《南華真經註疏》Vol. 16

Nanhua True Classic: Annotations and Subcommentaries, Volume 16, Outer Chapters, “The Course of Heaven,” Chapter 14

Is Heaven in motion?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Heaven does not set out deliberately to move; it moves naturally.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: Heaven receives Yang Qi, which is clear and light, and floats above. It has no intention of moving, yet moves naturally.

Does Earth remain still?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Earth does not set out deliberately to stay in place; it rests there naturally.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: Earth receives Yin Qi, which is turbid and heavy, and sinks below. It has no intention of being quiet and still, yet it rests there naturally.

Are the sun and moon vying for position?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: The sun and moon do not vie for position; they simply take turns naturally.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: The sun and moon shine upon Heaven and Earth, alternate between day and night, and rise, set, and move back and forth. This is simply their natural course. Since they have no intention of taking turns, how could they have any thought of vying for position?

Then who governs and arranges all of this?

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: “All of this” refers to the movements of Heaven and Earth mentioned above. The four seasons and eight seasonal divisions succeed one another; clouds drift and rain falls, covering and nourishing living beings so that the myriad things flourish and grow. Who governs and arranges this? This line explains “Is Heaven in motion?”

Who maintains order in all of this?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: All of this is simply natural.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: Mountains bring forth the myriad things; rivers rise at their sources and flow onward, gathering things in and carrying them without cease. In spring the myriad things sprout, in summer they grow, and the seasons follow one another without error. Who keeps order, allowing everything to be as it is? This line explains “Does Earth remain still?”

Who, dwelling at ease and doing nothing, sets all of this in motion?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: If there were “nothing,” nothing could set things in motion. If there were “something,” the myriad things would each act on their own. Given this, who is it that dwells at ease and does nothing, yet sets all of this in motion? The myriad things each move of themselves.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: The sun and moon take turns, and the stars shine; each follows its own course. All of this arises naturally. Who dwells at ease, calculating and arranging their movements? This line explains “Are the sun and moon vying for position?” The first three lines use questions to reveal a profound and elusive principle: all of this is simply natural, with nothing behind it driving things along.

Could there be some mechanism that, once shut away, compels the myriad things to move as they do?

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: “Mechanism” means a device, and “sealed” means closed up. In the bitter, killing cold of winter, when night is dark, people might suppose that some ruler is in charge and has sealed the mechanism, forcing the myriad things to behave as they do. But reasoning it through, everything is in fact simply natural. The principle that Earth does not move is the same.

Could the myriad things be turning without being able to stop themselves?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: The myriad things are naturally as they are, so we cannot know what arrangement, if any, lies behind them.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: For example, in spring the vital breath stirs and the myriad things begin to grow; day and night alternate between light and darkness… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Together, they follow the orderly movement of Qi, circulating without pause and bringing forth all things. When we investigate the principles at work, we find no external force directing them from behind. The movement of the rounded heavens is the same.

Do clouds turn into rain? And does rain turn into clouds?

Note: Neither clouds nor rain actively bring the other about. Each forms according to the natural patterns.

Commentary: Qi rises and gathers to form clouds. When the cloud Qi disperses, it flows downward and nourishes all things, forming rain. Trace this process from beginning to end, and no definite source can be found. Clouds and rain, therefore, do not actively cause one another.

Who makes them rise or wane?

Commentary: “Flourish” means to grow abundant; “subside” means to decline. The question asks: Who causes clouds and rain to rise and makes the waters surge in torrents? And who brings the sweet rain to a halt, causing such drought?

Who rests at ease, doing nothing, content in themselves, yet prompts them to act?

Commentary: Who is at ease and doing nothing, yet on their own urges the rain to pour down and takes pleasure in it? In the Sima edition, the character for “pleasure” is written as “weariness.”

The wind rises in the north, then turns west, then east, circling through the air. Who breathes it in and out? And who rests at ease, yet makes it blow this way?

Commentary: “Wandering” describes circling and turning; “breathing in and out” is like exhaling and inhaling; “fanning and stirring” means blowing and sweeping across. The north is where Yin Qi rises and wind begins to form. The wind blows without intent, moving east and west wherever it goes. At times it circles through the air, at times it seems to breathe in and out among the mountains, and at times it rises or falls. Its course is never fixed. Who rests at ease, yet brings about these changes? They all happen naturally.

May I ask why this is so?

Note: This is a rhetorical question, asking why things happen naturally as they do.

Commentary: This question sums up those that came before: what, after all, accounts for these phenomena?

Wu Xian Tiao said, “Come, I will tell you: Heaven has the Six Extremes and the Five Constants.”

Note: We may know the reasons behind things close at hand. But if we keep tracing their origins back to the first point, we find no cause that can be named: things simply happen naturally. Since this is so, there is no need to keep asking why. We need only follow their course.

Commentary: Wu Xian was a spirit medium who once served as an assistant minister to King Zhongzong of Yin; Tiao was his name. The “Six Extremes” are the four directions, above and below—the space between Heaven and Earth. The “Five Constants” are the Five Phases: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth; the term can also refer to the enduring norms of human relations. The point here is that nature has its Six Extremes and Five Constants, and phenomena such as the sun, moon, wind, and clouds all move accordingly. Each follows its own natural course and is complete in itself. Why, then, should people deliberately interfere?

When rulers follow these patterns, the world can be at peace; when they go against them, calamity follows.

Note: Human learning and habits can be changed, but one must not violate one’s inborn nature.

An emperor should accord with the Dao of Heaven, follow the wishes of the people, and rest in Wuwei (non-action), allowing all things to develop naturally and find their proper place. In this way, the realm can be at peace. If he goes against the wishes of the people in the various states, disrupts the harmony of Yin-Yang between Heaven and Earth, and acts with violence and in defiance of reason, calamity and disorder will follow.

The affairs of the settlements across the Nine Provinces—where people live throughout the land—are all properly governed, and Virtue is fully cultivated.

“The affairs of the settlements across the Nine Provinces” means the concerns of people in every region. Here, the text says that when a ruler follows the Dao of Heaven and the course of all things, he governs without imposing arbitrary interference driven by self-interest. The realm is then peaceful, and the people live and work in contentment. The regions of the Nine Provinces are settled and well governed, and their achievements are complete; even the distant lands of the Eight Directions, inhabited by non-Han peoples, are transformed through teaching, and Dao and De reach their fullness. The ruler accords with Heaven and Earth in their function of covering and sustaining all things, and shines upon the realm like the sun, moon, and stars—the “Three Luminaries.”

When Heaven and Earth together sustain all things, this is called the “Supreme Sovereign,” the ideal state of the wise rulers of high antiquity.

Note: Follow the way things are in their original state and let them develop naturally.

The ruler accords with the Dao of nature, and his Virtue matches Heaven and Earth in their work of nurturing and transforming all things. Thus people gladly support him without growing weary, and the people uphold him without resentment. This may be called a return to simplicity and honesty: the state of governance achieved by the Supreme Sovereign.

Dang, the Grand Steward of the state of Shang, asked Zhuangzi what benevolence is.

Shang succeeded the Yin dynasty, so “Shang” here refers to the state of Song. Grand Steward is an official title, and Dang is a person’s name. Seeking to resolve his doubts, Dang asked Zhuangzi about benevolence.

Zhuangzi said, “Even tigers and wolves have benevolence.”

Even fierce beasts such as tigers and wolves know how to love one another. This shows that all things possess an innate nature of benevolence.

Dang asked, “What do you mean?”

The Grand Steward had not grasped the deeper meaning, so he asked Zhuangzi to explain.

Zhuangzi said, “When father and son love one another, how can that be called lacking benevolence?”

The love between father and son arises from their nature. This is genuine benevolence, so why ask further?

Dang said, “May I ask what the highest benevolence is?”

The mutual affection of tigers and wolves was not profound enough, so Dang asked about the highest benevolence, hoping to hear a deeper teaching.

Zhuangzi said, “The highest benevolence has no partial affections.”

Note: “No partial affections” does not mean being cold or unfeeling. The body does not function by favoring one part over another: the head is naturally above and the feet below; the organs are inside, while the skin and hair are on the surface. Inside and outside, above and below, each have their place and function. The parts of the body do not favor one another. The highest benevolence is already complete. Thus the five close relations and six kinship groups—all kinds of relatives—as well as the wise and foolish, the near and the distant, can each find their proper share and place in the realm. This is simply how things naturally are. Why cling to distinctions between those who are close and those who are distant?

One who embodies utmost benevolence forgets selfish thoughts and distractions, merging with the vast, formless substance of Heaven and Earth and seeing all things as one whole. How, then, could distinctions of closeness and distance still matter? He simply remains calm and free of fixed intentions, allowing people’s relationships of closeness and distance to follow their natural course.

Taizai Dang said, “I have heard that without familial affection there can be no love, and without love there can be no filial piety. Does this mean that one who embodies utmost benevolence is unfilial?”

The subcommentary explains: Taizai Dang believed that without love and familial bonds one could not be filial, so he wondered whether a person of utmost benevolence could really be unfilial. Did that make sense? He had not grasped the deeper meaning and thus raised a shallow question. Zhuangzi then answers it plainly.

Zhuangzi said, “That is not so. The state of utmost benevolence is exceedingly lofty; filial piety alone is not enough to measure it.”

The commentary says: Only when one speaks of a state that has forgotten benevolence and filial piety has one spoken of utmost benevolence.

The subcommentary explains: A person of utmost benevolence can even forget the names of benevolence and righteousness. This state is worthy of esteem, so how could its inner nature be described by outward expressions such as loving and honoring one’s parents? Filial piety alone, then, is not enough to describe utmost benevolence.

