《南華真經註疏》Vol. 23

When Tian Zifang was sitting with Wei Wenhou, he praised the worker Xi Gong several times. Wei Wenhou asked, “Is Xi Gong your teacher?” Tian Zifang replied, “No. He is a fellow townsman of mine. When Xi Gong talks about the Way and how things work, he often hits the mark, so I praise him—not because he is my teacher.”

Wei Wenhou asked again, “So you have no teacher?” Tian Zifang said, “I do have a teacher.” Wenhou asked, “Who is your teacher?” Tian Zifang answered, “Dongguo Shunzi.” Dongguo Shunzi took his name from living on the east side of the city wall; he was Tian Zifang’s teacher. Wei Wenhou asked, “If he is your teacher, why have you never praised him?”

Tian Zifang said, “He is utterly sincere, without pretense. Outwardly he looks like anyone else, yet inwardly he accords with nature. With an open mind he goes along with all things and at the same time keeps his true self intact. He is clear and pure, yet able to hold all things. People who are clear and still often become overly finicky about purity, but he is clear and still and can embrace all things, and so he joins with nature itself.

“Those in the world whose conduct strays from the Dao and whose ways are crooked—once they see Dongguo Shunzi’s upright, settled bearing, they gain something from it; the confusion and distortion in their hearts naturally ease. For someone of such deep virtue, I, Tian Wuzhe, am mediocre and shallow—how could I be worthy to praise him?”

After Zifu left, Wei Wenhou (ruler of Wei during the Warring States period) spent whole days as if he had lost something, unable to speak a word. Later he summoned his attendants and said to them: “That man of complete De (Virtue/Power)—how lofty his realm truly is!”

“As if he had lost something” describes how, after hearing Zifu discourse on the way of the master, his mind wandered and he had nothing to hold on to. Hence Wenhou remained silent all day. Afterward he called his attendants to speak and marveled that Dongguo Zifu’s Dao was profound and hard to fathom; someone who could embody De so fully was fit to be lord of all things.

Wei Wenhou said: “In the past I thought the wisdom of sages and the conduct of benevolence and righteousness were the highest reach. Now, having heard Zifu speak of his teacher, I feel as if my body has come apart—I do not want to move; as if my mouth were sealed—I do not want to say a word.”

Only then did he realize how shallow his former learning had been.

He said: “What I studied was like a clay figure.”

In other words, what he had learned before was only surface teaching, not the true Dao. Clay meets rain and crumbles; it cannot last.

Wenhou sighed: “The throne of Wei has instead become my burden.”

He understood that once one has heard the real Dao and can let go of the bodily form and enter zuowang (the practice of forgetting one’s physical form and distinctions), then rank is like a mound of earth—it brings only worry and entanglement.

Wenbo Xuezi (surname Wen, given name Bo, courtesy name Xuezi, a man of Huai in Chu) was traveling to Qi and stopped in Lu. Someone in Lu asked to see him. Wenbo Xuezi said: “I will not see him. I have heard that the gentlemen of the central states are clear about ritual and righteousness but poor at reading the human heart, so I do not wish to meet.”

“Central states” here means the region of Lu. “Clear about ritual and righteousness” means well versed in rites and the norms left by the sages; “poor at knowing the human heart” means not skilled at understanding what lies in people’s minds. For that reason Wenbo Xuezi refused the meeting.

When Wenbo Xuezi reached Qi and later returned, he again lodged in Lu. The same man once more asked to see him.

Wenbo Xuezi said: “Last time he asked to see me; now he asks again—surely he has some matter and wants to stir me through it.”

“Shu” explains: “qi” means to seek, and “zhen” means to stir or move someone emotionally.

Long ago when I went to Qi, he came to ask for an audience; now that I have returned to Lu, he comes again to seek a meeting. He must have some other purpose in mind, so I wanted to move him emotionally.

I went out to receive the guest and, on coming back, sighed; the next day I received the guest again and sighed once more. My servant asked me, “Every time you have finished seeing this guest, you go inside and sigh—why is that?”

“Shu” explains: Wen Bo Xuezi had come to call on his master many times, and each time the master sighed. As a servant he found this strange and asked about it.

I said, “I have told you before: the people of China understand ritual and propriety, but they do not understand how to read the human heart. Those who came to see me earlier advanced and retreated as if following fixed rules; their steps in coming and going were square and measured, their bearing calm and at ease, like a dragon coiling or a tiger pacing.”

The “commentary” explains: when they walked, they turned and advanced and retreated with measured, winding steps.

“Shu” explains: when they performed ritual—kneeling, bowing, yielding—they moved in fixed patterns, advancing and retreating with winding grace, as if a dragon were coiling or a tiger walking.

“When they admonished me, it was like a son serving a father; when they instructed me, it was like a father teaching a son.”

The “commentary” explains: the defect of ritual propriety lies precisely in this kind of deliberate ornamentation.

“That is why I sighed.”

“Shu” explains: they corrected and admonished him as a son would serve a father, and instructed him as a father would teach a son. Near and far, high and low each have their proper roles—but these roles are not born of spontaneous feeling, so why such eager, artificial display? From this one can see that once the traces left by the sages’ ritual forms turn into a disease, people begin to pose and embellish; that is what I sighed over.

Confucius (Kongzi), after meeting Wen Bo Xuezi, said nothing.

The “commentary” explains: Confucius had already grasped his meaning.

Zilu said, “You have long wished to see Wen Bo Xuezi; now that you have met him, you do not speak—why?”

“Shu” explains: their minds were in accord, so they forgot words. Zhong You (Zilu) found this odd and asked.

