《南華真經新傳》Vol. 13

This passage comes from Wang Yuanze's Song Dynasty commentary New Commentary on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence, recounting the dialogue between Xu Wugui and Marquis Wu of Wei, along with Laozi's discourse on the Dao (the Way).

Xu Wugui was introduced to Marquis Wu of Wei through Nü Shang. The Marquis greeted him: "You've suffered, Master, laboring in the mountain forests before consenting to see me." Xu Wugui replied: "It is I who should console you—what need have you for my consolation? If you indulge desires and amplify preferences, you injure your innate nature; if you suppress desires and reject preferences, you torment your senses. Thus, it is I who should comfort you." The Marquis fell silent.

Xu then illustrated his point with analogies of judging dogs and horses: Low-grade dogs are content when fed (resembling a wildcat's habits); medium-grade dogs gaze as if beholding the sun; superior dogs appear to have forgotten their own existence. Horse judging follows the same principle—those conforming to standards make fine state steeds, yet cannot compare to celestial horses. Celestial horses possess innate excellence, seeming pensive and absent-minded, forgetting themselves yet transcending worldly traces. Hearing this, the Marquis laughed heartily.

Puzzled, Nü Shang asked: "What method did you use to please our lord? I've quoted the Classic of Poetry, Book of Documents, Rites, and Music, or discussed the Golden Plates and Six Secret Teachings, achieving many merits—yet never have I seen our lord so delighted."

Laozi said: "The Dao is the mystery of all things, the treasure of good people." Good people cherish the Dao—externally forgetting physical form, internally emptying and quieting the mind, abandoning desires and dissolving preferences, abiding peacefully in their innate nature, thus preserving the Dao intact. The opposite holds for unworthy people—they neither fully embrace nor reject the Dao. Externally, they cannot preserve physical form; internally, they cannot empty and quiet the mind. Filled with desires and clinging to preferences, they violate their innate nature—how could such people treasure the Dao? This describes Marquis Wu of Wei's condition.

(Note: The Golden Plates and Six Secret Teachings are ancient military texts; the "dog and horse judging" analogy subtly reflects gradations of self-cultivation.)

Marquis Wu of Wei fell into deep contemplation after hearing Xu Wugui's words, yet made no reply. The Marquis possessed mediocre innate gifts and could not directly comprehend the supreme principles of the Dao. Therefore, Xu Wugui first guided him through the art of judging dogs and horses—subjects that interested him. In truth, Xu Wugui was not actually skilled in evaluating animals, but used these metaphors to expound the true essence of cultivation.

When speaking of superior hunting dogs, Xu Wugui mentioned "as if losing oneself"—referring to physical completeness while the spirit transcends, achieving self-forgetfulness. In discussing fine steeds of the realm, he spoke of "perfect material," meaning De (Virtue) remains stable without losing its fundamental nature. To forget the self is to attain Wuwei (non-action); to preserve one's innate nature is to achieve uselessness—precisely the gateway to the Dao. Regrettably, the Marquis only took pleasure in the surface meaning without grasping the deeper implications, hence his hearty laughter.

Nü Shang (a close minister to the Marquis) asked Xu Wugui: "What did you say to bring His Majesty such joy?" Xu Wugui replied: "I merely told him about judging dogs and horses." He then employed the metaphor of an exile to illustrate: the longer one stays away from their homeland, the deeper the longing becomes. Like a person stranded in wilderness who rejoices at hearing footsteps—how much more so at the voice of a dear one? This subtly hinted that the Marquis had gone too long without hearing the teachings of a true person.

When Xu Wugui later met the Marquis again, the ruler said: "You, sir, have long dwelt in mountain forests, eating wild fruits and herbs. Has old age made you crave wine and meat? Or have you come to pray for blessings upon my state?" Xu Wugui answered: "Born in poverty and lowliness, I dare not covet your royal delicacies. I have come to offer you solace." The Marquis asked: "What solace do I need?" Xu Wugui explained: "Solace for your Shen (spirit) and physical form." He elaborated: Heaven and earth nurture all things equally—those in high positions need not consider themselves noble, nor should the lowly deem themselves base. You, as ruler of ten thousand chariots, instead torment both body and mind.