This does not mean that utmost benevolence surpasses filial piety. It means that filial piety alone cannot fully express utmost benevolence.

The commentary says: Names and categories arise because a state is incomplete. To go beyond names such as “benevolence” and “filial piety” and enter the nameless state is to reach the highest point.

The subcommentary explains: Taizai Dang’s view remained confined to the conventions of the world, while Zhuangzi’s answer went beyond worldly distinctions. Thus, the meaning of familial affection is not captured by the claim that it “surpasses filial piety”; nor can one fully express the meaning of filial piety by clinging to moral conventions.

A person traveling south arrives at Ying, the capital of Chu, and faces north, yet cannot see Mount Ming, said to lie far away in the north. Why? Because he is too far from it.

The commentary says: Mount Ming lies near the northern extremity, and even someone who has traveled south to Ying cannot see it. The state of utmost benevolence is free of distinctions between those who are close and those who are distant, yet people speak of it in terms of benevolent love. The more benevolent love is displayed, the farther one is from utmost benevolence. Even when benevolence and filial piety are clearly expressed, they may not accord with the Dao.

The subcommentary observes that Ying lies in the south and Mount Ming in the north. Guo Xiang’s commentary makes this clear, so no further explanation is needed.

Therefore, it is easier to practice filial piety out of respect than out of love.

The subcommentary explains: Respect is expressed chiefly through outward conduct, while love arises from within. Love comes from one’s inborn nature, so it is harder; outward ritual propriety is shaped by human convention and is therefore easier.

Though practicing filial piety out of love is harder, it is still not as thorough as forgetting distinctions of closeness and distance and remaining calm and unattached.

An unentangled will has already risen above affection; some circumstances are weaker, while others are free of it altogether. This cannot be used to measure how easy or difficult something is.

The principle has now been made clear.

It is easy to forget one’s family; it is hard to make one’s family forget oneself.

[Commentary] When a gibbon is wounded, its mate may grieve so deeply that its intestines are torn apart; an old ox will lick its calf. Such affection is a nature shared by all things. Thus, children can easily forget their parents, but parents find it hard to forget their children. Who can achieve this unless they understand the Great Dao?

It is easy to make one’s family forget oneself; it is hard to make everyone under Heaven forget oneself. It is easy to make everyone under Heaven forget oneself; it is hard to make everyone under Heaven forget their ruler.

[Note] A person of utmost benevolence is at ease in every part of the body and so never deliberately attends to their own existence, even throughout the day. The sage rules from above without deliberately trying to accomplish anything, simply allowing all things to find ease in their own way. When all things are at peace with their nature, the many affairs of the world are put in order, and living beings are each content. How could the people under Heaven not each forget their ruler? When everyone has forgotten the ruler, where is the ruler? This is what is called “forgetting both.”

[Commentary] To make everyone under Heaven forget oneself means that the ruler regards a realm of ten thousand chariots as lightly as a discarded shoe, giving it no thought. To make everyone under Heaven forget their ruler means that the people go about their daily lives as usual, unaware that a ruler governs them. Yao ruled north of the Fen River with his robes hanging loose and his hands folded, while his spirit wandered on Mount Gushe. The virtue of Yao’s yielding the throne to Shun lay in his emptiness, stillness, and lack of self-conscious intent. These deeds are still easier than making everyone under Heaven forget the ruler; yet compared with the first case, they seem difficult.

The ideal is to forget all attachments and return to the Great Dao, quiet the calculating mind, and follow what is natural. Then one moves together with the transformations of creation and shares the De of Heaven and Earth. The sage lets all things grow according to their own nature and follows the people in what each does. Great and small alike find their proper place; those that fly and those that hide beneath the waters are unharmed. Blessings reach all things through quiet influence, and all things follow their natural course. Those above are like trees on high branches; the people are like deer in the wild. At this point, where is the ruler? This is what it means for everyone under Heaven to forget the ruler. Such a person may be called a ruler of the simple age before the time of the Yellow Emperor and Zhuanxu. Their De did not show itself, and so the people under Heaven forgot them. This is a progression from a shallower state to a higher one, from the rough to the subtle: layer by layer, one lets go, until reaching the mystery beyond mystery.

A person of De forgets the renown of Yao and Shun and gives it no thought.

[Note] Only when Yao and Shun are forgotten can their De remain complete. If they keep their De in mind, it has not arisen naturally.

[Commentary] “Abandon” means to forget and set aside. Here it says that the rulers Yao and Shun, though their De was profound and lofty, also forgot their own De, following all things without deliberate action. This shows how difficult it truly is to make everyone under Heaven forget the ruler.

Their kindness reaches across ten thousand generations, yet the people under Heaven know nothing of it.

[Note] All things are at ease as one, naturally and of themselves.

[Commentary] Their kindness extends to all living beings. Even ten thousand generations later, people still benefit from it, yet they do not know this De…

[The original text ends here, unfinished]

The highest De is deeply hidden in the human heart. It is at work in everyday life, though people themselves do not notice it. Even forgetting the self is difficult. Must we really sigh and speak of benevolence, righteousness, and filial devotion?

Note: When fish have a river or lake to live in, people do not feel the need for water. Only after leaving it do they think to moisten one another’s lips with water.

Commentary: Here, “sigh” means to lament. Even people of great De, such as Yao and Shun, could avoid displaying themselves or boasting of their achievements. How much less should anyone sigh over and proclaim such labels as benevolence, righteousness, and filial devotion? Would that not mean clinging to past reputation and conduct?

Filial devotion, respect for elder brothers, benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, trustworthiness, chastity, and integrity are virtues people deliberately strive to cultivate and practice through effort. They are not worthy of special praise.

Commentary: “Respect for elder brothers” means treating one’s older brothers with deference. “De” here refers to a person’s true nature. The eight qualities above are all forced efforts to correct one’s nature and restrain one’s feelings. They imitate others and wear oneself out, so they are not worth praising at length.

Thus, when one reaches the most exalted state, one can cast aside even the rank of an entire kingdom.

Note: “Cast aside” means to remove or let go. People value rank for their own sake. If one can even forget oneself, how much more readily can one let go of the rank of a kingdom? That is true nobility.

Commentary: “Cast aside” means to relinquish. People prize rank and emoluments for their own sake; if they can even forget themselves, rank and emoluments can naturally be abandoned. This is the highest nobility.

When one reaches the state of greatest abundance, one can cast aside even the wealth of an entire kingdom.

Note: The greatest wealth is simply contentment within. So even if one possesses all the wealth under Heaven, one can set it aside without clinging to it.

Commentary: The greatest wealth is knowing contentment. A contented person does not covet; not coveting is their treasure. Even if they possess the wealth of an entire kingdom, they can relinquish it instead of using it to satisfy their desires. That is why the Laozi says, “Those who know contentment are rich.” It describes precisely this state.

When one reaches the state of greatest fulfillment, one can cast aside even fame and praise.

Note: The greatest fulfillment is simply to accord with one’s nature. Once the heart is content, even the names of benevolence and filial devotion can be set aside.

Commentary: Nothing is more fulfilling than following one’s nature. Slander and praise, honor and disgrace are regarded as one; the distinction between external things and the self is forgotten, as are distinctions between right and wrong. Fame and reputation then seem no more significant than spittle and are not worth concern.

Therefore, the Dao does not change.

Note: This is because one discards what is superficial and preserves what is true.

Commentary: “Change” means to alter; it can also mean to weaken. When one can forget wealth and rank and let go of fame, De remains pure and abundant, unaltered by external things.

Beicheng Cheng asked the Yellow Emperor for instruction: “You once performed the music of Xianchi in the wilderness of Dongting…”

Commentary: Beicheng Cheng, surnamed Beicheng and named Cheng, was a minister of the Yellow Emperor. The exchange between Beicheng Cheng and the Yellow Emperor is used here to clarify the Dao of supreme joy. Xianchi is the name of a musical piece; “perform” means to play or carry out. “Xian” suggests universality and harmony, while “chi” suggests vastness. “The wilderness of Dongting” here means the space between Heaven and Earth, not the region around Dongting Lake.

When I first heard this account of music, I was afraid. Hearing it again, my fear receded. By the time I heard it a third time, I felt bewildered and could not grasp its meaning.

The commentary explains: “Dai” means to recede, “zu” means finally, “fu” means again, and “huo” means obscured and unable to understand.

At first, when I heard the most perfect music, I was alarmed and unsettled. When I heard it again, I seemed to grasp the meaning of its notes, and my fear gradually faded. Only when I heard it a third time did I understand that the most perfect music accords with Heaven and Earth: it cannot be seen when looked for or heard when listened for. The heart makes no distinctions and seems to sink into obscurity and confusion.

It is vast and open, still and silent, leaving one unable to know or possess oneself.

The note explains: “Unable to possess oneself” refers to “sitting in forgetfulness”—sitting quietly and forgetting both oneself and external things.

The commentary explains: “Vast and open” describes something level and expansive; “still and silent” describes quietness and a lack of awareness. When the music was heard for the third time, the mind apprehended the mysterious principle. The heart became expansive, free of attachment, and inwardly still, without awareness. In a state of hazy absorption, one enters sitting in forgetfulness, forgetting both things and self, and reaches the state of being “unable to possess oneself.”

The ruler said, “You have probably come close. My music takes human affairs as its model, follows the Dao of Heaven as its standard, is carried out according to ritual and right conduct, and takes Great Clarity—that is, Heaven’s still and natural Dao—as its foundation.”