Confucius said, “With someone like Wen Bo Xuezi, as soon as your eyes meet, the Dao is already present—there is no need to express it further in words.”

The “commentary” explains: as soon as their gaze met, their intentions were already aligned; there was no need to use words to convey virtue.

“Shu” explains: “ji” means to touch or stir. One who truly realizes the principle can forget words and grasp the reason; with a single turn of the eyes the Dao is there—there is no need to labor with speech to explain it.

Yan Yuan asked Confucius, “When you walk, I walk behind you; when you walk quickly, I walk quickly too; when you run, I run as well; but when you dash off so fast that dust flies and you vanish far ahead, I can only stare and fall behind.”

Confucius said, “Hui, what do you mean by this?”

Yan Yuan said, “When you walk, I walk; when you speak, I speak; when you walk quickly, I walk quickly; when you debate, I debate; when you run, I run; when you discuss the Dao, I discuss the Dao with you. But when you dash off into the distance…” The original text ends here.

Those who run swiftly kick up dust that others cannot catch; when they look back, everyone else has fallen far behind. Confucius did not need to speak for people to trust him; he did not deliberately draw close to others, yet he could move in harmony with all things. He held no royal rank, yet the people followed and gathered before him—they did not know why, it simply happened of itself.

The commentary says: “奔逸绝尘” means running so fast that dust cannot keep up; “瞠” means staring with wide eyes. When one runs too fast, even the dust kicked up cannot catch up, so when one looks back, others have already fallen behind. “器” refers to rank or office. Confucius spoke without speaking yet was trusted; he did not deliberately draw near anyone yet could engage with all things. He had no position as a ruler, yet the people followed and gathered—they did not know the reason, it simply happened of itself. This is what is meant by “奔逸绝尘” (outrunning the dust).

Confucius said: “How can one fail to examine this carefully? Among sorrows, none is greater than the death of the heart; the death of the person comes only after that.”

The note says: If one takes the heart’s dead stillness for true death, one hastens toward death. Death comes swiftly because sorrow has drained one’s vitality. Without sorrow, there is nothing more to say; once sorrow sets in, the heart’s dead stillness is the greatest sorrow.

The commentary says: Not deliberately befriending yet harmonizing with all things, not speaking yet winning trust—this is likely because one is empty-hearted and accords with things, not mere chance. How can one fail to set aside fixed views, empty the heart, observe, and examine carefully? Among the burdens imposed by emotion, none is worse than a heart in constant flux; flux brings birth and extinction, which is truly grievous. As for the body’s life and death, the sorrow is secondary.

The sun rises in the east and sets in the west; there is nothing among the myriad things that cannot serve as a comparison.

The note says: These phenomena can all be seen.

The commentary says: Night is dark, day is bright; the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Humans too emerge from obscurity; after death, new life comes again. Thus human life and death can be compared to the day and night of heaven. To use this principle as a metaphor—what is there to regret?

Those with eyes and feet rely on them to accomplish what they must.

The note says: Eyes are for seeing, feet for walking.

The commentary says: “趾” means the feet. The parts of the human body are endowed by Yin and Yang; eyes that see and feet that walk also depend on natural creation. Without relying on these, how could one achieve anything? From this we know that life and death are not ruled by human will.

When the sun comes out, we call it “present”; when the sun sets, we call it “gone.”

The note says: It is simply no longer visible—not truly vanished.

The commentary says: Seeing the sun rise, people say it “exists”; seeing it set, they say it “vanishes.” This is merely the ordinary person’s fixation on appearances, not the view of one who has attained understanding.

All things are likewise: when they appear by depending on something, people call it death; when they appear by depending on something, people call it birth.

The note says: Depending on something and hiding is called death; depending on something and appearing is called birth. In truth there is no absolute life or death.

All things in the world have times when they are hidden and times when they appear. What is hidden is called death; what appears is called life. Day and night alternate in ceaseless motion, and there is no absolute dying or living in the first place; the hiding and appearing of things—how could there be a fixed, unchanging death and life?

Once I receive a bodily form from the transforming power of creation, I can no longer alter it and can only wait until it reaches its end.

Commentarial gloss: At times things cannot pass from “being” to “non-being.” Therefore, once a form has taken shape, it will in the end change and perish; one simply does not know when that end will come.

Both my bodily form and my inborn nature are endowed by creation; once conditions such as light and dark, beauty and ugliness, length and shortness have formed and set, they cannot be changed afterward. I can only calmly await the end of the bodily form and live out this life. Since beauty and ugliness are not for me to decide, life and death should likewise be accepted as they come.

“Acting in accord with outer things” means acting without private intent or fixed attachment.

The highest sage keeps the mind empty and still; when something external arrives, he responds; when something external moves, he moves with it—not from deliberate self-interest.

“Without interruption between day and night” means that all things are in constant change, renewing moment by moment.

This change happens every day, flowing as one continuous stream, without any gap.

“Yet one does not know where it will finally go” means not treating death as an absolute end—going along with change, one also does not see any final limit.

Things take shape naturally within undifferentiated wholeness; why must one ask what made them so?

“Xūnrán” (薰然) describes a state of spontaneous, undivided formation. Things naturally receive qi and take form; no external agent specially brings it about.

One who understands fate cannot lay plans in advance for change; Confucius therefore advanced day by day along with change. “Cú” (徂) means to go forward or to pass away. One who discerns the shifting times cannot prescribe the future in advance; he observes change that renews daily and thus goes forward together with all things.

“In my life I met you arm in arm, and in an instant I lost you—is that not lamentable?”

Commentarial gloss: Change cannot be seized or held still. Even when two people link arms and stay together, they cannot stop time. So if one grieves merely because of loss, that grief itself is what is truly lamentable. Yet if one has never taken such change as something to mourn, why mourn death alone?