This passage discusses the principles of governance and military strategy, centering on the Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)." Marquis Wu of Wei sought to implement benevolence and righteousness through "loving the people" and "halting warfare," but the hermit Xu Wugui pointed out that such approaches would instead bring harm.

The human spirit (Shen) inherently favors harmony and detests wickedness. Heaven and Earth endow all people with equal rights to life and existence, without distinctions of nobility or baseness. If a ruler exhausts the world's resources to sustain himself, it will only weary the spirit and leave the physical form unsettled. What one should truly do is transcend carnal desires, allowing the heart-mind to roam freely in carefree realms.

Regarding military strategy, superficial "love for the people" and "cessation of war" can produce the opposite effect. Forcibly imposing benevolence and righteousness is like crafting an exquisite artifact—it breeds hypocrisy instead. Waging war that kills commoners and annexes lands to satisfy selfish desires creates no true victor. The proper approach is to cultivate inner sincerity, follow the natural order, and avoid disturbing people's lives.

The great Dao (Dao) itself exists in a state of natural, uncontrived simplicity, while weapons are artificial constructs. Sages govern through non-action, and the people naturally transform—rendering weapons unnecessary. Treating the people like sacrificial straw dogs (seemingly insignificant yet fundamentally vital) without deliberate displays of kindness allows them to grow naturally. Forced benevolence inevitably leaves gaps, breeding resentment among the people instead.

This dialogue embodies the profound wisdom of Daoist "governing through non-action": deliberate pursuit of benevolence disrupts the natural order, while true statecraft lies in harmonizing with nature and minimizing human interference.

This passage recounts the legendary Yellow Emperor's quest for the Dao and expounds the Daoist political philosophy of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)."

The Yellow Emperor journeyed to Mount Juzi to visit the great sage Dawei, accompanied by six virtuous ministers. Upon reaching the outskirts of Xiangcheng, they lost their way and encountered a young horse herder. Remarkably, the boy not only knew the location of Mount Juzi but also where Dawei resided. Astonished, the Yellow Emperor sought his advice on governing the world.

The herder replied: "Governing the world is as simple as herding horses—just remove the horses that harm the herd." The Yellow Emperor bowed respectfully and addressed the boy as "Celestial Master (Tianshi)."

The text then describes how different people follow their inherent natures: Strategists delight in contemplating changes, debaters enjoy discussing principles, critics take pleasure in fault-finding—all constrained by external matters. Similarly, fame-seekers crave official positions, the brave relish danger, soldiers love battle, recluses pursue reputation, legalists favor creating regulations, ritual specialists emphasize decorum, and humanitarians value social connections. Farmers feel uneasy without tilling land, merchants feel unnatural without conducting trade.

The core teaching is this: To govern the world, one should follow nature's course by simply removing harmful elements, without forced intervention. People's varied preferences all stem from their innate dispositions.

This scripture explores the various attachments and prejudices of human life through the dialogue between Zhuangzi and Huizi.

When people have work to do from morning till night, they encourage all kinds of craftsmen; with refined tools, they appear strong. If wealth is insufficient, the greedy become anxious; if power is not illustrious, the boastful grow sorrowful. Those who chase after external things may find opportunities to be useful, yet they cannot attain the state of Wuwei (non-action). They merely follow the changes of circumstance, led by external objects, exhausting themselves in the entanglement of all things, unable to turn back their whole lives—how pitiful!

Zhuangzi uses archery as a metaphor: If an archer does not aim beforehand yet still hits the mark, can he be called skilled? If so, then everyone in the world could claim to be Houyi (the legendary divine archer). Huizi says it is possible. Zhuangzi then asks: If there were no universally accepted standards of right and wrong in the world, and each person considered themselves correct, then could everyone claim to be Yao (the ancient sage king)? Huizi again agrees.

