《南華真經循本》Vol. 13

Though heaven and earth are vast, their operations follow the same principles; though the myriad things are diverse, their governance adheres to consistent laws. Though the common people are numerous, all must follow the guidance of their ruler. The ruler models himself on the natural virtue (referring to the inherent qualities of the Dao) and attains accomplishment through heavenly principle. Thus it is said that the ancient rulers governed the world by simply following natural virtue and practicing non-action (Wuwei).

When viewing titles and status through the lens of the Dao, the rulers of the world become upright. When distinguishing responsibilities by the standard of the Dao, the proper relationship between ruler and minister becomes clear. When examining abilities according to the principles of the Dao, all officials find their proper roles. When observing through the universality of the Dao, the correspondences among all things become complete. Therefore, what connects heaven and earth is virtue (De), and what operates through all things is the great Dao. For those in high positions, governing the people is their duty; possessing specialized skills constitutes one's craft. Crafts are subordinate to duties, duties to righteousness, righteousness to virtue, virtue to the Dao, and the Dao ultimately returns to the natural way of heaven.

Thus it is said that those who nurtured the world in ancient times, being free from selfish desires, saw the world naturally become prosperous; practicing non-action, they witnessed the myriad things transform of themselves; maintaining deep tranquility, they observed the people naturally settling into peace. The Records (possibly referring to ancient texts) state: "When one comprehends the root of the great Dao, all affairs reach fulfillment; when the heart seeks nothing, even spirits and deities submit."

Regarding the mention of "the Master said," there are two versions: both the Wu-Jia and Cui editions present it as an independent section. However, considering the context, it appears more like a citation. The "Master" mentioned here likely refers to Laozi (founder of Daoism), and the quoted Records may well be Laozi's words. Later when the text explicitly mentions "the Master asking Lao Dan," it refers to Confucius (founder of Confucianism) seeking instruction from Laozi.

The great Dao embraces and carries all things—how vast and boundless it is! The noble person must purify his heart (kuxin means removing selfish thoughts and distractions). Having removed the heart of desires, Zhuangzi further elaborates:

What accomplishes all things through natural non-action is called "heaven"; what speaks truth through natural non-action is called "virtue" (De); loving people and benefiting all things is called "humaneness"; harmonizing different things into unity is called "greatness"; conduct that avoids novelty and eccentricity is called "breadth"; encompassing all diversity is called "abundance." Therefore, maintaining virtue is called "discipline," its perfection called "establishing oneself," following the Dao called "completeness," and not letting external things frustrate one's will called "perfection." When the noble person understands these ten principles, he can handle affairs with magnanimous breadth and immense capacity of heart—flowing like rivers in accordance with the transformations of all things, with heart unhindered.

This passage describes the state and attitude of those who have attained the Dao.

Those truly aligned with the Dao hide gold in mountains and sink pearls in deep abysses, showing no greed for wealth or pursuit of riches. They neither rejoice in longevity nor grieve over premature death, neither take pride in prominence nor feel shame in poverty. They don't claim worldly benefits as their own, nor do they seek to rule the world. Even when occupying eminent positions, their inner clarity remains undisturbed.

To them, all things are united as one, and life and death hold no distinction. The Dao is as serene as a deep pool, as clear as limpid water. Just as metal and stone possess inherent sound-producing qualities that remain silent until struck, all things follow their intrinsic principles - though ordinary people struggle to grasp this.

Those possessing "kingly virtue" (wangde, the supreme De) maintain their original simplicity, considering worldly sophistication shameful. Rooted in fundamentals with wisdom reaching spiritual clarity, their virtue becomes vast and expansive. When their intention manifests, all things respond. Forms cannot exist without the Dao, nor can life be revealed without De. Only those with kingly virtue can preserve form, fulfill life's potential, establish virtue, and illuminate the Dao.

Such individuals possess expansive minds and act with natural ease, drawing all things to follow them. They perceive light where others see only darkness, hear celestial harmonies in silence. Amidst chaos, they alone maintain lucid awareness.

(Note: "Wáng dé" refers to supreme virtue capable of governing all under heaven; "sù shì" means moving through the world while preserving original simplicity; "liáo" describes water's crystal clarity)

This passage presents two illustrative stories of Daoist philosophy.