Although Confucius and Yan Hui were both sages cultivating body and mind together, change renewed daily and flowed swiftly; it could not be firmly grasped, nor could it be halted even for a moment. In the interval of linking arms, change had already passed: the old moment departed and a new one arrived. Hence “in an instant I lost you.” If one were sad only because of loss, that would indeed be deeply lamentable.

“You are probably fixated on how I used to be, and that is why you cling; but that former state is already gone, and you still seek it as if it were there. It is like going to an empty marketplace to look for a horse.”

“Tangsi” is a roadside market, not a place where horses are tethered. The point is that trying to recover what once was is impossible. A human life is like a horse passing before the market— it does not pause for an instant. Old and new succeed one another without cease, day and night. “Zhu” means to see. Confucius said to Yan Hui: “You have probably only seen what I see. What I see renews itself every day; the me of before is already gone—how can you still bring him back?”

“Dai” means roughly or nearly; “zhu” means to see. “Tang” refers to a market beside the road. What I see is things in constant change, renewing day by day.

Yan Hui and Confucius were speaking face to face; what Yan Hui had just said was not hard to understand, so Confucius said “dai”—you have probably seen. What is past has already vanished, yet you still treat what was past as if it still existed now, as if you could go to the market to find the horse. You once saw a horse pass the market; if you go looking now, the horse is long gone. The earlier trace has already disappeared; by today, things have already changed. So know that things constantly renew themselves—not because the old truly moved somewhere else, but because they are always shifting and changing.

“When I think of you, you have already changed far away.”

“Fu” means to think of or hold in mind. “Shen wang” means the past goes by so fast it is forgotten in a glance. The sense is: after you left, I suddenly thought of you, yet always felt I could never catch up.

“Fu” means to ponder or miss. The you of before has by now changed and vanished; when I think of you, you are no longer what you were.

“When you think of me, I too have already changed far away.”

We are all like this. Whether sage or worthy, none can stay in the same state.

All things change every day; it is not different for the worthy or the sage. This happens not only to you but also to me. When you think of me, the me of before has already vanished.

“Still, why must you worry? Even if you forget the me of before, there is something that does not forget and remains.”

What “does not forget and remains” means is that change goes on every day. Even if you forget the old me, the new me has arrived, yet there has never been a time when it was not me—what is there to worry about? Thus one can transcend the dust of the world and merge with all things.

The way of change never rests for a moment. Even if the old me is lost, the new me still exists—that is “there is what does not forget and remains.” So though old and new change, it is never not me; why must you worry?

Confucius went to see Laozi (Old Dan). Laozi had just washed his hair and was letting it dry loose, quiet as if he were not an ordinary person.

This means he was utterly still and free of worldly attachment.

Confucius waited beside him.

Confucius had just washed his hair and was letting it dry in the air. He gathered his spirit in stillness and sat unmoved, like a withered tree, so that he hardly looked like an ordinary person. When Confucius saw him, he dared not startle him by approaching; he stepped aside and waited quietly.

After a while Confucius came forward and asked: “Am I seeing things? A moment ago, sir, your body was rigid and straight, like dead wood—as if you had cast off outer things, left the crowd behind, and stood there alone.”

The commentary says: When the mind harbors no private designs and the body is not tugged by outer things, those outer things naturally fall away.

Laozi said: “I let my spirit-mind roam in the place where things first begin.”

The commentary says: “First begin” means the moment before anything has appeared, when things suddenly start to come forth. When the spirit-mind roams where things first begin, one understands that the myriad things are not deliberately fashioned by anyone, but arise of themselves in the natural course of things.

Confucius asked: “What does this mean?”

The commentary explains: Though Confucius had heard the sage’s words, he still did not grasp their meaning.

Laozi said: “The heart is perplexed and cannot understand; the mouth opens but no words come out.”

The commentary says: Laozi meant for Confucius to enter a realm beyond words and meaning. “The mouth opens but no words come out” does not mean the sage cannot understand or express it, but that this realm has no fixed method by which to grasp it and no fitting words by which to state it. If one forces distinctions, one strays from its essence; if one insists on comprehending it, one loses what is real. Therefore the supreme Dao is profound and subtle, beyond what speech and thought can reach, and a person feels baffled, even speechless.

Laozi went on: “Let me try to describe its aspect for you.”

The commentary says: He tries, by way of Yin and Yang, to liken that formless realm of before, but does not claim such talk is necessarily exact. The utmost principle is subtle; words and thought cannot exhaust it. To discuss the great Dao through Yin and Yang is only an approximate sketch, not the truth itself.

“The most yin-cold breath comes with austere chill; the most yang-full breath blazes forth in splendor. The austere yin breath issues from heaven; the blazing yang breath rises from earth.”

The commentary explains: This describes the mutual encounter of Yin and Yang. “Austere” depicts the cold of yin; “blazing” depicts the heat of yang—within yin there is yang, within yang there is yin, and the two blend together.

“Yin and yang breaths meet and join, harmonize and fuse, and thereby the myriad things come to be. Perhaps some power gathers and holds them together within, yet no one sees its shape.”

As Yang Qi descends and Yin Qi rises, the two energies meet and form a harmonious Qi. All things come into being through this harmony. Though the seasons shift between cold and heat, the order that governs all things leaves no visible trace. The way each thing changes is the same.

Yin and Yang wax and wane: they flourish in summer and decline in winter; night is dark, and day is bright. As the sun and moon move through their courses, all things are continually renewed. Their changes happen every day, yet we cannot see who brings them about or who deserves the credit. Since change occurs naturally, no credit is made visible. The mysterious workings bring all things to completion in secret, so we cannot see who is acting.