Zhuangzi then points out: So, the four schools of Confucianism, Mohism, Yang Zhu, and Gongsun Long, plus your own, Huizi—five doctrines in total—which one is truly correct? It is like the disciple of Luju (an ancient musician) who said: "I have mastered my teacher’s method—I can boil a cauldron in winter and make ice in summer." Luju explains that this is merely a simple technique of attracting Yang with Yang and Yin with Yin, not the true Dao. He demonstrates the real Dao: placing one zither in the hall and another in the inner chamber. When the note gong is played on one, the gong string of the other vibrates; when jue is played, the jue string responds—this is because they share the same musical resonance. But if one string is adjusted so that it no longer matches any of the five notes, striking it will cause all twenty-five strings to vibrate, for it has found the master tone that governs all others.

Huizi says: "Now, the four schools—Confucianism, Mohism, Yang Zhu, and Gongsun Long—are debating with me, refuting each other with words, suppressing each other with voices, yet they cannot defeat me. How do you explain this?" Zhuangzi answers with two parables: A man of Qi sends his son to Song to be a gatekeeper but expects him to remain physically intact (though gatekeepers were often mutilated); searching for a small bell but binding it tightly; seeking a lost child yet never leaving the city gates—such efforts are doomed to fail. Or like a man of Chu who, while living abroad, scolds the gatekeeper, or picks a fight with a boatman at midnight when no one is around, making enemies before even leaving the shore.

Finally, the text mentions "Dawei" (symbolizing the Great Dao) and "Mount Juzi" (symbolizing the essence of the Dao), illustrating that the Dao is originally pure and Wuwei—why then must one deliberately seek some "active" sage? This is why it is said that "the seven sages all lost their way." Only by letting go of attachments, focusing on nurturing Qi (vital energy), and returning to the innocence of an infant can one truly comprehend the Dao with the heart. Thus, the scripture speaks of the "herdboy" (symbolizing purity), who not only knows Mount Juzi but also understands the true meaning of Dawei (the Great Dao).

To comprehend the true essence of the Dao (the Way) is to achieve spontaneous accord with nature, free from artificial interference. This answers the Yellow Emperor's inquiry about governing the world—it requires no deliberate action, only maintaining inner emptiness and stillness, allowing the shen (spirit) to roam freely in a state of unconstrained ease, much like letting the qi (vital energy) flow unimpeded. Thus, governing the world is no different from herding horses: one need only eliminate factors that harm them. These principles embody the highest expression of the natural Dao, which all things in heaven and earth follow. For this reason, the Yellow Emperor honored those who understood this truth as "Celestial Masters" (Tianshi).

When Zhuangzi passed by Huizi's grave during a funeral procession, he told his attendants a story: A man from Ying had a speck of white dust, no larger than a fly's wing, on the tip of his nose. He asked the master craftsman Shi to remove it with an axe. Shi swung the axe with a whooshing sound, effortlessly shaving off the dust without harming the nose, while the man from Ying stood unflinching. When Duke Yuan of Song heard of this, he summoned Shi to demonstrate, but Shi replied, "I could indeed do it, but my partner who matched my skill has long passed away. Since Master Huizi left this world, I have found no one who truly understands me."

When Guan Zhong fell gravely ill, Duke Huan of Qi asked him, "Your illness is severe. If the worst should happen, to whom should I entrust the affairs of state?" The duke first suggested Bao Shuya, but Guan Zhong objected, "He is too upright and inflexible, refusing to associate with those he deems inferior and never forgetting others' faults. If he governed, he would constrain the ruler above and oppose the people below, soon incurring the ruler's displeasure." When the duke asked who would be suitable, Guan Zhong recommended Xi Peng: "This man neither stands on ceremony with superiors nor puts on airs with inferiors. He feels ashamed of not matching the Yellow Emperor's virtue yet sympathizes with those less capable than himself. To transform others through virtue is called sagely brilliance; to aid others through material means is called worthy ability. To dominate others with ability wins no hearts, but to humble oneself before others with ability surely gains their allegiance. He knows when to let go of state affairs and when to make choices in household matters."