The first section elucidates the mysterious nature of the Dao (the Way). Though formless and intangible, the Dao fulfills all things' needs; appearing without fixed shape, it becomes the ultimate destination for all existence. The Dao can expand or contract, lengthen or shorten, manifesting infinite transformations. The term "wangde zhiren" (王德之人) refers to those who have truly comprehended the Dao.

The second part recounts the allegory of the Yellow Emperor seeking the "Mysterious Pearl" (symbolizing the Dao). While traveling north of the Chishui River and ascending Mount Kunlun to gaze southward, the Yellow Emperor lost this pearl upon returning. He dispatched successively: "Zhi" (representing intellectual knowledge), "Lizhu" (representing acute vision), and "Chigou" (representing incompetence) to retrieve it—all failed. Finally, "Xiangwang" (meaning formless and imageless) succeeded in recovering it. This demonstrates that conventional methods like intellectual cleverness or keen observation cannot attain the Dao; only by transcending formal limitations can one grasp its true essence.

The third section records a dialogue between Emperor Yao and Xu You. Yao inquired whether his teacher Nieque could "match heaven" (become emperor), expressing his intention to invite Nieque through Wang Ni. Xu You warned this would be perilous, as Nieque possessed extraordinary intelligence—if entrusted with the heavenly mandate, his actions might become increasingly unconventional. This reflects Daoism's cautionary stance toward excessive intellectual brilliance.

This passage discusses the concept of "aligning with Heaven's Dao" (配天), criticizing those who claim to conform to the Dao while actually violating it.

Those who presume to prohibit faults remain ignorant of how faults truly arise. Believing they harmonize with Heaven's Dao, they instead exploit human desires while disregarding heavenly principles. Though aspiring to match the Dao, they elevate themselves above the masses, fundamentally misunderstanding true heavenly alignment.

They fragment their original singular nature into countless forms, exalting cunning artifice while their minds race like wildfire. Driven by trivial affairs and bound by external things, they constantly look outward to accommodate phenomena, satisfying worldly demands while shifting with circumstances—lacking any constant inner nature. How could such people ever align with Heaven's Dao?

Yet like clans having ancestors, such individuals may serve as "fathers" (leaders) to the masses, but never as their "ancestors" (supreme exemplars). They become capable ministers for governing chaos, yet simultaneously prove to be disasters among subordinates and threats to rulers—like competent officials who become treacherous heroes in turbulent times.

The narrative then recounts Emperor Yao's story: When Yao inspected Hua territory, the border guardian said, "O Sage, let me wish you longevity." Yao declined. Next came wishes for wealth and honor, which Yao also refused. Finally, the guardian wished him numerous descendants, yet Yao still demurred. The guardian protested: "Longevity, wealth, and progeny—all things people desire—why reject them?" Yao replied: "More sons mean more worries; wealth brings more troubles; longevity increases occasions for disgrace. These three don't cultivate Virtue (De), hence my refusal." The guardian then realized: "At first I took you for a Sage—now I see you're merely a noble man. When Heaven creates the myriad beings, it assigns each their proper station. More sons mean more assigned duties—why worry about them?"

Through this contrast, the text critiques superficial practitioners while using Yao's story to demonstrate how true Sages transcend worldly desires and accord with natural arrangements.

This scripture expounds the Daoist philosophy of natural non-action (Wuwei) and returning to primordial simplicity, illustrating its principles through parables and metaphysical discussions.

First, it describes how sages (those who have attained the Dao) are like quails, content wherever they dwell, or like fledgling birds feeding naturally, or like flying birds leaving no trace. They follow the natural course without deliberate self-display. In times of peace, they flourish alongside all beings; in chaotic eras, they cultivate virtue (De) and retreat into seclusion. Those who refine themselves to the utmost transcend worldly ties, riding white clouds to the celestial abodes of the heavenly emperors, far removed from calamity.

Next, it recounts an anecdote from the era of Yao and Shun: Bo Chengzi Gao served as a feudal lord under Yao but resigned to farm when Yu succeeded the throne. He told Yu, "Under Yao’s rule, rewards were unnecessary—the people naturally inclined toward goodness; punishments were unneeded—the people instinctively revered order. But now, governance relies on rewards and punishments, marking the decline of virtue (De) and the rise of legal coercion. From this, the turmoil of later ages begins." Having spoken, he turned back to plowing, ignoring Yu.