Where does life begin? It begins before the myriad things have gathered into formed bodies. Where does death return? It returns to the state before birth, as form disperses. Life and death, beginning and end, turn and turn again in an unceasing cycle, with no clear starting point. Who can know where it ends? As the saying goes: face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Life and death, beginning and end, change and recur. Since there is no first beginning, who can know when they will come to an end? One who has attained the Dao understands this and lets all things change as they will.

If not for the Dao—empty, still, open, and giving life to all things—what could serve as their source? All things depend on the Dao for their existence.

Confucius asked, “May I ask how one can roam within the Dao?”

Lao Dan replied, “To embody this Dao is to know the highest beauty and joy. One who understands the beauty that cannot be put into words and roams in the joy that clings to nothing is called a Perfected Person.” The highest beauty is nothing fixed that can be called beautiful; the highest joy is a mind that does not cling to pleasure. Thus, one who realizes the mysterious Dao, feels inwardly at ease, understands the beauty of not clinging to beauty, and roams in the joy of not clinging to pleasure may be called a person who has reached the ultimate.

Confucius said, “I would like to hear how this is done.”

Lao Dan replied, “What is called a method is the Dao. Tell me, then, about the Dao that leads to the highest beauty and joy.”

Lao Dan answered, “Wild animals that graze do not worry when moved to a different pasture; creatures that live in water do not worry when moved to a different stretch of water. They undergo small changes without losing their fundamental nature.” The “changes” spoken of here include life and death.

The original text breaks off at “Wild animals that graze do not worry when moved to a different pasture.”

Aquatic insects that live in marshes do not worry that the marsh will change; as long as there are plants and water, they do not lose the root of their survival. Moving from east to west is only a small change. When a person abides in the Great Dao and follows change by according with nature, they never cease to be themselves—thus they do not lose their root. The changes of birth and death are likewise only small changes.

Joy, anger, sorrow, and delight do not enter the heart.

Note: To see that birth and death are only small changes is not to lose one’s root.

Commentary: Joy means things going smoothly; anger means things going against one. Pleasure is tied to life, grief to death. These four emotions are common in human life. If the changes of birth and death cannot shake you, how could joy and anger remain in the heart?

All things under heaven originally come from one source. To grasp the principle that all things are one is to merge with all things as one. Then the limbs and the hundred parts of the body are like dust; birth, death, beginning, and end are like the alternation of day and night and cannot disturb the inner mind. How much less, then, are gain and loss, fortune and misfortune—things mixed into the course of human life?

Note: These matters are even less worth worrying about.

Commentary: The substance of heaven, earth, and the myriad things is not different. One who penetrates this principle can regard all things as one body; thus self and things are forgotten, the parts of the body are like grime, the changes of birth and death are like illusion, and beginning and end are like the turn of day and night. If birth and death cannot disturb the inner mind, how much less are gain and loss and fortune and misfortune in human life worth clinging to.

To give up a slave is like throwing away mud—because one understands that oneself is more precious than the slave.

Note: To understand that oneself is more precious than a slave is to give up the slave as one would discard mud. If one understands that everything in the changes of birth and death belongs to oneself, then what is truly precious always remains with oneself.

What is truly precious is oneself, and oneself is not lost through change.

Note: What is cherished is oneself; oneself accompanies change, so nothing is actually lost.

Commentary: To give up a slave is like throwing away mud. This is because one understands that what is precious lies in oneself, not in external things. Oneself accompanies change, so there is nothing to lose.

Moreover, the changes of the myriad things never come to an end—what is there worth troubling the heart over? One who understands the Dao has already been released from worry.

Note: This is what is called “xianjie”—release from the predicament of being hung upside down.

Commentary: The things of the world constantly shift and never stop. One who can follow change and accord with nature—what could still tie up the inner mind? Only one who cultivates the Dao and attains penetration can do this.

Confucius said: “The Master’s virtue matches heaven and earth, yet he still relies on the utmost words to cultivate the inner mind. Among the ancient junzi, who could escape this?”

Commentary: “Match” means to accord; “escape” means to be free from. Laozi’s virtue accords with heaven and earth; his clarity matches the sun and moon…

What Duke Jing meant was that one should forget words and return to the fundamental principle of the Great Dao; the sage’s wisdom arises from nature itself. Yet nowadays people discourse at length on ultimate truth as a means to cultivate mind and method. But among the ancient gentlemen, who could entirely abandon speech and cease cultivating themselves?

Laozi said: “It is not so. When water is clear and still, that is its nature as it naturally is; the virtue of the perfected person is the same. He does not deliberately cultivate, yet all things cannot do without his beneficence. Just as heaven is naturally lofty, earth naturally deep, and sun and moon naturally bright—where is there need for deliberate adornment?”

【注】“Not cultivating and not acting, yet attaining it naturally” means that without deliberate practice or forced effort, virtue manifests of itself.

【疏】“汋” refers to water. Here it says water is clear and still because that is its nature—not because it learned or trained to become clear. The subtle virtue of the perfected person is likewise. He dwells at ease, yet all things cannot do without his grace; his virtue extends to all things, and people use it daily without noticing. Heaven’s height, earth’s depth, and the sun and moon’s light are all spontaneous—where is there need for deliberate action?

When Confucius came out, he told Yan Hui, “My understanding of the Dao is probably like the little vinegar fly in a pickle jar.”

【注】“醯鸡” is the small fly that lives in a vinegar jar.

Confucius also said: “Master Laozi lifted what was covering me, and only then could I see the vastness of heaven and earth. Before that, I did not even know that heaven and earth had such a complete and expansive realm.”