The King of Wu sailed to the Yangtze River and climbed Mount Macaque. At the sight of humans, the monkeys fled in panic, hiding deep in the thick grass. Only one monkey remained unhurried, leaping and scratching about, showing off its tricks before the king.

These are several parables illustrating the principles of human conduct.

The first story tells of the King of Wu encountering an exceptionally agile monkey during a hunt that could effortlessly catch arrows mid-air. When the king ordered all archers to shoot simultaneously, the monkey was eventually struck down. The king warned his companion Yan Buyi: "This monkey met its end by flaunting its cleverness. Let this be a lesson - never treat others with arrogance." Yan Buyi subsequently became a disciple of Dong Wu, overcame his pride, and after three years earned widespread praise from his countrymen.

In the second tale, the Daoist sage Nanbo Ziqi sits meditating by a table, sighing toward heaven. His disciple Yan Chengzi inquires: "Master, your body resembles withered wood, your mind like cold ashes - is this the pinnacle of cultivation?" Nanbo Ziqi replies: "When I lived as a hermit in mountain caves, each visit from the King of Qi prompted three public celebrations. Had I no reputation, how would people know me? Without seeking fame, how could others exploit me? I lament how people lose themselves, grieve for those who mourn others, and sorrow most for those who mourn the mourners."

The third narrative describes Confucius visiting Chu, where the king hosts a banquet. During the feast, the juggler Shinan Yiliao resolves a blood feud through his ball-tossing performance, while the virtuous minister Sunshu Ao peacefully rests with a feather fan, halting warfare in Chu. Confucius marvels: "I wish for a three-foot tongue to explain such principles." This demonstrates the concept of "teaching without words" (buyan zhi jiao) that solves problems beyond language.

The conclusion reveals the true sage: one who embraces heaven and earth, benefits all creatures yet leaves no trace. Living without titles, dying without posthumous honors, neither accumulating wealth nor pursuing fame - this represents the highest attainment. Zhuangzi explains he speaks these words reluctantly, understood only by his friend Huishi. Like the ocean that never refuses eastern-flowing streams, the true Dao embraces all things.

These parables collectively teach: never parade abilities, never chase empty fame, supreme wisdom often transcends words, and genuine sages never claim credit for their accomplishments.

This passage discusses the concepts of "greatness" and "virtue" (De), using a story to illustrate the Daoist perspective on worldly fame and gain.

The text begins by observing that we don't judge a dog's quality by how loudly it barks, nor a person's worth by how eloquently they speak—how much less should we evaluate true "greatness" this way. Deliberately pursuing "greatness" actually prevents one from attaining genuine greatness, and the same applies to the pursuit of virtue. Heaven and Earth embody the most complete form of greatness precisely because they seek nothing yet achieve perfection. Those who truly understand greatness neither strive for anything nor lose anything; they neither abandon anything nor alter their fundamental nature due to external circumstances.

The story of Ziqi (a Daoist figure) illustrates this: Ziqi invited the famous physiognomist Jiufang Yin to examine his eight sons. The diviner identified Kun (one of the sons) as the most fortunate, predicting he would "share meals with rulers until old age." Instead of rejoicing, Ziqi wept, considering this worldly fortune rather than true blessing. He explained that both he and his son sought the carefree state of wandering with Heaven and Earth—neither striving for anything nor creating peculiarities, simply following the Dao of nature. That his son would gain worldly riches seemed like heaven's cruel joke.

Later, Kun was indeed captured by bandits while traveling to Yan. After having his feet cut off, he was sold to Duke Qu of Qi as a gatekeeper—thus fulfilling the prophecy of "dining with rulers" (as gatekeepers received meat rations), but at terrible cost. The passage concludes with the recluse Xu You refusing Emperor Yao's offer to abdicate the throne, believing Yao's excessive promotion of benevolence and righteousness might lead to future generations literally devouring each other.

This narrative embodies the Daoist advocacy for following nature's course and opposing deliberate pursuit of fame and profit. It suggests that chasing worldly blessings often brings calamity instead, while true freedom lies in harmonious coexistence with Heaven and Earth.