Finally, it elucidates the metaphysics of the "Great Beginning" (Taichu), the origin of the cosmos: The primal state was "nothingness," devoid even of the concept of "nothing." From this void emerged the "One" (the Dao), formless yet containing the principles of all creation—this is virtue (De). When the "One" stirred, the myriad beings arose; as they took form, each acquired its unique nature—this is "xing" (innate nature). By refining one’s heart-mind, one can return to the original virtue (De), merging completely with the natural harmony of heaven and earth. This state of undifferentiated unity is the profoundest "Mystic Virtue" (Xuande).

The text emphasizes that the ideal governance, exemplified by Yao, follows Wuwei—ruling without coercion, where people naturally incline toward goodness without rewards or punishments. Excessive human intervention disrupts natural harmony, leading to moral decay. Practitioners should emulate nature, return to their authentic selves, and ultimately unite with the Dao.

This passage expounds the profound Daoist teachings on the fundamental nature of all things and the cultivation of virtue (De):

All beings are governed by celestial mandate and cannot remain in absolute stillness; they inevitably undergo movement and transformation, giving rise to myriad phenomena. Each entity, once formed, possesses its particular morphological structure - this physical constitution is called "form" (xing). Within these forms resides the harmoniously unified primordial spirit (Shen, innate spiritual nature), each following its natural patterns - this is what we term "inherent nature" (xing). It can be said that every being contains the complete Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, cosmic origin).

Through cultivating one's inherent nature, one can return to the realm of "virtue" (De). When virtue reaches its ultimate expression, it becomes identical to the undifferentiated chaos before the separation of heaven and earth. This "identity" represents a state of emptiness and stillness, where all distinctions between right and wrong dissolve. All worldly debates and disputes become unified in this state. Such unification resembles tangled fishing lines - seemingly dull and chaotic, yet manifesting the most profound Mysterious Virtue (Xuan De, the virtue of the Dao). What is called "Great Accord" (Da Shun) means nothing and no one fails to comply with natural laws.

The text suggests the Taiji diagram might have originated from reclusive sages, and judging from these principles, this seems plausible.

The following presents a dialogue between Confucius and Laozi:

Confucius asked Laozi: "There are those who study the Dao arts and appear like sages. They can declare possible what others deem impossible, and justify what others consider wrong. Sophists claim they can analyze concepts like 'hardness and whiteness' (a famous logical debate topic) as clearly as revealing the sky. Can such people be called sages?"

Laozi replied: "This is merely like petty clerks playing with skills, exhausting their heart-mind (Xin). It resembles hunting dogs tied up all day thinking of chasing prey, or monkeys captured from mountains constantly plotting escape. Let me tell you: there are truths you cannot hear nor express. All concrete existences (those with beginning and end), compared to the formless yet eternally existing Great Dao, have their movements and stillness, life and death, rise and fall determined not by themselves."

"True governance lies with humans, but requires forgetting external things and even heaven-earth - this is called 'forgetting oneself' (wang ji). Those who attain self-forgetting may be said to have merged with the natural Heavenly Dao."

Annotations:

• "Separation of hardness and whiteness" refers to the famous logical proposition by Gongsun Long regarding the relationship between a stone's "hardness" and "whiteness" attributes
• "Mysterious Virtue" (Xuan De) denotes the profound and subtle virtue of the Dao
• "Great Accord" (Da Shun) signifies complete alignment with natural order
• Laozi maintains that clever argumentation cannot attain the Dao; true sages transcend dualities to reach the state of forgetting both self and objects

Laozi said: How can this be considered sagehood? He further admonished:

I shall tell you of truths you cannot hear with ears nor express with words. What people hear - some remember the beginning and end, while others listen without comprehension as if deaf; what people say - some describe concrete forms, while others discuss formless things as if they were present before their eyes. None of these are real existences, all are illusory and untrue. Those discussions about movement and stillness, life and death, prosperity and decline are merely deceptive sophistry, not the true principles of existence. Such debates bring no benefit, for the true Dao to be cultivated exists on an entirely different plane.