The note explains: From this we can see that the most perfect music does not refer only to sound. It must first accord with the Dao of Heaven and respond to human affairs; its meaning must be grasped in the heart and harmonize with human nature. Only then does it take form as sound and become a musical composition. Thus the music of the Xianchi was completed only after the Yellow Emperor had transformed the world through his teachings.

The commentary explains: “Dai” means to come close, “zou” means to respond, “hui” means to accord with, “ritual and right conduct” refers to the Five Virtues, and “Great Clarity” refers to the Dao of Heaven. The Yellow Emperor affirmed the other person’s understanding: after hearing the music for the third time, he had apprehended the mysterious Dao and forgotten knowledge and deliberation. That is why the ruler praised him, saying, “You have come close to the natural way.”

The most perfect music first responds to human affairs and accords with the principles of Heaven. It is carried out through the Five Virtues and harmonizes with nature; then it brings the four seasons into balance, allowing all things to find their proper harmony. Though its practice takes the form of ritual and right conduct, it does not cling to those forms at its root, but follows nature. This is the first movement.

The four seasons arise in turn, and all things grow according to their proper sequence. Some flourish, others decline; civil and martial affairs, life and death, all proceed according to their natural course.

The commentary explains: “Xun” means to follow, “lun” means sequence, and “jing” means the constant way. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter take turns; all things grow in their proper order. Summer brings flourishing, while winter brings decline. Spring governs the sprouting of life, and autumn governs its suppression. These are the constant patterns of Heaven’s Dao. To follow them naturally is the most perfect music.

Clear and turbid Qi mingle, Yin and Yang harmonize, and radiance flows and transforms into sound.

The note explains: Natural tones fill the space between Heaven and Earth. When one accords with them without forcibly taking hold of them, the most perfect music can be fully expressed.

As the pure rises, it becomes Heaven; as the turbid sinks, it becomes Earth. Yin Qi rises, Yang Qi descends, and the two kinds of Qi harmonize, giving birth to and nourishing the myriad things. Harmonious Qi flows in every direction, and the light of the sun, moon, and stars shines upon the Earth. This is what is called “supreme joy.”

The sound of this supreme joy is sound without sound.

When hibernating creatures begin to stir, I rouse them with thunder.

Note: Follow their natural movements, acting through the force that can set them in motion.

Commentary: In mid-spring, hibernating creatures begin to awaken; this is the natural order. Rousing them with thunder means that both movement and stillness accord with the seasons, and each thing begins to act in its own way. This is the principle contained in supreme joy.

Its ending has no tail, and its beginning has no head.

Note: It moves without cease and has no bounds.

Commentary: If we seek the principles of nature, we find that they have neither beginning nor end. The sound of supreme joy, too, has no beginning or conclusion. Thus the Laozi says: “Meet it, and you cannot see its head; follow it, and you cannot see its rear.”

One dies, another is born; one falls, another rises. These transformations go on without end.

Note: When transformation itself is taken as the constant, that constant is endless.

Commentary: “Fen” means to fall. Flourishing and decline, life and death, emptiness and fullness, rising and falling—all are ordinary principles of change among things. If change itself is taken as the constant, then this constant is endless.

Yet these transformations cannot be grasped by any fixed measure, and so you feel afraid.

Note: When you first hear of endless transformation, you cannot judge it by any fixed standard. Your heart is shaken, and you hold your breath as you listen.

Commentary: The principle of the One transcends seeing and hearing; it cannot be measured by sound or visible form. So when people first hear of it, they feel afraid.

I then perform it with the harmonizing Qi of Yin and Yang, and illuminate it with the light of the sun and moon.

Note: This is what is meant by following the Dao of Heaven in its operation.

Commentary: The sound of supreme joy brings Yin and Yang into their proper order, allowing the myriad things to flourish and grow. Its radiance is equal to that of the sun and moon. This is the second performance.

Its sound can be short or long, soft or strong. It returns to unity amid change, yet does not cling to any established norm.

Note: It returns to unity amid change, and so does not cling to an established norm.

Commentary: It accords with the different lengths of living things’ lives and lets the myriad things take on their various forms, whether soft or strong. By understanding unity amid change, how could one cling to old methods or insist on a fixed, unchanging norm?

In the valleys, it fills the valleys; in the hollows, it fills the hollows.

Note: The Dao of supreme joy is everywhere.

Commentary: The Dao of supreme joy extends through all things; it fills both hollows and valleys. This means that the Dao is everywhere, present wherever it reaches.

Close the openings and guard the spirit.

Note: That is, close the gateways of the senses.

Commentary: “Tu” means to block, and “xi” means openings. Quiet the openings of the mind and guard the spirit in stillness and concentration.

As for the spirit—the state in which body and spirit depend on one another—Guo Xiang’s commentary says this means “blocking the apertures.”

Taking the size and length of all things as the standard.

The commentary says: “The truly great principle does not divide things apart.”

The subcommentary says: “Measure” is read as “brightness” and refers to size and length. Each thing has its own measure. Let things follow their original forms; do not carve them up according to human standards or make them accommodate you.

Its sound rings out, broad and far-reaching.

The commentary says: “This is what is called ‘expansive harmony.’”

The subcommentary says: “‘Dàn’ means to swing or move; ‘chuò’ means broad. Its sound is like thunder shaking the heavens, powerful and expansive.”

Its renown is lofty and brilliant.

The commentary says: “When renown matches reality, it appears lofty and brilliant.”

The subcommentary says: Its loftiness is like the heavens, its brilliance like the sun and moon. Since its sound is vast, its renown, too, is lofty and brilliant.

Thus the spirits dwell undisturbed in the shadowed realm.

The commentary says: “They do not leave the places where they belong.”

The subcommentary says: People and all things occupy the realm of light, while the spirits dwell undisturbed in the shadowed realm. Each is in its proper place, and they do not disturb one another. Thus the Laozi says: “When the Dao benefits the world, the spirits do not manifest as apparitions or cause trouble.”

The sun, moon, and stars move along their respective courses.

The commentary says: “Their movements do not depart from the proper order.”

The subcommentary says: The three heavenly bodies—the sun, moon, and stars—shine brightly and move according to their respective positions. The order of the heavens is perfectly arranged, without error.

I abide at the utmost limit.

The commentary says: “I dwell constantly above the ultimate point.”

The subcommentary says: “Abide” means to remain still; “utmost” means the ultimate point. Even amid endless transformations, one remains at the mysterious ultimate point and does not depart from the root. Outwardly one may act, while inwardly remaining still.

I also flow and transform without end.

The commentary says: “I move forward along with transformation.”

The subcommentary says: “Flow” means to move. Responding to external things, it reaches everywhere and adapts to changing circumstances, never rigidly clinging to a single state. Inwardly it remains still, yet outwardly it can act.

I try to think about it, but cannot understand it; I look up toward it, but cannot see it; I chase after it, but cannot catch up.

The commentary says: “Thus it is dark and difficult to discern, allowing transformations to unfold freely.”

The subcommentary says: True joy is the Dao. The Dao cannot be grasped by thought or consciousness, so reflection cannot comprehend it. It is neither sound nor form, so it cannot be seen. It has no fixed shape, so pursuing it cannot bring one to it.

As though standing without intention amid the vast, open Way extending in all four directions.

The commentary says: “This means being vast and open, without partiality.”

The subcommentary says: “As though” describes a state without intention; “the four voids” refers to the boundless, open Way in every direction. Here it means that the sage is without intention and merges with true joy. With an open heart, the sage treats people and things without bias, embraces all things, and shares the same De as the emptiness of space.

He leans against a withered parasol tree and murmurs a song.

The commentary says: “At this point, nothing more needs to be done.”

The subcommentary says: With an open and still heart, he forgets knowledge and thought. Thus his body is like a dead tree, while his mind seems as though…

The mind and spirit are silent as dead ashes, free and at ease, doing nothing, simply chanting as they please.

What the eyes can see has its limits, and the strength to pursue what one wishes to pursue also has its limits. Since I cannot attain it, I will pursue it no further.

Note: The perceptions and powers of all things each have their own limits.

Commentary: The range of what the eyes can see has a boundary; hence the word “limit.” The things that strength can pursue also fall within a certain range; hence the word “exhausted.” Supreme joy is not something tangible or perceptible, like the mind or forms, and cannot be pursued to its furthest reaches through the senses. So I know what lies beyond my ability and stop there, pursuing it no further. The mind’s capacities are limited by nature, so one learns to cherish the Dao, which has no name or form. This follows from the earlier words, “You wish to ponder it,” and so on.

When the body fills the realm of emptiness, it can move freely and follow its course. When you can move freely in this way, fear will fade.

Note: For the body to fill the realm of emptiness means not being attached to the body. When one is not attached to the body, one can move freely and follow one’s course. To move freely and follow one’s course is to go along with nature and respond to each situation as it comes. When one can act freely in this way, fear and alarm fade away.

Commentary: When body and emptiness merge, the body becomes as vast as space. To move freely and follow one’s course is to respond to the circumstances of all things without preconceived ideas. This is what is meant by “let the body fall away, leave the senses behind, and abandon cleverness and knowledge.” Because one follows nature, fear and alarm disperse. This passage explains the second stage of feeling after hearing the music.

I then played music with no trace of weariness.

Note: Weariness in the mind has already faded; to go further and reach a state entirely free of weariness is the highest attainment.

Commentary: Hearing supreme joy once more, one becomes free and at ease, and fear disappears as well. This goes further than the first hearing, but still does not equal the state reached later. So I played “music without weariness,” dispelling weariness through a mind free of intention. Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “Weariness has already faded, yet one can go further and reach a state entirely free of weariness. This is the highest attainment.” This is the third performance.