This scripture employs vivid metaphors to expose the vanity of worldly pursuits like benevolence and fame, while elucidating the realm of Daoist "Great Persons" (those who have attained the Dao).

The text first critiques superficial displays of benevolence: using affection to draw people close, leveraging benefits to win hearts, and employing praise to motivate actions—all these approaches carry utilitarian motives. True benevolence should arise spontaneously, yet in reality, people often exploit its name for personal gain, much like greedy beasts wielding tools. Three archetypal figures then illustrate the limitations of worldly individuals:

The "self-satisfied scholar" clings stubbornly to narrow doctrines, smug in minor attainments while fundamentally missing the essence of the Dao. The "complacent parasite" resembles lice living on pigs—content in their seemingly secure niche yet oblivious to impending disaster when the host meets its fate, mirroring those who revel in confined circumstances. The "toiling sovereign," exemplified by the legendary Emperor Shun, attracts people like rancid mutton draws ants; though gaining devotion, he labors ceaselessly without respite.

True "Great Persons" (Dao attainers) differ completely: their De (Virtue) overflows without self-importance; they nurture all things without seeking reward; they clothe the world yet leave no name. Neither in life nor death do they pursue titles or posthumous honors, nor accumulate possessions or cultivate fame—recognizing these as mere external constructs. Similarly, divine beings (Dao-realized ones) never deliberately gather followers, understanding that excessive attachments breed contention.

Through these contrasts, the passage reveals the Daoist ideal of natural Wuwei (non-action), critiquing Confucian emphasis on moral cultivation and fame-seeking. It embodies Zhuangzi's core principle: "The ultimate person has no self; the divine person achieves nothing; the sage leaves no name."

This passage elucidates the realm and way of being of the Daoist "True Person" (Zhenren). A True Person (one who has attained the Dao) neither deliberately draws near to nor distances themselves from the myriad things of the world. Instead, they maintain their natural essence, warming all beings with their De (Virtue/Power) and harmonizing with the patterns of heaven and earth. Unshaken by external changes, they understand that life and death, gain and loss are all part of nature's rhythms.

Specifically, the True Person embodies three principles: When encountering ants, they relinquish clever tricks (not deliberately attracting them with fragrances); when facing fish, they know to conceal themselves (retreating to deep waters to preserve life); and when among sheep, they harbor no possessiveness (not coercing their attachment). This reflects the True Person's attitude of non-coercion and non-attachment in engaging with the world.

The True Person perceives essence through their eyes, hears truth with their ears, and contemplates their original heart-mind with their spirit. Thus, they maintain inner tranquility, responding to change with composure. Only the True Person can attain this state.

They approach human affairs through the lens of heavenly Dao, never allowing human interference to disrupt nature. They recognize that life and death, gain and loss follow natural laws—just as medicinal herbs (such as Jin, Jiegeng, Jiyong, and Shiling) each have their season of usefulness. The True Person's heart-mind is upright, unbound by external things, flowing with nature and undisturbed by artificial striving that might disrupt the state of Wuwei (non-action). Understanding that comings and goings are transient, they maintain a transcendent perspective.

The passage concludes with the example of King Goujian of Yue, who relied on three thousand armored soldiers to survive in Kuaiji—only his minister Wen Zhong could grasp the deeper principle behind this. This illustrates how the wisdom of the True Person differs from ordinary understanding: they penetrate the essence of things and move in accordance with the shifts of time and circumstance.

This passage employs metaphors and contrasts to elucidate the core Daoist concept of "Wuwei ziran" (non-action and naturalness).

Through vivid analogies, it illustrates the natural Dao: water adheres to the land without deliberate pursuit, shadows follow forms without conscious intention, and all things emerge from the Creator without compulsion. These relationships all manifest spontaneously, devoid of artificial striving. Just as wind passing over river water causes some loss, and sunlight evaporates portions of the stream, the river maintains its essential nature because it's continually replenished by its living source.

The perfected person (zhiren) who has attained the Dao possesses self-knowledge without judging others, understands their circumstances without clinging to external things. Thus neither fortune nor misfortune can disturb them. In contrast, figures like the minister Wen Zhong only observed others without self-awareness, focused on external matters while neglecting their inner nature—such attachments inevitably invite disaster.