Those who attain the Dao are different - they forget external things, and even forget the Heavenly Dao (referring to the source of all things). Forgetting even the Heavenly Dao constitutes complete oblivion. Ordinary people often call those good at forgetting "self-forgetters," hence such persons are called "self-forgetting people." Those who reach this state of self-oblivion become completely united with the Heavenly Dao. The later mention of "governance lies with people" corresponds to the earlier "some govern the Dao," making the meaning quite clear.

Jiang Lü Mian (whose given name was Mian) paid respects to Ji Che and said: "The ruler of Lu told me 'please instruct me.' Unable to decline, I've already offered advice, but don't know if it was appropriate. Let me recount it to you. I told the ruler: 'You must be reverent and frugal, selecting just and loyal people without favoritism - then how could the people not live in harmony?'" Hearing this, Ji Che laughed heartily: "Your words regarding the way of imperial governance are like a mantis angrily raising its arms to stop a chariot wheel - certainly incapable of the task! Moreover, acting this way would place oneself in danger, like piling treasures on a high platform which would attract many climbers." Jiang Lü Mian said in astonishment: "I'm bewildered by your words. Yet I still wish to hear your explanation." Ji Che replied: "The truly sage-like ruler governs the world by letting people's minds develop freely, allowing teachings and customs to form naturally, eliminating harmful intentions while letting each fulfill their aspirations. It's like following one's inherent nature - the people wouldn't even know why things are so. In such case, why would one need to emulate Yao and Shun's methods of instructing the people? Simply having one's inner being accord with virtue is sufficient."

The phrase "piling treasures on a high platform which would attract many climbers" means that if a ruler deliberately promotes himself, he will attract many sycophants.

The passage conveys two main layers of meaning:

The first section discusses the highest realm of governing the world. When the most enlightened sages rule, they completely follow natural laws, making the people feel no trace of governance. Though virtuous rulers like Yao and Shun governed well, their methods still bore marks of artificial intervention. True sages refuse to be compared with Yao and Shun - their minds remain tranquil, merging with heaven and earth in natural harmony, practicing wuwei (non-action).

The second section illustrates Daoist philosophy through the story of Confucius' disciple Zigong encountering an old vegetable farmer. In the state of Chu, Zigong saw the old man laboriously drawing water with clay pots to irrigate his field and suggested using labor-saving mechanical devices. The old man replied: "Using machinery breeds opportunistic thoughts (jixin, 'machine heart'), which corrupts humanity's original pure and unblemished nature (chunbai, 'pure whiteness'), disturbing the shen (spirit) and preventing harmony with the Dao." He criticized Confucian scholars like Zigong for being widely learned yet chasing empty fame, failing even in self-cultivation - how could they presume to discuss governing the world? Zigong was left deeply ashamed.

The concept of "jixin" represents calculating cleverness, while "chunbai" symbolizes humanity's originally pure and unadulterated nature. Daoism holds that excessive reliance on tools and technology damages our natural essence, forming a stark contrast with Confucianism's advocacy of technological progress. The old farmer embodies the Daoist ideal of returning to natural simplicity and preserving authentic living.

This passage recounts a dialogue between Zhuangzi (the Nanhua Zhenren) and his disciple, using contrasting approaches to life to elucidate Daoist philosophy.

The disciple asks his teacher why he seemed so deeply affected after meeting a certain man. The teacher explains that he had once believed Confucius was the only sage in the world, but now he realizes there are others like this man. This person embodies the Dao of the sage: he seeks perfect Virtue (De), a sound body, and a complete spirit (Shen). He lives among ordinary people without striving for artificial goals, existing in a state of natural harmony. Such a man remains unaffected by worldly gains or clever schemes, indifferent to praise or blame, and preserves his innate authenticity. In contrast, people like us are like waves stirred by the wind—our minds restless and unsettled.

Later, Confucius hears of this and remarks that the man practices the Dao of "Hundun Shi" (the Primordial Chaos), symbolizing the undifferentiated origin of the cosmos. This cultivation focuses on inner refinement rather than outward display, preserving one’s pure nature, following the natural course, and wandering freely within the mundane world. Confucius sighs, admitting that even he cannot fully comprehend such profound attainment.