I harmonized it with the nature received from Heaven.

Note: The nature received from Heaven’s decree is not artificially made; it is entirely natural.

Commentary: “Harmonize” means to bring into accord. All living beings take nature as the foundation of their life. Playing “Xianchi” (the name of an ancient piece of music) is meant to harmonize the mind given by the workings of creation, so that nature and life accord with nature.

Then the myriad things followed one another in a blended mass and grew in profusion.

Note: Blended together without constraint, they grew as things changed.

Commentary: The myriad things arise as one, as though moved by the same breath. When wind passes through a forest, it gives rise to many different sounds.

The sounds of the forest arose naturally, without any fixed form.

Note: Supreme joy lies only in what is perfectly fitting. This fittingness resides within body and mind, so it has no separate image.

Commentary: The sounds of the forest—the sounds made by wind passing through trees—arise naturally, without deliberate arrangement. Supreme joy lies only in bringing nature and life into accord. How, then, could it have a fixed form?

Nature lets all things unfold without drawing or driving them along.

Note: This describes the way things are distributed by nature. The commentary explains: Nature sets the four seasons in motion and spreads things throughout the world, allowing each thing to find its proper place. It does so without pulling or forcing them.

It is deep and obscure, yet makes no sound.

Note: This is what is called “supreme joy.” The commentary explains: Supreme joy is silent and profound, beyond what the eyes and ears can perceive; hence it is deep and obscure, without sound.

It moves where there is no fixed direction.

Note: Must something that moves first have a fixed direction? The commentary explains: Though the foundation of supreme joy is soundless, it responds to things as they arise and moves with the moment. In truth, it has no fixed place. This is action within stillness.

It dwells at rest in a profound realm.

Note: This is what is called “uttermost stillness.” The commentary explains: Though it responds to things as they arise and changes in countless ways, its foundation is deep and steady, supremely calm, and always remains in the depths. This is stillness within action.

At times it is called dying, at times growth; sometimes it bears fruit, sometimes it blossoms in abundance. It moves, disperses, and shifts like clouds, without invariably producing any one particular sound.

Note: This describes how it changes along with all things. The commentary explains: All things follow the patterns of nature: they grow in winter and wither in autumn; they bear fruit in summer and flourish in spring. Clouds move, rain disperses, water flows, and wind blows. Nature’s patterns continually bring about new changes. How, then, could the Way of supreme joy always take the form of one particular sound?

People in the world are puzzled by this, so they examine the sages.

Note: This means that sages respond to the affairs of the world; they do not deliberately advocate anything. The commentary explains: “Examine” means to investigate and verify. A sage is like an echo in a hidden valley or a bright mirror: when things stand before them, they respond. When things arrive, no one knows where the response comes from; when things depart, no one knows where it goes. Things come and the sage responds, yet after responding, nothing remains in the heart. The sage does not devise methods in advance or pay deliberate attention in order to manage worldly affairs. So while things move, pause, disperse, and shift without invariably taking the form of one particular sound, people of the world give rise to groundless doubts.

A sage is one who understands the nature of all things and follows the life and disposition bestowed on them by nature.

Note: All things with feelings, dispositions, and life depend on this Way for their existence. The commentary explains: A sage is nothing other than one who understands the nature and disposition of all things and follows the course of life given by nature. That is why such a person is called a sage.

The natural workings need not be set in motion deliberately: the five sense organs and the internal organs each have their own functions. This is called “Heavenly joy,” the joy inherent in nature.

Note: When deliberate pursuit of joy is forgotten, joy becomes naturally complete; functions are complete without having to be deliberately activated. The commentary explains: “Heavenly mechanism” means the natural pivot of activity. “Five sense organs” here refers to the five internal organs, each with its own governing function. The eyes can see, the ears can hear, the hands can grasp things, and the feet can walk. Activities such as stretching out, turning, flying, and running are not learned through imitation; they come from the endowment of natural creation and do not require deliberate planning. The five internal organs each carry out their own duties and possess these functions by nature. This is where the beauty of Heavenly joy lies.

Without speaking, the heart is filled with joy.

Commentary: The joy in the heart lies in the ease of body and mind, not in words. Subcommentary: One realizes that this is the harmonious qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth, not something produced by deliberate effort. The spirit is therefore naturally at ease and glad, and its subtlety cannot be conveyed by names or words.

So Lord Yan (that is, Shennong) composed a hymn on this: "Listen to it, and you hear no sound; look at it, and you see no form. It fills Heaven and Earth and wraps the six extremities (above, below, and the four directions). You wish to listen, yet cannot draw near to it, and so you are bewildered."

Commentary: This is joy without any trace of joy, joy at its utmost. Subcommentary: Lord Yan is Shennong. He praised this supreme joy and composed a hymn in verse. As the saying goes, "the greatest sound is faintest in tone," so no sound can be heard; "the greatest image has no form," so no shape can be seen. The Dao (the Way) is present everywhere, so it fills Heaven and Earth. The two great forms of Heaven and Earth are so vast that nothing lies beyond their embrace, so it encompasses the six extremities, which are the same as the six directions. Even if one tried to hold onto the music in order to hear it, the ears could not receive it. Thus, to experience this supreme joy, its principle is deep and subtle: the heart makes no more distinctions, and outwardly one seems foolish and bewildered.

"When the music was first performed, it inspired fear, and fear brought on a sense of disaster."

Commentary: One listened in alarm and tension, and so it became an "omen." This was because one had not yet reached the state of Great Harmony. Subcommentary: What follows explains again the meaning of the "three performances and three hearings," leading back to the Dao of supreme joy. On first hearing supreme music, one has not yet grasped the realm of Great Harmony. Fear arises in the heart and cannot be put aside, so one is troubled by the unease of impending calamity.

"I then continued with the tones of slackening, and slackening led to withdrawal."

Commentary: The traces gradually vanished. Subcommentary: On the second hearing, one's feelings have begun to understand a little. The fearful heart relaxes, and those traces retreat and fade away.

"Finally I closed with the tones of bewilderment. Bewilderment appears as foolishness, foolishness accords with the Dao, and the Dao can then be carried and dwell together with a person."

Commentary: Ignorance is taken as foolishness, and this very foolishness is the highest state. Subcommentary: On the last hearing, the mind is simple, pure, and calm, without any discriminating thought. It is as if one were in darkness and bewilderment, vast and silent like a fool. One is neither slack nor afraid, and so one accords exactly with the true Dao. One then follows what is natural, acts without deliberate intent, and arrives together with the myriad things.

Confucius traveled west to the state of Wei. Yan Hui asked the music master Jin of Lu, "What do you think of the Master's journey this time?"

Subcommentary: The state of Wei was originally the fief of Kunwu and later became the domain of Kangshu. Since one travels from Lu to Wei, it is called a journey "west." Master Jin was the grand music master of Lu, and Jin was his given name. Xi means "what." The question is this: the Master is promoting the Dao of benevolence and righteousness to transform the Marquis of Wei, so will this method work?

Master Jin said, "What a pity! Your Master is likely to fall into dire straits!"

The commentary says: Confucius was clever and perceptive, with exceptional talent. It is regrettable that he held fast to the traces of the sages left by the former kings and clung to the ancient Way of the times of Yao and Shun. As a result, he repeatedly encountered hardship and often fell into distress.

Yan Yuan asked, “Why was this so?”

The commentary explains that Yan Yuan was asking why Confucius had fallen into distress.

Shijin said: “Before a straw dog used in sacrifice has been brought out for the rites, it is kept in a bamboo box and covered with an embroidered cloth. The person presiding over the sacrifice also fasts and respectfully carries it up to the altar.”

The commentary says: “The passage that follows uses six things as comparisons: the straw dog, boats and carts, a well sweep, pears and crabapples, macaques and gibbons, and beauty and ugliness. It begins with the straw dog. A straw dog is made of straw for use in sacrifices and prayers for blessings. ‘Box’ refers to a container such as a bamboo chest; ‘ritual officiant’ means the person who presides over the sacrifice; and ‘carry up’ means to bring it to the altar. The point is that before the straw dog is used in the sacrifice, people place it in a box, cover it with an embroidered cloth, and express their sincerity through fasting and purification. They carry it respectfully to the altar as though the spirits were present, and so they value it.”

“Once the sacrifice is over and the straw dog has been discarded, travelers tread on its head and back, while people gathering firewood pick it up to burn. If someone were then to retrieve it, put it back in a box, cover it with an embroidered cloth, and keep it around for people to play with, live beside, or even sleep next to, that person would have nightmares again and again, even if they did not have a bad dream.”

The notes say: “Something that has been discarded and is of no use at the time may invite strange events if it is treated with great ceremony again.”

The commentary explains: “‘Tread’ means to step on; ‘head’ means the head; ‘back’ means the back. ‘Firewood gatherer’ refers to someone collecting wood, and ‘burn’ means to cook over a fire. ‘Nightmare’ refers to a distressing dream. Before a straw dog is used in a sacrifice, people treat it with reverence and keep it pure. After the sacrifice, it is thrown onto the road, where people tread on it, or it is gathered up and burned as fuel. If it is then put back in a box, covered with an embroidered cloth, carried around like a treasure, or kept where people live and sleep, it will bring repeated nightmares even if it does not cause bad dreams. That is why Guo Xiang’s commentary says that when something useless has been discarded, treating it with great ceremony again at the wrong time may invite strange events.”