【注】Confucius meant that his own knowledge had been limited, as if he were a fly trapped in a small vinegar jar; Laozi removed the covering for him, and he then saw the vastness of heaven and earth.

【疏】When the mouth of the vinegar jar is covered, the little fly inside cannot see heaven and earth. Confucius too was as if obscured by the traces of the sage’s words and conduct and could not see things clearly. Had Laozi not lifted the covering for him, he might never in his life have grasped the Dao’s vastness, emptiness, and subtle profundity.

Zhuangzi visited Duke Ai of Lu. The duke said: “In Lu there are many who wear the robes of Ru scholars, but few who study the methods the Master teaches.”

【疏】“方” means methods or techniques. The commentary holds that Zhuangzi and Duke Ai of Lu were not contemporaries, so this meeting should be read as allegory. Lu was the state of the Duke of Zhou’s descendants and Confucius’s homeland; Ru teaching flourished there with many disciples, so many naturally wore Ru garb—but few truly studied the way of Wuwei (non-action).

Zhuangzi said: “Ru scholars in Lu are few.”

【疏】Clothing can display virtue, but wearing a certain robe does not mean the wearer truly possesses that virtue. Zhuangzi knew this well, hence his ironic remark that genuine Ru scholars were not numerous.

Duke Ai of Lu said: “Everyone in Lu wears Ru robes—how can you say they are few?”

The Zhuangzi says: “I have heard that when Confucian scholars wear round caps, they can understand the patterns of heaven; when they wear square-toed shoes, they can know the lay of the land; and when they wear a jade jue (a pierced ring) suspended on cords of five-colored silk, they can decide matters on the spot. In truth, people of virtue and learning need not wear such garb, and those who wear it need not grasp the principles behind it.”

“Square-toed shoes” (fang ju) means shoes with square toes; “a jue on loose cords” refers to wearing a jade jue strung on colored silk as an ornament. The word jue (玦) puns with jue (决), “to decide.” The ancients held that heaven is round and earth is square, and that dress could symbolize conduct: one who wore a round cap ought to read auspice and omen in the sky; one who wore square shoes ought to know mountains, rivers, and roads in every region; one who wore a jade jue ought to act decisively when events arose. Zhuangzi points out, however, that those who truly possess the Way need not dress this way, and those who dress this way need not truly possess the Way. Such people have existed in every age, and Zhuangzi uses allegory to sort out the issue.

Duke Ai of Lu was sure Zhuangzi was wrong. Zhuangzi said: “Why do you not issue an order throughout the realm: anyone who wears this dress without the learning that goes with it shall be put to death?”

The duke did so. After five days, no one in Lu dared wear Confucian dress anymore. The commentary explains: if one wore the garb without the corresponding principles and learning, the command required execution. The law was severe and people dared not violate it, so after five days no one wore Confucian robes.

One man alone still wore Confucian dress and stood at the gate of Duke Ai’s palace. The duke summoned him at once and questioned him on affairs of state. However the questions shifted, his answers flowed without exhaustion. Zhuangzi said: “Lu has only one Confucian—can that count as many?”

The annotation says that those inwardly full of virtue need not adorn themselves outwardly. The commentary takes this sole Confucian to be Confucius himself. As a sage, he could read the moment and answer as circumstances required, like a mirror reflecting all things—able to meet every change. That the whole state had only one such person still could not be called “many.”

Baili Xi did not set his heart on rank and salary, so when he fed cattle, the cattle grew fat and strong. Later Duke Mu of Qin ceased to fuss over his humble origins and entrusted him with the government of the state.

The commentary says Baili Xi was originally from the state of Yu. After Yu fell to Jin, he made his way to Qin. At first he was not employed; poor and low in station, he herded and fed cattle yet worked in peace of mind and raised the herd well. Because he did not cling to rank and pay, Duke Mu later, recognizing his talent, gave him charge of state affairs and did not suspect him for his background.

Youyu (the legendary sage king) set life and death at naught, and so could move others deeply.

Note: When one is inwardly at peace with oneself, outward affairs can also be handled thoroughly.

Commentary: Yu of Youyu, surnamed Ji, styled Chonghua, suffered persecution from his stepmother and repeatedly fell into dire straits, yet he did not take life and death to heart. His filial piety became renowned and moved Heaven and Earth. Thereupon Yao gave him his two daughters in marriage and entrusted the realm to him; hence it is said that Shun was fully capable of moving people’s hearts.

Lord Yuan of Song planned to have a map painted, and many painters arrived. After paying their respects to the ruler they stood waiting, moistening their brushes and mixing ink; half of the painters still remained outside.

Commentary: The ruler of the state of Song wished to produce a chart of the mountains, rivers, and lands within his domain. Painters flocked together; after receiving the ruler’s command they bowed and stood, mixing cinnabar and ink, each striving to display his skill. Apart from those who had already bowed and received their orders, still half remained outside waiting. This means that those who vie to show off and scramble for fame and merit are many.

One painter arrived rather late. He was easy and unhurried, not pressing on the road; after the bow of courtesy he did not stand waiting but went straight to his quarters. Lord Yuan sent someone to look in and saw him shed his clothes and sit at ease with legs spread. The ruler said, “This will do—this is a true painter.”

Note: When the inner self is full and settled, the spirit is unhurried and the mind is steady.

Commentary: “Chanchan” describes a relaxed, leisurely bearing. Because he was inwardly self-possessed, his outward manner was not forced or stiff: he walked slowly and did not hurry on the way; after accepting the order he did not stand waiting but went directly back to his lodging, and once he had removed his clothes he sat with legs spread like a winnowing basket, baring his body without fear. Lord Yuan saw his expression and bearing and judged him the true painter.