The final section presents a conversation between Chun Mang and Yuan Feng, using the metaphor of the "Great Chasm" (the Eastern Sea) to illustrate the boundless nature of the Dao: no matter how much water flows into it, it never overflows; no matter how much is drawn from it, it never runs dry. When Yuan Feng asks how to govern the people, Chun Mang implies that true sage-rule resembles the sea accepting all rivers—effortless and non-active (Wuwei).

(Note: "Hundun Shi" represents the primordial, undifferentiated state of the universe; "Great Chasm" symbolizes the infinite capacity of the Dao; "people with horizontal eyes" refers to ordinary folk.)

This passage explains the concept of "sagely governance" (圣治). When rulers implement policies with perfect appropriateness, appoint talents where they are best suited, and act only after fully understanding the actual circumstances, their words and deeds naturally stem from self-cultivation, thereby transforming the world effortlessly. Wherever they point or direct their gaze, the people follow without exception—this is what is called sagely governance.

After hearing Chunmang's explanation of sagely governance, Yuanfeng felt it still lacked ultimate profundity and proceeded to inquire about the "virtuous person" (德人). The characteristics of a virtuous person are: dwelling in stillness without idle thoughts, acting without anxiety over gain or loss, and harboring no distinctions between right and wrong or beauty and ugliness in their heart. They rejoice when all within the four seas benefit together and are content when everyone is well-fed and clothed. Innocent as an infant clinging to its mother, carefree as a traveler who forgets the way, their wealth never exhausts though they know not its source; their provisions are ample yet they remain unaware of who provides them. Such is the appearance of a virtuous person.

Yuanfeng then asked about the "divine person" (神人). The divine person can harness light, their physical form dissolving into illumination—this is the state of "radiant expansiveness" (照旷). Upon attaining the Dao, their spirit ascends to roam freely within the light, regarding their own body as withered wood or dung. At the ultimate stage, they fully align with heavenly decree, express their innate nature without restraint, share joy with heaven and earth, forget all worldly affairs, and witness the myriad things return to their original truth. This is entry into the realm of "primordial mystery" (混冥).

The latter part recounts a dialogue between Men Wugui and Chi Zhang Manji as they observed King Wu of Zhou's army. Chi Zhang Manji remarked, "This cannot compare to the era of Emperor Shun—hence these present troubles of war." Men Wugui retorted, "Did Emperor Shun govern because the world was already at peace, or because it was in chaos that he had to govern?" Chi Zhang Manji replied, "Universal peace is the greatest aspiration—why must there be an Emperor Shun to govern?" The implication is that if the world were naturally at peace, what need would there be for a sage-king to govern it?

This passage contrasts ancient social customs with contemporary moral standards.

During the reign of Emperor Shun of the Yu dynasty in high antiquity, when people fell ill they sought medical treatment. Though filial sons wore worried expressions while preparing medicine for their sick fathers, the sages considered such behavior shameful. While King Wu of Zhou's military might couldn't compare to Shun's era, even Shun's governance was merely like a physician treating illness with medicine—not the natural way of the Dao.

In the most virtuous age (the era of supreme De), worthiness wasn't exalted. The ruler remained aloof like the highest branches of a tree, undisturbed and non-interfering. The people were as guileless as wild deer—upright without knowing "righteousness," loving without recognizing "humaneness," honest without understanding "loyalty," proper without comprehending "trustworthiness." They naturally helped one another without perceiving it as benevolence, thus leaving no traces of their actions and creating no stories worth recounting.

A truly filial child doesn't flatter parents, nor does a loyal minister fawn upon rulers. If children obey their parents' every word or ministers their sovereign's every command, they're actually considered unfilial and disloyal by worldly standards. What society deems "correct" and "virtuous," when followed blindly, amounts to sycophancy. People praise those who admonish rulers and parents as loyal and filial, yet condemn those who comply as flatterers—revealing how worldly standards have become harsher than those of rulers and parents themselves.

People grow furious when accused of leading others or engaging in flattery, yet spend their whole lives doing precisely that. They employ elaborate metaphors and ornate speech to win hearts, never admitting their sycophancy. Like those who dress finely and adorn themselves to please the world while denying their pandering, this stems from the fundamental disconnect between people's words and deeds—their chronic inability to recognize their own true behavior.