Shijin continued: “Now you treat Confucius like that straw dog after the sacrifice, yet you still regard the old laws left by the former kings as precious. You gather disciples and have them study, live, and rest among these teachings. That is why Confucius was threatened with the felling of trees in the state of Song, pursued and questioned in the state of Wei, and brought to distress in the lands of Shang and Zhou. Is this not like having that kind of dream?”

The commentary explains that this connects the straw dog comparison with Confucius’s troubles. “Former kings” refers to ancient rulers such as Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang. Confucius took King Wen and King Wu as models and recounted the Way of Yao and Shun to establish his teachings. He gathered disciples so that they could learn and practice the Way of benevolence and righteousness, and dwell in the study of ritual and trustworthiness. The meaning of the passage is that ancient laws belong to the past and should not be grasped stubbornly.

The changes in circumstances were plain to see. Confucius once taught his disciples beneath a large tree in the state of Song. Sima Huantui wanted to kill him. After Confucius left, Huantui resented the place where they had stayed and cut down the tree. “Cutting and clearing away” means removing or chopping something down. Confucius also traveled in the state of Wei. The people there disliked him, so they erased the traces of his passing and refused to employ him. Song was the land of Yin; Zhou was in the Eastern Zhou period. Confucius traveled among the various states, teaching and seeking office in these places, yet suffered repeated setbacks and was reduced to such a miserable state. Was it not like having a nightmare?

Confucius was trapped between the states of Chen and Cai. For seven days, they could not light a fire or cook. Life and death seemed to hang by a thread. Was this not because he was confused and unable to see clearly?

Note: These examples all show that one should abandon attachment to sages and intellectual knowledge; there is nothing here that deserves even the slightest reproach. The laws, institutions, and rites established by the former kings were meant to meet the needs of their own time. When the age has changed, clinging to the old system becomes a burden on the people and gives rise to pretence and imitation.

Commentary: At that time, King Zhao of Chu invited Confucius to his state, and Confucius brought his disciples to live in the area between Chen and Cai. Seeing that he had so many disciples, the people of Cai took them for bandits and sent troops to surround them. After seven days, their food was gone, and they could not light a fire to cook. His companions were hungry and ill, too weak to stand. Beset by sorrow and hardship, they were on the verge of death. Was this not because Confucius clung to teachings that had long since grown obsolete, and was thus trapped as if in a nightmare?

For travel on water, nothing is more suitable than a boat; for travel on land, nothing is more suitable than a cart. A boat can travel on water, but if you insist on pushing it across land, you will not get far even over a lifetime.

Commentary: A boat travels on water and a cart on land; using them to travel a thousand miles is no difficulty. But push a boat across land and expect it to carry people forward, and you will not move it even a few feet in a lifetime.

Are the circumstances of ancient times and the present not as different as travel by water and travel by land? Are the situations of the Zhou dynasty and the state of Lu not like a boat and a cart, each suited to its own use? To insist on putting the Zhou system into practice in Lu today is like pushing a boat across dry land.

Commentary: This metaphor makes the point clear. “Seek” means to search for or pursue. Are the times of antiquity and the present not different, just as water and land are distinct? Are the circumstances of Zhou and Lu not different, just as a boat and a cart serve different purposes?

Such an approach will only come to nothing and may even bring harm upon those who pursue it. This is because they do not understand how to adapt to change and respond to circumstances. Those who understand this will not be confounded by the transformations of the myriad things.

Note: As times change and circumstances differ, rites and institutions should change accordingly. By responding to changing conditions without being bound by old systems, one can accomplish things without undue effort.

Commentary: “Myriad” here means constant; “transmit” means to transform. The point is that Confucius clung to the old methods handed down by the former kings, still believing they could be applied in later ages.

Putting these practices into effect in the declining final years of the Zhou dynasty was only a waste of effort; in the end, they failed, and so Confucius withdrew from public view. Later, he again met with misfortune when he advised someone against cutting down a tree. The sage’s wisdom could have adapted to changing circumstances and benefited all things. But at the time, people did not understand this principle, and so he suffered such misfortune.

Have you never seen a water-lifting lever? When someone pulls it down, it sinks; when they let go, it rises. Its movement is guided by a person, but it is not meant to guide others. So whether it bends down or lifts up, it offends no one. The commentary says: A water-lifting lever is a wooden device for drawing water. When a person pulls it, it lowers; when they release it, it rises. It moves in response to a person’s pull and has no attachment of its own, so it makes no mistake. If people too could set aside their own will and respond to the times, the principle would be the same.

The Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors established rites, moral principles, and laws, but they did not value them for being identical to one another. They valued them for governing the world well. The note says: What matters is that they fit the circumstances of the time and meet the needs of governance. The commentary says: The Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors lived in different eras, and their rites and institutions differed accordingly. Their value lay in responding to the moment. No single system can be fixed forever, and similarity between past and present is no reason, by itself, to call something valuable.

The rites, moral principles, and laws of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors were like the fruits of the hawthorn, pear, tangerine, and pomelo: their flavors differed, yet each suited people’s tastes. The commentary says: These fruits may be sweet or bitter, and their flavors differ, but each is enjoyable in its own way. So too, the eras of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors varied: some were simple and sincere, others shallow and frivolous. Their policies, too, each suited the circumstances of their time.

Therefore, rites, moral principles, and laws should change with the times. The note says: A practice regarded as good in one era may be considered bad in another. One must respond to changes in the times for things to remain fitting. The commentary says: The institutions handed down by rulers have no eternal, unchanging standard. They must be adjusted to the times; one must not be rigid, like someone who glues a bridge on a zither in place, or try to find a sword lost in a river by marking the boat—living in the present while mechanically copying the methods of the past.

Now, if you caught a monkey and dressed it in the ceremonial robes of the Duke of Zhou, it would surely bite, tug, and tear at them until it had stripped them off completely and was satisfied. The difference between the past and the present is like the difference between a monkey and the Duke of Zhou. The commentary says: “Satisfied” means content. The Duke of Zhou represents the simple and sincere ancient age; the monkey is a metaphor for an age of shallowness and rivalry. A monkey does not value splendid ceremonial robes; later generations, likewise, may not honor the traces left by sages. The monkey is content only after destroying the robes; the people can follow their own nature only after casting off the old institutions left behind by the sages.

Xishi suffered from heart pain and walked through the village with her brows furrowed. She was already beautiful, and the way she furrowed her brows made her seem even more captivating. When the villagers saw her, they admired her all the more. An ugly woman in the village saw her and thought that furrowed brows looked beautiful. She too clutched her heart and walked through the village with her brows furrowed. When the rich saw her, they were so repelled that they shut their doors and would not come out. When the poor saw her, they took their wives and children and fled far away.

The commentary explains: Xishi was a renowned beauty of the state of Yue, with exceptionally delicate features. When her heart ached, she furrowed her brows. Though she was in pain, her natural grace and beauty made her seem even more beautiful when she did so. The villagers therefore admired her all the more. Seeing this, an ugly woman from the neighborhood imitated her. She was not suffering from heart pain, but deliberately furrowed her brows, which only made her look uglier. The rich despised her and shut themselves indoors; the poor abandoned her and fled far away. This is what happens when someone discards their natural appearance and insists on imitating another. The “cutting off one’s traces” and “felling trees” mentioned later are likewise errors caused by blind imitation.

She knew only that the look of furrowed brows was beautiful; she did not know that it looked beautiful because Xishi was beautiful to begin with.

The note says: When ritual and righteousness are practiced in their proper time, they are like Xishi. When their time has passed and one still clings to them, one becomes like the ugly woman.

The commentary explains: “Because” means “the source of.” Furrowed brows were beautiful because Xishi was beautiful to begin with. The ugly woman saw only the grace of the furrowed look, without realizing that its beauty came from Xishi’s own appearance.

How unfortunate that even Confucius fell into hardship!

The commentary explains: This sentence sums up what follows and points to the meaning of this passage. The account of Confucius’s hardship is given in detail in the chapters below.

When Confucius was fifty-one, he had still not heard the Great Dao. So he traveled south to Pei to visit Lao Dan.

The commentary explains: Though Confucius had three thousand disciples, was called the “Uncrowned King”—one who held the virtue of a king without the throne—and vigorously promoted the virtues of the Five Constant Virtues, he had not yet grasped the Great Dao. He therefore traveled from the state of Lu to Pei, going south from the north, to visit Laozi and ask him about the most profound mysteries.

Lao Dan said, “You have come. I have heard that you are a worthy man from the north. Have you attained the Dao?”

Confucius replied, “Not yet.”

The commentary explains: Lao Dan had heard that Confucius was a worthy and able man of his age, so he asked whether he had attained the Great Dao. Confucius replied that he had not. Looking from the state of Chu toward the state of Lu, Lao Dan saw Lu to the north of Chu, and so called Confucius a “worthy man from the north.”

Laozi asked, “Where have you gone to seek the Dao?”

Confucius said, “I have sought it in the calendar and calculations, but after five years I still have not attained it.”

The commentary explains: “Measures and numbers” refers to calendars, calculations, and similar matters. The notes and commentary say that one intercalary month every three years marks an initial appearance of the Way of Heaven, while two intercalary months every five years mark a further appearance. Confucius had sought for five years and still had not attained the Dao because the Great Dao cannot be found through calendars and calculations.

Laozi asked again, “Where else have you gone to seek the Dao?”

[Commentary] Someone asks, “What method should one use to seek the Dao?”

[Scripture] “I once sought the Dao through the way of Yin-Yang. I sought it for twelve years, yet still did not attain it.”

