares) were originally tools for catching fish and snaring rabbits; once the fish or rabbit is caught, those implements serve no further purpose. Words are the same: they are only yan (language, phrasing) in which meaning is lodged; once you grasp the true intent, you should let the literal wording go. If you cannot forget the words, you will cling to the letter, get stuck on the surface, and lose the original point. Only someone who can forget the words is fit to discuss the Dao with you. This piece is equally careful in its wording—on the surface it speaks of hunting rabbits, but in substance it stresses: what matters is getting the rabbit (grasping the meaning), not holding on to the snare (fixating on words).