King Wen of Zhou went sightseeing at Zang (a place name) and saw a man fishing—yet the man was not fishing in order to catch fish.

Note: He was only passing the time in this way.

Commentary: Zang lay near the Wei River. The man spoken of here is introduced through the story to mean Duke Jiang (Lü Wang). Before Lü Wang met King Wen of Zhou, he had fished at Zang; he did not set his mind on hooking fish with bait but used angling only to embody a mood of leisurely ease.

He did not hold the rod with his mind fixed on landing a catch.

Note: He had no real striving at all.

He simply kept fishing there.

Note: He did not weigh gain and loss in his heart; he only used fishing to while away the hours.

Commentary: He was not attached to fishing or harboring thoughts of catching fish; he merely angled often beside the Wei River, passing his days in untroubled ease.

King Wen wished to promote him and entrust him with government, yet feared that ministers and senior kinsmen of the ruling house would be unsettled; he considered dropping the matter, yet could not bear to leave the people without protection.

Commentary: When King Wen saw this worthy man, he wanted to hand over the affairs of state to him, yet worried that kinsmen of the ruling house and assisting ministers would be suspicious and jealous of him. The king considered abandoning the appointment, yet could not bear to let the people lose their protector—hence the saying that the people would be “without Heaven.”

That man had dark skin and a full beard. He rode a piebald horse with red on one side of its hooves. He told me: “Entrust governance of the realm to Master Zang (the recluse sage).”

Master Zang may be able to ease the people’s afflictions.

Commentary: King Wen wanted to employ worthy talent, so he used a dream to convey his intent. He said to his ministers: “Last night I dreamed of a worthy man—dark-skinned, bearded, riding a piebald horse with red on one hoof. He commanded me: ‘Entrust the affairs of state to Master Zang.’” Because Wen admired the worthy and meant to employ a hidden sage, the turmoil afflicting the people might then be healed. The character for “piebald” (駁) is sometimes written differently; read it as the graph indicates.

The ministers said in alarm: “That was our former lord!”

Commentary: When he lived, Wen’s father Jili had dark skin and a thick beard and liked to ride piebald horses with red on one hoof. What Wen dreamed was the former lord; the former lord was instructing Wen in the dream, hence the ministers’ alarm.

Wen said: “If so, let us divine it.” The ministers replied: “This is the former lord’s command—there is no need for the king to doubt. Why divine?”

Commentary: This was the former lord’s clear, unquestionable order. Divination is for dispelling doubt; where there is no doubt, why divine?

So Wen received Master Zang and handed him the government. Statutes and measures were no longer changed, and partial or arbitrary orders were no longer issued.

Commentary: Ruler and ministers were of one mind; Wen welcomed Master Zang, made him chief minister, and entrusted him with government. From then on, once laws and regulations were enacted they were not altered, and biased commands were no longer promulgated.

Three years later, Wen toured the realm. The officers of remonstrance had broken ranks and dissolved their factions; senior officials no longer flaunted personal merit; grain measures such as the hu and dou were no longer carried across the border.

Commentary: “Ranks” (植) means rows or lines and can also mean boundaries. “The lodge that receives submissions” (引舍) is the house where remonstrances were accepted; some say it is where remonstrating officers lived. The yu was a unit of capacity (six dou and four sheng). After three years of rule, custom had changed; ruler and ministers followed the right path and there was little left to criticize, so the remonstrators’ ranks were abolished and the lodge for memorials was torn down. High and low each kept their place; chiefs no longer displayed private virtue; far and near followed one standard, and measures need not be brought into the territory.

That the officers of remonstrance broke ranks and dissolved factions means they no longer marked themselves off as exceptional but were the same as everyone else.

Note: This is what is meant by “harmonize the light, unite with the dust” (和其光，同其尘)—softening brilliance and mingling with the world.

That senior officials no longer displayed their virtue means they no longer stood apart in spotless isolation but worked along with the multitude.

That hu and dou measures were not carried across the border means the feudal lords no longer harbored separate designs.

Note: When the realm trusts one another, tones, laws, and measures can be unified.

When the world is at peace and everyone lives in harmony, no one competes to display loyal remonstrance, and there is no gulf or distinction between ruler and minister; in such a state, the ruler's virtue (De) in fact goes unnoticed. The dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, and barons each keep to their proper stations, and the four quarters are naturally at peace.

King Wen then appointed Zang Zhangren (a recluse from the Zhuangzi) as Grand Preceptor. Facing north, in the manner of a subject, he asked him: "Can governmental decrees be carried out throughout the world?" Zang Zhangren looked bewildered and gave no answer, indifferently declining. He accepted the appointment in the morning, yet slipped away that very night, and for the rest of his life nothing more was heard of him.

The commentary says: One who truly achieves great works does not claim the credit for himself. Therefore, once the work is accomplished, he cannot but withdraw into seclusion; once the undertaking is complete, his reputation cannot but depart. Only when reputation departs and the self withdraws can one be said to extend good governance throughout the world.

The subcommentary explains: In an instant he was installed as teacher, and King Wen served him with the ritual of facing north, asking him about the art of governing the state. Zang Zhangren had no desire for glory or favor, and so he declined with composure; his intent was to efface his own name, and so he stayed bewildered and unresponsive. He attributed the achievement to the people at large and did not wish to extend his own influence over the world, and therefore he vanished without leaving a name. However, Lü Shang (that is, Jiang Taigong) assisted the House of Zhou and was enfeoffed in Qi, and the historical records show no trace of his fleeing; so the phrase "fled by night" here is probably a fable of Zhuangzi.