When eyes excessively pursue brightness, ears strain for acute hearing, or the mind chases after external objects, danger arises. The owl's eyes, though adapted for night vision, cannot bear sunlight; the crane's legs, though elegantly long, cannot be shortened. Forcing changes against inherent nature only brings suffering. Ordinary people persistently seek cleverness and wisdom, clinging to gains and losses of external things—precisely opposing the natural Dao.

The text concludes by noting how those chasing fame and wealth may appear to obtain treasures, yet actually plant seeds of calamity. History's tragedies of fallen states and extinct lineages often stem from such violations of naturalness through forced action. True wisdom lies in maintaining one's original nature without coercion—like water following the land or shadows accompanying forms.

This passage explores the relationship between wisdom and calamity, and outlines seven supreme states that spiritual cultivators should pursue.

The text begins by observing that when stepping on the ground, though the area touched is small, it's the vast untrodden surface that enables free movement. Similarly, while human knowledge is limited, it's through engaging with the unknown that one ultimately comprehends the Dao (the Way). Ancient Daoist masters considered excessive knowledge as the root of misfortune—though profoundly wise, they never flaunted their intelligence, thus remaining untouched by calamity. Ordinary people, however, constantly display cleverness, which becomes fertile ground for misfortune to grow.

The author cites the example of Wen Zhong, minister of Yue State: initially, his strategies helped restore the Yue kingdom, demonstrating wisdom's blessings. Yet ultimately, his towering achievements provoked his lord's suspicion, leading to his execution—showing how calamity often lurks within fortune. Worldly people fail to understand this principle, mistakenly treating cunning as a life-preserving talisman, a delusion truly lamentable.

The text then elaborates seven supreme states for cultivators: "Great Unity" (Dayi) represents the fundamental Dao that permeates all existence; "Great Yin" (Dayin) signifies hidden mystical functions; "Great Vision" (Damu) denotes extraordinary perception beyond ordinary sight; "Great Equilibrium" (Dajun) embodies the eternal nature shared by all things; "Great Propriety" (Dafang) means abiding by one's inherent role; "Great Trust" (Daxin) manifests as natural fulfillment without verbal promises; and "Great Stability" (Dading) indicates unshakable concentration. These seven states reveal the Dao's ultimate mysteries, fully comprehensible only to sages.

The Dao is omnipresent yet formless, its marvelous functions concealed yet universally active. The clearest vision perceives reality beyond appearances, while universal nature lets all things find their place. Constant roles keep phenomena within their bounds, supreme trust achieves realization without pledges, and ultimate stability remains eternally unchanging. These seven aspects constitute the highest spiritual attainment for Daoist practitioners.

This passage expounds the Daoist profound understanding of natural laws and cognitive states.

"All existence follows Heaven (Tian)" means all things adhere to the natural Dao (the Way), with the highest state being spontaneous accord with nature through Wuwei (non-action). "Following reveals illumination" refers to comprehending the essence of things through inner contemplation. "The obscure contains pivots" indicates that seemingly inscrutable phenomena actually operate through core principles. "The beginning holds that state" suggests all things existed from the primal chaos of the Great Origin (Taichu).

Regarding cognitive states: One who truly understands appears unknowing, for their cognition transcends surface appearances; the genuinely wise seem ignorant because their wisdom merges with nature. In questioning, one must neither impose limits (having boundaries) nor wander aimlessly (being boundless), maintaining instead a receptive, adaptable wisdom.

"The intricate contains substance" means all complexity ultimately returns to its source. "Past and present don't substitute" reveals timeless essence beyond temporal concepts. "Cannot be diminished" describes the Dao itself as neither born nor perishing, yet accomplishing all things.

Finally, it emphasizes true wisdom transcends cleverness: deliberately using intellectual tricks to solve doubts only creates new confusion. The supreme state employs no cleverness, neither asking nor answering, returning to natural authenticity. This state of returning to original simplicity constitutes true great enlightenment (great non-confusion).