[Note] The dialogue between Confucius and Laozi is used here to explain that the true Dao cannot be attained merely by learning knowledge from outside oneself.

[Commentary] Twelve years is exactly the time it takes Yin-Yang to complete one cycle. Saying “yet still did not attain it” means that even seeking the Dao through Yin-Yang cannot lead one to it, because the Dao is not the same as Yin-Yang. Hence the text goes on to say, “There are people in China who belong neither to Yin nor to Yang.”

[Scripture] Laozi said, “If the Dao could be offered as a gift, there would be no one who would not offer it to their ruler. If the Dao could be recommended, there would be no one who would not recommend it to their parents. If the Dao could be told to others, there would be no one who would not tell it to their siblings. If the Dao could be given to others, there would be no one who would not give it to their descendants. Yet these things cannot be done, and there is no other reason.”

[Commentary] The Great Dao is profound and mysterious, beyond words and forms. It cannot simply be called “nothing,” nor can it be called “something.” It depends neither on itself nor on external things. Therefore, it cannot be offered to rulers or parents, nor passed on to younger relatives or children. That is the reason. The dialogue between the two sages, Confucius and Laozi, is recorded here to explain the Dao’s profound and mysterious principles.

[Scripture] “If the heart has no foundation for receiving the Dao, the Dao cannot remain there.”

[Note] If the heart lacks the capacity to receive the Dao, then even after hearing it, one will soon forget it.

[Commentary] If the heart has no foundation for receiving the Dao, then even hearing the teachings of a sage cannot make them stay in one’s heart. That is the problem.

[Scripture] “If there is no external standard by which to rectify oneself, the Dao cannot be put into practice.”

[Note] When the heart has no foundation for receiving the Dao, external things likewise provide no standard to help one rectify oneself. Thus the Dao can never be put into effect.

[Commentary] Since the heart lacks the capacity to receive the Dao, there is also no external standard by which to rectify oneself. Therefore, the Dao cannot be put into practice.

[Scripture] “The Dao appears from within because external things can receive it. If no one can receive it, the sage will not come forth to transmit the Dao.”

[Note] What appears from within is the Dao of the sage. The sage comes forth to transmit it only when people and things outside can receive it.

[Commentary] “By” means “from.” To appear from within means that the sage manifests their presence and makes their teaching clear. This happens because living beings respond to the Dao, and the sage answers them. If external things cannot receive the teaching, the sage will not come forth to transmit the Dao.

[Scripture] “The Dao is transmitted from outside. If the heart has no foundation for receiving it, the sage will not conceal the Dao either.”

[Note] To be transmitted from outside means to cultivate De through learning. Although De can be cultivated through learning, the heart must first have the corresponding foundation. If the heart has no foundation for receiving the Dao, it cannot preserve the sage’s Dao.

[Commentary] “Conceal” means “to hide.” To be transmitted from outside means to cultivate De through learning. This is because… (The original text ends here.)

The sage receives the Way of the sages through instruction from without and lets it sink deep into the heart. If the heart has no foundation for receiving and holding it, the Way has nowhere to reside.

Reputation is something shared by everyone under Heaven, like a public tool. There are two kinds of names: names that identify things, and names that praise or blame them. Here, the text refers to praise and blame; these should not be sought in excess.

The commentary explains that pursuing an excellent reputation too fervently leads people to put on an act and make their conduct seem better than it is. When people compete for fame, the world falls into disorder. Good repute is something people recognize and share. Once someone covets too much of it, they embellish their words and actions and conceal what is real, giving rise to rivalry.

Benevolence and righteousness are temporary lodgings left behind by the former kings, like an inn. One may stay for a night, but should not remain for long. If one treats them as a permanent home, in time they will invite reproach.

The commentary explains that benevolence and righteousness arise from human nature, but human nature changes, and the people of ancient times differ from those of today. We should therefore make use of benevolence and righteousness as circumstances require, then let go of them when the matter has passed. If we bind ourselves to a single way of acting, the traces of contrivance become apparent; a lifetime of contrivance brings ever more reproach.

The perfected people of antiquity—those whose cultivation had reached a high level—followed the Way of benevolence and righteousness, treating it as a temporary resting place, then roamed freely in a realm of ease and spontaneity.

The commentary says that the realized people of antiquity kept their brilliance in check and adapted to the moment, acting in accordance with circumstances. They responded to all things with broad compassion and played their part among people, but this was like borrowing a road or staying at an inn for a while; they did not treat such ways of acting as eternal, unchanging truths. They acted without disturbing the stillness of their hearts and responded to the world without departing from their original nature. Thus they remained at ease, wandering in the realm of Wuwei (non-action).

They lived in simple fields and made their home in gardens that sought nothing from others.

The commentary explains that “plain and simple” means unadorned and modest, while “seeking no assistance” means not looking outside oneself for gifts or support. Those who know contentment and when to stop can find sufficiency in a simple life without depleting what they have. The fields and gardens are metaphors for the place where the sage nourishes body and mind.

To roam freely is to practice Wuwei. Once one deliberately sets out to accomplish something, one has left behind the realm described by benevolence and righteousness.

A simple life is easy to sustain. By following a plain way of life without craving or extravagance, one can naturally nourish the body and calm the spirit.

The commentary concludes that because roaming freely releases one from burdens, it makes Wuwei and tranquility possible. A simple life, content with what it has, is therefore also an easy way to care for body and mind.

If you do not deplete what is your own, there is nothing to give.

“Not depleting” means not wearing yourself down to benefit external things.

Not harming yourself to benefit others means there is nothing to give. These three sentences explain the meaning of the preceding passage.

The ancients called this “wandering in search of the Real”: a carefree journey that finds what is real and follows the natural course of things.

To let the mind roam in nature and follow the course of all things is what it truly means to “wander in search of the Real.” When one finds what is real, one’s outward conduct is free of pretense.

The ancient sages followed simple, natural principles, believing that this was to embody what is genuine, without falsehood or affectation. They wandered freely, following whatever they encountered and moving with change.

Those who regard wealth as most important cannot give their stipends to others. Those who regard high status as most important cannot give their reputation to others. Those who cling to power and prize authority cannot hand their power to others.

No one in the world lets something they do not value bring them harm. People often cling so tightly to what they value that they even lose their lives for it. Those who die for what they value have not reached the state of “not depleting.”

How could those who prize wealth and covet possessions give their riches to others? How could those who prize high status and are absorbed in honors and official rank give away their reputation? And how could those who love power and boast of worldly possessions hand over their authority? Only those who reject the filth of worldly life, along with fame, wealth, and honor, can cast these things aside as if they had lost nothing.

To hold authority is to live in fear and trepidation; to relinquish it is to feel grief and sorrow.

The sorrow of relinquishing authority comes from the fact that, while holding it, one cannot help fearing its loss.

Those who hold authority tremble for fear of losing it. Those who relinquish power grieve because they have lost what they depended on.

If the mind has no discernment and only seeks what it will never willingly give up, that person is being punished by Heaven’s Way.

This means that one knows only how to advance and not when to stop. As a result, one’s life is harmed, and this is called being “punished.”

Those who prize wealth and covet power have clouded minds. They are absorbed in fame and profit and lack discernment. How could they hear or grasp the subtle Way, quiet the mind, and rein in cleverness? Even if they have not yet suffered a punishment like that of the state of Chu, their nature is already worn down. They are therefore subject to nature’s punishment.

Resentment and gratitude, taking and giving, remonstrating and instructing, executing and nurturing: these eight ways are means of setting things in order.

One may resent an enemy and thus execute them; a favor received should be repaid. One may take what is rightfully one’s own and give what lies beyond one’s due to others. A minister remonstrates with a ruler; a parent instructs a child. One should nurture all things as spring does, and also carry out punishments in keeping with autumn. These eight ways are means of governing and setting things in order, and at times they cannot be avoided.

Only those who follow change at its root and whose minds are free of obstruction can use these means. Thus it is said, “to rectify” means to set in order…

If the mind clings to old prejudices and does not change with circumstances and reason, it will lose the right way. The commentary says one should follow the Great Dao, keep pace with change, and understand the underlying principles of things without letting the mind become blocked. Only then can one apply the eight methods to govern affairs and handle them in accordance with what is right. If the mind cannot do this, the Gate of Heaven within—the portal through which the mind understands the changes of nature—will be closed and impassable. “The Gate of Heaven” refers to the mind.

Confucius went to see Lao Dan and spoke of benevolence and righteousness. Lao Dan said, “When chaff is blown into your eyes, the four quarters of heaven and earth seem to turn upside down. When mosquitoes and gnats bite your skin, you cannot sleep all night.”

The commentary explains that even very small external things can seriously harm a person’s nature. Confucius was bound by the words and deeds of the sages, so he spoke of benevolence and righteousness. Chaff in the eyes makes it hard to see which way to go; bites from mosquitoes and gnats cause pain and sleeplessness. Though external things may be small, the harm they cause can be great. How much more so when benevolence and righteousness fail to accord with the principles of nature and a person’s own nature? People then abandon themselves and imitate others, losing what is genuine in them. How could such harm amount to no more than obscured vision and insect bites?

“The teachings of benevolence and righteousness are so cruel that they leave my heart agitated and resentful. Nothing could disturb it more.”

The commentary says that imposing benevolence and righteousness on human nature only disrupts that nature.

“You should keep the people of the world from losing their unspoiled nature.”

“You, too, should follow the wind of nature in your actions, and take your stand by embracing the De of all things.”