Yan Yuan (a disciple of Confucius) asked Confucius: "Perhaps King Wen had not yet reached the highest realm? Otherwise, why would he still have dreamed?"

The subcommentary explains: Yan Yuan suspected that King Wen had not yet fully attained the virtue of the Perfected Person, since a true person does not dream. Why, then, would King Wen still dream?

Confucius said: "Be silent, and say no more. King Wen had already achieved the utmost perfection."

The commentary says: King Wen entrusted affairs to his various ministers and did not act on his own initiative. This is what it means to have achieved perfection.

"Why must you criticize or mock him? He was merely following the fleeting moment."

The commentary says: "A fleeting moment" (sixu) refers to the instant when the people's hearts stand on the verge of awakening yet have not yet awakened. King Wen therefore followed this moment to enlighten them, bringing them into accord with the shared wishes of all.

The subcommentary explains: Sixu is the same as xuyu, meaning a brief moment; xun means to follow or accord with. King Wen was a sage who had exhausted the profound principles. You should stay quiet and not mock him. He simply followed the nature of all things and complied with the people's hopes, advancing or withdrawing in the moment when they were about to awaken but had not yet done so. That he used a dream to awaken people's innate nature is nothing to marvel at.

Lie Yukou (that is, Liezi) demonstrated archery for Bohun Wuren (a man of the Dao in the Zhuangzi), drawing the bow to its fullest extent.

The commentary says: "Full draw" (yingguan) means the arrowhead reaches the very edge of the bow, past the string; that is, the bow is fully drawn.

A cup of water was placed on his elbow.

The commentary says: The left hand was as steady as if pushing against a stone, and the right hand as light as if resting on a branch. The right hand loosed the arrow while the left felt nothing, so a cup of water could rest on the elbow without spilling.

The subcommentary explains: The deeds of Lie Yukou and Bohun Wuren have already been explained in detail in the Inner Chapters of the Zhuangzi. "Full draw" means drawing the arrow back to the arrowhead; cuo means to place. It describes setting the cup of water on the elbow, to show the archer's focused mind and steady body.

Lie Yukou (Liezi) was a master archer in the state of Lu. When he drew the bow, the string was drawn so tight it seemed fused to the wood; his left hand held the arrow as steadily as if bracing stone, with a cup of water balanced on his elbow. All of this showed composure, concentration, and extraordinary quickness.

As soon as one arrow left the bow, another followed in immediate succession—the first had barely been released when the next was already nocked. While the first arrow was still in flight and had not yet reached the target, the second was already on the string and the cup on his elbow could be set steady again, which shows how agile his movements were. In the commentary tradition, the word for “in succession” means uninterrupted flow, and “resting” here means placing or holding in place: at the sound of the string, arrows went out one after another; before the prior shot reached the bullseye, the next was ready and the water cup steadied once more. Some commentators read the term differently, as “corner” or “side,” and understand the passage as arrows striking the target in a row, each new shaft lodging beside the hole left by the one before.

In such moments Lie Yukou became almost like a wooden dummy—utterly motionless at the peak of focus. “Wooden figure” means a puppet or clay man: when he shot, he was so wholly absorbed that he did not stir, like someone made of earth and wood.

Bowu Wuren said, “This is archery with deliberate intent; it is not yet shooting from no-mind, or even a state that does not cling to shooting at all.” The commentary explains that although his skill is supreme, he still holds intention when he draws; that falls short of forgetting the mind and shooting without fixation on the act.

Bowu Wuren went on, “I once climbed a high mountain with you, stood on dangerous rock, and looked down into a hundred-ren abyss. In such a place, could you still shoot?” A ren is about seven feet, so the image is a drop on the order of seven hundred feet; “you” is the sense of the pronoun used here. What Bowu Wuren points to is a condition that does not fix on archery itself.

Then Bowu Wuren climbed the peak, stepped onto sheer rock, and came to the brink of the chasm. With his back to the void he edged backward until part of both feet hung over the edge, then bowed and invited Lie Yukou to come forward. Lie Yukou threw himself flat, too frightened to raise his head; sweat ran down to his heels. The earlier discussion had only sketched the idea; this was the real trial. Bowu Wuren went up a towering, perilous height, stood on overhanging stone above the abyss, retreated toward the drop until his feet partly extended past the ledge—and still drew the bow with ease and gestured Lie Yukou forward. Lie Yukou dared not look up; he could only shut his eyes and crouch while sweat pooled at his feet.

Bowu Wuren said, “One who has realized the Perfect Person (Zhiren) can gaze up into the blue sky and down into the yellow springs; moving at will—‘swinging freely’ in every direction—the spirit is not thrown off.” When De (Virtue/Power) is full within, spirit overflows outward; whether the distance is far or the depth profound, one sees clearly and can calmly weigh what matters for safety and peril.

He can remain tranquil and at ease, free and self-sufficient.

Now your heart is full of fear, your eyes are unsettled, and you harbor thoughts of dread. With such a mind, you are already close to danger.

Note: You do not understand that each thing has its proper place, and so fear arises; once fear takes hold, you lose even more.

Is it only in archery that this is so?

Commentary: Here “挥斥” means to let the spirit roam freely, and “恂” means fear. A person of the highest virtue has a mind as vast as empty space, and so can look up to the blue sky and down to the yellow springs. He is like a divine dragon, rising or sinking without fixed rule; even when he releases his spirit and gallops through the eight directions, his mind does not change. Facing a height of ten thousand feet, he feels nothing worth clinging to. Yet I see you full of alarm, your eyes dim and dizzy, holding thoughts of fear. In that state, you are in danger when you shoot.