This passage employs vivid metaphors to critique how worldly people easily become deluded by superficial things.

The first example uses Emperor Shun to illustrate this: Shun governed the world wearing magnificent robes, adorning himself with colorful decorations, and sitting upright in his court. While these actions were meant to please the masses, he didn't consider them as flattery. When debating right and wrong with ordinary people, he refused to acknowledge his similarity to the crowd—an extremely foolish attitude.

Next comes the metaphor of three travelers: If three people journey together and one wishes to go west, they might still barely reach the east. But if two insist on going west, the destination becomes utterly unreachable. This alludes to King Wu of Zhou's campaign against King Zhou, where although eight hundred feudal lords responded ("the whole world was deluded"), the author (Chi Zhang Manji referring to himself as "I") found his own principles impossible to implement, lamenting this predicament.

The musical metaphor follows: Sublime music ("grand melodies") falls on deaf ears in marketplaces, while people laugh joyfully at vulgar folk tunes ("Zhe Yang Huang Hua"). Thus profound discourse cannot take root in ordinary minds—ultimate truths are no match for common sayings. It's like trying to play music with two earthen jars ("two fou vessels"), producing nothing resembling proper melody. When the entire world is steeped in delusion, how can someone like me realize my aspirations?

The recurrent character "惑" (delusion) signifies how people lose their judgment by being beguiled by shallow things. Through three layered metaphors—Emperor Shun, fellow travelers, and music—the author progressively reveals worldly foolishness, expressing profound sorrow over this universal state of confusion.

This passage explores how people become deluded by worldly desires and lose their original nature. The text begins with a musical analogy: contemporary people are captivated by novel tunes while neglecting classical elegance—just as I (Zhuangzi), though aspiring to follow the true Dao (the Way), find it difficult amid such circumstances.

The author criticizes those who force what cannot be achieved, viewing this as another form of delusion. Rather than stubbornly striving, it is better to relinquish attachment and avoid compulsion—this way, one won’t share others’ vexations. Here, the text subtly alludes to figures like Bo Yi, whose rigid pursuit of purity becomes its own kind of fixation.

Two vivid metaphors follow: An ugly person, upon having a child, anxiously lights a lamp at midnight to inspect it, fearing the child will resemble them—showing that people inherently resist complete similarity, so why insist on sharing others’ worries? A hundred-year-old tree is felled: some parts become exquisite ritual vessels, while others are discarded in ditches. Though their beauty differs, both lose the tree’s original, natural essence. Similarly, the bandit Zhi and virtuous sages like Zeng Shen and Shi Yu may differ in conduct, but all have strayed from humanity’s innate nature.

The text identifies five things that obscure one’s true nature: dazzling colors blind the eyes, cacophonous music deafens the ears, pungent scents overwhelm the nose, rich flavors corrupt the palate, and indulgence in pleasure unsettles the heart. These are life’s calamities. Yet schools like Yang Zhu and Mo Di proclaim their eccentric doctrines as enlightenment—though this is far from true attainment (De, Virtue/Power). If confinement counted as attainment, then caged turtledoves and owls would qualify too.

Finally, it depicts people ensnared by desire: their hearts clogged with sensory cravings like firewood, their bodies constrained by ceremonial robes and caps—bound inside and out as if by ropes, yet still smugly self-satisfied.

This passage comes from Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben (a commentary on the Zhuangzi), using metaphor to criticize those who mistakenly believe they have attained the truth.

The meaning is: If one considers being bound hand and foot ("arms crossed and fingers clamped" — referring to a form of torture) as having attained the truth, then tigers and leopards caged in pens might as well be called free. This satirizes the absurd notion of mistaking bondage for liberation or hardship for accomplishment.

Through this vivid comparison, the author conveys that truly "attaining the Dao" is not about external constraints or limitations—one must not confuse a state of forced acceptance with genuine cultivation achievements. Just as wild beasts confined in cages cannot be considered free, neither can a person who merely passively submits to precepts and restrictions without understanding their true meaning be said to have genuinely realized the Dao.