The commentary says that “release” means to follow things as they are. The wind of nature moves of itself, and people follow it; De establishes itself naturally, and people hold to it. This is a way that is easy to maintain and put into practice. If one wants the people to lose their unspoiled nature, nothing works better than forcibly cutting them off from benevolence and righteousness. In this way, they can instead return to the utmost depths of naturalness. Confucius, too, should follow the Wuwei (non-action) of transformative teaching, respond to all things according to time and circumstance, embrace the De that is empty, still, and true, and establish wondrous effects beyond measure.

“Why make yourself so conspicuous, like someone carrying a drum to search for a child who has run away?”

The commentary says that setting out for the realm of De under the banner of benevolence and righteousness is like beating a drum to search for someone who has run away: there is no way you will find them.

Loudly proclaiming benevolence and righteousness and straining to attain moral perfection is like beating a drum to find a runaway child: the louder the drum, the faster the child flees. The more benevolence and righteousness are displayed, the more Virtue declines.

A swan need not bathe every day; its feathers are naturally white. A crow need not be dyed black every day; its feathers are naturally black. Each thing receives its own natural nature and is complete as it is. Black and white each retain their natural color. There is no need to rank them or compete for superiority; both are simply as nature made them, and neither deserves preference.

Here, “bathe” means to wash, and “dye black” means to darken something. “Distinguish” means to rank things and dispute which is superior. Swans are white and crows are black by nature; why would they need daily washing or dyeing to become so? The nature of all things is the same. Black and white each keep to their own place and adapt to whatever circumstances they encounter, so there is no need to argue over which is superior. Since black and white each have their own fixed nature, white cannot be turned into black.

The attention brought by fame and honor is not true greatness. A truly complete person does not care about fame and honor; only when reputation is forgotten can the heart be called broad. To deliberately build a reputation and attract an audience is narrow and shallow. What is there to boast about? Only when one is no longer burdened by reputation can one be called great.

When a spring dries up, fish are stranded on land. They moisten one another by breathing on each other and wetting each other with their saliva. Yet rather than helping one another in this way, it would be better for them to forget one another in the rivers and lakes. Benevolence and righteousness by name often arise from a state of lack; forgetting one another in the rivers and lakes means forgetting deliberate acts of benevolence, so that benevolence arises naturally.

The passage above sums up the preceding discussion and criticizes the drawbacks of deliberately pursuing benevolence and righteousness. When a spring dries up, fish can only breathe on and moisten one another. This is like people turning to benevolence and righteousness to help others after simplicity has been lost and their innate sincerity has departed. Once the fish return to the vast rivers and lakes, each can live freely, and they no longer need to help one another. The rivers and lakes are like Dao and De; their mutual moistening is like benevolence and righteousness. Dao and De are profound and mysterious, enabling all things to fulfill their nature and live freely and serenely. Benevolence and righteousness, by contrast, are expedients for times of hardship. The two cannot be compared.

After Confucius met Lao Dan (Laozi), he returned and did not speak for three days. Lao Dan was a great sage who had transcended the ordinary world, whose transformations were unfathomable and impossible to predict; Confucius therefore had no words to describe him.

A disciple asked, “Master, when you met Lao Dan, what guidance did you receive?” The text does not say which disciple this was; presumably, it was one of his followers. They wondered: since he had met Laozi, he must have received some instruction. What had he heard that left him silent for three days?

Confucius said, “Only today have I truly seen a dragon. It gathers itself into a whole; when it disperses, it reveals a dazzling pattern.”

The commentary explains: This means that Lao Dan (Laozi) could change without limit.

The subcommentary explains: The dragon’s nature lies in its ceaseless transformation. It is used as a metaphor for the perfected person—a person of lofty virtue who accords with the Great Dao—whose presence and absence are unpredictable. When gathered, its wondrous form is deep and unfathomable; when dispersed, it displays brilliant patterns. Riding the clouds, it nurtures all things through the transformations of Yin and Yang.

The commentary explains: This means that the perfected person responds to all things and acts without any fixed method; this comes naturally and is sufficient.

The subcommentary explains: The perfected person rides the clouds without deliberate effort, responding to the transformations of Yin and Yang to nurture all things.

Confucius said, “My mouth has fallen open, and I cannot close it. How could I still question or admonish Lao Dan?”

The subcommentary explains: “Xie” means to close. Confucius was filled with awe and astonishment; his mouth hung open and would not close. How could he have any leisure to listen to instruction?

Zigong said, “So a person really can sit calmly like a corpse, yet appear like a dragon; speak with the force of thunder, and fall silent like an abyss; and, when moved to act, be like the workings of Heaven and Earth?”

The subcommentary explains: At rest, the perfected person is as still as a corpse; when appearing, the person changes unpredictably like a divine dragon. When speaking, the person resounds like thunder; in silence, the person is as wordless as the profound principles of the Dao. Thus, when moved to act, the person is like Heaven and Earth bringing forth the myriad things. Yet at times the perfected person rests, at times appears, at times speaks, and at times falls silent. Can there truly be distinctions between coming and going, speaking and silence? The perfected person surely has the capacity to come and go, to speak and to fall silent, but does not cling to these distinctions. That is why, after seeing him, Confucius could not even close his mouth.

Zigong said, “May I go and see him too?” So, relying on Confucius’s reputation, Zigong went to pay a visit to Lao Dan.

The subcommentary explains: “Ci” was Zigong’s given name. Zigong wanted to see for himself the perfected person’s dragonlike virtue of transformation, so he relied on Confucius’s reputation and standing to go and pay a visit.

Lao Dan was leaning against the side of the hall, stretching his body at ease. He replied mildly, “My years are gradually advancing. What would you use to admonish me?”

The subcommentary explains: “Ju” means to stretch out and lean; “yun” refers to the passage of time. Laozi was composed and at ease, leaning against the side of the hall and behaving freely. When something external moved him, he responded accordingly, speaking briefly and indirectly. He was saying: “You are already advanced in years. What could you teach me?”

Zigong said, “The Three Kings and the Five Emperors governed the world in different ways, yet they all left behind a reputation. Why, then, do you alone consider them not to have been sages?”

The subcommentary explains: The world gradually declined from simplicity to corruption, and governing methods differed. Some governed through exertion; others waged war and conquered. Their approaches were accordingly aligned with or opposed to the Dao. That is why their methods of governance are said to have differed. Yet their reputations and achievements followed one another in succession. You, however, consider them not to have been sages…”

“What does it mean to reject the Three Kings—the rulers of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties—and say they were not true sages? Could you explain it to me?”

Lao Dan said, “Young man, come closer. Why do you say they were different from one another?”

Commentary: “Come closer” means: explain why you say they were different.

The young man replied, “Yao passed the throne to Shun, and Shun passed it to Yu. Yu relied on his own efforts to control the floods, while Tang of Shang sent troops to attack Jie of Xia. King Wen of Zhou submitted to King Zhou of Shang and did not dare to defy him; King Wu of Zhou, however, attacked King Zhou and refused to submit to him. That is why I say they were different from one another.”

Commentary: Yao and Shun belonged to the Five Emperors; the Three Kings begin with Yu of Xia. Yao yielded the throne to Shun, and Shun yielded it to Yu. Yu controlled the floods through his own labor, while Tang sent troops to attack Jie. When King Wen was imprisoned at Youli, he still submitted to King Zhou of Shang; King Wu, by contrast, crossed the Meng Ford and resisted King Zhou of Yin. Their differences can be described in roughly this way.

Lao Dan said, “Young man, come closer. I will tell you how the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors governed the world.”

Commentary: The Three Sovereigns were Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor; the Five Emperors were Shaohao, Zhuanxu, Gaoxin, Tang, and Yu. Their ways of governing the world are set out below.

When the Yellow Emperor governed the world, he made the people’s hearts simple and single-minded. When someone’s relative died, the people did not weep, and they did not think this was wrong.

Note: If someone thought it wrong not to weep, they would force themselves to cry.

Commentary: When the Three Sovereigns followed the Dao, people’s hearts were generous and single-minded. People loved not only their own relatives and cherished not only their own children, so they did not weep when a relative died, and no one thought this was wrong. If people insisted on condemning this way of acting, everyone would force themselves to cry.

When Yao governed the world, he made people feel close to one another. When mourning a relative, people distinguished between grades of mourning attire according to how close they were to the deceased, and they did not think this was wrong.

Note: “Reducing” here means making something lesser or lower. It refers to distinctions in closeness between relatives, which led to differences in the formality of mourning attire.

Commentary: The Five Emperors promoted rule through De, but their age was not as simple as that of the Three Sovereigns. Parents and children, and brothers among themselves, loved one another and wore different grades of mourning attire according to how closely related they were. This accorded with people’s hearts, and no one condemned it.

When Shun governed the world, he made people’s hearts competitive. Women gave birth after ten months of pregnancy, and their children could speak at five months old.

Note: This means that instruction took effect very quickly.

Commentary: Shun was the last ruler among the Five Emperors. By then, customs were gradually becoming shallow, simplicity was fading, and people’s hearts were growing restless and competitive. Thus it came about that women gave birth after ten months of pregnancy and children could speak at five months old. The ancients said that a pregnant woman gave birth only after fourteen months, and that a child began speaking at two years old. Customs had shifted from generosity to shallowness, unlike conditions in ancient times.

Before children had grown enough to walk, they were already choosing among other people.

Note: “Choosing” here means selecting or distinguishing. Children who could not yet walk but were already choosing among people showed that people’s hearts had become competitive.