Jian Wu (a recluse) asked Sun Shu’ao (a worthy man of Chu): “You served three times as Lingyin (chief minister of Chu, akin to head of government) without showing pride; you left office three times without a look of sorrow. At first I did not believe it, but now I see you calm and cheerful. How do you use your mind to achieve this?”

Commentary: Jian Wu was a recluse; Sun Shu’ao was a worthy of Chu. “栩栩” describes a bright, contented manner. One who has attained the Way is not shaken by slander or praise, nor alarmed by favor or disgrace. Sun Shu’ao held office three times without taking glory in rank; he left three times without sorrow. When Jian Wu first heard him, he still had doubts; later, watching his expression, he saw him at ease and cheerful and felt he must have some deeper way of using the mind.

Sun Shu’ao said: “In what way am I better than others? When rank and glory come, I think I cannot refuse them; when they go, I cannot hold them back. I treat gain and loss as not something I can decide, and so I have no look of sorrow. In what way am I better than others?”

Commentary: Official robes, carriages, and noble honor are only outer things that happen to rest on the body for a while. When they come, you cannot push them away; when they go, you cannot keep them. Adversity, success, gain, and loss—how could I be the one who decides? Knowing that they come and go in their own time, one naturally has no sorrow. What skill is there that makes one better than others?

Moreover, whether gain and loss lie on the other side or on my side cannot be settled clearly. If they lie on the other side, then for me it is loss; if they lie on my side, then for the other it is loss.

Note: “旷然无系” means a mind open and untied; “玄同彼我” means that, from a deeper view, self and other are not ultimately separate.

Commentary: “亡” means to lose. Whether glory belongs to another or to oneself is hard to fix: if we say it is in the other, then for me it is lost; if we say it is in me, then for the other it is lost. Once self and other are seen as fundamentally communing in the profound, gain and loss dissolve along with them.

That man was about to be at ease and look freely in every direction—how could he spare a thought for weighing people in the world as high or low, noble or base?

The note explains that “looking around at ease” means meeting whatever happens with calm acceptance, without clinging to what must be done or what must not. The commentary adds that he was serene and far-sighted, as though his mind held all things and surveyed heaven and earth; he would not keep his attention on the worldly distinction between noble and humble. That is why, when he left, no trace of worry showed on his face.

When Confucius heard of this, he said: “The true persons of antiquity—even if there were the wise, they could not be fully captured in words; even if there were beauties, they could not be drawn into indulgence in pleasure; even if there were robbers, they could not be seized. Rulers of old such as Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor could not, for that reason alone, be counted as their friends.”

The note explains that Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor are names for achievements and titles; they are not the same as the root from which those achievements arise. Titles and the root lie far apart, so a mere name is not enough to say one is their friend. The commentary says Confucius, hearing Sun Shu Ao’s words and admiring his virtue, cited the ancient true person to make the point. The true person penetrates what is subtle and abstruse: the wise cannot exhaust them in speech; before beauty they do not sink into desire; robbers cannot plunder them. Even the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors might not qualify as friends to such a one.

“Life and death are the great events of human existence, yet they cannot make the true person alter himself—how much less could salary and rank?”

The commentary says that people change day by day and that life and death are greater still, yet the true person does not shake for that; still less can emoluments and office hold him.

“A person like this: his spirit crosses great mountains and is not blocked; he enters deep waters and is not soaked; he dwells in humble, petty places and is not cramped. He fills heaven and earth; after he shares with others, he himself is only more full.”

The note says that if one cuts and wounds oneself to complete the world, both sides are harmed; the true person lets each have their place, and in giving to others does not thereby become depleted. His spirit is bright and replete and fills heaven and earth, so wherever he is, he is at ease.

The commentary glosses “blocked” and “exhausted.” The true person enters fire and is not burned, enters water and is not drenched; crossing great mountains, his spirit is not obstructed. Even in a lowly station, the Dao is not diminished; his virtue accords with heaven and earth, so he fills them. He does not harm himself to complete external things; therefore after giving, he is more abundant.

King Wen of Chu and the marquis of Fan were sitting together. After a while, someone at the king’s side said: “The marquis of Fan shows three omens of a state’s ruin.”

The note says this means the marquis of Fan had three signs that the state would perish. The opening commentary states that King Wen of Chu sat with Marquis Xi of Fan and discussed alliance and joint action.

Fan was the name of a state—a fief granted to descendants of the Duke of Zhou—located in theJijun region; ruins of Fan state can still be found there today.

What is meant by “the people of Fan were base and lowly” is that the ruler of Fan failed in three ways: he did not revere spirits and ghosts, did not honor the worthy, and did not care for and nurture the common people. Chu was strong and Fan was weak; Chu intended to annex the Yi states, so it sent attendants to persuade the ruler of Fan with words.

The ruler of Fan said: “The destruction of Fan is not enough to make me lose my own being.”

Note: He treated the abandonment of Fan as something of no consequence.

Commentary: One who can follow the transformations of zaohua (creation and transformation) and rest at ease without fear may be counted among the worthy descendants of the Duke of Zhou.

If the destruction of Fan is not enough to make me lose my own being, then the existence of Chu is also not enough to make me gain my being on that account.

Note: Being cast aside is not enough to turn “me” into real annihilation; likewise, outward preservation is not enough to make “me” truly exist on that account. When the mind is empty and broad and does not pride itself on its own standing, that is constant being.

Seen in this light, Fan has not truly perished, and Chu has never truly existed.

Note: Survival and destruction depend on how the heart settles things. In the end, there is no absolute survival or destruction in the world.

Commentary: Survival and destruction lie in how the heart views gain and loss. Once the heart of gain and loss is dissolved, what perishes may not truly perish and may instead endure longer; what exists may not endure alone and may turn toward destruction.