This passage says that maturing too early is nothing to celebrate. Before an infant can smile, thoughts that distinguish right from wrong and those who are close from those who are distant have already begun to take shape. From that point on, people set out on the path toward dying before the end of their allotted years.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says that when people cannot regard themselves and others as equals, distinctions of closeness and distance stir up rivalry in their hearts, and they therefore cannot enjoy the full span of their lives. As the impulse to make distinctions grows stronger, people become unable to live out their allotted years. Traced to its source, this began when Shun and Yu ruled the world. Their governance changed the people’s hearts: people began to make distinctions, and warfare acquired a “justifiable” aspect.

The text says that “warfare has its justifiable aspect” precisely because the world had already fallen into disorder. The subcommentary on the Zhuangzi explains that people drifted ever farther from the Dao, while a shallow and deceitful ethos grew more prevalent. The people then took pleasure in creating disorder, abandoned the Way of Wuwei (non-action), and developed a desire to act. They used rewards for good and punishments for evil as means of instruction. Though Yu of Xia was moved by compassion and wept when he saw criminals, weapons used against people still had to accord with the Way of Heaven.

“To kill a thief is not killing” means that thieves are guilty and, by right, should be put to death. Since they are dealt with in accordance with reason and circumstance, this does not count as killing that violates the constant Way. The subcommentary adds that the execution of thieves is like following autumn’s power to suppress and kill. Though it involves killing, this is what is meant by “warfare has its justifiable aspect.”

People each came to form their own kind, and the world became as it was. Guo Xiang’s commentary says that if people cannot regard all things equally, they draw boundaries and distinguish themselves from one another, each becoming a separate kind. Changes accumulated over a hundred generations and converged in the present; the troubles grew to this point, and it was not Xia Yu’s fault alone. That is why the text can only say, “the world became as it was.” The traces left by the governance of sages and wise men were not intended to disrupt the world, yet the world ultimately fell into this disorder.

The subcommentary says that as a shallow ethos took hold and the impulse to make distinctions grew stronger, people divided themselves into groups and could no longer regard all things equally. This is what is meant by “people have minds.” The traces left by the governance of sages and wise men led to this outcome, but the blame cannot simply be laid on Xia Yu.

The world was therefore thrown into great turmoil, and the Confucians and Mohists arose one after another. Guo Xiang’s commentary regards this as the result of troubles accumulated over a hundred generations. The subcommentary says that the governing achievements of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors stirred the people throughout the world. Later, the Confucians honored Yao and Shun, using them to embellish their own teachings; the Mohists followed the Way of Xia Yu and likewise considered themselves right. From then on, the various schools and thinkers sprang up in competition, each advancing its own doctrines. The troubles of later ages arose from this.

At first, these teachings had some ethical order. By this time, however, even relations involving women had reached a state in which the proper hierarchy was reversed. Guo Xiang’s commentary says that taking a woman as a wife and the resulting reversal of the proper roles between husband and wife did not mean the original teachings were wholly without reason. Rather, the flaws in those principles gradually developed until matters reached this point. The subcommentary explains that “order” means the proper sequence of ethical relations. At the time, when Zhuangzi lived, the Six Kingdoms stood side by side and rose in competition, while customs grew increasingly licentious…

Taking one’s daughter as one’s wife violates ritual law and damages morality; nothing could be more serious. From this we can see that when the traces of the sages—their conduct and institutions—first arose, ethical principles and social order were established along with them. In later ages, similar evils appeared. What more can be said?

Note: Evils arise from reason itself, so there is nothing more to say.

Commentary (explanation in the annotated text): Teachings arose from reason and eventually developed to this point. With customs growing shallow and society in decline, is there anything left to debate? These words express indignation and lament in a forthright critique.

I tell you, when the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors governed the world, what was called governance in name brought about, in fact, no greater disorder than theirs.

Note: This is because governance inevitably gives rise to evils.

Commentary: The Three Sovereigns’ rule did at first embody Wuwei (non-action). But once the traces of non-action took shape, they gave rise to evils. Thus, after a hundred generations, no greater disorder could be found. What follows will list these manifestations of evil and disorder one by one.

The wisdom of the Three Sovereigns went against the brightness of the sun and moon above, disrupted the vital energy of mountains and rivers below, and damaged the workings of the four seasons in between.

Commentary: “Defy” means to go against; “turn away” means to depart from the proper course; “ruin” means to waste or destroy; and “bestow” means to grant or exert an influence. The Three Sovereigns used the wisdom of Wuwei to establish methods of governance, but later generations clung to these forms, and evils arose from them. The stars went astray in their courses, even producing comets; the sun and moon consequently lost their brightness; mountains and rivers departed from their proper state, as peaks collapsed and rivers dried up; and the cycles of cold and heat in the four seasons also fell into disorder.

Their wisdom harmed the people more than a scorpion’s sting; even tiny insects and beasts could not live in peace according to their nature and life. Yet such people thought themselves sages. Should they not be ashamed of their own shamelessness?

Commentary: “Poison” means to harm. “Scorpion” refers to a venomous creature with a poisonous tail. “Small beasts” means creatures of tiny size. The passage says that the wisdom of the Three Sovereigns harmed the people with a poison deeper than a scorpion’s. Even tiny insects and beasts were disturbed; how much more so the people, who could not live in peace according to their nature and life. To call such people sages makes no sense. Having caused so much harm, they should feel profound shame.

When Zigong, a disciple of Confucius, heard this, he was so alarmed that he could hardly stand.

Note: Zigong had thought Laozi was merely condemning the Three Kings in particularly harsh terms, so he wanted to argue that their governance was the same as that of the Five Emperors. Now he saw that Laozi criticized the Five Emperors as well and traced the criticism back to the Three Sovereigns. He felt that the argument had lost its original footing.

Commentary: “Trembling with alarm” describes a state of fearful agitation. Zigong had wanted to defend the Three Kings by grouping them with the Five Emperors. But now, seeing Laozi speak from such a lofty perspective, reject the Five Emperors, and censure the Three Sovereigns, he was alarmed in both mind and expression. Though he remained standing, his spirit was unsettled.

Confucius said to Lao Dan, “I have studied the six classics—the Odes, the Documents, the Rites, the Music, the Changes, and the Spring and Autumn Annals—for a long time, or so I believe, and I think I understand their principles. Drawing on these teachings, I have explained the Way of the former kings to seventy-two rulers and clarified the deeds of the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao. Yet not one ruler has been willing to adopt my proposals. Is it truly so difficult to persuade people and so difficult to make principles clear?”

Laozi said, “Fortunately, you have not met a ruler living in an age of great peace. The six classics record the deeds handed down by the former kings. Are those deeds really the root of why the former kings acted as they did?”

The commentary explains: What enabled the former kings to leave these deeds behind was their genuine, natural nature. Only those who follow the true nature of things can bring about the deeds recorded in the six classics.

Laozi continued, “What you speak of is still only the deeds handed down by the former kings. Deeds are footprints, and footprints are made by feet. How could a footprint be the foot itself?”

The commentary explains: Later generations, in dealing with affairs, go further still: they treat natural nature as the foot and the six classics as its footprints.

When white waterfowl, a kind of aquatic bird mentioned in ancient books, gaze at one another, their eyes remain motionless, yet they can stir one another to reproduce. Among insects, the male calls from upwind and the female answers from downwind; they too can be stirred to reproduce.

The commentary explains: White waterfowl reproduce by gazing at one another, and insects by answering each other’s calls. Since neither needs to mate, this is called “transformation by wind.”

Living things of the same kind naturally have males and females. They respond to one another and thereby reproduce.

The commentary explains: Each male and female of the same kind has its own way of responding to the other, and the forms this response takes are beyond counting. When the two are in accord, reproduction is not difficult. Thus some creatures can respond to one another and reproduce even when far apart.

One’s nature cannot be forcibly changed, one’s allotted life cannot be arbitrarily altered, the course of events cannot be held in place, and the Dao cannot be obstructed.

The commentary explains: That is why the perfected ones, those who have understood the Great Dao, follow these conditions and let them run their course.

Once one has grasped the Dao, there is no situation one cannot meet.

The commentary explains: Even changes that have no fixed pattern can all be met.

Those who have lost the Dao cannot deal properly with any situation they find themselves in.

The commentary explains: Such people find no way forward wherever they go.

Confucius left, and three months later he came to see Laozi again. He said, “I understand now. Magpies mate in their nests, fish pass saliva from one to another, and the long-waisted wasp transforms another creature. All of this shows that every thing has its own natural disposition.”

The commentary explains: This means that all things follow their own nature, and each has a different nature.

The explanatory note says: Magpies reproduce by mating in their nests; fish reproduce by touching their mouths together in the water; and the wasp takes a caterpillar from a mulberry tree, prays over it, and transforms it into its own offspring. This shows that all things receive the Great Dao in different ways and each has its own natural nature.

“When a younger brother is born, the elder brother cries.”

The commentary explains: This means that a person may cry because he has lost the affection of his elders and sees his younger brother favored.

The explanatory note says: When a younger brother is born, the elder brother feels he has lost affection. Seeing adults reject the older child and favor the younger one, he cries. This shows that human feelings and the nature of things differ from one another.

Do not cling to or grow attached to the traces of things; simply follow their changes. Then external things and the self will no longer entangle one another. This is what is meant by human nature.

One weeps because one leaves the old behind and cares for the young.

Confucius, if you did not take part in the transformations of nature and become human, how could you bring others into being as humans?

Note: “Taking part in the transformations of nature and becoming human” means allowing all things to change naturally. To expound the Six Classics over and over only makes them seem more distant.

Laozi said, “Confucius, you have understood.” Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Classic of Southern Florescence, juan 16.